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what’s yours is mine

a self indulgent chan fluff where you can’t stop taking his things

warnings: chan x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff

word count: 750+

it starts with a hair band.

the hair band that chan uses to hold his hair out of his eyes when he working out. the one that gets all sweaty by the end of his sessions when he tugs it off and throws onto the bathroom counter.

that hair band. it’s kind of gross isn’t it? the sweat has long since dried but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. that doesn’t stop you from wrapping it around your wrist a couple times and admiring it in front of you. you lace your hands together and if you squint it’s like he’s there with you holding your hand.

he won’t even notice, surely. he has more, it’s part of a set of 10 that he bought in bulk. he’s in the studio anyways, won’t be back until late, plenty of people might use the dorm bathroom between now and then so there’s no proof that you took it. not that he would probably care, but you’re still in the new stages of your relationship and you don’t know if “hey chan, can i have your sweaty hair band?” is moving too fast.

but then you’re taking his earrings.

they’re left behind in his drawer in his bedside table, you find them as you’re rifling through it to find the spare set of your glasses you leave at the dorm for when you stay over. your vision is blurry but you recognize them when they hit your hand and you can’t help yourself from looping them through your ears. he’s wearing another pair of earrings right now that felix got him so he surely wouldn’t miss this pair right? and they’re small steel colored hoops, not flashy, so he probably won’t even notice them on you.

they have a little bit of weight to them, and you love that. every time you move your head, the hoop dangles just a bit and you’re reminded of them sitting right on your lobes. if you lean into the feeling it’s almost as if he’s in your space, nibbling on your ear, and that drives you crazy.

and who would you be if you didn’t take that hat, sitting innocently on the kitchen table?

the very hat that he wears backwards on his head, his hair pushed back, making him look like every one of your high school crushes. it looks kind of silly on you, you think. your hair poofs out a little from the sides and the front covers your face but its weight feels like chan is running his fingers through your hair and you kind of can’t take it off.

he gives you a look when you meet him for coffee an hour later, wearing that very hat, but he doesn’t say anything and you let out a breath and give the barista your coffee order. he probably thinks you just grabbed it because you needed a hat, not because it’s his hat. nevermind that you never wear hats and this is probably the first time he’s ever seen you in one.

but then, the hoodie.

it all comes to a head when you steal his hoodie, the oversized one that would have no problem fitting two or three of him in, the one he got as a gag gift a couple birthdays back. it’s sitting on his bed, taunting you as if it knows how much you want to put it on. so you do.

it goes down almost to your knees when you slip it over your head and the hood covers your eyes. you push it back to look at yourself in his mirror, smiling softly and pleased. it smells like him, smothering you in a hug of his shampoo and cologne. if you close your eyes, it’s almost like he has his arms wrapped around you-

“is that my hoodie?” you’re startled out of your thoughts, glancing past your own reflection to meet his eyes in the mirror from where he’s standing in the doorway behind you. “first my hair band, and my hat, then my earrings, now this?”

“you noticed?” you squeaked, blood rushing to your face as you turn to face him.

“of course i noticed. you’re wearing my things,” he says, moving closer and you back up a little, the backs of your knees hitting his bed.

“i’m sorry,” you stammer, looking away from him.

“you like wearing my things, hmm?” he asks, gentle, crowding into your space a little and moving his hand under your chin to meet your eyes again.

all you can do is nod, holding your breath.

“it’s okay, angel. i like seeing you in them even more.”

DADDY ISSUES. —BANG CHAN; 🚬

pair. soft dom! chris x f. reader | genre. lovers to friends, roommates, heartbreak, hurt/comfort, smut | warnings. profanity, angst, alcohol abuse, anger issues, mentions of cheating, attempted su!cide, toxic relationship, unprotected sex, filthy talk. | word count. 6.9k

tags. @ughbehavior (@straywrds), @cb97percent, @hyuneater, @lix-ables, @hellishmoons, @hyun-bun, @skz317cb97, @danyxthirstae01, @choigore, @j-0ne25.

a/n: hi lovelies! popping in to say this story is heavy, read the warnings before proceeding. if any of you need to talk, my dm's/inbox are always open. the national su!cide prevention lifeline for the u.s is 1-800-273-TALK. i love you, you're not alone. ♡

synopsis. what can Chris say about you—you’re his girl. he’d do fucking anything for you.

You were driving him insane.

Your cunt, they way you felt around his dick, your nails scratching on his back, the arch of your back—but your fucking voice. His name coming from your mouth, your perfect fucking lips, that tongue that knows how to wrap around him, lick him just right to get him painting your face in hot, sticky white. He’d cum time and time again for you—would bury himself inside your sweet folds every single goddamn day of his life, forever if he could, if you let him.

But you don’t. You let him rail you, fuck the absolute shit out of you, the harder the better, your hand, that fucking hand, fuck him, always guiding his own around that pretty neck, pleading with those devil eyes, daring him, sending him over the edge, making him want to kill you with how much he craves you, how much he wants you, wants to have you again, always, if you let him, only if you fucking did, and he’d show you, you know he would, because no one could fuck you better than him.

And it’s not for lack of trying. ‘Cause that’s the fucking truth, isn’t it—he fucks you; you fuck literally anyone else. Every other goddamn motherfucker out there that gives you even a smidge of attention, promises you words and free drinks, takes you to expensive hotels, reservations booked under false names, room service on the tab, that sort of thing. Chris could never do that, right, not anymore, because you forsook him, you chastised and threw him away when he got too close, yeah?

Even though he was your first, even though that hole of yours belonged to him first— he was the one that found you first, claimed you first, had you screaming for him, daddy, daddy please, right there, oh, please touch me right, there—it’s still clear as day in his mind, how he made you come for him, on his fingers, on his cock, on his tongue, Christ, over and over, his good girl, his baby, so helpless, so needy all the time, for him, for everything he could give you.

But no more of that. You were all grown now, weren’t you, you had no need for him anymore, he’d taught you everything there was, you’d sucked him dry, and moved on to bigger and better things, didn’t you? Now he was an afterthought, a quick fuck when you felt like it, when you were too tired to go out, and he was there, ready and waiting for you, always waiting, always getting the short end of the stick, always the crumbs.

And still, he accepted every time. Because it was you, because at least you were coming back to him, at least you still wanted him, because he could have you, even like this, even on the A.M, even if drunk, in one of your moods, where he doesn’t know if he should hold you down so you could let it all the fuck out, finally, at long last, or just fuck it out of you, take it by force, bury himself in all of your sadness and drown.

You could dance circles around him. You could point a gun to his head, and he’d swear you loved him with all of your tartar fucking heart. You did, love him. You loved him in a way he would never understand, in the same way you loved your father when you saw the suitcase in his hand, door open, leaving, leaving, leaving—

You loved him just enough to keep him around. You loved him like a field burning. But he could never know. The moment love reveals itself, it is no longer a mythical thing, it holds no substance, no magic spell. It shrivels up, and it dies. Chris could never know—he would never know.

When you broke it off, when you gave him the ring back, those same Satan eyes dry, cold, a freezing winter to his scorching sun, middle of July, he proposed your arrangement in a desperate attempt to keep you with him, close to him; so, you wouldn’t walk out on your relationship, whatever would remain of it, leave him entirely. It was a selfish bargain, a man sentencing himself to death by hanging, but there was nothing else—you’d left him with no other choice.

He never expected you to agree. Never expected the look you gave him. A truce between lovers, a friendship that could only be the result of having entered one’s soul, of having seen who they are in intimate ways. Roommates, then, and he helped you move out of your shared bedroom to the guest room, the one your mutual friends usually crashed in after a party, exhausted and drunk. In the same way he’d fall asleep all those nights after you put yourself in a different space, a space away from him, so close but so fucking far away, so he’d never touch you, so he could not whisper to you anymore.

And then came the visits after hours, the sliding under his covers, the ghost of you, only real as far as the bed stretched, only allowed for a short while, enough to get what you wanted, and then gone, just as fast as you’d come. Chris gave himself away to you every fucking time, because he was foolish; because he looked for you everywhere, because he drove himself wild with jealousy when you weren’t home, because he’d wait, and wait, and wait, until the sun rose again, until he’d hang from the couch heavy with sleep, his eyes remaining stubbornly open, staring at the door, staring at his phone, staring at your jacket hanging from the coatrack, wondering if you’re warm enough, if you’re safe, if you’re fucking alive—

Hours and hours of obsessing over you, cursing himself for ever suggesting this; this half death, this swallowing of heart, drinking himself oblivious just so the clock would melt away and shut the fuck up, the ticking of it turning into nothing more than a faint buzz in the background. You were out doing God knows what, probably fucking other men, and what about it, right, what was he supposed to do, he was nothing to you now, no boyfriend, no fiancé, no love of yours, nothing solid he could grab on tight and hold onto—a mere roommate. He could fucking laugh.

He's saved you from yourself, helped you through grief; all music is you, everything he writes, composes, fucking arranges—all is you, filled with you, thoughts of you, your scent, your cunt, the way it clenches around his cock, the way you unravel for him, his angel, his girl, his girl, his his his— but you’re someone else now, aren’t you? And Chris, still here, on standby until you come; one glance from you and he’s back to life like usual, like you hadn’t pressed pause on him, like he’d been working perfectly fine all along.

It was enough to drive him to addiction. And it almost did—booze eased the pain of you, helped him sleep. A known insomniac, someone that has been working in the dark for most of his adult years, someone that needs help from pills to go to bed, otherwise he’d carry on through the haze of days, slowly turning mad, paranoid with deprivation. Oh, he was broken too, long before you, and there was no fixing that. That was to stay with him for the rest of time. In consequence, his brain was rewired, worked different than others’. There was no hope—the sky was a ceiling and it had collapsed on everything.

Complete standstill.

He finds you in the living room, something four in the morning. He’d just finished a track, send it over to the guys for reviewing, and felt his mouth dry as cotton. Chris hadn’t even realized the time, creating being water that sweeps everything else away, concepts and basic needs included. Your knees were hugged close to your body, your head resting on top, slow blinking at the wall.

The him that would rush to your side, inspect you for anything out of the ordinary, anything that could make him see red—Chris held him back. This was not that, not like all those times before, this was backstepping, this was your brain eating at you in plain sight, the only voice louder than your own. He approached carefully, always aware of his position in your life, of what he wasn’t, and wasn’t, and would not be, not for a long time, not until you said so.

“Alright?”

The faintest nod, you’d have to know the habit to make it out. He knew it; he knew it best of all.

“Alright,” you repeated the word back to him, not moving an inch.

Chris waited, as he does so well. He waited for something else, an indication to proceed. Your sadness was consuming the entire room, its shadows curling in the corners. An episode, then, as heavy as the world, and he wondered if that was the reason you were home so early—if some fucker couldn’t handle your vastness, the mess of you, all your pointed pieces, and send you back to the one person that can.

“And the truth?” he presses, but just enough. Enough for you to spill, and he walks towards you despite himself, despite his throat warning him of dehydration, despite his heart running for the hills, screaming of ruins and deterioration.

He’s been through all of it. He tells himself it won’t hurt anymore, not the same, not as much.

He’s wrong.

A sharp inhale, the shaking of shoulders. Sadness always shows like this. “It’s bad, Chris,” you whimper, your voice breaking. “It’s bad again.”

Chris takes a deep breath, only to remind himself that he must keep distance between you. Because if it were up to him, he’d cradle you in his arms so tight pain would slide right off, scare away in the sight of love. If it were up to him, he’d carry you to your bed and make it all okay again, and every time, as many times as it took, with no hesitation, no second thought, nothing but taking your sadness as his own, nothing but bearing every single thing that hurts you, that weighs you down. If it were up to him, but it’s not. You do not want him, and your pain is your own, this you’ve told him.

‘I’ve had pain for so long, I don’t know what I’d be without it.’ So, instead, he watches as you cry silently to yourself, comfortable in his presence, but just enough. Always just enough.

But never fucking enough.

“Go to bed, (Y/N),” he tells you, but what he means to say is ‘Come to bed with me, lay down next to me and I’ll take care of you. I swear I will.’ What he really wants to say is he wants to hide inside your body, wants to swim through your bloodstream, squeeze through your veins and remove all toxins, all illness out of you. And if that sounds a little crazy, forgive him, yeah, he hasn’t slept in twenty-six hours.

You’re shaking the very fucking foundation of him. He cannot bear to witness your tears, cannot physically turn into something that can take it all away, angel, please, please stop crying, will you—you’re killing me, you’re torturing me—

You look so small, so frail in that place of yours. The couch was coming apart at the seams, having seen a little too much for its young age of four. Chris stared at the threads hanging at the bottom of it, to avoid the gun in his mouth. Perhaps he could reach out and touch you, maybe you’d let him, maybe you needed him as much as he needed you tonight, and you’d mercy him, you’d pardon his sentence and set him free.

Wiping at your eyes, mascara smudged in the corners, purples and grays smoked together, strangling, patronizing him—it’s not for you, it’s not for you, I was out with another man, I smell like him, I have his seed inside me, I will leave you one day, it’s not for you—and if it’s not that it’s the fucking dress, short and black and thin, second skin, covering your tits and your stomach and your cunt and not much else. His woman, once and always after that, in sorrow even when he’s let you do what you want, even when he’s sacrificed himself to the Devil so you have free will, even as he chews on glass as he watches you leave, always exiting doors, always away from him, never to, always from, and goddamn him, he’s not a fucking pussy, he’s your man—

You need him. He shut out the entire world he once knew for you, shunned everything, so he knows this— you need him.

“We shouldn’t do this,” you whisper, but your gaze is begging, your eyes are a window, and he’s got 20/20 vision, he reads between the lines, he recognizes.

He knuckles his own, rubbing his face raw. “We’re not doing anything,” an ancient voice. A voice that’s not his own, waiting. Tired.

The lighting is low, but he could make you out blindfolded. It’s late, and yet it’s not, not for him, not for you, not with you, but you lay in different beds, with different men, while he’s alone, whilst the waiting is in process and trust him, he’d rearrange the whole fucking architecture of this building to bring your bedroom closer to his, would build it himself if he had to, so don’t underestimate him, don’t test him, goddamnit, don’t refuse, don’t deny—

Your feet touch the ground, bare and no doubt cold, and he loves you, it rips through him, because where you’re always cold he’s always warm, and in that way useful to you. He remembers a time where it wasn’t bad, where there were no men, where you shared one bed and exchanged body temperatures, giggling like teenagers.

“Call out to me and I’ll come to you,” you disturb the silence between you, and your words cut through him like a knife. More knife than human. Because he’ll do it, he has a thousand names for you, and they all spell out one thing, they all reside in his head and haunt him.

He doesn’t believe you. You’re toying with him, because you’re sad and lonely, and need him. He’ll fall for it anyway because he’s sad, lonely and he needs you. A double-sided coin, but one all the same. You’ll cut him and cut him and cut him. He’ll bleed to death. Cause and effect—one cannot exist without the other.

If he puts his hands together in prayer, forgive him. He’s in love.

“What will you answer to?” He asks, holding his breath, afraid to look, but terrified to look away, and you get up from the torn couch, falling apart at the seams yourself, and this, you, he knows how to mend. If only he says the right thing.

“Anything.” You stand, fists at your sides, shivering, tears never ending, and he could grab you—

He doesn’t think you know what that means.

“Lies. One mistake and you’ll be gone,” he retorts bitterly, and his mouth has never tasted sweetness.

You smile, and you’re an idol at church, staring at him through glass, you’re a million-dollar painting guarded in a museum, people questioning you for hundreds of years. Is she smiling? Is she lying to me? When you already know the answer.

“Take a chance, Chris. This could be the last time.”

He should’ve paid attention to that, should’ve dedicated his entire life to solving the riddle, putting together the clues, gone on the scavenger hunt, but instead he lashes out, cups your face and smashes your lips together. He’s been starved, he’s been left thirsty in a desert to walk around in circles, repenting for his love. He’s had enough.

Mine, are you? A fucking angel, open your legs for me, let me feel my cunt, goddamn you—soaking my fucking fingers, baby girl, come. Come with me now. His hand over yours, walking into Lazarus’ tomb, a raising of the dead. “Tell me what you need,” as his teeth graze your earlobe, as he turns you around, your back against his chest, as his hand is holding your arms in place, a hostage in front of God, so you won’t go anywhere, “Did you hear me?”

“All of it. All of you,” you moan, your head falling back, and he bends you over the bed, your knees hitting wood. He’ll take you like this, because he cannot stand another night of having you where he sleeps, and you don’t stay. Lies, he thinks again. Not all of me—enough of me, bits and pieces of me, he tears the dress from your body in one swift motion, the fabric resisting over your hips. You gasp, pulling against his grip. He grips tighter.

You buck into his hips, and he groans, his lips on your back, on your shoulders, on your neck, everywhere at once, because unlike you, he wants every square inch of you, he wants to destroy you, wants to reach inside the cage of you and eat your heart so that it beats next to his own, nothing between you, and he sounds fucking pathetic, but it doesn’t even matter, you’re under him, at his mercy, and your cunt stretches around his fingers, his palm runs over your sweet cheeks, fingers tracing your lips, coming to rest on your neck, and you moan again, you’re shaking, but for an entirely different reason this time, and Chris wishes he can have you like this always, always always—

“You fucking own me body and soul, baby, that’s it, fuck on my fingers, come on—” you’re so close, so fucking close, but then he takes them away, and he’s entering you in an entirely different way, a better one, and you almost collapse, but your arms grip the covers, steady you on the mattress, and you’re crying out in ecstasy. He knows the exact map to your pussy, all the ways to make you cum for him, and he’s checking all of them off, his mouth is filthy, whispering in your ear, sucking on your neck, his cock drilling into your hole, rearranging your insides—

Listen to how your pussy sounds, fucking Heaven right under me, God baby, will you let me rip you apart, you will, won’t you, you know I’ll take care of you, fuck—despite the roughness of him, you felt comfort in the way he was taking you; like coming home, like opening the door of a place you know upside down. The violence that you unleash on yourself, an unstitching of all your wounds, and scars, the familiar red of your own bleeding, of being alive—Chris felt like that. You couldn’t stop coming back for more, because you knew the lights would be on, the bed would be warm, the blood would run the same.

You were a terrible fucking person, and you deserved none of it, so you bit your tongue, you tasted the iron, and clenched your teeth, letting him violate you in the best way, in the only way he ever will, because Chris was many things to you, but he could never hurt you—it’d only feel like he’d be hurting himself, every time.

