Hii, Nat here! This blog is dedicated to Stray Kids; you'll find all sorts of reader fics as well as member x member fics here, both including poly fics.
Feel free to message me anytime or send in requests, and please read the guidelines linked here first. I hope you have fun reading my work. Your comments and reblogs are always appreciated, no matter how random. Thank you for being here! 🖤
Under the cut you’ll find the various masterlists with all fics and drabbles. Mature content will be tagged accordingly, this is a MDNI blog🖤
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Ehem hi, I'm still alive👋🏻Life's been more than wild lately, and I started missing my blog/writing in general. I hope to get back to it in like a week or two. Tumblr has eaten my asks again though...😂 So, for whoever's still around or maybe even new (even though I've been silent for months now😅😂) feel free to send in requests - can be anything from headcanons to full fics, just check my pinned post for more information😊 Stay safe and big hug until then - Nat🖤
MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES
Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):
To celebrate Stay week, I want to shine light on and thank my favorite creators on here!
You all are the backbone of the fandom, thank you so much for sharing your art, your fics, your edits and gifs and everything else you create around the kids. I'm so thankful I get to be a part of the community with you all ❤️
Let's keep creating together~ May your creativity never run out!
Go under the cut to find new creators to follow, if you don't know them yet! And don't forget to reblog their work to show support~
If you want you can RB this and tag your favorite creators to show appreciation for their works!!
The reblog chain is one of the things that makes Tumblr unlike anywhere else. All the notes on reblogs are attributed to the original post, no matter which branch people actually liked or reblogged. We want to keep encouraging conversations, and give contributors the recognition they deserve.
Soon, you'll be able to like, reblog, or reply to any part of a reblog chain, and that note will go to that reblog's author. Each reblog will have its own counts, instead of one aggregated number from every version of the post. And yes, you’ll be able to like multiple posts in one chain.
If a reblog doesn't add anything, the love flows up to the last person in the chain who did. Your post doesn't lose notes just because people spread it quietly.
Past notes will stay on the original post — we're only changing what happens from here on out. Retroactively re-attributing all of them would be... a lot.
This is just the beginning. More changes are coming as we keep building this out – stay tuned!
We rolled out a significant change to how notes work on reblogs, and the reaction has been strong. We're not going to pretend otherwise.
First things first: We're reversing the change. Your feedback in comments, emails, and especially reblogs, made clear that the rollout created problems we need to address before moving forward. We also should have communicated this differently from the start, and we didn't.
We still believe there's a better version of how reblogs can work. One that gives every voice in a chain the credit it deserves. But we want to get there with you.
In the coming days we'll share more on how we plan to do that, including ways to work directly with some of you on this and future changes before they ship.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
in lieu of tumblr's new reblog feature. let's continue to support creators on this platform and keep this place as safe as possible.
please consider giving feedback here.
credit not needed. recoloring welcomed. feel free to edit as you need!
*credits to a dear friend of mine for this idea.
Since some of you don't seem to understand how this 'new notes' thing works, I'll break it down:
I'm the OP. I'm making this post. If you like, comment, reblog (without comment) on this post, then I'm the one who will see all those notes in my activity page.
However...
If you reblog (with comment), I will get a notification that you did that, but any likes/comments/reblogs (without comment) you get on that reblog will only be shown to you. As OP I won't see them.
If someone adds a reblog (with comment) to your reblog...as OP I won't see that. I won't see any of those notes in my activity page.
Basically, if someone with a large following makes a comment, then they will get all the notes and OP will see nothing. If OP has said something silly because they're, y'know, 21 and it happens, and then someone reblogs it onto the dash of someone with a large following who then dunks on them for fun? OP doesn't see it, doesn't get notes for it, but they're gonna get the harrassment for it in their inbox.
If I, someone with a 5 digit follower count, reblog something to correct misinformation on Ancient Egypt, then OP will never see it unless it was on the original post, but I will continue to get notes on that post even though it's not my post. If I reblog fanart, or just art in general, with a comment like 'Oh this is so lovely!' then OP will not see any of the notes from people reblogging it from me. They'll only see my reblog. So it's possible for an art post by someone else to have 200 notes for them, but 9000 for someone who reblogs it with a comment, and the OP artist will have no idea it's been seen by that many people.
It's killing blow to the community we've built here, by someone higher up who doesn't understand that being able to see all the comments and reblogs is what makes this site the place I keep coming back to.
That's what sucks.
I encourage people to go to tumblr's support page, select contact support, and then in the dropdown menu select 'Feedback' and leave polite and constructive feedback (for those of you who enjoy 'emails worded politely but are a strong 'are you an idiot?', try that way of wording it). They're more likely to listen to you if you're not an asshole about it. I've already gone and done this, and I hope others will too.
Idk if u saw the new chan pic but PLEASE write something with the reader being the one taking the pic and then riding chan after!! pleasee
Railway🖤
Pairing: Chan x femReader
Word Count: 2688
Summary: Chan finishes his workout in his quiet home gym and comes up with a playful idea for a mirror-style photograph. He calls you in, positions you between his legs, and has you take a cleverly angled picture that makes it look like he snapped it himself. Things soon escalate from there on...
Warnings/Tags: fluff, teasing, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, riding Chan, mirror sex (sort of), Chan's a simp
The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the treadmill cooling down and the soft clink of metal plates settling back into place. Chan lay flat on his bench beneath the rack, arms folded loosely over his stomach, chest rising steadily after his last set. The overhead lights cast a warm glow across the ceiling mirrors he’d installed months ago, ‘for form checks,’ though you two used them for far more than that.
His phone hovered above his face as he scrolled, lips twitching as an idea popped into his head. A soft, breathy giggle escaped him. “Oh,” he murmured to himself, eyes narrowing playfully. “Stay will love that.” He tapped your contact without hesitation.
A few minutes later, you pushed open the door to his home gym, leaning against the frame. “You called?”
Chan didn’t move from the bench, just tilted his head enough to look at you upside down. His blond hair was slightly damp, strands falling messily over his forehead. He was wearing a black tank that clung to him in all the unfair ways, silver bracelets catching the light as he adjusted his grip on the bar above him. “Come here, baby,” he said, grinning.
You stepped closer, squinting your eyes at him suspiciously. “Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?” he asked innocently.
You snorted softly. “Like you’re about to commit a crime.”
He laughed, shoulders shaking faintly. “Okay, listen. I have an idea.” That alone made you snort even louder. Chan lifted his phone and held it out toward you. “Stand here,” he shifted slightly, spreading his legs just enough to indicate the space between them, “And take the picture from up there.”
You blinked at him. “So it looks like you took it in the mirror?” you asked.
His eyes lit up. “Exactly.”
You covered your mouth, already laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But am I wrong?” he countered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
You shook your head, but you stepped between his legs anyway, carefully positioning yourself so you didn’t bump the bar. From this angle, the mirror above would perfectly frame him: his broad shoulders against the bench, his arms flexed subtly just from holding his phone steady, the tank hugging his torso in a way that felt almost unfair. “Okay,” you muttered, trying to sound professional. “Hold still.”
Chan relaxed his head back against the bench, jawline sharp under the light. He adjusted his grip on his phone, bracelets sliding down his wrist, then gave you a faint, teasing look. “Do I look strong?” he asked softly.
You scoffed. “You are strong.”
“I meant aesthetically,” he smirked.
You rolled your eyes, but your gaze lingered. From up here, he looked unreal. Pretty in that effortless way he always was. His soft lips curved in a half-smile, his eyes warm and playful, hair tousled from sweat. The ceiling lights caught the gold tones in his hair, and the angle made him look both powerful and boyishly proud of himself at the same time…You forgot to press the button.
“Are you taking it?” he teased.
“Shut up,” you mumbled, finally snapping the photo as he winked up at you. The click echoed softly in the room.
Chan immediately sat up just enough to peer at the screen, crowding closer to you. His shoulder brushed yours, warm and solid. “Let me see.” You handed him the phone, trying very hard not to think about how close you were standing between his legs. His eyes widened. “Oh, that’s good.”
“Told you,” you said, crossing your arms.
He looked up at you, a grin spreading slowly. “You’re a genius.”
“You’re welcome.”
He held the phone up again, glancing at the picture one more time, then back at you. His smile softened, just a little. “You were staring,” he added quietly.
You blinked. “I was not.”
“You were.”
You huffed, stepping back. “You just look nice, okay?”
Chan’s expression shifted into something less teasing, somehow more fond. “Nice?”
You rolled your eyes again, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Very nice.”
He leaned back on his hands, still sitting on the bench, gaze following you. There was something warm in his eyes now, something that had nothing to do with gym lighting or clever camera angles. “Well,” he said softly, voice lower now. “Guess I’ll have to keep you around for future photoshoots.”
“Oh, you'll keep me around for much more than that,” you smirked knowingly as he sat up fully. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in close and burying his face in your stomach for a moment. Your hand gently sank into his hair, fingers massaging his scalp automatically.
Chan's head tilted back, glancing up at you. His ridiculously soft brown eyes met yours, and a lazy smile spread on his lips. “I missed you.”
“You always miss me,” you grinned. “You’ve only been gone for the weekend, Channie love.”
A soft pout settled on his lips. “What kind of dumb reason is that? Of course, I'll always miss you,” he told you, hands gently finding the back of your thighs, fingers spreading as he gently fondled your legs. His eyes grew heavy as he studied your face, something darker creeping in. “Missed you so fucking much, baby.”
“You mean you missed fucking me?” you asked knowingly, pulling a boyish grin from him so easily.
“What if I said yes?” Chan asked softly. “What if I told you I miss the feeling of being buried inside you, feeling you clench around me, and hearing those pretty little moans?”
You lowered yourself into his lap, smiling at him. “Then I'd tell you I'm feeling quite empty still, even though your dick is even less tucked away in those cursed grey sweatpants than usually.”
Chan's lips met yours with haste, clashing against them. His arm settled around your waist, his other hand fondling up your side, slipping beneath your shirt. You gasped into the kiss at the feeling of his hands against your skin. His finger barely traced the hem of your bra, a soft groan rising from his chest. “Ride me?”
You chuckled, humming softly against his lips. “Is that a good time to put on Railway, Mr. Brace yourself, take a seat?”
Chan's ears turned red, a giddy giggle leaving him. “Yeah? You think of that when you listen to it?”
“Oh, please, Channie, this song is based on our time in Milan,” you laughed, earning another giggle from him.
Chan hummed softly, hands running up and down your thighs again. His lips traveled down your neck, fingers gently tugging at the hem of your sweatpants. “Let me help you?” You grinned and stood back up, letting him tug off your sweatpants, stepping out of them with ease. His hands roamed your skin almost immediately again, eyes taking in every detail. Back in his lap, his fingers ghost against your clothed core, drawing a soft sound from you. “May I?” he asked softly, and you nodded, gasping as his fingers gently tugged your panties aside and slipped between your folds.
All these years, and he still asked like it was the first time. He still looked at you in wonder, his fingers still mapped out every inch of your body like they hadn't done so before countless times. And god, this man always took his time, no matter how much he needed you.
Chan gave you a gentle warning before his finger pushed inside you, stretching you ever so gently. He smiled at the soft gasp that left you, his hand soothingly caressing your hip. It didn't take long until he deemed you ready, fingers stretching you perfectly.
You tugged off your panties, dropping them to the floor next to your sweatpants. Chan shuffled down his own and his boxers, lying back down. His hands found your hips as you scooted forward and braced yourself on his chest. Chan reached down between your bodies, carefully dragging the tip through your folds, bumping against your clit, which made you bite back a moan. “Relax for me, beautiful,” Chan told you before carefully pushing inside.
A low moan fell from your lips as you sank down on him, fingers curling against his chest. “God, Channie,” you moaned as you were fully seated on him.
Chan's grip on your hip grew tight, but that was the only sign of his own impatience. “You feel so good around me, baby,” he told you with a sweet smile.
You leaned down, brushing your lips against his slowly. Your foreheads touched, breath mingling, the earlier teasing melting into something softer. He always did this. No matter how worked up he was, he would slow down the moment he saw that look in your eyes. “You’re so unfair,” you murmured, fingers sliding up into his hair. “Looking at me like that.”
He huffed a quiet laugh against your mouth. “Like what?”
“Like you’re in love with me or something,” you teased.
He looked comically offended. “I am.”
Your hips moved experimentally, drawing a breathy sound from him. His head tipped back against the bench for a second, biting his lower lip to hold back the groan leaving him.
“Don’t hide from me, love,” you whispered.
“I’m not,” he answered softly. “I just…I really missed you.” You rolled your hips again, gentler this time, and his hands tightened reflexively before relaxing, thumbs tracing slow circles into your skin. His jaw clenched briefly, but his eyes stayed warm. “The weekend felt longer without you,” he admitted.
You smiled down at him, brushing your nose against his. “Dramatic.”
“Just honest,” he corrected. You began moving properly now, slowly and unhurried, setting a rhythm that deepened his breathing. His hands guided you without forcing, as if he were learning you all over again. The teasing faded again as the pace deepened slightly, your movements growing more instinctive. His voice dropped, rougher now, but still gentle. “You’re okay?”
“Yeah,” you breathed. One of his hands left your hip to cradle your face instead, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. The intimacy of it made your chest tighten. Even like this, especially like this, he treated you like something precious. Your rhythm faltered slightly as you leaned into his touch, kissing him again, slower this time.
Chan moaned softly, fingers digging deeper into your skin. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he breathed out hoarsely. “Can I take off your shirt?” he asked sweetly, and you let him do as he pleased. The way his eyes met yours right after you knew exactly what he wanted and gave him an encouraging smile. Still steadying you with one hand, Chan's other moved behind you, unclasping your bra with a swift movement.
His head dipped, plush lips traveling over your skin. The teasing edge from earlier had melted completely; what remained was slow affection. His mouth pressed gentle kisses along your collarbone and down the curve of your chest. You inhaled sharply when his breath fanned across sensitive skin, fingers tightening in his hair. “Channie…”
He hummed against you, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. One hand stayed firm on your hip, grounding you, while the other traced lazy patterns along your back. He wasn’t trying to overwhelm you; he was savoring every piece of you. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured quietly, lips brushing your skin between words.
You laughed breathlessly. Your hips moved again, slow and rolling, drawing a strained exhale from him. Chan's hands guided you a little more firmly now, helping you set a steady rhythm. His breathing deepened, chest rising beneath your palms. You leaned down to kiss him, your tongues brushing, lips parting lazily, both of you smiling into it.
“Missed this,” he confessed against your mouth.
“Missed you,” you answered gently.
His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer so there was barely any space left between your bodies. He pressed his forehead to yours again, eyes soft despite the heat building between you. “Love you so much, baby,” he whispered against your lips.
“Love you too, Channie dear,” you whispered back, kissing him lovingly. “Now let me take care of you,” you told him. You pulled back then, bracing yourself on his chest and picking up the pace.
Chan moaned below you, hands gripping your skin firmly. “Fuck, you're so pretty,” he moaned, his eyes darting as if he were unsure where to look first.
“Want me to go faster?” you asked breathlessly, and Chan nodded with a low whine. You picked up the pace once again, your skin meeting his forcefully.
Chan's head dropped back against the bench, eyes pressing closed for a mere second before he forced them back open to not miss a single second. “Shit, baby, you feel so good,” Chan moaned out shamelessly. “Taking me so well.”
You circled your hips, drawing out a low groan from him. His hand fondled up your thigh before his thumb found your clit, rubbing soft circles against it. Your hips stuttered with a whine, lashes fluttering with pleasure. “Shit, Channie, don’t stop,” you begged him softly.
Chan smiled, sitting up fully again and making you moan softly at the change of the angle. His arm wrapped around you to keep you in place, lips finding yours. Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers slipping into his hair with ease. “Wouldn’t even think of it,” he promised with a soft giggle, his thumb working your clit perfectly.
Chan’s head dips down, lips wrapping around your nipple with a soft groan. You moaned out at the extra stimulation, your cheek pressing against his hair. Chan’s hips twitched as you started clenching around him, your stomach tightening at your nearing release. Your hips stuttered, as if your body didn’t know which sensation to chase first. The grip in his hair tightens, drawing soft grunts from Chan. “Channie,” you whined in need.
Chan pulled back almost immediately and lowered you onto the bench instead. His lips found yours in a heated kiss as he started thrusting into you steadily, one hand braced against the bench, the other still circling your clit. You tugged at his tanktop and he quickly pulled it off, throwing it onto the ground. “Fuck, Y/nnie,” he panted softly against your lips, and that’s when you got an idea.
