summary: you’re supposed to support your boyfriend behind the camera for his new video shoot. You didn’t expect that it would turn you on so much though…
rating: 18+ (mdni!!)
wc: 2.6k
warnings: smut 18+/rpf!!, unprotected piv, dom!chan, sub!reader, oral (f! receiving), praise, pet names (good girl, my girl etc.), squirting, established relationship, sex in a public place (they don’t lock the door yall), aftercare ofc bc who doesn’t want to be held by this gorgeous man omfg
a/n: no words guys. everything about the video and the new album is perfect and delicious. my fav track deffo is creed and ceremony and BLEEP GUYS AHHHH💳💥 oh and I got so many new ideas so stay tuned my dudes :)
- masterlist
The stadium lights were blinding, even from the safety of your spot behind the cameras. Rows of extras filled the stands, red and white placards flashing in carefully choreographed waves. A brass band boomed from the tunnel, the metallic notes sharp and commanding, and the director barked orders like a general leading an army.
But none of that mattered, not really.
Because your eyes were glued to him.
Chan stood dead center on the artificial turf, head tilted slightly as he waited for the cue. He was dressed in a long, red vinyl coat that caught every glimmer of the overhead floodlights, the glossy material making him look untouchable. His hair was slicked back, sharp lines accentuating his face. He wasn’t just your boyfriend right now—he was Bang Chan, leader of Stray Kids, all sharp focus and commanding presence.
And God, he looked so good.
You shifted uncomfortably on your chair, biting the inside of your cheek as you tried not to squirm. It wasn’t the first time you’d watched him film, but something about this concept—the stadium, the roar of the crowd, that coat—made your chest tighten and your thighs press together.
“Alright, reset positions! Chan, remember the camera will pan in close when you turn. Make it sharp, precise.”
“Got it,” he replied, voice low, steady, professional.
You melted a little. That tone—it wasn’t for you, but it still did dangerous things to your body.
As the cameras started rolling again, Chan’s expression shifted. Gone was the easy, affectionate boyfriend who kissed your forehead in the mornings and nagged you about eating enough. On the field stood someone else entirely. His movements were crisp, deliberate, radiating dominance. When the spotlight hit his face, his jaw tightened, and his gaze sliced straight through the lens with a confidence that made you shiver.
Your hand fumbled for your water bottle, throat suddenly dry. Focus. You’re just here to watch. Be supportive. But your body betrayed you, heat curling low in your stomach with every snap of his shoulders, every sharp tilt of his chin.
“Cut! Perfect. Take five.”
Relief and dread collided in your chest as Chan broke character, exhaling deeply before rolling his shoulders. He glanced up toward the sidelines, eyes scanning until they found you. His lips curved into the faintest smile, small enough that no one else would notice. Just for you.
You waved awkwardly, forcing yourself to look casual, like you hadn’t just been imagining how it would feel to have him pin you against the nearest wall in that stupid coat.
He jogged over, sweat glistening at his temples, chest rising and falling with the effort of performing under the heavy fabric.
“You okay?” he asked, voice gentler now, softer. “You’ve been really quiet.”
You blinked at him, heart hammering. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… watching.”
His brow furrowed slightly, eyes scanning your face. “You look flushed. Are you too warm in here?”
If only he knew.
“I’m fine,” you repeated quickly, tugging your hoodie tighter around yourself. You prayed the stadium lights masked the pink on your cheeks.
Chan didn’t push, but the knowing glint in his eyes made your stomach flip. He reached out and brushed his knuckles against your arm, subtle enough that it looked like nothing more than a casual touch. To you, it burned.
“They want me back in five. You’ll wait here?”
“Yeah,” you said, almost too fast.
He smiled, the kind that melted every thought from your brain, and jogged back to the set.
As you watched him take his place again, your thighs pressed together without conscious thought. The ache between them was insistent now, impossible to ignore. And when he looked directly into the camera with that commanding gaze, a shiver tore down your spine.
This is going to kill me, you thought, burying your face in your hands.
The shoot dragged on longer than expected. Take after take, Chan poured himself into the performance, every movement sharper than the last. He commanded the field, coat flaring behind him like the cape of a general leading his army. Each time he snapped his head toward the camera, your breath caught like you were the one under his command.
By the time the director finally called a break, your nerves were stretched taut. Your thighs ached from how tightly you’d been pressing them together, and your palms were clammy from clutching your water bottle too hard.
Chan jogged off the turf, chest rising and falling with effort. He was flushed, sweat making his hair stick slightly to his forehead, and he looked dangerous. Powerful. Untouchable.
Until his eyes found you.
“Babe,” he murmured, slipping into your space the way he always did, as if the whole noisy set didn’t exist around you. He tugged at his gloves, peeling them off with a snap before tossing them onto a nearby chair. “You’re awfully quiet today.”
You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice even. “Just watching.”
His brows lifted. “Mhm. Watching, huh?”
He stepped closer, close enough that the faint scent of sweat and cologne wrapped around you. His coat creaked as he moved, glossy fabric brushing against your arm.
“You know,” he said, dropping his voice low enough that only you could hear, “you’ve had your eyes on me the whole time. Thought I wouldn’t notice?”
Heat rushed up your neck. “I was paying attention to the performance—”
“Were you?” His lips curved, soft and teasing, but his gaze pinned you in place. “Because it kinda looked like you were ready to eat me alive from the sidelines.”
Your jaw fell open, words tangled in your throat. He chuckled, low and warm, and reached up to gently brush his thumb along your cheek.
“God, you’re flushed,” he murmured. “You really like this, don’t you? Me dressed like this… all serious.”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. He didn’t push for an answer, just let the silence hang, his smirk widening as your pulse hammered in your throat.
Then, mercifully—or cruelly—one of the staff called his name. “Chan, back on set!”
He glanced over his shoulder, then back at you, eyes glinting with mischief. “Guess I’ve gotta go. Don’t move.”
Before you could respond, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your jaw, feather-light but scorching, then turned and jogged back toward the field.
You sat frozen in place, your skin buzzing where his lips had touched. Your whole body throbbed with restless energy, every nerve tuned to him.
From the sidelines, you watched as he slipped effortlessly back into leader mode, coat flaring as he took his mark. The extras cheered on cue, the brass band blaring—but all you could hear was the echo of his voice in your ear.
You really like this, don’t you? And God help you, he was right.
