★*+:You make Straykids Stay.:+*★

𝝑𝝔𝟏𝟗🎼🪽 𝕴 𝖏𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝕶𝖕𝖔𝖕 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖋𝖆𝖓𝖋𝖎𝖈𝖘 ⋆｡˚꒰ঌ 𝒮𝓉𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓂 𝓇𝓊𝓃 𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝓎 𝒮𝓀𝓏 ໒꒱˚｡⋆ 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖑𝖎𝖝 𝖇𝖎𝖆𝖘𝖊𝖉

[hearts4va]

⋆˚꩜｡𝙃𝙄 𝙒𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙏𝙤 𝙈𝙮 𝘽𝙡𝙤𝙜⋅ 𝜗𝜚

୨⎯ 𝑰 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝑲-𝒑𝒐𝒑, 𝒌𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒔, 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒆𝒕𝒄 ⎯୧

𝑴𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒌𝒑𝒐𝒑 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒑𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝒌𝒊𝒅𝒔, 𝑳𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕, 𝑪𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒔, 𝑻𝑿𝑻, 𝑰𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒕, 𝑵𝒆𝒘 𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒔, 𝑷𝟏𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒚 𝒆𝒕𝒄 ₊ ꒱ ꒱

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈’𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞‧ ୨୧ ‧

𝒔𝒉𝒆/𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆 𝑨𝒗𝒂 ‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧

𝐌𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: @lovelystrawberryangel

────୨ৎ────

[hearts4va]

Gosh I want to go to Lollapalooza so baddddddd 💔😔

[yonglixx]

260725🤍

[ariknewbetter]

Drunk And Desperate — Bangchan

smut no plot

Summary ━ Arriving home cold, drunk, and utterly undone, Chan collapses into your arms in a state of emotional and physical desperation, surrendering all control as you take charge and guide him through a slow, commanding, and overwhelming sex.

Pairing ━ Sub!Chan x Dom!Reader

Genre ━ Smut (PWP), Femdom, Drunk (Consensual/Established), Emotional/Sombre Heat, Power Dynamics

Cw/tags ━ Drunk sex (established relationship), submissive Chan, whining/crying kink, desperation, begging kink, praise, riding/straddling, messy/sloppy kissing, unprotected sex, piv, creampie, passing out after/exhaustion.

Word count ━ 1.6k words

A/n — a 200 followers coming soon!!! THANK YOUUUU guys SOOOOO muchhh for all of the love and support i love you allll 💋💋💋 and it’s going to be “pick your ending” type of fic where you will read it regularly but at there will be two ways at the end of how you want to continue the fic and I would link them at the end when it’s time to choose your ending and yes it will be nsfw 🤭🤭🤭 also blond chan came to end 🥲🥲🥲 but I’m LOVINGG the red hair!!!!

The knock at the door isn't firm. It's a clumsy, uneven thud-thud-thud.

You open it to find him leaning heavily against the frame, his manager and another member holding him up under each arm. His head lolls, then lifts. His eyes find you, glassy and unfocused, but with a startling, raw intensity burning behind the haze.

"Here she is," his manager says, voice strained with the effort. "Your home, Chris. We got him back safe."

They practically pour him through the doorway. He stumbles, catching himself on the wall, his coat hanging off one shoulder. The door clicks shut behind his friends, leaving you in the quiet foyer with him.

He sways, blinking slowly. The scent of expensive whiskey and night air clings to him. His cheeks are flushed a deep pink, his hair a mess. He looks… young. And utterly lost.

His gaze finally locks onto you, and his lower lip trembles. Not with sadness. With a need so profound it seems to physically pain him.

"You're here," he slurs, the words thick. He pushes off the wall and stumbles forward, his hands coming up to clumsily frame your face. They're ice-cold. "You're really here."

"I'm here," you say softly, steadying him.

A shudder runs through his whole body. "I'm cold," he whines, his voice pitching high, childlike in its distress. He presses his entire body against yours, burying his face in your neck. He is cold, his skin chilled from the night, but underneath, you can feel the frantic, feverish heat of him. And pressed insistently against your thigh, through his trousers, is the unmistakable, rigid proof of his other, more urgent state.

"Chris, let's get you to bed."