You guided his face down to your neck, his lips immediately worshipping your skin there, kissing and nibbling at it softly. Your hand fumbled for your phone on the floor, opening your camera, the other lovingly tugging at Chan’s hair. You start a video and direct the camera at the mirror above you, groaning softly at the sight of you.
His hips met yours steadily, his strong back perfectly displayed in the mirror. You moaned softly as he hit the perfect spot, wrapping your legs around his waist and meeting his thrusts eagerly. You soon ended the video, knowing he’d love seeing it, and dropped the phone back on the floor, your fingers digging into his back. “Channie, I’m close,” you moaned needily, your walls fluttering around him.
Chan groaned against your skin, nibbling at your neck. “It’s okay, baby, let go,” he told you softly, his own thrusts stuttering. “I’ve got you, baby, you did so well, come on, my sweet girl,” he rambled on breathlessly, moaning shamelessly as you clenched around him.
A loud moan of his name left your lips, thighs shaking as your orgasm washed over you full force. You tugged on his hair, whimpering in relief when he stilled inside you, painting your walls with a sinful groan. He pulled you back up and fell down against the bench himself, pulling you on top of him, as if he’d been afraid to put all his weight onto you. You sighed happily and collapsed against his chest, panting softly.
A happy giggle left Chan, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “You’ll always be my favorite workout routine,” he teased you.
“Dummy,” you smirked happily, thinking of the video you took earlier. You’d keep that for the perfect occasion to send to him, then.
MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES
Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):
hehe thank you for all the love for this one. I have something in mind for a part two, but I'll need to find the time to write it, so please be patient with me😂😭🖤
Idk if u saw the new chan pic but PLEASE write something with the reader being the one taking the pic and then riding chan after!! pleasee
Railway🖤
Pairing: Chan x femReader
Word Count: 2688
Summary: Chan finishes his workout in his quiet home gym and comes up with a playful idea for a mirror-style photograph. He calls you in, positions you between his legs, and has you take a cleverly angled picture that makes it look like he snapped it himself. Things soon escalate from there on...
Warnings/Tags: fluff, teasing, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, riding Chan, mirror sex (sort of), Chan's a simp
The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the treadmill cooling down and the soft clink of metal plates settling back into place. Chan lay flat on his bench beneath the rack, arms folded loosely over his stomach, chest rising steadily after his last set. The overhead lights cast a warm glow across the ceiling mirrors he’d installed months ago, ‘for form checks,’ though you two used them for far more than that.
His phone hovered above his face as he scrolled, lips twitching as an idea popped into his head. A soft, breathy giggle escaped him. “Oh,” he murmured to himself, eyes narrowing playfully. “Stay will love that.” He tapped your contact without hesitation.
A few minutes later, you pushed open the door to his home gym, leaning against the frame. “You called?”
Chan didn’t move from the bench, just tilted his head enough to look at you upside down. His blond hair was slightly damp, strands falling messily over his forehead. He was wearing a black tank that clung to him in all the unfair ways, silver bracelets catching the light as he adjusted his grip on the bar above him. “Come here, baby,” he said, grinning.
You stepped closer, squinting your eyes at him suspiciously. “Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?” he asked innocently.
You snorted softly. “Like you’re about to commit a crime.”
He laughed, shoulders shaking faintly. “Okay, listen. I have an idea.” That alone made you snort even louder. Chan lifted his phone and held it out toward you. “Stand here,” he shifted slightly, spreading his legs just enough to indicate the space between them, “And take the picture from up there.”
You blinked at him. “So it looks like you took it in the mirror?” you asked.
His eyes lit up. “Exactly.”
You covered your mouth, already laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But am I wrong?” he countered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
You shook your head, but you stepped between his legs anyway, carefully positioning yourself so you didn’t bump the bar. From this angle, the mirror above would perfectly frame him: his broad shoulders against the bench, his arms flexed subtly just from holding his phone steady, the tank hugging his torso in a way that felt almost unfair. “Okay,” you muttered, trying to sound professional. “Hold still.”
Chan relaxed his head back against the bench, jawline sharp under the light. He adjusted his grip on his phone, bracelets sliding down his wrist, then gave you a faint, teasing look. “Do I look strong?” he asked softly.
You scoffed. “You are strong.”
“I meant aesthetically,” he smirked.
You rolled your eyes, but your gaze lingered. From up here, he looked unreal. Pretty in that effortless way he always was. His soft lips curved in a half-smile, his eyes warm and playful, hair tousled from sweat. The ceiling lights caught the gold tones in his hair, and the angle made him look both powerful and boyishly proud of himself at the same time…You forgot to press the button.
“Are you taking it?” he teased.
“Shut up,” you mumbled, finally snapping the photo as he winked up at you. The click echoed softly in the room.
Chan immediately sat up just enough to peer at the screen, crowding closer to you. His shoulder brushed yours, warm and solid. “Let me see.” You handed him the phone, trying very hard not to think about how close you were standing between his legs. His eyes widened. “Oh, that’s good.”
“Told you,” you said, crossing your arms.
He looked up at you, a grin spreading slowly. “You’re a genius.”
“You’re welcome.”
He held the phone up again, glancing at the picture one more time, then back at you. His smile softened, just a little. “You were staring,” he added quietly.
You blinked. “I was not.”
“You were.”
You huffed, stepping back. “You just look nice, okay?”
Chan’s expression shifted into something less teasing, somehow more fond. “Nice?”
You rolled your eyes again, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Very nice.”
He leaned back on his hands, still sitting on the bench, gaze following you. There was something warm in his eyes now, something that had nothing to do with gym lighting or clever camera angles. “Well,” he said softly, voice lower now. “Guess I’ll have to keep you around for future photoshoots.”
“Oh, you'll keep me around for much more than that,” you smirked knowingly as he sat up fully. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in close and burying his face in your stomach for a moment. Your hand gently sank into his hair, fingers massaging his scalp automatically.
Chan's head tilted back, glancing up at you. His ridiculously soft brown eyes met yours, and a lazy smile spread on his lips. “I missed you.”
“You always miss me,” you grinned. “You’ve only been gone for the weekend, Channie love.”
A soft pout settled on his lips. “What kind of dumb reason is that? Of course, I'll always miss you,” he told you, hands gently finding the back of your thighs, fingers spreading as he gently fondled your legs. His eyes grew heavy as he studied your face, something darker creeping in. “Missed you so fucking much, baby.”
“You mean you missed fucking me?” you asked knowingly, pulling a boyish grin from him so easily.
“What if I said yes?” Chan asked softly. “What if I told you I miss the feeling of being buried inside you, feeling you clench around me, and hearing those pretty little moans?”
You lowered yourself into his lap, smiling at him. “Then I'd tell you I'm feeling quite empty still, even though your dick is even less tucked away in those cursed grey sweatpants than usually.”
Chan's lips met yours with haste, clashing against them. His arm settled around your waist, his other hand fondling up your side, slipping beneath your shirt. You gasped into the kiss at the feeling of his hands against your skin. His finger barely traced the hem of your bra, a soft groan rising from his chest. “Ride me?”
You chuckled, humming softly against his lips. “Is that a good time to put on Railway, Mr. Brace yourself, take a seat?”
Chan's ears turned red, a giddy giggle leaving him. “Yeah? You think of that when you listen to it?”
“Oh, please, Channie, this song is based on our time in Milan,” you laughed, earning another giggle from him.
Chan hummed softly, hands running up and down your thighs again. His lips traveled down your neck, fingers gently tugging at the hem of your sweatpants. “Let me help you?” You grinned and stood back up, letting him tug off your sweatpants, stepping out of them with ease. His hands roamed your skin almost immediately again, eyes taking in every detail. Back in his lap, his fingers ghost against your clothed core, drawing a soft sound from you. “May I?” he asked softly, and you nodded, gasping as his fingers gently tugged your panties aside and slipped between your folds.
All these years, and he still asked like it was the first time. He still looked at you in wonder, his fingers still mapped out every inch of your body like they hadn't done so before countless times. And god, this man always took his time, no matter how much he needed you.
Chan gave you a gentle warning before his finger pushed inside you, stretching you ever so gently. He smiled at the soft gasp that left you, his hand soothingly caressing your hip. It didn't take long until he deemed you ready, fingers stretching you perfectly.
You tugged off your panties, dropping them to the floor next to your sweatpants. Chan shuffled down his own and his boxers, lying back down. His hands found your hips as you scooted forward and braced yourself on his chest. Chan reached down between your bodies, carefully dragging the tip through your folds, bumping against your clit, which made you bite back a moan. “Relax for me, beautiful,” Chan told you before carefully pushing inside.
A low moan fell from your lips as you sank down on him, fingers curling against his chest. “God, Channie,” you moaned as you were fully seated on him.
Chan's grip on your hip grew tight, but that was the only sign of his own impatience. “You feel so good around me, baby,” he told you with a sweet smile.
You leaned down, brushing your lips against his slowly. Your foreheads touched, breath mingling, the earlier teasing melting into something softer. He always did this. No matter how worked up he was, he would slow down the moment he saw that look in your eyes. “You’re so unfair,” you murmured, fingers sliding up into his hair. “Looking at me like that.”
He huffed a quiet laugh against your mouth. “Like what?”
“Like you’re in love with me or something,” you teased.
He looked comically offended. “I am.”
Your hips moved experimentally, drawing a breathy sound from him. His head tipped back against the bench for a second, biting his lower lip to hold back the groan leaving him.
“Don’t hide from me, love,” you whispered.
“I’m not,” he answered softly. “I just…I really missed you.” You rolled your hips again, gentler this time, and his hands tightened reflexively before relaxing, thumbs tracing slow circles into your skin. His jaw clenched briefly, but his eyes stayed warm. “The weekend felt longer without you,” he admitted.
You smiled down at him, brushing your nose against his. “Dramatic.”
“Just honest,” he corrected. You began moving properly now, slowly and unhurried, setting a rhythm that deepened his breathing. His hands guided you without forcing, as if he were learning you all over again. The teasing faded again as the pace deepened slightly, your movements growing more instinctive. His voice dropped, rougher now, but still gentle. “You’re okay?”
“Yeah,” you breathed. One of his hands left your hip to cradle your face instead, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. The intimacy of it made your chest tighten. Even like this, especially like this, he treated you like something precious. Your rhythm faltered slightly as you leaned into his touch, kissing him again, slower this time.
Chan moaned softly, fingers digging deeper into your skin. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he breathed out hoarsely. “Can I take off your shirt?” he asked sweetly, and you let him do as he pleased. The way his eyes met yours right after you knew exactly what he wanted and gave him an encouraging smile. Still steadying you with one hand, Chan's other moved behind you, unclasping your bra with a swift movement.
His head dipped, plush lips traveling over your skin. The teasing edge from earlier had melted completely; what remained was slow affection. His mouth pressed gentle kisses along your collarbone and down the curve of your chest. You inhaled sharply when his breath fanned across sensitive skin, fingers tightening in his hair. “Channie…”
He hummed against you, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. One hand stayed firm on your hip, grounding you, while the other traced lazy patterns along your back. He wasn’t trying to overwhelm you; he was savoring every piece of you. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured quietly, lips brushing your skin between words.
You laughed breathlessly. Your hips moved again, slow and rolling, drawing a strained exhale from him. Chan's hands guided you a little more firmly now, helping you set a steady rhythm. His breathing deepened, chest rising beneath your palms. You leaned down to kiss him, your tongues brushing, lips parting lazily, both of you smiling into it.
“Missed this,” he confessed against your mouth.
“Missed you,” you answered gently.
His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer so there was barely any space left between your bodies. He pressed his forehead to yours again, eyes soft despite the heat building between you. “Love you so much, baby,” he whispered against your lips.
“Love you too, Channie dear,” you whispered back, kissing him lovingly. “Now let me take care of you,” you told him. You pulled back then, bracing yourself on his chest and picking up the pace.
Chan moaned below you, hands gripping your skin firmly. “Fuck, you're so pretty,” he moaned, his eyes darting as if he were unsure where to look first.
“Want me to go faster?” you asked breathlessly, and Chan nodded with a low whine. You picked up the pace once again, your skin meeting his forcefully.
Chan's head dropped back against the bench, eyes pressing closed for a mere second before he forced them back open to not miss a single second. “Shit, baby, you feel so good,” Chan moaned out shamelessly. “Taking me so well.”
You circled your hips, drawing out a low groan from him. His hand fondled up your thigh before his thumb found your clit, rubbing soft circles against it. Your hips stuttered with a whine, lashes fluttering with pleasure. “Shit, Channie, don’t stop,” you begged him softly.
Chan smiled, sitting up fully again and making you moan softly at the change of the angle. His arm wrapped around you to keep you in place, lips finding yours. Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers slipping into his hair with ease. “Wouldn’t even think of it,” he promised with a soft giggle, his thumb working your clit perfectly.
Chan’s head dips down, lips wrapping around your nipple with a soft groan. You moaned out at the extra stimulation, your cheek pressing against his hair. Chan’s hips twitched as you started clenching around him, your stomach tightening at your nearing release. Your hips stuttered, as if your body didn’t know which sensation to chase first. The grip in his hair tightens, drawing soft grunts from Chan. “Channie,” you whined in need.
Chan pulled back almost immediately and lowered you onto the bench instead. His lips found yours in a heated kiss as he started thrusting into you steadily, one hand braced against the bench, the other still circling your clit. You tugged at his tanktop and he quickly pulled it off, throwing it onto the ground. “Fuck, Y/nnie,” he panted softly against your lips, and that’s when you got an idea.
You guided his face down to your neck, his lips immediately worshipping your skin there, kissing and nibbling at it softly. Your hand fumbled for your phone on the floor, opening your camera, the other lovingly tugging at Chan’s hair. You start a video and direct the camera at the mirror above you, groaning softly at the sight of you.
His hips met yours steadily, his strong back perfectly displayed in the mirror. You moaned softly as he hit the perfect spot, wrapping your legs around his waist and meeting his thrusts eagerly. You soon ended the video, knowing he’d love seeing it, and dropped the phone back on the floor, your fingers digging into his back. “Channie, I’m close,” you moaned needily, your walls fluttering around him.
Chan groaned against your skin, nibbling at your neck. “It’s okay, baby, let go,” he told you softly, his own thrusts stuttering. “I’ve got you, baby, you did so well, come on, my sweet girl,” he rambled on breathlessly, moaning shamelessly as you clenched around him.
A loud moan of his name left your lips, thighs shaking as your orgasm washed over you full force. You tugged on his hair, whimpering in relief when he stilled inside you, painting your walls with a sinful groan. He pulled you back up and fell down against the bench himself, pulling you on top of him, as if he’d been afraid to put all his weight onto you. You sighed happily and collapsed against his chest, panting softly.
A happy giggle left Chan, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “You’ll always be my favorite workout routine,” he teased you.
“Dummy,” you smirked happily, thinking of the video you took earlier. You’d keep that for the perfect occasion to send to him, then.
MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES
Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):
Idk if u saw the new chan pic but PLEASE write something with the reader being the one taking the pic and then riding chan after!! pleasee
Railway🖤
Pairing: Chan x femReader
Word Count: 2688
Summary: Chan finishes his workout in his quiet home gym and comes up with a playful idea for a mirror-style photograph. He calls you in, positions you between his legs, and has you take a cleverly angled picture that makes it look like he snapped it himself. Things soon escalate from there on...
Warnings/Tags: fluff, teasing, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, riding Chan, mirror sex (sort of), Chan's a simp
The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the treadmill cooling down and the soft clink of metal plates settling back into place. Chan lay flat on his bench beneath the rack, arms folded loosely over his stomach, chest rising steadily after his last set. The overhead lights cast a warm glow across the ceiling mirrors he’d installed months ago, ‘for form checks,’ though you two used them for far more than that.
His phone hovered above his face as he scrolled, lips twitching as an idea popped into his head. A soft, breathy giggle escaped him. “Oh,” he murmured to himself, eyes narrowing playfully. “Stay will love that.” He tapped your contact without hesitation.
A few minutes later, you pushed open the door to his home gym, leaning against the frame. “You called?”
Chan didn’t move from the bench, just tilted his head enough to look at you upside down. His blond hair was slightly damp, strands falling messily over his forehead. He was wearing a black tank that clung to him in all the unfair ways, silver bracelets catching the light as he adjusted his grip on the bar above him. “Come here, baby,” he said, grinning.
You stepped closer, squinting your eyes at him suspiciously. “Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?” he asked innocently.
You snorted softly. “Like you’re about to commit a crime.”
He laughed, shoulders shaking faintly. “Okay, listen. I have an idea.” That alone made you snort even louder. Chan lifted his phone and held it out toward you. “Stand here,” he shifted slightly, spreading his legs just enough to indicate the space between them, “And take the picture from up there.”