The shoot finally wrapped hours later, the director satisfied after endless takes. Staff scurried around collecting props, extras filed out of the stands, and the brass band packed their instruments. The chaos dulled to a low hum, but your heart was still racing like you’d run laps around the stadium.
Chan, coat still draped over his broad shoulders, made a quick exit from the field. He murmured something to a staff member, but his eyes found you almost instantly. His jaw clenched. The look in his gaze sent a sharp jolt through you.
“Come with me.”
You barely had time to answer before his hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you down the corridor toward the dressing rooms. His grip was firm, not painful—just enough to remind you he was in control.
The moment the dressing room door shut behind you, Chan’s mouth was on yours.
His body pressed you against the cool wood, that red vinyl coat creaking with every movement. His kiss was hungry but careful—like he’d been starving for hours and was finally allowed a taste.
“God, baby,” he groaned between kisses, his hand sliding up your thigh, “you drove me insane out there. Sitting there all pretty, looking at me like that…” His lips brushed your ear. “You really don’t know what you do to me, do you?”
You gasped as his hand slipped between your legs, cupping you over your jeans. He groaned at how hot you were already.
“Fuck, you’re soaked through already. My perfect girl, always ready for me.”
Before you could beg, he was tugging your jeans down your legs, dropping to his knees in front of you. The sight of Bang Chan—your boyfriend, leader of Stray Kids, still in that ridiculous, powerful coat—kneeling like he was about to pray at your altar, made your breath hitch.
He pressed a kiss to your hip. “Let me taste you, yeah? Been thinking about this all night.”
You nodded frantically, already trembling, and he wasted no time. His hands hooked behind your thighs, pulling you close, and his mouth latched onto your core.
“Chan—fuck!” Your head fell back against the door as his tongue dragged through your folds, slow at first, then faster as he found the rhythm that made your knees shake. He moaned against you, the sound vibrating through your body.
“You taste so good,” he murmured, voice wrecked as he pulled back just to breathe. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever had.”
Then he dove back in, tongue curling around your clit, sucking just enough to make your legs tremble. His grip on your thighs was firm, holding you steady as you bucked against his face.
“That’s it, baby. Ride me. Take what you need.”
You were a mess already, grinding against his mouth, your hands in his hair, tugging as he worked you closer and closer. The sounds—his slurping, your whimpers, the wet obscene mess—filled the small room.
“C-Chan, I’m—”
“Do it,” he urged, pulling back just enough to look up at you with hooded eyes. His lips glistened, his chin slick with your arousal. “Come for me, baby. Wanna feel you fall apart on my tongue. Be my good girl.”
The words tipped you over. You cried out, thighs clamping around his head as you came hard, your release spilling over his tongue. He groaned, licking you through it, swallowing every drop like he couldn’t get enough.
He pulled back finally, panting, lips swollen, chin glistening. “So good for me. So pretty when you come.” He kissed the inside of your thigh tenderly before standing, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “But I’m not nearly done with you.”
Before you could catch your breath, he turned you around, pressing your chest against the door again. You gasped as he pushed your legs apart with his knee, lining himself up behind you.
“You ready for me, baby?” he whispered, pressing his cock against your soaked folds.
“Yes—please, Chan, I need it—”
“That’s my girl.” He pushed in slowly at first, stretching you wide until he bottomed out. Both of you moaned at the feeling, his forehead pressing to your shoulder. “Fuck, you’re perfect. Always so perfect for me.”
Then he started moving—rough, hard thrusts that made the door rattle in its frame. His hand snaked around to your front, fingers finding your clit instantly.
“Take it, baby. Take all of me.”
The sound of his hips slamming into you echoed, mixed with your cries and the wet, messy slap of skin on skin. You were already shaking, your release building again alarmingly fast.
“Chan—I can’t—”
“You can, sweetheart. You’re so strong for me. Let go. Give it to me.”
And you did. You came harder than before, your whole body convulsing as liquid gushed down your thighs. Chan groaned loudly, hips stuttering at the sudden wetness.
“Fuck—look at that. My baby just squirted all over me. So messy. So perfect.” He didn’t stop, pounding you through it, your slick splattering down both your thighs and his. “God, I love you like this.”
He pulled out suddenly, spinning you around, lifting you like you weighed nothing, and setting you on the low makeup counter. His cock glistened with your release as he slid back in, deeper now, your legs spread wide for him.
“Gonna fill you up now, baby,” he whispered against your lips, his thrusts hard but loving. “Want you dripping with me. Wanna see it running down your thighs.”
You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, crying out his name over and over as he fucked you senseless. His coat flared around you both, the vinyl squeaking with every movement.
“Such a good girl. Taking me so well. You’re mine, yeah? Always mine.”
“Yes—yours—always—”
That broke him. With a strangled groan, he buried himself deep, spilling inside you. You felt him twitch and pulse, warmth flooding you as he held you close, whispering praises against your neck.
“Perfect. My perfect girl. Always so good for me. I love you so much.”
When he finally pulled back, his release spilled out of you, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor. He watched it with a dark, satisfied smile, then cupped your cheek gently.
“Messy,” he murmured, kissing you softly, “but so fucking beautiful. My messy, perfect girl.”
You laughed weakly, chest heaving as he wrapped you in his arms, the glossy red coat creaking around you both.
The room was silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing, the faint creak of his coat as he held you against his chest. Both of you were drenched—sweat, cum, the mess of everything you’d just done—and your legs trembled as if they couldn’t hold you up another second.
Chan pressed a kiss to your temple, still catching his breath. His hands, though shaky, were gentle as they slid down your sides.
“You okay, baby?” he whispered, his voice soft again—nothing like the commanding growl he’d used minutes ago.
You nodded against his chest, too dazed to form words yet. He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
“My good girl,” he murmured, kissing your forehead. “You did so well for me. So beautiful. So perfect.”
Leaning over, he grabbed a box of tissues from the counter.
“Hold still for me,” he said gently. He crouched between your legs, dabbing tenderly at your thighs, wiping away the sticky mess with patient care. Each time you flinched, he murmured an apology, pressing soft kisses to your skin as he worked.
“There we go,” he said after a moment, tossing the tissues aside. He grabbed a clean towel from the corner of the dressing room, dampening it with water from a bottle, and returned to you. “Gonna make you comfortable, love. Just relax.”
He cleaned you thoroughly, not rushing, his touch reverent. When he was done, he pressed one last kiss to the inside of your knee before standing again.
“Arms around me, baby.”
