side note: his long hair has been looking so good, it really suits him. oh god i hope he doesn’t cut it!!
[ (stray kids) bang chan x reader ] mild suggestive content | blurb, domestic fluff, soft moments, hair play, established relationship | warning/s: feeding delusions
you love chan’s hair.
like, really… really love it.
it’s gotten to a certain length in which it’s not super curly anymore, but there’s still a slight wave to it, and you just love it.
you run your fingers through it whenever you can, and you even go as far as to making it your job to wash his hair when you shower together.
“i can wash my own hair, darling,” chan chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist as you worked the shampoo into a lather on his scalp.
“i know,” you smiled, “but i like doing it for you.. now close your eyes before soap gets in them.” you gently warned him, making him sigh softly, and close his eyes as he enjoys the head massage you threw in while giving his hair a good wash.
chan lives for the feeling of your fingers running along his back and neck as well as the feeling of you playing with his hair - he just loves it.
this little act of yours always relaxes him after a long day at the studio or at dance practice. it’s a hypnotic to treat his insomnia. it’s a big turn on, even.
“that feels nice; like my own personal asmr,” his soft, almost slurred, voice breaks you from your reminiscence, making you stop your movements and pull away, “don't stop.” he grabs your wrists and leads your hands back to his hair.
you’re sitting on the couch with chan’s head on your lap and your fingers - of course- tangled in his hair. your nails scrape across his scalp, making him purr almost at the the sensation.
you grin, knowing how much he enjoys this and increase the pressure slightly. “you know, i could do this all day,” you murmur, your voice low and soothing.
chan’s breath evens out, his eyes fluttering closed as he sinks deeper into your touch. “you always know how to take care of me,” he says, his voice drowsy. “i love you for that.”
you lean down and kiss the top of his head, your heart swelling with affection. “seeing you like this makes me happy. i love you, chan.”
“i’d play with your hair too, but you never let me.” a pout appears on his lips, as well as a frown-y expression making his eyebrows pinch together.
it’s not that you never let him. and you wouldn’t mind if he did. he’s always the one taking care of you, plus looking out for everyone else. but who’s taking care of him?
“i guess i’m a little selfish when it comes to this,” you explain, your fingers still working through the soft strands of his hair.
chan chuckles, a warm, rich sound that resonates through your chest. “selfish, hm? i think i can handle that. but you know, you could let me indulge a little too.”
you can’t help but laugh softly, imagining him trying to manage your hair. you can also picture him weaving through it and the gentle tug of his hands.
“some other time. maybe.” you concede, smiling. “but for now, you’re mine to spoil.”
“i’ll accept that,” he replies, his voice barely above a whisper as he closes his eyes once more, surrendering to your fingers dancing through the waves.
the room is quiet, except for the the soft sounds of chan’s contented sighs and the occasional hum of pleasure.
chan would do anything if it meant you could play with his hair forever.
op this is so cute, i'm meltinggggg 😭🫶🏼 i loved the simple yet vivid details in this. thank you so much for posting this and making my day. it was a joy to read (and i will be living at this post for the next four weeks). thank you so much for writing this, op :) I hope your pillow is always comfortable and cold.
okay so you know how some people can't handle casual sex??? bang chan can't handle casual domesticity. the first person he plays house with, it's over. he's in love. he's planning your wedding. if you want to seduce him, literally just ask him to help you set up your new apartment after you move. you're building ikea furniture listening to each other's favorite albums and oldies and whatever else spotify reccomends and you're wearing a baggy sweatshirt and trying to figure out the instructions and there's some paint staining your leg the same color as the walls drying in the other room.
"You know what?" you say, setting down the instructions with laughter in your voice that he mirrors, "We need some more coffee." He laughs and agrees and watches you head towards your kitchen until you're out of his line of sight, then turns his attention back on the coffee table you're attempting to build, but he's not really paying attention. his mind, his focus, his pounding heart still lie with you even when you're rooms away. You reenter with two cups of coffee, one made just the way he likes it without you needing to be reminded. He thanks you and you smile so sweetly and you skin is so soft where his fingers touch it in the fleeting moment as he takes the cup. he doesn't think coffee's ever tasted better, and he's had a lot of it. after a moment of comfortable, frustrated at these unneccesarily complicated instructions silence, you look up at him and he realizes he's been staring.
"do... do you want to procrastinate doing this by doing a bunch of other stuff I've been putting off?" he's smiling before you're done talking.
"You wanna procrastinate by procrastinating?" he asks, and you confirm with a hum as you sip your beverage.
"It'll be more fun if we do it together." he agrees, a small feeling in the pit of his stomach that that's a lot more true than either of you realize. soon you're putting up loads of laundry and his eyes linger on the dip of your waist when you reach into the bottom of the machine. soon everything on your to do list is done, and you're cooking meals to put in the freezer and dusting off bookshelves and while you're folding laundry on the couch together, a drama playing in the background, he's overwhelmed with how good this feels, how you make his stomach twist and heart race, how you grab his arm when the protaganist in the drama does something really questionable (which lucky for him is often). his cheeks are flushed and his chest is warm because you made a to do list into something he doesn't want to stop doing, and he really hopes you have more things you've been putting off.
i … think i just heard my heart shatter. ouuu, this RUINED me. regarding romance (and in general too but mainly romance rn), casual intimacy is a killer for me also. cuz like,, why are we playing house rnnnn [twirls hair]. i can imagine his heartstrings pulling so hard when people mesh easily with the rest of skz too (tears). this piece is sooo cute and i thank you so much for writing shy, blushy channie, op. 🫶🏼
you and taehyun were getting ready for a friend’s wedding—well, you were still getting ready. taehyun had finished ages ago (since he just had to put on his suit and tie) and was patiently waiting for you to finish. he was sitting on your shared bed, watching you apply the finishing touches of your makeup at your vanity while he hummed to the tune of ‘marry you’ .
reaching for your lipgloss you applied it to your lips quickly, catching taehyun’s gaze in the mirror you wink and he chuckles in response.
you (finally) stand and fix your heather slip dress just as you feel taehyun come up behind you. he places his hands on your waist and leans down to press a kiss to your neck and you lean into him slightly.
you turn to face him suddenly, with his hands still positioned on your waist and he looks at you questioningly.
“hold on, let me fix this for you.” you smooth your fingers over his tie where he couldn’t tie it right, fixing it. “there you go.”
“thank you.” taehyun smiles at you then he leans in for a kiss to which you return eagerly. you both pull away, slightly breathless and you smile up at him.
“mmm,” taehyun says and licks his lips slightly as his hands run up and down your arms. “your lipgloss tastes nice.”
you gasp, pulling out of his embrace. “ah, i forgot!”
but before you can look in the mirror to assess the damage his arm snakes around your waist and he pulls you flush against his chest, your noses touching.
“not so fast. i wanna taste some more.” he said cheekily and all you can do is giggle as his lips meet yours again.
gosh i love small, cute moments. this is simply adorable. the way i can imagine his big eyes and smile throughout all of this has me rocking back and forth. thank you for writing this, op :) 🩷
↳ A shopping trip with the gloriously attractive, delightfully oblivious man you've lusted after since time began? During a particularly lengthy dry spell? Definitely not a recipe for disaster.
↳ Hyunjin x female reader
↳ 5.8k
↳ Best friends to lovers, romance, mutual pining, angst and sexual tension with a happy ending, eventual smut
! Explicit content, adult themes throughout, suitable for 18+ readers only !
And so it is that Hwang Hyunjin, ever a paragon of hypocrisy, is running late. You’d be surprised if it wasn’t so utterly on brand.
The last message you sent him says something towards your growing impatience:
<< where the fuck are you hwang
Feeling (and looking) not unlike a spare dick at a wedding, you loiter outside the mall entrance, glancing up and down the busy street for any sign of the honey-blonde head you fully intend to forcefully remove from the shoulders. It’s warm today—nicely sunny, the sky is a pleasant powdery blue—which posed good enough reason to dig out the summer wear from the deepest recesses of your wardrobe set for autumn. Days like this, you rather enjoy; waking up to unexpected warmth, the universal lifting of moods that, in your case, at least lasted until your best friend soured it with his tardiness.
Perhaps it wouldn’t irritate so much if he hadn’t pressed so hard against your insistence on picking him up in favour of driving himself, yet the reasons for that were plain enough: he’s just purchased a brand-new BMW convertible, billiard red and as garish as garish comes. Quite how a second-year college students affords such an expense continues to elude you, but where Hyunjin is concerned, flamboyance is par for the course.
Just as you’re about to send a second (far more graphic) threatening text, the distant growling of the engine you’ve been conditioned to loathe carries from down the street. The glaring red chassis approaches, catching sharp angles of sunlight. You shrink into yourself, more so embarrassed by the thump of the obnoxious EDM track that blares from the thing unfiltered. When he pulls up curb side, all Ray-Bans, white grin and windswept blonde tresses, you hurry over, leaning through the drawn down window.
“Do you have any idea how much of a wanker you look right now?”
He kills the ignition, the gratuitous music dying out. Passers-by double take, their faces awed. You wonder which is doing it; the car or the man. Hyunjin pouts, Ray-Bans sliding down his nose.
“Also, you are so fucking late,” you hiss. “I can’t believe you.”
Unable to bear being the centre of attention any longer, you about-face and march towards the mall, through throngs of people. You hear the abrupt slamming of a car door, the electronic beep of its locks, rushed footsteps that catch up just as you make it to the revolving entrance.
“Are you, like, seriously mad?” He grabs your shoulder.
“Yes! You were the one that went on so hard about being on time, blah, blah fucking blah, yet I was the one left waiting like a tool. Then you have the nerve to make an entrance like that?” you gesture vaguely towards the BMW. “It’s so—”
“Man, I’m sorry,” he pouts again, now holding both your shoulders. “I didn’t think I was that late.”
You roll your eyes, shrugging out of his grip, stepping into the revolving glass segment that he quickly hops in with you. He guides your paced steps by hands on your shoulders—again—and once out of the spinning death-trap, slips his arms down and around your waist from behind, pulling you against him.
“Don’t be mad,” he coos, “I’m super sorry. I’m the sorriest I’ve ever been—”
You struggle half-heartedly. “Release me, demon.”