"No," he mumbles into your skin, his arms locking around you in a vise-like, clumsy grip. "Not yet. Need you. Please."

He grinds himself against your leg, a slow, desperate circle, seeking friction. A broken, needy sound escapes him. "Feel what you do to me? Even when I'm… like this. Always you. Only you."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes swimming with alcohol and pure, unadulterated want. Tears well, magnified by his drunkenness. "Please don't say no," he whispers, his voice cracking. "Don't say no when I'm drunk and emotional and I just… I just need you so much it hurts."

He's a masterpiece of pathetic desperation. His usual sharp control is dissolved, leaving only this raw, whining id. He nuzzles your cheek, his lips searching clumsily for yours. "My hand's so cold," he murmurs against your mouth. "Wanna feel you. Warm me up. Please. Just let me touch you. Anywhere. Your hand. Your thigh. Just… something."

He takes your hand—the one not holding him up—and guides it down, pressing your palm flat against the hard ridge in his pants. He moans, his hips jerking into your touch. "See? See how much I need you? It's aching. Please, baby. Please help me. I'll be good, I promise. I'll be so good."

He's babbling now, a continuous stream of pleas as he grinds himself against your trapped hand. "I thought about you all dinner. Couldn't think. Couldn't talk. Just wanted to come home. To you. Need to be inside you. Need to feel you. Please don't make me wait. I can't… I can't take it."

He's crying in earnest now, hot tears mixing with the alcohol flush on his cheeks. He's a complete, beautiful mess—powerless, exposed, and begging you for the only solace he recognizes. All his walls are down. There is only the cold, the hardness, and the overwhelming, whining need for you to fix it.

The sound of his ragged pleas, the feel of him hard and desperate against your palm through the fine wool of his trousers, the sight of his tears—it ignites a fire in your belly so fierce it steals your breath. Power, sweet and heady, floods your veins. This is yours. He is yours.

You don't give in. Not yet.

With a firmness that makes him whimper, you remove your hand from his groin. He makes a sound of pure loss, his hips chasing the vanished touch.

"Shhh," you command, your voice low and steady, a stark contrast to his shattered one. You take his icy face in both your hands, forcing his glazed, tear-filled eyes to focus on yours. "You're a mess."

"I know," he slobbers, nuzzling pathetically into your palms. "Your mess. Please, fix me. Warm me up."

"Then you do exactly as I say," you murmur, your thumb stroking his wet cheek. "No arguing. No rushing. Understood?"

He nods frantically, a desperate, eager puppy. "Yes. Anything. Anything you want."

You lead him, stumbling, to the bedroom. He clings to you, his cold hands fumbling at your clothes, your skin, seeking any anchor. You push him down to sit on the edge of the bed. He looks up at you, utterly pliant, waiting for instruction.

"Take off your coat."

His fingers are clumsy, numb with cold and drink. He struggles with the buttons. A frustrated, whimpering sound escapes him. "Can't… my hands won't work."

"Then let me."

You step between his spread knees and slowly, deliberately, undo each button. You peel the cold, damp wool from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. His shirt is next. You pull it over his head, revealing the smooth, flushed skin of his chest and stomach. He shivers violently, but his eyes are locked on you, burning with need.

"You're so cold everywhere," you observe, your hands skating over his shoulders, down his arms. "Except here." Your palm rests flat on his lower abdomen, just above the straining waistband of his trousers.

He moans, his head falling forward to rest against your stomach. "You… you feel so good. So warm. Please, more."

You hook your fingers in his belt loops. "Stand up."

He obeys, swaying. You make quick work of his belt, his button, his zipper. His trousers and boxers pool at his feet. He stands before you, completely exposed, shivering in the cool room air, achingly erect. A pathetic, beautiful offering.

"Lie down."

He collapses backward onto the bed, his limbs sprawling bonelessly. His eyes never leave you as you undress with a slow, deliberate grace he can't currently muster. When you're bare, you crawl onto the bed, straddling his thighs, but not touching him where he needs it most.

He's breathing in shallow, frantic pants. "Please… please, I can't wait anymore. It hurts. I need you on me, inside of you, something."

