Loubouskz - :requests Are Closed:

Here You Come Again

summary: Five years after your dreaded break up, Christopher Bahng returns to his hometown. You thought it’d be easy to just ignore his existence, that is, until you’re stuck taking care of him and his two broken limbs.

pairing: ex!Chan x ex!f!reader (Reader does read on the thiccer side and should be racially neutral, but if she isn’t let me know!)

word count: 8.4k

warnings: Lots of longing and heartbreak, mentions of hospital and implied accident, angsty vibes, reader is quite insecure at times, pure smut, oral (m rec.), unprotected sex, creampie, fluffy epilogue.

a/n: my first fic on this acc, I’m so happy to share with you!

“Christopher and I are over, that’s final,” You exclaim, rounding the office and heading toward your cubicle with a very frustrated Felix in tow.

All week, all he can talk about is Christopher’s awaited return and how you, as the one and only ex-girlfriend, shouldn't just quietly acknowledge his existence but throw him a freaking welcome party.

“That’s not what I’m saying—“ He huffs, leaning over the half-walls that separate your desks. “There’s nothing wrong with being amicable and welcoming him home.”

You sigh, “Lix, we’ve been broken up for ages now, it’d be totally weird.”

“You guys were together for way longer than you are broken up,” He says, as a matter of factly. 

You roll your eyes.

It was true, you and Christopher were once inseparable, glued at the hip from middle school, all the way through university. However, a little after your graduation, he moved to pursue his dreams and your relationship just couldn’t survive the distance and stress of real life.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yes, it does!” Felix stares at you like you've gone absolutely mental. “You guys were together for so long for a reason! You were basically perfect.”

You don’t respond, pretending to be busy with your spreadsheets.  

“No one expected you guys to break up.”

“Both of us did, that’s why we broke up. It was mutual, we agreed it was for the best.”

“No it wasn’t! Neither of you asked me!” You chuckle at that. “It was like my parents’ divorce all over…”

Felix rolls closer on his wheeled chair and crosses his arms, giving you a puppy-eyed pout. 

“Your parents got back together.”

“And so should you—”

You’re about to respond and possibly curse him off when your phone rings and that cheesy ringtone has never brought you as much relief. 

“Duty calls,” You shoo Felix away to his own cubicle and pick up your phone. “Yes, this is her.”

Felix watches your faint smile completely disappear before you manage to stutter out confirmations. 

He leans over worriedly. 

“I’ll be coming right over.”

Your hands shake as you gather up your bag and haphazardly shove your belongings in. 

“I— I need you to tell them I’m leaving early today.”

“Who? What happened?”

"It was the hospital, Christopher is in the hospital—“

Your voice gets stuck in your throat, but Felix realises the situation. 

“Don’t worry, just… Do what you need to do, I’ll handle it here.”

Arriving at the Hospital, your legs carry you over automatically, mind half out-of-it until you’re face to face with the room that holds his name. 

You think about it for a second, considering just calling his mum — it’s not like you ever deleted his parents’ number — and chickening out. But you’re caught by a very friendly nurse who half-escorts- half-drags you inside.

And you see him. 

The love of your whole life up until five years ago. The owner of your smiles, your kisses, your heart and every fiber of your being. Until everything came crumbling down.

And he looks… Great. Better than a vengeful, mean part of you wished he looked. 

His hair is bleached a light blond, his curls almost completely gone. Skin paler than ever — you didn’t believe that was possible, but here he is. Chris makes the ugly hospital gown look like designer.

And he seems more than surprised to see you, like you were the last person he was expecting — Because you probably were. Out of everyone the social butterfly knew, his ex-girlfriend shouldn’t be on the top list of people to get you out of hospital. 

“Hey,” You manage to say, giving him an awkward wave. 

“Hey,” He croaks back, immediately clearing his throat afterward.

You walk toward the bed slowly as the nurse goes about her business. 

He’s got a cast on his right arm as well as a boot on his right foot. You hiss at the purple bruising visible along his neck.

“How— How did you—“ Chris stutters, unsure of how to phrase his curiosity.

Your eyes don’t meet his face. You can’t bear to look at the sunken, sickly complexion without wishing to caress and kiss his ailments away.

“They called me,” You explained quietly, “I’m your emergency contact… Still.”

Christopher closes his eyes, whining loudly at himself. “Ah…” He brings his hand to his face, forgetting it’s clad in gesso and does an awkward half-facepalm. “I’m so— so sorry. I didn’t know they’d call you, I totally forgot I had you listed as my emergency contact—“

You flash him a reassuring smile, “It’s fine… Don’t worry about it.”

You want to speak more, to ask him how the years have been, how he’s been but you’re pulled away to fill paperwork about his release. When you’re finally done, the nurse wheels him back in. He doesn’t speak, only holding onto his smashed phone and the crutch. 

The nurse accompanies you to the parking lot and helps load Chris into the passenger side of your Sedan. You shove the crutch on the backseat, silently hoping it won’t slip and accidentally hit one of you or something. 

“So, where to?” You ask, fastening your own seatbelt. Christopher is about to undo his, only waiting for the nurse to disappear from view. 

“You don’t have to— I can just get an Uber.”

Your eyes tell him you think he’s crazy, “Christopher, I am not leaving you in this parking lot when you can barely walk.”

The way his body slightly jumps at the sound of his name goes unnoticed. He doesn’t respond.

“Are you staying with your parents?”

“Yeah,” He nods. Deciding a ride can’t be that weird between exes, right? It’s like Uber. You’re practically strangers, except you’ve seen each other naked. 

The awkward silence is deafening once the car slides into a smooth hum. 

“How are they?” You chose to fill it with small talk. 

“Mhm?”

“Your parents.”

“Ah,  they’re— they’re doing well. Dad’s retired now.”

“Is he?!” You smile widely, keeping your eyes focused on the road. 

“Yeah, he’s driving Mum absolutely mental. He’s constantly bored, you know how he is.”

“Yeah, I know… He could not stand Sundays when we used to just laze around.”

You practically lived at their house. Living so close by, you would walk to and from school with Chris. You’d do your homework on his bedroom floor before running outside to enjoy the weather. And at night you’d catch on a late-night run of The Simpsons. You shake your head at your teenage self and the insane amount of somewhat-wasted freetime. 

Chris laughs, “Oh, God, yeah! I swear nothing would make him as angry as just seeing us doing absolutely nothing.” 

And then, the awkwardness of missed intimacy settles in, realising you know too much but still too little of the person sitting next to you. 

Goddammit. 

The memory coats your tongue in bittersweetness, the longing for the good times and his fucking laugh bring nothing but an empty feeling at the pit of your stomach. Like when you pat your pocket and think you lost something, but instead of your phone or your keys it’s your childhood best friend.

Pulling up at his childhood home fills you with nostalgia and it’s almost Deja-vu like the view you have of the bright white garage door and the light blue panelling. There’s an old crack on the driveway from when you were helping bring in the exercise set his dad bought and it came crashing onto the concrete, blowing a large hole. 

You get out of the car and pull his crutch from the backseat, having to tell Chris to not move before. 

“Is your Mum in?” 

It’d be a shameless lie to say you weren’t dying to see them again. Mr and Mrs Bahng, the sweetest couple who practically raised you with how much time you spent over. 

“Uh— Yeah, she’s probably making dinner… or something,” He mutters, somewhat quickening his pace. 

Chris fumbles with his keys, seemingly missing the keyhole every time. 

Finally, the key goes in and he opens the front door. 

“I’d like to see her before I go,” He freezes, “—Please? I’ll just say Hi, it’d be rude not to.”

“No— It’s not—“

You catch up, looking into the front windows and realising every light is out and there isn’t a sign of them anywhere. 

“Are they out?”

“…Yeah?”

“Oh, no…I’ll wait until they come back, I can’t possibly leave you by yourself…”

And you walk inside like you belonged— Mostly because you did, you faded into that suburban family home, you settled into the memories, your essence in every wall and every piece of furniture. Every memory of his childhood. 

“No!”

You jump. 

“Chris?—” 

“You—You’ve done enough! It’s fine! Thank you!” He stumbles over his words and his crutches, trying to balance his weight on his good foot. 

“What if you fall while they’re out? I can’t in good conscience leave you all by yourself!” 

He sighs loudly, tightly shutting his eyes as the realisation of his options wash over. Be a better liar or just stop being an awkward coward and tell you the truth.

“They’re travelling.”

And you know what that means.

“…They don’t know you’re hurt.”

Chris doesn’t look at you. 

And you shake your head in disbelief because of fucking course he just pretended like he hadn’t been hit by a fucking car. Because you know with every bone in your body that his parents would never be okay with being away from him at all, let alone when he was hurt. 

“This is serious! They need to know.” 

“No, no, they don’t.” He shakes his head like you don’t understand the situation and you don’t because there isn’t anything to understand. “They’ve been looking forward to this trip.” 

“You’ve got broken bones, for fuck’s sake,” You raise your voice, “What’s a fuckin’ trip when their precious son comes home for once and he needs them!” 

Your words come out a lot more emotional than you meant and you both seem to realise. Chris finally stares at you, pressing his lips tightly shut at the sight of your teary eyes. 

“Don’t pretend like everyone else’s lives have priority…Please.” Your voice cracks.

“I—“ He closes his eyes with a sigh, “Yeah…”

He doesn’t speak, letting your words plunge heavy on his chest, every rebuttal getting stuck on his vocal chords and never making it past his throat.  Because he knows you’re fucking right. Like you always are. 

“Chris, unless you can find someone else— An adult, to look after you, I am not leaving.”

Christopher doesn’t come out of his room the whole afternoon after you helped him upstairs. And you know you’re overstepping much more than you ever should. You’re one of the last people he wants to see right now but you can’t help but worry. 

You make a simple dinner with whatever is in the fridge and make him a plate, walking upstairs balancing the meal — incredibly thankful for whoever invented trays. 

Chris has his laptop laid over his thighs, spread over the one leg that isn’t propped up over way too many pillows. 

And it’s a somewhat familiar scene that almost makes you stutter, pinch yourself and long for what’s forever gone— You shake it off.

“Hey,” You breathe out, catching his attention and when his eyes meet yours, you feel your knees grow weak. “Dinner time.”

“Oh, thanks,” He is pleasantly surprised, pushing the laptop aside and adjusting himself to receive the tray.

“Nothing too fancy,” You shrug. “I hope it’s good.” 

“It looks great.”

The way he smiles so child-like, looking at the messy plate of pasta like it’s the greatest thing ever, just tugs at your heartstrings. 

“I’ll let you eat,” You say.

Chris looks up with sad puppy eyes. “What? You’re not eating with me?” 

“What?” You’re surprised to say the least, “Do you want me to?” 

“Yeah… It’s pretty lonely,” He chuckles. 

“Okay.” 

You try to contain your smile as you rush downstairs and fix yourself a plate. 

As you pull up a chair next to his bed, he’s pulling up a Youtube Video on his laptop. It’s an old episode of a 90`s show you remember catching on TV late at night. 

“Wow. Your suggestions are just korean, huh?” You chuckle weakly. There’s an underlying meaning to this other side of him you’ll never know. You had picked up certain words and phrases growing up together and could be somewhat conversational given the other party spoke very slowly. Never really getting the hang of reading the alphabet. 