“I’ll make it up to you?” he speaks into your neck, squeezes you tightly, and despite yourself, you laugh (squeal)? Staying angry with Hyunjin is about as feasible as ice cream withstanding the sun.
“Please, kitten?”
And your struggle ceases momentarily; in all the years you’ve known him, he’s never addressed you like that. Something base and wanting throbs in your chest, and while it’s far from the first time you’ve experienced such a sensation in his company, it is the first time it’s caught you off guard. He unwinds himself from around you; you step away quickly, glad of the space.
“Fine,” you clear your throat. “You’re forgiven.”
Hyunjin grins, smug with his victory. “Knew you couldn’t stay mad.”
“Shut up.”
You start walking; he falls into pace with you. The mall is as busy as one expects it should be, and while you definitely have an objective for today, you’re not averse to looking around. Anonymous jazz plays quietly over the mall speakers, shoppers go about their business in groups or alone, the bravest of them with kids in pushchairs or toddlers on leads. Teens outmanoeuvre the elderly when there’s a crowd jam—usually nearest the shop fronts—and the scent of commercialism hits in targeted waves: perfume at the beauty outlet, fresh cookies at the bakery, soap at the hipster store.
Your name is called as Hyunjin nudges you. “I, uh... didn’t actually look like a wanker back there, did I?”
“Kind of.”
He grimaces. “Wasn’t what I was going for.”
You scoff into your palm. “Should put that on a bumper sticker: ‘this car makes me look like a wanker, sorry.’”
“Oh yeah, you’d love that, huh?” he laughs.
“It’d be a marked improvement.”
He glares at you, the glint of mischief in his dark eyes. The nature of your relationship never up for debate when you’re with him like this; easily, comfortably. Whatever struggles come from taking in the angular planes of his stunning face are yours alone.
“Jerk,” he deadpans.
You poke your tongue out at him. “Bitch.”
***
“Hyunjin!”
You can only reason that clothing shops make their chairs so goddamn uncomfortable by deliberate design: buy something and get the fuck out, is the key takeaway. Sat on the horrid plastic thing and calling Hyunjin’s name into the men’s dressing room, you wonder if he’s ignoring you on purpose.
Taking mercy on your posture and rising, you call to him again. “Are you done or did you find Narnia?”
Inside the dressing room is a long row of cubicles draped by dark velvet privacy curtains. Chic spotlights beam down from the ceiling, leaving white spots in your eyes when you leave them focused for too long. You rub them when just that happens, resigned to action. That shirt should not have taken this long to try on.
The end most cubicle is the only one drawn over; you head to it, detecting the grumbling grunts of a struggle the closer you get.
“Everything alright in there?” you ask dubiously.
“Wh— Why are you in here?” Hyunjin complains from inside. “I’m fine!”
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
More struggling resounds from beyond; there’s a thump against the wall. You bite back a laugh.
“Do you need help?”
“Why do people just fucking lie about sizes?” he whines, and after a moment, the chaos stops.
“Okay. I’m coming in.”
“Don't you dare—”
And in pulling back the curtain to slip inside, what awaits you is not quite what you expected. Having tangled himself in something of a makeshift strait jacket, the man’s right arm is elevated uncomfortably, the shirt constricting him by bicep and shoulder. His left hand holds the hem that’s ridden up his torso, too small to apparently drag over his chest. Quite how he managed it, you can’t begin to imagine, but regardless, he’s thoroughly stuck.
“Well...”
“Don’t,” he sighs. “Just help me.”
His complexion tinctured a rose shade of mortification, he begrudgingly allows you to assess the state of things. Force seems like the most obvious solution, and so you instruct him to turn around. Now facing the floor-length mirror, he grimaces when you tug the back of the shirt, the material pinching his skin when you drag it up.
“Ouch, damn it, be careful!”
“How the hell did you even get this on?” you huff, his temporary discomfort an afterthought at best.
“It has a zipper, but it got stuck. Fuck, watch it!”
“Oh, you better stop complaining, Hwang Hyunjin. I’ll leave your ass here to rot.”
He whines exaggeratedly. “I don’t want to die like that. I’m too young and pretty.”
Which he is, but validating that would be a fatal mistake. It’s not like you’re ignorant to the toned planes of his muscled back.
“Where’s the zipper?” you ask, giving up on force.
He turns awkwardly, the dressing room hardly allowing for such manoeuvring.
“At the front. Here—” with his free hand he tugs down the collar, exposing the locking mechanism.
“Need a gentle touch with these things,” you mutter, stretching out the fabric to allow for a straight pull. A little easing and working of the zipper, and it budges slightly.
“It’s coming. Just a little more—”
“God, please,” Hyunjin wails.
Thoughtless is the way you brace your other hand against his abdomen, firm and warm under your palm, more so than is probably usual in light of his self-inflicted stress and tension. Your eyes meet for a brief second—a fleeting recognition of the touch, of the sensation—and you bring focus back to freeing him. A final guided pull of the zipper brings it sliding from chest to hem, the relief immediate as the shirt falls open on him. His arm comes down and he sags against the mirror, and in his blissful reprieve he must not notice the way you unashamedly take in the way he looks half-dressed: the sheen of exertion on his tan skin, the ridges of his abdomen relaxing and contracting with his heaving breaths, the glow the spotlights cast on him. For the simple fact is that Hyunjin is a model of a man, his beauty enough to render the busiest of minds an empty void. And in that void, when robbed of sense or shame, you’ll admit to seeing to the matter of your own relief, the last such occurrence being when, shower fresh, he opted to walk around your flat bearing nothing but a damp towel slung low around his svelte hips. You were fully (and unwittingly, on his part) apprised as to the impressive endowment of your best friend, and with the emergence of such information, a date with your toys was a given.
“Thank fuck for that,” Hyunjin groans, rubbing his sore shoulder.
You pull yourself together. “You’re welcome.”
“What would I do without my little kitten to save me, huh?”
Your swift escape from the dressing room is somewhat cowardly, but with your composure already in so fragile a state, stopping to address the sudden use of this infernal pet name doesn’t strike you as the wisest of choices.
“Meet you outside,” you call over your shoulder, your rushed pace through the clothing shop matching that of the pounding in your chest.
Back in the mall proper, the arousal lingers, setting you on cool edge. Sure enough in yourself to know that nothing outside true relief will ever alleviate it, and you’re not likely to get that until you’re home alone, you settle on pacing. It helps somewhat; staying in motion, not stewing.
When Hyunjin emerges from the shop empty handed some moments later, he’s all smiles once more.
“Where next?” he asks brightly.
Focus is good, you suppose.
“Need new shampoo,” you sigh.
Falling into stride, you walk the upper floor of the bustling mall, knowing vaguely the route to the nearest beauty outlet. It’s warmer up here, you think. Hard to tell what’s responsible for your sudden flustering.
Hyunjin frowns at you pointedly.
“What?” you ask.
“Why new shampoo?” he pouts. “I like the stuff you use now.”
Not particularly taken with the idea of explaining that your current drugstore brand appears to have an unholy drying effect on your ends, you simply shrug.
“Just feel like a change. Do I need your permission?”
And in the moment that follows, you’re drawn close into a sudden embrace secured by his hand around your nape. Standing a head taller than you, it’s no task for him to take a deep inhalation from your crown, the sensation a bolt of hot lightning down your spine. When he breaks away, you shove him by the chest, albeit weakly.
“What the hell was that?” you gripe, heat in your cheeks.
“You smell good.”
“What?”
“Your shampoo,” he presses, “makes me feel some kind of way, I swear. Don’t change it.”
You wonder how much of what he’s saying is true, how much is purely for the gag. He finds no small amount of pleasure in teasing you, such has always been the case, but when his ribbing crosses the boundaries of physical space, things get murky. You ache for validation from him on a level too intimate to entertain, and when he so recklessly manhandles and compliments and asks things of you...
“Don’t sniff me,” you deadpan, turning from him and pacing ahead, unable to summon the cool collectiveness of character that nonchalance requires.
He catches up quickly. “So you’ll keep it?”
Your silence attests to your surrender. He hums in knowing victory, a gentle elbow nudging you. Would he find such delight in it all if he knew how sorely you pined?
Several minutes of walking—you stroll straight past the beauty outlet—and a particularly intriguing shop front comes into view.
“Hold up,” you poke his arm, then point. “Want to go in there.”
He follows your direction, his face drawing notably vacant. Valid, you suppose. It’s not every day one visits an ‘adult store’, and when one does, they’re probably not with their bestie.
“You, uh, don’t have to come with if you don’t want.”
His brows pull together under blonde locks, hands shove into his pockets. “What do you need in there?”
“I just want to see,” you reply honestly, having had it in mind to forgo the sex toy section in favour of perusing the lingerie; a few nice bras never go amiss, and on the vibrator front, you’re as stocked as is needed. Yet in light of Hyunjin’s apparent trepidation, an idea altogether mischievous dawns on you.
“Wait out here, man,” you laugh, pat his shoulder. “I appreciate it’ll be a little much for you.”
Hyunjin sneers, “Fuck off. I’m coming in,” and with that, strides into the adult store without so much as a falter. Not even remotely surprised by his rising to the presented challenge, you follow him inside.
A little revenge for the suffering he’s inflicted, perhaps?
***
Never one to unnecessarily primp and preen, the sensation you find yourself amidst is decidedly foreign. It feels like confidence—tall and strong, it has your back unwaveringly—but is tinctured with a giddy anticipation that has you reaching for your phone to take a picture.
You look indescribably good. The thin black straps of the lace bralette criss-cross neatly over your chest, the deep plunge accentuates your cleavage. Dainty frills run the hem of the item to decorate your upper ribs, as they do the matching silken thong it comes with. The band pinches your hips in just the right, appealing way, offering a satisfying snap against your flesh when you pick at it, intrigued. Such extravagance isn’t in your nature, but even you possess a level of self-awareness when it comes to knowing one’s strengths; lingerie might just have to join them.
A steeling breath in, and you peek beyond the dressing room curtain, glancing up and down the empty room.
“Hyunjin?”
His name carries through the space, but no response comes. You shift nervously.
“Hyunjin!”
“What!?” he hisses.
“Could you come here?”
A second of silence, then he whisper-shouts, “You lose the last of your marbles? That’s the women’s dressing room!”