You blinked at him. “So it looks like you took it in the mirror?” you asked.
His eyes lit up. “Exactly.”
You covered your mouth, already laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But am I wrong?” he countered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
You shook your head, but you stepped between his legs anyway, carefully positioning yourself so you didn’t bump the bar. From this angle, the mirror above would perfectly frame him: his broad shoulders against the bench, his arms flexed subtly just from holding his phone steady, the tank hugging his torso in a way that felt almost unfair. “Okay,” you muttered, trying to sound professional. “Hold still.”
Chan relaxed his head back against the bench, jawline sharp under the light. He adjusted his grip on his phone, bracelets sliding down his wrist, then gave you a faint, teasing look. “Do I look strong?” he asked softly.
You scoffed. “You are strong.”
“I meant aesthetically,” he smirked.
You rolled your eyes, but your gaze lingered. From up here, he looked unreal. Pretty in that effortless way he always was. His soft lips curved in a half-smile, his eyes warm and playful, hair tousled from sweat. The ceiling lights caught the gold tones in his hair, and the angle made him look both powerful and boyishly proud of himself at the same time…You forgot to press the button.
“Are you taking it?” he teased.
“Shut up,” you mumbled, finally snapping the photo as he winked up at you. The click echoed softly in the room.
Chan immediately sat up just enough to peer at the screen, crowding closer to you. His shoulder brushed yours, warm and solid. “Let me see.” You handed him the phone, trying very hard not to think about how close you were standing between his legs. His eyes widened. “Oh, that’s good.”
“Told you,” you said, crossing your arms.
He looked up at you, a grin spreading slowly. “You’re a genius.”
“You’re welcome.”
He held the phone up again, glancing at the picture one more time, then back at you. His smile softened, just a little. “You were staring,” he added quietly.
You blinked. “I was not.”
“You were.”
You huffed, stepping back. “You just look nice, okay?”
Chan’s expression shifted into something less teasing, somehow more fond. “Nice?”
You rolled your eyes again, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Very nice.”
He leaned back on his hands, still sitting on the bench, gaze following you. There was something warm in his eyes now, something that had nothing to do with gym lighting or clever camera angles. “Well,” he said softly, voice lower now. “Guess I’ll have to keep you around for future photoshoots.”
“Oh, you'll keep me around for much more than that,” you smirked knowingly as he sat up fully. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in close and burying his face in your stomach for a moment. Your hand gently sank into his hair, fingers massaging his scalp automatically.
Chan's head tilted back, glancing up at you. His ridiculously soft brown eyes met yours, and a lazy smile spread on his lips. “I missed you.”
“You always miss me,” you grinned. “You’ve only been gone for the weekend, Channie love.”
A soft pout settled on his lips. “What kind of dumb reason is that? Of course, I'll always miss you,” he told you, hands gently finding the back of your thighs, fingers spreading as he gently fondled your legs. His eyes grew heavy as he studied your face, something darker creeping in. “Missed you so fucking much, baby.”
“You mean you missed fucking me?” you asked knowingly, pulling a boyish grin from him so easily.
“What if I said yes?” Chan asked softly. “What if I told you I miss the feeling of being buried inside you, feeling you clench around me, and hearing those pretty little moans?”
You lowered yourself into his lap, smiling at him. “Then I'd tell you I'm feeling quite empty still, even though your dick is even less tucked away in those cursed grey sweatpants than usually.”
Chan's lips met yours with haste, clashing against them. His arm settled around your waist, his other hand fondling up your side, slipping beneath your shirt. You gasped into the kiss at the feeling of his hands against your skin. His finger barely traced the hem of your bra, a soft groan rising from his chest. “Ride me?”
You chuckled, humming softly against his lips. “Is that a good time to put on Railway, Mr. Brace yourself, take a seat?”
Chan's ears turned red, a giddy giggle leaving him. “Yeah? You think of that when you listen to it?”
“Oh, please, Channie, this song is based on our time in Milan,” you laughed, earning another giggle from him.
Chan hummed softly, hands running up and down your thighs again. His lips traveled down your neck, fingers gently tugging at the hem of your sweatpants. “Let me help you?” You grinned and stood back up, letting him tug off your sweatpants, stepping out of them with ease. His hands roamed your skin almost immediately again, eyes taking in every detail. Back in his lap, his fingers ghost against your clothed core, drawing a soft sound from you. “May I?” he asked softly, and you nodded, gasping as his fingers gently tugged your panties aside and slipped between your folds.
All these years, and he still asked like it was the first time. He still looked at you in wonder, his fingers still mapped out every inch of your body like they hadn't done so before countless times. And god, this man always took his time, no matter how much he needed you.
Chan gave you a gentle warning before his finger pushed inside you, stretching you ever so gently. He smiled at the soft gasp that left you, his hand soothingly caressing your hip. It didn't take long until he deemed you ready, fingers stretching you perfectly.
You tugged off your panties, dropping them to the floor next to your sweatpants. Chan shuffled down his own and his boxers, lying back down. His hands found your hips as you scooted forward and braced yourself on his chest. Chan reached down between your bodies, carefully dragging the tip through your folds, bumping against your clit, which made you bite back a moan. “Relax for me, beautiful,” Chan told you before carefully pushing inside.
A low moan fell from your lips as you sank down on him, fingers curling against his chest. “God, Channie,” you moaned as you were fully seated on him.
Chan's grip on your hip grew tight, but that was the only sign of his own impatience. “You feel so good around me, baby,” he told you with a sweet smile.
You leaned down, brushing your lips against his slowly. Your foreheads touched, breath mingling, the earlier teasing melting into something softer. He always did this. No matter how worked up he was, he would slow down the moment he saw that look in your eyes. “You’re so unfair,” you murmured, fingers sliding up into his hair. “Looking at me like that.”
He huffed a quiet laugh against your mouth. “Like what?”
“Like you’re in love with me or something,” you teased.
He looked comically offended. “I am.”
Your hips moved experimentally, drawing a breathy sound from him. His head tipped back against the bench for a second, biting his lower lip to hold back the groan leaving him.
“Don’t hide from me, love,” you whispered.
“I’m not,” he answered softly. “I just…I really missed you.” You rolled your hips again, gentler this time, and his hands tightened reflexively before relaxing, thumbs tracing slow circles into your skin. His jaw clenched briefly, but his eyes stayed warm. “The weekend felt longer without you,” he admitted.
You smiled down at him, brushing your nose against his. “Dramatic.”
“Just honest,” he corrected. You began moving properly now, slowly and unhurried, setting a rhythm that deepened his breathing. His hands guided you without forcing, as if he were learning you all over again. The teasing faded again as the pace deepened slightly, your movements growing more instinctive. His voice dropped, rougher now, but still gentle. “You’re okay?”
“Yeah,” you breathed. One of his hands left your hip to cradle your face instead, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. The intimacy of it made your chest tighten. Even like this, especially like this, he treated you like something precious. Your rhythm faltered slightly as you leaned into his touch, kissing him again, slower this time.
Chan moaned softly, fingers digging deeper into your skin. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he breathed out hoarsely. “Can I take off your shirt?” he asked sweetly, and you let him do as he pleased. The way his eyes met yours right after you knew exactly what he wanted and gave him an encouraging smile. Still steadying you with one hand, Chan's other moved behind you, unclasping your bra with a swift movement.
His head dipped, plush lips traveling over your skin. The teasing edge from earlier had melted completely; what remained was slow affection. His mouth pressed gentle kisses along your collarbone and down the curve of your chest. You inhaled sharply when his breath fanned across sensitive skin, fingers tightening in his hair. “Channie…”
He hummed against you, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. One hand stayed firm on your hip, grounding you, while the other traced lazy patterns along your back. He wasn’t trying to overwhelm you; he was savoring every piece of you. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured quietly, lips brushing your skin between words.
You laughed breathlessly. Your hips moved again, slow and rolling, drawing a strained exhale from him. Chan's hands guided you a little more firmly now, helping you set a steady rhythm. His breathing deepened, chest rising beneath your palms. You leaned down to kiss him, your tongues brushing, lips parting lazily, both of you smiling into it.
“Missed this,” he confessed against your mouth.
“Missed you,” you answered gently.
His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer so there was barely any space left between your bodies. He pressed his forehead to yours again, eyes soft despite the heat building between you. “Love you so much, baby,” he whispered against your lips.
“Love you too, Channie dear,” you whispered back, kissing him lovingly. “Now let me take care of you,” you told him. You pulled back then, bracing yourself on his chest and picking up the pace.
Chan moaned below you, hands gripping your skin firmly. “Fuck, you're so pretty,” he moaned, his eyes darting as if he were unsure where to look first.
“Want me to go faster?” you asked breathlessly, and Chan nodded with a low whine. You picked up the pace once again, your skin meeting his forcefully.
Chan's head dropped back against the bench, eyes pressing closed for a mere second before he forced them back open to not miss a single second. “Shit, baby, you feel so good,” Chan moaned out shamelessly. “Taking me so well.”
You circled your hips, drawing out a low groan from him. His hand fondled up your thigh before his thumb found your clit, rubbing soft circles against it. Your hips stuttered with a whine, lashes fluttering with pleasure. “Shit, Channie, don’t stop,” you begged him softly.
Chan smiled, sitting up fully again and making you moan softly at the change of the angle. His arm wrapped around you to keep you in place, lips finding yours. Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers slipping into his hair with ease. “Wouldn’t even think of it,” he promised with a soft giggle, his thumb working your clit perfectly.
Chan’s head dips down, lips wrapping around your nipple with a soft groan. You moaned out at the extra stimulation, your cheek pressing against his hair. Chan’s hips twitched as you started clenching around him, your stomach tightening at your nearing release. Your hips stuttered, as if your body didn’t know which sensation to chase first. The grip in his hair tightens, drawing soft grunts from Chan. “Channie,” you whined in need.
Chan pulled back almost immediately and lowered you onto the bench instead. His lips found yours in a heated kiss as he started thrusting into you steadily, one hand braced against the bench, the other still circling your clit. You tugged at his tanktop and he quickly pulled it off, throwing it onto the ground. “Fuck, Y/nnie,” he panted softly against your lips, and that’s when you got an idea.
You guided his face down to your neck, his lips immediately worshipping your skin there, kissing and nibbling at it softly. Your hand fumbled for your phone on the floor, opening your camera, the other lovingly tugging at Chan’s hair. You start a video and direct the camera at the mirror above you, groaning softly at the sight of you.
His hips met yours steadily, his strong back perfectly displayed in the mirror. You moaned softly as he hit the perfect spot, wrapping your legs around his waist and meeting his thrusts eagerly. You soon ended the video, knowing he’d love seeing it, and dropped the phone back on the floor, your fingers digging into his back. “Channie, I’m close,” you moaned needily, your walls fluttering around him.
Chan groaned against your skin, nibbling at your neck. “It’s okay, baby, let go,” he told you softly, his own thrusts stuttering. “I’ve got you, baby, you did so well, come on, my sweet girl,” he rambled on breathlessly, moaning shamelessly as you clenched around him.
A loud moan of his name left your lips, thighs shaking as your orgasm washed over you full force. You tugged on his hair, whimpering in relief when he stilled inside you, painting your walls with a sinful groan. He pulled you back up and fell down against the bench himself, pulling you on top of him, as if he’d been afraid to put all his weight onto you. You sighed happily and collapsed against his chest, panting softly.
A happy giggle left Chan, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “You’ll always be my favorite workout routine,” he teased you.
“Dummy,” you smirked happily, thinking of the video you took earlier. You’d keep that for the perfect occasion to send to him, then.
MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES
Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Idk if u saw the new chan pic but PLEASE write something with the reader being the one taking the pic and then riding chan after!! pleasee
Railway🖤
Pairing: Chan x femReader
Word Count: 2688
Summary: Chan finishes his workout in his quiet home gym and comes up with a playful idea for a mirror-style photograph. He calls you in, positions you between his legs, and has you take a cleverly angled picture that makes it look like he snapped it himself. Things soon escalate from there on...
Warnings/Tags: fluff, teasing, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, riding Chan, mirror sex (sort of), Chan's a simp
The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the treadmill cooling down and the soft clink of metal plates settling back into place. Chan lay flat on his bench beneath the rack, arms folded loosely over his stomach, chest rising steadily after his last set. The overhead lights cast a warm glow across the ceiling mirrors he’d installed months ago, ‘for form checks,’ though you two used them for far more than that.
His phone hovered above his face as he scrolled, lips twitching as an idea popped into his head. A soft, breathy giggle escaped him. “Oh,” he murmured to himself, eyes narrowing playfully. “Stay will love that.” He tapped your contact without hesitation.
A few minutes later, you pushed open the door to his home gym, leaning against the frame. “You called?”
Chan didn’t move from the bench, just tilted his head enough to look at you upside down. His blond hair was slightly damp, strands falling messily over his forehead. He was wearing a black tank that clung to him in all the unfair ways, silver bracelets catching the light as he adjusted his grip on the bar above him. “Come here, baby,” he said, grinning.
You stepped closer, squinting your eyes at him suspiciously. “Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?” he asked innocently.
You snorted softly. “Like you’re about to commit a crime.”
He laughed, shoulders shaking faintly. “Okay, listen. I have an idea.” That alone made you snort even louder. Chan lifted his phone and held it out toward you. “Stand here,” he shifted slightly, spreading his legs just enough to indicate the space between them, “And take the picture from up there.”
You blinked at him. “So it looks like you took it in the mirror?” you asked.
His eyes lit up. “Exactly.”
You covered your mouth, already laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But am I wrong?” he countered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
You shook your head, but you stepped between his legs anyway, carefully positioning yourself so you didn’t bump the bar. From this angle, the mirror above would perfectly frame him: his broad shoulders against the bench, his arms flexed subtly just from holding his phone steady, the tank hugging his torso in a way that felt almost unfair. “Okay,” you muttered, trying to sound professional. “Hold still.”
Chan relaxed his head back against the bench, jawline sharp under the light. He adjusted his grip on his phone, bracelets sliding down his wrist, then gave you a faint, teasing look. “Do I look strong?” he asked softly.
You scoffed. “You are strong.”
“I meant aesthetically,” he smirked.
You rolled your eyes, but your gaze lingered. From up here, he looked unreal. Pretty in that effortless way he always was. His soft lips curved in a half-smile, his eyes warm and playful, hair tousled from sweat. The ceiling lights caught the gold tones in his hair, and the angle made him look both powerful and boyishly proud of himself at the same time…You forgot to press the button.
“Are you taking it?” he teased.
“Shut up,” you mumbled, finally snapping the photo as he winked up at you. The click echoed softly in the room.
Chan immediately sat up just enough to peer at the screen, crowding closer to you. His shoulder brushed yours, warm and solid. “Let me see.” You handed him the phone, trying very hard not to think about how close you were standing between his legs. His eyes widened. “Oh, that’s good.”
“Told you,” you said, crossing your arms.
He looked up at you, a grin spreading slowly. “You’re a genius.”
“You’re welcome.”
He held the phone up again, glancing at the picture one more time, then back at you. His smile softened, just a little. “You were staring,” he added quietly.
You blinked. “I was not.”
“You were.”
You huffed, stepping back. “You just look nice, okay?”
Chan’s expression shifted into something less teasing, somehow more fond. “Nice?”
You rolled your eyes again, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Very nice.”
He leaned back on his hands, still sitting on the bench, gaze following you. There was something warm in his eyes now, something that had nothing to do with gym lighting or clever camera angles. “Well,” he said softly, voice lower now. “Guess I’ll have to keep you around for future photoshoots.”
“Oh, you'll keep me around for much more than that,” you smirked knowingly as he sat up fully. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in close and burying his face in your stomach for a moment. Your hand gently sank into his hair, fingers massaging his scalp automatically.
Chan's head tilted back, glancing up at you. His ridiculously soft brown eyes met yours, and a lazy smile spread on his lips. “I missed you.”
“You always miss me,” you grinned. “You’ve only been gone for the weekend, Channie love.”
A soft pout settled on his lips. “What kind of dumb reason is that? Of course, I'll always miss you,” he told you, hands gently finding the back of your thighs, fingers spreading as he gently fondled your legs. His eyes grew heavy as he studied your face, something darker creeping in. “Missed you so fucking much, baby.”
“You mean you missed fucking me?” you asked knowingly, pulling a boyish grin from him so easily.
“What if I said yes?” Chan asked softly. “What if I told you I miss the feeling of being buried inside you, feeling you clench around me, and hearing those pretty little moans?”