When he came undone over you, he pushed through still, searching for your high, kind in his devouring savage in his ways, fingers brushing over your clit, smearing your wetness in between your thighs, driving you wild with his heavy breathing on your sweaty skin—it felt too much, too overwhelming, too hot, so hot, fuck c’mon baby girl, give it to me, I know you can, come around my dick, pretty baby, fuck you’re so goddamn beautiful—you did. Your eyes shut tight, your nails digging into his forearm, you came viciously, your entire body shaking, in a state of shock, rendered speechless, convulsing, yet needing more of him, his weight on you, his panting, his lips at the nape of your neck.

You’ve fucked a lot of men, you’re not proud to admit. All of them have been different, their love, the way they fuck—all different, all the same. They will never compare to this man, your man, one and only, because he knows you most of all, knows you inside out, has shaped you to fit around him like a glove. But it is because of that shame, because of the embarrassment—that you leave.

He watches you do so with apprehension, that dark gaze of his restrained, hurt. But you knew, didn’t you, Bang Chan? This changed nothing, this would always be one way and not the other, not what you want, never what you want. You could love her and love her and love her, until you die, until you burn yourself alive with yearning, until you get dragged into the pits of Hell. It—will—not—change. Because it’s not up to you. So, you watch her collecting seeds, you watch her fill herself up with so many of you, and you think maybe this will be enough now, maybe now she’ll stop, this is enough, right? Enough. This word on his mouth is pure acid, he curses it—but it’s all the consolation he has. That one day it’ll stop, one day you’ll come back, your thirst will be satiated, appeased, and you’ll be—satisfied. Another word that’s hard to voice, even harder to swallow.

“If I say it,” he starts, hands clenched into fists, tears brimming, heart crumpled up and thrown against the wall, a first-degree murder, “if I say it,” he repeats, and it’s wicked, “will you stop? Will you come here?”

You pause by the door, a being with no soul, no redeeming qualities. You will your face to look brave, to look indifferent, but what’s the use—against your own self? He can see right through you, this man.

“If you say it, you’ll never see me again.”

The door closes. He’s alone.

Two weeks later, Chris enters your apartment stumbling, taking off his coat, kicking off his shoes, world spinning. It takes him about two minutes to walk a straight line in the kitchen, but he succeeds, the water he manages to pour himself soothing his burning throat.

The record had been wrapped up, the fat check from his producer/song-writer skills now residing in his bank account, all the whiskey bought in his honor drank until the last drop. What was left now but to go home and sneak into your room, watch you sleep, fantasize about slipping right behind you under the blankets, wrap an arm around your waist, bring you close and smell the sweet shampoo scent of your hair? Such simple pleasures, and yet getting there was the hardest part. Chris wasn’t a creep, or at least didn’t consider himself one, but you’d driven him to the absolute fucking brink of madness. All he needed was your touch, your soft skin against his, your lips kissing back, initiating contact—he couldn’t even have that. Not even that.

He wanted to tell you, he wanted to see your expression as you’d hear it—he almost fucked another woman tonight. Almost, as in he couldn’t even look at her fucking face without thinking of you, couldn’t find his way inside her skirt, inside her pussy, and the truth of the matter was she wasn’t you, point blank, right, so what else was there to say? He got his dick sucked regularly, so many fucking girls begged him to take them home, but how could he when you’d be right there, one fucking wall of separation between you, possibly listening in, possibly covering your mouth, the betrayal pushing you one step further from him?

He couldn’t even risk it, no matter how impossible it sounded. You weren’t even there most nights, you didn’t even care—you’d gone and done it first, if he were to lay the facts down; you’d hurt him first, betrayed him first. But doing it back? Doing it to you? He’d rather cut his own hand. You held him by the balls, he was unable to escape your spell. So, he staggered over to your room, pressed the handle down, softly, quietly, afraid to wake you, if you were even there, he chanted, he prayed, it was so late, so fucking late, you better be in bed, you better be safe and tucked in and at home—you weren’t. Your bed was neatly made, your nightstand lamp off. But your shoes were by the door, a hope lit like a torch on his way to your bedroom now vanquished by the dark, the cold.

Panic settled low on his stomach, as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing your number, eyes searching, ears perked for sounds. He moved towards the buzz, the living room, the sad looking couch—your phone was in between the pillows, going off on silent. Chris sobered immediately, warning signs going off in his head, his legs carrying him across the apartment, hands trembling, eyes wide, manic, heart leaping, beating out his chest, afraid, terrified—

You couldn’t have, you wouldn’t have, you’re fine, you’re out, you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine, he opens the bathroom door, looks left, looks right—you did.

“(Y/N)!”

There’s no one in his body, he’s floating, he reaches you, he falls on his knees, his arms sink into water, sleeves drenched, he’s dead, he’s dead, there’s nothing in him, he pulls your body up, he screams, he yells, he’s shaking you, you’re cold, you’re freezing, your eyes are closed, why are your eyes closed, he scrambles, he’s dead he’s fucking dead his heart is not responding—the water splashes on the floor, the water is everywhere, he’s drowning in it, he presses you against his chest, his lips are on your temple, his hands try to create friction, he rubs he rubs he rubs, he doesn’t know where to look, what to do, he’s not alive, what does he do what does he do—

“What the fuck, what the fuck, baby, please wake up, please wake up, please wake up,” he thinks he’s crying, he thinks he has to call an ambulance, he thinks there’s not much time, your pulse is weak, but it’s there, he’ll die, he’ll die with you, please please please please, “you can’t fucking leave me, you can’t fucking leave, angel why, why—”

Three numbers, he calls, he puts it on speaker, he’s shoving his fingers down your throat leaning you forward, how long have you been in there, how long like this, what if this doesn’t work, please, fuck, please, baby, baby, my—mine, my girl is not breathing, please hurry, please hurry, in water, I found her, she’s not responding, YES, SHE MIGHT’VE, FUCK, hurry hurry, what do I do!

Chris desperately tries to get you to throw up, checking your face, checking your pulse, ridding you of the clothes clinging on your skin, forcing himself not to think this was on purpose, the one time he’s not home, the one time he goes out. He doesn’t remember ‘this could be the last time’, he doesn’t remember the pills on your nightstand, he doesn’t, his mind is not cooperating, he’s not there, the woman is telling him to try CPR, but he doesn’t know how to do that, he’s scared to let you go, what if he hurts you, what if he breaks you, what if you die because of him, oh God, fuck, he’s crying, he’s hyperventilating, he’s dead, he’s dead—

You choke, water coming out your mouth, your shoulders moving, your body kickstarting, and he removes his hands from your chest, he pulls you to him, he rocks you back and forth, she’s back, she’s back, but she’s weak, as you gargle and heave on him, gasping for air, gripping on his shirt, meeting his eyes—you’re back, you’re back, no other thought than this, you didn’t leave, you didn’t leave him, but you’re pale, so pale, and you’re losing consciousness again, and the ambulance needs to hurry the fuck up, because this is a different fight now, a scarier one.

“Baby, what did you do, what did you do…”

“Keep her awake, sir!”

He lightly slaps your cheek, his fingers never moving from the pulse on your neck, and he talks to you, he talks to you about the first day he met you, and your eyes are fighting to stay open, you’re here but you’re not, you hear him but you don’t, and you smile but it’s a phantom thing, barely there, drugged, not there, not there—you walked up to Seungmin to get his phone number, and he should’ve known then, you’d never truly belong to him, because he saw you first, but he didn’t have you until later, he wanted you from that fucking moment, but he didn’t say anything, he didn’t intervene until later, until he talked to his friend, until he went on that first date instead of him, and how that came to change his entire fucking life forever.

Because you’ve been in it since, because he can’t imagine anything without you there, there’s fucking nothing, a black void, a hole to bury himself in, and that’s it, without you? Without you? His girl? Nothing. You need to stay alive, you owe him at least that, if he can’t have you, he won’t keep you back, not anymore, he promises, he swears, but please, please, for the love of fucking God, stay alive.

The paramedics come five minutes after he pulls you off the tub, and they take you away in the towels he’s wrapped you in, checking for responses, talking amongst themselves. He follows lost, in a haze, his drunk mind slowing him down—he wants to call your mom, but you haven’t talked to her in two years, and fuck if he knows where your father is. He left you, you’ve told him, when you were little, and ever since then you’ve treated the men in your life as passengers on a train, expecting them to walk out whenever their stop comes up, never thinking for one second that anyone could want to stay on forever, until the train seizes to work, until the tracks rust away, and there’s no more need for transportation.

You’ve never for one second thought maybe you don’t need to be train—that you don’t need to always arrive and depart. That you could stay, and that someone would stay with you.

You don’t wake up for three days.

You’re driving him insane. He still comes.

He sits next to you for hours, staring at your serene face, the face he’s seen change in fifty different ways, and he remembers how it felt to be the recipient of your smile, how your mouth stretched and curved, how your eyes creased. Sometimes you’d move your fingers, others your eyelashes would flatter, or your leg would jerk. He’d call the nurse immediately, point it out, get disappointed, fall back on the chair.

‘Normal reflexes,’ they called them. He thinks he hasn’t slept in more than thirty hours; he thinks your face is ingrained in his memory, yet he studies it nevertheless, endlessly, day to night, night to day, the machine next to you beeping, the IV on your arm dripping—he thinks he has reflexes too, but they all respond to you. If there’s no you, then he might as well stick that needle inside him, lay next to you, sleep eternally.

If there’s no you, what’s the point?

Seungmin visits, Jisung does too, they both bring flowers. On the third day your mom shows up much to his surprise—there was no emotion behind her eyes, nothing to indicate the girl on the bed was in fact her daughter, and Chris had to get the fuck away, step out before he caused a fucking scene, before he did something he’d regret.

There was no one for you—all those ‘friends’ you partied with on the regular, all those fuckers you slept with—no one came, no one called, no one gave a damn. You stretched yourself thin for people who most likely didn’t even remember your fucking name, you gave yourself away, time and time again, told him to go to Hell, you’d do whatever you wanted, you had others, you weren’t alone—Chris based himself off those words entirely. Knowing the truth, realizing the loneliness you’d been enduring all these months—he wanted to crack his head open, physically pick you out of his brain.

Only because you wanted to be away from him. All of this because he insisted.

How to forgive himself now? One, for being too late. Two, for not seeing. Where does one put his sins? There was no excuse for him; he saw you every day, he prided himself for knowing you best of all. What the fuck did he know, huh?

He left. Told the receptionist to call him if you woke up—him, not your mom, not anybody else, and he fucked off to go drink himself oblivious. The tiredness he felt couldn’t be described in human words. It had built a home inside his very bones, rested heavily, stubbornly on top, pressing down, down down—a mere mortal, with insignificant pains, and the need for sleep. Chris had no need for sleep, no need for mortal prerequisites.

He needed you. That was all.

You go home, eventually.

He picks you up, a thousand words in his mind, none on the tip of his tongue. He drives in silence, and you stare ahead. You’re different, there’s a cloud twice the size it was now. You have to go to therapy, you have to take other pills now, long names on them, day and night. You have to ask for help when you need it. Chris was pulled to the side as well—he had put himself down as your fiancé, had asked to know everything about you. So, they tell him.

You might need to go away for a bit, but for now you’d go back with him. Call this specific number if something happens. Your life redefined by this one choice. It was stupid. You didn’t even want to die, not particularly, you just wanted the pain to go away—you fell asleep in the wrong place. It didn’t even matter, anyway. Doctors don’t listen, not really. Chris does. You know he does, you know he’s a good listener, you’re positive he will understand—because he loves you.

And you love him, too. Just enough. A field burning. Always, and forever.

But he can’t even look at you, and you think you might’ve fucked something up with him. In him. So, you stare ahead, and you wait until you’re home. You didn’t even want to die; you say this over and over to yourself. You didn’t even want him to see you like that. Now he’ll treat you differently, he’ll ponder over everything you say, he’ll look for hidden meanings. Your mother was the same way, and you left her.

You absolutely do not want to leave Chris; you know this now.

Home is tidy. He might be a fucking mess, might’ve lost the entire goddamn plot over your absence, ruined his liver, and his brain nerves, but he’s not about to reveal that to you. Any of that. He keeps quiet, as you put the things he’d brought you away in your room, untouched, still as it was that night, says nothing as you undress and slip into pajama shorts and a T-shirt. You figure you’ll probably have to break the ice first, as he seems terrified to do so.

And with good reason. You had him balancing on very thin thread—what did you expect?

You sit down on your bed. He stands by the door, arms folded, leaning against the doorframe. He looks exhausted, drained. He looks like he wants to reach out, see for himself if you’re really here, and you can see the fight inside him rage on and onwards. How do you fix this? Where do you start?

“I’m sorry.”

His eyebrows shoot up, his expression pained. Hearing those words…that’s not what he wants to hear. You’ve nothing to be sorry about. It was all him—he had no idea what you were going through, he’s the one being selfish, wanting you all to himself, forcing you to do things that were clearly against your will. You had nothing to be sorry about, nothing at all.

Except breaking his heart. Over, and over, and over. The one thing.

“You told me not to say it,” he speaks, his voice collected. “That night…that I’d never see you again. But it’s all that matters, (Y/N), isn’t it?”

You grab onto the covers underneath you. He’s right. He’s right, but you’ve been ignoring it for so long, you’ve been refusing to acknowledge, you’ve been putting him off, thinking if I do this a little longer, if I take it a little further…maybe he’d leave first. Maybe I won’t have to do the leaving this time, please don’t let me do it this time, I don’t think I’ll bear it.

But he cannot do this for you. The one thing.

“Do you love me?” he asks, and you shake all over.

Love—it was a house. A house with him in it, holding the ceiling in place, the light always on, the bed warm. Love was a place you never wanted to leave behind. A place you’d die in. Did you love him—yes. You never stopped. But was it enough? Say he knew this, the simple truth, you loved him all along, you loved him even through all the pain you caused him—then why? Why didn’t you just stay with him? It’s the question after that you’re most afraid of.

Your face collapses. “Yes.”

He pushes off the frame, hands through his hair, tugging at the ends. “Yes?” he breaths, chuckles incredulously. “Yes, she says, then drowns herself in the bathtub. Explain your love to me, angel. I’m fucking clueless.”

You flinch. At his words, at his tone. He’s not meaning to hurt you, not really. His frustration, his concern, it’s all written across his face. He could never lie, not to you. Yet, being confronted by it…it digs through you just the same.

“That was an accident,” you didn’t know where to start, what to say. You thought it’d be easier. It’s not. “You don’t have to forgive me, Chris. Please don’t, I don’t deserve it. But the answer to your question—it’s always going to be yes.”

He bended at the knees, hands coming to rest in front of him, as he stared at you. Never forgetting to put distance between you, even now. If you could feel anything, you’re pretty sure you’d feel your heart trying to break free from its cage. You wish you could, if just for a moment, so as not to feel like such a liar speaking such truths.

“I’m not going to ask why,” he croaked, his head dropping, embarrassed at the emotion spilling out of him. “Though God knows I want to. I almost fucking lost you, and it might not mean anything to you, but it means everything to me. If you’d died—that’d be the end of me, (Y/N), do you understand what that’s like?”

You couldn’t help your silence as you watched him break down and cry. You thought if you didn’t move then, you’d lose him and that was ten times worse. It’d be a long while since your life had any meaning for you, but Chris shouldn’t have to bury himself in the same pit as you. He used to smile so brightly once, was always the life of party, someone you counted on all too much, because he was just that dependable.

You think you need to become a little like him. Have more courage.

All it takes is three steps. Then, you’re on your knees in front of him, your arm resting on his back, as you try to find his eyes. His hand tries to wipe the tears away before you catch them, but you interject with your own, your fingers brushing over his cheek. You want to taste them, these tears, understand through them, without the misunderstanding of words, without ever speaking—you wish to know him before he even opens his mouth. As he is with you. You need to learn more about love, about what it means, and how it feels, really, and truly.

“I never stopped loving you, baby,” he whispers, the strain of him vibrating. “Not once. You could shoot a bullet through my chest, and I’d take it, I’d die a happy man. I’m as messed up as you are.”

He still won’t look at you. You pray one day he’ll be able to express himself without feeling ashamed. You hope one day your throat won’t choke up when around him. Maybe it wasn’t even about who’d leave first. You had never tried just being—with him. The one thing.

“Do the program,” he encourages, calming down. “Do the program, and when you get out, I’ll be here,” finally the brown meets you. You search it, want to dive in it, get lost in it. One last time. “I’ll always be here.”

When he takes you in his arms, then, you know he will. There’s no intention behind it—just love. Only love.

a/n: inspired by nerves by dpr ian and today’s chan’s room bc he played dpr ian today heh. love confessions, and all that :) 

[7:23 AM]

“hi, how’re you doing?”

it comes out awful, jagged, and wrong from his mouth, and he winces saying it. you frown around your lemonade, and chan has the feeling of standing backwards on the edge of a cliff, his heels dangling precariously on nothing.

“i’m good. happy.” you humour him and it makes him smile to himself, looking into his glass of water. their pastries lay between them, untouched. he wonders if your stomach is as tumultuous is his, but his can be attributed to the fact he’s in love with you. and yours could be because of how shitty he’s been to everyone around him. “you?”

“i’m fine.”

“oh, that’s good. i worried.”

“worried? about me?”

Seguir leyendo

baby fever | b.c

PAIRING | bang chan x fem!reader

IDOLS FEATURED | bang chan

WC | 1.5k

GENRE | smut, established relationship [married]

WARNINGS | explicit sexual content, explicit language, mentions of pregnancy + wanting children, no dom / sub dynamics [more explicit warnings below the cut!]

SYNOPSIS | kinktober day eleven: bang chan + breeding

MASTERLIST | KINKTOBER 2022

Seguir leyendo

Kinktober ~ Day 18 ~ Overstimulation ~ BC [M]

⤜WORD COUNT: 1.1K

⤜PAIRING: Chan X Fem!Reader

⤜GENRE: SMUT MINORS DNI, overstimulation, sub vibes, sub chan, whiney channie,

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - October 2022

⤜MASTERLIST

You smirked down at Chan who was whimpering a little at you, the two of you had been at this for a while now and you could see how overstimulated he was getting from it. The small whines and whimpers leaving his throat were evidence enough of that and you giggled a little to yourself. It wasn’t often that you got to see Chan in such a vulnerable state and when you did you enjoyed every second of it,

“Poor baby, are you getting all fucked out?” You cooed while slowly moving up and down on his cock, his hands massaging your breasts as he moans out loudly his eyes looking up at you with complete lust in them. 

“F-Fuck, don’t stop, don’t…D-Don’t,” He begs as you continued to bounce up and down on his cock, the chair squeaking beneath you both letting anyone outside of the door know exactly what you were doing inside of the room. 

“You should have come home, I’ve been needy just waiting for you,” You moan out as you ride him, biting down on his lip as he whines at you. He’d not been home in a week and you were sick of waiting around for him to come home and fuck you like he’d been promising to do so you took matters into your own hands.