Chris scratches at his neck, chuckling back, “Yeah, pretty much. I forget sometimes.” 

You hum.

“How was it?” 

He looks at you, almost cooing at the way you stuff your cheeks with pasta. “Korea?” 

“Living there, your job… Everything,” 

With a big sigh, he smiles fondly, “Well,” You stare at your food. “It was great. An amazing learning experience. It’s completely different from uni, actually working with artists and getting work done.” 

A summer in middle school, a cousin of his travelled to visit. He was a self-titled rapper that taught Chris everything from writing to mixing in an archaic software. You remember the remixes of your favourite songs and the CDs he would burn and write your name on with sharpie. 

Somehow, his love for music never faded. Throughout high-school he was self-taught and he managed to only ever get better. You remember falling asleep as he strummed the guitar, trying to get the right chords and waking up from your nap to a brand-new melody. 

A little before you both graduated, his cousin reached out. He had long given up his rap career, but offered housing in case Chris wanted to try out a job at a big company. 

So he did. He left. 

You force yourself to smile, pushing down the selfish part of you that regrets not begging him to stay. He got his dream. And it wasn’t you. "That 's… Great. I’m happy for you. I’m happy it worked out.” 

You were happy, of course you were. The past five years you’ve stalked his social media and soundcloud, you know his discography by heart. He made you proud, always did and always will. 

Chris stares at you for almost a minute, and you can’t decipher the reason his eyes look so pained right now.

“How about you?”

Biting your lip, you poke at the noodles. How can you face him and not say you’ve done nothing but miss him? 

“Great.” You say,  “Really good, I work in my area and… It’s really… great” 

Chris smiles, nodding. “Wow… that’s great.” 

You hum in agreement.

Silence. 

“So…” You both say at once.

And it eases the tension, getting a good chuckle out.

“Go on,” Chris nods.

“What brought you here after so long?” 

He hesitates. “Missed…” You “…Friends and family, you know.” 

“Yeah… I imagine it’s pretty lonely.” 

“Yeah.” 

“What did you wanna ask?”

“Ah…” He studies your face, seemingly nervous and you hope he doesn’t ask anything weird. “…Have you… Have you met anyone?” 

Something like that. 

You almost choke on your food. 

“…I’ve just been busy.” Busy being heartbroken. “You?” 

The laugh track coming from his laptop as one of the characters says something witty makes you want to punch the screen.

He ponders for a second, “…I tried but… None of them were the right one, y’know?” None of them were you. 

“Yeah— Totally, I get that.”

“Yeah…”

You close your eyes, regretting this conversation altogether. You certainly don’t want to think about Christopher’s love life, not when it doesn’t involve you any longer. 

“Are— Are you done?” 

He stares at you before you gesture toward the plate and he realises, “Yeah. Thanks. It was great.” 

“Great.”

Wanting nothing but to take your brain out and pressure wash it, you simply gather up your plate on his tray and pick it up.

“I’ll be taking the guest room, so just yell if you need anything.” 

“Are you sleeping in that?” 

You turn around, “What?”

“Well, you’re wearing jeans. Isn’t it uncomfortable?” 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“You—You can borrow something of mine.” 

And your stupid heart skips another fucking beat. 

Walking downstairs and finding you wearing his shirt, focused on the recipe onscreen as you flip pancakes, Christopher is hit with a wave of nostalgia. He stands at the doorway, trying to settle his breathing. 

He wants to wrap his arms around your waist, pick you up, shower you in kisses and never let go. Instead, he quietly takes a seat at the table.

“Good morning,” 

You jump. “Hey, why are you out? I was gonna give you breakfast in bed.” 

Like you used to when—

“Had to pee.” 

That was a bold faced lie. He woke up with a mess in his pants, literally. His brain tricked him with a wet dream of you coming to him all needy, your pretty eyes and your sly smile. 

Chris grumbled his way into the bathroom and struggled to pull his shorts and boxers off and put on a fresh set of shorts. Pulling on underwear over a boot and with only one arm had to be some kind of olympic sport. 

“Why didn’t you call me?” 

You sound so genuinely worried, he almost feels bad for only thinking that you helping meant you being in close proximity of his dick. 

“…Needed to go real bad.”

You chuckle, “Next time just call me, what if you hurt yourself?” 

“Thanks…” Chris mutters, focusing on the pancakes. Pancakes don’t have a great set of legs peeking out of a nightshirt, *his shirt. 

And he shoves down his breakfast like it will run anyway at any moment. Anything so he won’t reminisce on what could’ve been, on how familiar this all feels.

“So, what are your plans for today?” You ask expectedly. The way you’re way too eager to help send the blood rushing down his body. 

“Uh, I stink so…” He laughs it off.

“Oh, I’ll get the bathtub ready.” You say it so nonchalantly like the idea of helping Chris bathe doesn’t drive you as crazy as it drives him. 

“W-What?” 

“Well,” You laugh, “You have like two out of four functioning limbs, right now.” 

“Yeah, but—“ The way the blood immediately rushes down his body doesn’t allow for any arguments against what you said. Fuck. 

Chris opens his mouth again to speak but he is interrupted by the deafening ringtone he set on his phone, his eyes glance at the screen with a curse. Fucking Changbin. 

“No buts, I’ll get the tap running and come back down to help you up, okay?” You leave before he can respond, happy to win the one-sided argument. 

When you come back downstairs, Chris quickly ends his calls with a pissed off huff. Surprised, you stop.

“You okay?” 

“Yeah.” He brushes it off, leaning over the table to get up.

Quickly, you rush to his side and hold tightly at his waist as you make your way back into his room. You had pushed his desk chair into the suite so he could sit somewhere and not dangerously wade wet linoleum while you got everything ready. 

“How are we gonna do this?” You bite your lip, eyeing at his cast. Submerging them would be a terrible idea, even after using almost an entire roll of cling film. 

“I can sit with my leg out,” He blurts out and you nod. Yep, that seemed to be the only way this was gonna work.

“Yeah, that’s good.” When you turn off the tap and instinctively reach out for his clothes, he jumps. “Sorry—“ You cringe at your actions, pulling away instantly.

Chris shrugs, seeming so distant. You wondered if you were overstepping here, I mean, who were you to help him bathe? He probably felt uncomfortable getting naked in front of you. 

“Do you have any soap here?” You busy yourself with eyeing his empty tub.

“In my bag.” 

When you come back with the black pouch filled with toiletries, he’s managed to shrug off most of his clothes, leaving only his underpants. You freeze in your steps, eyes met with the sight of his unblemished body. 

He’s filled up with perfectly sculpted muscle and healthy skin, a far cry from the lanky teen you adored. You can’t help but swoon at how mature he looks. 

Pushing away at those thoughts begging you to ogle his adonis-like body, you focus on the task at hand. 

Once he is in the tub, you sit at the edge. Grabbing the soap bottle and pouring some in a clean loofah you found by the sink. 

You hand it to him, deciding against washing his body lest you make him any more uncomfortable. Busying yourself with laying down his toiletries, you don’t catch the sullen look that stamps his face at your silence. 

When you catch sight of the shampoo bottle however, you can’t help the tiny smile that finds your lips.

“No fucking way we use the same shampoo!” You exclaim, studying the bottle closely. Chris looks away, focusing on cleaning himself. 

“Is it— Is it the same you use?” 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, the scent of honey and cocoa filling the bathroom as you open it up with a loud click. “Mhmm, smells so good.” He visibly gulps at the sound of your delighted moan. “Such a coincidence.”

“Yeah—“ He clears his throat. “Yeah.” 

“D’you need help?” You ask quietly, lowering the bottle until it joins the others by the floor.

Chris tries to reach his back but gives up and hands you the loofah. 

You give him a soft smile and lean forward, promptly washing the bits he couldn’t reach with his left arm.

“Are you okay?” You ask.

He sighs and for a second, you think you shouldn’t have asked, but he answers.

“Yeah— It’s just. Work.” 

“Ah,” Letting out a sympathetic groan, you giggle, “Of course.” 

He shrugs.

You pull his torso forward, lightly running the loofah over his back, and he is very tempted to lay his head on your lap. The way you hold his neck so delicately when moving his body, how you make sure at all times that he’s okay, it washes away any hesitation. 

“Work isn’t great.” 

“Rough patch?” 

“Actually… It was never really great to begin with.”

He waits for the pin to drop, for you to stare at him like he’s insane; an ingrate. Anyone would kill to be at where he’s at currently — working at one of the top agencies and with the greatest groups of the century. Or you would laugh and tell him you were right all along when you told him to not be afraid of new opportunities but to make sure it was right.

But you furrow your eyebrows with such concern.

“what?” your voice is so soft.

“…It was good at first, I— I got to experience a lot of things but…” He exhales, “I can’t be me. I— I can’t do anything experimental, anything that isn’t certain to be a success with a catchy chorus and stupid choreo that will spread like wildfire…” 

His tense shoulders carry five years worth of stress when he runs his hand through his hair and huffs.

“I’m exhausted… That’s why I left.” 

“You left? You left the company? F-For good?” 

It would be a straight lie to say your stomach didn’t bloom elated butterflies at the sound of that.

“yeah… But they want me back. They’re offering me a shitton of money but… I don’t know.” 

You resume your washing, running the loofah over his neck and chest.

“Do you need it?” 

“I mean… I’m not exactly lacking money, I’m doing pretty fucking well, yeah? But it’s such a big number… I feel foolish rejecting it.” 

“Are you happy?”

Chris looks up to stare at you. “What?”

“You used to say, your music made you the happiest,” You hum, “Are you happy right now? If not, what’s missing?” 

He freezes, reflecting for a good while. The past five years of his life flashing before his eyes, every single day he was slowly drained away of his sanity. What was missing from this life he was living?

You.

“…Thanks.” Chris whispers out in a hoarse voice. You stop, leaning back to face him.

“You are the most passionate man I’ve ever met, please, don’t let anyone kill that” 

“Thank you, truly.”

When he smiles, you see a twinkle appear in his eyes. 

“I’m gonna get you a towel, can you finish up by yourself?”

“Yeah, thanks.” 

You hand him back the loofah and he leans back, shyly shimmying away his pants and quickly making sure his private parts are clean. He considers putting his used underwear back on, looking at the shameful semi he’s currently sporting. 

God, you’d think he’s a right pervert.

Here you were being helpful and kind, meanwhile he’s struggling to keep his cock quiet while you’re so close and you smell so good. And your body, God, everytime you moved, he got just a little preview of how you looked under the oversized tee. You were wearing his shirt, too and the scent of his cologne mixing with your body wash and perfume was driving him absolutely insane because you smelled like him.

Chris is in the middle of struggling his wet boxers over his boot when he hears your footsteps in the hallway, in a panic he gets rid of the underwear in the only way he knows how; throwing it out of sight, it lands with a loud thwap behind the door.

Great, now he doesn’t have anything.

You lay a towel down over the seat of the chair and another over the counter. You reach over the tub, making sure your legs are steady over tile, and hold his forearm, pulling upward. When you reach to hold his torso, you’re met with his bare cock, out just like that.