You lowered yourself into his lap, smiling at him. “Then I'd tell you I'm feeling quite empty still, even though your dick is even less tucked away in those cursed grey sweatpants than usually.”
Chan's lips met yours with haste, clashing against them. His arm settled around your waist, his other hand fondling up your side, slipping beneath your shirt. You gasped into the kiss at the feeling of his hands against your skin. His finger barely traced the hem of your bra, a soft groan rising from his chest. “Ride me?”
You chuckled, humming softly against his lips. “Is that a good time to put on Railway, Mr. Brace yourself, take a seat?”
Chan's ears turned red, a giddy giggle leaving him. “Yeah? You think of that when you listen to it?”
“Oh, please, Channie, this song is based on our time in Milan,” you laughed, earning another giggle from him.
Chan hummed softly, hands running up and down your thighs again. His lips traveled down your neck, fingers gently tugging at the hem of your sweatpants. “Let me help you?” You grinned and stood back up, letting him tug off your sweatpants, stepping out of them with ease. His hands roamed your skin almost immediately again, eyes taking in every detail. Back in his lap, his fingers ghost against your clothed core, drawing a soft sound from you. “May I?” he asked softly, and you nodded, gasping as his fingers gently tugged your panties aside and slipped between your folds.
All these years, and he still asked like it was the first time. He still looked at you in wonder, his fingers still mapped out every inch of your body like they hadn't done so before countless times. And god, this man always took his time, no matter how much he needed you.
Chan gave you a gentle warning before his finger pushed inside you, stretching you ever so gently. He smiled at the soft gasp that left you, his hand soothingly caressing your hip. It didn't take long until he deemed you ready, fingers stretching you perfectly.
You tugged off your panties, dropping them to the floor next to your sweatpants. Chan shuffled down his own and his boxers, lying back down. His hands found your hips as you scooted forward and braced yourself on his chest. Chan reached down between your bodies, carefully dragging the tip through your folds, bumping against your clit, which made you bite back a moan. “Relax for me, beautiful,” Chan told you before carefully pushing inside.
A low moan fell from your lips as you sank down on him, fingers curling against his chest. “God, Channie,” you moaned as you were fully seated on him.
Chan's grip on your hip grew tight, but that was the only sign of his own impatience. “You feel so good around me, baby,” he told you with a sweet smile.
You leaned down, brushing your lips against his slowly. Your foreheads touched, breath mingling, the earlier teasing melting into something softer. He always did this. No matter how worked up he was, he would slow down the moment he saw that look in your eyes. “You’re so unfair,” you murmured, fingers sliding up into his hair. “Looking at me like that.”
He huffed a quiet laugh against your mouth. “Like what?”
“Like you’re in love with me or something,” you teased.
He looked comically offended. “I am.”
Your hips moved experimentally, drawing a breathy sound from him. His head tipped back against the bench for a second, biting his lower lip to hold back the groan leaving him.
“Don’t hide from me, love,” you whispered.
“I’m not,” he answered softly. “I just…I really missed you.” You rolled your hips again, gentler this time, and his hands tightened reflexively before relaxing, thumbs tracing slow circles into your skin. His jaw clenched briefly, but his eyes stayed warm. “The weekend felt longer without you,” he admitted.
You smiled down at him, brushing your nose against his. “Dramatic.”
“Just honest,” he corrected. You began moving properly now, slowly and unhurried, setting a rhythm that deepened his breathing. His hands guided you without forcing, as if he were learning you all over again. The teasing faded again as the pace deepened slightly, your movements growing more instinctive. His voice dropped, rougher now, but still gentle. “You’re okay?”
“Yeah,” you breathed. One of his hands left your hip to cradle your face instead, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. The intimacy of it made your chest tighten. Even like this, especially like this, he treated you like something precious. Your rhythm faltered slightly as you leaned into his touch, kissing him again, slower this time.
Chan moaned softly, fingers digging deeper into your skin. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he breathed out hoarsely. “Can I take off your shirt?” he asked sweetly, and you let him do as he pleased. The way his eyes met yours right after you knew exactly what he wanted and gave him an encouraging smile. Still steadying you with one hand, Chan's other moved behind you, unclasping your bra with a swift movement.
His head dipped, plush lips traveling over your skin. The teasing edge from earlier had melted completely; what remained was slow affection. His mouth pressed gentle kisses along your collarbone and down the curve of your chest. You inhaled sharply when his breath fanned across sensitive skin, fingers tightening in his hair. “Channie…”
He hummed against you, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. One hand stayed firm on your hip, grounding you, while the other traced lazy patterns along your back. He wasn’t trying to overwhelm you; he was savoring every piece of you. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured quietly, lips brushing your skin between words.
You laughed breathlessly. Your hips moved again, slow and rolling, drawing a strained exhale from him. Chan's hands guided you a little more firmly now, helping you set a steady rhythm. His breathing deepened, chest rising beneath your palms. You leaned down to kiss him, your tongues brushing, lips parting lazily, both of you smiling into it.
“Missed this,” he confessed against your mouth.
“Missed you,” you answered gently.
His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer so there was barely any space left between your bodies. He pressed his forehead to yours again, eyes soft despite the heat building between you. “Love you so much, baby,” he whispered against your lips.
“Love you too, Channie dear,” you whispered back, kissing him lovingly. “Now let me take care of you,” you told him. You pulled back then, bracing yourself on his chest and picking up the pace.
Chan moaned below you, hands gripping your skin firmly. “Fuck, you're so pretty,” he moaned, his eyes darting as if he were unsure where to look first.
“Want me to go faster?” you asked breathlessly, and Chan nodded with a low whine. You picked up the pace once again, your skin meeting his forcefully.
Chan's head dropped back against the bench, eyes pressing closed for a mere second before he forced them back open to not miss a single second. “Shit, baby, you feel so good,” Chan moaned out shamelessly. “Taking me so well.”
You circled your hips, drawing out a low groan from him. His hand fondled up your thigh before his thumb found your clit, rubbing soft circles against it. Your hips stuttered with a whine, lashes fluttering with pleasure. “Shit, Channie, don’t stop,” you begged him softly.
Chan smiled, sitting up fully again and making you moan softly at the change of the angle. His arm wrapped around you to keep you in place, lips finding yours. Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers slipping into his hair with ease. “Wouldn’t even think of it,” he promised with a soft giggle, his thumb working your clit perfectly.
Chan’s head dips down, lips wrapping around your nipple with a soft groan. You moaned out at the extra stimulation, your cheek pressing against his hair. Chan’s hips twitched as you started clenching around him, your stomach tightening at your nearing release. Your hips stuttered, as if your body didn’t know which sensation to chase first. The grip in his hair tightens, drawing soft grunts from Chan. “Channie,” you whined in need.
Chan pulled back almost immediately and lowered you onto the bench instead. His lips found yours in a heated kiss as he started thrusting into you steadily, one hand braced against the bench, the other still circling your clit. You tugged at his tanktop and he quickly pulled it off, throwing it onto the ground. “Fuck, Y/nnie,” he panted softly against your lips, and that’s when you got an idea.
You guided his face down to your neck, his lips immediately worshipping your skin there, kissing and nibbling at it softly. Your hand fumbled for your phone on the floor, opening your camera, the other lovingly tugging at Chan’s hair. You start a video and direct the camera at the mirror above you, groaning softly at the sight of you.
His hips met yours steadily, his strong back perfectly displayed in the mirror. You moaned softly as he hit the perfect spot, wrapping your legs around his waist and meeting his thrusts eagerly. You soon ended the video, knowing he’d love seeing it, and dropped the phone back on the floor, your fingers digging into his back. “Channie, I’m close,” you moaned needily, your walls fluttering around him.
Chan groaned against your skin, nibbling at your neck. “It’s okay, baby, let go,” he told you softly, his own thrusts stuttering. “I’ve got you, baby, you did so well, come on, my sweet girl,” he rambled on breathlessly, moaning shamelessly as you clenched around him.
A loud moan of his name left your lips, thighs shaking as your orgasm washed over you full force. You tugged on his hair, whimpering in relief when he stilled inside you, painting your walls with a sinful groan. He pulled you back up and fell down against the bench himself, pulling you on top of him, as if he’d been afraid to put all his weight onto you. You sighed happily and collapsed against his chest, panting softly.
A happy giggle left Chan, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “You’ll always be my favorite workout routine,” he teased you.
“Dummy,” you smirked happily, thinking of the video you took earlier. You’d keep that for the perfect occasion to send to him, then.
MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES
Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):
Idk if u saw the new chan pic but PLEASE write something with the reader being the one taking the pic and then riding chan after!! pleasee
Railway🖤
Pairing: Chan x femReader
Word Count: 2688
Summary: Chan finishes his workout in his quiet home gym and comes up with a playful idea for a mirror-style photograph. He calls you in, positions you between his legs, and has you take a cleverly angled picture that makes it look like he snapped it himself. Things soon escalate from there on...
Warnings/Tags: fluff, teasing, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, riding Chan, mirror sex (sort of), Chan's a simp
The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the treadmill cooling down and the soft clink of metal plates settling back into place. Chan lay flat on his bench beneath the rack, arms folded loosely over his stomach, chest rising steadily after his last set. The overhead lights cast a warm glow across the ceiling mirrors he’d installed months ago, ‘for form checks,’ though you two used them for far more than that.
His phone hovered above his face as he scrolled, lips twitching as an idea popped into his head. A soft, breathy giggle escaped him. “Oh,” he murmured to himself, eyes narrowing playfully. “Stay will love that.” He tapped your contact without hesitation.
A few minutes later, you pushed open the door to his home gym, leaning against the frame. “You called?”
Chan didn’t move from the bench, just tilted his head enough to look at you upside down. His blond hair was slightly damp, strands falling messily over his forehead. He was wearing a black tank that clung to him in all the unfair ways, silver bracelets catching the light as he adjusted his grip on the bar above him. “Come here, baby,” he said, grinning.
You stepped closer, squinting your eyes at him suspiciously. “Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?” he asked innocently.
You snorted softly. “Like you’re about to commit a crime.”
He laughed, shoulders shaking faintly. “Okay, listen. I have an idea.” That alone made you snort even louder. Chan lifted his phone and held it out toward you. “Stand here,” he shifted slightly, spreading his legs just enough to indicate the space between them, “And take the picture from up there.”
You blinked at him. “So it looks like you took it in the mirror?” you asked.
His eyes lit up. “Exactly.”
You covered your mouth, already laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But am I wrong?” he countered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
You shook your head, but you stepped between his legs anyway, carefully positioning yourself so you didn’t bump the bar. From this angle, the mirror above would perfectly frame him: his broad shoulders against the bench, his arms flexed subtly just from holding his phone steady, the tank hugging his torso in a way that felt almost unfair. “Okay,” you muttered, trying to sound professional. “Hold still.”
Chan relaxed his head back against the bench, jawline sharp under the light. He adjusted his grip on his phone, bracelets sliding down his wrist, then gave you a faint, teasing look. “Do I look strong?” he asked softly.
You scoffed. “You are strong.”
“I meant aesthetically,” he smirked.
You rolled your eyes, but your gaze lingered. From up here, he looked unreal. Pretty in that effortless way he always was. His soft lips curved in a half-smile, his eyes warm and playful, hair tousled from sweat. The ceiling lights caught the gold tones in his hair, and the angle made him look both powerful and boyishly proud of himself at the same time…You forgot to press the button.
“Are you taking it?” he teased.
“Shut up,” you mumbled, finally snapping the photo as he winked up at you. The click echoed softly in the room.
Chan immediately sat up just enough to peer at the screen, crowding closer to you. His shoulder brushed yours, warm and solid. “Let me see.” You handed him the phone, trying very hard not to think about how close you were standing between his legs. His eyes widened. “Oh, that’s good.”
“Told you,” you said, crossing your arms.
He looked up at you, a grin spreading slowly. “You’re a genius.”
“You’re welcome.”
He held the phone up again, glancing at the picture one more time, then back at you. His smile softened, just a little. “You were staring,” he added quietly.
You blinked. “I was not.”
“You were.”
You huffed, stepping back. “You just look nice, okay?”
Chan’s expression shifted into something less teasing, somehow more fond. “Nice?”
You rolled your eyes again, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Very nice.”
He leaned back on his hands, still sitting on the bench, gaze following you. There was something warm in his eyes now, something that had nothing to do with gym lighting or clever camera angles. “Well,” he said softly, voice lower now. “Guess I’ll have to keep you around for future photoshoots.”
“Oh, you'll keep me around for much more than that,” you smirked knowingly as he sat up fully. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in close and burying his face in your stomach for a moment. Your hand gently sank into his hair, fingers massaging his scalp automatically.
Chan's head tilted back, glancing up at you. His ridiculously soft brown eyes met yours, and a lazy smile spread on his lips. “I missed you.”
“You always miss me,” you grinned. “You’ve only been gone for the weekend, Channie love.”
A soft pout settled on his lips. “What kind of dumb reason is that? Of course, I'll always miss you,” he told you, hands gently finding the back of your thighs, fingers spreading as he gently fondled your legs. His eyes grew heavy as he studied your face, something darker creeping in. “Missed you so fucking much, baby.”
“You mean you missed fucking me?” you asked knowingly, pulling a boyish grin from him so easily.
“What if I said yes?” Chan asked softly. “What if I told you I miss the feeling of being buried inside you, feeling you clench around me, and hearing those pretty little moans?”
You lowered yourself into his lap, smiling at him. “Then I'd tell you I'm feeling quite empty still, even though your dick is even less tucked away in those cursed grey sweatpants than usually.”
Chan's lips met yours with haste, clashing against them. His arm settled around your waist, his other hand fondling up your side, slipping beneath your shirt. You gasped into the kiss at the feeling of his hands against your skin. His finger barely traced the hem of your bra, a soft groan rising from his chest. “Ride me?”
You chuckled, humming softly against his lips. “Is that a good time to put on Railway, Mr. Brace yourself, take a seat?”
Chan's ears turned red, a giddy giggle leaving him. “Yeah? You think of that when you listen to it?”
“Oh, please, Channie, this song is based on our time in Milan,” you laughed, earning another giggle from him.
Chan hummed softly, hands running up and down your thighs again. His lips traveled down your neck, fingers gently tugging at the hem of your sweatpants. “Let me help you?” You grinned and stood back up, letting him tug off your sweatpants, stepping out of them with ease. His hands roamed your skin almost immediately again, eyes taking in every detail. Back in his lap, his fingers ghost against your clothed core, drawing a soft sound from you. “May I?” he asked softly, and you nodded, gasping as his fingers gently tugged your panties aside and slipped between your folds.
All these years, and he still asked like it was the first time. He still looked at you in wonder, his fingers still mapped out every inch of your body like they hadn't done so before countless times. And god, this man always took his time, no matter how much he needed you.
Chan gave you a gentle warning before his finger pushed inside you, stretching you ever so gently. He smiled at the soft gasp that left you, his hand soothingly caressing your hip. It didn't take long until he deemed you ready, fingers stretching you perfectly.
You tugged off your panties, dropping them to the floor next to your sweatpants. Chan shuffled down his own and his boxers, lying back down. His hands found your hips as you scooted forward and braced yourself on his chest. Chan reached down between your bodies, carefully dragging the tip through your folds, bumping against your clit, which made you bite back a moan. “Relax for me, beautiful,” Chan told you before carefully pushing inside.
A low moan fell from your lips as you sank down on him, fingers curling against his chest. “God, Channie,” you moaned as you were fully seated on him.
Chan's grip on your hip grew tight, but that was the only sign of his own impatience. “You feel so good around me, baby,” he told you with a sweet smile.
You leaned down, brushing your lips against his slowly. Your foreheads touched, breath mingling, the earlier teasing melting into something softer. He always did this. No matter how worked up he was, he would slow down the moment he saw that look in your eyes. “You’re so unfair,” you murmured, fingers sliding up into his hair. “Looking at me like that.”
He huffed a quiet laugh against your mouth. “Like what?”
“Like you’re in love with me or something,” you teased.
He looked comically offended. “I am.”
Your hips moved experimentally, drawing a breathy sound from him. His head tipped back against the bench for a second, biting his lower lip to hold back the groan leaving him.
“Don’t hide from me, love,” you whispered.
“I’m not,” he answered softly. “I just…I really missed you.” You rolled your hips again, gentler this time, and his hands tightened reflexively before relaxing, thumbs tracing slow circles into your skin. His jaw clenched briefly, but his eyes stayed warm. “The weekend felt longer without you,” he admitted.
You smiled down at him, brushing your nose against his. “Dramatic.”