Seguir leyendo

：🍡 ♡ . ⁺ ᘏ : stress relief

➥ pairings: Bang Chan x fem!reader

➥ genre: idol!au | smut | MDNI

➥ synopsis: chan is feeling stressed at work, so you pay him a visit to help him 'relax'

➥ warnings: smut | penetration | cock warming | clit stimulation | fingering | pet names [pup, babe, baby] | grinding

➥ words: 2.7k

➥ chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin

➥ tags: @lix-ables | @sstarryoong | @ipegchangbin | if you wished to be tagged in this mini series, lemme know

➥ m.list – ➥ cock warming m.list – ➥ you can also read it on my ao3

Feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

you [20:07]: i miss you 🥺

Chan [20:07]: i miss u too babe. sorry, work is just hectic rn 😞

you [20:08]: when will u be home? 

Chan [20:08]: in an hour or so. shouldn't be too long babe. 

you [20:10]: okay. i love you 💘

Chan [20:11]: i love you too pup 🖤

An hour had passed and there was no sign of Chan. Your guess is that he got so caught up in his work, he lost track of time. It's pretty common for him to do that. When Chan gets lost in his work, he zones out. He disregards his needs, forgets where he is. He becomes hyper focused, which can be worrying.

Chan is the type of person to want to get things done on time, however, he is a perfectionist. He always has been from day one. Being in the spotlight has only made it worse.

You and his members have told him countless times that he should always take care of himself. He does, for a while, then he falls back into his bad habits. Comeback season is the worst for chan. The build up to it, the countless photoshoots, the endless hours of shooting music videos plus performing on stage – it's no wonder Chan becomes so stressed.

You know he loves his job. You also know he adores STAYS and would do anything to please them. However, what he fails to notice is that he cannot keep doing this. Being his girlfriend, you've had enough of seeing your boyfriend fail to care for himself. He always scolds you for skipping one meal or not drinking enough water, so now, it's your turn.

You picked up your phone bringing up your contacts list. You scrolled through, stopping at Changbin's contact. Pressing the green call button, you put your phone to your ear. It rang a few times, before changbin picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey Changbin! It's y/n."

"Oh, hey y/n. everything okay?" Changbin spoke. His words sounding muffled, mouth full.

"Have you heard from Chan?" the sounds of noodles being slurped ran down your ear, making you shiver and cringe a little.

"Uh. Not since I left him at the office, why?"

"He said he would be home in an hour." You sighed softly, running your fingers through your hair.

"Let me guess." Changbin paused, drinking his ramen broth. "He's not home?" 

"Mhm."

"He's probably still working then. If he's not with you or us, then he's probably still in the studio."

"Yeah." You sighed again. "That's what I thought."

"He was pretty stressed out when me and Ji were there. Thinking about it, he's been in a foul mood all day."

"He seemed a bit off this morning too. I wonder if the stress of the comeback is getting to him." You thought out loud. 

"Probably. We all know what Chan is like during this time. He snapped at me suddenly."

"What?" Your eyes widen a little in disbelief. It's very rare for Chan to suddenly snap at someone, it's hard to get Chan angry regardless. So hearing that he snapped at his close friend indicated that he is stressed beyond belief.

"Yeah. It shocked me and Ji. Think he even shocked himself to be fair. He did apologize but it's not like Chan."

"Yeah, it's not." You mumbled. "I think I'm going to go see him. This is unacceptable. I can't have him acting like this."

"Hey, if he's going to listen to someone, then it's going to be you for sure." Changbin chuckled. 

"Do you know if he has eaten or?"

"Mhm, probably not since lunch time." 

"That's what I thought. I best get going then. Go convince the boyfriend to at least take a break." You groaned softly, walking to your shared bedroom.

"Chan and breaks? Yeah, good luck with that y/n." Changbin chuckled with a mouthful of rice.

"Thanks, I'll need it. Enjoy your meal, Changbin." You laughed softly before hanging up. You changed into something more comfortable and warm, considering that the nights are getting colder, you felt like it wasn't a smart idea to go out in a vest and shorts.

Grabbing your winter coat and shoes along with your purse, you walked out of your shared apartment, locking the door before making your way to the supermarket.

Knowing that Chan hasn't eaten or drank anything for hours, angered you slightly. Sometimes, you wish he learnt how to look after himself, be a little selfish and make himself priority number one. But no matter how many times you – or the members – scold him, he never listens.

You grabbed some microwaveable rice and ramen along with some snacks and water that claims it's 'packed full of vitamins and minerals.' Paying for your little shop, you headed to the JYP building.

◃───────────▹

The streets are fairly calm and collected, with the occasional passer-by's and cars. The night sky was clear, giving you a glimpse of the shining stars. It was a full moon tonight, much to your liking. The moonlight shone on the pavement giving you more lighting than the streetlamps.

You stopped to take a quick snap at the moon and stars, smiling softly as you looked at it. Feeling the tips of your fingers quickly freezing up, you put your phone away, placing your hands in your pockets.

The air is icy. A chill so cold it made the hairs on your arms stand up. Your breath shows every time you exhale. You soon arrived at the building. Making yourself known at reception, they happily let you through. You made your way to Chan's room, taking your coat as the stark contrast from the cold chill to the warmth was evident.

You knocked on the door, waiting a few seconds for permission. When you received nothing, you frowned, knocking again – nothing.

"Chan?" You spoke, slowly opening the door. You peeked your head out looking around. A small lamp provided minimal light compared to the harsh light radiating off his laptop screens. Your gaze fell on a very stressful looking Chan. 

His brows furrowed together, stress lines evident on his forehead. His bottom lip caught between his teeth, chewing slightly – a bad self taught habit of his. His eyes flickering all over his laptop screen, fingers working their magic. 

You closed the door quietly, noticing the headphones on his head over the hood of his hoodie. Makes sense why he didn't hear you knock. With a heavy sigh, Chan fell back in his seat. The seat rocking from the impact as he rubbed his tired face with his hands before taking his headphones off.

"Knock knock." You spoke softly. Chan jumped, startled at the sudden voice. He looked at you, face softening.

"Hey pup!" You walked towards Chan, throwing your coat on the sofa behind him. You placed your plastic bag on his desk.

"Hey baby." You placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. Chan swiveled in his chair to face you, opening his legs wide enough for you to stand between them.

"What are you doing here?" He questioned, planting his hands on your hips softly.

"Well, you said you would be home in an hour. The hour is up, so I came to see you instead. Plus–" You opened the plastic bag, taking out the grocery's you bought, placing them one by one on his desk. "I bought you dinner. Changbin told me you haven't eaten since lunch!" 

Chan looked up at you sheepishly, feeling guilty. You folded your arms, eyebrows raised as you looked down at him.

"You can't keep doing this, babe. You have to take care of yourself! It's important! You always preach to me about it, so why can't you?"

"I'm sorry pup. It's just, I get so lost in work that I simply forget. Plus, I feel so stressed out right now."

"Yeah. Changbin told me you snapped at him earlier." Chan looked down at the mention of taking his frustration out on his friend. You sighed softly, pulling his head into you, resting it on your stomach.

"Babe I love you and all but you have to learn to take a break." 

"I can't afford breaks right now." Chan mumbled, nuzzling his face into your stomach. He inhaled your sweet scent, humming softly.

"I get that but you don't work well under stress, babe." You stroked his hair softly, looking down at him.

"I know." 

"So, whilst I'm here, take a break! I haven't seen you all day so I want to spend some time with you." You pouted. Chan nodded.

"Okay, I will take a break. When it's over, I have to finish this though. You can go home afterwards though."

"Hell no! I'm staying. I'll sit on the sofa and be as quiet as a mouse. You won't even know I'm here." You grinned.

Chan did indeed take that break. You convinced him to eat and drink something before he continued on with his work. You were lounging on the sofa, browsing through your phone.

The occasional sigh would leave his lips, the stress slowly creeping its way back. You soon got bored of your phone, placing it down beside you. You decided to watch Chan work, your eyes traveling up and down his body.

The way his legs spread open under the desk, hand wrapped around the mouse, his tendons moving with every click of the mouse. The sleeves of his hoodie rolled up to his elbows. His veins protrude on his arms, the way his muscles flexed with every movement. You couldn't help your thoughts from getting filthy. 

You pressed your lips together in a thin line, eyes closing as your mind wandered into the unknown. Memories of when Chan would have his hand around your neck, fingers deep inside you, came flooding to you. His perfect, lean body hovering over you as his hips smacked against yours, body slick with sweat. His eyes focused on you and provided you with intense pleasure – fuck, when was the last time you two were intimate with each other? 

You know you shouldn't, you know Chan is stressed but you couldn't help the lust pooling in your core. You couldn't help but feel your panties slowly sticking to your skin due to your juices. You couldn't help but feel flush, besides, it's not your fault you have such a handsome boyfriend. 

You stood up off the sofa, slowly walking behind chan. You draped your arms over his shoulders, holding onto your wrist to lock him in. Chan took no notice of you, eyes glued to his screen as his fingers tapped away at the keyboard. You noticed his painted nails which only heightened your horny thoughts.

You leaned in, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. You inhaled his musk scent, heart pounding against your ribcage. You planted delicate kisses on the skin on his neck making Chan shiver. Smirking against his neck knowing he has finally become aware of you, you sucked and licked his neck.

A throaty groan rippled from his chest to the back of his throat, his hands frozen in place. You left purple bruises, feeling sorry for the scolding he was going to get from his make-up artist.

"Chan." You shakily spoke his name. Your skin heating up, cheeks flush as your needs escalate. "Chan, I need you." 

"Pup." Chan spluttered. "Not now, I'm busy." You squinted, walking to his side. He looked up at your rosy cheeks and glossy eyes, his cock twitching in his pants. 

"Please Chan. Just for a few minutes." You whined. "I need to feel your skin against mine. We haven't touched each other for so long, I'm craving you baby." 

Chan bit his lower lip softly, pushing his chair away from his desk, leaving enough room for you whilst making sure he could still reach his laptop.

"Fine." He mumbled. "But only for a few seconds.' You nodded, stripping yourself of your pants. You straddled Chan's lap, his hands on your waist gently. You held onto his shoulders, whimpering softly as you finally got to see your handsome man properly.

"So handsome." You purred, kissing up his neck slowly. Chan tilted his head to the side allowing more access for you. His hands moving from your waist to your ass, cupping it.

He spreads your cheeks, squeezing them roughly. His cock getting hard underneath you. You purposefully sat on his crotch, rocking your hips slowly. You moved from his neck to his lips, capturing them against your own.

The kiss was fuelled with need and desire, it only made you more horny. You desperately grasped onto Chan, not wanting to let go. Teeth and tongues collided with each other, saliva mixing together. laboured pants leaving your lips as you increase the speed of your grinding.

"Pup, I have to work." Chan grunted against your lips, pulling away slowly. You pouted.

"But Chan." You grabbed his hand, guiding it down into your panties. Chan shivered as his fingers came into contact with your wet pussy. He rubbed your clit slowly as a soft sigh left your lips. His technique made you want more, so much more than fingers. 

His fingers teasingly circled your entrance, fingers covering in your slick. You nuzzled into his neck, soft sighs hitting his skin. Whilst he was teasing your entrance and clit, his lips kissed your shoulder tenderly. He dipped a finger in your entrance, your walls welcoming him. Your essence and warmth coated his fingers as he thrusted it slowly.

You hummed softly, eyes closing. Soon, he added a second, scissoring and stretching you out. His fingers curled against your walls, stroking them with the sides of his fingers. Your pussy contacted and released around him, fingers getting soaked with each pull back.

"Chan, I need you." You pulled away from his neck, whimpering softly as you looked at your flushed boyfriend with glossy eyes.

"You have me, pup." He whispered.

"No. I need you." You slide your hand down to his crotch, squeezing his pulsating erection. Chan bucked his hips in your hand, grunting softly as he pulled his fingers out off your aching cunt.

"We can't, pup. I seriously have to work. We can when we get home." You whined at Chan, kicking your head back and groaning.

"I can't wait, Chan!" 

"You have to. I have to mix Jisung's vocals for this track before tomorrow so we can work on something else." His arms extended to the side of you, fingers tapping away at his keyboard again.

"Can you at least put it in?" Chan's fingers stopped, his eyes looking at you as you pouted. "Pleaseee. You'll feel relaxed and stress-free. Plus, I feel so empty, Chan. I can't wait till home to get filled by you." You gave him your best puppy eyes.

Chan groaned softly, nodding before resuming his work. You smirked, pulling his cock out off his restraints as you pulled your panties to the side. You grabbed his cock by the base, skin hot against your hand. You rubbed his tip up and down your slit, coating it in your essence. 

"Don't tease pup. If you want it in, do it now before I change my mind." Chan growled. You hummed softly, lifting your hips up before slowly sinking down on his cock.

You both groaned in unison. The warmth and wetness of your pussy along with the stretch was blissful to you both. You sunk all the way down, burying your head into his neck.

You kept still. The warmth of your pussy suffocated chan. Your walls involuntarily clenched around him, making him groan softly from the back of his throat. He could no longer concentrate on his work, his focus shifting to you.

His fingers hovered over the keys, hand stationary on his mouse. He had to squeeze his eyes shut, think of something other than your warmth and your soft laboured pants. He felt you grip onto his hoodie, bundling it up in your fists. "Focus Chan, you have to work." was all he could tell himself. 

He likes to think he has willpower, determination, but this was testing him and he's slowly failing. 

"I can't do this." he finally spoke, hands grabbed your ass as he stood from his seat, his cock still inside you. You giggled softly against his skin as he gently placed you on the sofa before towering over you. He placed his hands by your head before slowly thrusting. 

"You feel too good around me, pup. How am I supposed to concentrate on my work?"

[6:02am]

Pairing: Chan x reader Word Count: 0.4k Genre: Smut 🔞 Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, swearing, dry humping, oral sex (m receiving)

a/n: I'm not even a little bit sorry about this.

"You're so needy today babe" you cooed running your fingers through Chan's messy curls, he had been this way even since he got home from the last part of the tour and to be honest you loved it.

"M'not" he whined as he rutted against your pajama clad hip, his lips attached to your bare shoulder.

"You're going to be late Channie" you teased your fingers creeping across his abs to flick the waistband of his boxers making him pull himself away from you.

"Want you though, I can be quick" he groaned your hand finally ghosting over his throbbing cock.

"You are never quick but I can be" you but you lip sensually while you squeezed him through the fabric causing him to shiver against you. Pushing him onto his back you slid down and positioned yourself between his thighs placing kisses on his abs, hips and thighs as you rid him of the only scrap of fabric between him and you.

"Fuuuuck" he moaned eyes rolling back as you pumped his length lazily smirking at his reaction.

"Such a good boy" you praised taking him into your mouth letting your tongue swirl around the head before taking him all the way into your throat.

"Yes baby, I can be good" he slurred his hands tangling into your hair as you bobbed up and down his length, sucking and humming as you did. His fingers gripped your hair a little tighter pulling the roots a little and you purred softly, hearing him take a gasping breath from where he was sprawled on the bed. You knew from how long he had been rutting against you since you woke up he wouldn't last long so when he started rolling his hips to fuck your throat you couldn't help the low moan that left you.

"Shit, shit, shit" Chan moaned as you felt his swell against your tongue before he came thick hot ribbon of his seed down your throat.

"Told you I could be quick" you smirked letting go of his length with a pop.

"Love you. I will spoil you later for this baby" he panted looking at you with adoring eyes as you moved back to lay beside him on the bed.

"Love you too babe" you smiled kissing his lips softly. a/n: Your likes, comments and reblogs are adored just as you are adored xx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz, @armystay89, @damnyouficc, @roamingpolar, @tara-skyhold, @bakedlilgoonie, @krishastumblernow

Smutober ~ Day 8 ~Begging ~ Bang Chan [M]

WORD COUNT: 0.8k

PAIRING: Chan x GN!Reader  (No pronouns used)

GENRE: established relationships, minors DNI, begging, blow jobs, whiney bang chan, sub bang chan,

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - Smutober 2023

⤜MASTERLIST

"Please." He whimpered as you ran the tip of your fingers over the length of his cock, his eyes watering a little as he looked at you. You don't think you'd ever seen your boyfriend look this desperate before and it drove you wild with power. You'd heard him beg before, but this was something else, this was something that was driving you insane,

"Beg a little more," You smirked at him as his cheeks began to flame a bright red colour and he let out a small whimper. 

"Please...Suck my cock, just a little." He whimpered out, his hands reaching down to play with himself but you swatted his hand away.

"I told you not to tease me at dinner and what did you do?" You questioned, watching as he pouted out his bottom lip. He knew exactly what he'd been doing all dinner but he never would have expected you to crack the whip like you were doing right now.

"Yn...Please," He whispered as you continued to run your finger along the veins in his dick, smirking as it twitched at the smallest of touches from you. He let out a small hiss as you moved your hand away from him again, he was desperate to feel you around him, to feel your hand or even your mouth if he was lucky enough,

"You can do better than that." You told him as you watched him panting a little, his head falling back against the pillows as he whined out.

"Do you think you deserve my mouth, baby?" You titled your head to the side and he nodded frantically, sitting up straight and staring at you as you met his gaze. His eyes were filled with need and you smirked a little knowing that you had complete control over him right now, it got you off sometimes.

"Please...Fuck, please Yn I'm so desperate," He grunted as you moved to the end of the bed, sinking onto the floor on your knees and watching as your boyfriend scrambled to sit on the edge of the bed. His dick waiting for you as you smirked a little, precum was leaking from the tip and it only drove you more power-hungry.

"Listen to yourself, you're begging for my mouth like a good boy." You chuckled a little, slowly wrapping your hands around the base of his dick and pumping torturously slow.

"You're begging for me to suck your cock like a needy little slut," You cooed sarcastically but Chan didn't care right now,

"Please, Yn." He slips out as he bucks his hips a little trying to move your hand faster but you tighten your grip - just enough for him to grunt but not so that it was painful.

"Please. I need you to make me feel good! I need you, you're all I ever think about...P-Please, Yn, Please, let me cum in your mouth." Your heart was rapidly pounding against your chest before you lowered your head toward the tip of his cock, licking the precum away and moaning at the taste of him.

"Fuck," He hisses, rolling his head back and letting it hang there as you kiss the tip of his dick as he let out a string of curses. His hands stayed by his side and you wrapped your lips around him fully, smirking as you began to slide your mouth down his dick. Chan couldn't help but let out one of the loudest moans you'd ever heard him do and you smirked,

"Jesus, Yn." You smile around him, he sounds so out of breath and it turns you on more knowing that you were the one doing this to your boyfriend. Your tongue swirls as you bob your head slowly, one of your hands twisting at the base of him while your other moves to cup his balls. Your fingers gently worked the tandem while you sucked him hard.