You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he lifted you effortlessly off the counter, carrying you bridal-style to the small couch against the wall. He sat down with you in his lap, tugging his coat around both of you like a blanket.
You buried your face in his neck, sighing at the warmth and safety of his hold. He stroked your back slowly, pressing soft kisses into your hair.
“I love you,” he whispered. “More than anything. Thank you for trusting me like that.”
Your heart swelled, tears pricking your eyes as you tightened your hold around him. “I love you too, Chris. So much.”
He smiled against your skin, rocking you gently. “That’s my girl. My everything.”
The set noise outside faded into nothing, the world shrinking until it was just the two of you—safe, tangled together in the afterglow.
And in that quiet, wrapped up in his coat and his arms, you realized there was nowhere else you’d rather be.
a/n: this is dedicated to my hg @psyduck18 again bc she’s my biggest fan and supporter 🫶🏻 likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated <3
warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST, this vid i saw on insta, emotions asf, self doubt, reader being a super sweet supporting gf, fluff in the end
a/n: I recommend listening to black friday by tom odell for this since I kinda took it as inspo 🫶🏻 also this is not proof read bc I just typed it down like a madman okay 😭✋
The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Chris sat on the couch with his laptop open, silver hair falling into his eyes, catching the glow of the soft lamp by the window. His leg bounced anxiously, fingers drumming against his thigh in a rhythm you recognized all too well. He always did that when he was restless, when the weight of everything felt too heave to keep inside.
Tonight wasn’t just another night. In just a few hours, the world would see and hear Karma.
You leaned against the doorframe, watching him. “If you keep shaking your leg like that, the whole building’s gonna feel it,” you teased lightly, but your voice was gentle, careful not to pop the fragile bubble around him.
He glanced up, a faint, fleeting smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I’m just… yeah.”
Crossing the room, you dropped down beside him on the couch. His laptop screen was paused on a frame from the final music video—Ceremony. The shadows carved sharp lines across his face on screen, the bleachers behind him making the image almost too intense.
“Finished?” you asked, nodding toward the screen.
He nodded stiffly. “Final cut. This is it.”
You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Then let me see. I want to watch it with you.”
For a second, his hesitation flickered across his face—but then he pressed play.
The room filled with sound, the sharp beat pounding from the laptop speakers. You watched, captivated, as the screen shifted from one member to another. Their choreography was brutal, precise, every movement edged with intensity. The visuals were stunning, each frame carrying the weight of months of work.
But your eyes kept drifting to him. To Chris.
You noticed it almost immediately. Every time the camera landed on him, his smile faltered—not in real life, but beside you, watching himself. His lips pressed into a thin line, shoulders stiffening as though bracing for impact. The first time, you thought maybe you imagined it. The second time, you frowned. By the third, it was impossible to ignore.
The MV ended, the final note echoing through the room before silence settled. You turned to him, but he was already closing the laptop, movements sharp, almost defensive.
“Chris,” you said softly.
His jaw worked, teeth digging into the inside of his cheek. He didn’t meet your eyes. “It’s fine.”
“Don’t,” you whispered. You reached out, fingers brushing his arm. “I saw it. Every time your part came on, you…” You trailed off, searching for the right words.
He let out a sharp exhale, finally looking at you. His eyes were darker than usual, the silver strands of his hair falling into his face. “I just… I don’t like it.”
“Don’t like what?”
“Me,” he snapped before he could stop himself. His voice cracked, and he immediately looked away, ashamed. “I don’t like the way I look. The way I sound. The way I—” His hand jerked through his hair, frustration spilling over. “I don’t know how people can watch that and think I belong next to them. The others look so—so powerful, so sharp, and then there’s me. Just… me.”
Your chest ached.
“Chris…” You shifted closer, but he shook his head, laughless and bitter.
“You don’t get it. Every time I see myself, it’s like—like the whole thing drops a level. Everyone else elevates it, and I drag it down. I can’t even watch it without feeling sick. I keep thinking, what if the fans see it too? What if they finally realize I’m not enough?” His voice cracked again, lower this time, almost a whisper. “What if they realize they’d be better off without me?”
The words hit like a punch to your ribs. You grabbed his hand before he could pull away, holding on tight. “Don’t you dare say that.”
His eyes finally met yours, glassy with unshed tears.
“You’ve carried this group on your back for years,” you said, voice trembling but firm. “Do you know how much they look up to you? How much they trust you? They don’t see weakness when they look at you, Chris—they see their leader. Their brother. Their anchor. And when I look at you—” Your throat tightened, but you pushed through. “When I look at you, I don’t see someone who drags anything down. I see the man I love, who pours every piece of himself into everything he does. You are the heart of this group. Without you, there is no ceremony. There is no Karma. There is no Stray Kids.”
He blinked rapidly, a single tear sliding down his cheek. He tried to laugh it off, but it cracked halfway out of his chest. “You always know what to say, huh?”
“Because I know you,” you whispered. Your hand cupped his face, thumb brushing away the tear. “I know you better than you know yourself sometimes. And I know that you’re more than enough. You’re more than you think you are. You always have been.”
For a long moment, he just stared at you, as if your words were too heavy to carry and too necessary to ignore. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. His breath was shaky, uneven.
“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.
“You deserve the world,” you shot back instantly. “But for now, you’ve got me. And I’m not going anywhere.”
His lips brushed yours—hesitant at first, then desperate, like he needed to anchor himself in you. You kissed him back, pouring everything you couldn’t put into words into that moment: your love, your pride, your certainty that he was more than the doubts chewing at him.
When you pulled away, his silver hair was a soft mess against your fingers, his eyes red but clearer than before.
“Better?” you asked gently.
He gave a small, shaky laugh. “A little. Still nervous as hell, though.”
“Good. It means you care,” you said, pressing another kiss to his temple. “But when this comes out tonight, I want you to remember one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That I’ll be right here, cheering louder than anyone else.” You smiled, brushing his hair back. “No matter what the screen shows you, no matter what your head tries to tell you—you’re brilliant, Chris. And nothing can change that.”
He exhaled slowly, letting the words sink in. And for the first time that night, his smile didn’t fade. It lingered, small but real, soft and just for you.
“Okay,” he whispered, pulling you into his arms. “Okay.”
And as he held you, the storm in his chest quieted—not gone, never fully gone, but muted by the one truth he couldn’t deny: that you believed in him when he couldn’t.
That maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
a/n: bros sorry for the fic spam lately but I have to get these ideas out of my head :o likes and reblogs are appreciated as always :p
summary: a slow and sweet morning with your favorite man in the world <3
rating: 18+ (mdni!!)
wc: ~3.5k
warnings: smut/rpf!!, unprotected piv (wrap it before you tap it), established relationship, fingering, soft dirty talk/praise, pet names (-> baby, my good girl), FLUFF OMFG, aftercare :3 overall just heavy on the fluffy side hehe -> song inspo: from eden by hozier (listening recommended)
a/n: bro idk what going on with my brain but I’m CREATIVE lately it’s actually crazy tf 😶🌫️
- masterlist
The soft glow of morning filtered through the curtains, streaks of gold catching the edges of the duvet where it had slipped low on the bed. The apartment was still and quiet, the city beyond the window muffled in its early hush.
You stirred first, though barely — only enough to shift against the weight of an arm slung lazily around your waist. Your cheek pressed against a bare chest, warm and solid, his heartbeat steady under your ear. Chan’s breath was slow, deep, the kind that said he was still floating on the edge of sleep.
You smiled faintly, not ready to move, not willing to break the calm of a morning like this. His arm tightened instinctively at your smallest shift, pulling you closer as if his body knew better than his mind that you were awake.
“Mm,” he hummed low, a sound more vibration than word. His voice was rough with sleep, the sound of it curling through you like velvet. “Don’t move. Too warm like this.”
Your laugh was soft, barely there. “I wasn’t moving anywhere.”
His lips brushed your hair, then your temple, lazy and uncoordinated but affectionate all the same. “Good. Stay.”
The warmth between you was almost too much beneath the covers, but you didn’t mind. You burrowed in closer, and in doing so you brushed your thigh against his. That’s when you realized just how tangled your bodies were: his chest to your back, his legs folded around yours, his hand sprawled across your stomach, fingertips brushing the hem of your sleep shirt.
And maybe it was the slowness of morning, maybe it was the way he breathed against the back of your neck — but a spark lit in your stomach.
You shifted again, subtly, and Chan’s hand responded. His palm flattened against your stomach, drawing you back more firmly against him. His lips pressed a little more deliberately against your shoulder this time.
“You’re awake,” you teased gently.
“Mmh,” he murmured, voice deeper now. “Can’t really sleep when you keep wriggling like that.”
Your smile curved as his hand slid lower, fingers just toying at the hem of your shirt. He hadn’t opened his eyes yet, but the tension in his arm, the way his thumb brushed slow circles against your skin, betrayed him.
“Morning,” you whispered.
Finally, he shifted, opening his eyes just enough to look at you through the soft fall of his hair. His gaze was heavy-lidded, sleepy but fixed on you, and there was something in it that made your breath hitch.
“Morning,” he answered, his voice low and rough, his accent thicker in the haze of just-waking. He leaned in to kiss you, first at your temple, then turning your chin to meet his mouth.
The kiss was slow, lazy at first. The kind that didn’t rush, that simply lingered in the warmth of shared breath. But then his lips parted, coaxing yours to do the same, and the taste of him — warm and familiar — made you sigh into his mouth.
Chan deepened the kiss with a soft groan, pulling you onto your back with practiced ease. The duvet slipped, pooling around your waist as his hand came up to cup your cheek. His thumb stroked across your skin, tender even as his mouth claimed yours with more urgency.
You threaded your fingers into his messy hair, still tousled from sleep. The strands fell between your fingers, and you tugged lightly just to hear the way his breath hitched. He smirked against your lips, one of those smiles you could feel more than see.
“You’re dangerous in the morning,” you teased, pulling back only slightly.
His forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “I think you mean irresistible.”
Your laugh was cut off when he kissed you again, this time slower, deeper, the kind that made the world outside the bed disappear completely. His body pressed down against yours, heat radiating from every point of contact.
His hand trailed from your cheek down your neck, over your collarbone, lingering at the hem of your shirt again. He glanced at you, eyes darker now, silently asking.
You nodded, heart thudding. “Chan…”
He exhaled softly, a sound half relief, half desire, and slid his hand beneath the fabric, fingers tracing the curve of your waist. The touch was tender at first, more exploration than urgency, but the way his thumb brushed higher each pass set your skin alight.
The room was filled with nothing but the rustle of sheets, the slide of his hand against your skin, and the soft, needy sound you couldn’t hold back when his lips left your mouth to trail down your jaw.
“Already so warm for me,” he murmured against your throat, voice low and reverent. He kissed just beneath your ear, slow, lingering, and then nipped gently.
Your fingers curled into his hair again, your back arching when his hand slid higher still. His lips moved lower, down your throat, his breath feathering against the hollow there before he kissed you again — softer, gentler, like he was worshiping every inch of skin.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His gaze softened even as the heat there burned.
“Let me take care of you,” he whispered.
And with the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that existed in the world, you knew there was no way you could refuse.
Chan’s words lingered in the air — let me take care of you — and you felt them as much as you heard them. His lips hovered over yours, waiting, and when you nodded, he kissed you again, deeper this time, a rush of heat and tenderness wrapped together.
His hand slipped fully under your shirt, warm palm pressing against your stomach before sliding upward, cupping you with a deliberate slowness that made your breath catch. He groaned softly against your lips as if the feel of you beneath his touch was enough to undo him.
“You’re so soft,” he murmured, brushing his thumb lazily over the swell of your breast. His voice was husky, rough with sleep and want. “So perfect under my hands.”
The praise made your skin prickle, your body arching into him without thinking. You whispered his name, and that was all it took for him to push the shirt higher, until it bunched just below your collarbone.
His mouth left yours to trail down your neck again, and this time his hand worked in tandem, teasing circles, pinching lightly, then soothing the sting with his palm. He watched your face when his lips closed around your nipple through the thin fabric, sucking lightly, and your gasp had him smirking against you.
“Already reacting so beautifully,” he murmured, pushing the shirt higher so he could give the same attention bare. His tongue swirled, slow and deliberate, his teeth grazing before he soothed with kisses. Each reaction from you made his own body shift restlessly against yours.
You slid your leg between his, feeling the hard press of him through his boxers, and his breath stuttered. His hips moved instinctively, grinding down against your thigh, a low groan vibrating in his chest.
“Baby…” He lifted his head, eyes dark, hair falling into his face. “You’re gonna drive me crazy if you keep doing that.”