“Oh!”

Instinctively, you jump back, stumbling over your feet, totally not realising you let go of him.

Chris crashes back down with a loud splash and you scream.

“OH MY GOD!”

You’re both absolutely mortified.

You just saw his dick and proceeded to drop him like a bag of shit. And he is sitting there naked and vulnerable with a sore butt, he can’t say you ever reacted like that to the sight of his cock before. 

“I am so sorry—“ You mutter over and over, helping him back up at once. “Gosh, I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine— I’m fine.” 

“No, it’s not, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I just did that.” You’re almost soaked by the time he’s safely sitting on the chair. 

“I’m fine, see? Still here.” 

And you both stare at each other before he cracks up. 

What a stupid fucking scene.

You absolutely reciprocate his laughter with your own, doubling over, holding your stomach. 

God, how foolish did the two of you look? 

Once your eyes met his nakedness, you just blurted out an “Oh” and practically threw him across the room. 

When the laughter dies down, you’re caught in a staring contest and you both drink in the atmosphere; It’s the missed domesticity of a lost Sunday in July when you’d come home and fool around with no worries in sight.

Back then, you looked at him like he hung the stars and the moon, with your sparkling innocent eyes and dreamy smile, he was the centre of your everything and he never realised just how much he had until he lost you. 

“God, I’m mortified,” You laugh lazily, stretching up from your position to reach for the towel.

Chris snaps from his thoughts, giving you a quiet giggle as a response, “How do you think I feel? I’m butthurt… Literally”

You snort.

He can’t help the adoring smile that finds his lips. Ever present even when you shove the towel into his face, muttering a loud “shut up”.

Starlit eyes are glued to you as you run the soft microfiber over his body with remarkable care. Oh, he doesn’t miss the coy bite of your lower lip when you fingers trace his stomach or the audible gulp that leaves your throat when you eye his thighs.

God, the heat blooming in your cheeks was nearing borderline dangerous levels with how it quickly spread through your chest and… down.

And then you accidentally brush the back of your hand against his member and Chris lets out the most delightful sigh.

You flinch, muttering a quick sorry and crawling away from him as fast as you could.

“You should be able to finish up by yourself, I put a towel down before so you could wrap yourself up,” You clear your throat, smoothing your clothes as you exit the bathroom, calming your racing heart down.

What you didn’t expect coming back however, was the sight of Chris quickly wrapping the towel around his fully hard cock with a blush. 

God.

Oh my god.

Brain absolutely unable to calm down, your body is stuck on autopilot as you help him get rid of the cling wrap. Your eyes absolutely refuse to meet his, even as your hands are over his bare chest and your bodies are glued together walking back into his bedroom. No, you can’t let him see just how much this affected you. 

When he sits down at the bed and you’re promptly gathering him clean clothes, his boner is clearer than ever before. That towel must feel absolutely harassed.

Your eyes can’t help but wander off to the evident bulge, the awareness of his painful erection eats away at your brain. How can you do anything else now that you have seen his boner? 

Chris clears his throat awkwardly, looking anywhere other than your face. 

“Do… Do you want me to help?” 

And Christopher practically freezes in place, his eyes widening larger than you’d ever seen. His heart beating so dang fast it might just explode. “W—What?!”

You must be out of your mind if you think you’re going to give your ex a handjob. You’re not that kind of girl, you know better than that. Your friends would kill you. Helping him was bad news, you should’ve just called someone else.

Because you’re seriously considering it. 

Closing your eyes, you blurt it out. “I can help. I will help you.” 

He doesn’t say a word, staring at your face.

“…If you want…” As you complete your sentence, it’s more of a question than anything else. 

And then Christopher swallows his saliva, staring at you with such desire, so much longing you feel more alive than any time the past five years. 

“…Please.” His voice is a hoarse plea and it brings you to your knees. 

You crash into his mattress, leaning over his body to stabilise yourself. Nothing fills your brain but the tempting desire to touch him again, to feel all of him.

Hands trembling, you undo the towel from his waist. A sigh leaves your lips at the sight of his cock, hard and angry and… begging for your touch. The mere graze of your fingers along his thighs makes his dick throb. 

You run your digits over his length, the emanating heat burns your skin with desire. As you wrap your whole hand around him, his body jerks. You stroke up and down, slowly working up a steady pace and getting used to feeling all of him. 

Betrayed by your body, you feel yourself getting aroused at the sight. Every inch of your skin that touches his pulsates with want. 

God, he was always too hot for his own good. 

Chris was scrawny during your years together, the slender, athletic type. But now, he’s filled in so deliciously, even excluding his stupidly perfect abs, his shoulders are even broader and his arms, god, his arms are so big now. 

You want to kiss every bit of his body, discover every new mole, every scar, find out what you’ve missed. You want to know his body like your own. 

He breathes in, running his hand over his face and biting his lip, it’s getting harder and harder to hold back his moans. Chris knows that if he lets go, he will call you baby like he used to.

Second hand joining in, you lick your lips, eyes drifting to watch his face contort. The toned muscles of his stomach jump every time your finger rubs his head and he hisses, because he’s very much aware you know that drives him crazy.

You were mad to think of giving your ex a handjob. But you were even crazier to consider sucking him off.

The arousal must’ve burnt off your brain cells because the next minute you’re peppering kisses up his length, letting saliva drip down while you swirl your tongue around his head.

Chris almost came right there and then. He throws his head back with a loud whine. 

You clench your thighs, slowing down your hands while you focus on wrapping your lips around him. Your head bobs up and down, you hum when you feel the weight of his fingers tangled in your hair.

Letting one hand wander, you’re caressing his skin, feeling his toned stomach jump under your hand, kneading at his waist, letting your fingernails redden his pale skin.  

When he opens his eyes, Christopher is delightfully surprised by your teary eyes looking up at him with such blinding innocence like you weren’t sucking the life out of his cock right now. Every hum sending goosebumps up his spine and the lewd, wet sound making him throb harder. 

You struggle to fit it all, but your pride and greed have you gagging, making sure to reach the very back of your throat. 

“Oh, God…”

That’s how he reaches his limit, shooting his load down your throat with a hoarse, desperate cry that echoes in the empty house. His body arches so beautifully, pale skin coated in a layer of sweat, leaving a silky sheen over his muscles. You find yourself growing even crazier over Christopher Bahng. 

And then his eyes flutter open and he looks at you so longingly you trick yourself into believing he still loves you as much as you love him. Because when he carefully brings you up and whispers such a quaint “You did so well, so good— so. so good.” 

His fingers fucking carress your cheek like he always did and it’s so stupidly loving. It’s such an intimate act when he fixes your hair and wipes the remaining cum off the corner of your lip. 

The way you melt into the palm of your, your eyes closed, your lips glistening under the sheen of his come, has Chris’s mind going numb. How he wanted nothing other than to hold you and fuck you so good until you cried. He wanted nothing but to give you immeasurable pleasure.

But it’s a notification on his phone that wakes you from your daze. The unsettling guilt falling into the pit of your stomach. You pull away from his touch as if it were toxic. 

“Well—“ You say, adjusting your hair and clothes, avoiding his eyes above all. Not able to bear the adoring look he holds right now. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” 

And he panics. At this exact moment, Chris is confused about most emotions but one — He wants you to stay.

“Let me repay you,” It’s a timid plead, echoing in the quiet home.

“What?” 

“I wanna eat you out—“ Chris confesses, “I want you to ride my face like you always did. Want your thighs to crush my head—“ 

And he smiles with a lustful haze in his eyes. 

You’re almost drunk off his words alone, the thought of having him underneath, eating you out like you’re his last meal — Christopher was always a generous lover, getting off on giving you pleasure, on serving you. 

Turning around, you’re struggling to breathe. Struggling to contain yourself at all. You want to jump into his arms, yes, but things couldn’t be so simple. You guys broke up a long time ago. 

“Chris… You’re—“ You breathe out, “ just horny. I don’t wanna do something you’ll regret.” 

He visibly gulps, “Do you regret it…? What we just did.” 

You want to say yes.

But looking into his eyes, the way he gazes at you so expectantly — eyebrows curved up, puppy-eyed and apprehensive lips pressed into a flat line — you can’t lie.

“…No.” 

“Then I don’t regret it either.” 

“Christopher—“ You sigh. “You need bed rest, I mean you can’t even use your arms.” 

“I can still use my tongue.” 

“I—“ 

“Please, I’m dying to taste you. I can’t think of anything else right now.” 

“I—“ You gulp, regretting your words as soon as they leave your lips, “I don’t want to cum unless it’s around you.” 

Closing your eyes, you expect him to call you delusional, call you foolish. I mean, still hung up on their ex five years later?

But he’s way too busy feeling dizzy with the sudden blood that rushes to his cock. His mouth feels dry, and he can barely breathe right with the way his heart is pounding against his ribs. God, he almost came to your words alone. 

Those words had him wrapped around your finger just like that, he would do just about anything for you, right now.

“Get over here,” Chris manages to breathe out between shallow hisses. 

“Chris—“ 

“For the love of God, just shut up and kiss me—“ The words come out way too intense and violent. He wants to apologise, but is quickly shut down by your lips on his. 

And it feels like everything is right. 

Time stops the very moment your mouth touches his, lips moulded against each other perfectly. 

He completes you, like he always did. 

Chris cups the back of your neck, pulling you into his body and you gently sit on his stomach, careful not to put your whole weight on his body. 

Holding you so tight, his kiss is fervent, savouring every second of it as if it could fade any moment. Maybe this was another dream. Even if it were, he was going to enjoy every second of it. 

He would have you again even if it were just a dream.

When his tongue forces its way into your mouth, you sigh into his lips. He can feel your chest pressed against his, thin sleep shirt doing nothing to conceal your figure. Not that he was a stranger to any of it, every inch of you was memorised, carved into his brain.

You tangle your fingers into his hair and it feels just as incredibly soft as it looks, sliding like silk between your digits as you scratch at his scalp like you know he loves. 

“Take— Mhhm— Take it off—“ Chris whines into your lips, pulling at your shirt, struggling to maneuver without the use of his right hand. 

You part your kiss, laughing softly and that sound sends a thrill down his entire body.

Once the shirt is off, you’re suddenly self-conscious. I mean, you’re no longer twenty-one and the things that used to be perky and smooth are now all flabby and textured. Even though time has passed for the both of you, it seems like Chris only looks more beautiful. 

But he looks at you with such an adoring gaze, admiring every element that makes up the masterpiece that is you. Drinking in every new mark on your skin, he wants to burn this image into his eyes, just in case he can never be blessed with this sight again. 

A part of him wants to wallow in self-pity, the idea of your body changing, of you changing, away from his eyes is painful.

But, for now, he’s going to lay in your curves and take everything he missed.

His tongue runs hot along your neck and your body tingles with want. No other man, no other person ever had such a grip on you like Chrstopher. 

“God—“ You sigh, “I need you, Chris, right now—“ 

He groans.

“I know, baby. But I need to get you ready and wet for me.” 

“I’m dripping.” You confess. “I’ve been wet since you took off your fucking shirt and I had to touch you.” 

He pulled you into a kiss so harsh the bed creaked. God, you were crazy, he was insane and you were both driving each other into madness. 