You lean over him, your hair curtaining his face, your breasts just under his mouth. "What do you need, Chris?" you whisper, the embodiment of calm to his storm.

"Y-you," he stammers, his eyes darting from your eyes to your chest. "Your skin. Your mouth. Everything. Please, let me taste you. Let me feel you."

You lower yourself slowly, letting your nipples brush his lips. He opens his mouth with a desperate gasp, taking one in, sucking greedily, his tongue laving the peak. The sensation is electric, shooting straight to your core. He's voracious, needy, worshipful all at once, switching between them with hungry little whines.

While his mouth is occupied, you reach down and finally wrap your hand around him. He cries out around your breast, his hips bucking off the mattress. He's slick at the tip, painfully hard, throbbing in your grip.

"You're dripping for me," you say, your voice husky with your own arousal. "Such a needy boy."

He releases your breast with a wet pop, panting. "I am. I'm your needy boy. Please, just… use me. Let me come. I'll do anything, I'll be so good, just let me—"

You silence him by shifting forward, positioning him at your entrance. You hover there, making him feel the heat and promise, denying him the plunge.

His hands fly up to grip your hips, his blunt nails digging in. "Now! Please, now, please!"

You look down into his wild, desperate, tear-streaked face. You own every shred of this moment. Every shudder, every sob, every pulse of his desperate need.

And with a slow, controlled smile, you finally sink down, taking him into the welcoming, tight heat of your body in one excruciatingly slow, continuous motion.

The sound he makes is one of pure, unadulterated salvation.

You don’t move. You let him feel the full, devastating reality of being buried in your heat after so much desperate anticipation.

A broken sob rattles out of him. His hands scramble up your back, clutching at you, but they don't pull you down. Instead, they cup your face, dragging you toward his mouth with a clumsy, starving urgency.

His lips find yours in a messy, off-center collision. He doesn't kiss you; he devours. It's all wet, open-mouthed desperation, his tongue pushing past your lips immediately, seeking, claiming. It tastes like whiskey and salt and pure, unadulterated need.

You let him for a moment, let him lose himself in the frantic slide, then you pull back, just an inch.

A wounded, high-pitched noise escapes him. His lips chase yours, blindly, pathetically. "No, no, come back, please—"

You don't let him recapture you. You dive back in, this time you spear your tongue into hismouth, claiming the territory he was so desperately trying to claim. He moans, a vibration against your tongue, his body going pliant beneath you, accepting the invasion with a shudder of relief. His hands tangle in your hair, holding you there, as if you might vanish.

It becomes a sloppy, breathless war. Every time you part for air, he whimpers and lunges forward, his tongue licking into your mouth before you can even inhale. You push him back, shove your own back in, dominating the kiss as thoroughly as you're dominating his body. It's wet, it's noisy, it's completely devoid of finesse. It's perfect.

Between these gasping, messy collisions, you finally begin to move, a slow, deep roll of your hips that makes him cry out into your mouth.

"Angel," he slurs against your lips, the word thick and reverent. "My angel, feels so good, you're heaven, please…"

You set a deliberate, grinding pace. He breaks the kiss to throw his head back and sob, but you capture his mouth again, swallowing his cries, your tongue tangling with his as you ride him deeper.

"Look at you," you pant, tearing your mouth free only to have his desperately chase after it. You let him catch you for a second, suck on your lower lip, then pull back again, watching his bleary, lust-drunk eyes try to focus. "My famous Chris Bang. Reduced to a whining, begging mess. Can’t even last."

The taunt pushes him over. He surges up, capturing your lips in a final, searing, chaotic kiss, his tongue thrusting deep as his hips stutter beneath you. "I’m sorry! ‘M sorry, ‘m so pathetic for you, angel, I know, just… please!"

It’s the raw, unfiltered need in that final word, breathed into your mouth, that does it. Your own control snaps.

"Come," you gasp against his lips, the command shared in the hot space between your mouths as your orgasm hits, clenching you around him.

He obeys with a shattered groan you drink straight from his throat. His release is a hot flood inside you, his kisses dissolving into helpless, open-mouthed pants against your cheek, your jaw, wherever his lips can reach as he shakes apart.

