pairing: personal assistant!oc x family reunion attendee!hyunjin
synopsis: Gemma Parker has spent years keeping things under control -- her career, her emotions, her impossible boss. But when a work trip takes her to a luxury resort in Italy, she finds herself slipping into a world of salty air, stolen moments, and lingering glances with a boy who sees right through her carefully built walls. Hyunjin is charming, frustrating, and absolutely not a part of her plan -- but as the trip stretches on and their paths keep crossing, Gemma starts to wonder if she's been chasing the wrong dream all along. Because sometimes, the best stories aren't the ones you plan -- they're the ones you never see coming.
a/n: this part is shorter than previous chapters, but so pivotal and i truly hope you enjoy reading it! it's been one year exactly since i posted chapter three. i'm committed to getting chapter five out this summer, hopefully very soon but with my chaotic life it's hard to set a timeline. thank you for your patience and support!! ♡
masterlist | dividers by @strangergraphics
I was dreaming.
Of lips and hands… warmth and steam… of Hyunjin’s voice low in my ear, saying my name like a secret he didn’t want anyone else to know. His fingers were on my hips again, guiding me. His mouth brushed over my neck, soft and slow, like he was trying to memorize the shape of me in the dark…
BZZZT. BZZZT. BZZZT.
My alarm cut through the fantasy like a machete.
I groaned and rolled over, blindly smacking at the nightstand until I hit something – my phone, apparently – causing it to fall with a clatter. The clock by the lamp blinked at me tauntingly.
7:24 AM.
Shit. I’d hit snooze, multiple times. Celeste, the boat tour. Shit!
I groaned again, face buried in the pillow as I stretched my limbs, trying to drag myself out of the thick fog of sleep… and the even thicker remnants of Hyunjin still lingering all over me. More flashes of last night came uninvited: his mouth on mine, the steam curling around us, the sound he made when I moved just right against him. A shiver rolled down my spine, and I let out a quiet, giddy laugh into the sheets.
God. That really happened.
And I wanted to relive it all over again.
But then reality slammed back in with all the subtlety of a foghorn: Celeste, boat, work. I shot upright like I’d been electrocuted, sheets tangled around my legs, hair a half-dried disaster from last night’s shower.
“Oh my god, I’m so dead,” I muttered as I stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping over my tote bag in the process. I grabbed it, yanked open the closet, and started pulling out clothes like I was in a timed dressing challenge.
Flowy pants, breathable tank, sunglasses. Anything that said put-together even though I was the exact opposite of that.
As I scrambled into my outfit, I grabbed my phone off the floor, quickly scanning it for any Celeste texts. Strangely, there was nothing. That somehow made me feel worse.
Once presentable, I was practically sprinting down the corridor, sandals slapping against polished tile, hair barely wrangled into a clip, breath tight in my chest from a mix of adrenaline and dread. The resort lobby came into view, and so did they.
Celeste stood in a loose white linen set and designer sunglasses, sipping something that was almost certainly not water and already barking orders at a poor resort staffer. She looked every bit the effortlessly rich writer preparing to glide onto a yacht with minimal human interaction.
And just a few feet behind her was Hyunjin.
He was standing near a line of shaded chairs, hands in his pockets, scanning the lobby like he was looking for someone.
Me.
His eyes met mine, and the second he saw me, his face softened into this hopeful, crooked smile, one hand raising in a quiet wave.
The corners of my lips twitched up –
But then Celeste turned, sharp and sudden. Like she’d sensed my presence through pure disdain. Her brows lifted above her sunglasses like I was a minor inconvenience that had followed her home.
I forced myself toward her, pulse still racing. “Sorry I’m late, I overslept, but I’m ready to go now, I have the camera and my notes from –”
She cut me off with a wave of her perfectly manicured hand. “Gemma, darling, you don’t need to come.”
I blinked. “I don’t?”
“No,” she said breezily, already glancing past me. “It’s a leisure tour. A soft beginning before the real work begins tomorrow. And frankly…” She took a sip of her drink, eyes flicking back to me over the rim. “You remind me of work. Or poverty. Both, actually.”
My mouth fell slightly open. Was that a joke?
It didn’t matter. She had already turned on her heel, speaking to someone else as if I’d vanished. As if I was a bag of trash someone forgot to take out. And just like that, I was dismissed. Left standing there with my tote bag, my heart still racing from running and from him, and a sharp little ache blooming in my chest.
Why am I even here? The thought came fast, uninvited but familiar. And for a moment, I didn’t move. I just stood there, watching her walk away like I was something she’d scraped off the bottom of her shoe.
But before I could fully spiral…
“Trouble in paradise?”
I turned to find Hyunjin standing just a few feet away, hands still in his pockets, expression cautious but laced with amusement. He raised his brows like he wasn’t sure if I was about to cry or curse someone out.
I rolled my eyes, but it helped, loosening the tension in my shoulders just enough to exhale. “She said I remind her of work or poverty,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “Which, you know, is so refreshing to hear first thing in the morning.”
“Wow,” he said, blinking with a disbelieved chuckle. “That’s… a bold sentence.”
“That’s Celeste.”
He gave me a look. “Do you want me to throw her in the ocean? Because I’m free all morning.”
That made me laugh, a little too loud and a little too relieved. “Tempting,” I said, “But I’d probably end up being the one arrested.”
“I’d bail you out.”
“You’d flirt with the officers.”
“Only if it helped…” He held his arm out in mock chivalry. “Come on, let me steal you from your tyrant. There’s coffee on the terrace, and I heard rumors about fresh fruit and obscenely buttery croissants.”
“You really know how to tempt a girl.”
“I’m versatile,” he said, grinning as I looped my arm through his.
We stepped out onto the sun-drenched breakfast terrace where everything was golden, tablecloths fluttering in the breeze, birdsong cutting through the clink of silverware, the ocean glittering just past the edge of the railing.
Hyunjin grabbed two cappuccinos and a plate of pastries like he’d done this a thousand times, sliding it all onto a table in the corner with an easy smile.
“So,” he said once we sat, tearing a croissant in half, “you’ve suddenly got the day off, huh? What are you going to do with all that freedom?”
I blinked at him over my coffee. “Is this your subtle way of offering a distraction?”
“Not subtle at all, actually.” He leaned back, balancing his chair on two legs. “My family’s doing a little thing today. Kind of an unofficial reunion-within-the-reunion. Food, music, my aunts will get drunk and try to salsa.”
“Sounds chaotic.”
“It is.” His eyes twinkled. “You should come.”
I tried to fight the grin forming on my lips, but it won anyway. “Are you inviting me to meet your entire family?” I asked. “Because this sounds suspiciously like a trap.”
“It might be,” he said with a teasing shrug.
I tilted my head. “Is this a date?”
He hesitated, just for a second, then laughed softly and rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “Yeah,” he said, eyes flicking back to mine. “I guess it is.”
And just like that, the ache Celeste left in her wake vanished, replaced by something warmer. Something that felt a lot like hope.
The corners of my lips curled up before I could stop them, the warmth in my chest spreading all the way to my fingertips. “Meeting your family,” I started, lifting my cappuccino to my mouth. “That’s going to raise some questions, isn’t it?”
Hyunjin grinned, tapping the rim of his glass against mine with a soft clink. “You’re great at pretending to fit in, you said so yourself.”
I arched my brow. “That’s not as comforting as you think it is.”
He tilted his head, that little amused dimple forming at the edge of his mouth. “No, I mean it. You’re good at reading the room. Adapting.”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah… it’s a skill. But it can still be exhausting.”
His expression softened, something in him shifting – shoulders relaxing, eyes meeting mine without a trace of the usual teasing.
“Then don’t pretend,” he said gently. “Just come as you. I want them to meet you.”
He said it so simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world, as if it didn’t terrify me to be seen just as I was, no title, no task, no clever mask of competence to hide behind.
And yet… with him… it didn’t feel like such a risk.
I watched him for a second, the sun catching the edge of his cheekbone, his mouth still curled in a soft, hopeful smile. “I was going to say yes anyway,” I murmured, setting my cup down and smiling fully now. “But that kind of made it impossible not to.”
His smile widened, and it was the kind of look that made it feel like the day had already turned out better than planned.
I took a deep breath at the edge of the terrace, fingers clutched tightly around the little woven clutch I’d found at the back of my suitcase. The linen dress I’d found crumpled beneath my laptop charger somehow looked… romantic now. Breezy cream-colored with soft floral details embroidered at the hem and neckline, like it had been waiting for a moment like this to shine. It hugged my frame in a way that felt elegant, not try-hard like I was anticipating.