Biting your lips, you steady your body on his good shoulder and position yourself. Chris sighs at the sight of your dripping cunt hovering so close to his throbbing member.

Slowly, inch-by-inch, you lower your body onto his member,welcoming the stretch with a shy mewl. He fills you up, more than you’d thought, much better than you remembered. 

Every second you’re not moving feels torturous to him. Feeling your walls clamp around cock, so wet and warm and perfect, he has to will himself not to cum right then and there.

You start your slow movements up and down, easing yourself into a pace that feels right.

“I’ve dreamt of this,” Chris blurts out between breathy whimpers.

You laugh it off. 

“Last night.” 

“what?”

“I had a dream—Ngh.— I dreamt you were around me just like you were now.” 

You smile, your walls clenching at the idea of his desire for you. Chris thinking about you in his most intimate moments.

“Is—“ You sigh, “Is it as good as your dream?” 

“No—“ He hisses and your smile fades. “It’s so much better. So much better. I forgot how perfect you were. So perfect.”

The compliment goes straight to your cheeks, heat spreading through your skin and pooling on your chest. You’d be perfect for him, always would. 

“yeah?” You breathe out, quitting your bouncing for a second to circle your hips. The friction it provides to your clit is more than enough to take away any restraint you had left.

Chris nods, whining at the lack of movement. 

Leaning forward, you take his pouty lips in a sweet, quickened peck. His hand tightly grips your waist, fingers lightly tracing at your skin, following your slow pace. 

From your lips leaks a tempting prayer of his name, slurry and breathless. 

He drinks in the sight of your concentrated expression, eyebrows pulled in together as you slide your body up and down so diligently to make him feel good. 

Tracing along your waist, his hands find your ass and he can’t help but knead at your skin, giving it a good slap.

You yelp, not holding back your giggle at the surprise slap. 

And at the sound of your saccharine laughter, Chris feels the hole in his soul be repaired with the dripping honey of your existence, tightly woven with your mischievous smiles and side-eyed smirks.

Chris wraps his arm around your back and brings you tight to his chest, your body is so hot pressed against his, every curve and outline fits together. He takes your lips in a heated kiss, humming sweetly into your throat.

You would be able to hear how desperately his heart pounded against his chest if it weren’t for your own loud heartbeat pouring at your ribcage. 

Every time you raise your hips to the very tip of his member only to bottom out in one-go, Chris throws his head back with a long whine. His broken sighs spark up electricity down your body and straight to your core, he feels so absolutely dizzying inside of you, so full, you feel every inch of him. 

“I—“ He chokes, “‘M not gonna last long.” 

“Oh, thank god. Me either,” You breathe out into a quiet laugh, thankful you won’t have to keep shooing away your orgasm. “C’mon— Ah! Give it to me—“ You lick your lips at the thought of his cum painting your walls. “Fill me up, been too long, mhm? Make sure it doesn’t leak out.” 

You see the way he bites his lips, his hips meeting yours with unrestrained strength. 

Oh, he will give it all to you. 

His lips crash into yours as you both reach your limits, the exploding release flooding your brain with nothing but endorphin. 

Sitting quietly, you feel the way his member convulses inside you, its last strings spurting out lazily into your walls. Every twitch has you clenching around his sensitive cock; His hisses are a great sign you should control your pussy. 

Trying his best to wrap both of his arms around you, Chris pulls you tighter into his chest, pressing a kiss to your hair. 

The weight of your tired silhouette laying on his chest feels absolutely right. The thrumming of your racing heart against his, settling into synchronized rhythms. You belonged there. You always would. 

When he feels you wriggling, Chris sighs, pulling you tighter, “Don’t— Don’t leave me.”

You close your eyes, willing away every ounce of your body that misses him, you can’t do this to yourself. No, this will probably just be a one-time thing and when he gets better, he will leave you, again. 

“Chris—“ 

“I bought it so I could smell like  you.” His voice is hoarse and hesitant, a silent whisper that instantly relaxes your body.

“What?”

“The shampoo. The stupid shampoo. I bought it after we broke up because I couldn’t fucking sleep unless my pillowcase smelled like honey and cocoa.” He regrets it as soon as the words leave his lips.

But you lay there, floored. Before you even realise, the dam breaks and you’re sobbing. You’re so goddamn happy he missed you as much as you missed him.

Celebrating your 35th birthday meant getting woken up by happy little screams and the absolute sweetest giggles filling your ears. You groaned, silently mourning a good night’s rest.

The past week had been filled with nothing but aversion to that dreaded saturday. What were Birthdays but a constant reminder that you were only getting older? Wasn’t the white hair you found last month enough?

But now, groggily opening your eyes to immediately lock your sight on the three mischievous silhouettes by the door, you can’t help but smile.

“She’s awake, get her!” Your husband cries out, setting out your two very enthusiastic twins running to your bed.

They jump onto your bed, expertly crawling toward you and bombarding your face with sweet little kisses. You laugh under their love-bombing, tiny faces rubbing against your cheeks.

Christopher watches by the bedside, holding up the tray of birthday breakfast with a loving gaze glued to his face. 

You’d gotten married not long after your reunion and Chris had started making his own music, producing independently. Most artists he’d worked with before actually followed him into his freelance days, making the transition much smoother. 

Two of his fellow producers joined in on that adventure and they were far more successful than either could’ve predicted. You’d bought a house for renovation after your promotion, planning on doing it all together. Too bad you’d find out soon about your pregnancy, Christopher refused to let you lift a single finger your entire gestation.

“Come on, come on, boys, let mummy breathe,” at the sound of their father’s voice, the twins cease their kisses and take a seat by your feet so Chris can set the table over your lap.

“Happy birthday, honey, I love you,” He kisses your lips, sitting by his sons at the foot of the bed.

“What is this? Oh my goodness!” You exclaim, eyeing the spread of fruit-filled pancakes and syrup, eggs, bacon, orange juice. A breakfast of royalty.

“Happy birthday, mummy! We love you!” Your youngest chimes in, absolutely melting your heart. 

Looking at your sons, you smile. Both an absolute carbon copy of their daddy, from their heads of curly black hair to their little toes. They’d be turning four sooner than you’d wish, hoping your babies would never grow up. No day would ever be bad when you have your three boys. 

“Come here, my babies,” You coo, humming as your boys crash against your chest and you nuzzle your nose on their curly heads. “Thank you, babies, I love you.” You kiss your eldest, “And you,” You kiss your youngest, “So, so much.” 

They giggle in your arms, “What about daddy?”

“Well, I’m still not sure.”

They laugh even harder much to the chagrin of your husband.

“Come on, boys, whoever’s dressed first gets a chocolate chip cookie.” 

And with that they’re far gone from your embrace and out of the door in a hurry. Christopher joins you in bed with a chuckle. 

“What was that?”

“Mum and Dad got the kids for today, which means you and I, have a full day of doing absolutely nothing,” He winks, stealing a strawberry from your pancakes.

You moan at the sound of that, “Oh my God, I love you,” Leaning over you kiss his lips and cheeks, ecstatic at the sound of a day off. 

“Oh, so now, you love me?” Faking hurt, he puts a hand to his hip.

“That’s up for debate,”

“Oh, yeah? You and I need to get working on the boys’ birthday present today,”  Chris says, leaning over to kiss your neck.

Mouthful of pancakes and whipped cream, you furrow your brows. “What did they ask for?” 

“A little sibling.”

You choke on your food, whipping your head to stare at him, “They’re spending too much time with your friends.” 

He laughs at that, fingers tracing circles on your forearm. “They’ll be joining school soon, don’t you miss having a little one?”

“God don’t remind me of that,” You whine, “Maybe I’ll have two girls, I won’t be outnumbered anymore.”

Christopher laughs, mind wondering what your daughters would look like. Oh, he loved that idea. “I’m not opposed to that. I’ll throw them the best princess tea parties.” 

You smile, leaning over to kiss your husband. 

“Daddy! I was ready first!”

“No, daddy! I was.”

Duty calls.

“I’ll be right back,” He whispers, giving you a kiss of stolen birthday strawberry and whipped cream, “I love you.”

“Mhm. I love you, too.”

You watch the love of your life run to find your sons to give them their reward as you enjoy your amazing birthday-breakfast in bed. You’d just been named the head leader for the newest project and Chris’s trio had reached the Top 10 on billboard. You couldn’t imagine more well-behaved, loving sons, even if they were just copies of their daddy.

A lot changed in the past decade, but one thing will always be constant.

You’ll love Christopher Bahng forever.

I'm used to it *MoodBoard*

mafia!bang chan x vet!reader

description: you come home to see your best friend and roommate, felix, is not home yet. not unusual...til it hit 4am. your worries were answered when you heard banging coming from the front door. only to open the door and have a lot change in a short amount of time.

warnings: mafia!skz, two gun fight scenes(one major & one minor), reader has and anxiety attack & passes out, wound & blood to one character, pet names(mainly sweeheart), smut, unprotected sex, oral(fem & male receiving), shower sex, out in the open during oral so slight exhibition, dirty talk

wc: 6,000+

Posted!: here

when he sees me || Lee Know

Pairing: Lee Know x f!Reader

Summary: Interacting with others has never been easy for you, whether it is talking to them or, worse, flirting with them. As a result, relationships, but also any form of sexual interactions have always eluded you. You had no reason to think that was going to change anytime soon.

And then your hot neighbor’s cat shows up in your apartment, and you think that things just might change. Even if it’s only on one front.

Word count: 13.3k

Genre: Neighbors AU, slice of life, smut, fluff & angst

Warnings & Tags: mention of a dead grandparent, social anxiety, insecurities, loss of virginity, reader doesn’t tell minho that she’s a virgin, smut (vaginal sex, oral sex [female receiving], fingering, very soft sex), unreliable narrator, unresolved romantic tension.

A/N: Hi everyone! After going through a rough past couple of… six months, hence the disappearance, and pretty much not writing/not finishing anything for all of that, I just really wanted to try writing something again. This was long — it basically took me the whole summer to write this piece — but I’m happy that I’ve managed to create something again :) Thank you to all of the people who sent kind messages during that time, I saw them and truly appreciated them. I hope you enjoy this, and I would really appreciate it if you could let me know your thoughts, especially if you like it!

“It sounds like you really needs to get laid,” Nari comments, and the table laughs heartily while you smile. You make the conscious effort of creasing your eyes, so it looks genuine, but hopefully no one can tell. She reaches over to grab your hand, an amused grin on her face, and squeezes it. “We’ll get on that soon, I promise, but in the meantime, being here is the next best thing.”

You smile and nod, but you also shift slightly in your chair.

‘Here’ is the District 9, and it’s, for all intents and purposes, a strip club. There’s no actual stripping happening, but there are scantily-clad men dancing on stage, and rumors flying around about ‘private sessions’ that can happen in one of the backrooms, if you’re willing to pay. You and your friends — coworkers — are here for the men. But, as the lights dim and your friends start clapping, instead of focusing on the stage, you cast a look over your shoulder.