When he finally stills, spent and ruined, he nuzzles blindly, his lips finding yours again in a soft, exhausted, perpetually-seeking brush. A final, whiny mumble passes from his mouth to yours.

"Love you, angel… all yours… such a mess for you…"

Then he's out, collapsing into unconsciousness, his lips parted against your shoulder, still seeking even in sleep. A perfect, pathetic, kissed-bruised testament to your absolute rule.

[foolishaj]

HOLY FUCK I’M ON MY HANDS AND KNEES

[peterparkerwashere]

How I feel after waking up to read smut at the butt crack of dawn

[straykidsmedia]

gnabnahc: 🌊 #STAY

[chocoette]

[starlostjisung]

this chan is doing lots of things to me ngl

[netesworld]

You’re No Good For Me

older!chan x babysitter!reader

warnings: smut, age gap, oral (m&f), fingering, piv, slapping, infidelity.

wc: 3k

——————————————————

The evening light filters through the curtains of Chan's spacious living room as you finish cleaning up the toys scattered across the floor. His daughter, a sweet little girl with her father's dimples, is already asleep in her room. You've been babysitting for the Bahng’s for three months now, and you've grown fond of both parents, though perhaps more fond of Chan than is appropriate.

You hear the front door open and close with a heavy thud. Chan's footsteps sound tired as he enters the living room, loosening his tie with a sigh.

"Rough day?" you ask, looking up from where you're kneeling on the floor. The soft carpet digs into the skin of your knees. He runs a hand through his dark hair, "You have no idea," he says, his voice strained. "Another long day with the wife before I even left the office." He states taking the tie off completely and throwing it over the back of the couch with a sigh.

You stand up slowly, letting your eyes trace the lines of his handsome face. At thirty two, Chan is still devastatingly attractive. His broad shoulders, muscular arms that his dress shirts can barely contain, and those deep brown eyes that seem to carry the weight of the world.

"I'm sorry to hear that," you say softly, stepping closer. "Is there anything I can do to help?" He looks at you then, really looks at you, and you see something shift in his expression. The exhaustion is still there, but now there's something else, a flicker of interest, perhaps, or maybe it's just your imagination.

"My wife's out of town visiting her sister," he says, his voice lower than before. "Just for the weekend."

"I know," you reply, your heart starting to beat a little faster. "She mentioned it last time I was here." Chan nods, his gaze lingering on your lips. "Well, I should pay you for tonight and let you get home." He says digging in his pockets for his black leather wallet.

You reach out and place a hand on his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles beneath your fingers. "There's no rush. I can stay a bit longer if you need some company." You say biting your lip, letting your eyes drift up to his face through your eyelashes.

His breath catches slightly at your touch, and you know you have him. The marriage problems, the long hours at work, the loneliness, it's all written on his face. You've seen the way his wife treats him, dismissive and cold. You've heard their arguments through the closed door of their bedroom when you've arrived early for babysitting. A constant bickering of the fact that Chan works too much, and how she wants intimacy but he’s too tired for it when he gets home.

"I could use a drink," he admits, his voice husky. "Would you like one?"

"I'd love one," you say with a smile. You’ve actually never drank in your life, had no interest in it, but if it meant that you’d get to have a few more moments with Chan then you suppose you don’t mind accepting his offer.

As he turns to pour two glasses of whiskey, you take the opportunity to admire him from behind. The way his slacks hug his firm ass, the breadth of his shoulders. You've been fantasizing about this man since your first week here. Months ago when you got a call after posting on a forum that you were available for babysitting. You answered not thinking 4 months later you’d be here, and tonight feels different. Tonight feels possible.

He hands you a glass, his fingers brushing against yours in a way that feels deliberate. "To unexpected company," he says, raising his glass in a toast.

"To unexpected company," you echo, your eyes locked with his as you down the whiskey like a shot, it burns and you scrunch your nose, earning a chuckle from him. The conversation flows easily, drinks turning into a second round, then a third.

The living room is bathed in the soft glow of floor lamps as you settle onto the plush sofa Chan beside you. The second glass of whiskey feels warm in your hand, the ice clinking softly as you take a sip. His daughter is sound asleep, and the house is quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside.