My hair was pinned up in a messy, makeshift updo, the kind I’d thrown together a thousand times before – but today, the pieces falling around my face looked intentional, not frazzled.
But nothing about the tightness in my chest felt casual. This wasn’t just a party, this was his family, and they were… well, rich. Like, actually rich.
Not Celeste’s eccentric fame kind of rich – generational, old-world, terrace-overlooking-the-Mediterranean rich.
The second I stepped onto the private cliffside courtyard, the beauty hit me and stole my breath away. Even the air felt different here. Lighter, saltier. Warm and fragrant from the blooms climbing up the carved stone columns. There were long floral centerpieces and strings of warm lights draped overhead, swaying gently in the coastal breeze like they were natural occurrences that had always existed there.
And the people – effortlessly beautiful in various shades of white, laughing, sipping, dancing barefoot to live guitar music that drifted through the air. It was everything Celeste had ever tried to manufacture, but this was real. Organic. Glowing. Full of joy.
I was still breathless when I finally found him.
Hyunjin, laughing with two of his cousins near the drink table, a linen shirt half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, pants relaxed and effortless and exactly what someone like him should wear to a family gathering that looked like a lifestyle commercial.
And then his eyes found me. He stopped mid-sentence, his smile faltering for just a second, eyes wide, taking me in, before his grin broke fully across his face. Radiant.
He handed off his drink without looking and made a beeline through the crowd, weaving effortlessly through relatives, never taking his eyes off me. “There you are,” he said, sweeping his arm around my waist like he’d been doing it for years. His hand was warm and grounding against the small of my back, and before I could even catch my breath, he was leaning in.
“You look…” His eyes flicked down and back up, lingering just enough to make my skin warm beneath the fabric. “Amazing. I mean – seriously, I think you broke me a little just now.”
I tried to laugh, but it came out more like a stunned breath. “You told me to wear white. You didn’t say ‘angel descending from a cloud bank’ white.” I gestured to the other guests whose outfits gleamed like perfect pearls in the sunlight.
“Well, if I had, you might’ve gotten a big head,” he teased, fingers smoothing over the fabric of my dress.
“Too late.”
He laughed and pulled me a little closer.
And somehow, the nerves began to melt away, as if this moment… this place, this boy… had always been waiting for me to show up.
The next hour passed in a blur of names and laughter and the warmth of wine poured with a heavy hand by strangers who quickly stopped feeling like strangers. Hyunjin barely left my side, introducing me with a casual ease. “This is Gemma. She’s…”
The sentence always changed. Sometimes my friend, sometimes my date, once even my accomplice.
But every time, he said it like I was already a part of the picture. Already a part of his story.
His extended family – aunts, uncles, distant cousins with Mediterranean sun glowing on their skin – welcomed me in without hesitation. I held my own. The banter came easy, witty jabs and snappy comebacks. More than once, I caught someone elbowing Hyunjin like “She’s clever, this one.”
I blushed but didn’t shrink. They made it easy. I felt like me. Not the assistant, not the side character. Just… Gemma.
And he just watched me. From across the table as I made one of his uncles laugh hard enough to choke on his prosecco. From beside me as I debated one of his cousins about whether coffee or wine was more important to sustaining the human spirit.
Hyunjin looked at me like I was a painting he hadn’t expected to connect with, like he was discovering something new every time he saw me, like he wanted to remember this exact version of me forever.
And then, I was meeting his parents.
His father extended a hand, firm and warm, with a crisp, calming air that felt familiar. He introduced himself and asked a few questions about my writing, my travels, my impressions of the coast, and I kept up, polite but honest.
He smiled once. “Sharp mind, good answers.”
I wasn’t sure if it was approval, but it felt close.
Then there was his mother. Refined, understated, watchful. Absolutely gorgeous. She offered a polite smile and complimented my dress in a way that felt rehearsed. Her gaze lingered just a second longer than it should’ve, eyes skimming between me and her son.
I couldn’t read her, and I hated that, but I didn’t let it ruin the moment.
Because before I could spiral, Hyunjin’s fingers found mine again with a gentle tug, and he leaned in. “I’m stealing you,” he whispered with a grin. “Be right back, everyone.”
He led me through the sea of linen and sun-dappled chatter, weaving past laughing relatives and dancing cousins until we reached a quiet little corner of the terrace, where fairy lights tangled up with ivy and the sea stretched out just beyond the railing.
He handed me a fresh glass of champagne and leaned against the wall beside me, eyes fixed on mine. “I just needed a second with you,” he said, voice low, rough around the edges in a way that made my skin flush.
“Why?” I asked, smiling into the rim of my glass.
His eyes searched mine, soft and unguarded. “Because watching you out there…” He exhaled. “I think I might be completely screwed.”
I laughed softly, rolling my eyes. He shifted closer, one shoulder against the wall, his fingertips brushing the bare skin of my arm like he didn’t realize he was doing it.
“You’ve officially out-charmed my entire family,” he said, grinning. “One of my aunts asked if we’re engaged.”
“Already? We haven’t even danced yet.”
“You’re right, we should keep up appearances.” He bumped my shoulder with his, his smile turning softer. “But seriously, you’re… wow, Gemma. Incredible. I mean, I already knew that, but today kind of made it official.”
“You’re not just saying that because I rescued you from that debate about pineapple pizza with your cousin?”
“I’m saying it because I’m –” He stopped himself, biting his lip. Then added with a smirk, “Very into you.”
I rolled my eyes again, biting back a grin. “God, you’re such a menace.”
“Guilty.” He leaned in like he was going to kiss me – but something behind me caught his attention. His gaze flicked over my shoulder, and his face lit up. “Oh, wait. You need to meet someone.”
Before I could ask who, he was already taking my hand and tugging me gently back through the crowd. We weaved around a table where his younger cousins were playing a card game, laughter echoing into the air, until we stopped beside a tall man in his fifties, well-dressed and unmistakably confident, with a glass of wine in hand and a causal ease that said he didn’t need to try to impress anyone – he already did.
And the second I saw him, it clicked. The library. The Q&A. The pointed question about Celeste’s publisher.
“Gemma, this is my uncle Adrian,” Hyunjin said, the pride in his voice not even masked. “Adrian, this is Gemma Parker.”
That’s why he looked so familiar. He had the same exact smug smirk as Hyunjin. It must have run in the family.
Adrian’s eyes sharpened just slightly, flicking over my face with a twitch of recognition. “Ah,” he said with a knowing smile. “I believe I saw you yesterday. Literary Q&A, right?”
“You were the one who asked about Celeste’s publisher,” I said before I could stop myself.
“Right,” he chuckled. “Didn’t mean to stir anything, but I’ve worked with enough… Celestes in my life to know when something’s worth poking.”
Hyunjin stifled a laugh beside me.
“You’re in publishing?” I asked, trying not to sound too interested too fast.
“I run a boutique literary firm in New York. Manhattan, actually.”
My brows lifted. “I’m from New York.”
“Small world,” he said with a nod. “And you – what do you do?”
I straightened a bit, shifting into a version of myself I always wore in professional spaces. “I’m an author’s assistant right now. But I’m also a writer myself. I’ve been looking to move into editorial or publishing, something that builds people up instead of just… building someone else’s ego.”
Adrian tilted his head, amused. “Well put.”
I smiled nervously, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
“You know, there’s actually a role opening up at my firm soon. Not glamorous, but real work. A place to grow. I think you’d fit in quite well, actually.”
I blinked, caught entirely off guard. “Oh – I – wow, that’s… thank you.”
He handed me a sleek card, matte finish, embossed lettering. Of course. “No pressure,” he said casually, then with a grin and a wink, “Or just tell Hyunjin. He knows how to reach me.”
I looked to Hyunjin, wide-eyed, only to find him already watching me with the softest, most unbearably smug smile on his face.
And then he took my hand and squeezed it, once, firm and sure. Like he’d planned this. Like he believed in me so deeply that it made perfect sense to just… hand me a future. Something cracked in my chest. Possibility, hope… a spark of something real and terrifying and wonderful.
And all I could do was squeeze back.
The afternoon passed in a kind of haze — drenched in sunlight, soaked in wine, and golden around the edges. Everything felt lighter, dreamier. Maybe it was the champagne, maybe it was the music. Maybe it was Hyunjin looking at me like he was still trying to figure out how I was real.