“Just honest,” he corrected. You began moving properly now, slowly and unhurried, setting a rhythm that deepened his breathing. His hands guided you without forcing, as if he were learning you all over again. The teasing faded again as the pace deepened slightly, your movements growing more instinctive. His voice dropped, rougher now, but still gentle. “You’re okay?”
“Yeah,” you breathed. One of his hands left your hip to cradle your face instead, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. The intimacy of it made your chest tighten. Even like this, especially like this, he treated you like something precious. Your rhythm faltered slightly as you leaned into his touch, kissing him again, slower this time.
Chan moaned softly, fingers digging deeper into your skin. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he breathed out hoarsely. “Can I take off your shirt?” he asked sweetly, and you let him do as he pleased. The way his eyes met yours right after you knew exactly what he wanted and gave him an encouraging smile. Still steadying you with one hand, Chan's other moved behind you, unclasping your bra with a swift movement.
His head dipped, plush lips traveling over your skin. The teasing edge from earlier had melted completely; what remained was slow affection. His mouth pressed gentle kisses along your collarbone and down the curve of your chest. You inhaled sharply when his breath fanned across sensitive skin, fingers tightening in his hair. “Channie…”
He hummed against you, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. One hand stayed firm on your hip, grounding you, while the other traced lazy patterns along your back. He wasn’t trying to overwhelm you; he was savoring every piece of you. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured quietly, lips brushing your skin between words.
You laughed breathlessly. Your hips moved again, slow and rolling, drawing a strained exhale from him. Chan's hands guided you a little more firmly now, helping you set a steady rhythm. His breathing deepened, chest rising beneath your palms. You leaned down to kiss him, your tongues brushing, lips parting lazily, both of you smiling into it.
“Missed this,” he confessed against your mouth.
“Missed you,” you answered gently.
His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer so there was barely any space left between your bodies. He pressed his forehead to yours again, eyes soft despite the heat building between you. “Love you so much, baby,” he whispered against your lips.
“Love you too, Channie dear,” you whispered back, kissing him lovingly. “Now let me take care of you,” you told him. You pulled back then, bracing yourself on his chest and picking up the pace.
Chan moaned below you, hands gripping your skin firmly. “Fuck, you're so pretty,” he moaned, his eyes darting as if he were unsure where to look first.
“Want me to go faster?” you asked breathlessly, and Chan nodded with a low whine. You picked up the pace once again, your skin meeting his forcefully.
Chan's head dropped back against the bench, eyes pressing closed for a mere second before he forced them back open to not miss a single second. “Shit, baby, you feel so good,” Chan moaned out shamelessly. “Taking me so well.”
You circled your hips, drawing out a low groan from him. His hand fondled up your thigh before his thumb found your clit, rubbing soft circles against it. Your hips stuttered with a whine, lashes fluttering with pleasure. “Shit, Channie, don’t stop,” you begged him softly.
Chan smiled, sitting up fully again and making you moan softly at the change of the angle. His arm wrapped around you to keep you in place, lips finding yours. Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers slipping into his hair with ease. “Wouldn’t even think of it,” he promised with a soft giggle, his thumb working your clit perfectly.
Chan’s head dips down, lips wrapping around your nipple with a soft groan. You moaned out at the extra stimulation, your cheek pressing against his hair. Chan’s hips twitched as you started clenching around him, your stomach tightening at your nearing release. Your hips stuttered, as if your body didn’t know which sensation to chase first. The grip in his hair tightens, drawing soft grunts from Chan. “Channie,” you whined in need.
Chan pulled back almost immediately and lowered you onto the bench instead. His lips found yours in a heated kiss as he started thrusting into you steadily, one hand braced against the bench, the other still circling your clit. You tugged at his tanktop and he quickly pulled it off, throwing it onto the ground. “Fuck, Y/nnie,” he panted softly against your lips, and that’s when you got an idea.
You guided his face down to your neck, his lips immediately worshipping your skin there, kissing and nibbling at it softly. Your hand fumbled for your phone on the floor, opening your camera, the other lovingly tugging at Chan’s hair. You start a video and direct the camera at the mirror above you, groaning softly at the sight of you.
His hips met yours steadily, his strong back perfectly displayed in the mirror. You moaned softly as he hit the perfect spot, wrapping your legs around his waist and meeting his thrusts eagerly. You soon ended the video, knowing he’d love seeing it, and dropped the phone back on the floor, your fingers digging into his back. “Channie, I’m close,” you moaned needily, your walls fluttering around him.
Chan groaned against your skin, nibbling at your neck. “It’s okay, baby, let go,” he told you softly, his own thrusts stuttering. “I’ve got you, baby, you did so well, come on, my sweet girl,” he rambled on breathlessly, moaning shamelessly as you clenched around him.
A loud moan of his name left your lips, thighs shaking as your orgasm washed over you full force. You tugged on his hair, whimpering in relief when he stilled inside you, painting your walls with a sinful groan. He pulled you back up and fell down against the bench himself, pulling you on top of him, as if he’d been afraid to put all his weight onto you. You sighed happily and collapsed against his chest, panting softly.
A happy giggle left Chan, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “You’ll always be my favorite workout routine,” he teased you.
“Dummy,” you smirked happily, thinking of the video you took earlier. You’d keep that for the perfect occasion to send to him, then.
MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES
Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):
Summary: Even though they're both caught up in their day-to-day lives, they can't help but fall for each other. Chan's birthday seems like a good opportunity to clear some things up, Minho receives an extra present on his birthday.
Warnings/Tags: domestic bullshit, chef!Chan, dance instructor!Min, friends to lovers, loads of playful banter, hurt!comfort, first kiss, first time, smut, fluff, bottom!min, top!chan
A/N: It took me a while to finish that one, but at least you saw parts of it already. I hope you like your part two @moridiare🖤
I put a divider like this where the smut starts - after that the rest of the fic is not safe anymore for everyone who doesn't enjoy smut🖤
Morning light slips in through the half-open curtains, catching on the dust motes floating lazily above the kitchen counter. The place smells faintly like coffee beans and fabric softener; Chan’s fault, both of them. Minho is up first. He moves through the apartment quietly, not wanting to wake Chan, who often forgets to close his bedroom door. He's barefoot, his hair is still mussed, and a black hoodie is tugged on over sleep-soft clothes. He pours water into a glass, downs it in practiced gulps, then rolls his shoulders once, already stretching muscle into readiness.
From Chan's bedroom comes a groan. “Min,” Chan mutters from under the blankets. “It’s illegal to move before eight.”
Minho smirks, opening the fridge. “You’re the one who catered a six-course tasting menu until two a.m.”
Chan peers out just enough for one eye to glare at him. “That doesn’t mean the sun gets rights.”
Minho grabs a banana and taps it lightly against Chan’s forehead as he passes. “You’ll survive.” Then he gets ready for his day, taking a cold shower and dressing up.
He heads for the door with his dance bag slung over his shoulder. It contains shoes, a towel, a water bottle, and that ridiculous little first-aid kit he insists on carrying for his students. Before he leaves, he pauses to look back. Chan’s already half asleep again, but Minho turns off the bedroom light anyway.
-
Minho stands at the front, arms crossed, eyes sharp as his students run the combination again. He counts softly under his breath, correcting their posture with a tap to the shoulder. “Again,” he says, voice even. “From the top.”
During the break, he checks his phone. One new message.
Channie👨🏻🍳🍮: Do you want something warm when you get back? I’m testing sauces later.
Min💃🏻🐈⬛: Yes. Also don’t burn the apartment down.
Channie👨🏻🍳🍮: I have never burned anything down.
Chan’s day is quieter, but no less intense. By noon, he’s in someone else’s kitchen with marble counters, gold fixtures, and a view that costs more than their entire apartment. He works with his sleeves rolled up, his movements efficient, controlled, and careful. The clients float around him, sipping wine, murmuring praise, barely noticing the way he grounds the entire evening.
He plates with intention. Every dish feels personal, even when it isn’t. By the time he’s home again, groceries in one arm and exhaustion settling into his bones, the apartment smells like soy, garlic, and something sweet he hasn’t named yet.
Minho comes in not long after, hair damp from a shower at the studio, cheeks flushed, shoulders loose with spent energy. “You smell good,” Minho says, toeing off his shoes.
“That’s the food,” Chan replies automatically, stirring. “You too,” he adds much quieter.
Minho pauses to look at him. Something warm flickers in his eyes as he does. They move around each other without thinking; Minho’s washing his hands at the sink while Chan reaches past him for oil, Chan’s leaning back just enough for Minho to open a drawer. It’s a choreography they never rehearsed.
Dinner is simple and shared on the couch with their knees touching. Minho steals bites off Chan’s plate like he always does. Later, Minho stretches on the floor, legs up against the wall, while Chan cleans. When Chan joins him, Minho wordlessly tugs him down too, draping one arm over his chest. “Long day?” Chan murmurs.
“Mhm.”
“Good classes?”
Minho nods. “They worked hard.”
Chan smiles at the ceiling. “You’re good with them.”
Minho hums, fingers idly tracing the seam of Chan’s shirt. “You’re good at feeding people,” he says, which makes Chan giggle so stupidly his dimples show.
A few weeks later
Chan knows something is off the moment he unlocks the door. The apartment is dimmer than usual, the lights warm rather than bright. There’s music playing softly from the speaker in the living room; instrumental, something Minho always claims helps him focus. The air smells like garlic, butter, and something richer beneath it. “Min?” Chan calls out, toeing off his shoes.
“In the kitchen,” Minho answers calmly.
Chan rounds the corner and stops short. Minho stands at the stove in an apron Chan has literally never seen him wear. His sleeves are rolled up, and his hair is pushed out of his face. He’s stirring something with careful attention, tasting, adjusting, moving with the same precise confidence he brings to the studio. Chan just stares. “Why…Why are you cooking?” he asks, dumbly.
Minho glances over his shoulder, one brow lifting. “It’s your birthday?”
Chan blinks. “I cook on my birthday.”
“That’s depressing,” Minho replies flatly. He turns the heat down. “Sit.”
Chan obeys without argument, dropping into a chair at the counter like he’s been told what to do his entire life. He watches Minho plate the food with care. “You didn’t have to,” Chan says quietly.
Minho sets the plate down in front of him. “I wanted to.” That shuts him up.
Dinner is really good. Chan hates how unsurprised he is. Of course, Minho is decent in the kitchen. Of course, he’s quietly competent at things no one expects him to be. “This is unfair,” Chan mutters after a bite. “You’re not allowed to be good at everything.”
Minho smirks, finally sitting across from him. “I’m not. I can’t bake.”
Chan brightens. “You can’t?”
“Nope,” Minho says firmly. “And don’t try to fix that. That'll be your area of expertise.”
They eat slowly and talk about nothing important. About Minho’s students, about a client Chan cooked for last week, who complained about salt and then asked for seconds. Afterward, Minho clears the plates before Chan can protest. When he comes back, he’s holding a small stack of neatly wrapped gifts. “Okay,” Minho says, setting them down. “Your turn.”
Chan frowns. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t get to dodge this,” Minho says lightly. “Open them.”
The first is a new, comfortable black hoodie, heavenly soft on the inside. A silver bracelet follows right after; Chan has plenty of both of these already, but he lights up like it's the first he's ever gotten. And Minho can't help but smile, as he knew he would. Chan unwraps the next one and blinks at the large glass in his hand, carefully taking off the lid. “What’s that for?”
Minho smiles knowingly. “Remember how we made a deal to go see some of the world together? We can save some money for it here. I will drop my last bit of the month into it, and you'll just casually stuff it with your fancy money.”
Chan snorts softly. “Yeah, sounds about right.”
Minho grins and shoves the next gift into his lap. Chan unwraps it and blinks in surprise. “You got me a heating blanket?”
Minho nods gently. “You mentioned your back and neck hurt after some of these long days, and I thought some warmth would be good then.”
Chan doesn’t look up right away. “You truly remember everything,” he says finally.
Minho shrugs, but his ears grow pink just a little. “You think too loud, Chan.”
“That’s not what I-” Chan exhales, then laughs softly. “Thank you.”
Minho nods. “Yeah.” They sit there for a while after, the apartment quiet around them. Chan is testing his new blanket and seems happy, glancing at Minho every now and then. Eventually, Minho shifts closer, just enough that their knees touch. “Hey Channie,” he says. Chan looks at him questioningly, and Minho hesitates for a short moment. Then he leans in. It’s slow and careful, like he’s checking whether Chan will pull away. But Chan doesn't. The kiss is soft and warm. A press of lips that feels less like a beginning and more like an acknowledgment of everything they’ve already been doing for years. When Minho pulls back, he stays close, their foreheads touching. “Happy birthday,” he murmurs.
Chan exhales a shaky laugh, his heart pounding. “You’re never cooking on my birthday again.”
Minho smiles. “We’ll see.” Chan can't help but lean in again, finding Minho's lips for another sweet, slow kiss.
-
Sunlight filters between buildings, warming the pavement, bouncing off shop windows and street signs. Chan’s hand is warm around Minho’s, fingers laced like they’ve done this forever instead of only recently allowing themselves to. Minho swings their joined hands slightly as they walk, gaze drifting from storefront to storefront. Vintage clothes, plants spilling out of a florist’s doorway, and a bookstore with a display that makes him slow just enough for Chan to bump into him.
“You’re gonna make me trip,” Chan murmurs.
Minho smiles without looking at him. “You’re holding my hand. You’re responsible now.”
Chan doesn’t argue against that. They stop at a small stand selling pastries; something fried, sugar-dusted, absolutely unnecessary. Minho eyes them openly. “You’re thinking about it, right?” Chan says.
“I’m thinking about how many calories I'll have to dance off and-”
Chan already has his wallet out. “Two of those. And whatever that one is.”
Minho opens his mouth and closes it just as fast, accepting the paper bag when Chan presses it into his free hand. “You keep doing that,” Minho says, breaking one open and handing half back automatically.
“Doing what?” Chan asks, taking the bag.
Minho gives him a glance. “Paying.”
Chan shrugs, chewing happily on the pastry. “You picked the place.”
“That’s not-,” Minho sighs, but there’s no heat in it. “You didn't have to.”
“I know,” Chan replies easily. “I wanted to.”
They eat as they walk, sugar on their fingers, their shoulders brushing every now and then. At one point, Minho wipes powdered sugar from Chan’s lip with his thumb without thinking. Chan freezes for half a second, then relaxes again.
Later, they wander into a shoe store. Minho hadn’t planned on it, but his feet carried him there anyway. He tries them on quietly, pacing the little mirror space, bouncing once on his heels twice. His eyes light up in a way he clearly doesn’t intend to show. Chan sees it immediately, and he can't let that opportunity go to waste. “They’re good,” Chan says.
“They’re really good,” Minho admits, then checks the price tag again. His expression dims. “They’re also kind of stupidly expensive.”
Chan steps closer, crouching slightly to press the sole down with his thumb. “They support your arch better.”
Minho huffs a laugh, then straightens back up again. “I don’t need them right now, it's fine.”
Chan stands, already reaching for the box. “You dance every day.”
Minho’s brows knit together. “Chan.”
“You wear through shoes faster than anyone I know,” Chan continues gently. “And these feel right. I can tell.” He turns toward the counter.
Minho follows him, panic creeping in. “Hey, hey, you don’t have to do that.” Chan pays without hesitation, not even sparing him a glance.
Outside, Minho finally stops him, hands still in the bag with the box. “You didn’t have to,” he says again, much quieter now.
Chan meets his gaze, thumb brushing over Minho’s knuckles. “I know.”
“Then why did you do it? I told you it was fine,” Minho sighed softly.
“Because I want you to be comfortable,” Chan says simply. He doesn't mention the money, who earns more, or why it wouldn’t hurt him to do this.
Minho swallows thickly. “Thank you, love.”
Chan squeezes his hand. “Anytime, baby.”
-
Chan’s car is already parked in front of the building when Minho pushes through the studio doors, his dance bag heavy on his shoulder and exhaustion clinging to him in that deep, bone-worn way. He spots the familiar silhouette immediately and relaxes before he even reaches the passenger side. “Hi, baby,” Chan says gently as Minho climbs in, leaning over to press a quick kiss to his temple. “Is everything okay? You're a bit late today.”
“Yeah, everything’s alright,” Minho replies, toeing off his shoes and folding one leg under himself. “Thank you for waiting.”
Chan hums, starting the car. “Always.”
It only takes a few minutes for Minho to notice. Chan grips the steering wheel a little too tightly, and a faint crease has settled between his brows. The silence seems heavier than usual. “Tired?” Minho asks softly.
Chan exhales. “Yeah. It was a lot today, and my designated sous chef cancelled at the last minute. I think my body has given up on me entirely.”