"You look like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders tonight," you say gently, watching him swirl the amber liquid in his glass.

Chan lets out a humorless laugh, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "That's an understatement. I had another fight with Minhee before I even left the office today. She called to 'remind' me about our anniversary next week, which apparently I'm destined to forget despite the three calendar alerts she set."

You shift slightly on the sofa, letting your knee brush against his in a way that feels natural but intentional. "Anniversary arguments are never fun," you sympathize. "Is it always like this between you two?"

He runs a hand through his dark hair, the hair at his temples curling softly in the light. "Lately? Yeah. It's like we're business partners who happen to share a bed and a daughter. The romance died years ago, but now... now it feels like even the friendship is dying."

"What changed?" you ask, your voice soft. "If you don't mind me asking."

Chan looks at you then, really looks at you, and you see the raw vulnerability in his eyes. "I don't know when it happened exactly. Maybe it was gradual. She stopped seeing me as her husband and started seeing me as... a provider. A paycheck. Someone to manage our daughter's schedule and fix things around the house."

He takes another sip of whiskey, his gaze distant. "Do you know the last time we were intimate? Six months ago. And that was her birthday, and it felt like an obligation. Like checking something off a to-do list."

Your heart beats faster at his confession, at the intimacy of this moment. You reach out and place your hand on his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles. "That's incredibly lonely," you say softly. He lets out a breath through his nose, and you can see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

He turns his hand over, tracing his fingers over the lines on his palms. "It is. I come home to a silent house most nights. She's usually in her office or watching shows in the bedroom. We eat dinner together maybe twice a week, and those meals are just updates about our daughter or household logistics."

"Does she know how you feel?" you ask, your thumb stroking the back of his hand.

"I've tried to tell her," he says, his voice strained. "But she doesn't hear it. Or maybe she doesn't want to. Last month, I suggested we go away for a weekend, just the two of us. She laughed and said she couldn't possibly be away from work for that long, and who would watch our daughter anyway? Can you believe that? And then she tried to use our daughter as an excuse!, as if you aren’t her babysitter.”

You squeeze his arm gently. "That's hurtful."

Chan nods, his eyes meeting yours. "The worst part is... I think she's having an affair. Or at least considering it. She's been texting someone constantly lately. When I ask who it is, she says it's work-related, but she smiles when she looks at her phone. She hasn't smiled at me like that in years."

Your breath catches at his words. This is it the opening you've been waiting for. "You deserve to be happy, Chan," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looks at you then, and you see something shift in his expression. The exhaustion is still there, but now there's something else, a flicker of interest, perhaps, or maybe it's just your imagination playing tricks on you in the dim light.

"Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to start over," he admits, his voice low. "To be with someone who actually sees me. Who wants me."

You lean in closer, your faces just inches apart now. "I see you," you say softly. "And I want you. Maybe you just need someone who appreciates you," you suggest, your hand resting on his thigh now. "Someone who sees what an amazing man you are."

His eyes darken with desire, and he places his hand over yours, his thumb stroking your skin. "You have no idea how long it's been since someone's said that to me."

This is your moment. You lean in, closing the distance between you, and press your lips against his. He hesitates for only a second before responding, his mouth opening to yours, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your head.

The kiss deepens, tongues exploring, years of pent-up frustration and desire pouring out between you. When you finally pull apart, both breathing heavily, his eyes are filled with a mixture of lust and guilt.

"We shouldn't," he starts, but you silence him with another kiss, this one more demanding.

"You deserve this," you whisper against his lips. "You deserve to feel wanted."

He groans, pulling you closer, his hands roaming your body as if he can't get enough of you. "God, I want you." He mumbles as his hands grip your ass under your shorts. You moan into his mouth, your hands coming up to rest on his face.

"I want you too," you reply, after pulling away, you lean in again, this time running your tongue, over the side of his face and down his neck, kissing down the side of his throat. You suck the skin into your mouth, listening to the way his breath changes and the soft whimpers coming from his throat as he reveals in the feeling of your lips on his skin, finally you pull away standing up and taking his hand. "Let's go somewhere more comfortable."