"Please I'm so close," The sound of it urged you on as you began to move your head faster around him, looking up at him through your lashes as you picked up the pace of your hands.

"Fuck, I-I can't...Please...Please let me cum," He begged and you moaned out around him, staring up at him as you watched his eyes on you. His hips began to jerk a little as he felt himself getting closer,

"Ugh shit...I-I'm cumming," He huffs out as you feel his cock twitching in your mouth, spilling into the back of your throat as you swallow everything he gives to you.

"T-Thank you," He panted breathelssly, falling back onto the bed as you let out a small laugh before leaning down and kissing his forehead softly, 

"Let's go shower, I'll let you touch me." You whispered before rushing toward the en-suite, your boyfriend chasing after you.

Tagline: @chiisaiblog @sw33tnight @kaitieskidmore97 @stayconnecteed @saymyspringrain @laylasbunbunny @tinyoonsblog @whitefoxgirl @katnisspeetaprim @acciocriativity @just-aelia @minhosify @choisoorin @straykids5star @heyjiminnie @beccaskz @scarletemeterio @btsiguess-kpop @halesandy

What's your fanfic fantasy? part 1

↳ tag list: open

Chapter Contents.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 // Part 11 // Part 12 // Part 13 // Part 14 //

Pairing: fem reader + Chan + Jisung

This is an AU story about Chan bringing your fantasies to life... but what happens when boyfriends Chan and Han fall in love with you?

Chapter Summary: You're enjoying a drink with Chan until he starts asking about the smut you read.

Warnings: This first installment has no sex (but the next is fully sex including a threesome!) but talks about sexually explicit content, fantasies, references to sex and masturbation, explicit language, eventual threesome in next installment.

You sit on the leather lounge really confused about how the conversation ended up here.

“So… “ Chan starts, “do you enjoy reading them?” he smirks as he asks this.

He is such a cheeky bastard.

He isn't talking about stories in the media, or news articles, or interviews. Nope. He is talking about erotic fan fiction. Smut. About him. About him and his rock band SKZ. And that you've been reading it.

You have known Chan for a long time. Years now. You'd met on a creative project. You're musicians, and have often worked creatively together on and off for a few years. You were so excited when Chan invited you to his holiday/work retreat to work on a new project with him and a few of the guys from the band for a couple of weeks.

You're staying in a beautiful holiday home, more like a mansion really, on the coast overlooking the ocean. It’s a sight to die for.

Chan loved to work. He worked all day. He worked well into the night. He worked all the time actually. A workaholic. You wonder if you would get to let your hair down, and just hang out, which usually ends up with you bantering and laughing together for hours.

You didn’t have to wonder for long. It's your first day here, and it hasn’t taken long before you've hit “banter territory”. In fact it has now moved beyond “banter territory” and into some unknown, and quite frankly scary, uncharted territory, and you don’t have a map for this particular terrain.

Even though nothing has ever happened between you and Chan, and likely never will, you often seem to end up flirting. Hinting at things in a fun, non serious way. But never taking it further (although your mind has drifted much further than you'd ever admit).

Chan’s a safe flirt. Which means he makes you feel safe enough to push the envelope without a sense of awkwardness or feeling a need to take action or follow through. You seem to just prick tease really.

It’s just fun and games right? Right? It was always… cheeky and lighthearted and absolutely never serious.

Until now.

You feel flustered and a little sweaty. You try to shift in your seat to get more comfortable and to ease the sense of your legs feeling like your circulation has been cut off, but the leather couch is sticking to your legs. You shouldn’t have worn a mini skirt. A uneasiness builds up inside of you.

You pick up your sparkling water from the leather upholstered chaise-slash-coffee table and take a big sip, biding your time before you answer.

You're sitting in one of the living areas that that has a big floor to ceiling window that takes advantage of the ocean view. It’s getting dark out there now.

Chan sits on a second leather coach to your right where he is waiting for you to speak. You bring your attention back to his question “do you enjoy reading them?”

You'd been talking about the fandom and some of the thirst tweets and naughty edits that are out there about his rock band SKZ, and somehow the conversation escalated into how you had read some of the fan made fiction about the group.

You wish you hadn’t even mentioned that you read smut. Why did you do that? You were only going to tease him about the situations, positions and activities that he and his band members have been involved in, fictitiously of course.

Unfortunately for you the teasing hasn’t had the desired effect, and the tables have been turned on you. Instead of making him go red, or teasing him about it, and having a giggle - in the safe zone of “banter territory” - you were the one blushing while his expression had turned dark and devious.

You look him in the eyes to see if you can read his thoughts.

He is still waiting for your answer.

He is still smirking at you. Fuck. This is so awkward.

“Well …?” he raises an eyebow. “do you enjoy reading them?” he repeats himself. You actually have to answer him then? What the fuck do you say?

You're not quite sure whether to give a lighthearted response and shift the conversation to something more… vanilla, or match him with the dark, sinister vibe. Or, you could just be honest and nonchalant, and act like it’s no big deal. Yeah you might go with that. You're an adult after all.

“Well, yeah I do actually.” you say matter-of-factly, completely disregarding the dark look in his eyes. You think you've come off calm and unaffected by his energy, but on the inside you're burning up with embarrassment, or is it shame? Or something else?

You want to hide. You realise you're holding your breath and you do your best to exhale gently and calmly.

Chan puts his drink down, a simple coke, on the coffee table-chaise and sits back on the leather couch. His skinny ripped jeans are so very tight and his legs are parted a little bit too wide for polite chit chat. How fucking rude! He’s playing games with you.

It surprises you when you a feel dull ache in your core. You want to be pissed off at his confidence, not turned on. Why does this dark energy seem so alluring? This isn’t the Chan you're used to, and you have a feeling this situation is going to become less polite by the minute. You're not sure how it’s going to pan out, but you're terrified. Or are you? You can’t quite tell if this is terror or anticipation, or - arousal?

He brings a hand to his chin as though deep in thought, rubbing his fingers against his lips, and not taking his eyes off you for even a second. Then he nods his head as if he has just made a decision with himself. Is he is having as much inner dialogue as you are right now?

“Tell me more?” He coaxes, his voice is low and deep.

Tell him more? Shit. What are you supposed to say? That you lay in bed reading about how he and his best friends suck each other off and rail each other in the ass? And then you touch yourself over it as you imagine you're there actually watching it? Or that you imagine each of them inside of you while the others watch?

Is that what he wants to hear?

You cross your legs hoping the tension will go away, but all it does is intensify the feeling.

No, absolutely not. This is too far. You can’t tell him more. You won’t tell him. It’d be too… vulnerable. Intimate. You shake your head.

“No,” you start. “I don’t think we should keep talking about this.” You sigh and look at him pleadingly. But the look in his eyes tell you he isn’t going to let this slide. And part of you doesn’t want him to either. If you're honest, you're scared, embarrassed and want to run and hide, but part of you does want to tell him, to confess to him, see his reaction. What would he say? What would he do? You wanted to know. You needed to know.

Despite your resolve to say nothing, you open your mouth ready to blurt it all out anyway.

“You’re right.” Chan cuts you off, and some of that darkness shifts from his eyes. He grins his cheeky fucking grin at you and you feel that sense of kindness and friendliness he has return just a little bit.

But..

Your heart sinks. Why do you feel disappointed?

“It’s none of my business what you enjoy reading”. He chuckles filling his glass up with more coke. “I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward. We can change the subject.” Chan leans forward to peer closer to you, the room has gotten so dark and only a few lamp lights are illuminating the room in a soft glow.

“I’m sorry.” he says with pleading eyes. “I was just curious, you know?” He leans back again. “This is kind of an area that I don’t know anything about you in”.

“Chan,” you exasperate, “It’s normal for people to not know other people’s fantasies!”

You clasp your hand over your mouth. You've said too much.

“Fantasies? No one mentioned fantasies.” He’s caught you out. Chan’s devious eyes are back but it’s coupled with a devious grin too. Doubly dangerous. “Hmm..” he pretends to ponder “so let me get this straight. You read the dirty fiction and then fantasize about it happening to you? Or,” he takes a sip of his drink. “you make up your own little scenarios of my boys filling you up and fucking you senseless?”

“Chan!” You're shocked at how accurate his accusation actually is. And equally shocked how your body is responding. You're thankful it’s dark because you're pretty sure your nipples are rock hard. You're also thankful he is hasn’t outrightly asked if you fantasize about him.

So much for changing the subject.

“Do you?” he knows he almost has you admitting everything to him.

You tip your head back and let out a sigh.

“Fine. I’ll tell you more. Then you can fucking stop being so pushy and move on.”

Chan claps his hands together excitedly. “Right then”, he says and excitedly shuffles over a little closer to you. You feel like you should get him some god damned popcorn.

“You’re right. I read the stories, I touch myself, and I imagine my own scenarios.” You flail your hand around in some weird gesture and try to keep the explanation as minimal as possible, surely he doesn’t need to know actual details.

Chan waits for you to elaborate. Apparently he does need to know more details.

You roll your eyes. “And yes, I imagine them filling me up and fucking me senseless." you finish.

He looks satisfied that you've admitted it, and proud too, like his boys had actually had sex with you and that it was somehow thanks to him. “Except..” you start. What are you doing?

Chan looks at you curiously. “Except? Except what?”

You hesitate but decide to continue. “Except, even though he is so fucking hot and he’s the best drummer I’ve seen, and so very sexy, and his lips are just delicious, no matter how hard I try, and even though I want to so badly, I can’t seem to envision Jisung inside of me!” you confess.

Oh my god, what did you just say?

You look to Chan to see what his reaction is. He looks amused but mildly distracted. His gaze keeps shifting over your shoulder ever so slightly even though his attention and words are directed at you.

“So what you are saying is,” he focuses his eyes back on you. “that you can’t picture Jisung fucking you?” He smirks and leans back against the back of the couch resuming the confident lazy posture he had earlier.

You swear he’s hard, his pants seem a little too tight and you can see a bulge protruding, fighting against his pants. But it’s too dark to really tell, and perhaps your imagination is getting the better of you. You wonder what it would feel like to straddle his lap and grind against him, to make him harder and to relieve this tension building up in your body.

“Do you want to?” Chan jolts you back to reality, his attention is one hundred percent back on you, but something feels off.

“Huh?” You stare blankly, taking your eyes off the bulge in his pants.

“Do you want to be able to imagine Jisung fucking you?” he repeats casually, but dead serious.

Do you want to imagine Jisung fucking you? You consider what might be the thing getting in the way of you being able to picture it. Is it that he seems so young and fun that you can’t see him taking charge and being aggressive, and maybe that’s what you're into? You can’t really put your finger on it. All you know is you do want to imagine Jisung inside of you, fucking you. Well yeah, of course. Who wouldn’t? How was admitting it to Chan going to help?

“Yes,” you declare anyway. Really! What are you doing?  “and it’s so fucking annoying.” you add. Your throat is so dry, but elsewhere you're beginning to feel a little wet.

Amusement washes over Chan’s face and his eyes dart over your shoulder again.

You swallow hard even though your throat feels like a hard lump, but before you can do or say anything, Chan leans in close to your ear. His breath is hot against your neck and cheek. Fuck he’s close. Fuck he smells good.

You hold your breath waiting for Chan to speak. He lingers for what feels like forever.

“Jisung thinks that’s so fucking annoying too.” It was barely a whisper. He pulls away from your ear and gestures behind you. “Don’t you, Jisung?”

Your heart suddenly pounds so hard you think it’s going to fling out of your chest. Your jaw drops and dread begins to take over you. You feel hot and dizzy. You snap your head in the direction of Chan’s gaze only to be met with Jisung standing in the doorway. The dread intensifies and you're filled with shame. You want to hide.

Fuck.

↳ tag list: open

@rylea08 @channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @kangnina @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @chuuchuu1224 @fun-fanfics @wolfennracha @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @rixenluv sorry if you’ve been tagged again, I am having issues to tagging again.

yandere chan

summary: once again, basically sub yandere chan x dom reader hcs

a/n: there is many stalkerish topics and toxic behaviours in this (so read at your own risk), there is also mentions that could be read as a strap or the real thing-whichever you prefer

i do not condone this sort of behaviour, this is purely for amusement purposes and should not be done in real life nor' should be normalized

Did you notice Chan from the very beginning?

probably, yeah.

he made himself very apparent as the shy, cute, guy in a few of your classes. the boy next door typa vibes

you were friends with a bunch of his friends, he was friends with a bunch of your friends, so you knew of him though you never really hung out with him in any type of one-on-one kind of situation

was he completely gorgeous and so very adorable and look so entirely fuckable?

yeah. yeah he did.

but that was just it, you wanted to approach him, ask him out, bring him home at the end of the night

but he seemed too...innocent, too naive, too virgin-y

the golden boy

and you didn't want to corrupt that

you didn't realize how completely wrong you were until later on

completely unaware of the fact that he's had your entire schedule memorized from the get-go

that the reason anyone you've talked to never called you back and avoided you if you saw them again was because of Chan

he isn't the type to ask you out, babyboy's too shy and self-conscious for that,

instead he'll stalk and watch and hope that you'll get the clue soon enough

as he waits he'll probably steal your things, little trinkets, clothing like hoodies and shirts, perhaps some underwear if he's feeling extra confident

but he always feels really bad when he takes those

he has photos upon photos in his camera roll of you. enough to make a folder labelled just your name

most of them are not even remotely sexual,

some of you laughing with your friends-stolen from your friends's instagram account, from your instagram account

some of you smiling widely with your classmates

some that have been group pictures that his friends have sent to him

some of them he's taken himself, secretly snapping a few when you're not aware

he has so many, his own personal collection of just you and as gross as he feels when he does it-he'll look at them and get off

he can't touch himself, never does. he feels too dirty to do that, feels dirty and guilty about the entire situation altogether

but sees you and he just can't help himself

can't help but imagine how good you'd look standing over him, telling him what to do.

making him hump your leg

it so humiliating, so revealing and degrading as you look down at him unimpressed, the disappointment in your eyes making him whimper

you'd pet him too, pushing his hair back

"such a dirty dog; getting off on my leg like you're in heat, you poor thing~"

you'd tease him and make fun of him, bully him until he cums, melting against your leg out of breath

a mess all over your leg

you'd click your tongue at him, rolling your eyes before forcing his head down to lick up his mess

the fantasy gets so intense sometimes he feels like it's really happening

he's so hard and needy, body aching to be touched but too guilty to do it

so his go-to is humping his pillows or his bed. your clothes a victim with either his face buried into the fabric, smelling your perfume or your cologne or your natural scent

or he fucks into the clothing, obsessing over the thought of you catching him in the act

his face flushed, guilt stewing in his gut, eyes locked on yours. even if they're only through the screen of his phone

he begs and begs and begs to the phantom of you, his lust-addled brain conjuring up images, fake realities that aren't real to feed into his delusions that he could be yours.

it's only when you go on a date with someone that he decides he needed to do something

a guy from your class. decently handsome and looked kind of like Chan when you squinted slightly

it would all look the same, really, in the dark of your room as you made him moan under your hands.

the date goes well. but maybe that's because he has an aussie accent and when you look just beside his ear you can pretend it's someone else

you end the night a good note too, kissing him on the cheek and making him promise that you'll go out again sometime

Channie does not like that

he's been watching all night, hatred boiling in his gut, glaring hole into the guy's head, wishing that he'd drop down dead in the middle of the restaurant

he threatens him as soon as you're inside, telling him that he needs to leave you alone or else

spoiler alert: it doesn't work and you go out with him again

and again

Chan doesn't like that. not one bit.

you get upset when you're stood up by him for the first time after only three dates, checking your phone every few seconds as you sit in your apartment, waiting for him to pick you up

he never does

you call him and text him but he doesn't reply

awhile later you see that he blocked you on everything

he never does talk to you again and you wonder why

for the rest of the night you sulk, heading to a nearby bar, having a few drinks until someone taps you on the shoulder

turning around to find Chan smiling sheepishly

asking if you need some company for the night

you accept, eagerly ordering a few more so that he can catch up to you

which ends up with him getting extremely drunk

turns out he has a very low alcohol tolerance. it also turns out that he becomes extremely horny when he's drunk

extremely drunk, extremely horny and extremely happy

because it's the night Chan finally gets what he's been wanting for such a long time.

panting and clutching at your shoulders in the dark corner of the bar, sloppily making out with you

whimpering about how he's dreamed about this for years, muttering between kisses how he can't believe this is happening

opening his legs for you in such a public place-you briefly wonder if you were wrong about him being innocent all this time

until he tells you that he is a virgin, not that he hasn't had offers, it's just that he wanted to save it for you

he wanted you and only you to take his innocence,

to hell if it's in a dirty pub right next to the toilets, if there are eyes watching him-watching you, that you're as drunk as he is and still sad about being ghosted

it needs to be now

he cries with every thrust of you inside of him, his walls clenching making it harder for you

every little touch feels like it's overloading his senses, making his head feel fuzzy and the room feel spinny

and while it might be the alcohol that's causing it, it also might be the need he's had ever since the first time he saw you

the want and the desperation and the high he feels after everything he's done, it's finally happening

he whispers a lot of things to you that night

things that scare you, things that turn you on, things that make you angry at him and things that make you wanna ruin him even more

he confesses every one of his dirty secrets to you

he asks you then if you could still love him after all this, if you would still want him

and to his surprise, you don't get that angry, you do however, expect him to make up for his...wrongdoings

babyboy spends months at your beck and call, doing whatever you please whenever you please

trying to prove himself to you, that after all he's done he deserves to be with you

making him doing humiliating things like wearing a vibrator to your date

fiddling with the controls as he squirms in his seat, trying to hold it in long enough to order his meal albeit stuttering and tripping over his words the whole time

having him wear lingerie under his clothes when he goes out to hang with his friends, the lace hugging his body tight-a remanent of you even if you're not there

and even though you don't ask him to he shows up at your apartment every morning, with flowers or gifts or a compliment ready on his lips, offering to drive you wherever you need

sends you texts throughout the day, informing you of every little thing with an adorable kind of elation

you'd forgiven him long ago, if you'd ever even been mad at him to begin with,

it was just cute watching him stumble around trying to fulfill your every wish

though that still doesn't change when you finally make things official

he probably cries when you ask him to be your boyfriend, he just can't help it, he loves you so, so, so much

Even if his definition of love being a tad overbearing,

he definitely changes a bit when you're actually dating

a little bit more possessive, a little bit more clingy mixed in with a dash of paranoia whenever you’re around someone else that isn’t him

a lot of his shyness goes away when he's with you, ready to do whatever it takes to have your attention on him, willing to do anything that you tell him to

focusing on the former:

He really just can’t help but imagine how you’d look with them

You wouldn’t be happier with them, would you?