“There’s nobody else here, just come through! I need your eyes.”
“No way.”
Irritated, you resort to dirty tactics.
“Fine. Forget it. Guess I don’t really need a second opinion on this lingerie.”
Something of a gamble to hinge his compliance on a promise of seeing your semi-naked form; there’s nothing to say he’s even remotely interested enough to be enticed. And if he is, what questions does that raise? Amid this minor—terribly belated—crisis, Hyunjin appears from around the corner.
Oh, God.
Too late to tell him to turn back, he hurriedly crosses the room, darting into the cubicle and drawing the curtain back with a sharp drag. Pressed to the wall to make room for his entrance—this one is even smaller than the last—it’s only when the rush of stealth passes to leave the muted sound of your combined breaths that you realise the proximity; the gravity.
Hyunjin visibly swallows. Close enough that you see the way his pupils dilate when the moment stills and he rakes a gaze from your toe to top, lingering where the lingerie clings snuggest. His jaw locks firm.
“What do you think?” you whisper, unsure if his looming is intentional or not.
He wets his bottom lip by brief dart of tongue and shakes his head. “You really want my opinion?” he asks, his voice a tone of gravel hitherto unheard.
He steps forward inasmuch as the space will allow; more of a shuffle, a readjustment of stance. Your body throbs when his arm props beside your head; caged in and feeling every inch the prey to his predatory nature, your knees all but threaten to give out.
“I think you know exactly how fucking hot you look.”
And his other hand steadily drops to the curve of your waist, a touch so featherlight it may well pass for hovering. Desire curls around you, and in its wake you arch from the wall, seeking closeness to him. The corner of his mouth is pulled up in a grin, your breath catches tight in your throat. It’s equal parts mercy and wickedness when he touches you with intent, a glide from waist to hip that settles at the band of your thong. An inaudible sigh when he picks carefully at the thin strap, your lips parted in such voracious wanting of the man, yet he gives nothing so obvious away. In snapping the material against your flesh, you all but whimper, for as slow and controlled as this is—as he is—it still feels to be happening too fast.
He drags in a heavy, shuddering breath; arm removed from the wall, both hands travel up your sides, across your prickling navel, to your chest where he traces the lace of the bralette with fingertips.
“Hyunjin...”
Your whisper falls to another whine when he cups your breasts gently, the swell of your cleavage so appealing to him. In pushing them up and together, the bralette tightens, and he watches with so intense a darkness you can hardly stand to keep from throwing yourself at him. The ache between your thighs is now so unbearable you wonder how you’ll even make it home at all; he leans to your ear, soft blonde tickling your feverish skin. Lips against your lobe, he speaks softly:
“Did you think you could get one over on me, kitten?”
And he drops back, all contact lost. The sting of neglect is so brutally sharp, you’re too stunned to consider what his knowledge of your trivial gulling even means. In the light of day, it might suggest that he’s well aware of the effect he has on your libido and state of mind, that he acknowledges what sexual tension lives between you; what just transpired certainly attests to that.
“Meet you outside,” he states coolly, surreptitiously readjusting his groin before he throws back the curtain and steps out.
It takes a moment for the bleak reality of it to settle: your best friend has just left you so high and dry, you’ve never nursed such concentrated arousal, such thick and heavy wanting. If he had asked, you’d have given yourself to him. You’d have let him have his way in any and all manners.
Was the point of that exercise not to regain a sliver of power? How had it backfired so badly? How had he so easily turned it on its head? How much longer will you dance around admitting that you crave him?
Dressing yourself in a daze, you suppose falling back on old faithful is about all that’s left to do.
You’ll never let you down, after all.
***
Saying a frosty goodbye to Hyunjin was far from pleasant, yet utterly necessary.
You hadn’t even required excuses by which to take your leave of him; he didn’t question it. It had crossed your mind that he might be aware of how severely he’d overstepped this time, and his reluctance to press you on the matter of your departure was a direct result of that. At some point then, could you expect an apology? Would you even want it, considering the precedent you set for the tense back and forth?
Too highly strung to give reasonable thought to any of that in this moment, once back in your apartment, the plan extends to nothing much more complicated than aided masturbation; you’re going to fuck yourself until you can no longer feel your legs, and that should bring you back to a semblance of coherent self.
Spread legged on your bed, you’re almost halfway there. The silicone of the vibrator is inexplicably smooth inside you, the drag so delicious (even if it is lacking in ways only the real thing can manage). A self-taught expert in edging to the closest degree of release, the steady hum of the toy takes you to the precipice: you drag yourself back from it by total removal, accustomed to traversing the peaks and valleys of your pleasure threshold. Some might say it’s a lonely affair, and in the most obvious ways, it is, but when needs come knocking and all one has is their own enthusiasm, what else can one do but fantasise about their best friend and play back how it felt to be touched by him?
Fully absorbed in your own tryst, you don’t hear the gentle knock on the door. Neither do you hear its creak when it opens, nor the steps that you would otherwise recognise well.
Your name is called softly; opening your eyes to the visage of your best friend in your room, the response is one of panic. Senses returned, you startle to a shriek that sees you scooting up the bed.
“What the fuck!?”
He lifts his hand, a set of keys dangling from them. Right; you did give him those.
“What are you doing here?” you breathe, registering beyond the shock that he’s wearing the same jeans and shirt you saw him in earlier. Did he even go home?
“Thought I’d check in on you,” he says, that same tone of gravel laced deeply. “Seemed a little off today.”
“Get out.”
He shakes his head. “Can’t do that.”
“Seriously, you need to leave, I’m—”
“What?” he cocks his head. “Fucking yourself?”
As if requiring the blunt observation to even remember you’re holding your vibrator, it falls limply from your hand amidst the choke of mortification. Hyunjin perches on the end of the bed, thoroughly unfazed by your semi-nakedness.
“This is why you ditched me?” he asks coolly.
You swallow, unsure how to answer. Telling the truth of it would give so much more away than he knows.
“Because of what happened in the dressing room?” he presses. “The little game you tried to play with me?”
“It wasn’t a game.”
“What was it, then?”
“I... I don’t know.”
He skims a hand through his loose blonde locks, a huff of breath through his nose. If nothing else, he seems at least to be amused as he sighs, “Do you think you’ll ever be honest with me?”
Your heart pounds unforgivingly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he stares you down, “the way you try to hide everything. Do you really think I can’t tell when you’re keening for a fuck?”
You can only watch in disbelief when he repositions on his knees, a few crawled paces bringing him to your feet where he stops, hand poised expectantly over your ankle. He searches your face for the nod; when you give it by the subtlest of motions, he wraps a grip around it, stretching your leg out to drag you to the mattress proper. He crawls over you, his frame so deliciously all encompassing.
“Always wondered what you’d look like underneath me,” he muses, knuckles skimming your cheek. “Fantasies didn’t come close.”
“Hyunjin...”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” he breathes. “Why did it have to come to this?”
You puff a resigned laugh, thoroughly humourless. “How was I supposed to do that? You’re my best friend, Hyunjin. Best friends aren’t supposed to want to fuck each other.”
He lowers himself, the space between your mouths so infinitesimal you feel the way his lips shape the words when he whispers, “Says who?”
And when he kisses you, it’s a spiral of immediate wanting. The brushing of lips melts to tongues slick and hot, such pent-up yearning as you’ve nursed for so long manifesting in the way you open yourself to him so readily. Futile to attempt concealing the scalding degree of your desire, your thighs open and legs hooking around him draw him close. He holds his weight on his hands, pushing back and away with tender pillowy lips that curve into a smile of wicked intent. He disappears down your body, repositioning between your legs still opened for him; one hand pressing your navel, the other guiding left thigh up and apart. On eye level with that which he craves most, his curse is one of unadulterated appreciation:
“Fuck, kitten. So pretty.”
The climb to orgasm already underway and with Hyunjin’s knowledge of such intimacy, he’s slow to get you there. Gentle fingertips part you and explore, the soft flick of his tongue an unhurried glide that edges you carefully. The relief comes in tangible waves that, though so desperately wanted, threaten to crush you: so it is that the cap of a shaken soda bottle will explode so violently.
“God... taste so good.”
“Hyunjin—”
He hushes you softly. “I know.”
And the coil of pleasure tightens to straining as he suckles with lips formed snug around your throbbing clit, as he eases middle finger inside you to stimulate the wet tenderness therein. Your reaching for the pillow to clutch at and whine into is intended to spare you from further mortification; your best friend is moments away from making you come brutally, and he knows it.
“Oh my god— ngh—” your muffled cry is encouraged to fill the room when Hyunjin reaches up, snatches the pillow to toss it aside.
“You’ve made me wait this long and you’re going to try and hide from me?” he scoffs, a particularly deep plunge of his slim digit drawing a heavy moan from you. “That’s better. Just like that.”
His mouth returns to where you need it most, and just as your body is wracked with the first tell of orgasm: everything stops.
Confused, defeated as the promise of release tragically diminishes, you look down at the man still poised between your thighs.
“What are you—”
He kisses your inner thigh, eyes hooded. “Didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?”
And perhaps you should have foreseen this; his nature has always been to tease, to lead, to draw out. Why should he be any different where matters of sex are concerned? Even more so when the events leading to this very moment were themselves steeped in such illicit chasing?
While you consider yourself a self-taught expert in the craft of delayed gratification, Hyunjin appears to have been taught by certified masters. Some period of time later and the man has thrashed all sense of coherence from you with the repetition of bringing you to near-orgasm, only to pull it out from under you with a promise of more. With this one, you don’t mind admitting to balancing on the verge of tears. Your body aches, your muscles a mess of involuntary trembling that Hyunjin soothes by reassuring touch.
“Hyunjin, please—”
He quirks a brow at you, detaching mouth from your centre. “But you’re doing so well, kitten.”
“I— I can’t... can’t take anymore—”
A lazy finger stretches you and roams your sensitivity, the glide comically easy with your sopping arousal.
“You should give yourself more credit,” he rasps, “four ruined orgasms and you’re still keeping it together.”
“I’m not,” you plead, “I’m really not. Just let me come, please.”
“Love the way you sound when you’re this desperate, kitten.”
“I need it so badly, fuck—”
Instinct brings your hand down to offer yourself some relief; it’s promptly swatted away, Hyunjin’s disapproving tut follows.