You lead him to the master bedroom, the room he shares with his wife. There's something thrilling about the transgression, about claiming this space as your own, even if just for tonight.

Once inside, you push him down to sit on the edge of the bed and kneel before him, your hands working to unbuckle his belt. His eyes are dark with desire as he watches you, his breathing ragged.

"You're so beautiful," he says, reaching out to stroke your hair.

You smile up at him as you unzip his pants and free his erection. He's larger than you expected. He’s pink, and pale. His cock curved upwards at a perfect angle you know would kiss your insides perfectly. His tip is a pretty needy pink, mushroomed out perfectly that you know it would hurt so good going in. He’s leaking pre-cum already, a steady, sticky clear fluid leaking from his slit. You lean in and take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip before taking him deeper. The taste is clean and masculine, with a slightly salty flavor from the precum already leaking from his slit. You can feel the texture of his veins against your tongue as you work him with your mouth. the head of his cock nudges the back of your throat. You relax your muscles, taking him even deeper, until your nose is pressed against the prickly skin at his base.

"God, that feels incredible," he gasps, his voice strained with pleasure. You pull back slightly, then take him deep again, establishing a rhythm that has him panting above you. Your hand comes up to cup his balls, gently rolling them in your palm as you continue to work his shaft with your mouth. You see his stomach tensing, his abs flexing, his thighs tightening under your palm, where you were holding him.

Chan groans, his hips bucking slightly as you work him with your mouth. His hands grip your hair, not pulling, just holding on as you pleasure him. You can feel his control slipping, the careful facade of the responsible husband and father crumbling away.

"I want to taste you too," he says after a few minutes, gently pulling you up. Spit connects your mouth to his cock, before it breaks and your staring at him with swollen, pink, spit slicked lips. You lick them while chan unzips the zipper of your skirt, letting it fall loose on your hips and pulling it down. It pools at your ankles and you step out of them, kicking them aside.

He stands and pushes you down onto the bed where he was previously sitting. You lie back as he positions himself between your legs. His eyes are glossed over and his lips are open, his pink tongue sticking out ready to taste. He hooks his fingers into the sides of your cotton panties, pulling down the thickness of your smooth thighs, eyes widening as he gets his first look at your pussy. It's exactly as you imagined it would be, plump and chubby a smooth mound of flesh. The color is a rosy brown, not entirely pink, but still inviting. You're freshly shaved, like you came here expecting this.

Chan approaches your pussy with a reverence that surprises you. His technique is indeed old school and rusty, but there's an enthusiasm to it that's incredibly arousing. He starts by kissing your inner thighs, your hands wrapped up around your calves holding yourself open for him as he works his way slowly toward your center. When he finally reaches your folds, he uses broad, flat strokes of his tongue, lapping at you like a man dying of thirst.

His initial approach is too general, too unfocused, but you can feel his determination to please you. You guide him with soft moans and encouraging words, your hands tangling in his hair as you gently direct his mouth to where you need it most, your legs falling onto the broad expanse of his shoulders.

"Right there," you gasp as his tongue finally finds your clit. "Don't stop."

He responds eagerly, focusing his attention on the sensitive bundle of nerves. His technique improves with each passing moment, his tongue becoming more precise, more purposeful. He alternates between circling your clit and flicking it rapidly, his enthusiasm making up for what he lacks in technique.

Chan adds his fingers to the mix, sliding one into your tight heat, then another. He curls them just right, searching for that special spot inside you. When he finds it, you cry out, your back arching off the bed as pleasure courses through you.

"Like that," you moan, your hips grinding against his face. "God, Chan, don't stop."

He redoubles his efforts, his fingers pumping into you while his tongue continues to work magic on your clit. The combination is overwhelming, and you can feel your orgasm building, coiling deep in your belly.

"I'm close," you gasp, your hands tightening in his hair. "So close."

Chan responds by increasing his pace, his tongue moving faster, his fingers curling more insistently against your g-spot. The room fills with an obscene slick sound, the sound of arousal gushing and building where Chan’s curling his middle and ring finger in a come hither motion. His wedding ring cold against the sensitive skin of nete’s perineum.