Keep reading

bad habit. CHAN — 방찬

pair. bad boy! chris x f. reader. | warnings. mentions of violence, language, mentions of scars, mentions of abuse/neglect, smut, unprotected sex, filthy talk, slight breeding kink. | word count.

synopsis. chris has never asked or needed anyone’s help—except yours.

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @hyuneater 🤍

“Don’t call 911.”

You stare at the man on your front steps. The scar running across half of his face is paler than usual tonight, contrasting against the bright red painted on his lips.

Blood. Still, that doesn’t surprise you. What does—

The deep burgundy on his white shirt, the way his veiny hands are clutching his left side, his body leaning towards it, curling weakly around the wound, legs clad in black sprawled over the stairs.

This has been a reoccurring image; it’s practically stitched behind your eyelids, his hundreds of injuries, the way he remains bleeding out in front of your house. The familiarity of it doesn’t make it any less distressing to witness.

And yet, the why—it’s never answered. It lingers over the both of you; hangs like a cloud every time you find him there, that designated place of his in your life, with the stench of iron, and sweat.

He can’t stand the way you’re looking at him.

“Stab wound?” you asked, tilting your head at him. Despite your mild annoyance, you couldn’t help but worry.

“Stab wound?” you asked, tilting your head at him. Despite your mild annoyance, you couldn’t help but worry.

He seemed to be in more pain than usual.

“Almost,” he replied, and it was a breathy thing. “He couldn’t get close enough,” he choked on that last word, groaning.

You sighed, and helped him to stand, propping his arm around your shoulder, carrying the weight of him up the steps and into your home. As soon as you opened the door, he dropped to the floor, panting.

He was scaring you. “Chris, I think you need to go to the hospital.”

“No,” he exhaled sharp, squeezing his eyes shut, “no hospital.”

That didn’t sound very convincing.

“Please.” At that, you turned to look at him. Chris never said please, never begged for anything. Barely asked for help, his pride too big, his need to appear independent, and self sufficient most important—except when it came to you.

Hell, you consider yourself an overnight private nurse at this point. You had only but a basic knowledge of first aid, but always kept a well supplied kit under your bed, exactly for this reason.

When Chris first showed up on your doorstep, busted face, bruised ribs, you almost turned him away. You’d briefly dated, months back, until you realized the fights would never stop. The thrill of a punch was more important than you. So you ended it, and genuinely thought you would have nothing to do with him, ever again.

Cut to two months later, past midnight. All black shirt drenched, hair sticking to his forehead, pale face—you took him in because it was late. Then because he had nowhere else to go. The excuses blurred together, after a while. Every time was the last time.

A year later, you’re here. You grab the red box, dropping your stuff on the mattress, and rush to him.

You don’t focus too much on what you’re doing, only trying to be quick and precise, assessing the injury, picking out what you need to disinfect, tend, cover. Your fingers work the buttons on his shirt, exposing tan skin, and muscle.

Ignoring, you blinked at the side of his stomach. It didn’t look deep, which was good, but it was still nasty. He’d just barely recovered from a kick to the abdomen, or what he said was a kick.

It looked more like someone had smashed a chair on him. It wouldn’t be entirely impossible.

“I’m gonna need you to take your shirt off,” you mumble, cleaning around the big gash, wiping the blood away.

Chris was intently staring at your face, the pain turning into static; an uncomfortable buzzing that would eventually numb to nothing. The pain was always temporary, and then the itch would come back, hard to tune out. Chris succumbed to it every fucking time.

There was no reason to it, no clear explanation. His brain was just wired that way, and he’d decided to live with it. The life he led was going nowhere, and the most terrifying part of it all—he couldn’t care less.

He didn’t give a single fuck.

“You only have to ask, baby girl,” he flirted, wincing at the motions it took to remove the shirt. His shoulders were sore—of course, that was the least of the damage.

“Don’t be absurd,” you glared at him through your eyelashes. “Keep this on the cut, will you?” Your fingers guided his hand on top of the cut, applying pressure with the cloth you used to clean around it.

“I missed you,” he mused, doing as told.

“You saw me two weeks ago.”

He chuckled at that, and immediately regretted it, almost doubling over with cough. You scolded him, told him to keep quiet. He complied, silently, but didn’t stop smiling.

After that, you ran to your small bathroom, wetting a towel with warm water, and washing your hands. When you were sure the blood had stopped flowing, you cleaned the wound one more time, gently fingering some antibiotic cream on the angry looking thing.

“Lift your arms,” you instructed, wrapping sterile bandage around his torso. You secured it with a pin, and leaned back to admire your work.

“All done.” You paused as you said that, peaking at his face. “You know how to take care of that, don’t you?” You pointed at his lip.

Chris nodded, already ahead of you on that. You took a deep breath, and nodded back, starting to get up. His hand shot out, stopping you.

“Thank you.” His eyes, peering over at yours—they looked almost angelic. Perhaps it was an illusion of the moon, illuminating on his face from the window next to him.

Or perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you.

“Yeah. Of course.” You bunched up his bloody shirt in your hand, and went to throw it in the washing machine, along with the rest of your laundry.

It had become a habit of sorts, doing washes with his clothes. It sort of gave you a reason to complete that dreaded chore. Walking over to your closet, you grabbed one of his many spare shirts that stayed in your house after visits like this, and threw it at him.

Chris had already tended to his lip, and eyebrow. Grasping the corner of the wall, he slowly slid up, hissing at the strain and effort it took to stand.

“You’re staying here,” you said, on stand by to help him move to your bed. He nodded, his face scrunched up in pain. You let him use you as a crutch, sitting him down on the soft surface.

After a few seconds of deep breaths, he turned his head to look at you. His broad shoulders, and defined chest distracted you way more than you cared to admit. You prompted him to wear the shirt, taking off your own.

The two of you had never been shy to each other’s bodies. He’s seen you naked more times than he’s seen you clothed, he knows every crevice of you, every freckle. And you do, too. You remember everything. Sometimes you wish you didn’t.

“What started it this time?” You asked, conversationally, reaching for your oversized T-shirt by the edge of your headboard.

Chris whirled his frame, his back to you, as he struggled to fit the shirt over his head without irritating the wound too much.

And there they were. Dozens of scars, all faded with time, but bumpy, evident even in a dark room. They looked like slashes, knife or whip marks, you’d never got a clear answer for that. Or for anything, really.

He had all these scars, on every part of him, and he still longed for more—got himself in trouble just to feel them forming again, and again. Once, you accused him of living in the past, of thriving off of getting hurt. It was a mean thing to say, but you’d said it anyway.

It was true. You’d seen it in his eyes, back then. He knew nothing else—no other way. Getting physical was second nature to him. But it wasn’t to you, and you had grown sick with obsessing over your phone, waiting to get that one dreadful call.

The call that would break you, ruin everything. You broke up with him hoping that would bring him to his senses. If anything, it only made it worse.

Your fingers reached to trace them, the ghosts of his childhood. His body stilled, froze under your touch. You think he’d stopped breathing, until he exhaled shakily.

“The motherfucker had it coming,” he said through his teeth. “He messed with Felix.” As if that would explain everything.

It did, to no one’s surprise. Chris would die for that Lee Felix—he’d been his longest friend, dating from their childhood back in Australia.

He had a tattoo, located at the top of his spine, right under the nape of his neck. It was a traditional looking cross, but there was a snake wrapping around it, engulfing it in its leathery embrace. He’s had that since you met him. He got that for his friend, he’d said. Snakes symbolize rebirth.

His friend had died in a car accident, the winter before you saw him at the bar you worked at. Still work at. His name was Changbin, and ‘he loved dark shit like that.’

Chris got that in his memory. That’s the only ink he has.

But the scars. The scars had no answer. The scars ran deeper than anything else. He’d always been self conscious of the one extending from the bottom of his brow, over his nose, to the apple of his cheek. It had made such a strong impression on you, when you saw it. You thought it looked badass. You said so.

He’d smirked at you, twirling his drink with one hand, a thick chain adorning his wrist.

“Isn’t that a red flag, sweetheart? Liking men with scars?”

You’d smiled softly, pouring a cocktail you’d just made to a glass with a lime wedge on it.

“Not if the scar isn’t their fault.”

His eyes darkened at that, face somber. “And how would you know?”

It was clear you’d pushed a button, somewhere, but it was way too late to backtrack then. So you replied, “You don’t look the type to slice their own face open.”

He’d asked for your name then. That same night, you found him waiting outside, leaning against his motorcycle. It was something like three in the morning. He looked wide awake.

He took you home, and fucked you against the doorframe. You couldn’t even make it past the hall. Ever since then, you clung to each other.

And then you didn’t. He never stopped.

“Can I ask about them, now?” You kept your voice small, barely above a whisper.

Chris shuddered, but said nothing for a long time. Then he wore the shirt at once, still facing away from you. You wore yours too, almost giving up on his replying.

Then he spoke.

“My step dad was a drunk,” he started, his tone rough. “He beat my mom, and constantly fucking threatened me. Many times—he’d kick me out, throw all my shit to the streets. My mom tried to reason with him,” he chuckled, dryly, “there was no reasoning with him. He had a pocketknife. It was always out whenever I was around.”

He stopped, letting the words register in your ears. Tears brimmed at the edges of your eyes, and you let the spill freely. You knew it’d be fucked up, but never this. This was child abuse—it was horror.

He buried his face in his hand, rubbing his face raw. Then he turned to look at you. His brows rose at your tears, surprised to see you cry like this, for him. He reached out and wiped them away, one by one.

“One night, my mom was asleep. I’d come home late. He made sure I knew—that was his house. I lived under his roof.”

You got a hold of yourself, taking in his words as he caressed your face. He was so close you could feel his breath on your lips. He seemed to know that—he made no move. Lines. You’d established lines, and despite his rebellious personality, he would never cross them.

Because he cared about you way too fucking much. Because if this was the only way he could have you, he sure as hell would not jeopardize it—for nothing.

Even if his body missed yours like crazy. Even if he dreams of you naked underneath him, giving in to him, letting him take care of you the way he knows. The way he’s learned, the way you’ve taught him.

“Thank you telling me this,” you laid a hand on his thigh, a sad smile stretching your mouth. “I wish I’d known sooner.”

He stared at your hand on him. “It changes nothing.”

You had to put some space between you. Getting up, you walked to the bathroom to wash your face. He watched you walk away from him—you seem to do that so well.

Him, on the other hand. Anchored down, setting camp outside you, waiting. Until you change your mind—until you accept this, this thing between you, until you invite him in again.

You must still know—how he loves you. The fire had been lit long ago, perhaps when he first laid eyes on you, perhaps longer still, even before. It’s still burning, but it’s a desperate attempt—there’s little wood left, and no kindling.

Still, he waits. Still, he loves you. Chris has never known how to give up.

“Who was with you?” You ask, trying to break the impenetrable wall that’s started to build between you again.

“Felix, Hyunjin, and Jisung,” he replied, feeling your intent. “We were just drinking. You can ask them—they’ll vouch for me. I didn’t start it.”

You snorted at that, dabbing your face with a towel, and turning off the light. “Of course they’ll take your side. You’re leading a cult, Bang Chan. Have you not noticed how blindly people follow you?”

His eyes followed you as you comfortably went around your safe space, putting on your skincare, brushing your hair. He felt like an invader, interrupting your life like this, a beggar scrapping for crumbs—and yet you acted like he didn’t, like he was part of your daily routine.