“You want to come?” he taunts. “Fine.”
And the assault on your aching core comes with such swiftness you can hardly withstand it. Caressed by tongue and smothered by puffy lips, the euphoria that starts as the slow unravelling of your very fibre is no longer denied; it gains momentum and drops you from a breathless height, vision starring as you liquefy amongst the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever had.
Quivering form held in place by hand still over your navel, Hyunjin drives you through it, the slow, steady pump of his fingers indicative of his unwavering attention. Even as the comedown calls to you, he perseveres.
“Hyunjin—”
What should be post-coital content is instead steamrolled; Hyunjin is relentless, his ministrations unforgiving. Unable to gulp down a breath or keep your limbs from trembling, you clutch the sheets beneath you.
“It’s too much, it’s too— ngh, fuck—”
A searing second orgasm plucks your soul from body; Hyunjin grins against you, even the hot of his breath proving to be too much in all your overstimulated state. Thrown from pillar to post, the void you’ve so often visited alone in your stupors of lust settles over you like a heavy blanket; you’re present, but unthinking beyond the man that, in this moment, owns you.
“Good fucking girl,” he praises, mercy given when he rises from between your legs to kneel over you. Unsure when he even removed his own clothes, you’re thoroughly taken with the sight of him naked; his cock hangs thick and heavy, and it seems to you an unreal prospect that you should be expected to take it.
Not that you won’t give it your utmost, soldier that you are.
“Turn over for me,” he instructs.
Breathless, boneless, you make some form of attempt to do. On your weakness, Hyunjin guides you to your front, a whispered reassurance offered, “You’re doing so well, kitten.” Hands and knees imprinting the mattress, a drag of large palm down your spine arches you just so. Presented to him, for him, the initial breach is grounding in ways you hadn’t anticipated: Hyunjin is ludicrously well endowed, and every inch he sinks, even despite your blatant arousal, is met with bated breath. He draws tight when he bottoms out; your knees buckle, he keeps you suspended by curve of hips.
“So soft,” he groans, “fuck, you fit right around me—”
And the pace he sets is one of acclimatisation, steady and firm as he finds familiarity in the way you take him, as you melt into the way he drags in and out. Mattress creaks accompany the soft smacks of skin, your broken sighs an encouragement.
“Harder—”
Hyunjin hisses, your presented cheeks are squeezes appreciatively amidst a snap of hips.
“Don’t stop,” you press, “you feel so good—”
He groans low. “Fuck, yeah. Keep talking.”
“You’re so hard, so fucking big—”
He preens, reaching over you to slide a gentle grip around your throat. He pulls you up and back against him, his snapping forcing each staggered breath from your lungs.
“Do you like getting split open, kitten?” he pants in your ear. “Like it when I fuck you raw?”
“Mhm, feels so nice, please—”
He releases you for you to fall to the mattress, and where your knees buckle again, this time there is no assistance. He follows atop you, the pressure of his palm over your shoulder blade keeping you pinned. Fucked into the bed with such fluid strength you’re rendered unable to speak—much less think—the new angle allows for a deeper penetration, a third strong orgasm when the drag of his length gets you there. Somewhat mercifully, yours brings his, the tremble to his form and blush of his complexion indicative of his surrender.
“Oh fuck, fuck— I’m going to come so hard—”
“Inside me,” you plead as his strength fails and he covers you with his body, his chest to your back and your shoulder subjected to open-mouthed attention. Buried into your skin, he fists the sheets beside your head, throaty groans of his unfiltered desire accompanying his sharp, shallow thrusts that fill you up.
The moment of stillness is occupied by your laboured breathing, the respective pounding of your hearts. Silence holds as he rolls from you, and while you would normally seek to engage in much-needed clean-up, you can’t even stand to move. It’s a surprise, then, when Hyunjin rises and disappears to your en-suite, returning with a towel. Too exhausted to entertain embarrassment when he firstly dries the sweat from your skin, then parts your thighs to dab up the worst of what leaks from you. He does it wordlessly and with a tenderness you thought him incapable of; when he’s done, he returns to your side.
Unsure what to say now that the urgency of lust has passed, you’re glad when Hyunjin speaks first.
“That was pretty unreal.”
You gently laugh your agreement. “Yeah.”
He turns to you, seeking your gaze. When you give it, the sincerity there is yet another unexpected turn of his character.
“I’m glad,” he says softly.
“You are?”
He nods. “At the risk of sounding like an arrogant prick, I always kind of thought this would happen. You could cut the tension between us with a blunt spoon.”
“You say that, but I thought it was just me that felt it.”
He quirks a brow, amused.
“You give absolutely nothing away,” you explain. “Until today, I was resigned to forever pining after my best friend.”
“Well,” he sighs, pulling you into his chest, “now you can forever pine after your boyfriend.”
Warm in his embrace, against his skin, there’s something almost elegant in the way he so nonchalantly presents and decides on the status now shared between you. From bestie to boyfriend, in so simple a sentence as that. And why dispute it, when the idea brings you to such delight? To be able to call him more than just a friend is a fantasy hitherto ignored. Now it’s your reality.
“Need to go back to the mall tomorrow,” he mumbles among the calling of sleep. You look up at him, confused.
He grins lazily, the very picture of mischief. A soft kiss pressed to your forehead, his nose brushing down your temple when he whispers in your ear:
“You and I have unfinished business with that lingerie, kitten.”
op, i want you to know that i had this piece saved about a year ago (from your prev blog) and was preparing myself some free time to reply to this but then i saw it was gone, so i was panicking for like .. 3 months (because that’s how long it tooo me to notice smh). then i scrolled a little around tumblr and found you (and this!) again !!!!!! so happy 🥹
this. this whole thing has been imprinted in my brain since i first read it. as of rn —and has been for a WHILE— this is my fav hyune fic. so detailed yet clean, that’s very rare to find in a writing style these days. i loove how you write, op. i’ve read multiple works of yours (all my thoughts are coming i promise), and i can TELL you’ve been writing for a while. you’ve mastered your style so well, from the details to the plot to the escalation. i love your thoroughness, especially with your longer pieces.
i love this specific one because of the dynamic. she’s strong about her wants. hyunjin is so unaware yet aware. he has a particular confident manner, yet he’s nervous. the dressing room scene had me holding my breath. the smut was well done. i’m also a sucker for a lingerie tease. A+ work as usual, friend :) thank you soo much for writing this, truly. 🩷
original ask: requested by @rosequartsz : chan with the prompt ❛ i want to fuck you so badly. ❜ like the reader is the same age as jeongin so chan kinda feels bad but at the same time he wants to corrupt the reader so bad cushsisjsis
+
original ask: requested by anonymous : Chan and ❛ please. make me feel good. no one else can like you. ❜ ❛ have a little trust in yourself, i know you can take it. ❜
pairing: bang chan/reader
content info: friends to lovers, chan is a little older than reader, reader is not actually that innocent but pretends to be and they both get off on it lol. some not very safe driving lol keep ur eyes on the road. car sex, dirty talk, teasing, corruption play, puuuuure smut.
word count: 2400 words.
masterlist.
part of the valentine’s day stories series.
credit to prompts. requests are closed.
enjoy!
-
“That’s not fair,” Jeongin says. “I called dibs.”
“Too bad.” You stick your tongue out at him. “Learn to run faster, loser.”
Jeongin scowls, once more relegated to the backseat of Chan’s car. You are sitting pretty in the passenger seat for the fourth day in a row and Jeongin is playfully annoyed about it.
You and your twin brother have been racing into Chan’s car since high school. You are both at university now, but Chan still offers the occasional lift. With storm season making public transit a bigger hassle than it’s worth, Chan has been offering more rides.
Just because of the weather. Not any other reason. Of course.
You smirk, casting a side-glance into the driver’s seat. Chan is smiling at Jeongin through the rearview mirror, looking less like Channie, the boy of your teenage fantasies, and more like Bang Chan, the man of your adult dreams. He is wearing a baseball cap and leather jacket, his whole demeanour oozing an effortless masculinity, the bearing of a competent man who knows he can do anything.
And still, despite his well-earned cockiness, he has an undoubtedly shy side. When he looks at you, the tips of his ears flame an embarrassed, fiery red, and his dimpled smile is almost boyish in its sweetness.
“Right then,” he says. Then, like the endearingly cheesy goofball he is, he adds, “All aboard, ready for takeoff!”
“Jeongin,” you say, blinking innocently at your twin through the mirror. “You have your presentation notes, right? You don’t want to forget them.”
Jeongin double-checks his bag but you already know he won’t find them. You deliberately took them out and placed them on the kitchen counter.
“Damn,” he says, quickly unbuckling his seatbelt. “I thought I put them in here. Sorry, I’ll be right back.”
Jeongin practically flies out of the car and up the driveway, leaving you and Chan. It happens quickly, before Chan can even compute it. You can see the gears turning in his head, but you are faster, sighing melodramatically while gathering the hem of your skirt.
“Silly boy,” you say. “What should we do while he’s gone?” You draw your skirt up your thighs just enough to tease the skin of your upper thighs.
Chan is staring there with his mouth open, his words evaporating on his tongue. He clears his throat after a second, ripping his gaze away. He looks across the dashboard and laughs, a shy, awkward laugh.
“Your brother will be back in a second,” Chan says. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, yeah?”
He is white-knuckling the steering wheel, like all his restraint is being poured into that physical grip. Even so, it is not hard to pry his hand off the wheel. You know a stronger, more belligerent shove could not bend a determined Bang Chan, but the softest touch from your gentle hands will have him breaking in seconds.
You are slow, casual despite your racing heart, guiding his hand onto your knee. He makes a little noise that turns your whole body to pure, liquid heat. You make a similar sound, a faint whimper in the back of your throat, as you slide his hand up your thigh.
“Channie,” you say, your too-sweet, too-innocent voice part of your acting, but your breathlessness undoubtedly real.
“Don’t—” His voice breaks and he clears his throat. “Don’t say my name like that. You know—”
“What do I know, Channie?” you ask, blinking at him with wide eyes while you curl his fingers around your thigh. You bring your legs together, holding his hand between them.
He visibly swallows, throat bobbing. The redness has spread from his ears down his neck.