The pressure builds until you can't take it anymore, and you come with a cry, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure wash over you. He doesn't stop, continuing to lap at your pussy as you ride out your orgasm, prolonging the pleasure until you're completely spent. When he finally pulls away, his face is glistening with your juices, a satisfied smile on his lips.

"Did I do okay?" he asks, his voice husky with desire.

"You did more than okay," you reply, pulling him up for a passionate kiss. "You did amazing."

You can taste yourself on his lips, a heady combination that only heightens your arousal. Your hands roam his body, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the heat radiating from his skin.

"I want you inside me," you gasp, reaching into your shorts for the condom you brought with you. Chan watches as you pull the foil packet out and open it with your teeth. You stare up at him with the lubed condom in between your fingers. He swallows, and you look at him like he’s an idiot, like he’s missing something important. Then it clicks

“Oh yes” he said leaning down to kiss you before pushing his pants the rest of the way down his hips and letting his cock slap against your mound. You aligned the band with his tip, pushing it down his length with your fingers.

He watches as you roll it onto his length, his eyes dark with need. "Are you sure about this?" he asks one last time.

You answer by pulling him down for a passionate kiss, your legs wrapping around his waist. "I've never been more sure of anything."

He enters you slowly, stretching you deliciously, and you both groan at the sensation. He starts moving, his thrusts deep and measured at first, then faster as his control erodes. You meet him thrust for thrust, your bodies moving together in a rhythm as old as time.

"Harder," you gasp, digging your nails into his back. "Don't hold back."

Something shifts in his eyes at your words, a wildness you haven't seen before. He complies, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding. You cry out with each powerful movement, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak.

"Slap me," you suddenly blurt out, the words escaping before you can think better of them. His hips stutter before gaining their momentum up again.

He hesitates for a moment, surprised, but then brings his hand down on your cheek with a sharp slap. The sting is followed by a wave of pleasure so intense it makes you see stars.

"Again," you demand, and he complies, slapping you again as he continues to thrust into you.

You're completely lost to sensation now, your body writhing beneath his. When he brings his fingers to your mouth, you suck on them eagerly, your tongue swirling around the digits as if they were his cock.

"God, you're incredible," he groans, his rhythm becoming erratic as he approaches his release.

You come first, your orgasm ripping through you with the force of a tidal wave. Your body convulses, your cries of pleasure muffled by the fingers still in your mouth. Chan follows moments later, his body tensing as he finds his own release, his groans of satisfaction music to your ears. He’s still lazily rolling into you, his thighs shaking and his abdomen trembling, you push his hips away, letting him slip out with a wet squelch. He’s soft now, and pulls the condom off with shaky hands and ties the end off tossing it in the trash can next to his bedside table. You pull him down by his collar, kissing him softly, his hand holding your thigh and wrapping it around your waist, while he drags his finger tips up and down your skin. The kiss is lazy aswell, soft and intimate, your tongue pushing in and dominating his before he even has a chance to realize. He pulls away with a sigh and afterward, you lie tangled together in the sheets, both breathing heavily.

The reality of what you've done starts to sink in, but you find you don't regret it. Not even a little. "What do we do now?" Chan asks, his voice quiet. You roll onto your side to face him, tracing patterns on his chest. "Whatever we want."

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and you see something change in his expression. The guilt is still there, but now there's something else, determination, perhaps, or maybe it's just hope.

"I want more of this," he says, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "Much more."

You smile, knowing that this is just the beginning. "I was hoping you'd say that."

As you lean in for another kiss, you know that you've got him exactly where you want him.

an: be honest am i good at writing smut🧍🏾‍♀️

[hearts4va]

Yes I listen to Kpop no that is not the only music genre I listen to I get so annoyed when people think I only listen to Kpop music

[linolinoing]

BANG CHAN — 'THIS & THAT' TEASER IMAGES

[wildnickk]

[dearlizzies-rip]

looking at myself in the mirror after reading smut

[ballard96]

[meninecanela]

Me at 3 AM, horny as hell, scrolling through my likes looking for that one fanfic i read months ago

[linolinoing]

STRAY KIDS — 'THIS & THAT' TEASER IMAGES ☕️