No, you love him, you love HIM

not them, not your coworker or best friend, not any one of his band mates or some random person you met at a social gathering

It’s Chan that you love

He’ll stay quiet sometimes, he knows that you need people in your life other than him. he knows that he can’t satisfy every one of your needs that all of these other people do

But that doesn’t make him stop wishing that he could

he tolerates most people (mostly because of your scoldings and punishments when he hasn't) but he still can't help the rage that comes when he sees someone actively trying to get into your pants-ESPECIALLY if they KNOW you're with Chan

of which he will 'encourage' them to leave you alone later on

though he'd really rather not have to do that. it gets kind of messy and you always get angry with him afterwards

so it's good that he's okay with most people,

it doesn’t stop his possessiveness or clinginess but at least he's not going tooooo overboard

If you’re shorter than him he’ll come up behind you and wrap you in a big bear hug, arms around your waist, face in your neck, peppering kisses all over your skin

If you’re taller than him he’ll have no problem pushing himself into your arms, 

coming up in front of you and hugging you, taking your arms and throwing them other his shoulders

“Pay attention to meeee~”

face still in your neck, kisses still all over your skin,

No shits given for pda or how the person you were talking to beforehand is reacting at him cutting off the conversation,

and if you happen to giggle or laugh at his antics his heart will skip a beat, face growing warm with the sound, encouraged once again, to do it the next time this happens

There is very little that will dissuade him even if you don't like it

if you don’t like it he won’t pick up subtle cues or discomfort, 

or more like he’ll PRETEND that he doesn’t get them

You’ll have to be straight up and tell him if you really want him to stop

He’ll give you the saddest, most hurt puppy dog eyes but will reluctantly listen to your wishes

he can never bring himself to do something that will hurt you or make you upset in any way

Afterwards when you get home is where that jealousy comes pouring out

jumping you the second you’re in the door,

the only time babyboy will ever purposely brat out, he’ll welcome any punishment you give as long as it’s you paying attention to him

Not anyone else

Would actually die if you ignored him

That’s out of the question for punishments,

he could never take you pleasuring yourself while he’s tied up across the room, 

he would probably cry and not in the way that either of you like

he doesn’t care how hard you hit, how mean you are, how torturous your punishments are,

ignoring him is a no-no

And bringing someone else into any part of your relationship is too

Sexual or otherwise

The thought of someone else touching your skin, making you moan in the way he does, also makes him want to die.

End of story

If you try to bring it up at all he’d probably just ignore you, give you silent treatment until you apologize 

And then make you PROMISE-PROMISE, PROMISE, PROMISE that it’ll never happen

That he’s the only one you’ll ever be with

Again, sexual or otherwise

but he wouldn't be against it if you were to say, fuck him in front of someone he was jealous of

having the other person watch as you praise him, giving him a slow handjob

his head going into overdrive as he makes pretty noises, all with the knowledge that this person would never get to be in his position, only a watcher to what Chan gets and they don't

He loves you so much and loves the way you make him feel

he gets quickly obsessed with that sense of freedom that you can give him

He’s stressed and overworked, locking himself in his studio for who knows how long, 

starving himself for who knows how long

At the end of a long week he’s all pent up and tired, barely able to stand up on his own two feet and make complete sentences

Much less take control during sex

And more often than not when he comes home after said long week he’s in subspace the second he hears your voice,

quite literally from the second he steps inside the door he just feels himself slipping, overtaking his head with every step he takes, pushing himself deeper and deeper

He just wants to curl up in your arms and let you take care of him, force his mind somewhere else

jerk him off and call him puppy, anything you want, anything at all

He absolutely loves to be called puppy or babyboy, he really doesn’t know which one more because either will have the same effect

Mostly it’ll be paired with him calling you mommy or daddy

he's not big on master or mistress, ma'm or sir just because they don't have the same amount of comfort mommy or daddy has

It makes him feel safe and warm and cared for 

Even if you are edging him for the sixth time tonight with no reprieve in sight 

He’s a bit of a pillow princess but that’s okay because he looks so pretty just laying there and taking whatever you give him

He loves the control you take from him, forcing the decisions out of his hands, your rules becoming the only thing he cares about,

that floaty feeling in his head when you strip him of all of his responsibilities and anxieties

Your comforting hand and sweet praises,

the knowing that he can fall into it and leave the overwhelming reality of his world with you right there to take care of him

He no doubt uses his submission, subspace and sex as a whole really as coping mechanism for when everything becomes too much

Which is unfortunately more often than not, can make things overwhelming for both parties

It’s not very healthy but he thinks that it’s mostly him that’s being affected in a negative way 

He doesn’t account for exactly how much of a toll it can be on you as well 

He probably won’t notice either until you outright tell him, sit him down and give it pointblank

He feels horrible when and if you finally do though

But he is a bit selfish

So I doubt many serious changes will be made, if any at all

If things do change, don’t expect them to stay that way long, slowly enough that you might not even realize it everything will fall right back into the place it was before

he does give really good aftercare though, wrapping his arms around you, ignoring how tired he is to ask if you need anything

even if he's practically braindead, his legs still shaking he's trying to clean you up, trying to wave you off with weak hands

he gets really sleepy but doesn't like to actually sleep, instead he likes to lazily talk to you, words slurred, voice low and heavy

about anything, everything

most of the reason he doesn't want to sleep is because he never wants this moment to end

him in your arms, his head on your chest, your lips leaving soft kisses all over his forehead and hairline

telling him you love him

he swears his heart will burst out of his chest

this is all he's ever wanted

all he's ever dreamed of

to be with you

a/n: okay after this one i'm going to do lixie and then maybe hyunjin...? i'm not fully sure yet after felix's but yeah, hope you enjoyed!

--if you get tagged, or see this again that's because this is a repost because it got put under the community label before even a full day was up

taglist is open now here if you wanna be added: @hobihearteu, @shincode, @lemonhongjoong, @laylasbunbunny, @xcookiemonsteerr, @arlojulien-nightchild-of-hades, @hahagay, @lino-jagiyaa, @missrobyn81

with or without you (pt. 2)

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: bottling you're feelings for so long, it begins to hurt. until you mention it.

word count: 5k

warnings: angst, heh not edited

a/n: long awaited pt 2 :0 hope u enjoy!

part 1 | masterlist | requests

You step through the door into the bustling New Year’s Eve party, the energy of the celebration immediately wrapping around you. The room is aglow with twinkling lights, silver streamers hanging from the ceiling like a cascade of stars. Laughter and the clinking of glasses fill the air, blending with the upbeat music that pulses through the space. The festive decorations, the cheerful faces, and the warmth of the room create an illusion of happiness, but beneath it, you feel an unshakable heaviness.

As you make your way further inside, you’re greeted by familiar faces and a sea of conversation. You offer polite smiles and exchange pleasantries with friends, trying to immerse yourself in the festivities. But every smile you give feels hollow, every laugh you share rings a bit too loud, as if you’re trying too hard to mask the sadness that lingers just beneath the surface.

Your gaze repeatedly drifts across the room to where Chan stands, effortlessly charming in the midst of his own circle. He’s laughing, his eyes sparkling with genuine joy, and you can’t help but notice how his attention is focused entirely on his girlfriend. They’re huddled close, their shared warmth and intimacy glaringly evident. Chan’s hand rests lightly on her back, a gesture so simple yet so intimate that it feels like a physical manifestation of the distance between you and him.

You attempt to engage in conversations, chatting with friends and participating in the party’s various activities, but each interaction feels like a distraction from the growing void within you. You sip on your drink and join in the occasional dance, trying to lose yourself in the crowd. Yet, the more you try to fit in, the more isolated you feel, as if an invisible barrier separates you from the celebration’s true joy.

The festive cheer seems to mock your internal struggle. Every cheer, every toast, every burst of laughter only highlights the stark contrast between the lively atmosphere and the quiet ache that fills your heart. The New Year’s resolutions and hopeful wishes being shared around you feel like a cruel reminder of what you lack—a meaningful connection that you’ve always longed for but never quite grasped.

As you glance back at Chan, you see him and his girlfriend sharing a tender moment, their conversation filled with the kind of closeness you’ve always wished for. It’s a reminder that while you’re surrounded by people and festive cheer, your heart remains distant and unfulfilled. The realization that Chan’s attention is so completely focused on someone else adds an extra layer of discomfort to your already mixed emotions.

The countdown to midnight begins, the room brimming with anticipation and excitement. You stand on the periphery of the celebration, watching as people gather to mark the New Year. Despite the lively surroundings, your heart feels heavy, and the hopeful excitement in the air feels distant, almost unreachable.

When the clock strikes midnight and cheers erupt around you, you try to join in the festivities, but the joy feels muted. The contrast between the party’s exuberance and your own sense of longing is more pronounced than ever. As you try to find solace in the crowd, the reality of Chan’s relationship and your unspoken feelings weigh heavily on you, making the celebration feel less like a new beginning and more like a poignant reminder of what might never be.

— 

You seek refuge from the party's clamor by slipping into a quieter corner of the room, the muffled sounds of celebration barely reaching you in this dimly lit space. You lean against the wall, taking a deep breath to steady your racing thoughts. It’s a small escape from the overwhelming mix of emotions that the night has brought.

Just as you’re beginning to gather your composure, Chan appears, his warm smile cutting through the dimness. His eyes light up as he spots you, and he makes his way over with an easy confidence that only makes your heart ache more.

“Hey, Y/N,” Chan greets you, his voice carrying a cheerful lilt. “Mind if I join you for a bit?”

You force a smile and nod. “Of course, Chan. I was just taking a break from the noise.”

Chan settles beside you, his demeanor relaxed as he leans casually against the wall. The contrast between his ease and the turmoil within you is stark. As you both stand there, the surrounding festivities fade into a distant hum, leaving you to focus on the conversation at hand.

“How are you? Anything new” He smiles at you

“I've been talking to this guy, he's pretty sweet but its new” the lie rolls off your tongue so naturally

“Oh thats cool! Good for you.”

Chan begins talking about how it's good you're opening yourself up but you just tune it out.

“I’ve got some big news. I’ve been planning something special for hana, and I think it’s going to be amazing.”

Your heart sinks at the mention of his girlfriend, but you do your best to mask your discomfort. “Oh? What’s the surprise?”

Chan’s face lights up even more as he continues. “I’m taking her on a surprise weekend getaway to this cozy cabin in the mountains. She’s always wanted to go, and I think it’s the perfect way to celebrate the New Year.”

As Chan talks, his enthusiasm is palpable. He describes the details with such joy that it almost feels like a physical weight pressing down on you. Each word he speaks, each gesture he makes as he talks about his plans, feels like a painful reminder of the gap between you.

“That sounds wonderful,” you manage to say, your voice trembling slightly despite your efforts to sound upbeat. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”

Chan’s eyes soften with affection as he continues, oblivious to the emotional strain he’s causing. “I really hope so. I want to make this special for her. It’s been amazing, honestly, feeling this way about someone. I’ve been thinking a lot about our future together lately. It feels like everything’s falling into place.”

The words cut through you like a knife. You swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. The idea of Chan and his girlfriend planning a future together is a sharp contrast to the unspoken feelings you’ve harbored in silence. You nod, though it feels like a hollow gesture. “That’s really great, Chan. I’m happy for you.”

He seems to sense your support, his smile widening. “Thanks. I really appreciate that. You know, you’ve always been such a great friend. Always there to listen, always supportive. It means a lot to me.”

Your heart aches at his words. You’ve been there for him, listening and supporting, all while hiding your own feelings. The weight of Chan’s gratitude feels heavy, a reminder of the love you’ve kept hidden. “I’m glad I could help,” you say, your voice barely steady. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

Chan’s gaze turns thoughtful as he reflects on your words. “Yeah, definitely. I just wanted you to know how much I value your support. It’s made a huge difference on me.”

As Chan’s attention shifts back to the party, you find yourself standing on the edge of the conversation, feeling a profound sense of distance. You try to focus on his words, but the reality of his relationship and your own unspoken feelings create a barrier between you.

Chan eventually excuses himself to rejoin his girlfriend and the rest of the guests, leaving you alone in the quiet corner. You watch him go, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. The conversation, meant to be a brief exchange, has only intensified the pain of your unspoken longing.

As the sounds of the party slowly return to your awareness, you’re left with the weight of Chan’s revelations and the harsh truth of your own feelings. The festive atmosphere of the party now feels like a distant, almost cruel backdrop to the raw, unspoken ache within you.

You take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself before rejoining the crowd. The party’s energy feels both enticing and out of reach, as if you’re caught between the joy of the celebration and the quiet ache of your heart. Each step you take back into the fray of the festivities is accompanied by the bittersweet sting of realizing that while the New Year brings new beginnings for others, for you, it is a poignant reminder of what remains unfulfilled.

—

As you weave through the crowd of sweaty drunks, your attention is caught by a quiet conversation taking place in a secluded corner. You stop short, your curiosity piqued despite your better judgment. The voices are soft but clear enough for you to make out, and the realization hits you with a jolt: it’s Chan and his girlfriend.

You try to retreat, to give them their privacy, but something anchors you to the spot. Chan’s voice, filled with affection, mingles with the soft tones of his girlfriend’s replies, and you find yourself unable to move.

“You know,” Chan says, his voice tender and filled with warmth, “I’ve been thinking about us a lot lately. I’m so glad I met you. I dont know where I would be without you ya know. It feels like everything is falling into place.”

Hana’s response is equally warm, her words filled with love. “Are you trying to tease me ahaha? But seriously I love that you're in my life, Channie. I never imagined dating someone so sweet, I really got lucky with you, didn't I?”

The words cut through you like shards of glass. The intimacy of their conversation, the depth of their connection, and the way Chan speaks about his future with her are like a painful reminder of what you’ve been silently yearning for. Your heart races, each beat a reminder of the disparity between your hidden feelings and Chan’s open affection for someone else.

Your internal monologue is a storm of conflicting emotions. How did you end up here, on the outside of the warmth you’ve always wanted? Chan’s love, so genuine and real, feels like a world apart from your own unspoken longing. You’ve been there for him through everything, silently harboring feelings that now seem to be nothing more than a distant dream. The realization that Chan’s heart belongs to someone else, someone who is now a tangible part of his life, leaves you feeling both hollow and devastated.

You can’t stay in the corner any longer. The weight of your emotions feels unbearable, and you need to escape. You retreat to a more secluded area of the party, a small alcove away from the noise and the festive lights. Your breathing is shallow, your heart pounding as you try to control the tidal wave of emotion crashing over you.

Once you’re hidden away from prying eyes, the façade you’ve maintained begins to crumble. Your hands tremble as you sink to the floor, your back against the wall. The tears start slowly, almost hesitant, but quickly turn into a torrent of uncontrollable sobs. The weight of Chan’s affection for someone else crashes over you, and you struggle to catch your breath, the sobs coming in ragged bursts.

You’re overwhelmed by a sense of rejection and despair, your emotions spilling out in a torrent of hysteria. The festive sounds from the party seem distant and unreal, a sharp contrast to the crushing sorrow you feel. You clutch at your chest, trying to steady your shaking body, but the effort only makes the tears flow harder. The realization that your love was never meant to be, that your hopes and dreams were just a fantasy, feels almost unbearable.

Every sob and shake of your body is a manifestation of the heartache that’s been simmering just beneath the surface. You cry out, the sound muffled against your knees, each sob a testament to the love you’ve kept hidden and the rejection you’ve now faced. The solitude of the alcove offers no comfort, only a stark reminder of how alone you feel.

As the tears begin to subside, you’re left with a deep, aching emptiness. The breakdown, though cathartic, leaves you feeling drained and vulnerable. You sit there, your breathing slowly returning to normal, but the pain remains. The celebration outside seems like a distant echo, a cruel reminder of a world that continues to move forward while you’re stuck in your own private torment.

You eventually rise to your feet, your legs feeling heavy and unsteady. With a final, deep breath, you prepare to rejoin the party, though the weight of your emotions lingers heavily. The night, once filled with potential and hope, now feels like a stark reminder of the love you’ll never fully grasp.

— 

The lively energy of the party feels like a distant echo as you stand on the outskirts, battling the storm of emotions swirling inside you. The earlier meltdown has left you feeling raw and exposed, and the festive atmosphere only serves to highlight the void in your heart.

Felix, ever the perceptive friend, catches sight of your distress from across the room. Without hesitation, he makes his way to you, concern etched in every feature. He’s always been there for you, the one person who could sense when something was wrong, and tonight is no exception.

“Y/N,” Felix calls out softly, his voice laced with worry as he approaches. “You don’t look okay. What’s going on?”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your composure, but the pain is too overwhelming. The moment Felix’s kind eyes meet yours, the dam breaks, and you find yourself spilling everything you've bottled up. “I heard Chan talking to Hana. He’s so happy, so in love with her, and I… I feel like I’m losing him. I feel so bad for having these feelings when he's so happy, I can't ruin it for him, I just don't know what to do because I just really wish that was me over there.”

Felix’s expression softens with understanding as he listens, his hand reaching out to gently touch your arm. “Ynnie, Hey. It's okay. This must suck for you, you two have been friends for long. Maybe you just need space and it'll pass?”

A tear slips down your cheek as you struggle to put your emotions into words. “It’s more than that, Felix. I’ve been holding onto this hope, this dream that maybe one day he’d see me the way I see him. But now… now I know it’s never going to happen. And it hurts so much. How do I just let go?”

Felix’s eyes are full of sympathy as he searches for the right words. “I don't know, I really don't. I think you just need to move on, find somebody who loves you and sees you. Theres no point in chasing something that isnt going to happen; youre just hurting yourself.”

But you shake your head, the idea of moving on too painful to even consider. “I don’t want to move on, Felix. I can’t. I’ve loved him for so long, and the thought of letting go… it feels impossible. How do I stop loving him when every part of me is still holding onto him?”

Felix frowns, his concern deepening. “I get it, I really do. But holding onto this is only going to hurt you more in the long run. It’s not fair to yourself to keep clinging to something that isn’t there.”

The words sting, and you feel your heart clench in resistance. “But what if I’m not ready to give up on him? What if I can’t? I know it’s stupid, but I can’t just turn off my feelings, lix. He means everything to me.”

Felix sighs, his hand squeezing yours in a gesture of comfort. “It’s not stupid. Love isn’t something you can just switch off. But Y/N, you can’t keep hurting yourself like this. You have to think about what’s best for you.”

“I know you’re trying to help,” you whisper, tears brimming in your eyes again, “but I just… I can’t. I’m not ready to move on, and I don’t know if I ever will be. He’s too important to me.”