Like he belonged in your room at one in the morning, wrapped in gauze, half drunk. Like before.

“How long will you make me wait?” It fell out of his mouth, before he could even second guess it.

Your hands stopped mid air, the question too honest, too raw. A dare, almost.

“Chris…” You wouldn’t look at him, instead resuming what you were doing, shaken.

He sat where you left him, arms crossed over his naked chest, all muscle, eyes piercing you through the mirror in front of you. You let your gaze graze over his frame in the dark. The remnants of his touch, the way his breath would fall over your breasts, dropping kisses on your skin—and then, finally, the entering, the gasp, the intoxicating spreading and stinging of his cock buried deep in you—

You missed him more than words could describe. But the fear—it had its vines wrapped tight around you. He’s still fighting, disregarding his life, thinking so very little of himself…

You couldn’t mean so much to someone. You couldn’t be the only thing that made them happy—the only thing that filled their empty spaces.

Chris was a strong man. A mountain, something you couldn’t easily shake, something that seemed to withstand the passage of time, and nature, and the wrath of other men. But a mountain chips away, too. Little by little, the change so small, not visible to the naked eye.

One day, it would grumble and crumble. Fall apart entirely. Something that once stood so big and unbeatable, suddenly reduced to rock and debris.

“You’ve any idea how much I love you?” His voice filled with emotion, growing deep with yearning. “How much it takes for me to not reach out and touch you how I know you love being touched?”

“We were doing so well,” you mutter, tears welling up. “Why’d you have to ruin it?”

“‘Cause it’s bullshit, isn’t it?” There’s resentment in his tone, now. He’s shaking with purpose. “You feel it as much as I do, (Y/N). I know you fucking do. Stop trying to hide from me. From me—any other motherfucker you can fool, but not me.”

“I know you like the back of my hand.”

Your body shot up from the chair, before your mind could begin to process what you were doing—you opened the front door, your face collapsing with grief.

“Leave.” A weak attempt.

He made no move to do so. Instead, he rose to his feet, hand clutching the headboard, evidently in pain. You felt like a hypocrite, helping him with his wound, but throwing him out of your house the moment he speaks the truth.

You try not to waver.

“Close the door, angel,” he spoke softly, like how one would talk to a child.

You blink, tears blurring his broad figure. You think you should, like maybe you’re overreacting, but it’s him, it’s Chris, and you’re sure he’d never tell you to do anything he wasn’t sure you wouldn’t regret.

He walks towards you, slowly, grunting along the way. He leans against the hall’s wall, head falling on the cool of it, and he looks at you. He looks at you with the weight of him, the history of you, his love that still remains.

He looks at you because he sees it back. It’s staring him straight in the face. Why would you be crying, otherwise?

“You have to stop, Chris,” you say and it chokes you. The wave of it. It drowns you both.

“He’s not here anymore. He’s gone.”

And you mean his stepfather. You mean Changbin. You mean the little kid that had to fight just to survive—just to have a roof over his head, just to protect his mom when his mom wouldn’t protect him. You cry for all of them, because they shaped who is standing in front of you.

Chris had to glue every single piece of what made him. But you cannot glue a person back together. It’s going to be all wrong—you saw that, too. You tried to understand it.

His dark eyes were glistening. He swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple moving. He tried to pretend; tried to ignore how his throat closed up, how his chest hurt.

“Stop what?” But he knew. He knew.

“Fighting back. You won. You’re okay,” you exhale sharply, smiling at him, but it’s a sad thing.

And then, at last, you sob. Everything you’ve been boxing up, everything you’ve wanted to say—it surges out of you. A tsunami high enough to bury the entire city of him underwater.

Bang Chan withstands, as he always does.

His arm reaches out, and crushes you into him, slamming the door shut with his foot. You go, because you’re tired of fighting as well. You’d like to rest now. Tell yourself it’s going to be alright at the end.

You belong with this man, after all. The tide keeps bringing him back to you.

“Let me in,” he repeats feverishly on your neck. His hot breath is scorching. “Let me in, let me in…it’s me, angel.”

It was. You nod against him, your tears still sweeping, flowing, bursting. If you’re hurting him, he doesn’t show it, instead tightening his arm around you, allowing you to accept him. And you do—you open up like a flower after heavy rain. You show him everything.

Chris leaves a kiss on the top of your head. “For you, anything. For you, the world,” he whispers in your hair, and you believe it.

He’d rather die before he loses you again. You know this, too.

And so it starts—the pushing, and pulling. Your shirt over your head, his arms grabbing, throwing, your naked skin under his warm hands, the way it comforts his rushing thoughts. You’re being careful with his cuts, the sharpness of him, but the softness—the shades, and curves, the roughness of his past sketched on him, the pencil dug, the lines going inwards, hard and clearly outlined to last.

He pushes you back against the door, and it feels like that first time, so long ago now, when you couldn’t wait to get your hands on him—when he was driven to the brink of insanity with the thought of you, how you would feel, so much so that he’d risk everything, he’d take you right there, outside your workplace if possible, but you showed him something better, something personal and intimate—your home. And he became a part of it, like a piece of furniture, and even after, he’s still there, on all you owned, his scent never quite gone because he comes again.

And again. Again, again, again. He’s never gone longer than the time it takes for his cologne to dissolve from your sheets.

Your fingers are shaking, and his are too, but they’re also fervent, they’re trying to reach everywhere, all at once, and the impatience of him is so truly like him that it brings new tears, and those tears smear on his shoulder when your head drops, when his fingers push your underwear to the side and sink into you—oh, the feeling of him. The longness of his digits, the way they curl inside your cunt, all the ways he knows where to go, like a map he wrote himself, with red pins all over it, marking the salient spots, the foremost parts of you. Your mouth hangs open, as he takes you like that, and he reaches for it—smashes your lips together, his tongue exploring familiar territories, but also whatever has changed in the time you kept yourself from him. He’d learn it again, he’d spend his whole life reintroducing himself to you.

“Let go for me, baby. Whenever you’re ready… I’m right here.”

You’re screaming, you think, it feels too good, and his middle finger is hitting that spongy spot inside of you, the wetness of your cunt sounding impossibly sinful to your ears, but he keeps going, he loves it, it’s making him rock hard against your thigh, and oh my God, you can feel the length of him, you remember how fucking delirious it used to make you to cup him over his jeans, feel him fill your entire palm and more, his mouth over your ear whispering dirty things, awful awful words, that stole your breath, that had you fully alert of all the ways a man could use you, could pleasure you—my beautiful girl, I can’t wait to have my dick buried deep inside of your sweet cunt, I bet you feel like pure fucking morphine—Chris’ mouth could run for days. But he absolutely fucking lived for the way you’d collapse on him, for the effect his filthy words had on you, and especially on your pussy, the way you’d drench him the more he whispered to you.

Your orgasm rippled through you in one tidal wave. You grind down on his hand, riding through it, and he encourages you, he’s everywhere, there’s no line where you start and he ends, he’s all over you, you’re all over him. Your moans turn him into a goddamn animal, send him straight to Hell, and he gladly goes, he gladly falls, anything, anything for you, absolutely, and always, you must know, surely you must fucking know.

“Get inside me. Now, Chris, now, fuck…” you pant, you fall apart—he catches you. Every time.

He obliges. Your touch on his cock is heavenly, all he’s been waiting for, for you to want him like this again, to be this close, to be as close as it humanly gets, and if he could become second skin on you he would, but he fucking can’t, so he settles for this—you position him against your entrance, and despite his battered body he pushes in, he would never miss this, would never refuse, goddamn the wounds, and the scars, and the fucked up part that still exists in him, will always exist.

He pushes, and he slips in, slips past, his arm is wrapped around you, his hand is squeezing your neck, he’s folded around you like the snake on his neck—a rebirth, and it is, it fucking is—you cannot breathe then, the stretch incredible, the feeling of him, of his cock—you’d missed him so fucking much, you can’t believe you deprived yourself for this long.

But he’s here now. He fucks into you slow, sensual—you think he can’t possibly move any faster, the pain too much, but one, two, three, four thrusts later and he picks up his pace, cradles you into his chest and drills up in your cunt, almost lifting you off the ground. You gasp, his name whispered like a prayer, yes, yes, please don’t fucking stop, yes, harder, please Chris, please—he shushes you, his fingers getting lost in your hair, pushing strands away from your face so he could look into your eyes, so he could watch as you come apart, as your eyes fall shut, as you go into overdrive.

You’re so wet for me, baby girl, I can’t fucking believe I’m inside you—will you let me come in my pussy, mine, it’s mine, you’re mine, angel, fuck—he’s aggressive now, almost there, crazy with need, and your smell, your sweet smell mixed with the musky scent of your sex, he can’t get enough, he’s going to have to be buried in you for the rest of his life, he thinks, its impossible to part with you now, he’s scared, fucking terrified, there’s nothing better than this, than you, he loves you so fucking much, he’d trade his entire existence for one taste of you, of your lips, of your cursed cunt—he’s in flames, you’ve become a forest fire, torching everything in your wake, and he’ll burn with you, he’ll gladly burn to the ground if that’s what you want.

Your lips suck on the sensitive part of his neck, and it sends him spiraling—he’s bruising your thigh that’s against his hip, his fingers dig into your jaw, you’re blind with the entirety of him—you come, and you’re begging.

“Come with me—come inside me. Please, please—”

He needn’t be told twice; he chases after you, his own high overwhelming, but he stays moving inside you, painting your walls with his cum, breeding you, marking you. He faintly thinks if you get pregnant with his child, he’d marry you on the spot, would take care of the both of you, you’d never have to worry. He stills inside of you, both hands on your ass now, as he realizes the wavelength of his feelings, his own obsession—a family with you.

Chris doesn’t ponder over it for too long, knowing you’d freak out on him and he’d have to lose you all over again, but he thinks he can see it; a little girl in his arms, your warm voice filling his mind. He shakes his head, as his cock slips out of you, his hand reaching to tuck it back into his jeans.

Later—there’ll be time for that. But not now. He doesn’t think he can handle that right now, not when the monsters of his past are still threatening to knock down the very foundation of him.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, looking down, examining his wound. There’s blood peaking through the white of the bandage, and you sigh. “I have to change this.”

Chris smiles at you, without meaning to. His girl. His. He’d never take it—this—for granted. You worrying about him, your eyes staring at him softly. Never.

He’d never fuck this up. Never again.

“Tell me you love me,” he demands, but he’s still smiling, his face feels like the sun.

“I love you,” you say shyly, quietly.

“Again.”

“I love you.”

His forehead falls against yours, his hands on your arms, holding you in place.

“Again,” he whispers, eyes closed.

You brush your thumb on his cheek. “I love you, Chris,” you say earnestly. Proudly.

When he cups your face, you think you will never love anyone as much as you love him. There’s no one like him—no one you’d rather have. And when he drops a kiss on your forehead—home.

Nothing like it.

three in one || hwang hyunjin

» summary: hyunjin finds it depressing to hear that you’ve never had an orgasm. he’s determined to give you three in one night. at least. 