“Maybe I want to,” you teased, your fingers dragging down his spine.
His answering laugh was breathless, soft but dripping with want. “Oh, you’ll get it for that.”
His hand trailed lower, slipping down your stomach, past your hip, until his fingers pressed over the thin fabric of your panties. He rubbed slowly at first, teasing circles over the heat already gathering there.
The sound you made was muffled against his mouth as he kissed you again, swallowing every whimper as he pressed a little firmer. “Already wet for me,” he groaned, his words broken by shallow breaths. “God, baby… you don’t know what that does to me.”
He pulled back enough to watch your face as his fingers traced along the damp fabric, the friction making your hips jerk up against him. His smirk softened into something more tender, though his eyes still burned. “Feels good?”
“Yes,” you breathed, the word slipping out without thought.
His lips brushed your jaw, your ear, whispering praises with each stroke. “That’s it… let me feel you. Let me make you feel good.”
He shifted lower, his mouth trailing kisses down your chest, your stomach, while his hand continued its steady rhythm against you. The contrast — his warm mouth pressing reverently against your skin while his fingers teased you raw — was almost too much.
When his lips reached the edge of your panties, he looked up at you, pausing only long enough to catch your nod. Then, with a low groan, he hooked a finger under the waistband and pulled them aside, baring you to his touch.
The first slide of his fingers against your bare heat had you clutching at his shoulders, your gasp filling the room. He watched you, his own breath uneven, as he rubbed slow, deliberate circles, dipping just enough to spread the wetness along his strokes.
“Baby, you’re soaking,” he said, almost reverent, his voice breaking around the words. He pressed his forehead to your hip for a moment, steadying himself, before dragging a finger slowly up your slit, lingering at your clit until your back arched.
Your moan had him kissing the inside of your thigh, murmuring against your skin, “So sensitive… I could do this all morning, just feel you.”
His words, his touch, his gaze — all of it combined until you were writhing beneath him, chasing his fingers without shame. He teased you mercilessly, slipping one finger inside, slow and careful, while his thumb circled your clit. The stretch made you gasp, and the way his eyes locked on yours, filled with nothing but love and hunger, had you unraveling already.
“Chan—” His name fell from your lips like a prayer, and he kissed you again, swallowing it as his finger pumped gently inside, curling just enough to make your toes curl.
“That’s it, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “Let me hear you. Let me know how good I make you feel.”
Your hips bucked against his hand, chasing more, and his grin turned wicked. He added another finger, the stretch delicious, his thumb never leaving its steady rhythm. His free hand cupped your cheek, grounding you in his touch even as he pushed you closer to the edge.
Every brush, every curl of his fingers inside you, every circle over your clit sent sparks through your body. You buried your face in his neck, gasping against his skin, and he shivered at the feel of your breath there.
“You’re shaking for me,” he murmured, his voice breaking as his own hips ground against your thigh again. “God, I love you like this.”
Your release was building, a fire curling tight in your stomach, and Chan knew — he always knew. His rhythm grew more focused, his lips on yours again, drinking down every moan.
“Come for me, baby,” he whispered against your mouth, his words almost a plea. “Let me feel it.”
Your body tightened around his fingers, every nerve alight as Chan coaxed you toward the edge with deliberate care. His mouth never left yours, swallowing your broken sounds, whispering encouragement between every kiss. When your climax hit, it was sharp and consuming, your hips jerking against his hand as your cry spilled into his mouth.
“Good girl,” he groaned against your lips, slowing his rhythm just enough to help you ride it out. “That’s it… let go for me.”
You trembled, clutching at his shoulders as the waves washed through you, leaving you breathless. Chan kissed you through it, soft and slow now, easing you back into yourself. When your body finally stilled, he pulled his fingers free, slick and glistening, and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.
But the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t done.
His chest heaved as he hovered above you, his boxers tented, the strain of his arousal evident in every flex of his jaw. “Baby,” he rasped, brushing your hair back from your face, “I need to be inside you. Right now.”
The raw honesty in his voice made your stomach flip. You cupped his cheek, whispering, “Then do it.”
He groaned at your words, kissing you hard before pulling back just enough to shove his boxers down. The sight of him, thick and flushed, made your breath hitch. He caught the look in your eyes and smirked softly, though his expression softened almost immediately.
“You sure?” he asked, even now, his thumb stroking your cheek like the most important thing wasn’t his need but your comfort.
“I want you,” you whispered, tugging him closer. “Always.”
That was all he needed. With a low, broken sound, he lined himself up and slowly pressed into you. The stretch stole your breath, your nails digging lightly into his back as your body accommodated him.
Chan’s forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged. “Fuck… you feel incredible. So tight around me.”
You gasped his name, clutching him closer as he buried himself fully inside. He stilled, his chest heaving, letting you adjust. His hand came down to lace with yours, fingers locking tight. “Tell me when,” he whispered, his voice shaking with restraint.
You squeezed his hand, nodded, and whispered, “Move, Channie.”
The groan he let out was deep and guttural, his hips pulling back before pushing in again, slow and deliberate. The drag of him was almost unbearable, pleasure sparking through you with every thrust. He set a rhythm that was unhurried but powerful, every roll of his hips grounding you in the moment.
Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he hissed through his teeth, his lips falling to your neck. “You’re going to ruin me, baby. I swear.”
Every thrust was paired with a kiss — your jaw, your lips, your collarbone — as though he needed to worship every part of you while he lost himself in your body. You clung to him, your moans mixing with his groans, the sound of skin against skin filling the quiet morning air.
“Chan— harder,” you gasped, desperation bleeding into your voice.
His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and hungry, before he obeyed. His thrusts grew sharper, deeper, the force making your back arch and your breath catch. He growled softly against your mouth, “Is that what you need? My good girl wants it rougher?”
“Yes,” you moaned, the word tumbling out without hesitation.
The shift in him was instant. His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with precision that made stars burst behind your eyes. His hand found your thigh, hitching it higher around his waist to sink even deeper.
The pleasure was overwhelming, each thrust dragging you closer to the edge again. He could feel it — he always could. His thumb slipped between your bodies, pressing against your clit with perfect rhythm, and you cried out his name.
“That’s it,” he groaned, his face twisted with need and adoration all at once. “Come with me, baby. Let me feel you.”
The heat in your stomach coiled tight, snapping suddenly as you came undone beneath him. Your body clamped around him, trembling violently as your release washed over you. The sensation dragged a raw groan from Chan’s throat, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own end.