“We’ve talked about this, baby girl,” he says, his tone stricter, taking on that darker edge that makes your heart – and everything else – gush. “We’ve been good so far, okay?” If stolen kisses, open zippers, and groping touches count as good. “You’re my – you’re my friend. You should be like a little sister or something to me… yeah? Yeah… Yeah!” He shakes his head, pulling himself out of the distraction caused by you unzipping your jacket. He squeezes your thigh, a firm, warning grip. “Don’t make this so hard,” he says.
“What’s hard for you, Channie?” you ask, reaching into his lap and touching his thigh, then higher, finding the evidence of his words. A shiver moves across his shoulders, his breath catching as you cup your palm around the bulge in his jeans. “Is it something I can help you with?” You lick your bottom lip then smile.
“Oh,” he says. His eyes crinkle with amusement but there is a score of different emotions on his face, all of them smoldering. “You really wanna play that game, huh?”
There is no chance for an answer because Jeongin returns, hopping into the car with his notes. You and Chan separate, looking out the dashboard window. You pat your hot skin and try to slow your racing heart.
Sensing the oddly silent tension, Jeongin narrows his eyes and looks between you. Eventually, his expression sours like he smells something bad.
“Oh my god,” he says, then punches Chan in the shoulder. “Are you fucking my sister!”
“What!” Chan says, getting redder by the second. “Jeongin, how could— I wouldn’t— I don’t—”
“What, you don’t fuck?” Jeongin asks, then laughs until he is wheezing. “You can do better, man.”
“Jeongin, shut up!” You reach back to smack at him, rubbing your hand all over his stupid face and messing up his hair while he wails in protest.
“All right, all right!” Chan says, breaking you up. “Let’s just… let’s just go, okay? Okay.”
“Yes, daddy,” you say, mostly out of spite.
Chan squeaks.
Jeongin pretends to gag then slumps against his window.
“I’m gonna need to start taking the bus,” he says, morose.
-
Fortunately, thanks to the impromptu revelation of your shenanigans, it does not take much convincing for Jeongin to find another ride home. When Chan pulls into the campus parking lot to pick you up, you approach his vehicle with a grin and a wink.
You slide into the passenger seat, smoothing down your skirt while he sighs. It sounds more amused than frustrated.
“Where’s your brother?” he asks.
You shrug with theatrical exaggeration.
“Right,” Chan says, starting the car. “Got it.”
He puts a hand on your headrest to leverage himself, looking out the rear window as he reverses the car. That proximity alone gets you hot, the temptation to grab him already strong. You play a patient game, as always, stealing glances and suggestive smiles while he drives.
Halfway home, you put a hand on his knee. At first your touch is innocent, tracing slow circles on the denim, then you get a little more brazen, fingertips brushing up his thigh.
“Baby,” he says in that warning voice, eyes on the road. Holding the wheel with one hand, he uses the other to stop your wandering ascent.
“Yes?” you ask with all that faux-innocence. Rather than fight his touch, you guide his hand to your lap, placing it on your knee.
Unlike this morning, he does not play nice. You make a startled, high-pitched sound when he immediately dives under your skirt, his rough palm pressing down where you are already aching. Your thighs slam shut out of instinct but his hand is where it wants to be, his fingers curled around your pussy in a proprietary touch.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice playfully mean. He grinds the heel of his palm against your throbbing clit. He never takes his eyes off the road. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, though you cannot help but rock yourself against his hand.
“Mmm,” he says, patting your pussy then stroking your thigh, guiding your legs open again. “We’ll see about that.”
You keep your eyes ahead too, pretending not to notice when he glances at you. Then you gasp because he reaches out and tugs the zipper on your hoodie. You instinctively clutch it, wearing nothing but a bra underneath, having taken off your other layers to surprise him. He is the one surprising you, a secret sexy menace under all that shy sweetness. He unzips the hoodie halfway then reaches past the material to squeeze a handful. Your body practically sings under his touch.
“Channie,” you say, breathless again.
“Don’t worry, baby,” he says. “Channie’s gonna take care of you, yeah? Always.”
“Take care of me how?” Your question toys with that false innocence, the little game that gets you both hot, but there is genuine curiosity there too. This game has been escalating slowly over time. You want more and you are starting to get desperate.
Chan looks at you. His gaze moves over your mouth then your body, your skirt rucked up and breasts practically spilling out of your hoodie. He swears, looking back at the road with that red blush on his ears again.
“Fuck,” he says. “I want to fuck you so badly. You have no idea.”
His words have a raw, honest edge. He swallows, hard. You feel like one tightly coiled ball of tension, ready to snap apart.
“Please,” you say in that breathy voice. “Make me feel good. No one else can like you.”
You do not make it all the way home. There is a nearby lookout point at the park, a shrouded parking area that has undoubtedly seen its fair share of hook-ups. Chan parks there and you dive at each other like randy teenagers. You climb into his lap, bumping everything on the console on your way, the honking the horn with your backside for good measure. It makes you both giggle.
Then your laughter is swallowed by hot, desperate, open-mouthed kisses.
“Mmm,” you hum against his lips. You push his hat off his head and sink your fingers in his curly hair. “Channie, please,” you say.
He cups the back of your neck, holding your head where he wants it so he can kiss you thoroughly. His ravishing touch leaves you shaking with need, rocking against him to no relief.
“Poor baby,” he says with a little laugh, squeezing your neck then drawing his hand down the curve of your chest. He unzips the rest of your hoodie. His mouth follows the same path as his hands, down your chest and back up again.
He is working you up, deftly and swiftly, using just a few well-placed throat kisses, a few flicks of his fingertips across the sensitive peaks of your breasts. He seems so composed under you, other than the flush to his complexion, the heat to his skin that has him shedding his leather jacket. You feel completely undone, half-naked and writhing in his lap. Your hands tangle together, fumbling around his belt.
“Let me,” he says. He gets his belt open and his fly undone, then his hands are on you. He doesn’t just tug your panties to the side but rips them apart, snapping the seams like they’re nothing. Then those strong fingers are inside you, finding just how wet and ready you are for him. He makes a low, guttural sound, thumping his head against the headrest. “Fuck, baby girl,” he says. “You know what you do to me?” he asks.
“I dunno, Channie.” You pout and bat your eyelashes. “You better show me.”
He laughs. He holds your hips and moves you, positions you where he wants you. You are pressed so close together, chest-to-chest, so you cannot see when he finally enters you. But you feel it, hot and hard and filling you, stretching you, almost painful but burning so good. You slap a hand to the roof of the car, eyes closing as you moan.
“S-so much,” you say, because it feels like you have been sinking forever and he is still not all the way inside.
“Yeah, I know, baby,” he says. His thumb is expertly circling your clit while your whole body seems to soften, changing to fit him, like you were made for this moment. “That’s it,” he says. “Have a little trust in yourself. I know you can take it.”
His thrusts are small, his hands guiding your hips over him, grinding him deep inside you. Then you are clutching his shoulders, moaning into his neck as he fucks you slowly and steadily. It is everything you needed and not enough, only spurring more desire. You know you will need him again, the way he needs you. Just the way he says your name as he holds you, as he fucks you, as he takes you apart and puts you together again. It feels like that when you come, when he fucks you through it, saying your name and praising you.
“Good girl,” he says, barely above a breath. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”
When he gets close, he pushes the seat back. You get on your knees between his legs and take him in your mouth. He comes with a low groan and another breathless slur of your name. Then you are back in his lap and his hands are everywhere, clutching you possessively to his chest. You are both breathing hard, riding the slow come-down of your frantic desperation.
“Fuck,” he eventually says. He seems shy again, giggling as he looks at you with a blush on his face. “We, uh, we just did that, in the car, uh wow, yeah, I, uh—”
“Channie,” you say with a laugh of your own, grabbing his face and kissing him. He smiles into the kiss, returning it with the same tender softness.
You kiss for a long time, ignoring the world around you. Eventually you have to crawl back into your seat and mostly redress yourselves, still smiling and giggling at each other the whole time. Your phone was buzzing in your bag so you finally check it, rolling your eyes at the message there.
You show it to Chan who laughs, blushing again, but nods.
“Right,” he says, “We should probably go get him.”
You laugh too, sending an emoji with its tongue sticking out in response to Jeongin’s message that reads: My ride fell through. When you are done not-fucking each other, can you come back and get me? Thanks. Sluts.
found this piece on a random 3am scroll. safe to say i’m now actively rotting my brain (in a positive manner) with this piece 24/7 omfg omfg. 🩷
op !!!!! this is my new fav chan piece i’m soooo hooked. the plot is so simple, yet the detail paints a picture well enough to where we get the vibe. the writing was lovely. i loved the part where he was driving one handed then yn went “nooope come here” and took his hand to place on herself (😭). ALSO ! the part where jeongin calls them sluts KILLED ME LMFAOO. so so soooo good. i love this. i hope you sleep well. i hope your pillows are cold always. thank you for writing this xx
WARNINGS: swearing, semi-nsfw for jisung and jeongin, mostly fluff
ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ꩜⋆ hi, my name is iris and this is my first post on this account hehe. i write for stray kids only and am a mostly nsfw blog. if you plan on following me, please note that my blog is 18+. i hope you guys like this ! feel free to give feedback and reveal your thoughts in my inbox <3
THIS WAS SO FUNNY PLS. i love the balance of wholesome and feral behavior. also @/bangchan, can you send me $1,000
this was pulled off really nicely op ! text imagines are still relevant duh but finding good ones (subjective yeah but shhh, i’ve been on these since the magcon text imagines) is harder these days so this was refreshing.
a/n: for my lovely gf ( @sluttymingyu's ) birthday <3
masterlist + ko-fi
Chan hasn’t texted you in two days, at the advice of his roommate, but he’s starting to think Soonyoung is full of shit. The thing is, you run in Soonyoung’s circle. He knows you way better than Chan does, and according to him this is the way to your heart. If Chan had it his way, he’d be texting you every thought that crosses his mind, answering you immediately instead of leaving you on read for hours... but since he doesn’t, he’s forced to sit around waiting for you to be the one to initiate.
“She likes guys that treat her like shit,” Soonyoung had explained when Chan first expressed interest in you.