» pairing: hyunjin x reader

» rating: NC-17 minors please do not interact 

» genre: acquaintances to very well acquainted LMAO, porn with minimal (no) plot, implied he has a crush on you though

» warnings: WELL so… degradation, dom hyunjin, sub reader, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, overstimulation (if you squint), squirting, unprotected sex (it’s fiction ok do better), name calling, very brief crying, hyunjin is big, cowgirl, creampie, spanking, chocking, spitting, slapping (tame tho like once), hyunjin is smug af, sex at a party, hints of aftercare mentioned, i think i got it all now...

» words: 4,742

» a/n: i am revamping tomorrow hyunjin blog only everyone else irrelevant (i’m only joking do not come for me i very much love everyone) but fr i can't even defend myself anymore han i'm so sorry ily. also, i am hitting a milestone soon and have a celebration post up with some ideas in mind for how to celebrate so if you have any particular WIP's of mine you'd like to see first, you can find it here.

The silence in the room drove you further into your best friends arms, hiding out of sheer embarrassment at everyone's surprise. You hadn’t really thought about it, that spilling something you didn’t even deem a secret to be so… well, crazy.

“You’ve never?” Minho speaks up first, his face both disbelieving and feeling a little sorry for you. He’s incredibly outspoken, and you know both from him and others that unlike you, he has a rather successful sex life. 

“How do you know?” Felix interjects. 

“What do you mean how does she know?” Seungmin’s hit the back of his friends head, who in turn hits back as the two begin to argue amongst each other. 

“I mean… it’s not a big deal,” you try, but it’s met with even more outcry from your circle of acquaintances. That’s what makes it so awkward, maybe, that you’d dared share it to classmates that were more only known to you through Jisung, rather than being actual friends to you. 

“You’re in your sexual prime and you’ve never had an orgasm. How is that not a big deal?” Minho continues, and you don’t miss the compliment thrown in there somewhere that he considered you to be in your prime at university. 

“Maybe men just don’t do it for her,” Seungmin interjects, and you don’t miss the way he glances over at Hyunjin, who’d sat rather quietly the whole night. 

You’d ended up at a house party that was still going on all around you, mostly in the living room (where loud music could be heard even from the kitchen), but you were sat in a chair at the dining table, drink in front of you nearly finished, and your best friend and some of his friends around you. 

Hyunjin was the one you knew the least and also found the most difficult to speak to. Maybe it was the crush you’d been developing on him, or maybe it was the fact that he was just very, very hard to get a word out of when he wasn’t in a particularly talkative mood. 

“Wouldn’t blame her. We aren’t that great,” Minho looks entirely offended by Jisung’s offhanded comment next to you, as if he couldn’t believe the audacity of someone to even suggest it. Though it was all in good fun, and seconds later he’s breaking out into laughter. 

You’re thankful that the conversation bleeds into another hot topic and that the boys all seem to move on from your confession, even if part of you thinks they’ll be ready to bring it up again in no time. Deciding to slip away before that happens, you excuse yourself and offer to replace everyone's drinks while you grab water. 

“I’ll come with,” Hyunjin’s chair scrapes loudly, only muffled slightly by loud cheering out in the living room that makes all of you turn while he stands up, “could use the refill.”

You nod, realising very quickly that you’ve never actually been alone with Hyunjin. You shared art classes together, but he always sat on the other side of the room near one of the windows, and the few attempts you’d tried to make at conversation, always ended in you saying nothing before sitting back down defeated.

The annoyance on Hyunjin’s face is near commical when people push and stumble into you both, though it surprises you to feel him reach for your wrist and pull you further behind him to shield you. Maybe you’re overthinking it, but he seems more frustrated at people crashing into you than into him. 

“Fucking hell,” you both land by the bar that’s situated ontop of a rather unstable table, an assortment of half empty drinks and buckets of ice that hold wine.

“I just want water,” you interject when he’s about to refill your wine, and while his face seems a bit confused (something which you think is really, really annoyingly cute), he doesn’t argue with you or try to convince you to keep drinking.

“Water it is,” to no ones surpise, the water bottles are the most full, Hyunjin pouring it into your cup before handing it back to you. 

“Thank you,” he nods, making his own drink while you watch in silence. It feels a little awkward, but it may just be the fact that you’re staring at him whilst he’s ignoring you completely. 

“How many people have you slept with?”

You nearly spit out your drink, coughing while Hyunjin immediately reacts and hits your back lightly, waiting for you to steady yourself. He’s smiling, hiding his laughter, and you begin to feel so stupid for ever struggling to say a word to him. Whilst he’s rather introverted, from what you could tell, he seemed nothing but sweet. 

“Are you going to judge me?”

“No, I’m not asking so I can judge you for it,” he leans back against the table, something he maybe shouldn’t do given that it trembles slightly, his hands holding the edges.

“Six,” you clear your throat, crossing your arms in a defensive stance. He’s eyelevel with you, though his shoulder blonde hair is hiding his brown eyes, covering part of his face before he runs his hand through it. 

“Isn’t that a little sad?”

Immediately you recoil, feeling not only embarassment but shame as you look away. You can see him move out of the corner of your eye, but you refuse to look until he’s hooked his fingers under your chin and forced your head up, “you’ve been with six people and not even one could make you come?”

Again, you deflate in shame though this time a little differently, understanding that he hadn’t insulted you the way it had initially sounded to you.

“I mean… I… maybe I just can’t-”

“Bullshit, don’t even try to give me that excuse,” his fingers are still holding your chin up, and you watch him bite down on his lower lip before placing his drink down on the table. He’s thinking, what of you’re not sure, but you can practically see thoughts twist in his head before he leans down and kisses you. 

You don’t expect it, but it’s such a welcome surprise that you immediately melt against him. He’s electrifying you, pulling you in as he grips your waist and you fall further into him. It ends all too quickly, an embarassing sound close to a whine leaving your lips when he pulls away. 

“I’ll show you if you want…” he’s teasing you, nibbling gently on your left ear before leaving a wet kiss on your neck, “I’ll make it three.”

Hyunjin walks away before you have time to react, his drink in hand as he holds it up as if to say cheers, and you’re standing there wondering if you’re hallucinating or having a very imaginative dream. You’re wrong in thinking he’s going back to the kitchen though, for you see him turn the other way towards the staircase, looking back at you one last time with a knowing smirk. 

He’s inviting you. 

And you can’t seem to say no. 

You send Jisung a message that you’re with Hyunjin getting some air, choosing not to elaborate but saying just enough so that hopefully, he doesn’t worry too much about your lack of return and also doesn’t go looking for you (though with him, you could never be sure). 

Your heart is beating out of your chest as you head upstairs, being met with a rather spacious hallway and an assortment of photos on the walls and pots of flowers and plants along the doors. You have no clue where he is and don’t really want to check in every last corner, but turns out you don’t have to, for one door opens and arms snake around your waist and pull you inside before you can say a single word in protest. 

“Couldn’t resist, hmm?” the familiar voice makes you calm down, realising it’s Hyunjin that took you hostage and not a stranger, cornering you at the door that’s now kicked shut and locked. His eyes are darker, more driven with lust and you wonder if you look much the same. 

“Hyunjin-” he kisses you again, effectively shutting you up as you moan against him, feeling one of his hands slide to the back of your thigh, lifting your leg to push himself closer between you. It makes you arch into him, though he forcefully presses a hand to your chest to push you back into the door. 

“F-fuck me. You’ll ruin me,” he bites your neck, enough to sting but there’s a sense of pleasure that comes with it that makes the sensation rather addicting. You want him to do it again, “you think I never noticed you in class? Always looking at me but never saying anything? I was just waiting for you to speak to me.”

“Y-you noticed-”

“Hard not to notice you,” his eyes run along your body, hovering over the zipper that runs through the entirety of your dress at the front. Whilst it looks more like a decorative pieace, it also happens to be the way in and out of your tight dress that now, you realise, may also have been daringly short, “and then you show up in this.”

It’s the way he says it, so raw and rough as his hands run over the fabric, that makes you whimper again. You weren’t sexually inexperienced at all, but the way he was treating you made everything feel new again. 

You get barely a second to react to him lifting you up, your legs going around his waist while the skirt of your dress rises enough for him to see your panties that match the red of your outfit, as if you’d really thought this out, “Jesus.”

He’s captivated by you, using one hand to hold you up and using the other to push the fabric further up, until your underwear is so clear to him that he sees the way the barely there lace fabric clings to your folds. You tremble at his display of strength when he holds you up, reaching for his shoulders to pull him against you. 

His mouth is back on yours as he moves, eventually throwing you onto the bed with far more force than he needed to whilst he kicks his shoes off. You’re about to do the same with your heels, though his hands circle your ankles before he kisses the skin there, “leave them.”

It’s a demand you don’t say no to, watching him while he bruises and licks your inner thigh, leaving trails of kisses while your breathing becomes heavier and the room becomes hotter, “Hyunjin.”

He responds to his name easily, your dress up over your hips as his tongue glides over your clothed folds, and you’re already gripping the bedsheets roughly. He’s teasing you slowly, so painfully that you’re a whimpering mess underneath him and can barely comprehend when he’s pushed the fabric to one side, his tongue circling around your throbbing clit. 

“Fuck, H-Hyunjin,” he groans, making your entire body respond as his mouth does wonders on your cunt, twisting his tongue into patterns before dipping it inside your entrance. 

“You have no idea how good you taste,” and you’re inclined to believe it, if only for the way you see his eyes hungrily gaze into yours while he’s teasing the bundle of nerves gently between his teeth. Your legs push against him, forcing his head back down with your hand that grips his hair, but he doesn’t seem to mind as you practically suffocate him. 

It actually urges him on, if anything, to repeat what he’s doing and adjust his pace, and you clench around nothing as a familiar coil twists in your stomach that never quite goes over the edge of letting go. 

“Please,” you beg, and it sounds like music to his ears. His hands grip your hips, pushing you down hard enough to bruise, and the strength he displays, seeing the way his muscle strain under his shirt and him between your legs makes you lose it. 

Your entire body lets go, thighs likely crushing him between you as your body lifts off the bed, but he doesn’t let go or stop, moving with you as his hands go to you ass, kneading the skin as you grind against his lips, your orgasm tearing through you as you scream his name. 

“Hyunjin… god, Hyun- fuck,” you’re shaking, near tears because his tongue won’t stop lapping over your clit, and you’re half off the bed tempting him to absolutely ravish you. 

“P-please,” you’re trying to tell him it’s too much, but you’re just as desparate for him to never stop. Though he lets go with an obsence sound as you fall back down, seeing his face glisten from the little light from the moon outside. 

“I’m not done with you,” you nearly tell him you don’t want him to be, but the words get caught in your throat when he starts to undress. You’d known he was muscular, if you hadn’t already before you defintiely knew it when he’d been holding you against the wall or pushed you into the bed, but seeing it was different.

His muscles were perfectly defined, creating beautiful shadows and light with the source outside, and you don’t realise how much you’re staring until he’s laughing at you, “that surprised?”

“N-no,” but it sounds rather pathetic and you can’t even try to make yourself sound more stable, for he’s taking his jeans off next, left in only his briefs that seem to strain a lot aganst his hard cock. It looks so tempting, though when you go to take his last pieace of clothing off, he grabs your wrists and pins them over your head with one hand, laying beside you.