“Fuck—” he gasped, burying himself deep inside you, his body shuddering as he spilled into you with a guttural moan. He held you close, chest pressed to chest, as he rode out the waves of his climax, murmuring broken praises into your ear.
When silence finally settled, broken only by your uneven breaths, he didn’t move away. He stayed inside you, still catching his breath, his lips brushing soft, reverent kisses against your cheek.
“God, I love you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but tender. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”
Your heart swelled, tears pricking your eyes at the softness in his words. You kissed him, slow and lingering, tasting every ounce of love in the way he kissed back.
Eventually, he eased out of you with a soft groan, wincing at the loss of contact. He slipped out of bed only long enough to grab a warm cloth from the bathroom, returning to clean you gently, his hands tender and careful. He pressed a kiss to your knee, your stomach, your forehead as he worked, murmuring, “You okay, baby? Did I push too hard?”
You shook your head quickly, pulling him down to you. “I’m perfect. Because of you.”
His smile softened, relief flooding his expression as he crawled back into bed and pulled you into his arms. The duvet came up around both of you, cocooning you in warmth. He held you close, his chin resting atop your head, his hand tracing lazy circles on your back.
For a long moment, you lay there in silence, the morning light spilling gently across tangled sheets, his heartbeat steady under your ear.
“Stay like this all day,” you whispered drowsily.
His chuckle was low, affectionate. “I’d cancel everything in the world to do that.”
“Promise?”
He tilted your chin up, kissing you softly — the kind of kiss that wasn’t rushed, that spoke of forever. “Promise. Always.”
You fell asleep like that, tangled in him, safe in his arms, knowing that with Chan, mornings would always feel like this: golden, warm, and filled with love.
a/n: thank u for reading <3 this is dedicated to @psyduck18 and @gigisarchives 🫶🏻 interactions are as always much appreciated! (pls send me requests omg)
summary: his new hair color just makes your knees weak and mouth watering…
rating: 18+ (mdni!)
wc: ~ 2.1k
warnings: smut 18+/rpf! (don’t like it, don’t read it), dom!chan, sub!reader, chan with this fucking silver hair needs a warning of its own, oral (m!rec), face fucking (?), choking, unprotected piv (wrap it before you tap it!), reader is so cockdrunk bc I’m a whore, lmk if I missed something <3
a/n: guys I can’t stop looking at him fr he’s so BEAUTIFUL 😔✋ this wasn’t even supposed to be published but @psyduck18 told me to post it. Pls remember English isn’t my first language!!
The apartment door clicked open, and you looked up from where you were leaning against the kitchen island with a drink in hand.
“Hey, you’re—” The words died in your throat.
Chan stepped inside, tossing his keys on the counter, and your jaw practically dropped. His hair — new, bold, catching the light in a way that made your chest tighten — transformed him completely. He already carried himself with an effortless kind of confidence, but this? This was unfair.
“Holy shit,” you breathed before you could stop yourself.
He smirked, tugging his jacket off. “What?”
“Your hair.”
“What about it?” he asked, pretending to be casual as he ran his fingers through it.
You swallowed, heat crawling up your neck. “It’s… hot.”
Chan‘s grin widened, predatory. He crossed the kitchen slowly, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. “Hot, huh? You’re looking at me like you want to eat me alive.”
You bit your lip, trying to look anywhere but at him, but when he stopped right in front of you, caging you against the counter with his body, you couldn’t help but glance up. His hair caught the light again, and you felt your thighs press together involuntarily.
“Fuck,” he chuckled, low and dark. “You’re already wet, aren’t you?”
“I—”
He tilted your chin up with two fingers, smirking at the dazed look in your eyes. “That’s a yes.”
Your pride faltered, your body betraying you as heat pooled low in your stomach. Desperate, you slid your hands to his waistband, tugging lightly. “Can I…?” you asked breathlessly, voice cracking.
His brow arched, amused. “You want my cock that bad already?”
You nodded quickly. “Please.”
That was all the permission he needed. He leaned back against the counter, undoing his belt with deliberate slowness while never breaking eye contact. “Get on your knees, baby.”
Your pulse jumped. You sank down obediently, the cool tiles against your knees grounding you as you looked up at him. He freed himself from his jeans, already thick and heavy in his hand, the sight alone making your mouth water.
“Open up,” he ordered softly.
You parted your lips, letting him guide the head against your tongue. He groaned the moment you wrapped your lips around him, the sound raw and needy.
“Fuck, look at you,” he praised, his hand brushing your cheek before sliding into your hair. “So pretty with my cock in your mouth.”
You hummed around him, taking him deeper, and his grip on your hair tightened. The sound of your gag when he pushed further made him groan again.
“That’s it, baby. Take it. I know you can.”
You pulled back for a breath, licking along his shaft with messy determination, before sinking down again. His praise only spurred you on.
“Good girl,” he murmured, voice rough. “Sucking me so good, drooling all over yourself for me. Fuck, I love that messy mouth.”
You hollowed your cheeks, trying to give him everything, but Chan wasn’t content to just let you work. His hand fisted tighter in your hair, controlling your pace, guiding your head down until you gagged again.
“God, listen to you choke on me,” he groaned, hips rolling into your mouth. “My perfect little slut. You love it when I fuck your throat, don’t you?”
Tears pricked your eyes as you tried to nod, choked sounds vibrating around him. He hissed at the sensation.
“That’s my girl. Taking me so well. Look at you — my perfect cockslut.”
Your arousal spiked at the filth spilling from his mouth. Between his rough grip and the praise, you were dripping. You reached down with one hand, rubbing your thighs together in search of relief, but he noticed instantly.
“Ah, ah,” he scolded, pulling you off his cock with a wet pop. A string of spit connected your lips to his length, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. His hand cupped your chin, tilting your tear-streaked face up. “Don’t touch yourself. You only come when I say so.”
The command sent a shiver through you. “Yes, C-Chan.”
His eyes darkened at the obedience, and he yanked you to your feet in one swift motion, spinning you so your back hit the kitchen island. He kissed you hard, tongue forcing past your lips, the taste of himself mixing with your own spit.
“Fuck, you’re so hot when you’re desperate,” he groaned, lifting you onto the counter in one motion. Your shorts and panties were yanked down roughly, discarded on the floor.
Chan stepped between your thighs, cock still glistening with your saliva, and dragged the head through your wet folds. You gasped, clutching the counter behind you.