“What? I don’t know if that’s tr-”
“No, trust me,” he insisted. “Every guy she’s brought around has been a fucking asshole. We hate all of her exes, and I mean all of them. We have a separate group chat just to talk shit about them.”
“They can’t be that bad,” Chan tried.
“The last one stood her up in the pouring rain and she still gave him another chance. I know you like her, Chan, but you’re too much of a nice guy. She’d never go for you.”
It’s supposed to be a compliment but it still hurt to hear that he basically had no chance with you. Especially since he’d had a crush on you for the longest time.
“I can be a jerk.”
Soonyoung raised an eyebrow. “Are you for real?”
Chan nodded, resolute. “If that’s the kind of guy she likes, that’s the kind of guy I’ll be.”
“Is it really worth all that effort to act like someone you’re not just for some pussy?”
“It’s not just for- I actually like her, Soonyoung. I’m not just trying to get into her pants.”
“And that’s exactly why you’ll never be able to pull this ‘bad boy’ thing off.”
Chan shook his head. “You’re wrong. You’ll see.”
That conversation had brought Chan here, checking his phone every few minutes to see if you had messaged him. It was pathetic and he knew it but he wasn’t sure what else he could do. After bickering back and forth with his roommate, he had to turn around and practically beg him to help coach him on how to win you over.
So far, Soonyoung’s intel and advice has worked, much to Chan’s surprise. You’ve hung out twice now. It hasn’t escalated to anything more than a kiss goodbye but that’s mostly because Chan’s a coward. You’ve made it clear you want him but he’s been too afraid to act on it. You’ve sexted exactly once when you were a little tipsy and wanted him to come over, but Chan was out that night and Soonyoung forbade him from leaving so that he wouldn’t come across as ‘desperate’. He was forced to tell you all of the things he wanted to do to you while trying not to get hard out in public to help you get off. He was happy to do it, of course, he just wished he could’ve been there with you like you wanted, or at the very least at home in bed so he could jerk off with you. Instead, he blueballed himself all night until he got home and could finally scroll back through your messages and cum all over his hand in the privacy of his own room.
As much as Chan does want to sleep with you, he also wants to do all of the other things couples do together with you. He wants to take you out on dates, show you his favorite movies, meet your friends, and maybe also bury his head between your thighs and eat you out for hours. Mostly he just misses you.
Just when he’s about to cave and text you first his phone lights up with a notification from you. It’s a text inviting him over, just what he’s been waiting for. He replies instantly, already knowing Soonyoung would be shaking his head in disappointment if he knew just how whipped Chan was acting. It’s only one deviation, though. One little slip up won’t tip you off that this whole thing’s all an act, right?
It’s too late to worry about that now because he’s already told you he’s coming over. Chan throws on a clean pair of sweats and a black t-shirt, dabbing a little cologne behind his ears for good measure.
Soonyoung stops him on his way out of the apartment with a suspicious expression.
“Where are you going at this hour?” he asks.
Mingyu’s over tonight too, just Chan’s luck. From the looks of it, he and Soonyoung are already a couple of beers in, likely debating about something stupid. Both men stare at Chan expectantly and he knows he won’t be able to lie to them so he comes clean.
Mingyu whistles while Soonyoung just smirks.
“You’re not taking an overnight bag just in case?” his roommate presses.
“Uh, all she said was that she wants to hang out. I don’t know if it’s that kind of night.”
“Knowing her, it is,” Mingyu mused.
It bothers Chan that Mingyu seems to know that about you but it’s really none of his business what kinds of things you talk about with your friends so all he can do is chuckle awkwardly and bid the two good night.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Soonyoung calls after him. “And remember to be a dick!”
Your apartment isn’t that far from Chan and Soonyoung’s but it still takes Chan twenty minutes to get there with how slow he’s driving.
Don’t be too eager, don’t be too eager, he repeats to himself as he slows to a stop at each yellow light instead of blowing through them like he normally would. He doesn’t want to make it seem like he was waiting around for your call (which he was) and dropped everything to go see you (which he did) because he knows that will turn you off and that’s the opposite of what he’s trying to achieve. He needs to make it seem like he’s only coming over because he had nothing else going on even though that’s not the case.
You open your door on the third knock and immediately usher Chan in, beaming at him, which nearly makes him melt right there on the spot. He kicks off his shoes and leaves them by the rug before following you into the kitchen.
“I’m so glad you could make it!” you exclaim in a hushed whisper. “Sorry it was short-notice, but I’ve just missed hanging out with you.”
Chan tries not to show how happy that makes him and simply shrugs. “Glad to be here.”
“I’ve been thinking about the other night,” you continue before trailing off.
“The other night?” he asks.
“Yeah, when we... you know.”
Oh. That other night. The night that you sexted. The night that Chan came more than once to the thought of you getting off to his messages.
He tries to play it cool, leaning back against your counter and crossing his arms. “Oh yeah? What had you thinking about that?”
“I was sad that you were tied up and couldn’t come over,” you hum. “I thought maybe you could make it up to me tonight.”
Chan chuckles. “So that’s what this is all about? Just feeling needy?”
He takes a step forward and you take one back in turn. “I-I no, that’s-”
“It’s okay, baby. I’m happy to help.”
He closes the gap between you and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close so that he can kiss you. Your lips are just as soft and warm as he remembers and you moan as soon as his tongue swipes across the seam of your mouth.
There’s not much talking as Chan leads you backwards, helping you jump onto the island once your back meets the cold marble. His hands travel down to the waistband of your pants and he’s tugging at the elastic as a means to ask permission to take them off mere moments later.
“Wait,” you stop him with a hand to his chest. Panic washes over Chan like he’s just been doused with ice water. Had he done something wrong? Was he moving too fast? You’re quick to assure him that everything’s alright with a squeeze of your hand but you go on to explain, “not here. My roommates are just down the hall asleep. We might wake them up.”
He cocks his head to the side, taking your words as a challenge. “You can’t be quiet?”
Your thighs tighten around Chan’s hips as you whimper and it takes everything in him not to grind forward into you. He maintains his composure, although just barely, and begins to kiss your neck.
“I can be,” you assure him.
“Are you sure?” You nod. “Make a sound and I’ll stop, okay?”
You pout but agree to his terms. “Okay.”
And then he’s kneeling on your kitchen floor, helping you out of your pajama pants. He places a hand on each of your thighs and spreads them apart, cursing when he sees the little wet patch on the front of your panties. He presses his finger to it, letting your arousal seep through the material even more.
You flinch when he touches you.
“Sensitive already?” Chan asks with a smirk.
You don’t answer. Instead, you push your hips into his hand, silently asking for more. He’s happy to give it to you, rubbing his thumb where he approximates your clit to be. He knows he’s found it when you gasp quietly above him.
He touches you like that for a while, teasing you until you’re trembling. He doesn’t move on until he’s satisfied with how wet you are which doesn’t take long. You’ve been turned on since you first texted Chan to come over so he barely has to do anything to work you up.
“Please, Chan,” you whine.
“Please what?”
You groan in frustration. “Need more. Anything, please.”
“Anything, huh?” he repeats.
You nod, giving him the green light to continue. Rather than taking your panties off, he simply pushes them to the side and leans in close enough to dip his tongue in between your folds.
One of your hands flies to Chan’s hair, the other to your mouth as you bite down on your knuckles to muffle a moan.
Chan begins to leisurely make out with your cunt, taking his time to savor the way you taste. You’re even sweeter than he anticipated, something he didn’t think possible, and the way you’re reacting to his actions is driving him absolutely crazy. He’s been hard from the second you suggested you wanted to fuck him and having his head buried between your thighs isn’t doing anything to help. He’s half-worried that he’ll cum way too early and embarrass himself, but he can’t focus on that now. Not when you’re grinding your pussy into his face like your life depends on it.
The closer you get, the tighter your thighs squeeze around Chan’s head. He works his tongue inside of you, nose nudging your clit as he hums against you.
“C-can I cum?” you ask suddenly, jolting Chan out of his thoughts.
His eyes widen when they meet yours. You’re asking his permission to cum? He wasn’t expecting that. How did you want him to respond? Was he supposed to be mean? Did you want to be edged?
Apparently he doesn’t make a decision quickly enough because you’re asking again with even more urgency before he gets the chance to answer. “Fuck, please? I can’t hold it-”
“Go ahead,” Chan mumbles into your cunt, hoping you can understand him.
You must, because you cum immediately after he says it, pushing his head even further into you as you ride it out. Chan happily laps up all of your arousal and then finally pulls away. He could eat you out all night but he has a feeling there’s something more you want from him.
“How was th-”
You’re kissing him before he can finish his question, having pulled him in by the waistband of his sweats. Chan isn’t complaining in the slightest but he certainly hadn’t been expecting it. It’s a little clumsy at first until he finds his rhythm again, tongue slipping into your mouth so that you can taste yourself.
He’s a little relieved when you push him away to catch your breath because he’s so fucking hard it’s bordering on painful and he could definitely use a break as well.
“Do you want to keep going?” you ask. There’s a look in your eye he can’t place.
“Only if you do,” he answers.
“I thought it was obvious.”
“I didn’t want to assume.”
“Hm, that’s nice,” you say thoughtfully.
Fuck. That’s the opposite of what Chan wants you to think about him. You don’t seem put off by this, though, and he’s relieved by that.
You jump down from off the counter and attempt to trade places with him.
“Let me return the favor,” you offer, kneeling in front of him.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Chan assures you.
“Are you sure?”’
“Positive.”
You’re quiet as he helps you back onto the counter. He wants to ask you what’s on your mind but you beat him to it. “I didn’t take you for that sort of guy.”
“What sort of guy?”
You shrug noncommittally. “I don’t know. Guys like you, they don’t usually take the time to go down on a girl before having sex with her. And they definitely don’t turn down a blowjob.”
Damn, you were right. Even subconsciously Chan was acting too nice. In his mind, he was doing the bare fucking minimum but apparently even that was too much.
“Hooking up with someone isn’t fun if they’re not into it,” he points out. “Men who skip foreplay are only screwing themselves over. And as good as I’m sure your mouth feels, I came over with something else in mind.”