Minho reaches over without looking, threading their fingers together. “You didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t want to complain.”
Minho scoffs quietly. “You cook for rich strangers all day and still worry about bothering me?” Chan smiles faintly but doesn’t argue.
At home, Chan insists on unloading the groceries despite Minho’s protests. He’s halfway through stacking vegetables when Minho disappears down the hall without a word. By the time Chan finishes and turns around, he hears water running. “Min?” he calls.
“In here,” comes the reply, calm and steady. Chan finds him in the bathroom, sleeves rolled up, testing the water temperature with his wrist. Steam curls into the air, scented faintly with lavender oil, which Minho only ever uses when Chan’s had a rough day. Minho glances at him. “You’re taking a bath now.”
Chan blinks. “You’re bossy tonight.”
“You’re exhausted tonight,” Minho corrects, stepping closer and tugging at Chan’s sleeves. “Come on now.”
Chan doesn’t resist. He lets Minho guide him, hands careful and sure as he helps him settle into the tub. The moment Chan sinks into the warm water, his shoulders drop like he’s been carrying the world there all day. “Oh,” he breathes. “That’s…wow.”
Minho smiles softly. “I’ll order some food. Don’t drown.”
“Yes, sir,” Chan murmurs, already closing his eyes.
Dinner arrives not long after, and they eat it slowly on the couch with Chan leaning heavily into Minho’s side, fingers curled into his hoodie like an anchor. Afterward, Minho nudges him toward the bedroom. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Chan barely has the energy to tease this time. He does as he’s told, collapsing onto the mattress with a groan the moment he’s settled. Minho gets seated beside him, hands warm as they settle on Chan’s shoulders. He doesn’t say anything, just starts to work slowly, thumbs pressing into tight muscle, fingers tracing down his neck and across his upper back. Chan melts on the spot.“Oh, Min,” he groans, voice already wrecked. “You have no idea how bad that hurts.”
“I can imagine,” Minho murmurs, leaning in. “You carry it all here.”
He presses a little firmer, and Chan lets out a sound that’s halfway between a whine and a laugh, head dropping onto the pillow. “That’s unfair,” he breathes. “You’re…that spot-” Minho smirks to himself, continuing without mercy. Chan’s reactions come freely now: soft gasps, murmured complaints that sound suspiciously grateful, the occasional broken, “Minho, please,” that doesn’t mean stop at all.
“You’re loud,” Minho says fondly.
“You’re evil,” Chan replies, voice hoarse and utterly content.
Minho eases up eventually, hands smoothing over warm skin, grounding him again. He leans down, pressing a kiss to Chan’s shoulder. “Sleep,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you, love.”
Chan exhales, boneless and safe. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I know.” And for once, he falls asleep before Minho does.
-
Chan doesn’t warn him. That’s the first thing Minho notices. He’s barely finished toweling off his hair when Chan appears in the doorway, dressed in dark slacks and a pressed shirt that fits him a little too well, sleeves buttoned neatly at the wrist, tie sitting perfectly at his throat. “Get dressed,” Chan says calmly. “We’re going out.”
Minho blinks. “Out where?”
Chan smiles knowingly. “It’s your birthday. Trust me.”
The restaurant is everything Minho would never pick for just himself. Low lighting, soft music, and too many forks. The kind of place where Chan belongs effortlessly, greeting staff by name, pulling Minho’s chair out for him like it’s second nature. “You’re ridiculous,” Minho mutters, cheeks warm as Chan orders wine without even looking at the menu.
The food is unreal. So is the way Chan watches him across the table; fond, attentive, eyes soft every time Minho laughs or talks with his hands. By the time they get home, the air between them feels charged, humming like a wire pulled too tight.
Chan barely gets the door shut before Minho turns on him. He grabs Chan by the tie, fingers curling into the fabric and tugging him forward without hesitation. Chan makes a soft, surprised sound, not a protest, though, and Minho kisses him hard.
It’s nothing like their usual kisses. This one is messy. All teeth and breath and need, with Minho rising up onto his toes just to stay close. Chan responds instantly, hands coming up to Minho’s waist, then higher, then everywhere, pulling him in until there’s nowhere to go.
Minho backs up without realizing it, the solid wood of the front door pressing cold against his spine. Chan follows and pins him there without meaning to. Their mouths don’t slow. If anything, they get worse; deeper, more desperate, breaths breaking between kisses. Minho arches into him instinctively, his fingers still tight in Chan’s tie, tugging like he’s afraid Chan might disappear if he lets go. “Chan,” he breathes into the kiss, voice wrecked.
Chan groans softly at the sound of his name, forehead dropping to Minho’s for half a second, their noses brushing against each other. “Minho,” he murmurs back, as if it costs him something. Minho’s chest is heaving. His hands roam now, to Chan’s shoulders, his chest, the line of his jaw. He tilts his head, chasing Chan’s mouth again, kissing him like he’s been waiting all night. When Chan finally pulls back, it’s only just enough to breathe. His hands stay firm at Minho’s hips, thumbs pressing into familiar places. “Happy birthday,” he says quietly, voice low and full.
Minho laughs softly, still breathless. “You spoil me.”
Chan doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he tightens his grip. “I’m not done spoiling you tonight,” he murmurs, voice low and steady.
Before Minho can tease him for it, Chan lifts him clean off the floor. Minho gasps, hands instinctively sliding up to clutch at Chan’s shoulders, laughter dissolving into breathless surprise as Chan carries him down the hallway. “You’re ridiculous,” Minho manages between kisses.
“And you love it,” Chan replies, mouth already finding his again. Chan’s bedroom door barely slows them down. Chan nudges the door shut with his foot and lowers Minho onto the mattress with careful strength, like he’s placing something precious down rather than pinning him there.
Chan follows him immediately, bracing himself over Minho, hands warm and solid against his sides. Minho’s legs wrap around Chan’s hips without thinking, pulling him closer, anchoring him there. His breath catches when Chan exhales against his mouth, the kiss deepening again.
Chan breaks the kiss just long enough to trail his mouth down Minho’s jaw, then to his neck. Minho arches instinctively, a soft, needy sound slipping out of him the moment Chan’s lips press there. Chan smiles against his skin, clearly pleased, and does it again, slower this time. “Chan,” Minho breathes, fingers threading into his hair.
Chan hums quietly in response, mouth still at his neck, hands steady at Minho’s waist like he’s grounding them both. “Yeah,” he murmurs roughly. “I’ve got you.”
Minho’s chest rises and falls quickly now, every nerve lit up, every touch feeling like it matters. He tilts his head just enough to give Chan better access. Chan doesn’t slow down. If anything, he presses closer, his body fitting against Minho’s like it always has, like it was made to. His mouth keeps moving, unhurried and intent, kissing along Minho’s neck and back up again, learning him anew with every soft press of his lips.
Minho’s breath fractures. A quiet sound slips from him before he can stop it, then another. His fingers tighten reflexively, one hand buried in Chan’s hair, the other gripping the fabric of his suit jacket like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “Channie,” Minho exhales, voice already wrecked.
Chan hums against his skin, the vibration sending a shiver straight through him. His hands settle more firmly at Minho’s sides, holding him there, close enough that Minho can feel every breath he takes.
When Minho shifts, just a small, instinctive movement, his hips brush against Chan without intent, a reflex more than a choice. The reaction is immediate. Chan stills just a fraction, breath stuttering, forehead dropping to Minho’s shoulder as if he needs the second to steady himself. Minho realizes what he’s done a heartbeat later, cheeks warm, body buzzing. “I-sorry,” he murmurs, even though he doesn’t sound sorry at all.
Chan lifts his head slowly, eyes dark, focused entirely on him. His grip tightens just enough to make Minho’s breath catch again. “Don’t,” he says quietly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He leans in, resting his forehead against Minho’s, noses brushing as their breaths mingle. Minho swallows, hips twitching again despite himself. Chan exhales a low, shaky breath and presses a gentle kiss to Minho’s mouth this time. “Easy,” Chan murmurs, thumb brushing comfortingly along Minho’s side. “I’ve got you.”
Minho doesn’t mean to move like that. It’s instinct more than intent. His body is chasing the closeness, the pressure, the heat where Chan is already everywhere. His hips roll up again, subtle but unmistakable, breath hitching sharply as he does. “Chan,” he whispers, his voice rough, desperate in a way he doesn’t bother hiding. His fingers tighten in Chan’s hair, tugging just enough to get his attention. “Please.”
Chan freezes for a second. Then he exhales, forehead dropping to Minho’s collarbone like he’s grounding himself there. His hands stay firm at Minho’s waist, thumbs pressing in warning and reassurance all at once. “Minho,” he says quietly, but strained. “Hey.”
Minho swallows, his eyes glassy and his chest rising fast. He doesn’t let go. Instead, he pulls Chan closer again, legs tightening around his hips, lips brushing his ear as he murmurs, almost pleading, “Do something.”
Chan’s breath breaks. He lifts his head, eyes locking onto Minho’s with an intensity that makes Minho’s stomach flip. There’s hunger there, unmistakably so, but there’s also care, restraint, and something protective beneath it all. Chan leans in, kissing him again. One hand slides up Minho’s spine, holding him flush, anchoring him there. The kiss steals Minho’s breath completely, pulls another soft sound from his throat before he can stop it.
When Chan finally pulls back, it’s only an inch. “I am,” Chan murmurs against his lips. Minho nods shakily, still clinging, still aching, but trusting him completely. Chan presses a soft kiss to his forehead, then his cheek, then his mouth again, full of unspoken promises. “I’ve got you,” Chan whispers. “All night.”
Minho’s hands come up shakily as they kiss again, fingers fumbling open Chan’s tie first, the buttons of his shirt following. His hands hesitantly roam the newly exposed skin, fingers tracing down Chan’s stomach as he searches his eyes. Chan nods with a soft smile, encouraging him that it’s okay, before reaching down and carefully unbuttoning Minho’s shirt as well. Their pants follow, and clothes hit the floor until they’re dressed in nothing but their boxers. Minho tugs Chan into another kiss, soft gasps leaving him as Chan’s hand travels down his side, squeezing his thigh and groaning at the feeling. “Fuck, Chan, use your fingers, please, before I do it myself.”
Chan giggles in delight before carefully tugging off Minho’s boxers and fumbling for the lube in his bedside table after. He coats his fingers, warming them before gently fondling against Minho’s rim. The moan that leaves his love when he finally, gently, pushes the first finger inside sends butterflies right down to his core. Minho’s legs fall open, his grip on Chan’s hair tightening as Chan stretches him out patiently. Minho can’t help but moan when Chan’s three fingers in deep. Chan watches him carefully when he curls his fingers against Minho’s prostate.
Minho arches off the bed with a surprised little moan, his hand twisting the sheets below him. His eyes flutter shut as Chan does it again, his eyes rolling back deliciously, his lips parting with a weak whine. Chan can only marvel at the sight, pressing down against the mattress in an attempt to soothe the growing pressure between his legs. “Fuck, baby, you’re gorgeous.”
Minho smiles lazily. “Yeah? Bet I’ll look even better on your dick, pretty,” he groans, and Chan swallows thickly. “Don’t make me beg.”
Chan giggles fondly, rolling his eyes, before pulling down his stained boxers and throwing them towards the rest of their clothes. “Not tonight, baby, I’m too impatient for it.”
Minho snorts and pulls him into a heated kiss, groaning as he pulls out his fingers. He tenses softly when Chan’s dick finally pushes past his rim, a satisfied moan leaving him right after. “Oh-oh fuck, Channie,” he moans out deliciously. “Get moving.”
“Always so bossy,” Chan smirks against his lips, but he can’t deny him that wish. He truly can’t. He starts rolling his hips, thrusting into him at a steady pace that has Minho gasping and writhing against the sheets.
Minho arches into Chan’s thrusts, hips eagerly meeting his every move. His hands are everywhere, gripping onto Chan’s hair, the sheets, his shoulders as if he doesn’t know how to stay sane otherwise. Chan’s lips travel down his neck, his hot breath ghosting over his skin and sending shivers down Minho’s spine. “I’m gonna say something controversial,” Minho broke off with a gasp.
Chan snorts, pushing in deep and marvelling at the soft flutter of Minho’s eyes it gets him. “That’s a new one.”
“F-Fuck you,” he moans softly, tugging at Chan’s hair roughly.
“I’m kind of busy fucking you right now, baby,” Chan laughs, a soft moan leaving him as Minho only tugs on his hair harder in response.
“Can we skip the romance part?” he asks, heavylidded eyes meeting Chan’s. “We can do that another time, right now - fuck - I need you to ruin me.”
Chan stares at him, amazed. “If I knew what a simple dinner could do to you, I would’ve done so much earlier.”
“Can you stop being such a dumb-ahh, yeah, just like that,” Minho moans out loudly as Chan slams his hips against him. His head falls back against the pillow, back arching as Chan starts pounding into him. He can barely keep his eyes open, too overwhelmed by the feeling. Chan’s hands guide his legs up, settling them onto his shoulders, and Minho grips his arm at the new angle.
Chan keeps the fast pace and harsh thrusts up, his lips travelling over whatever bit of skin he can reach. Minho’s hand presses up against the headboard, thrusting back and keeping himself from bumping his head. Chan gently grazes Minho’s nipple with his teeth, and the unholy whine it pulls out of Minho makes his hips jerk. “You like that, baby?” he teases him, and Minho’s too far gone to scold him for it.
“Y-Yes, fuck, Chan, don’t stop,” he moans out loudly, his voice breaking when Chan gently sucks on his nipple.
Chan can’t stop staring at him in wonder. He knew Minho was beautiful; he always has. But this, all fucked out for him, lips parting, lashes fluttering, sweat coating his forehead, this is even better. The sound of their skin clapping mixes with Minho’s beautiful moans and the sound of the headboard hitting the wall. A loud knocking from above makes him freeze, his eyes widening.
“Don’t you dare stop,” Minho groans softly. “Fuck them, Chan, seriously,” he tells him, not caring about any annoyed neighbours right now.
Chan laughs before continuing to move, drawing another set of filthy moans and curses from Minho’s lips. “Don’t worry, baby, I couldn’t leave you hanging like that.”
“Y-Yeah, you better,” Minho groans, pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss. His thighs are shaking by now, and he can feel his stomach flipping. “I think I’m close,” he muttered against his lips.
“That’s okay, baby, let go,” Chan encourages him softly, changing the angle slightly to hit Minho’s prostate. Minho moans so loudly in response Chan’s sure their neighbours have heard, but truly, he doesn’t care. Not with the sight he has right now. Not with those sweet, punched-out sounds leaving his love. Not when he’s clinging to him so firmly he’s sure he’ll bruise.
“M’fuck, Channie,” Minho whines, squeezing his eyes shut adorably with a groan. His stomach flips again, violently, and his nails bury themselves in Chan’s back as the older hits his prostate again. Before he can fully comprehend it, a broken moan of Chan’s name leaves him as he’s spilling all over himself and Chan. His body spasms as pleasure courses through his veins, toes curling at the release.
Chan buries his face in Minho’s neck with a loud groan, the sight of him and the feeling of him clenching around him wrecking him. Chan gasps Minho’s name as his hips jerk forward and he coats his walls. He pulls out of him with a soft grunt, and Minho tugs him into a hug, kissing his hair. “God, I love you, Min.”
Minho giggles happily. “Mhm, I love you too,” he grins before glancing down at himself. “The first thing we save for with that jar I gifted you is a house. I won’t be getting scolded by some uptight neighbours for enjoying my time with my boyfriend.”
Chan can’t help but laugh at that. “Deal,” he smiles, kissing him happily. “Actually, why don’t I go clean up the mess I made, hm?” he grins, scooting down further and getting comfortable between Minho’s legs. He shoves a pillow beneath Minho’s hips and gently grabs his thighs, parting them to get access.
Minho’s hand buries in his hair the moment his tongue meets his skin, caressing his rim ever so softly. This time, he’s loud on purpose.
MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES
Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: Even though they're both caught up in their day-to-day lives, they can't help but fall for each other. Chan's birthday seems like a good opportunity to clear some things up, Minho receives an extra present on his birthday.
Warnings/Tags: domestic bullshit, chef!Chan, dance instructor!Min, friends to lovers, loads of playful banter, hurt!comfort, first kiss, first time, smut, fluff, bottom!min, top!chan
A/N: It took me a while to finish that one, but at least you saw parts of it already. I hope you like your part two @moridiare🖤
I put a divider like this where the smut starts - after that the rest of the fic is not safe anymore for everyone who doesn't enjoy smut🖤
Morning light slips in through the half-open curtains, catching on the dust motes floating lazily above the kitchen counter. The place smells faintly like coffee beans and fabric softener; Chan’s fault, both of them. Minho is up first. He moves through the apartment quietly, not wanting to wake Chan, who often forgets to close his bedroom door. He's barefoot, his hair is still mussed, and a black hoodie is tugged on over sleep-soft clothes. He pours water into a glass, downs it in practiced gulps, then rolls his shoulders once, already stretching muscle into readiness.