“Messy mouth, messy cunt,” he growled. “You were made for me.”
“Please,” you begged, almost incoherent with need.
“Please what?” he demanded, teasing your entrance but not pushing in.
“Please fuck me, Channie—I need it.”
His groan was guttural, and then he slammed into you in one rough thrust. You cried out, nails digging into the counter as he filled you completely.
“Shit, baby,” he rasped, pausing for a second to savor the tight heat. “You’re so fucking perfect. Taking me like the good girl you are.”
He didn’t give you time to adjust. His hips snapped forward, setting a brutal pace, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the kitchen. Each thrust drove you back into the counter, the edge biting into your skin, but the pleasure was overwhelming.
“Look at you,” he panted, one hand gripping your throat lightly as he fucked you harder. “Mouth full of my cock one second, now dripping all over me the next. You love this, don’t you?”
“Yes!” you gasped, tears pricking again. “I love it, I love it when you use me—”
“That’s my perfect girl,” he groaned, fucking into you deeper. His other hand found your clit, rubbing in tight circles that had you sobbing. “You sound so pretty when you’re falling apart for me.”
Your body clenched around him, orgasm building fast. “Chan—I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” he ordered harshly. “Come for me. Make a mess on my cock.”
You shattered with a cry, thighs trembling as your release washed over you. He groaned, thrusting through your orgasm, the wet sounds only spurring him on.
“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so good,” he snarled. “I’m gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna fuck my cum so deep inside you.”
“Yes—please,” you begged, voice broken.
His thrusts grew frantic, rougher, until with a guttural moan he buried himself deep, spilling hot inside you. The warmth filled you, dripping down your thighs as he rode out his orgasm with sharp thrusts.
For a moment, the kitchen was filled only with the sound of your ragged breaths. Chan leaned over you, pressing his forehead to yours, his tone soft now.
“You were incredible,” he whispered, brushing your hair back tenderly. “So perfect for me. Always my good girl.”
He kissed you gently, the softness stark against the filth of just moments ago. When he pulled back, he smirked at the sight of you, wrecked and dripping on the counter.
“Next time,” he murmured, “I’m fucking your throat until you come without me even touching your pussy.”
Your whimper was all the answer he needed.
a/n: pls lmk what you think and reqs are always open (I’ll try to answer them if I can!!)
📱 in which you've only been together for a month or two but a small act of service makes them want to drop on one knee.
warnings– nothing but men who are down bad for their girls <3
a/n– don't get used to the daily posts pls, I have a week off and got time on my hands rn :') | started a taglist so if you wanne be on it, feel free to ask!
Summary: You wake Chan with your mouth on him, a morning surprise that leaves him gasping
The first thing you noticed when your eyes fluttered open was the sunlight sneaking in through the half-drawn curtains, painting the bedroom in a soft golden glow. The second thing was the warmth at your side—the steady rise and fall of Chan’s chest, his arm slung over your waist, heavy and protective even in sleep.
He looked peaceful like this, lips parted just slightly, hair messy from the night before. You loved him at every hour of the day, but there was something about mornings that made you ache for him in a way you could never quite explain. Maybe it was the way his voice sounded raspy, or how his body ran hot under the sheets, or simply the fact that you had him to yourself before the world barged in.
You shifted carefully, watching his features in silence. His lashes fluttered a little, though he didn’t wake. The corner of your lips tugged into a smile. He deserved to sleep in after how hard he’d been working, but your body betrayed you—heat pooling low in your stomach, eyes drawn down to the outline pressing faintly against the sheets.
Biting your lip, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. He didn’t stir. Another kiss, lower this time, on his chest. Your fingers brushed across his abs, tracing the faint ridges. The small sound he let out in his sleep went straight to your core.
You hesitated, just for a second, wondering if you should really go through with what was swirling in your head. But then you remembered all the times he had spoiled you selflessly, all the ways he always put you first. This morning, you wanted to flip that balance—wake him in the best way possible.
Slowly, you slipped out from under his arm. The blanket slid down with you, exposing more of his bare torso. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, waistband loose from the way he liked to sleep. Your mouth watered at the sight.
You bent down, brushing another kiss to his sternum, then lower, letting your lips trail across his stomach. His muscles twitched under your touch, and he let out a half-asleep hum. Still, his eyes stayed closed.
Your fingers toyed with the waistband of his sweats before tugging them down carefully. His cock sprang free, already half-hard, flushed and tempting. Your breath hitched at the sight, arousal spiking instantly.
You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his tip. He groaned this time, hips twitching just slightly, but his eyes remained shut. Smirking to yourself, you swirled your tongue around him, tasting the salty precum that had already gathered.
The reaction was instant—his thighs tensed, another low sound spilling from his throat. You took him deeper, lips wrapping around him, one hand stroking the base as you bobbed your head slowly. Spit slicked his skin, and you relished in the mess, in the warmth of him filling your mouth.
“Mm—fuck…” The groggy curse broke from his lips, his voice deeper than usual. His hand shot to your hair, not to stop you, but to ground himself as his eyes blinked open.
The sight of you between his legs had him fully awake in seconds. “Baby… what-ahh, what are you doing?” His words were shaky, but the dazed smile spreading across his lips said everything.
You pulled back just enough to answer, your lips brushing his tip as you whispered, “Waking you up.” Then you sank down again, slower this time, taking him as far as you could before gagging lightly.
His breath hitched, fingers tightening in your hair. “Holy shit,” he groaned, head falling back against the pillow. His hips bucked before he caught himself, letting you set the pace. “You’re unreal…”
You hollowed your cheeks, working him with your mouth while your hand stroked what you couldn’t take. The taste of him, the weight of him against your tongue—it had you squeezing your thighs together, desperate for friction.
“Baby, fuck… feels so good.” His praise came out in ragged breaths, every word soaked in sleep-rough need. He was watching you now, eyes heavy but locked on the sight of you going down on him. “Best wake-up ever...fuck just like that-”
The more he praised you, the harder you tried. You swirled your tongue under his tip, then pulled off with a pop just to kitten lick the head, teasing until he groaned your name like it was a prayer. His hips were trembling now, his abs flexing with every movement you made.
“God, you’re perfect,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “Gonna make me-fuck-gonna make me cum already.”
That only encouraged you. You picked up the pace, sucking harder, your spit dripping down to your hand. You wanted to hear him lose it. You wanted to swallow everything he gave you.