Felix’s expression is a mix of sadness and understanding as he pulls you into a hug. “I’m here for you, no matter what.”

You cling to Felix, grateful for his support, even as the ache in your heart refuses to fade. The thought of moving on feels like an insurmountable task, and deep down, you know you’re not ready to let go of the love you have for Chan. It’s a love that feels all-consuming, impossible to extinguish, even in the face of reality.

— 

As the New Year begins, you resolve to take charge of your life, determined to leave behind the emotional turmoil that has consumed you for far too long. The decision doesn’t come easily—each moment of clarity is hard-fought, the pain of unrequited love still sharp in your chest. But with the arrival of January, you know that something has to change. You can’t keep living in the shadow of what could have been, tethered to a hope that only brings heartache. The first you need is space; and that in itself feels like the impossible. He’s been such a constant presence in your life, but now, every interaction with him is a reminder of the love that will never be yours. You can only hope it will help ease the grip he has on your heart.

hiii ynnie are u busy 2day :3 what r u up 2 hehe

hai chan um a bit yea jst some stuff

anything exciting?

not really

It feels strange, almost wrong, to be so brief with him when you're used to sharing every detail of your day, but you force yourself to send the message without overthinking it. The moment it’s sent, a pang of guilt hits you, but you remind yourself that this is necessary. 

haiiii ynnieeee

heyy chan

missing hanging out with you wanna grab some coffee?

ahh im sorry i cant :/ iv been so busy lately maybe this weekend?

oo im going on a getaway hana this weekend maybe next week?

maybe Ill let you know know if im free

Each text feels like a small victory, a step toward reclaiming your emotional independence, even as it leaves you feeling hollow inside.

You throw yourself into new activities, trying to fill the void left by the emotional distance you’re creating. An art class that’s been on your bucket list for years becomes your new escape, a place where you can lose yourself in thoughts and daydreams even if only for an hour. You reconnect with old friends, people you’d drifted away from in your tunnel vision focused on Chan. You even go on a few dates, meeting new people who don’t carry the weight of unfulfilled dreams. But despite your best efforts, thoughts of Chan linger, creeping into your mind when you least expect it. Late at night, when the world is quiet, you find yourself scrolling through old photos, each image a painful reminder of what you once shared and what you’ll never have.

You even found a new cafe, its a place where you go to read and enjoy the quiet. 

The café is warm, the smell of coffee and freshly baked pastries enveloping you like a comforting embrace. You settle into a corner, the soft murmur of conversation around you creating a peaceful backdrop. But as you turn a page, a familiar laugh catches your attention, a sound that’s both sweet and bitter in your memory. Your heart skips a beat, and you glance up, only to see Chan. He’s sitting by the window, sunlight casting a golden halo around him, but it’s not the light that makes your breath catch. It’s the sight of Hana, sitting across from him, her eyes filled with the kind of affection you’ve always longed for. They’re leaning close, their heads almost touching as they talk in hushed tones, lost in their own world.

You can’t tear your gaze away, even as your chest tightens with a familiar ache. Chan’s face lights up as he talks to her, his smile wide and genuine in a way that makes your heart clench. Hana reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from his face, and the tenderness in the gesture nearly brings tears to your eyes. Before you can look away, they lean in, and you watch as they share a soft, lingering kiss. It’s a simple moment, a gesture of love between two people who belong together, but to you, it feels like a knife twisting in your heart. The café, once warm and inviting, now feels suffocating, the walls closing in as you struggle to breathe.

You close your book with trembling hands, unable to bear another moment of watching them together. Gathering your things, you rush out of the café, the cold air hitting you like a slap as you step outside. Tears blur your vision, and you walk aimlessly, trying to escape the pain that’s gnawing at your insides. You’ve worked so hard to distance yourself, to let go of the feelings that have held you captive, but seeing them together has undone all your progress. The wound you thought was healing has been ripped open, leaving you raw and vulnerable.

As you wander through the city streets, your resolution to move on feels shaky, uncertain. You replay the moment over and over in your mind, each time more painful than the last. Why can’t you let go? Why does it hurt so much to see him happy with someone else? The questions swirl in your mind, but deep down, you know the answer. Your heart is still tethered to Chan, even if you don’t want it to be. No matter how much distance you create, no matter how many new experiences you try to embrace, the truth remains: you’re not ready to let him go, not yet. And maybe, a small voice inside you whispers, you never will be.

The winter wind bites at your cheeks, but you barely feel it as you walk, lost in your thoughts. The city bustles around you, life moving forward, but you feel stuck, frozen in a moment of pain that you can’t escape. You stop at a park bench, the cold metal biting through your coat, and sit down heavily. Tears spill over, running hot down your cold cheeks, and you bury your face in your hands, letting the sobs come. The resolution you made at the start of the year feels distant, like a dream you once had but can no longer grasp. You want to be strong, to move on, but the reality of your feelings is so much more complicated than you ever imagined.

Your phone buzzes, pulling you out of your despair. It's a text from Chan

hey, haven't heard from you much. everything okay?

yea, jst been super busy. sorry

You stare at the words, knowing they’re a lie, knowing they can’t convey the storm raging inside you. But you send it anyway, because what else can you do?

Another buzz, and you see his reply:

no worries. let’s catch up soon?

Your heart aches at the thought, but you know you can’t keep putting it off. You’ve been distant, but he hasn’t pushed, and now you’re left with a choice. 

sure, maybe next week.

It feels like a betrayal, agreeing to see him when you know it will only bring more pain, but the idea of cutting him out completely is too much to bear. You pocket your phone, the tears drying on your cheeks as you sit in silence, trying to reconcile your resolve with the reality of your feelings. You’ve relapsed, fallen back into the pain you’ve been trying so hard to escape, and the weight of it threatens to crush you. But even in this moment of despair, a small part of you clings to hope. Hope that one day, you’ll find the strength to truly move on, to let go of the love that’s only ever brought you pain. You’re not there yet, but maybe, just maybe, you’ll get there eventually.

—

The café feels both familiar and strange as you sit across from Chan, nursing a cup of coffee that’s long since gone cold. The world outside is moving on, as it always does, with people bustling by, oblivious to the turmoil inside you. You’re here, in the present, but your heart is weighed down by the past, by everything that could have been but never was. Chan is talking about something, his voice as warm and comforting as ever, but the words barely register. You force a smile, nodding at the right moments, all the while feeling the weight of the lies you’re about to tell.

“So,” Chan says, leaning forward slightly, his eyes full of concern. “You’ve been really busy, huh? We haven’t hung out much lately. Everything okay?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “Yeah, school’s been crazy. You know how it is, just trying to keep up with everything.” The lie slips out easily, but it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. School isn’t the problem; it’s not what’s been keeping you away. It’s him, and the way every moment spent with him feels like a reminder of what you can’t have.

“And work?” he asks, genuinely curious, as if he’s been worrying about you more than he’s let on.

You force another smile, the kind that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Same old. Job’s keeping me on my toes. It’s good, though. I like staying busy.” Another lie. Work is just a distraction, something to fill the hours when you’re not consumed by thoughts of him.

Chan nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer, but there’s still a hint of concern in his eyes. “And that guy you mentioned last time? How’s that going?”

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of the guy—another fabrication you’ve woven to make it seem like you’re moving on, like you’re not hopelessly stuck on him. You hesitated before, but now there’s no turning back. “It’s... complicated,” you say, lowering your gaze to the table. “He’s giving me mixed signals. One day he’s all in, and the next, it’s like he’s pulling away. It’s frustrating.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with the irony of the situation. You’re not describing some imaginary guy; you’re talking about Chan, about how every interaction with him feels like a push and pull, a constant reminder of what you want but can’t have. But he doesn’t know that, and he never will.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Chan says softly, his brow furrowed in concern. “That sounds tough. If you ever need to talk about it, I’m here, okay? You know that right?”

The sincerity in his voice only makes it worse. You nod again, unable to trust yourself to speak. If you do, you’re afraid the floodgates will open, and everything you’ve been holding back will come pouring out. But you can’t let that happen. Not here, not now. So you swallow the words, the tears, the pain, and put on a brave face.

The rest of the conversation is a blur. You go through the motions, laughing at his jokes, offering bits of your life that aren’t too revealing, all the while feeling like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall. When it’s finally time to leave, you breathe a sigh of relief, but it’s short-lived. The moment you step outside, the cold air hits you, and the reality of what just happened crashes down.

You walk away from the café, your pace quickening as the emotions you’ve been suppressing start to rise to the surface. By the time you reach a secluded spot in the park, you’re trembling. The tears come suddenly, violently, as if they’ve been waiting for this moment to break free. You collapse onto a bench, burying your face in your hands as sobs wrack your body. It feels like the world is crumbling around you, like you’re being torn apart by the weight of your unspoken feelings.

You’ve reached your breaking point, and there’s no one here to catch you. No one to hold you and tell you it’s going to be okay. You’re alone, completely and utterly alone, and it’s devastating. The realization that you and Chan will never be together, that he’ll never know how deeply you love him, is like a dagger to the heart. It hurts more than anything you’ve ever felt, a pain so profound that it leaves you gasping for breath.

You cry until there are no tears left, until you’re empty and numb, sitting on that cold bench in the middle of winter, with nothing but your broken heart to keep you company. The world around you moves on, but you’re stuck in this moment, replaying every word, every lie, every smile that wasn’t quite real. You’ve tried so hard to be strong, to move on, but it’s all come crashing down. The love you’ve been holding onto is like a ghost, haunting you, and no matter how much you try to push it away, it lingers.

And so you sit there, alone in the dark, knowing that you have to let go but feeling like you never will. You’ve reached the end of the road, and all that’s left is the empty ache of unfulfilled dreams, the knowledge that you and Chan were never meant to be. And as you sit there, staring into the void, you realize that this is your reality now—living with the pain of a love that was never returned, and the hollow, endless silence that follows.

fin.

part 1 | masterlist | requests

Cute!

𝐝𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞・b.c.

— incurable playboy turned doting boyfriend was a character development arc nobody saw coming for christopher bang, including (especially) his frat brothers.

words・2.8k pairing・frat president!chris x gn!reader genres・fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, college!au, fuckboy!chris, boys being boys, kissing, implied sex so mdni warnings・substance use, talk of past heartbreak

a/n・here is "nobody believes you're dating" w/chan, requested by none other than my @rachalixie for my 2k event !! anny, i hope u love this fic as much as i love u; thank you for allowing me to write something so self-indulgent <3

In the deafening throes of one of Phi Mu Alpha’s spring kickbacks, Minho finds Jeongin and Seungmin standing in motionless silence by the kitchen counter. Both boys are gaping at something with an intensity that dips egregiously into the realm of creepy. He moves to pour himself a shot.

“What the fuck are you people looking at?”

Seungmin prods a pointer finger in the relevant direction. It takes a few seconds of scanning the scene for Minho to find what he’s referring to. He digs a knuckle into his eye, instantly confused by what he’s seeing. Maybe the gaping is justified.

The windows and doors have all been thrown open to invite the balmy April weather into the foyer of the frathouse. There’s a large crowd of people huddled around a long, foldable table stationed before the stairs; Jaehyun clutches a ping-pong ball between his fingers, singular eye squinted shut as he takes aim. The number of remaining solo cups dwindles rapidly, as does the players’ sobriety.

Something—someone—is missing.

Not to say “beer pong virtuoso” was one of the reasons Chris was elected frat president, but you’d think the guy had a career path in basketball with how he’s given the entire Greek life community alcohol poisoning by courtesy of two or three plastic balls alone. Minho has never known him to miss a shot, let alone miss out on a game.

Today, however, the reigning champion is only spectating, seated above the ongoing match on one of the steps of the main staircase.

A beautiful stranger is sitting beside him, cheek pressed to his shoulder as you peer at the match through the bannister.

You say something inaudible. The laugh it earns from Chris is bright enough to pick up from a few streets down. He leans in to murmur something in return, and you slide your hand over his nape to pull his mouth onto yours, light blush crawling up and over your ears. The way Chris melts into you can only be described as familiar, his eyes slowly fluttering shut, finger hooking delicately beneath your chin, grin going lopsided as your lips part—

“That’s enough,” Minho hisses, tearing his eyes away with considerable effort. “Aren’t you ashamed? Just fucking ogling.”

Jeongin shakes his head, grinning. “It’s dinner and a show. We’d be idiots not to.”

By dinner, he must mean the gallon of chocolate milk he’s been drinking from for the last hour. He now holds out said gallon with the intent to cheers. Seungmin picks up the entire handle and does the same.

Minho sighs, clinks his glass against theirs, and they throw back their respective refreshments in unison.

“Anywho.” Jeongin swipes the back of his hand over his mouth before going on. “You guys know who that is?”

Minho resurfaces with a wince, relishing in the bitter aftermath, then motions for Seungmin to give the bottle back straightaway. He arrived to the function late and he’s not nearly as drunk as he’d like to be.

Seungmin obliges Minho only after another heady swig. “No clue. Probably just another fling, no?”

“Mmm,” Jeongin hums in assent. “It’s Chris we’re talking about, after all.”

"Agreed. Case closed.”

There’s an air of finality in Seungmin’s voice—but Minho isn’t so sure.

Perhaps because he has never noticed that Chris had dimples until now; or because you fold so naturally into Chris' side after your kiss ends, head nuzzling against the crook of his neck and hand seeking out his to hold in your lap; or, most likely, because Chris' eyes seem to return to you when he looks at you, as if his gaze drifting anywhere else is but a momentary departure from where it really belongs. As if he comes home every time you come into his line of vision.

Whatever the reason, the idea coalesces in Minho’s mind, even as inebriation begins to fall over his cognitive faculties like a curtain, that the boys have got it wrong.

Jeongin utters his name, jolting him out of his trance. There’s another shot lifted halfway to Minho’s lips that hasn’t budged in minutes. “Whatcha thinking about?”

Minho looks at Jeongin first, Seungmin next, then back at Chris and his stunning companion. He’s not inclined to answer the question in full, but he can in truth. A coy smile crosses his face.

“Threesome?”

Jeongin laughs hard enough to collapse onto the kitchen island. Seungmin drags a hand down his face. “Come on, man.”

In the corner of his eye, you’ve gone back to kissing again, slow and sweet and secretive. Chris' gentle hold on your jaw shields you from view but fails to hide his lovesick smile. Dimly, Minho thinks that maybe his friend has met his match.

Then, he takes four shots in rapid succession—and stops thinking altogether.

Christopher Bang’s love life is like a horror movie and romcom spliced together: a fiasco of a film to which his housemates have front row seats.

The frat’s upperclassmen live in sets of four-bed, two-bath suites comprising a small common space with a kitchen and a sitting area, sandwiched by bedrooms on either side. It is in that common space that Changbin, Hyunjin, and Jisung often see or hear Chris stumbling home after a night out, entangled with a different attractive stranger every time—so often, in fact, that they’ve come to believe that he’s deathly allergic to anything bigger than a one-and-done hookup.

They can’t judge. In part because they’d be throwing stones from glass houses, but also because the man’s penchant for empty physicality is far from unfounded. His past self gave pieces of his heart to the wrong people, contracted first-degree burns from the guileless warmth he sought out. Now, his version of “intimacy” is less a connotation of closeness than it is a self-contradiction, for it should be impossible for so much distance to remain between two people in a single bed.

Chris hasn’t vocalized any of this. Nor have his housemates discussed it with each other. The knowledge simply exists in the air between the four of them like something akin to taboo, dipping in and out of acknowledgement depending on the circumstance.

This might be the circumstance of all time.

At around 11:40 A.M. on a Saturday, three doors in the suite open at once. Hyunjin and Changbin aren’t coincidence—the latter is coercing the former to go to the gym again—but they lift their eyes to the opposite side of the living room, and the slice of milk bread dangling from Hyunjin’s lips very nearly takes a fatal fall. Changbin manages to snatch it up with an extended hand.

Chris has just emerged from his room as well. Your silhouette follows close behind, your mouth stretching into a yawn as you massage the sleep from your eyes. You’re sporting a mesh green sweater identical to one Chris owns. They find Chris' accessories more interesting than his clothes, though: two hickeys peeking out from beneath his jaw and the base of his neck.

Chris sees Hyunjin and Changbin right away, and his expression goes utterly blank, not unlike their faces as they watch you close his door meticulously. You turn around and gasp.

The four of you stare at each other for what feels like multiple business days. At least, Hyunjin, Changbin, and Chris stare at each other; your eyes dart between the men on the other side of the room and the man next to you, silently pleading for him to say something. He does not for a long while.

Then, he lunges for one of the throw pillows on the couch and flings it at Hyunjin like a shot put. It ricochets off his chest and lands on the floor rather anticlimactically.

“Distraction!” Chris yells anyways, grabbing your hand and tearing towards the exit, wild grin on his face. “Go, go, go!”

Your raucous laughter lingers even after you’ve been hauled away, accompanied by an unintelligible, breathless shout of something along the lines of my toothbrush—and then the front door clicks shut, and there are two.

Changbin and Hyunjin lock eyes, struggling to process what just happened. Hyunjin is the first to move, wandering hesitantly into the bathroom that Chris and Jisung share. Nothing about the place looks out of the ordinary.

“Well, shit,” Hyunjin says out loud.

That is, aside from the two toothbrushes slotted in the holder on Chris' side of the counter.

Something moves in the bathroom window, catching his attention. Hyunjin looks over just in time to spot you and Chris dart out onto the lawn two floors below. Chris has his arm draped over your shoulders, yours wrapped around his waist. Your smile is discernible all the way from here, and Hyunjin sees a perfect mirror of it on his friend’s face when Chris glances at the frathouse over his shoulder. 

Has he always had dimples?

Moments later, Changbin joins him in peering out the window. A high-pitched cackle erupts from the older boy’s lips. “Look at that idiot.”

Standing off to the left is a tiny, astonished Han Jisung, his arms full of groceries, jaw sitting squarely the grass and whites of his eyes on full display as he watches you and Chris stroll away.

Hyunjin laughs with his whole fucking body. Changbin whips out his phone and takes a picture.

When you finally breach the topic, it’s because you don’t think you can physically study for another minute—but also because, after multiple long months of fruitless sparring, your curiosity finally wins.

Your boyfriend is seated in your desk chair, feet kicked up onto your mattress with his laptop propped up on his thighs. His features have rearranged themselves into an expression of intense focus as he pores over his production homework. You can hear music blaring through his headphones from all the way here.

You uncross your legs from below you, scootch across your bed, and lift your hands to cradle his cheeks. He startles as if coming out of a trance, then begins to smile when he reads the words hi, Channie off your lips.