From Chan's bedroom comes a groan. “Min,” Chan mutters from under the blankets. “It’s illegal to move before eight.”
Minho smirks, opening the fridge. “You’re the one who catered a six-course tasting menu until two a.m.”
Chan peers out just enough for one eye to glare at him. “That doesn’t mean the sun gets rights.”
Minho grabs a banana and taps it lightly against Chan’s forehead as he passes. “You’ll survive.” Then he gets ready for his day, taking a cold shower and dressing up.
He heads for the door with his dance bag slung over his shoulder. It contains shoes, a towel, a water bottle, and that ridiculous little first-aid kit he insists on carrying for his students. Before he leaves, he pauses to look back. Chan’s already half asleep again, but Minho turns off the bedroom light anyway.
-
Minho stands at the front, arms crossed, eyes sharp as his students run the combination again. He counts softly under his breath, correcting their posture with a tap to the shoulder. “Again,” he says, voice even. “From the top.”
During the break, he checks his phone. One new message.
Channie👨🏻🍳🍮: Do you want something warm when you get back? I’m testing sauces later.
Min💃🏻🐈⬛: Yes. Also don’t burn the apartment down.
Channie👨🏻🍳🍮: I have never burned anything down.
Chan’s day is quieter, but no less intense. By noon, he’s in someone else’s kitchen with marble counters, gold fixtures, and a view that costs more than their entire apartment. He works with his sleeves rolled up, his movements efficient, controlled, and careful. The clients float around him, sipping wine, murmuring praise, barely noticing the way he grounds the entire evening.
He plates with intention. Every dish feels personal, even when it isn’t. By the time he’s home again, groceries in one arm and exhaustion settling into his bones, the apartment smells like soy, garlic, and something sweet he hasn’t named yet.
Minho comes in not long after, hair damp from a shower at the studio, cheeks flushed, shoulders loose with spent energy. “You smell good,” Minho says, toeing off his shoes.
“That’s the food,” Chan replies automatically, stirring. “You too,” he adds much quieter.
Minho pauses to look at him. Something warm flickers in his eyes as he does. They move around each other without thinking; Minho’s washing his hands at the sink while Chan reaches past him for oil, Chan’s leaning back just enough for Minho to open a drawer. It’s a choreography they never rehearsed.
Dinner is simple and shared on the couch with their knees touching. Minho steals bites off Chan’s plate like he always does. Later, Minho stretches on the floor, legs up against the wall, while Chan cleans. When Chan joins him, Minho wordlessly tugs him down too, draping one arm over his chest. “Long day?” Chan murmurs.
“Mhm.”
“Good classes?”
Minho nods. “They worked hard.”
Chan smiles at the ceiling. “You’re good with them.”
Minho hums, fingers idly tracing the seam of Chan’s shirt. “You’re good at feeding people,” he says, which makes Chan giggle so stupidly his dimples show.
A few weeks later
Chan knows something is off the moment he unlocks the door. The apartment is dimmer than usual, the lights warm rather than bright. There’s music playing softly from the speaker in the living room; instrumental, something Minho always claims helps him focus. The air smells like garlic, butter, and something richer beneath it. “Min?” Chan calls out, toeing off his shoes.
“In the kitchen,” Minho answers calmly.
Chan rounds the corner and stops short. Minho stands at the stove in an apron Chan has literally never seen him wear. His sleeves are rolled up, and his hair is pushed out of his face. He’s stirring something with careful attention, tasting, adjusting, moving with the same precise confidence he brings to the studio. Chan just stares. “Why…Why are you cooking?” he asks, dumbly.
Minho glances over his shoulder, one brow lifting. “It’s your birthday?”
Chan blinks. “I cook on my birthday.”
“That’s depressing,” Minho replies flatly. He turns the heat down. “Sit.”
Chan obeys without argument, dropping into a chair at the counter like he’s been told what to do his entire life. He watches Minho plate the food with care. “You didn’t have to,” Chan says quietly.
Minho sets the plate down in front of him. “I wanted to.” That shuts him up.
Dinner is really good. Chan hates how unsurprised he is. Of course, Minho is decent in the kitchen. Of course, he’s quietly competent at things no one expects him to be. “This is unfair,” Chan mutters after a bite. “You’re not allowed to be good at everything.”
Minho smirks, finally sitting across from him. “I’m not. I can’t bake.”
Chan brightens. “You can’t?”
“Nope,” Minho says firmly. “And don’t try to fix that. That'll be your area of expertise.”
They eat slowly and talk about nothing important. About Minho’s students, about a client Chan cooked for last week, who complained about salt and then asked for seconds. Afterward, Minho clears the plates before Chan can protest. When he comes back, he’s holding a small stack of neatly wrapped gifts. “Okay,” Minho says, setting them down. “Your turn.”
Chan frowns. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t get to dodge this,” Minho says lightly. “Open them.”
The first is a new, comfortable black hoodie, heavenly soft on the inside. A silver bracelet follows right after; Chan has plenty of both of these already, but he lights up like it's the first he's ever gotten. And Minho can't help but smile, as he knew he would. Chan unwraps the next one and blinks at the large glass in his hand, carefully taking off the lid. “What’s that for?”
Minho smiles knowingly. “Remember how we made a deal to go see some of the world together? We can save some money for it here. I will drop my last bit of the month into it, and you'll just casually stuff it with your fancy money.”
Chan snorts softly. “Yeah, sounds about right.”
Minho grins and shoves the next gift into his lap. Chan unwraps it and blinks in surprise. “You got me a heating blanket?”
Minho nods gently. “You mentioned your back and neck hurt after some of these long days, and I thought some warmth would be good then.”
Chan doesn’t look up right away. “You truly remember everything,” he says finally.
Minho shrugs, but his ears grow pink just a little. “You think too loud, Chan.”
“That’s not what I-” Chan exhales, then laughs softly. “Thank you.”
Minho nods. “Yeah.” They sit there for a while after, the apartment quiet around them. Chan is testing his new blanket and seems happy, glancing at Minho every now and then. Eventually, Minho shifts closer, just enough that their knees touch. “Hey Channie,” he says. Chan looks at him questioningly, and Minho hesitates for a short moment. Then he leans in. It’s slow and careful, like he’s checking whether Chan will pull away. But Chan doesn't. The kiss is soft and warm. A press of lips that feels less like a beginning and more like an acknowledgment of everything they’ve already been doing for years. When Minho pulls back, he stays close, their foreheads touching. “Happy birthday,” he murmurs.
Chan exhales a shaky laugh, his heart pounding. “You’re never cooking on my birthday again.”
Minho smiles. “We’ll see.” Chan can't help but lean in again, finding Minho's lips for another sweet, slow kiss.
-
Sunlight filters between buildings, warming the pavement, bouncing off shop windows and street signs. Chan’s hand is warm around Minho’s, fingers laced like they’ve done this forever instead of only recently allowing themselves to. Minho swings their joined hands slightly as they walk, gaze drifting from storefront to storefront. Vintage clothes, plants spilling out of a florist’s doorway, and a bookstore with a display that makes him slow just enough for Chan to bump into him.
“You’re gonna make me trip,” Chan murmurs.
Minho smiles without looking at him. “You’re holding my hand. You’re responsible now.”
Chan doesn’t argue against that. They stop at a small stand selling pastries; something fried, sugar-dusted, absolutely unnecessary. Minho eyes them openly. “You’re thinking about it, right?” Chan says.
“I’m thinking about how many calories I'll have to dance off and-”
Chan already has his wallet out. “Two of those. And whatever that one is.”
Minho opens his mouth and closes it just as fast, accepting the paper bag when Chan presses it into his free hand. “You keep doing that,” Minho says, breaking one open and handing half back automatically.
“Doing what?” Chan asks, taking the bag.
Minho gives him a glance. “Paying.”
Chan shrugs, chewing happily on the pastry. “You picked the place.”
“That’s not-,” Minho sighs, but there’s no heat in it. “You didn't have to.”
“I know,” Chan replies easily. “I wanted to.”
They eat as they walk, sugar on their fingers, their shoulders brushing every now and then. At one point, Minho wipes powdered sugar from Chan’s lip with his thumb without thinking. Chan freezes for half a second, then relaxes again.
Later, they wander into a shoe store. Minho hadn’t planned on it, but his feet carried him there anyway. He tries them on quietly, pacing the little mirror space, bouncing once on his heels twice. His eyes light up in a way he clearly doesn’t intend to show. Chan sees it immediately, and he can't let that opportunity go to waste. “They’re good,” Chan says.
“They’re really good,” Minho admits, then checks the price tag again. His expression dims. “They’re also kind of stupidly expensive.”
Chan steps closer, crouching slightly to press the sole down with his thumb. “They support your arch better.”
Minho huffs a laugh, then straightens back up again. “I don’t need them right now, it's fine.”
Chan stands, already reaching for the box. “You dance every day.”
Minho’s brows knit together. “Chan.”
“You wear through shoes faster than anyone I know,” Chan continues gently. “And these feel right. I can tell.” He turns toward the counter.
Minho follows him, panic creeping in. “Hey, hey, you don’t have to do that.” Chan pays without hesitation, not even sparing him a glance.
Outside, Minho finally stops him, hands still in the bag with the box. “You didn’t have to,” he says again, much quieter now.
Chan meets his gaze, thumb brushing over Minho’s knuckles. “I know.”
“Then why did you do it? I told you it was fine,” Minho sighed softly.
“Because I want you to be comfortable,” Chan says simply. He doesn't mention the money, who earns more, or why it wouldn’t hurt him to do this.
Minho swallows thickly. “Thank you, love.”
Chan squeezes his hand. “Anytime, baby.”
-
Chan’s car is already parked in front of the building when Minho pushes through the studio doors, his dance bag heavy on his shoulder and exhaustion clinging to him in that deep, bone-worn way. He spots the familiar silhouette immediately and relaxes before he even reaches the passenger side. “Hi, baby,” Chan says gently as Minho climbs in, leaning over to press a quick kiss to his temple. “Is everything okay? You're a bit late today.”
“Yeah, everything’s alright,” Minho replies, toeing off his shoes and folding one leg under himself. “Thank you for waiting.”
Chan hums, starting the car. “Always.”
It only takes a few minutes for Minho to notice. Chan grips the steering wheel a little too tightly, and a faint crease has settled between his brows. The silence seems heavier than usual. “Tired?” Minho asks softly.
Chan exhales. “Yeah. It was a lot today, and my designated sous chef cancelled at the last minute. I think my body has given up on me entirely.”
Minho reaches over without looking, threading their fingers together. “You didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t want to complain.”
Minho scoffs quietly. “You cook for rich strangers all day and still worry about bothering me?” Chan smiles faintly but doesn’t argue.
At home, Chan insists on unloading the groceries despite Minho’s protests. He’s halfway through stacking vegetables when Minho disappears down the hall without a word. By the time Chan finishes and turns around, he hears water running. “Min?” he calls.
“In here,” comes the reply, calm and steady. Chan finds him in the bathroom, sleeves rolled up, testing the water temperature with his wrist. Steam curls into the air, scented faintly with lavender oil, which Minho only ever uses when Chan’s had a rough day. Minho glances at him. “You’re taking a bath now.”
Chan blinks. “You’re bossy tonight.”
“You’re exhausted tonight,” Minho corrects, stepping closer and tugging at Chan’s sleeves. “Come on now.”
Chan doesn’t resist. He lets Minho guide him, hands careful and sure as he helps him settle into the tub. The moment Chan sinks into the warm water, his shoulders drop like he’s been carrying the world there all day. “Oh,” he breathes. “That’s…wow.”
Minho smiles softly. “I’ll order some food. Don’t drown.”
“Yes, sir,” Chan murmurs, already closing his eyes.
Dinner arrives not long after, and they eat it slowly on the couch with Chan leaning heavily into Minho’s side, fingers curled into his hoodie like an anchor. Afterward, Minho nudges him toward the bedroom. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Chan barely has the energy to tease this time. He does as he’s told, collapsing onto the mattress with a groan the moment he’s settled. Minho gets seated beside him, hands warm as they settle on Chan’s shoulders. He doesn’t say anything, just starts to work slowly, thumbs pressing into tight muscle, fingers tracing down his neck and across his upper back. Chan melts on the spot.“Oh, Min,” he groans, voice already wrecked. “You have no idea how bad that hurts.”
“I can imagine,” Minho murmurs, leaning in. “You carry it all here.”
He presses a little firmer, and Chan lets out a sound that’s halfway between a whine and a laugh, head dropping onto the pillow. “That’s unfair,” he breathes. “You’re…that spot-” Minho smirks to himself, continuing without mercy. Chan’s reactions come freely now: soft gasps, murmured complaints that sound suspiciously grateful, the occasional broken, “Minho, please,” that doesn’t mean stop at all.
“You’re loud,” Minho says fondly.
“You’re evil,” Chan replies, voice hoarse and utterly content.
Minho eases up eventually, hands smoothing over warm skin, grounding him again. He leans down, pressing a kiss to Chan’s shoulder. “Sleep,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you, love.”
Chan exhales, boneless and safe. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I know.” And for once, he falls asleep before Minho does.
-
Chan doesn’t warn him. That’s the first thing Minho notices. He’s barely finished toweling off his hair when Chan appears in the doorway, dressed in dark slacks and a pressed shirt that fits him a little too well, sleeves buttoned neatly at the wrist, tie sitting perfectly at his throat. “Get dressed,” Chan says calmly. “We’re going out.”
Minho blinks. “Out where?”
Chan smiles knowingly. “It’s your birthday. Trust me.”
The restaurant is everything Minho would never pick for just himself. Low lighting, soft music, and too many forks. The kind of place where Chan belongs effortlessly, greeting staff by name, pulling Minho’s chair out for him like it’s second nature. “You’re ridiculous,” Minho mutters, cheeks warm as Chan orders wine without even looking at the menu.
The food is unreal. So is the way Chan watches him across the table; fond, attentive, eyes soft every time Minho laughs or talks with his hands. By the time they get home, the air between them feels charged, humming like a wire pulled too tight.
Chan barely gets the door shut before Minho turns on him. He grabs Chan by the tie, fingers curling into the fabric and tugging him forward without hesitation. Chan makes a soft, surprised sound, not a protest, though, and Minho kisses him hard.
It’s nothing like their usual kisses. This one is messy. All teeth and breath and need, with Minho rising up onto his toes just to stay close. Chan responds instantly, hands coming up to Minho’s waist, then higher, then everywhere, pulling him in until there’s nowhere to go.
Minho backs up without realizing it, the solid wood of the front door pressing cold against his spine. Chan follows and pins him there without meaning to. Their mouths don’t slow. If anything, they get worse; deeper, more desperate, breaths breaking between kisses. Minho arches into him instinctively, his fingers still tight in Chan’s tie, tugging like he’s afraid Chan might disappear if he lets go. “Chan,” he breathes into the kiss, voice wrecked.
Chan groans softly at the sound of his name, forehead dropping to Minho’s for half a second, their noses brushing against each other. “Minho,” he murmurs back, as if it costs him something. Minho’s chest is heaving. His hands roam now, to Chan’s shoulders, his chest, the line of his jaw. He tilts his head, chasing Chan’s mouth again, kissing him like he’s been waiting all night. When Chan finally pulls back, it’s only just enough to breathe. His hands stay firm at Minho’s hips, thumbs pressing into familiar places. “Happy birthday,” he says quietly, voice low and full.
Minho laughs softly, still breathless. “You spoil me.”
Chan doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he tightens his grip. “I’m not done spoiling you tonight,” he murmurs, voice low and steady.
Before Minho can tease him for it, Chan lifts him clean off the floor. Minho gasps, hands instinctively sliding up to clutch at Chan’s shoulders, laughter dissolving into breathless surprise as Chan carries him down the hallway. “You’re ridiculous,” Minho manages between kisses.
“And you love it,” Chan replies, mouth already finding his again. Chan’s bedroom door barely slows them down. Chan nudges the door shut with his foot and lowers Minho onto the mattress with careful strength, like he’s placing something precious down rather than pinning him there.
Chan follows him immediately, bracing himself over Minho, hands warm and solid against his sides. Minho’s legs wrap around Chan’s hips without thinking, pulling him closer, anchoring him there. His breath catches when Chan exhales against his mouth, the kiss deepening again.