It’s the cheesiest goddamn line he’s ever used on a woman but he hopes you buy the fuckboy act anyway. He’s almost positive that you can see right through him, see that the only reason he turned down a blowjob was because he was scared he’d cum too soon and ruin the moment. He’s smirking but it probably doesn’t reach his eyes, and oh god he’s such an idiot-
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
Chan almost breathes a sigh of relief but catches himself just before he does. Instead he smiles wider, and brings one of his hands down to squeeze your ass. “Why don’t you let me show you?”
-
Chan finds a condom exactly where you told him he’d find one, in the drawer by the wine bottles. You share the stash with your roommates, you tell him, so there’s plenty of variety for him to choose from. He tears the foil package open with his teeth and rolls the condom on without much fuss before returning to where you’re perched on the counter waiting for him.
“Can I take your shirt off?” he asks you.
“Only if I can take yours off too.”
“I think that sounds like a fair deal.”
You go first, fingers ghosting along the sides of Chan’s body before catching on the hem of his t-shirt. You pull it upwards over his head and place it behind you on the island. Chan does the same to you, taking an extra moment to run his hands along the smooth skin of your breasts.
“Can’t believe you’ve got me completely naked in my kitchen,” you murmur, leaning in for a kiss. “So dirty. You want me to be caught by my roommates or what?”
“You won’t get caught if you’re quiet,” he reminds you.
“In theory,” you muse, “they might just wake up for no reason, come out here for some water or something, you know.”
“Well, I’m banking on that not happening,” Chan says as he runs the head of his cock through your folds. You’re still so wet that his dick is easily lubricated but he spits in his hand and pumps it a few times for extra measure.
You’re teasing him now. “I don’t know, kind of seems like you want to be caught.”
In truth, Chan doesn’t want anyone to see you naked but him. But he can’t let you know that. Having sex in a place you aren’t supposed to is exciting, as is the risk, but that’s as far as the appeal goes for him.
“If I suddenly develop an exhibition kink, you’ll be the first to know,” he grunts. “Would it make you more comfortable to move to your bedroom?”
“No, here’s fine. I was just giving you a hard time. I’ll fuck you wherever.”
Your words go straight to Chan’s dick and all he can do to keep from saying something he’ll regret is push himself inside of you so that he’s thoroughly distracted.
“Fuck, you’re big,” you gasp.
It does wonders for his ego. His knee-jerk reaction is to say something nice back to you but that’s not what an asshole would do so he doesn’t.
“Thanks,” is what he decides to go with. Stupid.
You feel perfect, so tight and warm, and Chan wishes he could tell you that. He’s not sure if that’s what you like to hear during sex, though, so he keeps his mouth shut. What do the guys you usually like say? He wishes he knew. He just wants you to enjoy yourself.
If Soonyoung knew how in his head Chan was at the mere taste of your pussy he’d be so disappointed. All of his advice gone to waste. God, he shouldn’t be thinking about his roommate while he’s balls deep inside of you. It isn’t helping at all.
“You can move,” you whisper. It’s so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it but the desperate little whimpers that follow grab his attention instantly.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, please move,” you repeat.
“Okay. Remember, you make a sound and I stop. Got it?”
“Yes, yes, I know. Please just... fuck me already! Been wanting it all night.”
Chan tsks and lifts your chin with a finger. “So fucking needy, I knew it.”
He doesn’t make you wait any longer, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting forward again. It’s slow but it feels so fucking good. Chan doesn’t know how he’s going to last. You wrap your legs around his waist to keep him close and he buries his head in the crook of your shoulder, nipping at the juncture of your neck softly.
“God, Chan,” you moan lowly.
“Baby,” he warns.
He doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop if you do start to get loud so all he can do is scold you and pretend like he’ll make good on his word and hope that does the trick. God forbid you call his bluff.
“I know, it’s just... you feel so good. It’s so deep.”
“Shit,” he hisses, hips stuttering forward on their own accord.
“You can go faster,” you say in his ear.
So he does. He didn’t account for how loud the sex itself would be. The sound of skin on skin, made worse by just how wet you are... the noise echoes off the cabinets but Chan can’t find it within himself to care. He hopes your roommates are heavy sleepers.
You sniffle suddenly and Chan’s about to reprimand you for being noisy but then he sees the tears.
“Crying already?” he asks, voice dripping with faux sympathy.
He doesn’t know where the confidence came from. If any other partner started crying in the middle of sex he’d immediately panic, stop, and ask what’s wrong. But it’s you.
“C-can’t help it,” you choke out. “Just so good.”
“Yeah? You get a lil cockdrunk and all you can do is cry? So fucked out already?”
You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and nod pathetically. “‘M cl-close, Chan.”
It’s simultaneously a relief and a surprise to hear this. It’s a relief because Chan’s on the edge himself and it’s taking everything not to cum right this instant. It’s a surprise because he hasn’t even been fucking you for that long and you’re already on the brink of an orgasm. Chan knows he isn’t bad in bed, but he also never considered himself to be excellent or anything of the sort. You must like him a lot.
The realization makes Chan’s heart do a somersault in his chest and he has to bite back a smile as he continues slamming into you.
“Gonna cum?” he coos. You nod again. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Panic washes over your features as your body begins to tense with anticipation. “Can I? Please can I cum?”
“Do you think you deserve it?” he whispers.
“Mhm, I’ve been good! I’ve been so good- please, baby...”
Your begging is what does it for him. Chan groans out a raspy “cum with me, angel,” as he tips over the edge himself, hands gripping your thighs so hard that he’s sure he’ll leave marks behind.
You’re still weakly fucking yourself through your orgasm when Chan comes down from his. His cock is already feeling sensitive but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t help you ride out your high. He might be playing the part of an asshole but he can’t bring himself to be that mean, especially when you look so pretty when you cum.
He doesn’t help you get dressed even though he wants to and he doesn’t offer to help you shower off either. He just... picks up his things and leaves, feeling like absolute shit when he does.
You stop him right as he reaches the door, looking shy for the first time all night.
“I had a good time,” you say quietly.
Chan isn’t about to lie to you so he agrees. “Yeah, me too.”
“We should... do it again sometime.”
He pretends to think about it, arguing internally with himself. Shouldn’t he just be honest? Come clean? He hated playing your game. But Soonyoung had been very insistent that he do exactly that. His roommate’s words ring through his head as he stands there in the doorway.
“Every decent guy that’s ever shown interest in her has been shot down. They usually don’t even score a date with her. It’s not like you have to be a bad person, at least not entirely. You just have to be bad enough. She won’t give you the time of day otherwise.”
Chan sighs, sticking his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. “Sure, yeah. Maybe. I’ll probably be around.”
NSHEHWHDHNNG [slamming tabletop] [siren wailing] reading this has me swerving the bias wrecking lanes of caratland with caution THROWN to the wind
so this is what luxury feels like … got it. also, hoshi basically saying “dude just trust me on this” in the beginning + the condoms being with the wine bottles made me chuckle.
despite the Parental Lock, he was happy to help thru text 🙁 cutiee.. it was so nice how he didn’t wanna blow his shot but he knew he hated the way he was keeping it. the way he was so selective with his words and actions had me laughing, cheering, and stressing (positively!!).
i love me a good kitchen smut scene so this automatically earned 5 stars from me. my brain processed all of this writing perfectly, truly great one shot structuring. i’ve reread this so many times, tumblr probably thinks i’m losing it. thank you for writing this op, have a great day !
also, op, i’m keeping up with your instead of you series and i’ve been really really behind on my commentary which led me to give up halfway but i wanted you to be aware that you’ve secured a place in my top 3 fav writers on here <3
» b.chan x fem!reader
» smut, slight angst, pwp
» exes to lovers, one-sided enemies to lovers
» language, explicit smut (specific smut warnings under the cut)
» wc 8.7k
» summary: saying you don’t ever want to see chan again would be overdramatic and irrational. saying you don’t want to go back to him however is an entirely different story.
» a/n: we aren’t talking about it okay. title from the song ‘yes no maybe’ by miss bae suzy the lyrics fit the fic rather well
HHHHEHYEEEEOOOOOO OH DEAR GOD ? i never thought i’d be into exes reuniting but i’m now a changed girl
first off, the vocabulary and the structure of this is insanely well written. ngl i almost googled MANY words that i’ve never heard of (good thing!).
random tangent: i don’t know if many authors mentioned chan’s blue hair in fics when he still had it but we as a community are LACKING in blue hair chan fics so this was great omg.
the banter kept me afloat. the emergency room line made me laugh. the ending was really nice awe. i love that even though there is little explanation of the breakup, you can so clearly feel the history between the two, and it’s not awkward at all (duh the beginning did but the escalation was pulled off with ease).
it’s been a whilee since i felt sincerely impressed like this towards an author’s writing style. this was really well done op !! thank you for writing this, have a great day
🏷️ anti-burnout hurt/comfort; dashes of angst and fluff.
changbin always watches you work even if he doesn’t know what you’re doing. it’s his hobby. whatever you do, he’s silently cheering you on.
so when something occurs and throws you off-course, he notices it before you do.
he can’t multitask, so the moment he sees your eyebrows furrow more than it ever did, he keeps his eyes trained on nothing but you.
he analyzes your body language well. changbin sees the same pattern he saw before: you stretch, pat your hand on your head, sigh, and squint at the laptop screen before diving back into the stressor.
changbin hums your favorite song and hopes that it subconsciously calms you down. it doesn’t. you’re as laser-focused as he is, except you’re only making it worse by refusing to step away.
you repeat the routine of stretching and sighing until you sniff. with your back turned towards him and your face away from his view, he can’t see the tear that runs down your cheek, but he senses it faster than you.
it’s his cue to run to your side.
you could protest against his offers for a hug and kiss, you could say that you need to focus just this once, and you could promise that you’ll get back to him, but you clearly can’t do all of that when you can’t even finish the task due to the overwhelming stress.
changbin’s a little stressed too, considering he has no clue on what to do and he doesn’t even understand the logistics of the problem you ran into, but he’s there.
he sits there, by your side, with an arm always ready to pat your back. he sits there until you hiccup and lean into his warmth. that’s when he hugs you, shushes you, kisses your tears while telling you that it’s okay. you got this.
you tell him that the software keeps freezing, your task is stupid, and you simply lost the passion to keep working on something you thought you liked. he nods, listens, and shares bits of advice when you finally ask him for it. he rubs your back while humming your favorite song again, rocking you back and forth ever so gently in his hold. his hand pats your head.
you stop crying when he meets eyes with your frozen laptop and curses at it in baby talk. even if you think you feel disgusting for crying and laughing, your giggles alone are all he needs to feel lighter. he cracks a joke, then another, and offers to be your late-night barista for feel-good drinks.
user ipegchangbin, you’ve written the best (thee best) comfort fic on my side of this site. 🥇🩷
this is stuff i’d dream of just to pass the awful times (good / affectionate / howdoyouknowmybrainsowell?). i love it, a lot. i’ve been adjusting to a new semester once again and there’s moments where i fluctuate and panic and wonder “will i enjoy this a couple years ahead ? or will i slam my laptop down and regret my childlike need to fulfill a career that isn’t “boring?”
fics like this makes me realize that a deep breath can be taken, and a step back to analyze is always possible.
also, the angry binnie baby talk @ the laptop made ME want to cry because i always told my mom to do that when i was frustrated at something silly. she would come thru almost every time :(
…after writing that, i think i accidentally formed tears in my eyes that now blend in with the heavy rain outside. anyways,,, thank you for writing this, op. sending comfort 2 you <3
update on my prof from the comments under my previous reblog:
my prof pointed out that i was on my phone in class as i wanted to ask her something (at the end of it) and i nearly tripped over my words trying to make it sound like i was getting some important things out of the way 😭
so much for the “academic weapon” impression i wanted this semester
fiancé!yeonjun x reader | comfort | 0.388k words | no tw
The rain pelts down mercilessly tonight.