We floated through conversations and clinked glasses with strangers who had started to feel like friends, laughter spilling from our lips. At some point, someone brought out trays of delicate pastries and tiny spoons of lemon sorbet that melted before I could ask for more. Someone else played the guitar, and a few couples started dancing barefoot in the grass.
And then I felt Hyunjin’s fingers close gently around mine again. I turned to him, already smiling. “Dance with me,” he said softly, tugging me just enough to make saying no an impossible option.
The music was slower now, the sun easing toward the sea, casting everything in that warm, late-afternoon light that makes everything look a little dazed. He pulled me close, one hand finding my waist, the other sliding against my palm, and we moved. Slowly, gently, together.
The breeze lifted the hem of my dress as I swayed, the scent of jasmine and citrus heavy in the air, his forehead almost brushing mine as we turned under the string lights. It felt impossibly cinematic, the kind of moment I would have written off as fantasy. Too perfect, too fragile… But with him, it didn’t feel like too much. It felt right.
And maybe it was stupid, maybe I was being reckless. But I was my mother’s daughter, and despite my practiced practicality, there was still a part of me that believed in these things, in The Lovers, in connection, right place and right time. So I let myself imagine it. A future.
I let my heart play out the scenes as we swayed together: New York streets, coffee in the winter. Him waiting for me at the subway with cold fingers and warm eyes. Sharing pages with him at a cafe. Lazing around his art studio while he worked. A future I’d told myself not to want. A future that didn’t seem possible.
But now, as he spun me lightly beneath the ivy, catching me again like it was second nature, I looked up at him with a half-grin. “You really are a dancer,” I said softly, the words slipping out like lyrics to the music.
His eyes sparkled as he pulled me closer, his voice low and teasing. “You’re only just believing me now?”
“Took me a minute,” I whispered, breath catching.
He smiled at me, warm and fond, and just like that, everything faded again. It was just him, and just me, and this moment that felt like it could last forever.
And even if it didn’t, even if reality came crashing back tomorrow… Well. At least I had this.
We were still swaying, barefoot and tipsy, my head resting against his chest, when Hyunjin leaned in close, his breath warm against the shell of my ear.
“I’ve… been thinking about moving… to New York,” he whispered, almost shyly. “To actually pursue art school. My uncle says I’d have support there. And now…” His grip on my waist tightened just slightly, before his palm slid over my lower back soothingly. “It doesn’t feel so far-fetched anymore.”
My heart stopped. Oh. Something flickered in my chest – hope, sharp and terrifying.
I leaned back to look at him, to search his face for hesitation, because was he serious? Was he saying this could be real? The flashes of a future, the gut feelings, the magnetic pull… Was it all leading up to this?
But before I could respond, a chill cut through the warmth.
Over his shoulder, just past the archway –
Celeste.
Standing in full view. Furious. Motionless. Watching me like a lion that had finally cornered her prey.
The dream shattered instantly.
“I –” My voice cracked. I forced a breath. “I have to go.”
“What? Gemma –”
I slipped out of his hold, but his hand clutched mine for one last second – warm, grounding, unwilling to let go until I made him.
I turned and bolted toward Celeste, already bracing for the storm. “Celeste, I –”
She held up a hand. A sharp, imperious gesture. I stopped, stomach dropping to my shoes. Her eyes flicked from me to the crowd behind me. Her voice was calm, controlled, and cruel.
“So this is what you’ve been doing instead of working.” She gestured vaguely toward the courtyard. “Drinking. Dancing. Seducing.”
I opened my mouth, but she didn’t give me the chance.
“You disappeared from your responsibilities, ignored your schedule, and – oh, yes – stole from me.” Her lips curled into a bitter smile. “Classy, Gemma.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. People were starting to notice. I lowered my voice, already trembling. “I just needed –”
“You needed what? A fantasy? A free ride?” she hissed. Her eyes narrowed as she looked back toward the terrace. Toward Hyunjin. “This is why you’re not focused. Why your work is slipping. You’re too busy playing Cinderella at someone else’s party.”
I felt my throat tighten, the tears rising, but I held them down. Not here. Not in front of her.
“You honestly think you can write? You think you’re some brilliant talent waiting to be discovered? You’re not, Gemma. You’re nothing.”
Her gaze shifted slightly over my shoulder, something catching her attention. Her lips curled. “He doesn’t even want you.”
I choked on my breath. No.
“You don’t fit in here,” she said, tilting her head, like she was pitying me. “And if you needed proof…”
She nodded, subtle and measured.
I turned, almost against my will. And there, by the wine table, laughing, radiant in the kind of effortless white dress I’d never be able to pull off, was a woman, exquisite, tall and stunning.
And beside her, Hyunjin. Laughing, smiling… talking with his mother, who looked more animated than she had all evening, clearly pleased.
The woman touched his arm. He didn’t flinch. He smiled wider at her.
My stomach dropped through the floor. It felt like watching the door slam shut on something I never deserved to open in the first place. And Celeste just stood there, smug like she had orchestrated the whole thing.
I looked away sharply. Desperately. As if not seeing it could somehow unmake the image of Hyunjin laughing with that woman, his mother glowing like she had just watched two puzzle pieces snap perfectly into place.
But it stayed. Etched behind my eyes. Burning.
Celeste’s voice, sharp like poison, cut through the rising fog in my brain. “You need to get your fucking priorities straight. There are hundreds of people who would kill to have your job,” she spat. “And maybe it’s time I give one of them a chance.”
Her words hit like slaps, rehearsed to wound and to sting. Something in me crumpled, and yet I forced myself upright. I did what I always did: folded, apologized, survived.
“No,” I said quietly. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” I swallowed hard, each word cutting on the way out. “I had a lapse in judgement, and it won’t happen again.”
Celeste studied me, gaze calculating as if she was weighing my worth. Then:
“It better not,” she said calmly. “Next time, I won’t be so lenient.”
And with that, she turned her back on me. Dismissed me. Again.
I stood there defeated, waiting as if something might shift – might save me. But all I had was the sound of clinking glasses, laughter in the distance, and the echo of everything I’d let myself believe for a moment too long.
My eyes drifted back – I couldn’t stop them – to where Hyunjin still stood. He was still smiling at her, the beautiful woman. The one who made sense. Who belonged. She was poised and composed, the kind of woman who probably had a summer home, a tailored resume, and a standing brunch with his mother.
And why shouldn’t she be the one? She wasn’t messy. She didn’t forget alarms. She didn’t crumble under the weight of her own dreams. She didn’t have to be rescued.
A hot, miserable tear slipped from my lashes. I blinked and wiped it fast, but the damage was done.
And that was the moment he chose to look at me.
Hyunjin’s eyes met mine from across the crowd, across the distance that had suddenly grown impossible to bridge.
His smile faded, his brow furrowed.
Worry. Pity. Maybe both.
But it didn’t matter. Because he made sense, and I didn’t. And I – god, I was so stupid for thinking any of this could be real.
So I turned, and I walked away, fast and quiet, careful not to let the sob building in my throat crack until I was alone.
The door to my room slammed behind me. It wasn’t until then that I finally let go.
I sank to the floor, fists clenched in my dress, tears falling freely now as I whispered, over and over –
“Stupid, stupid, stupid…”
Because I’d let myself believe in a fairytale, and it had ended exactly how it always did.
honestly, screw him for this. you bring him to your family so he can be introduced to them, and this is how he repays you? by forcing you to hush up your sounds of pleasure in your childhood bedroom?
he’s quite pleased with himself. you can feel his growled laughter against your puffy folds, his pupils wide and blown as he occasionally looks up at you. he flattens his tongue, running it from your spasming hole to your clit before he parts from you. chin dribbling and his plush lips curled into a smile. he’s made you come once, and he doesn’t plan on stopping now.
he loves a good personal record.
you can barely breathe, and he’s tormenting you. taking a delight in it. he sat there during dinner as the perfect spectacle of a man, helping your mother, impressing your father. and now he’s got your sweetness on his tongue like ambrosia. you knew that joke he made at the table about innocent “cream pies” for dessert was too good to be true.
he nudges his nose against your thigh, kissing the junction between your mound and leg crease.