His headphones fall around his neck. He sets his laptop down onto your desk with a dull thunk. The next thing to drop is you when Chris seizes you by the waist and tackles you into the mattress. The somber atmosphere of your study session is shattered by your muted laughter and Chris pressing his lips to every inch of your exposed skin he can. He saves your mouth for last.

“Hey, beautiful,” he answers, but only after kissing the living daylights out of you, the syllables soft and silky with adoration. “Missed me?”

You drag your eyes from his brown irises with blown pupils to his sloping nose, from his disheveled dark locks to his cordate lips, so plush and warm against your own that you swear you still feel them there. You brush a hand over the back of his neck, your head now spinning so badly that you barely remember what you wanted to ask him.

“Always,” you say. “I was starting to feel jealous of your homework.”

He chuckles. “Shit, I’ll drop out of college right now, baby. Just say the word.”

“You’re perfect,” you hum.

“Says you,” he murmurs, nudging the tip of his nose against yours.

Your lips find each other’s again—needless to say, your study sessions aren’t known for their productivity. Some time passes before you come up for air. Even afterwards, Chris doesn’t let you go far, pulling you into his chest by the curve of your waist, nuzzling his cheek into your hairline. You only need to whisper for him to hear your question.

“Can I ask you something?”

“'Course,” he returns, and you’re close enough to sense him tighten with apprehension. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, don’t worry.” You print a kiss to the side of his neck for extra reassurance. “It’s just…I’ve been meaning to ask how your friends feel about me.”

He tightens with something else now: surprise, you’re guessing; you’re hoping. You hadn’t seriously considered that the answer could be negative, but it’s dawning on you now that the possibility of that isn’t zero.

“Where’s this coming from?” Chris inquires, his tone opaque.

You hesitate, mentally reviewing your interactions with your boyfriend’s social circle. Hyunjin and Jisung can’t make eye contact with you when they speak to you. Minho does nothing but make eye contact with you whether he’s speaking to you or not. Jeongin and Seungmin can maintain small talk for about ten seconds before they start looking like they’d rather be anywhere else. Changbin is the only one you’ve held a conversation with, and only because you were going up the same stairs at the same time and the alternative would have been mind-numbing silence.

What is the best way for you to say this?

“Well,” you begin, “I can’t help but notice that they act a little—when I’m around, they’re a bit, uh—”

“—crazy,” Chris offers. “Completely fucking bat-shit crazy.”

“Yes. Exactly that.”

Chris threads a hand through your hair, the comforting gesture doing nothing to assuage your worry. It seems there’s some truth behind your impressions. Your next words are tinged with a quiet sadness.

“I’m not imagining things, then?”

“No, angel,” he sighs. “But not for the reasons you think.”

A beat passes. Chris perceives your silence as a chance to backtrack, to opt out of this conversation if it’s one he’s not ready for. He would’ve leapt at the opportunity once.

But he realizes in that moment, with your voice gentle against his ears and your touch so doting upon his skin, how much has changed since he met you: from the color of the sky to the word home and everything in between, including his cynicism towards love and all the iterations of forever it holds. 

With that epiphany comes another, then another: he wants you to know why his friends are acting insane, wants you to know about him and his past and all the wounds of his you never know you healed, wants you to spend the rest of this forever with him.

His pointer finger dusts beneath your chin, a wordless request for you to look at him, and he nearly liquifies when you do and he finds entire constellations in your eyes. 

“It’s a lot,” he mumbles, though he suspects you know that already; he suspects you know about the other stuff, too. 

You bring your hand to the side of his face, bring your forehead to rest upon his. Your closeness washes over him like a low summer tide lapping over sandy shores, a soothing balm spreading over scorched flesh. 

“It’s you,” you breathe. “I will love it just the same.”

Chris' held breath comes out in shudders.

So this is warmth.

Minho and Felix are watching anime on the couch when a knock comes at their door, unfortunately during a pivotal moment of a pivotal episode. 

Minho hits pause with a ghastly groan. Felix laughs and rises to his feet, dashing into his room to grab the two silver necklaces he’ll be loaning out for the evening. “Coming!”

Outside, Chris is standing alone, hips and thighs accentuated by a pair of tight-fitting dress pants, sculpted chest and collarbones framed by a thin, cream-colored shirt with the top three buttons undone. Most of his hair has been pushed off his forehead, leaving a few locks free to fall over his right eyebrow. He’s rolling up his sleeves when Felix opens the door, veined forearms flexing as a result of the effort.

“Well?” He asks. Minho cranes his neck to look past Felix.

Both boys start to holler and whistle like excited macaques.

“What in the Calvin Klein is this?” Felix shouts, spinning Chris around by the shoulders. “You look insane, bro. Holy fuck.”

“What’s the occasion, young man?” Minho inadvertently sounds like a gruff uncle. “Where are you going dressed like that, huh?”

Chris' laugh comes easier nowadays. What’s more, it comes in a way that reaches the rest of him, that ends in a tiny, high squeak that you really have to look for in order to hear.

Felix and Minho can't help but replicate his smile. Those clothes look good on him, yes—but happiness looks better.

“You guys are silly,” Chris giggles. Dimples indent his cheeks as he accepts the necklaces from Felix. “Thanks, man. I’ll give ‘em back tomorrow.”

“No rush,” Felix replies, grinning. “Have fun, yeah?”

“We will.” Chris starts to retreat down the hallway, hands moving to clasp the jewelry around his neck, but not before he blows the both of them a kiss.

“Be back before ten!” Minho hollers; Chris laughs again, turns a corner, and disappears.

Felix closes the door. His smile falters fast. Minho has brought his face mere centimeters away, his expression thoroughly humorless.

“Tell me only the truth, Lee Yongbok,” he deadpans.

“O-okay—”

“Is Chris in a relationship?”

“—oh.” Felix frowns. “Well, yeah.”

Minho blanches. “How—how long?”

“One year, give or take? Anniversary’s today.”

Minho is stunned. Felix is stunned that Minho is stunned.

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

Cash or Card?

Chan x Reader

859 words

Warnings: Reader is called “wife”, otherwise no mention of reader pronouns (soft, fluffy, no smut)

Based on a reel on fb where someone answered the question “cash or card” with “husband”.

I wrote this for @kaciidubs but figured I’d share ☺️

Your boyfriend promised he wouldn’t make you buy anything. He promised! So, begrudgingly, you agreed to go with him to the boutique.  One of his acquaintances — a friend from the industry — had invited Chan and the rest of the boys to a private viewing since they had a short break coming up. 

It wasn’t exactly well publicized but Chan was bringing you along too, and this acquaintance was apparently trustworthy enough to know that. They’d arranged a full fitting experience for you while the kids shopped and browsed.  

Something told you it was Chan’s idea, that he was up to something, but you brushed the feeling aside. As soon as you arrived, you were greeted with a drink and whisked away while he chatted with the owner. 

After several hours of being styled (and occasionally seeing whatever Chan had tried on), you were exhausted. Playing dress up with the boys was undoubtedly fun, but it took a lot of energy to keep up with them. 

Just to be sweet, you had decided to buy a few things. It would show gratitude to the owner of the boutique, and it always made Chan happy when you treated yourself. Admittedly, your take away was smaller than Chan’s and most of the other boys. 

You followed one of the stylists to the counter as they carried the few things you had approved. As she began wrapping your choices another associate (who must have missed your entourage of idols) began ringing it up. 

“Will that be cash or card?” She asked. 

Before you could even snap open your bag, a hand at your elbow stopped you.

Chan pressed your hand and bag back down to your side. 

“Husband,” he answered, holding out his black card towards the associate.

The catcalling and whistles from the crowd of kids assured you that everyone in the room had witnessed it. Chan’s eyes were nearly closed from the grin on his face, and he was red from the tips of his ears to his chest, but he seemed thrilled with himself. 

You let him get away with it — at least, in public — because you knew any fuss you made about it would set the kids off even more. You’d have to ask him about it when you got home. 

And you did — the moment the door closed and he leaned in close to kiss you. You stopped him with a hand to his chest. 

“Husband, huh? Feeling a little possessive?”

“Ahhh, sorry, I just couldn’t help it. ‘Boyfriend’ didn’t sound as cool.” Chan blushed, raising a hand to the back of his neck. 

“Pretty sure she knew we weren’t married since, y’know, Stays would lose their entire minds. You better hope she’s paid well and your friend employs people with discretion,” you teased. 

“He made everyone sign an NDA for us,” Chan explained, like he was worried you were really upset about his ‘husband’ comment. 

“Channie, I’m just kidding. It’s okay.” As he breathed a sigh of relief, you tacked on an admission at a whisper. “I kind of liked it, actually.”

“Yeah?” He laughed, and he suddenly seemed more relaxed. 

“Yeah, loverboy. I did,” you confirmed, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

You removed yourself from his arms to turn back to the kitchen and start figuring out dinner. He cleared his throat. 

“Baby?”

“Yeah?” You responded. You keep walking, assuming he was following. 

“Turn around a second?”

Apparently, he was not. 

You didn’t expect the sight in front of you when you turned around, but maybe you should have. Chan seemed to be pretty pleased with himself, if the soft smirk on his face was anything to go by. 

He was down on one knee, holding out a ring toward you. 

His usual cheesy pickup lines and goofy jokes were nowhere to be found. He didn’t say a word, just looked up at you and smiled that charmer smile. 

What else were you supposed to do but tackle him to the ground and cover his face in kisses? 

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” He manages, before pressing his lips to yours and not letting you actually answer. 

* * *

It’s been two months since you got engaged in your apartment after a shopping trip.

It’s been a month and a half after your vacation with Chan, where you found out he went back to the boutique and bought everything you’d touched with any amount of interest.

You’re at the grocery store with your fiancé, who’s added so many snacks to your grocery cart when you weren’t looking that you can’t even remember what you originally came in to buy. 

As your items make their way down the conveyor belt and the cashier scans them, Chan’s busy browsing the grab-and-go selections around the register.  He doesn’t notice when the total pops up on the screen. 

“Will that be cash or card?” The associate asks.

You push Chan aside just the slightest and answer her with “Wife!”

You’ve never seen Chan turn so red so fast, but his cheeks squish his eyes shut with the size of his grin. 

svt (bias wrecker line) - dirty talking

pairing: svt x fem!reader

genre: smut

✓ joshua

uses 'daddy' a lot!

coos even more.

faux! sympathy!

"aww, does my pretty baby's pretty pussy ache for daddy? hmm, is that it? don't worry princess, daddy's going to make you feel so good."

✓ chan

cocky bitch™ 

loves it when you worship his cock.

"look at you crying over my dick like the pathetic slut you are."

"does it feel good when i fuck you like this baby?"

OR

"is my cock that good? do you think you deserve it?"

✓ minghao

smoothest mf

calls your pussy cute, tiny, pretty, messy, puffy- you get the gist

"yeah? does your cute little cunt hurt when i don't give it attention?"

"your pussy looks so puffy, baby. is it for me?"

makes you dirty talk as well

"i can't give you anything unless you tell me exactly what you want, love"

✓ jihoon

possessive af

either goes "who's making you feel so good, angel?"

or "c'mon, let everyone know who this needy cunt belongs to."

there's literally no in between.

also?? did i mention?? possessive!!! af!!!

✓ vernon

the type to make you shed literal tears.

lowkey exposes all his kinks tho (exhibitionism!!!)

"how are you still so tight? do i not fuck you enough?"

"so dirty, letting me fuck your tight hole like this. what if someone walks in, huh?"

✓ junhui

fucking. filthy.

switches between degradation-

"i'm gonna stretch all your tiny holes open and you're gonna take it like the slut you are, am i clear?"

-and praises.

"you're taking me so well, love. such a good, good girl for me."

[ Jealous Chan Headcanons ] -

Pairing: Chan x (fem) reader

(Featuring Namjoon, the other loml)

Warnings: Reference to 18 + Themes & Swearing

Masterlist

Summary: Sort of an au where you're a celebrity hosting an awards show

A/N: Maybe this doesn't qualify as 'headcanons' as it's long, but I'm just too lazy to fill the gaps to turn this into something longer

- It was the annual Golden Disc Awards and as a popular figure within society, you were invited as a host to present the award to whichever successful musician won your assigned category

- When you received the proposal, you weren’t certain who was more excited between yourself and Chan - you were honoured to be considered for the role and Chan was overjoyed for several reasons

- First, the sight of your happiness was more than enough to bring a smile to his face

- Second, he felt as though you were being recognised for your own success and the invitation paid homage to just how adored you were by both your fans and professionals within the community

- Finally, he was excited for entirely selfish purposes - given that your relationship was completely private, meaning that he couldn’t bring you as a guest, it meant that you would attend the event and he wanted nothing more than to share the experience with you, even from afar

- The group were as pleased to know you were going - there would be a bunch of people attending who they were unfamiliar with, so they felt like they had someone on the inside in you who might introduce them to others

- Trying to find an outfit was significantly more difficult than you had anticipated and Seungmin proved to be an unexpected help - you had been inundated with catalogues from several designer companies and narrowing down your choices seemed impossible

- You had arrived at the dorm before Chan had returned from the studio and to pass the time, had pulled up the catalogues, the selection date in only a matter of days and as you sat on the sofa in the dorm living room, Seungmin noticed the stress pretty much radiating from you and immediately offered to help

- Eventually, you agreed on something and Chan spent the next three weeks, (the entire lead-up to the show), trying to find out what you had chosen, but you refused to spill, determined to keep it a secret so you might surprise him

- Unfortunately, as host, you were required to get ready on-site which meant that you were unable to check in with the group, including Chan, before everything began

- It also came as a last-minute bombshell that you would be responsible for presenting the ‘Album of the Year Award’, which definitely didn’t feel like the sort of information to be shared an hour before the guests took their seats, but what could you do

- To little surprise, BTS took the prize and as the seven members filed onto the stage, you joined the audience in applause for their success

- It wasn’t your first time encountering the group and as Namjoon took the microphone, he was quick to compliment his host, you, in his speech

- After he finished, handing the microphone to Suga to continue, he moved to your side

- He was generous and humble, anyone who had ever met him could vouch for that and he made you laugh as you listened to his group

- When he received the microphone again, he directed more praise your way, even placing a friendly hand on your shoulder as he bowed, before leading the group from the stage once more

- Chan was obviously watching the entire scene from his seat and part of him was pleased – he agreed with Namjoon and you certainly earned the praise that he had offered

- Namjoon was also one of his greatest role models and he’d decided long ago that if he could be half the leader that Namjoon had been, he would be content

- But equally, that was his girlfriend

- Namjoon might be his inspiration, but that was his girlfriend

- He liked to think that he wasn’t the jealous type, particularly when it came to you receiving acclaim that you wholeheartedly deserved, even more so from someone so well-respected as the leader of BTS, but he’d been a little hot under the collar since he’d first laid eyes on you in that dress and he was pretty sure that he wasn’t the only individual in the room who’d taken note of just how good you looked

- Were you and Namjoon acquainted, he knew the answer was yes, and how was the leader to know that you were dating when everything was so hush-hush – he knew all the answers, but it didn’t help his feeling of envy ease in the slightest

- After witnessing what had happened on stage, Chan’s group could practically feel the tension emanating off their leader – for the remainder of the evening he couldn’t seem to sit back in his seat and relax. He leant forward, elbows on his knees, and if anyone looked close enough, he would have looked as if he wasn’t enjoying himself, as if his constantly tapping foot was a sign of his desperation to get out of there because it had been an unpleasant evening.

- Felix had turned to him with genuine worry and asked whether he was feeling okay, whether he needed some air, or to loosen his tie. Hyunjin, however, after hearing Felix’s concern, was quick to interject: ‘He’s fine, aren’t you Chan?’ He suggested, before pinching Chan’s thigh and raising his eyebrows

- Chan realised that, perhaps, he wasn’t acting very professional – if the cameras panned to him at any point, he didn’t want to be seen looking quite so frustrated, uncomfortable, a little angry, any of the above

- When you were permitted to leave the backstage area and join the table of your choice, the group thought that Chan might start to ease up, but boy, were they wrong

- Management, whilst agreeing to have you seated at the Stray Kids table, for positive publicity and blah blah, agreed on the condition that you would be purposefully seated at the opposite side of the round-table to Chan to ensure that he didn’t forget himself after a flute or two of champagne

- As you took your place between I.N. and Changbin, Chan’s smile was genuine, but his shoulders were pinned with tension and Hyunjin and Han snickered

- Honestly, you were a little oblivious to Chan’s body language, the minutes spent on stage had been an absolute whirlwind and you were simply relieved to have not messed up

- As the evening continued, you caught Chan staring at you from across the table on more than one occasion, but passed it off as him simply wanting to speak after not having seen each other for most of the day

- When the show finally drew to an end, you were almost a little disheartened, given how much fun you’d had and you were expressing your sadness to I.N. as you meandered through the corridors and to the exit, when Chan risked edging his way closer

- I.N., on seeing the stern expression across his leader’s face, made his departure from your side quick – even if he wasn’t the maknae, Chan’s rare display of frustration was enough to send anyone scurrying from your hip

- Chan ventured to place an arm around your waist and you sent him a surprised glance – as much as you hated hiding your relationship, rules were rules and you weren’t one to damage either of your prospects by slipping-up

- Chan wasn’t looking at you, however, his line of sight was across the way and as you followed it, you saw him staring at the members of BTS as they too took their leave

- Huh, you thought, deciding not to shake his arm away, Namjoon’s flirting must have been more obvious than you initially thought, if Chan’s furrowed brow was anything to go by

- (Not to mention the tightening of his fingers into your hip as the leader of BTS appeared to scan the crowd for you)

- When it came to your relationship, Chan was as respectful as he could possibly be when around the group – as both the eldest and the leader, he had a certain responsibility to present himself in an upstanding manner, especially when it boiled down to the more intimate details of your relationship

- The same went for you – the last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself, or have to stare into seven faces knowing that they knew exactly what you and Chan had been up to behind the closed door of his bedroom

- That was generally the case, anyway

- Seeing anyone flirt with you put Chan a little on edge, but seeing Namjoon, leader of the biggest fucking group of all time, flirt with you struck something a little deeper

- The moment Chan had closed the front door to the dorm behind whoever entered last, (he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of notice), he grabbed your hand, almost pulling you over as you started unbuckling your heels

- He was vaguely aware of Minho asking whether you were both hungry and he shook his head, choosing to ignore Han’s subsequent inappropriate comment about something else being on the menu for their leader

- (Not to say you weren’t feeling a little embarrassed, but something about Chan’s sudden desperation was more than distracting)

- Once in the relative safety of Chan’s bedroom, he was peeling your dress from your shoulders and ready to remind you just who you came home to

- That night, every member, even from their position in the living room, heard things, but quite frankly, after seeing someone else test the waters, Chan was more than happy to remind everyone that you were his and only his