Utter defeat weighs you down on the mattress as you crawl into the space between his arms and the blanket he had draped over his torso, ready to pull it up for you to nuzzle under as you safely melt into him. The kind man you’d grown accustomed to calling your fiancé already has soft words of comfort prepared to greet you with, muttering small, and yet so meaningful reassurances.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Yeonjun presses a chaste kiss on your temple, waiting for your response, which eventually comes in the form of a tired no. Much too worn down, you don’t have the will left in you to talk anymore for the rest of the night. He understands, wordlessly humming a small tune accompanying the sound of the storm brewing outside.
As you fiddle with the gold ring around his slim finger under the cover, you adjust your position to hide your face under his chin, breathing in his familiar scent. Hearing his almost inaudible chuckles brings a long awaited smile on your face, lips curling to express your content. An indescribable joy fills Yeonjun’s body when he feels the brush of your lips against his skin.
“You did well today.” He smoothes his palm over your back in a steady rhythm, peaceful in contrast to the thunder booming. You are here in his arms, a hand pressed on your lover’s chest to feel the relaxed beats of his heart as you slowly drift into a well-deserved sleep, the worries and doubts fading away into the back of your mind when you hear him say those four words that mean more to you than anyone else other than him could imagine.
Once he notice how your breath has slowed down, he clasps his hand around yours, heart overflowing with adoration as he feels the cool touch of the metal on your ring finger, once again reminded how you’re right there, safe and sound in his tender hold— hopefully, for the rest of your lives. You and him against the rest of the world, together until the very lovely end.
The rain pelts down mercilessly tonight, but once again you are at ease, here in your own little safe haven. Away from the worries and away from the doubts.
jjunie baby :( this is so sweet and cute and perfect. i think it’s gonna rain thursday so i’m gonna reread the hell out of this.
i feel like it’s hard to find comfort!txt fics so this was refreshing to find. the rings details and the breathing slowi— oh my god it just hit me that he’s a fiancé too like this is 😭🩷.
but this is so cute and made me relax a little. i’m literally in my first lecture of the day, ignoring my prof’s slides and reblogging on tumblr so i shouldn’t be relaxed yet here i am. (5 minutes later update: she just did a double take and looked me in the eye as she was walking down the isle and when i tell you i was HORRIFIED that she’d ask what i’ve been writing for the past 20 mins LMAOO ironic since i JUST said i was relaxed)
anyways ! this was very lovely op. thank you for writing :)
i’ve been on a channie-coming-home (australia) fluff streak and it’s making me emotionallllshejhdksjs [affectionate].
op pls pls never delete this <3 it lingered in my brain for so long after i first read it. i nearly fainted when i imagined the chan happy giggles after walking into the house —he was so happy ☹️🫶🏼. i’d like to think that chan wanted to watch a ghibli movie because he and han have this lovely attachment to those movies (as do i).
thank you so much for writing this op ! hope you have freshly baked cookies at your doorstep tomorrow morning ^-^
You knew you’d been nagging at Changbin for weeks to take you to the theatre.
You knew that he’d taken time out of his hectic, busy schedule just to take you on this date.
You knew that he’d done it to make you happy, because he loved you. And he was the perfect boyfriend.
But holy shit… this movie was mind-numbingly dull.
Shifting in your seat, you absently reached into the bucket of popcorn on his lap, grabbing a small handful of the snack and popping them one by one into your mouth. Your eyes began to wander from the movie as the other people in the theatre started to draw your attention, presenting themselves as being much more interesting than whatever the hell this utterly unlikeable heroin was talking about on the big screen.
A couple were sat several rows in front of you, minding their own business as they watched.
You admired the girls’ coat… you wondered where she’d got it from. You could use a coat like that with the cold weather that had pricked up lately. Would it be weird to ask her? Yeah… it’d probably be weird. Maybe just Google ‘beige fluffy coat’ when you get home…
this has been my go-to binnie brainrot piece and i always thank whatever midnight tumblr scroll i was on because it lead me to this.
the way this plot unfolds is so nice for my brain to process. the movie theater scene is so hhxbsnshwh (affectionate). i love the details about the sugar factory because … i realized that i simply never thought to imagine a factory of sugar ? the smut is so brainrottingly perfect —lives in my mind rent free. i really do love this, thank you for writing this op !
(btw op i was going to reblog your hyunjin dressing room fic with commentary but i couldn’t find it anymore :( but i really wanted to tell you that i loved that one as well !)
coming home — bang chan. established relationship. fluff. chan surprising you by coming home. could be a part two to ‘one more month’
The plan had been to surprise you.
It’s been months since Chan’s been home, and all the days leading up to him coming back have been spent thinking about how much he’d like to hold you and kiss you without the restrictions of his work. He hates having to leave you. Hell, it’s always been the hardest part of what he does—saying goodbye to you.
He’d been thinking of all the ways he could be a better boyfriend to you, starting with a dinner reservation at your favorite restaurant, to make up for lost time. Video calls and text messages can only go so far, but they will never be able to replace you when you’re not around. Though, what had not been part of the plan, was for his flight to be pushed back due to a sudden schedule.
Chan supposes he should be grateful, but he finds it hard when all he wants is to make it home to you. The dinner reservation is canceled, and Chan’s flight arrives in Korea at around 2am.
It takes an hour travel before he’s at your doorstep, but the boy doesn’t want to wake you. He doesn’t think he has the heart to, not when you’d admitted to him a few weeks ago how hard sleep had been coming to you. Doesn’t want to disturb you of rest that he knows you desperately need amidst the credits you’re taking for college.
He sighs, taking out his duplicate keys and inserting them in the keyhole, twisting the knob and quietly walking into your apartment. He’s extra careful with his actions, slightly cringing when the door makes a small banging sound at being closed. He hopes it didn’t startle you awake.
Chan undoes the laces of the shoes you’d gifted him on his birthday last year, setting them aside just beside your own pair. He finds himself staring for a second, unknowing smile already forming on his face at the realization that you’re actually here. And in any second, you’ll be back in his arms.
“Chan?”
Nothing could’ve prepared him for the sight he’s subjected to. He supposes the slight banging of your door had woken you up, because now you’re standing in front of him, eyes still adjusting with a small yawn threatening to escape. He doesn’t think you’re fully awake yet, and Chan would’ve lunged to embrace you had you not looked so gentle and confused.
“Hi baby.” He can’t hide his smile anymore, not that he was trying to in the first place. He’s smiling in that lovesick way, eyes crinkling like crescents and cheeks growing more and more prominent when he notices the realization slowly dripping color on your face.
“Oh my god. You’re home.” Your eyes are a little wider now, staring at his eyes, his nose, his lips. You’re trying to decipher whether you’re still dreaming, but it’s impossible to draw that conclusion when he’s inching closer and closer to where you are, slipping his black backpack on the floor in favor of wrapping his arms around you. “Channie, I’ve missed you so much.”
Chan can’t seem to respond, not when he’s finally fully engulfed in you—the scent of your shampoo, your warmth from having been under the covers not long ago, your skin. Your apartment, and everything about you. So potently you. He hugs you for as long as possible, so much so that you notice a glimpse of his dyed hair tucked under the beanie he always wears.
“Have to shower. Go get warm under the covers again, hm?”
“But—”
“I’ll be back before you know.” Chan presses a sweet kiss on your lips, and he almost crumbles. He’ll kiss you better when you’re wrapped up in his arms a few minutes from now. And true to his word, he does come back in the blink of an eye, and you watch in fondness as he positions himself beside you under the covers, arms scooping you to lay down on him.
“Love you.” He whispers, eyes drifting to your face. He always does this when he’s with you, always so captivated by you and everything about you. You’re just so familiar, and it feels good to be coming back home to you. “Missed you a lot.”
“Will you stay?” You ask. Almost hopeful.
“Mhm.” He hums. “I’m staying, baby.”
It’s so easy to sleep with Chan next to you. You feel sorry for the way you drift back to sleep, but he doesn’t mind at all. His attention is still on you, and his heart twitches at how beautiful you are, and how there is never any pressure to be anything when he’s with you.
And he stays. He stays with his palms pressed on your back, and his lips placing gentle kisses on your face for a few minutes before he falls asleep. And he continues to stay when you wake up with his mouth finding yours. Chan stays, and he doesn’t plan to leave anytime soon.
this is so cute i’m in tears :( <3 the most perfect channie daydream fuel
i love the way the reunion goes about. i love the details of the shoes (tears down my face). this is just so cute, i miss feeling warm and fuzzy after reading fluff. psst, op, this has been my recent go to dream-that-i-use-to-attempt-to-sleep. thanks for writing this <3
for the life of me i can’t muster up any desire to read this required book for my lit class but i can somehow crack open tumblr and read a 12.2k oneshot of a member from a group i don’t stan