“still with me…? silly girl, letting me eat you out in your cute little room you grew up in...”
you’d throw a curse at him if you had the energy, but his words make something churn delightfully in your stomach. a wanton sound bubbles up in your throat and escapes, making you slap your hand over your lips. his hands are snaked up your shirt, kneading at your breasts in his palms. warm and soft. just like the rest of you.
you did homework on this bed. gossiped to friends about who was doing what, the people you had crushes on. and here he is, the man of your dreams giving you a nice night cap involving his drooling tongue to end the perfect day.
he dives back in with good vigor and an obnoxious slurping sound. why does he get to be loud? with his lips closing around your sensitive bundle of nerves, chan’s own eyes close as your thighs squeeze around his head. it makes his head dizzy and his cock twitch against the mattress. he laps soft, gentle kitten licks, mimicking your whining and mewling back to you before laughing with a rolled out tongue.
“shh… don’t wanna wake up your family…”
chan blows cold air against your folds as you twitch, stifling your hiccuped little moans behind your hand. he grins and nudges your clit with his nose. you smell too good, he wants to burrow his face in you forever.
“slutty pussy… dripping all over your sheets…” and because chan can never degrade you without feeling like a monster if there’s no praise—
“so pretty down here… pretty everywhere… you taste so good, i could eat it for hours. will you let me, baby? let channie love on this pretty cunt all night?”
his hands slide up and down the sides of your torso, and you’re not even sure what he’s saying. your head is spinning, on cloud 9. but you nod, staring up at the glow in the dark stars on your childhood bedroom ceiling.
if you look down at him you swear you’ll come again. the sounds are already too much, his grunts and groans with the wet clicking and squelching every time his tongue laves down on your pussy. he’s painfully throbbing in his boxers. you have that affect on him.
“there she is… letting me do whatever i want… you worked so hard to make tonight go smooth… looked so sexy in your pretty outfit… let me treat my girl…”
chan purses his slick covered, thick lips and kisses your clit. a soft suck to it, drawing back. he can feel sinewy strings of your juices and his saliva connecting his lips to you. he repeats the feverish kisses, his hips rocking against the mattress every time your hips buck and you let out a little soft cry. “yeah? mm? like it when channie kisses your soft pussy? oh, look at you, darling… you must feel so good… precious little thing.”
you babble a slew of moans as he gathers saliva in his own mouth and rolls his tongue out, letting it fall onto your slit with his expression of pinched brows and a begging eyes. oh, he knows what he’s doing.
he flattens his tongue, licking a long, pressured stripe up from your perineum to your suck a kiss onto your throbbing clit with a dramatically drawn out moan of his own. chan repeats it a few more times, making sure the round tip of his nose catches under the hood of your cute little button.
your hole is clenching around nothing, hips writhing a bit. he’s got you, don’t worry. he laps at your folds, shaking his head around and moans at the taste of you once more before drawing back. chan rests his head against your thigh and brings a hand up to play with your pussy while he talks to you, finding it amusing how you gasp for air and try to keep quiet.
“so soft… so wet and warm f’me… you love my tongue, don’t you, baby? mmm… fuck yeah… my tongue loves you too, sweetheart.”
chan rubs three fingers in gentle, petting circles around your folds, making sure his middle finger catches on your clit with sticky sounds at every rounding gesture. he could play with you like a fidget toy all day and never get bored. call you in during studio sessions, he’d feel relaxed just from making you feel good. his mouth waters at how aroused he’s made you. chan’s breathless from both devouring you like a starved man and humping the corner of the bed to relieve himself.
but you haven’t come again yet. he’s been edging you on that peak for a while like a heartless man. in chan’s defense, he thinks he can get you to gush more for him. if it isn’t messy, he didn’t do his job. he loves making you feel good, and he’s obsessed with making you come as hard as possible. it’s his best devotion to you.
“you look exhausted… ‘s okay, you’re okay… so fuckin’ gorgeous like this, fuck me… ‘m gonna… ‘m gonna rock you to sleep… fall asleep full of me…”
all you do is nod, a squeak of a whine. your fucked out expression is all he needs to sit up on his haunches and stare down at you. you’re leaking like a broken faucet all over the sheets, staining them a darker patch under your ass. it’ll be easier to slide into you like that. all pliant and soaked and craving him inside of you—
“actually, baby… you wanna try something new? be my good girl…? you’re gonna sit that pretty pussy on my face.”
—
author’s note: thank you for 500 followers, i can’t believe it! i wanted to write something as a treat in between drafting requests ^-^*
synopsis: minho takes you out to a lovely dinner for date night, but when you return? god, neither of you can even make it through the front door before his mouth is on yours and your hands are curling in the front of his stupidly well fitted suit.
pairing: rich!minho x f!reader
genre: suggestive
contains: lots of kissing, a singular mention of minho being readers fiancé, allusions to sex, biting, marking, they’re both like- hella wine drunk, intimacy under the influence
requested by: anonymous
word count: 1.6k
now playing: in the blur of the rain - jiwoo
[a/n]: sooo i wrote this while half dead on an airplane, so please ignore how lowk not great this is :D ALSO ANON??? YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. when i tell you that after i read your request, it was living in my brain for so so long. it stole my every waking moment istg- i did tweak your rec juuust a little bit, but i hope you still like it!! enjoy >< (this shit has NOT been proof read)
you’ve never really been one to savor the taste of alcohol on your tongue.
it’s not that you hate the burn, the way your throat feels hot with each gulp of whatever wine or spirit you choose, you just don’t subject yourself to it very often. you can manage a drink with friends, the occasional outing with colleagues.
oh, and date night with minho.
once a month, minho insists on getting dressed up and treating you to ‘the bare minimum’, as he calls it: a tux for him. a dress laid out for you. a bottle of wine to share.
he never forces you to drink, would never dare, but he always starts off dinner by ordering a bottle—always red, always old, always rich in it’s flavor—and by the end of the evening, it’s always gone.
he’s so smooth with it, the way he’ll take the bottle into his hand mid conversation to refill your glass, never breaking eye contact with you as you rant about your boss or other workplace relations. you never think twice about how you can never quite seem to reach the bottom of your glass.
wine tastes sweeter when he’s across the table from you. it doesn’t burn, just costs your throat like honey, thick and lovely.
minho drinks too, and you like the way it looks on him. the tight line of his shoulders slackens halfway through his second glass, the blankness of his gaze softens at the bottom of it. on the third, his upper lip is a lovely shade of pink, stained from the alcohol. it’s a different shade than that of the flush that spreads from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.
you hope minho thinks you’re as pretty as you think him.
from the way his eyes drag lazily over your face throughout the night, you feel pretty confident that he does.
wine settles sweeter when your with minho. it’s warm and hazy and makes his tongue taste like honey as it slides against yours.
honey. his hands, so breath, his lips. they’re all like honey.
“you taste so good, min” the words are uttered so close that your lips brush with every word. minho kisses the next breath right out of your mouth.
“i taste like wine” he states simply as his honey kissed hands smooth down your sides to rest at your hips, pressing you just a little further into him.
you’re too faded to give a yelp, so you just purr in his tightened hold instead.
your shoulder blades are pressed to the doorframe of minho’s penthouse, the two of you lingering right over the threshold to soak in one another’s tipsy devotion. minho’s chest keeps you in place, pinned to the frame as his hand slides to your lower back, silently encouraging you to arch into him, which you do. minho runs his tongue along the back of your teeth as reward.
he pulls back to give you a chance to breathe free from his greedy lips, but it’s a chance you aren’t able to take. why? because minho’s so beautiful you can’t breathe.
the door is open, making way for your bodies to take up the frame, and the light the coming from inside lays over his face like that of greek paintings—sharp over the bridge of his perfect nose, soft over his cheekbones and upper lip. his eyes are heavy lidded, both from the weight of his adoration and the after effects of wine.
wine. so sweet on minho’s tongue, his lips. you press back in for another taste.
minho kisses filthy, the drag of his lips so slow and so deep that it makes you feel like your drowning. your hands wind into his hair so you can keep yourself afloat.
it’s when his lips shift to kiss along your jaw that you finally do get the chance to catch your breath. you use it to plead.
“i don’t… min, i don’t wanna stand anymore” you manage through slurred syllables, tugging his hair just lightly enough to gain his attention.
you know your heels are hot. you know minho thinks your heels are hot. he set them out for you, after all. but still, your knees are wobbly enough due to your pleasant drunkenness, and the way minho’s thumb brushes right under your breast makes the challenge of standing no easier.
minho’s way of helping is helpful until it’s not. his teeth sink hard into the patch of skin just below your ear, sucking hard enough to coax a soft sob from your honey coated throat. his hand finds the slit of your dress, curling around the dip of your knee to hoist it up. you hook it over his hip.
it feels nice, the weight you no longer have to carry. it’s nice, until minho’s crotch is pressed to the inside of your thigh, hard and horribly insistent. the press alone is enough to make you whine, your hands finding his biceps for purchase.