“Shit, baby, I—” He tried to warn you, but the words dissolved into a strangled moan. His thighs jerked, cock pulsing on your tongue as he spilled into your mouth. The salty warmth filled you, and you swallowed greedily, not letting a drop escape.
Chan’s chest heaved, sweat dampening his hairline as he stared down at you in disbelief. “You really just… woke me up like that?” His laugh was breathless, his eyes soft even as his body still shook with the aftershocks.
You wiped your lips with the back of your hand, crawling up his body to lie against his chest. His arm wrapped around you instantly, pulling you tight. He pressed a kiss to your hair, voice still raspy as he murmured, “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
You only smiled, nuzzling into him. “Worth it?”
He chuckled, tipping your chin up to kiss you properly—slow, deep, tender. “Baby, that was the best morning of my life.”
A/n: a fluffy fic I read a couple of days ago about morning Chan triggered me to write this hehe hope u enjoyed <3
창빈. thinking about cockwarming with changbin. he’s a little burnt out and tired, stressing alone in his studio over their upcoming album. but he hasn’t touched his keyboard in hours, hasn’t wrote down a single lyric or pitched a single beat. cause all he can think about is his sad and lonely cock, left bare without your cute pussy warming it up.
almost like you can sense your boyfriends’ frustrations you show up, looking just so cute donning his oversized shirt, hair messy and eyes sleepy - and he has half a mind to scold you for being up so late despite the fact he hadn’t slept in days. but you’re making your way over to sit yourself pretty on his lap and it’s not long before he has that very same shirt bunched up around your waist, panties shoved hastily to the side and pussy stretched around his cock. “that’s it baby, just like that. take it like a good girl.”
he can’t suppress the sigh of relief that falls from his lips once you sink yourself down, strong arms holding you close against his chest to keep you still - hips subconsciously lifting to fuck yourself on his cock before he’s stopping you with a small tut. “no, no my sweet girl. let me finish my work then i’ll take care of you, yeah?” and he fucking loves the whimper you let out in response, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck while his cock stays rested deep in your cunt, practically begging you to bounce on it. but he just keeps you there, pussy snug around him and feeling soso full it has you practically mewling in his lap, toes curling and nails breaking the skin of his bicep to try to keep yourself grounded - to not lose your goddamn mind just from the mere sensation of having a thick dick fill you up.
changbin hushes your pathetic gasps with gentle words, telling you how good you are for him, how well he’s gonna fuck you once he’s done, how your cunt was practically made for him. and it almost seems like the painful twitching of his cock pressing snug against your walls wasn’t bothering him in the slightest. but he’s just as far gone as you, just as desperate to forget about his impending workload and fuck your little pussy until it’s sticky and used up and so full of cum. he’s just better at hiding it. “that’s it baby, just a little while longer.” and after what seems like hours he’s shutting off his monitor, strong hands immediately finding home on your hips, forcing you off his cock only to dip right back in, fucking you right out of your sleepy state. he won’t stop until your pussy is well and thoroughly used, until it’s filled to the brim with cum and practically spilling out past your little bud, until you’re sobbing against his chest and claiming you just can’t take it anymore. but he knows you can handle it, his girl always take such good care of him.
“my pretty girl, let me fuck you the way you deserve.”
ok hear me out... changbin appreciating his girlfriends tits since hes a member of the big titty community..
changbin would thats all im saying🫠
You’re already breathless, head tipped back against the pillows, Changbin driving into you with that mix of control and desperation that has your thighs trembling. His chest is flushed, sweat beading at his temple, his gaze fixed lower—watching the way your tits move with every sharp snap of his hips.
“Fuck—” he groans, the sound guttural, “—my perfect girl.” One big hand cups you, squeezing, lifting you just so he can press his mouth to your skin. His thrusts slow only so he can suck a nipple between his lips, teeth grazing lightly before he pulls off with a wet sound. “Could stare at these all fucking day.”
You’re still catching your breath when he suddenly pulls out, the loss making you whine—until you see the way his fist wraps around his cock, his eyes glued to your chest.
“Bin—”
“Shhh,” he pants, stroking himself faster, the tip leaking. “Wanna see ‘em messy. Wanna—” His voice breaks into a whine as he leans over you, cock twitching before thick ropes of cum stripe across your tits, splattering up your collarbone. His breathing’s uneven, jaw slack, but his eyes are wide, soaking in the sight like it’s the most important thing he’s ever seen.
And then he’s moving, scrambling one-handed for his phone, still trying to catch his breath. “Baby, baby don’t move—please—please just stay like that.” He’s already thumbing the camera open. “Just one picture. Just for me. No one will ever see it, I swear.”
You raise a brow, but he’s relentless—kneeling over you, phone hovering, his free hand brushing hair from your face. “Pleeeease, baby. I’m begging. I need this. I’ll never delete it. I’ll think about it every time I’m away from you. Please, baby, you don’t understand how fucking perfect you look right now.”
There’s something about the raw need in his voice—the way his pupils are blown wide, the way his chest is still heaving—that makes you finally nod. “One,” you say, and his grin is instant, boyish and filthy all at once.
He takes it slow, angling you, making sure the light catches the slick sheen on your skin, the drip sliding lower. You hear the faint click of the shutter, and then another, and another—because of course one wasn’t enough.
By the time he’s set the phone down, you’re still glaring at him through the afterglow. “You’re disgusting,” you mutter, swiping at a streak of cum before it can slide too far. “You couldn’t even wait? You just had to have a trophy?”
Changbin just laughs—deep, shameless, still a little breathless. “Damn right.” He leans down, catching your wrist before you can wipe more away, pushing your hand back to the bed. “Don’t clean it up yet. I like looking at it.”
“Bin—”
“What?” He grins, smug and unrepentant, dropping a kiss to your sternum right above the mess he made. “You’re telling me you don’t like knowing your boyfriend is gonna be jerking off to you when he’s halfway across the world? That I’ll be in some hotel bed with this picture open, wishing I was here instead?”
You open your mouth to scold him again, but he’s already nosing between your breasts, tongue swiping at a drop like he’s trying to taste the memory. “Mm… yeah,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. “That’s gonna keep me sane when I’m gone.”
“Or insane,” you shoot back, but he just hums, smiling into your skin.
“Same difference.”
He leans back over you, thumb swiping a bead of cum off your skin, bringing it to his mouth without breaking eye contact. “Might even call you while I’m looking at them. Let you hear what you do to me.”
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