Chan breaks the kiss just long enough to trail his mouth down Minho’s jaw, then to his neck. Minho arches instinctively, a soft, needy sound slipping out of him the moment Chan’s lips press there. Chan smiles against his skin, clearly pleased, and does it again, slower this time. “Chan,” Minho breathes, fingers threading into his hair.
Chan hums quietly in response, mouth still at his neck, hands steady at Minho’s waist like he’s grounding them both. “Yeah,” he murmurs roughly. “I’ve got you.”
Minho’s chest rises and falls quickly now, every nerve lit up, every touch feeling like it matters. He tilts his head just enough to give Chan better access. Chan doesn’t slow down. If anything, he presses closer, his body fitting against Minho’s like it always has, like it was made to. His mouth keeps moving, unhurried and intent, kissing along Minho’s neck and back up again, learning him anew with every soft press of his lips.
Minho’s breath fractures. A quiet sound slips from him before he can stop it, then another. His fingers tighten reflexively, one hand buried in Chan’s hair, the other gripping the fabric of his suit jacket like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “Channie,” Minho exhales, voice already wrecked.
Chan hums against his skin, the vibration sending a shiver straight through him. His hands settle more firmly at Minho’s sides, holding him there, close enough that Minho can feel every breath he takes.
When Minho shifts, just a small, instinctive movement, his hips brush against Chan without intent, a reflex more than a choice. The reaction is immediate. Chan stills just a fraction, breath stuttering, forehead dropping to Minho’s shoulder as if he needs the second to steady himself. Minho realizes what he’s done a heartbeat later, cheeks warm, body buzzing. “I-sorry,” he murmurs, even though he doesn’t sound sorry at all.
Chan lifts his head slowly, eyes dark, focused entirely on him. His grip tightens just enough to make Minho’s breath catch again. “Don’t,” he says quietly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He leans in, resting his forehead against Minho’s, noses brushing as their breaths mingle. Minho swallows, hips twitching again despite himself. Chan exhales a low, shaky breath and presses a gentle kiss to Minho’s mouth this time. “Easy,” Chan murmurs, thumb brushing comfortingly along Minho’s side. “I’ve got you.”
Minho doesn’t mean to move like that. It’s instinct more than intent. His body is chasing the closeness, the pressure, the heat where Chan is already everywhere. His hips roll up again, subtle but unmistakable, breath hitching sharply as he does. “Chan,” he whispers, his voice rough, desperate in a way he doesn’t bother hiding. His fingers tighten in Chan’s hair, tugging just enough to get his attention. “Please.”
Chan freezes for a second. Then he exhales, forehead dropping to Minho’s collarbone like he’s grounding himself there. His hands stay firm at Minho’s waist, thumbs pressing in warning and reassurance all at once. “Minho,” he says quietly, but strained. “Hey.”
Minho swallows, his eyes glassy and his chest rising fast. He doesn’t let go. Instead, he pulls Chan closer again, legs tightening around his hips, lips brushing his ear as he murmurs, almost pleading, “Do something.”
Chan’s breath breaks. He lifts his head, eyes locking onto Minho’s with an intensity that makes Minho’s stomach flip. There’s hunger there, unmistakably so, but there’s also care, restraint, and something protective beneath it all. Chan leans in, kissing him again. One hand slides up Minho’s spine, holding him flush, anchoring him there. The kiss steals Minho’s breath completely, pulls another soft sound from his throat before he can stop it.
When Chan finally pulls back, it’s only an inch. “I am,” Chan murmurs against his lips. Minho nods shakily, still clinging, still aching, but trusting him completely. Chan presses a soft kiss to his forehead, then his cheek, then his mouth again, full of unspoken promises. “I’ve got you,” Chan whispers. “All night.”
Minho’s hands come up shakily as they kiss again, fingers fumbling open Chan’s tie first, the buttons of his shirt following. His hands hesitantly roam the newly exposed skin, fingers tracing down Chan’s stomach as he searches his eyes. Chan nods with a soft smile, encouraging him that it’s okay, before reaching down and carefully unbuttoning Minho’s shirt as well. Their pants follow, and clothes hit the floor until they’re dressed in nothing but their boxers. Minho tugs Chan into another kiss, soft gasps leaving him as Chan’s hand travels down his side, squeezing his thigh and groaning at the feeling. “Fuck, Chan, use your fingers, please, before I do it myself.”
Chan giggles in delight before carefully tugging off Minho’s boxers and fumbling for the lube in his bedside table after. He coats his fingers, warming them before gently fondling against Minho’s rim. The moan that leaves his love when he finally, gently, pushes the first finger inside sends butterflies right down to his core. Minho’s legs fall open, his grip on Chan’s hair tightening as Chan stretches him out patiently. Minho can’t help but moan when Chan’s three fingers in deep. Chan watches him carefully when he curls his fingers against Minho’s prostate.
Minho arches off the bed with a surprised little moan, his hand twisting the sheets below him. His eyes flutter shut as Chan does it again, his eyes rolling back deliciously, his lips parting with a weak whine. Chan can only marvel at the sight, pressing down against the mattress in an attempt to soothe the growing pressure between his legs. “Fuck, baby, you’re gorgeous.”
Minho smiles lazily. “Yeah? Bet I’ll look even better on your dick, pretty,” he groans, and Chan swallows thickly. “Don’t make me beg.”
Chan giggles fondly, rolling his eyes, before pulling down his stained boxers and throwing them towards the rest of their clothes. “Not tonight, baby, I’m too impatient for it.”
Minho snorts and pulls him into a heated kiss, groaning as he pulls out his fingers. He tenses softly when Chan’s dick finally pushes past his rim, a satisfied moan leaving him right after. “Oh-oh fuck, Channie,” he moans out deliciously. “Get moving.”
“Always so bossy,” Chan smirks against his lips, but he can’t deny him that wish. He truly can’t. He starts rolling his hips, thrusting into him at a steady pace that has Minho gasping and writhing against the sheets.
Minho arches into Chan’s thrusts, hips eagerly meeting his every move. His hands are everywhere, gripping onto Chan’s hair, the sheets, his shoulders as if he doesn’t know how to stay sane otherwise. Chan’s lips travel down his neck, his hot breath ghosting over his skin and sending shivers down Minho’s spine. “I’m gonna say something controversial,” Minho broke off with a gasp.
Chan snorts, pushing in deep and marvelling at the soft flutter of Minho’s eyes it gets him. “That’s a new one.”
“F-Fuck you,” he moans softly, tugging at Chan’s hair roughly.
“I’m kind of busy fucking you right now, baby,” Chan laughs, a soft moan leaving him as Minho only tugs on his hair harder in response.
“Can we skip the romance part?” he asks, heavylidded eyes meeting Chan’s. “We can do that another time, right now - fuck - I need you to ruin me.”
Chan stares at him, amazed. “If I knew what a simple dinner could do to you, I would’ve done so much earlier.”
“Can you stop being such a dumb-ahh, yeah, just like that,” Minho moans out loudly as Chan slams his hips against him. His head falls back against the pillow, back arching as Chan starts pounding into him. He can barely keep his eyes open, too overwhelmed by the feeling. Chan’s hands guide his legs up, settling them onto his shoulders, and Minho grips his arm at the new angle.
Chan keeps the fast pace and harsh thrusts up, his lips travelling over whatever bit of skin he can reach. Minho’s hand presses up against the headboard, thrusting back and keeping himself from bumping his head. Chan gently grazes Minho’s nipple with his teeth, and the unholy whine it pulls out of Minho makes his hips jerk. “You like that, baby?” he teases him, and Minho’s too far gone to scold him for it.
“Y-Yes, fuck, Chan, don’t stop,” he moans out loudly, his voice breaking when Chan gently sucks on his nipple.
Chan can’t stop staring at him in wonder. He knew Minho was beautiful; he always has. But this, all fucked out for him, lips parting, lashes fluttering, sweat coating his forehead, this is even better. The sound of their skin clapping mixes with Minho’s beautiful moans and the sound of the headboard hitting the wall. A loud knocking from above makes him freeze, his eyes widening.
“Don’t you dare stop,” Minho groans softly. “Fuck them, Chan, seriously,” he tells him, not caring about any annoyed neighbours right now.
Chan laughs before continuing to move, drawing another set of filthy moans and curses from Minho’s lips. “Don’t worry, baby, I couldn’t leave you hanging like that.”
“Y-Yeah, you better,” Minho groans, pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss. His thighs are shaking by now, and he can feel his stomach flipping. “I think I’m close,” he muttered against his lips.
“That’s okay, baby, let go,” Chan encourages him softly, changing the angle slightly to hit Minho’s prostate. Minho moans so loudly in response Chan’s sure their neighbours have heard, but truly, he doesn’t care. Not with the sight he has right now. Not with those sweet, punched-out sounds leaving his love. Not when he’s clinging to him so firmly he’s sure he’ll bruise.
“M’fuck, Channie,” Minho whines, squeezing his eyes shut adorably with a groan. His stomach flips again, violently, and his nails bury themselves in Chan’s back as the older hits his prostate again. Before he can fully comprehend it, a broken moan of Chan’s name leaves him as he’s spilling all over himself and Chan. His body spasms as pleasure courses through his veins, toes curling at the release.
Chan buries his face in Minho’s neck with a loud groan, the sight of him and the feeling of him clenching around him wrecking him. Chan gasps Minho’s name as his hips jerk forward and he coats his walls. He pulls out of him with a soft grunt, and Minho tugs him into a hug, kissing his hair. “God, I love you, Min.”
Minho giggles happily. “Mhm, I love you too,” he grins before glancing down at himself. “The first thing we save for with that jar I gifted you is a house. I won’t be getting scolded by some uptight neighbours for enjoying my time with my boyfriend.”
Chan can’t help but laugh at that. “Deal,” he smiles, kissing him happily. “Actually, why don’t I go clean up the mess I made, hm?” he grins, scooting down further and getting comfortable between Minho’s legs. He shoves a pillow beneath Minho’s hips and gently grabs his thighs, parting them to get access.
Minho’s hand buries in his hair the moment his tongue meets his skin, caressing his rim ever so softly. This time, he’s loud on purpose.
MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES
Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):
Since I saw the slot for the 23rd is open, could we please have a Hyunjin x Reader story based on prompts 4 and 16? I'm so excited to see what you come up with!
🎀Hot chocolate fixes everything🎀-Christmas Special Day 21
Pairing: Hyunjin x gn!reader
Word Count: 1201
Summary: You can't sleep, and in an attempt to clear your head, you step outside to sit beneath the tree. Soon enough, you notice you're not the only one having trouble sleeping.
Warnings/Tags: fluff, cuddles, comfort
A/N: God, I am so sorry that it took me so long to finally finish this. I hope you still enjoy it!🖤
Sleep refused to come quickly that night. You had tried everything you usually swore by: flipping the pillow to the cool side, rearranging the blanket, scrolling your phone until your eyes burned, but nothing seemed to quiet your thoughts. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind replayed the most random things: an awkward conversation from three years ago, an email you forgot to answer, something you might have said wrong earlier that day. It was exhausting in a way that made you want to cry, because you were so tired, yet hopelessly awake.
With a quiet sigh, you rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, listening to the dorm around you. The building had that particular midnight stillness; pipes ticking softly in the walls, the faint hum of the heater, someone down the hall turning over in their sleep. Everyone else seemed to have drifted off easily, even Chan.
After another ten minutes of staring into the dark, you finally gave up. Staying in bed felt pointless, like trying to force sleep would only make it retreat further. You slipped out from under the blanket, tugged on your hoodie, and padded quietly into the hallway, careful not to wake anyone.
When you reached the kitchen, you poured yourself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, gazing out the window without really thinking. That was when you noticed the snow. It had started sometime during the evening, covering the courtyard in a soft, untouched layer of white. The old tree in the middle, the one you and the boys decorated during winter with lights and ribbons, looked almost unreal under the streetlamp, its branches dusted with frost like powdered sugar. The sight made something in your chest loosen.
Maybe some fresh air would help, you thought. Cold air always cleared your head. Before you could overthink it, you slipped on your shoes and coat and stepped outside. The chill hit you immediately, sharp and refreshing, stealing the warmth from your cheeks. Snow crunched gently beneath your steps as you crossed the courtyard, your breath forming small clouds in front of you.
You made your way toward the tree and brushed the snow off the bench beneath it before sitting down. The wood was cold even through your clothes, but you didn’t mind. You folded your hands into your sleeves and let yourself simply breathe for a moment, watching flakes drift lazily from the sky. For the first time all night, your thoughts began to slow.
“Couldn’t sleep either?”
The sudden voice nearly made you jump out of your skin. You turned quickly, heart hammering, only to find Hyunjin standing a few steps away, looking just as startled as you probably were. His hair was messy, like he’d been tossing and turning, and he wore an oversized coat thrown over what looked suspiciously like pajama pants. “Hyunjin,” you breathed, pressing a hand to your chest. “You scared me.”
“Sorry,” he said with a sheepish smile. “Didn’t mean to. I thought I was the only one awake out here.”
You let out a small laugh. “Apparently not.”
He walked over and brushed the snow off the other side of the bench before sitting down beside you. The distance between you wasn’t large; it was close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him in the cold air. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just watched the snow together, sharing that comfortable quiet that only existed with certain people. “My brain wouldn’t shut up,” he admitted after a while. “It’s like it waits until midnight to remind me of every embarrassing thing I’ve ever done.”
You groaned softly. “Don’t even start. Mine’s been replaying memories from middle school. I don’t even want to remember middle school.”
He laughed, the sound low and warm. “That’s brutal.” It felt oddly comforting to know you weren’t alone in it. Somehow, the loneliness of being awake disappeared just because he was there too. After a few minutes, he suddenly stood. “Wait here,” he said.
You blinked up at him. “Where are you going?”
“Trust me. I’ll be back.” He didn’t elaborate, just disappeared back inside the building before you could protest. You stared after him, confused but strangely curious. Hyunjin wasn’t exactly predictable, but he always had that gentle certainty about him that made you want to believe whatever he was planning would be worth it.
True to his word, he returned about ten minutes later. This time, he carried two mugs, steam curling up into the night air. Your eyes widened immediately. “Is that-?”
“Hot chocolate,” he said proudly, handing one to you. The mug was almost too warm to hold, and you instinctively wrapped both hands around it, letting the heat seep into your frozen fingers. “Emergency cure for everything.”
You took a careful sip and nearly melted on the spot. It was sweet and rich and perfectly warm, the kind of drink that felt like a hug from the inside. “Oh my god,” you murmured. “This is amazing.”
He smiled at your reaction, clearly pleased with himself. “Hot chocolate fixes everything. No argument allowed.”
You laughed softly. “That sounds fake.”
“It’s not. Bad day? Hot chocolate. Crying? Hot chocolate. Existential crisis? Two cups.”
“That’s just emotional bribery.”
“Exactly.”
The two of you fell into easy conversation after that, voices quiet against the stillness of the courtyard. You talked about nothing important; random thoughts, stupid memories, the way snow always made everything feel softer. Somewhere along the way, your shoulders brushed, then stayed touching. Neither of you moved away.
The warmth of the drink spread through you slowly, chasing away the cold and the restlessness. You felt lighter, like the tight knot in your chest had finally loosened. After a while, Hyunjin grew quieter. You glanced at him just as he tilted his head, resting it gently against your shoulder. The movement was hesitant at first, like he expected you to protest. Of course, you didn’t. Instead, you felt your heart stutter embarrassingly hard in your chest. “You’re warm,” he mumbled sleepily.
“You’re just cold,” you whispered back.
“Still counts.” His hand shifted until his fingers brushed yours, then slipped between them, lacing together naturally. The gesture was so simple, so absentminded, that it made your chest ache more than anything dramatic ever could have.
The snow kept falling around you, soft and endless. “Thanks,” you said quietly.
“For what?” he asked, voice already thick with sleep.
“For coming out here. For the hot chocolate.”
He hummed softly. “Guess neither of us wanted to be alone tonight.”
You squeezed his hand gently. “Yeah. I guess not.”
Somewhere between his steady breathing and the lingering warmth in your hands, your thoughts finally stopped racing. Your eyelids grew heavy, your body sinking into that calm you’d been chasing all night.
“Let’s go inside, Y/nnie,” he said softly. “Falling asleep out here will get us scolded by both Chan and Minho, and that’s scary.”
You giggled softly before nodding. “Yeah, let’s go inside. But only if I get cuddles tonight, Jinnie,” you added quickly. The soft smile on Hyunjin’s face told you everything you had to know.
MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES
Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):