“beautiful…” is what minho mutters before pressing a kiss over the red splotch his teeth and just left behind. you can’t tell if he’s talking about the bruise that’s sure to stick around tomorrow, or you.
he mouths at you until your whiny and breathless, drunk on wine and high on him.
when you can no longer tolerate the balance game that is your heels, you reach forward for the ankle currently suspended in the air, reaching around minho to fumble for the delicate straps that holds the wretched thing in place, desperate to relieve the ache in your feet.
before you can even graze the buckle, minho's hand catches yours, fingers curling around your wrist gentle but firm.
"jagiya," he murmurs, voice low and honeyed, still thick with wine and something deeper. you blink up at him, dazed, and he guides your hand back up to rest against his chest. his heartbeat thrums beneath your palm, steady and warm. “you’re supposed to let me take care of you, yes?”
minho lowers himself slowly, keeping his eyes on yours the entire way down. his hands slide from your waist to your hips, then lower still, until he's kneeling before you, one knee pressed to the hardwood floor.
the sight of him like this—dressed in his perfectly tailored tux, hair mussed from your fingers, lips wine stained and swollen—makes your breath catch all over again.
you’ve always thought minho was pretty. gorgeous, even. he’s the type of man carved from pale oak and marble, the type of man greek sculptors would only dream of having as a subject. and here you have him, your dream of a fiancé, kissing where the slit of your dress allows.
his lips drag over the plush of your thigh, nipping here and there at the plushness of it. his kisses trail down to your knee as he lifts your foot a little off the ground.
thank god for the doorframe supporting your back.
minho’s fingers find the strap of your left heel first, working the buckle with practiced ease. the brush of his knuckles against your ankle sends a shiver up your spine.
he takes his time, thumb smoothing over the curve of your foot as he slips the heel free.
"better?" he asks, glancing up at you through dark lashes. another kiss to your knee.
“mm,” you nod, unable to form words, and he smiles—soft and devastating—before turning his attention to your other foot.
the second heel comes off just as slowly, and when he's done, minho doesn't stand right away. instead, he presses a kiss to the inside of your ankle, then another just above it, his lips trailing higher until you're gripping his shoulders to keep from melting into the floor.
"minho…" you breathe, and he hums against your skin, the vibration making your knees buckle.
finally, he rises, hands sliding back up to your waist to steady you. "now," he says, voice rough and wanting, "where were we?"
you don't answer him with words. instead, you pull him back down to you, your hands sliding up to cup his face, thumbs brushing over the sharp line of his jaw. minho lets you guide him, lets you press your lips to his with a hunger that matches the ache in your chest.
he tastes like red wine and devotion, and you think you could get drunk on this alone—on the way his hands grip your waist like he's afraid you'll disappear, on the way his breath stutters when you bite gently at his lower lip.
"inside," you murmur against his mouth, and minho nods, hands sliding down to the backs of your thighs. he lifts you effortlessly so you wrap your legs around his waist, arms looping around his neck as he carries you over the threshold.
the door clicks shut behind you, and the world narrows to just this.
it’s all just minho, just the way his lips find yours again as he walks you through the dimly lit penthouse. your back meets the softness of his bed before you even realize you've made it to the bedroom, and minho follows you down, his weight settling over you like a promise.
his hands are everywhere, skimming up your sides, tracing the curve of your waist, sliding the fabric of your dress higher until it bunches at your hips. you arch into him, chasing the warmth of his touch, and he groans softly against your neck.
"you're so beautiful," he whispers, voice rough and reverent, and you think you might cry from how much you love him.
instead, you pull him closer, threading your fingers through his hair, and let yourself drown in the taste of honey and wine.
summary: chan accidentally airdrops you something, and that ends up with the two of you starting to go on dates. that makes you a perfect new addition to his body count(not the sexual one) but you escape when he tries to kill you, and he ends up missing you. then falling for you. then not being able to let go of you.
warnings: violence, serial murder, blood references, problematic main characters, codependency, implied stalking, chan breaking into your fucking home, obsessive love, mentions of sex but no smut written, not as funny as my first fic
word count: 10k
your phone pings. it’s an airdrop.
chris’s iphone would like to share a note
you frown. you don’t know a chris. but you accept it anyway.
you’re sitting in a public place. we don’t even have to name it because it’s not significant for the story whatsoever(i’m lazy to think of anything) the world is going on around you. a baby crying. someone aggressively typing on a laptop. you? pink sweater. minding your business. then the airdrop notification comes. a note.
the pink sweater girl looks cute
you freeze.
pink. sweater.
you look down at yourself. confirmed. you are, in fact, the pink sweater girl. congratulations.
your head lifts slowly, like an animal sensing danger, except instead of a predator it’s… men. two of them. mid twenties. baseball caps. both holding their phones, one obviously because he sent the note, the other because he received it. they’re grinning at each other, doing that handshake dap half hug thing men invented instead of therapy. (like in my other fic i’ll just clarify instead of describing looks, it’s felix and chan)
then they both glance up, because it’s natural that you’re gonna look at someone you’re talking about.
they make eye contact with you.
and immediately look away.
pink sweater girl (you) glances back down at the phone. maybe coincidence. but no, one of them looks at his screen again. you physically watch the realization crawl across his face. eyebrows lift. smile drops. eyes flick to you. back to phone. back to you.
oh no.
oh no, he sent it to you.
he smacks his friend’s arm.
friend looks at the phone. friend’s mouth forms a silent “OHHHHH”
the other one, who airdropped you, runs a hand over his face like when he remembered he left a body somewhere.
soon, he mans himself up and you watch him approach. up close, he’s annoyingly good looking, great body, a smile with a huge body count. (socially and not socially)
“hey.” he says, easy. smooth.
you blink at him. “you airdropped me, right?”
he laughs. it’s warm. disarming. suspicious. “okay, in my defense, that was meant for him.” he points to his friend, who gives a useless little wave.
“in your defense, that’s worse.”
“yeah, no, that’s fair. i was just trying to tell my friend you looked cute.” he continues. “privately. sorry.”
you stare at him.
“can i sit?” he asks, already halfway sitting.
you do not say no. he’s cute.
“chris. chan. whatever you like.” he says, offering his hand.
“…y/n.” you say, accepting it and smiling now. because he deserves it, he came over with a good intention after all. (absolutely not.)
“sooo…” he says, nodding at your phone. “scale of one to calling the police, how bad was that first impression?”
you look at him. this disaster of a man. then sigh. “i’ll let it slide. for now.”
he laughs, and it’s bright and easy and absolutely beautiful.
you don’t know it yet, but this is the worst luck of your life. because chan is very good at what he does. just not at this.
you start seeing him. not dates, just casual hangouts, or accidental meets. first it’s “oh you’re here again?” at the same coffee spot. then it’s “i was in the area” which is a lie because no one is ever in the area of that place on purpose. then it’s full blown planned-but-we-pretend-it’s-not meetups.
he asks about you. remembers things. little things. you go on walks, sit in parks, get food. he does that thing where he walks on the outside of the sidewalk like a gentleman, which is unnecessary and honestly feels like he’s preparing for a car to jump the curb at all times.
he never overshares. but not in a shady way. in a “healthy boundaries king” way. which is honestly more alarming. who taught him that.
you like him.
you like how he listens. how he teases you without being mean. how he never pushes. how being around him feels weirdly calm. and yeah, sure, how good he looks. so when he invites you over one evening, you say:
“yeah. okay.”
and chan smiles, and it’s warm and bright and absolutely not the face of a man with a secret life.
“cool.” he says. “cool, cool.”
and yeah, his place is… annoyingly nice. because you’re there now.
you step inside. “shoes off?” you ask.
“yeah, i mean, only if you want. no pressure. i’m not like, a shoe cop.”
he is absolutely a shoe cop. you take them off.
you hang out on the couch while he cooks. it’s unsettling how good he is at being gentle. at some point he hands you a spoon to taste the sauce. your fingers brush. he pretends that didn’t affect him, but it did. you can tell. this idiot is gone for you.
you eat. you talk. he remembers that story you told three weeks ago about your third grade enemy. who remembers that? psychos. and… boyfriends.
you laugh a lot. he looks at you like that’s the best sound he’s ever heard, which would be cute if it wasn’t a lie. and if the best sound he’s ever heard wouldn’t actually be his victims screaming.
while other kids learned empathy, chan learned curiosity. in like… the worst direction. he didn’t feel things the way he was supposed to. he studied them instead. it started with things that made adults say “boys will be boys” when they really should’ve said “we need several professionals immediately.”
he grew up. got smarter. learned the rules. learned how to smile at the right times. how to mirror. how to be what people needed. he built a version of himself that could pass.
and he’s very, very good at it.
later, you’re still talking, closer now. the air shifts. quieter. charged.