“Don’t,” it’s another demand and you listen, legs squeezing together when he kisses you again. He’s so calculated with everything, pulling away to lean his forehead against yours, watching the way your face twists and changes in pleasure and arousal as he begins to unzip your dress. 

Your tits practically spill out once the fabric allows them to, and Hyunjin can’t contain his surprise to find the metalic jewelry in both of them. It’s the first time since coming into this room that you feel like for a brief second, you have the upper hand, “like them?” you twist your body slightly, enough for them to push together whilst he’s still bound your hands together. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” the zipper is completely undone, your dress now open at the front as he takes one of your nipples into your mouth. It’s foreign to him, to feel a metalic object in his mouth, but he doesn’t mind when he hears the way you start panting again. 

He swears you’re the sexiest woman he’s ever seen in his life, and he lets two of his fingers slip between your slick folds again with next to no warning, smirking when you cry his name out, “are you going to be good and come for me again?”

“Y-yes,” he grins, eyes falling onto yours to watch you, see the way your face changes as one of his fingers pushes inside you. The cold metal of his ring makes you clench, and he hisses at the feeling. 

“How the hell are you going to fit my cock if you’re this tight?” he pushes the imposing digit in and out of you, agonising in his movements before he adds another. Hyunjin feels the way you relax more and more, your chest moving up and down with heavy breaths as your eyes begin to close. 

He decides he doesn’t like that, sitting up in a way that allows his free hand to go around your throat, squeezing lightly. The shock makes you open your eyes, and immediately, he stops the small constriction in airflow, “good girl.”

You whimper, a crying sound that turns into a louder moan when a third finger slips inside you, “did you like that?” 

There’s a blush on your cheeks when you nod, and Hyunjin makes a mental note to remember it, “so you like it rougher?”

In a way, it doesn’t surprise him, but it makes him grin as his fingers push deeper, enough for you to arch up, though you’re flat on the matress again when his hand is back on your throat, “is this okay?”

He’s asking out of concern, even if you aren’t offering up much resistance, but he stops the grip he has on you when you don’t say anything first, “yes. Please d-don’t stop.”

“Hmm, you really act like a whore,” he’s grinning, feeling you clench around his fingers at the insult and more and more, his thought that you love to be degraded very much seems to ring true. 

He doesn’t warn you when his thumb finds your clit, nor do you expect it. You’d been so distracted by his fingers inside you and his insults and the hand occasionally on your throat that it was the very last thing you expected, realising how close to the edge you actually were when he teases you there. 

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop. Hyunjin p-please,” and how could he say no if you begged so nicely? He leans down, kissing the shell of your ear before he whispers. 

“On one condition,” you’re ready to give anything, feeling tears sting at the corners of your eyes from the frustration you feel, “you ride my cock like the slut you are.”

It pushes you over the edge, your eyes squeezing shut as your body pushes off the bed again, though he’s quick to push you down and hold you there with his free arm, fingers still deep inside you as your walls clench around him. His thumb is still teasing your clit, briefly stopping the motion to spit on the throbbing bundle of nerves before letting his saliva mix with your orgasm. 

Your come is along his forearm and even on his thighs with the way he’d been sat, but he’s relentless on not stopping, enough to send an afterwave of another shattering orgasm that has you squirting onto him again, and you’re crying and screaming his name over and over from pleasure that’s too much. 

He wonders if the whole house hears it, but honestly, he’s not that sure he cares, nor does he care how you’re spilling onto someone’s bedsheets. 

“H-Hyunjin,” your tired arms dig into his biceps, tearing the skin red, making him hiss, fingers slipping out of you before he slaps your pussy, your body arching off the bed when he does, “f-fuck.”

“Open,” you’re barely able to comprehend anything, but your jaw goes slack as you let two of his fingers push in, immediately sucking on his digits and tasting yourself on your tongue, “you made such a mess, princess.”

You groan, still shaking from your orgasm though seeing the way his thighs and arms are glistening in your juices. He looks nearly just as spent, breathing heavily, his hair clinging to his skin by his neck and forehead, but you don’t think you look any better. 

“Let’s take this off,” he helps you out of your dress fully, your underwear following quickly before he strips naked before you. Your jaw practically drops again, seeing his cock spring free and slap his stomach. You feel yourself get more aroused, and it doesn’t surprise you to feel some of your arousal stick to your thighs. 

“You look ruined,” he’s grinning, hand cupping your cheek as he admires the streaks of mascara and mess of light pink lipstick on your face. You still look beautiful.

You push your body up to sit on the edge of the bed where he stands, eye-level with his waist as your hands go to his hips. He seems to know what you’re doing, but he thinks he prefers you in a different position, “knees.”

It’s like you’re possessed, for you’re on your knees in an instant, your heels against your ass while the wooden floor digs into your skin, “open your mouth.”

You do as you’re told, looking up at him just as he spits into your mouth again. When you’re about to swallow it, he tsks, stopping you, “stick your tongue out.”

When you do, he’s grinning, seeing how eager you are to please him makes his cock twitch as he lays the tip onto your tongue. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone respond so eagerly, but you wrap your mouth around him immediately, eyes looking up at him wide and innocently. 

He doesn’t know how much longer he can go without fucking you. 

“Good girl,” you love the praise, even as your jaw aches slightly from his girth. His cock is long and thick, your mouth far too small, though you manage to push yourself about halfway before you’re chocking. 

Hyunjin’s hand goes to your hair, tugging it harshly to make you look up, and it’s that innocent look again, sucking on his cock like you’re starved, that makes him lose all reserve, yanking you back so his cock springs free again. You don’t get much of a warning when he leans down, hands going to your waist as he lifts you up rather roughly, making you yelp as your arms go around him. 

His cock is pressed against your folds, making you both moan as the tip grazes your entrance. You’re coating him in your slick, and he doesn’t waste a second to fall back on the bed first with you on top of him. Your small fingers find his cock whilst you lift yourself up, letting his tip push just past your aching hole as you let out a mewl. He’s barely a centimeter inside you and already, you feel painfully tight, “go slow… it’s okay.”

You nod, feeling him steady you by your hips to hold you up if needed, and even though it pains him considerably, he’s letting you choose the pace as he mostly stays unmoving. His cock feels like it’s splitting you open, clenching around him and making him hiss when you do, but you will yourself to relax and slowly inch yourself up and down on the bit of his cock that you’ve managed to fit inside you. 

“Hmm look at you… you’re being so good,” the praise makes you eager and willing, and he feels the way you respond to his words, slowly going an inch further. 

You don’t notice his cock fully inside you until you realise you’re fully straddling his lap, his head rolling back just seeing the way he’d disappeared in you. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, having you above him, naked and wanting. 

It’s absolutely agony for him to see you slowly bounce up and down, getting used to his length and moaning every time he bottoms out, your tits moving more and more the faster you go, and he reaches to pinch your nipples, teasing the pierced flesh as you whimper before slapping the skin.

“F-fuck,” he wants to move, be rougher, but he doesn’t unless you tell him he can, until you tell him you want more, “m-more.”

It’s like music to his ears, and he immediately begins to meet your thrusts, using the strength in his body to be rougher, his hands finding your ass and giving it a daring slap to see how you react. Your hands fall to his chest, steadying yourself while you bounce on his cock, and he slaps your ass one more time, harder, feeling the way your walls clench tightly around him when he does. 

“You like that?” you nod, a tired yes leaving your lips, and Hyunjin decides that maybe, he’ll let you rest a bit. Though his idea of rest is rather different from most, “sweetheart, let me.”

Feeling his cock leave you nearly makes you cry, but he’s turning you around so your back is to him, slipping himself back inside your pussy without thinking about it much, as if it's molded for him. You’re not sure what he’s planning as he sits up slightly, letting your back fall to his chest, pushing your legs up against your stomach so you’re folded against him, allowing him more control of how deep he goes inside you whilst his hands hold your ankles by your heels. 

You realise quickly that Hyunjin had changed the position because it would allow him to thrust into you faster, and he’s immediately relentless with his pace, making you cry out his name as every angled movement of his cock hits inside you beautifully. 

Your tits bounce deliciously, his mouth sucking hickeys onto your shoulder to hide his groans, one arm moving to hold you under your knees while the other finds your throat again, “you’re gonna come on my cock.”

It’s not a request but rather you being told, and you meekly nod as your fingers go over those around your neck, daring him to squeeze tighter. He does, fucking into you harder, hard enough that you wonder if his hips will bruise you, but your senses are overwhelmed and you can’t help it when your free hand goes to your clit, teasing the nerve just like Hyunjin had done earlier. 

It makes him lose it, seeing you pleasure yourself with his cock deep inside you and his hand around your neck, and he’s almost relieved when your body stops moving before it crashes into your third (or fourth?) orgasm of the night, screaming his name so loudly that he knows it was heard downstairs just as his cum spills inside you, coating your walls as you clench and twist in his arms, your sweat covered back sticking to his chest. 

Hyunjin slows, but he’s still thrusting into you, more languid as he pushes his cum inside you, and you let out a strained moan when you see him slip out of you, the mess of both your orgasms on his cock and spilling out of you whilst you try to regain your breathing. 

It’s peaceful first, as you lay next to Hyunjin trying to kick your heels off, though you eventually give up and he does it for you with a little laugh, though he's interrupted with a knock on the door. 

“Hyunjin, what the fuck did you do?” it’s not angry, but you recognise the teasing voice of your best friend and you immediately want to disappear. You’re convinced you can never leave this room again, or if you do, it’ll have to be through the window. 

“I was only trying to help,” you look next to you, about to hit Hyunjin for the way he’s teasing yet the way he lays there, so ethereal and practically glowing from the aftermath still panting, you can’t bring yourself to. 

“Ah, well I take it it was succesful?” there’s laughter, all good natured but it makes you hide in Hyunjin’s chest anyway, and the blonds heart practically melts seeing you push into him. 

“It would be very rude of me not to have been!” 

He kisses your forehead, the laughter fading away and whilst you know they’re only well intending, you know you’ll never live any of it down. If not from Jisung, then definitely from Minho, from what you could gather.

Or Seungmin.

“Are you okay?”

You look up at Hyunjin, seeing the very real concern in his eyes and it takes your breath away. Your silence, however, worries him, and his face immediately turns into a frown, “did I hurt you?”

“No! No, I’m just… tired.” 

He nods, understanding because he feels much the same, but he doesn’t really want to keep you in this mess. 

“Can you get up for me?”

You sit up slowly, his fingers running along your arm in patterns as he urges you on, smiling, “let’s clean you a bit. I’ll drive you to mine and you can shower? I’ll order us some food. How does that sound?”

Honestly, you could really use the meal. That, and food always tasted better when it was free. 

“I like pizza,” Hyunjin laughs, nodding as he does his best to clean up the mess on your body with the ruined sheet that he’ll have to throw on the floor for the laundry (or even burn). 

“Pizza it is.”

got nothing to say aside from feedback, comments, reblogs etc always appreciated and yeah... i got no defense hyunjin has me in a chokehold it's getting toxic fr

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