[ Meeting Chan in a Coffeeshop Headcanons ] -

Pairing: Chan x reader

Warnings: None

Masterlist

A/N: This is a dumb series of headcanons about a cute boy, yours faithfully, me

- It was just your average Thursday morning and by this point in the week, you had grown tired of staring at the same four walls of your apartment whilst trying to get through your work

- To mix it up a little, (as though you didn’t do this every Thursday morning), you decided to take your work, laptop and all, down to your local coffee-shop

- Inside, you saw the usual faces made-up mostly of those in a similar position to yourself - tired students and frustrated relocated employees

- After collecting your drink, you sat at a table for two, barely acknowledging the occupied tables to your left and right

- At least until you’d downed half your coffee and the immediate buzz it provided had begun to wane, taking your inspiration with it, and leaving you to glance over at those nearest to distract yourself

- To your left, there was a mother and daughter, sipping coffee and seemingly catching-up

- To your right, no-one

- It was another twenty minutes before you lifted your eyes from your laptop screen and realised that the seat to your right had now been taken and a fleeting glance told you that it was a young guy

- That was enough information to bring a flush to your cheeks, which you felt ridiculous about - you’d barely looked at the guy and the simple fact that there was a guy sat beside you was sufficient to make you a little self-conscious

- But, that was stupid and you had work to be doing, so you lowered your gaze and it wasn’t as if you could really see him anyway given that he was mostly hidden beneath a low-slung baseball cap and dark clothes

- You were faintly aware of him occasionally clicking away on laptop, of the music quietly seeping outwards from his headphones

- At one point, you momentarily left to go to the bathroom and when you returned, the person had seemingly disappeared, though there was a briefcase discarded on the chair and you supposed that someone else must have reserved the seat

- A few minutes passed and still no one arrived, which was odd, but none of your business

- Honestly you thought little more of it, until someone gently nudged your shoulder and asked if the seat was taken. It had been at least half an hour and the guy hadn’t returned so you said no, but offered to move the briefcase to your own table, just in case

- You didn’t want to look through someone’s bag so you supposed that if they didn’t appear before you were finished you would hand it to the coffeeshop staff

- It was nearing closing time by the time you were getting ready to leave, the coffeeshop had emptied and you were in the process of packing your things into your rucksack when someone came rushing into the coffeeshop in a fluster

- The guy from earlier rushed to the empty table alongside your own and leant over the chair to look for something, he’d removed his baseball cap and you noticed his pale blue hair

- He sent a hand carding through his hair in a show of his stress and you quietly called out to his back, asking whether he’d left his briefcase

- He immediately turned to face you and you had a sort of, ‘oh’ moment because it wasn’t just anyone stood in front of you, it was Bang Chan

- ‘Have you got it?’ He would reply, still on edge, whilst you just looked at him, all wide eyed

- You’d struggle to get any sort of sentence out and would simply pull the briefcase out from where you’d put it for safekeeping and offer it to him

- Chan instantly heaved his chest with relief, he hung his head, before giving you the biggest, most relieved smile possible. He clutched the briefcase to his chest and thanked you a hundred times over.

- Throughout this, you blushed, hard

- When he eventually stopped thanking you, you mustered the courage to comment something about taking care of his things otherwise JYP would tell him off personally

- This time it was Chan who had a sort of ‘oh’ moment as he realised that he’d been recognised

- You saw his expression falter for a second and you immediately mentioned how relieved you were that you had found it, but that you must be getting home

- Chan would nod and thank you again and pause for your name and then thank you directly

- He’d watch as you started to leave (your heart was thrumming because you’d just spoken to Bang Chan and you wanted to talk to him forever and maybe even ask for a photograph or his autograph, but the poor guy seemed so stressed and you just wanted to give him some space)

- He suddenly caught your arm and called your name (honestly you almost died because Chan saying your name was divine) and he sort of stammered out how he owed you and could he buy you another drink

- So you’re flustered and understandably so and Chan is blushing like there’s no tomorrow because now he’s taken a proper look at you, you’re attractive and what has he just gotten himself into

- Just picture you and Chan, staring at each other in a coffeeshop, both as awkward as each other

- Before you can really catch yourself you’re agreeing and next thing you know Chan has taken your order and is waiting in line and he’s even left his sacred briefcase by your side because apparently you’re better at looking after it than he is

- When he comes back he asks about your day, about what you’ve been up to (he actually noticed how busy you looked when he had been sat beside you earlier in the day) and the conversation flows as if you’ve known each other for a lifetime

- Chan feels more comfortable chatting with you than he does a hundred people he’s known for years and after a while, he catches himself and it dawns on him and he’s like huh

- You kind of skirt around the subject of him being an idol, mentioning that he must be busy and everything but that’s really it and whilst he doesn’t say it, Chan is pretty pleased, he almost feels ordinary and it’s nice

- It’s almost dark outside when a member of staff approaches and politely informs you that it’s closing time and you both instantly jump up and of course you don’t miss an opportunity to tease him a little about leaving his briefcase and he’s giving you a smile that goes all the way to his eyes

- When he offered to buy you a coffee he thought it would stay as just that, but he’s suddenly stood in the street and you’re murmuring your thanks and he realises that he doesn’t really want to say goodbye even though he’s so, so busy and has a million other things racing through his mind, the thought of letting you go, to be lost in the city’s crowd, is one that makes him feel a little nauseous

- You’re giving him a once over, making sure he has that damn briefcase slung over his shoulder, and he’s asking for your number out of nowhere and if you thought you’d blushed hard earlier, this is a whole level above

- You nod and you’re not quite sure if you remember how to breathe, but you’re typing your phone number into Chan’s phone and he’s looking at you with a soft expression of joy

- When he’s tucked his phone into his pocket, he asks whether you’re able to get home safe and you make sure to reassure him and saying goodbye is seemingly awkward and difficult, but between the both of you, you manage a clumsy sort of one and you wish him luck with whatever he’s off to do

- Chan is courteous and bows his head slightly and forces himself to peel himself away because he’s certain you have other things to be doing and as he steps away, his destination the studio, his fingers are tapping against the screen of his phone as he silently muses how soon he can message you

- There are several missed calls from Jisung and Changbin, but Chan can’t bring himself to be worried

[ Bang Chan Hard Thought ] -

18 + Content

Masterlist

Okay, so Chan is absolutely the sort to shy away from doing anything unless you explictly ask. I’m talking, you’re making out on your bed and it’s hot and heavy and anything but innocent. He’s moving down your neck, nipping at your most sensitive spots and maybe he’s smirking when he tugs a particularly desperate noise from your mouth. His hands have found purchase beneath your shirt, fingers running along your waist, constantly threatening to move higher. And he’s achingly hard against your thigh. Your hands are moving along his back, beneath his black t-shirt and the slight press of your nails against his skin is enough to encourage him to press his hips tighter against your own. When you press your thigh against his waist, he moves against you to create friction and he’s desperate, but he won’t do anything more until you’re tugging at the ends of his hair and sighing and pulling away from him just long enough to say, ‘Chan, please fuck me.’ 

And then, well. 

He’s smirking, but inside, he’s screaming at himself to keep it together. As much as he wants to tear your clothes off, he’s desperate to be respectful, so it’s delicate fingers pulling at the hem of your shirt until it’s over your head. He falters for a moment when he sees you shirtless, exposed to him and he suddenly remembers just how hard he is. You catch him staring, even though it is just for a second and you can see the conflict behind his eyes. His hair is tousled and he just looks so big settled between your legs and his trousers really aren’t doing much to conceal what is supposed to be hidden beneath. And you know that he is trying to be a gentleman, so this time you tug at his t-shirt, drawing him down to you and when he is close enough, you sigh just beside his ear, ‘Chan, I said fuck me.’ 

[ Bang Chan Hard Thought ] -

18 + Content

AFAB Reader

Masterlist

Okay, so I was just thinking about the recent SKZ Talker episode where Chan asks Jisung if he can move the playstation into his bedroom and if Chan had listened to Jisung’s teasing no this is exactly how it would have played out. So, Chan obviously plays video games when he can find time and you, being as good a girlfriend as you are, are more than happy to sit beside him as he plays. Sometimes, you scroll through your phone, or finish up whatever work you still have to get through and it’s pretty comfy. Generally, you’ll order take-out and some of the other members will join you on the sofas and the whole thing will be pretty cosy. Until Chan is looking particularly fine, and there’s a furrow in his brow as he watches the television and it’s been at least three hours since he so much as glanced in your direction. Naturally you’re going to nudge him after a while, just a little brush of his arm to try and get his attention. He’ll look at you for a second and then suddenly realise just how much time has passed and he’ll instantly be like, ‘Oh, babygirl, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise how late it was.’ Before you can even say anything to reassure him that’s it’s okay he’s pulling you into his lap, drawing your thighs against his own so you’re straddling him. It’s definitely going to start out innocent enough - him feeling guilty about inviting you over and then getting distracted, you just after a cuddle on the sofa or something. So you wrap your arms around his neck and snuggle into him and it’s cosy, except Chan can’t stop analysing the situation - his girlfriend content with hanging out, being all cute tucked into his side, and he’s suddenly feeling a little needy. He’s definitely going to be shy about letting you know, starting out with placing his hands on your thighs and squeezing because he’s suddenly frustrated and he just wants to feel the skin beneath your trousers. He’s going to gently move you from the crook of his neck and when you start kissing, he’s going to realise that he’s half-hard already. 

His movements are going to be slow - he’s caught somewhere between absolute desire and the need to be a respectful boyfriend. As much as he wants to ruin you, he’ll hold himself at bay until you give him some signal. I think he’d be hyper-aware of your movements, for example if you slip your fingers below the hem of t-shirt and run your nails along his abdomen, just above the waistband of his trousers, he’s going to take that as a sign. He’ll instantly pick you up, just to lay you on your back and the little noise of surprise you make is enough to send his blood rushing southwards. So he’ll settle himself between your thighs, one hand will pull your t-shirt up your chest, the other will be gripping your thigh and any regard for the fact you’re on the shared dorm sofa will be entirely forgotten. He’s going to press himself close, finding friction between your legs and he’s going to be so desperately hard that he’s swallowing his own quiet whimpers. He won’t break away as he begins unbuckling your belt and as soon as your trousers are loose, he’s going to push his hand beneath, trailing his fingers right where you want him. 

Now, Jisung is going to be entirely oblivious as he enters the living room. He knew that you had been with Chan as he played video games, but this was unexpected. First, he’ll hear a little gasp and then, all at once, he’ll see you and Chan and Chan’s hand halfway hidden beneath your trousers. Jisung will run a mile, straight to his bedroom and he’ll hear Chan’s bedroom door click a minute later and thank his lucky stars that he hadn’t been seen because he might have died. He’ll inform Chan the next morning, without being able to look him in the eye, that he can move the playstation into his room after all. 

[ Bang Chan Hard Thought ] -

18 + Content

Masterlist

I’ve just been thinking about how y’know, good, Chan looks in some of his stage outfits and it got me wondering. Say their stylist had handed out a bunch of clothing items for them each to take home to try on, Chan, being as busy as he is, had half-heartedly tried them before putting them in the corner of his bedroom to return at some point. When you’re hanging out at the dorm one evening and Chan goes to shower, you have a little look through the bag and find a particularly comfortable looking shirt and decide Chan probably wouldn’t mind if you slipped into it. (When Chan returns, he definitely doesn’t mind.) He sees you, sat against the headboard and just scrolling through your phone, as though you aren’t only wearing a button-up that is barely covering your bare thighs. 

At first, he’s going to be surprised into a flush and be like, ‘Oh.’ When he sees your innocent expression something is definitely going to change - he tries to keep his eyes focused on your face as you mention how nice the shirt is, but there’s something incredibly distracting about your half-naked figure. When he says that it was from the stylist and you instantly offer to swap it for something else, his voice is a little firm as he tells you it’s okay. There’s going to be a moment of silence where you simply look at each other - you take note of his ever-so slightly darkened expression, the sudden heave of his chest. You place a hand on his cheek and kiss him softly and it would have been harmless if only you hadn’t shifted your legs and the hem of the shirt hadn’t lifted even higher. A glimpse of the fringe of your underwear and Chan is gone. 

He’s going to get real close and quick - one hand cupping your chin to keep you still, the other heavy on your thigh, moving higher with every passing second. He’s gripping at the skin and whilst he isn’t rough, he isn’t exactly gentle and there is absolute desire in his kisses as he moves down your neck, all the way to the front of the button-up. When he sees just how few buttons you’d bothered to do up, he audibly groans and if he wasn’t hard before, he certainly is now. The hand that was on your thigh has long since slipped beneath the shirt and he holds your waist as he finally lays you down, desperate to have you as close as possible. His movements will be slow, but purposeful - he takes great care to shower you with affection, gentle touches and grazes of his teeth, not to mention the forceful press of his hips against your own so you’re able to feel just what the sight of you in his button-up is doing to him. He knows how to rile you up until you’re digging your nails into his shoulder and pleading for him to touch you.

Chan will flush at the noises you’re making, but they’ll only make him want you more. He’ll have his hands up your shirt, running over your chest, drawing quiet moans of his name from your mouth. He’ll throw your underwear somewhere into the bedroom, but when you go to remove the button-up he’ll immediately stop you, telling you to keep it on because you look so good in it. Any opportunity to tease him about his confession is cut short by him slipping inside and the stretch is just right, sending any thoughts far from your head. He’ll bunch the shirt up in his fist as he moves and appreciate the sight of you looking swamped in the material. 

[ Bang Chan Hard Thought ] -

18 + Content & Fluff

[ Friends to Lovers ]

Masterlist

I think we can agree that Chan is a pleaser - if he can do something for someone, he will. So you’re close friends with the group, but particularly Chan and let’s say that isn’t always easy being best friends with someone as attractive, and lovely, as Chan himself, but you get by keeping all feelings and any desire to jump his bones to yourself. Occasionally there is a little tension - on the day's Chan is feeling stressed or needy you sometimes wonder whether you ought to throw caution to the wind and finally make a move like Hyunjin has been telling you to for weeks. Recently the unspoken tension seems to have increased threefold - maybe it’s because he’s leaving the country soon, maybe it’s because you’re in love with him and spend an unhealthy amount of time fighting off thoughts that you definitely shouldn’t be having about your best friend. It comes to a head a couple of days before Chan is due to fly to the US and this is how it goes:

First, maybe Chan invited you to just hang out at the dorm whilst he finishes packing his suitcase. You’re just lounging on his bed, silently admiring him as he fiddles about in his wardrobe as if every single item isn’t the same shade of black. It’s quiet, as it always is before he flies halfway around the world, the atmosphere is stuck somewhere between excitement for the upcoming tour and sadness for him having to leave the city and you. After a while he stands and walks to the bed with a hoodie in hand and you assume he’s about to pull it on, but instead he offers it to you.

‘What is that for?’ You ask, furrowing your brow.

At first Chan is a little quiet, his gaze on the floor as he replies: ‘I just thought, because I’m going away.’

As soon as he begins, he starts to backtrack. The first thought that flashes through your mind is that maybe he feels the same way about you as you do him and it stuns you into silence until you hear the sudden insecurity in his voice. Then you immediately move closer to him and reach for the hoodie and it takes great willpower to firstly, not melt over just how cute he is, and secondly, pull him to your side. ‘Chan,’ you manage, faintly aware of the tears gathering at the edges of your eyes, ‘I’ll miss you so much.’

You’re not sure who moves, but suddenly you’re wrapped tight in Chan’s arms, your nose tucked into the crook of his neck, your bodies pressed close together. Chan can feel his t-shirt bunched in your fists and he tries to hold you even closer and he knows his heart is pounding in a way that betrays just how he feels. He tells you just how much he’s going to miss you too and it almost hurts when he sees your watery eyes as he pulls away. He isn’t thinking as he leans closer, bowing his head slightly, his thoughts are in a whirr because you’re giving him the softest, most adoring look and he’s in love. His mouth is gentle against yours - the movement of someone slowly testing the waters, someone cautious of sending their best friend running a mile if this is all a misunderstanding. When he feels your fingers press into his back to keep him close, he finally begins to relax into the kiss.

It’s soft and gentle and sometimes you break apart to catch your breath, but your foreheads press together and Chan’s grip around your waist is enough to express his determination to keep you close. He allows you to take the lead - deepening the kiss, your fingers daring to slip beneath his t-shirt and he slowly pushes you to the duvet, taking his time to hover over you so you can ask him to stop at any moment. It’s quiet as you carefully peel clothing from one another - t-shirts, trousers and even when you’re almost naked, when he is achingly hard against your thigh, Chan doesn’t speed things up. He waits for you to make the final step and you do, as he places kisses along your collarbone, you thread your fingers through his hair and sigh quietly, ‘Chan, please.’

He lifts his head to catch your eye and when you nod, he finally slips your underwear down your thighs. He finds your mouth again and mutters against your lips, ‘I’m going to take care of you.’

All you can do is nod again and hold onto his broad shoulders in an effort to keep yourself grounded because this is Chan, your best friend, the one you’ve been in love with for you don’t remember how long and he’s just beautiful and gentle. He looks to you again before he lines himself up, a final demand for consent and when you start to feel a stretch, your fingernails press crescent shapes into his back. Chan’s breathing is heavy as he stills, torn somewhere between wanting to fuck you in the way he’s been thinking about for months and trying to hold it together. He furrows his brow and triple-checks whether you’re okay and even when you nod and say yes, he can see tears in your eyes once more and it’s only when you tug at the ends of his hair and sigh that he realises why they’re there. ‘It feels so good,’ you manage and Chan responds by gently moving his hips against your own.

This isn’t something Chan wants to rush, in fact, he wants it to last a lifetime. The closeness has you both softly sighing as your head falls deeper into the pillow, Chan’s forehead resting on your shoulder as he savours the warmth and the way you squeeze him just right. The feeling of you wrapped around him has his head spiralling and he is sure, he will come undone soon. He rolls his hips and draws a whimper from your mouth and the noise prompts him to move again, quicker, deeper, if only to hear that noise again.

It is gentle even when you finish – your name falls from Chan’s mouth as his movements still and he places a grounding hand on your thigh as he feels your shaking legs around his waist. His retreat is slow, reluctant, and he does not move far, moving to your side and tugging you into his chest. His touch is soft and meant to slowly draw you back to him and for a while, neither of you speak. Eventually, you shift to look at his face, one hand caressing his cheek and for a moment you stumble over your words because Chan is looking at you as if you’re his entire world. It’s sort of like, ‘Chan, I – ‘ and that’s it, even though you want to tell him you’re in love with him.

Even though you can’t quite finish, Chan nods his head and replies, ‘I know, me too.’