“you trust me?” he asks.
you shrug. “i mean. you haven’t murdered me yet.”
he smiles. but it doesn’t reach his eyes this time. something moves behind them.
he stands. slow, calm. too calm.
and there it is. the vibe shift. the sudden, bone deep understanding that prey animals probably get right before they bolt.
your body knows before your brain does. “chan?”
“i didn’t want it to be you.” his voice is gentle, almost sad.
EXCUSE ME?
“okay.” you say, standing up too. “we’re gonna rewind, actually—”
you move back a step. he moves forward.
he reaches for you.
you react on pure, untrained survival instinct and shove him, harder than you knew you could.
he stumbles back into the coffee table. something crashes. a lamp.
you look at him, realizing your situation. realizing that this is not a game anymore and not cute. so you step backwards, then start running to the door.
footsteps. coming after you.
the situation has escalated in a way that feels, frankly, rude.
you’re trying to open the front door, which is locked, when you hear the kitchen drawer. The specific metal on wood sound every human being recognizes. you don’t need to look to know he got a knife out.
when he starts coming your way from the kitchen, you run into the living room again.
you turn.
he’s there, knife in hand.
you both just stand there for a second, breathing.
you point at the knife. “so that’s new.”
“yeah.” he says, like he also just noticed it. “that escalated.”
“you think?”
silence stretches. he’s watching you carefully.
you swallow. “are you, like… a psycho? or what’s the deal here?”
he exhales through his nose. “yeah.” he says after a second. “i mean. that’s the short version.”
you shift a step sideways. he mirrors you, slow.
“like… diagnosed?” you ask.
“no.”
“self aware?”
“mm.” a shrug. “i know i’m not like other people.”
“i can tell.”
you keep circling the coffee table. it’s almost calm, if you ignore the knife. don’t ignore the knife.
“you do this a lot?” you ask.
“yeah.”
“how many?”
he thinks, not counting, recalling. “uh. i don’t know. i stopped keeping track.”
“right.”
a beat.
“that’s not great.” you say.
“mm.”
you both pause as you accidentally end up at the same side of the table. you both adjust. social awareness king even now.
“you were normal.” you say. “that’s annoying.”
“i am normal.” he says.
you just stare at him.
he gestures at himself. “i have a job. i pay rent. i recycle.”
“you also kill people.”
“yeah.”
“you ever try therapy?” you ask.
he gives you a look. “you think i’d say this out loud in a room with a stranger?”
“fair.”
a weird silence settles. your heart is slamming.
“so what, you’re just gonna… do it?” you ask.
“yeah.”
you grab the nearest object without looking, a hardcover book, and whip it at his head.
it hits his shoulder. he barely reacts.
you grab a pillow. throw it. it lands on the floor.
he actually looks offended by that one. “you could at least try.” he says.
“oh, shut up, dude. i am trying.”
“are you?”
“i am.”
“you’re clearly not.”
“i am so trying.”
you make a quick step. so does he. you stop. so does he.
you keep on circling. “so what, this is like… a hobby? what are we talking? you’re, what, secretly evil? since when?”
“always, kinda.”
“cool.”
he shrugs one shoulder.
“i don’t feel things that much, not like other people do.” he says. “didn’t. ever. i learned how to act like i do. most of the time it’s fine. i can do the right responses, it’s just… not attached to anything.”
“that sucks.”
“it’s not like a choice-choice.” he adds. “it’s just how it is.”
“yeah, i gathered you didn’t wake up and decided to kill someone today.’”
a beat.
“…i mean.” he says.
“oh.”
“yeeeaah.”
he lifts the knife slightly. the circling slows. you’re both just standing now, a few feet apart. the room feels too small.
“so what, you just decided people were the move?” you ask.
“animals first.” he says. “when i was a kid.”
you close your eyes briefly. “of course.”
“i wanted to see how things worked.”
“yeah. most kids use youtube or pornhub.”
you keep moving. backward. he mirrors you, forward.
you reach behind you, grab a little plant off a shelf, and throw it at him. you miss and it hits the wall. doesn’t break, but falls loud.
“please stop throwing my stuff.” chan whispers.
“stop trying to stab me.
“but that’s… different.”
silence.
he speaks again. seems like he enjoys talking about himself. “it’s not, like, a trauma thing. before you ask.”
“i wasn’t going to ask.”
“alright.”
you stop circling. he stops too. you resume. so does he.
“you ever try, like, not killing people?” you ask.
“yeah. it builds up.”
you stare at him. “that’s insane. no offense.”
“none taken.”
a bit of silence. tension.
your voice is softer when you speak next. “so what, i was just… next?”
he keeps eye contact when he nods. he’s not shy about wanting to kill you.
“sorry.” he says, not sincere. you know that too, and he knows you know.
your eyes flick to the hallway. distance. objects.
he notices.
the vibe shifts again. decision time.
his grip tightens slightly on the knife.
you bolt to the kitchen. you don’t know why.
he’s right behind you now. closer. you can hear his breathing, still steady. that’s the worst part bro, this is cardio for you and a light walk for him.
you grab a chair, shove it behind you, it slows him maybe half a second. you throw a dish towel. useless.
“stop throwing soft things.” he calls, mildly.
“shut up.”
you reach the counter, hands scrambling blindly. you fling a fruit bowl. apples everywhere, and only one nails him in the chest.
he looks down at it like it was a little bird flying into him.
you run again.
hallway, bedroom. wrong choice. always a wrong choice.
you spin back out before he can corner you, nearly colliding with him. you both jolt back on instinct, like two strangers doing the awkward sidewalk dance.
“sorry.” you both say at the same time.
your foot hurts. you look down, then look back up at him.
“you stepped on my foot.” you say.
chan blinks, then looks down. “oh.”
you slap his arm. not hard, just as correction. “watch it.”
“my bad.” he says automatically.
your heart is beating so hard it’s starting to make you feel dizzy.
you look at him again. “you’re not even out of breath.” you say.
“i run.” he replies.
“of course you do.”
you start moving again, slower now, both of you drifting sideways in the narrow hallway.
he studies you. he feels the usual things, the focus, the clarity, the hum in his chest that’s been with him since he was a kid standing in a backyard with some small and warm animal in his hands, wondering what would happen if he would cut it up. and he did, later.
but it’s tangled now. weird. something else joined it. irritation, interest, a tight, unfamiliar pressure behind his ribs.
“you’re not scared?” he asks.
“i’m terrified.” you say, plain, honest.
he searches your face. he adjusts his grip on the knife.
you both shift at the same time again, hallway too small, lives too big for this space. you shoulder brushes his chest and your body flinches.
he notices that. there it is. the fear. not in your face, but the recoil. in the space your body tries to create.
you move first, sudden, slipping past him again.
behind you, he turns smoothly. and now he knows you’re scared.
you round the corner into the living room again, lungs burning, legs starting to feel unreliable. behind you, his footsteps.
“your layout sucks.” you say, breathless.
“yeah, I’ve been meaning to open it up.” he replies, right there behind you. not rushing, enjoying the chase.
you grab the back of a chair and drag it behind you like that’s going to stop a man who jogs daily and murders as a hobby.
“do you stretch before this?” you ask.
“usually.”
“good for you.”
you both slow again, circling opposite sides of the couch now. it’s absurdly normal looking.
“you could just sit down.” he says.
“so could you.”
“when we’re done, maybe.”
you both adjust direction at the same time again. that awkward almost collision energy thing.
“does anyone know?” you ask, breath tight. “about… this. about you.”
“no.”
“no one at all?”
“no.”
“friends?”
he gives you a look.
“right.” you say. “i suppose we don’t count felix either.”
a pause.
“it must be lonely.” you add, before you can stop yourself.
he doesn’t react right away. just watches you. then says “ow.” but like in that sassy way.
you clock the sign in his eyes that your words hit.
you also clock the plate rack by the sink.
you get a plate, then turn back toward him. “this is such a stupid way to spend a night, by the way.”
“i was having a good time earlier.” he says.
“yeah. same.”
he shifts his weight, just a second. adjusting his grip.
seeing that as your window, you move, fast. you adjust your grip on the plate and swing.
it connects with the side of his head with a horrible, solid sound. the porcelain shatters. chan drops the knife, and his knees buckle.
then he drops to the floor hard.
you stand there, plate shard in hand, chest heaving.
you wait.
one second, two. chan doesn’t move.
“oh my god.” you breathe. “oh my god.”
your hands start shaking now. bad. delayed reaction finally cashing in or whatever they call this shi.
you kick the knife away far, under the table.
he’s out. actually out.
you don’t check his pulse, you don’t lean closer, and you most definitely don’t do anything brave or smart or cinematic. you just search his pockets for keys with shaking hands, and when you have them, you run.
you don’t even put your shoes on, you just unlock the door and yank it open, stumble into the hallway, slam it behind you like that helps. and you don’t look back. you go down the stairs, out the building. you don’t stop until the building is small behind you. then smaller, then gone.
your phone is in your pocket, you know that. police exist. you know that too.
and you don’t call them.
maybe you’re in shock. maybe you don’t want to explain any of this out loud. maybe some part of your brain hasn’t caught up and still thinks this was just a very bad date. or maybe it’s the look on his face earlier. when you said lonely. that half second of something almost human, buried under everything else. or maybe…
you don’t know.
you just go home. and you don’t call.
now, it’s been a few days since that. which is insane, by the way. you haven’t slept right since that night. every noise is a thing, and every man with dark hair gets a double take. but you’re here. functioning.
you’re at work now. you’re halfway through lunch, sitting with two coworkers, when the office door opens. no one looks at first, then omeone does a little “…oh?”
you glance over.
a delivery guy stands there holding the largest fucking bouquet you’ve ever seen. it’s fucking brutal. genuinely.
he looks around. “uh, i have a delivery for y/n.”
your stomach drops so fast it feels like you missed a step on the stairs.
your friends light up. “OOOHHH.” one of them says. “okayyyy, secret admirer!”
you take the flowers. they’re heavy, man.
“who’s it from?” one of them asks.
“there’s a card.” you say.
you slide the little envelope out with fingers that only shake a little if you don’t look directly at them.
you open it.
you left without your shoes.
rude.
i had a good time, though. you’re hard to plan for. i like that.
dinner again soon? i’ll be more careful.
-chan
your vision tunnels. sound goes weird. like you’re underwater and that fuckass coworker of yours is speaking from the surface.
you never told him where you work, not once, not accidentally. you are extremely careful with that, always have been. your brain starts flipping through memories. coffee shop, park, walks, his place. that’s it.
“that’s so romantic.” one of your coworkers says, peeking over your shoulder. “wait, what does that mean, ‘more careful’? that’s kind of dark haha.”
you fold the card slowly. “yeah.” you say. your mouth is dry. “he’s… weird.”
understatement of the fucking century.
you look at the flowers again. big, expensive, smelling good.
he knows where you work.
he sent this during business hours.
he wanted you to open it here. in public. surrounded.
your heart is trying to punch its way out of your chest now. your skin feels too tight, too hot. you’re going to fucking collapse right here right now.
he’s not done, not embarrassed, not scared. he’s enjoying this.
“are you okay?” your friend asks, finally noticing your face.
you nod automatically. “yeah. yeah, i just, uh. need some air.” you stand up too fast. the chair screeches, too loud. everything’s too loud. you carry the bouquet with you because leaving it feels worse.
out in the hallway, the smile drops off your face.
“fuck.” you whisper, hands shaking so hard the flowers rattle.
he found you.
he waited.
he sent a gift.
somewhere, deep under the terror, under the nausea, under the oh my god he could be outside right now, you understand something. you didn’t call the police. and now he thinks this is still between just you and him. which, in his fucked up brain, means you’re still playing.
you throw the flowers into the trash.
to get home, you get a taxi, check the mirrors every thirty seconds, heart banging against your ribs the whole ride. when you get to your building, you scan the street. nothing.
you go inside, up the stairs, keys between your fingers like claws even though you know damn well that doesn’t do much.
you hands are shaking when you unlock your door.
you step in, and flip the light switch.
“i’ll get that.”
the door shuts behind you with a soft, final click.
your brain doesn’t process it, not at first. the voice hits before the meaning does.
then it lands. it wasn’t you saying that. it was a man’s voice telling you he’ll get that.
you turn, and chan is right there. inside your apartment. he’s been waiting. relaxed posture, jacket off, weapon nowhere visible, which somehow feels worse.
you suck in air to scream, but his hand covers your mouth instantly. other hand reaches past you, calmly turning the lock.
“mm-mm.” he murmurs, correcting you.
your whole body goes rigid, panic blowing up in your body so fast it almost whites you out. you claw at his wrist, trying to twist away, breath coming sharp through your nose.
he looks at you, softly, then he puts a finger to his lips.
shh.
you want to bite him. you want to claw his eyes out. you want to wake up.
after a second, he slowly takes his hand off your mouth.
you stumble back from him like he’s physically burning you.
“what the fuck is wrong with you?!” you snap, voice loud and shaking and furious. “What the FUCK is WRONG with you?!”
you shove his chest. hard. he rocks back half a step, not surprised nor affected.
“are you actually insane? you broke into my apartment?! you followed me to work?! what the fuck is this?! are you out of your fucking mind??”
you shove him again. he lets you.
“how did you even survive?” you ask.
“I have a hard head.” he says.
“yeah, no shit!”
he glances around your apartment. takes it in. the photos. the couch. your dumb little lamp. then, calm as ever: “where are the flowers?”
you stare at him. “are you— i threw them out!”
he frowns. “they were expensive.”
“i don’t give a fuck, chris!”
you shove him again, and this time it’s messy, more emotion than force. he lets you.
“this is not a thing. this is a crime. multiple crimes. a fucking bundle pack of crimes. are you aware of what you’re doing?” you ask.
he watches you. “you didn’t call the police.”
your jaw tightens. “that does not mean i want you around.”
“it means something.” he says.
“it means i was in shock, you psycho!”
a beat.
“what do you want from me?!”
silence.
“i want to take you out.”
you blink. “what.”
“on a date.”
you just stare at him. “you broke into my house.”
“yeah.”
“you tried to kill me.”
“yeah.”
“you stalked me.”
“mhm.”
you stare at him. you actually can’t fucking believe this is happening. “are you concussed? is the plate thing delayed?”
“i mean it.”
“you TRIED TO KILL ME.”
he nods once. “that part didn’t go how i thought.”
you make a sound. “no. are you hearing yourself?”
“i don’t want to kill you.” he says.
“you already tried!”
“that was before.”
“before WHAT?!”
he runs a hand through his hair. “before i knew.”
“knew what, that i have a job?!”
“that i like you.”
you just look at him. flat. done. “that is not my problem.”
he steps closer, not fast this time and not grabbing you. “please.”
you freeze. that word does not belong in his mouth.
“don’t do that, you fucker.” you warn.
“i can’t stop thinking about you.” he says, voice tighter now. “you’re in my head all the time. that doesn’t happen. ever.”
“that is not romantic, chan.” you say. “that is a medical issue.”
“i don’t care.” he says. “just one. one date. in public. you pick the place, and i won’t bring anything. i won’t—” he gestures. “i just want to sit across from you again.”
“you are insane.”
“i know.”
“you need help.”
“probably.”
you shake your head, backing away. “no. you don’t get to beg your way into my life after THIS.”
“i don’t know how else to do it.” he says, honest, but still not emotional.
“go to therapy.” you snap.
“y/n.”
“chan, i would rather fight a bear.”
he looks genuinely stressed now. like this is the hardest thing he’s ever done, and that includes murder.
“please.” he says. “i don’t want to stop seeing you.”
your heart is still racing, and your fear is still there, but now there’s something else in the room too. your brain is actually debating it.
his shoulders drop, his voice lowers half a notch, like he’s stepping into a different character.
“i’m not right.” he says. “you know that. i’ve never been right.”
ohhh here we fucking go.
you fold your arms. “don’t.”
“i didn’t choose this.” he continues, staring at the floor now. “i’ve always been like this. since i was a kid. something’s missing.“
yea sure bro throw the tragic backstory card in. fucking asshole.
“i try.” he says. “i watch how people act. i copy it. i learned how to be normal. that’s work, all the time. you have no idea how hard that is.”
you just look at him.
yeah, maybe that’s true. and also not your fucking problem.
“i don’t connect to people.” he goes on. “not really. they’re just… shapes. but you’re not. and i don’t know what to do with that.”
he runs a hand over his face like he’s exhausted by being a horrible person.
you feel it, the pull. the very human reflex to soften when someone sounds sad. to help, to be there.
THIS IS MANIPULATION.
self pity. poor me, i’m wired wrong, look how hard my life is, please ignore the crimes.
he’s not confessing for you. he’s building a case for himself. every sentence is don’t hold me accountable wrapped in a vulnerability act.
you point at him. “cut it the fuck off.”
he looks up.
“that.” you say. “that thing you’re doing? the sad little ‘i’m fucked up, life is hard’ speech? shut the fuck up.”
he blinks.
“i don’t care if you’re sad about you being the way you are. you are still choosing to do shit. repeatedly.” you continue.
he watches you.
“that wasn’t an apology.” you say. “that was acting, chan.”
a beat.
“…yeah.” he admits.
silence stretches.
“okay.” he says finally.
“okay what.”
“i won’t do that.”
“good.”
another pause.
“can i have a glass of water?” he asks.
you stare at him.
“you broke into my home.” you say slowly.
“yeah. i’m still thirsty.”
unbelievable.
you walk to the kitchen, grab a glass, fill it. your hands are steadier now, weirdly. you hand it to him.
“thanks.” he says, and drinks it. it looks adorable.
you sit on the arm of the couch, watching him.
“you don’t show up unannounced anymore.” you say.
“okay.”
“you don’t follow me to work.”
“okay.”
“you don’t get to send me anything. ever. no gifts. no notes. no bullshit.”
“…okay.”
“you don’t come here again.”
he hesitates.
you glare.
“…okay.”
“say it like you mean it.”
“i won’t come here again.”
you study him. he means it the way he means things, not emotionally, but as a rule.
he hands the empty glass back to you. “bathroom?”
you point down the hall automatically, then freeze. “why did i just—”
“thanks.” he says, already walking.
you rub your face. “this is insane. fucking asshole.”
from the hallway: “i can hear you.”
“good.”
he comes back a minute later, drying his hands on his jeans. “you can pick where we go.” he says.
“somewhere loud, with people. cameras. witnesses. preferably a location with multiple exits.”
“okay.”
you rub your temples. “jesus.”
“there’s that that place on—”
“no.” you cut in immediately.
“why.”
“too dim.”
“okay.”
“no place with booths.”
“…okay.”
“no parks. no walking after.”
“i get it.”
“i don’t think you do.”
he actually pulls his phone out. “tomorrow?” he asks.
“no, i need time.”
“for what.”
“to process this shit.”
he nods slowly. “two days.”
you shrug. “fine. two days. six p.m. that diner about half an hour away, the ugly one.”
he smiles faintly. “i know it.”
he knows every location within a mile radius of your existence. fantastic.
“you arrive alone.” you say. “you sit the whole time and you don’t follow me if i leave.”
a pause. then “okay.”
you narrow your eyes. “that one took too long.”
“i’m adjusting.” chan says.
you just shake your head. this is brutal. you actually can’t believe this is happening to you, bro.
you point to the door. “leave.”
he walks to the door, unlocks it, opens it. normal movements. ordinary. then he leaves without a word. which is weirder than the whole thing that just happened between the two of you, because… who the fuck leaves without saying bye? what is this guy’s fucking problem???
“fucking psycho.” you whisper to the empty apartment.
and the date ends up going… fine. yeah, it’s fine, no use denying what’s true. women look at him, one at the counter full on stares, another smiles when he walks past to sit down. heads turn. it pisses you off more than it flatters you, because this shouldn’t feel like anything, but it does.
chan does not notice a single one. he’s only looking at you. and he doesn’t say anything weird. you talk about surface things, work, movies, people, how the diner looks.
it feels like sitting across from a guy. just a guy. which is deeply, deeply fucked.
and just like that, you two become a thing. not a relationship, you don’t call it that, or at least don’t want to. you don’t label it, and you don’t tell people.
you meet in public places, always your choice, always crowded. he follows the rules with unsettling precision, bc he’s terrified of breaking the system you built. coffee shops. sometimes you take him with you for late night grocery shoppings.
weeks pass. then months. you discover chan listens more than he talks, now that he knows he can show you the real him. asks questions that are too observant. remembers everything. your schedule shifts? he notices. you’re tired? he notices. you cut your hair half an inch? he notices.
he never brings up what he is, and you never pretend you forgot. but sometimes you forget for ten minutes. fifteen, if you’re laughing. then he’ll say something slightly off, not creepy, just… detached, and you remember you are building something… something like this.
you also start recognizing the difference between how he looks at strangers and how he looks at you.
strangers: flat, measuring.
you: focused, curious.
you two fight a lot.
“you were ghosting me.” you snap once outside a café, acting like you weren’t begging him to leave you alone months before. yes, you caring about him not answering says a lot already.
“i wasn’t ghosting. i was busy.”
“with what, burying a body?”
he just blinks at you. “you don’t want the real answer.”
“correct.”
and sometimes he says things that remind you what he is. being too calm about violence in movies, too accurate about how long it takes for people to notice someone missing.
creep.
then to top it off, you’re coming home once. it’s not even that late, but you didn’t have a good day. ready to go to bed, you open your apartment door and… chan is sitting on your couch. you just stare at him.
“hi.” he says.
you close the door very slowly. “we had a rule.”
“mhm.”
“then why are you here.”
“i wanted to see you.”
you’re so tired for this right now. “you can’t just show up when you feel like it.” you say, dropping your bag. “i thought i’ve made that clear.”
he stands when you step closer, and now you’re in his space, pushing his chest with your palm.
“you don’t listen.” you say. “you just decide things.”
“i do listen.” he says calmly.
“no, you don’t.” you shove him again. he lets you, because you’re not trying to hurt him, you’re trying to move the frustration out of your body.
you push him once more, and he catches your wrists. not tight at all, he would never, just stopping the motion.
you freeze. he’s close. closer than he’s ever been without space or witnesses or rules between the two of you.
“let go.” you say.
“you’re shaking.” he says.
“because you broke into my home again, you psycho!”
your breathing is uneven, anger, fear, an endless swirl of emotions inside of you.
a beat hangs there.
then he leans in and kisses you. soft, careful. especially soft.
you just… stop. you can’t really process it, but your body knows it likes it. so much.
after a second, you pull back. “what the fuck.” you breathe.
“i wanted to do that.” he says.
“that’s not— you don’t just— you ASK—”
“i didn’t know how else to let you know.” he says, frustrated for real now. “i don’t know how to make you feel what i feel.”
you just stand there, heart racing, furious and rattled and very, very aware of how close he is.
but what says the most, is that you don’t tell him to leave.
after that, things change to be closer. he sits next to you sometimes, shoulder to shoulder. he doesn’t reach unless you do first. you two also argue a lot, you call him out constantly. he doesn’t get offended though.
the rule about your apartment is the only one he can’t keep. you catch him multiple times sitting on the steps outside your building when you get home, leaning against the wall down the hall like he “was just in the area” which is bullshit and you both know it.
“you said you wouldn’t come here.” you tell him every time.
“i know.” he says every time.
he means the apology, he just doesn’t stop.
tonight, you’re both on the couch. your show is playing, but neither of you are watching it. he’s on the other end at first.
you can feel him looking at you, though.
“what.” you say without looking at him.
“nothing.”
you glance over. he’s already closer than he was a minute ago. you didn’t see him move.
“chan.”
“yeah.”
“you’re doing the weird staring thing.”
he doesn’t deny it, instead, he shifts slowly. he puts one knee on the couch, then the other. then he’s pathetically moving toward you on all fours, careful.
he stops right in front of you, close enough that you can feel his breath on your face. his hands press into the couch on either side of you, but he’s not trapping you. there’s room to move.
relief crosses his pretty face, then he leans in and kisses you, slow. and now, you let yourself feel it.
you know it’s wrong, you know it’s fucked, and you know every rule you built bent tonight. but you’re tired of fighting every second. so you don’t pretend, you don’t justify it. you just accept the truth sitting heavy in your chest.
you forgave him.
which is, objectively? morally? spiritually? a terrible decision. absolute clown behavior. girl what the fuck.
and yet, you like him after all.
so yeah. you’ve accepted that he’s kinda your boyfriend now. and he feels that. he feels that you let go now, and how does he show that he gets you? he’s always touching you.
not grabby, just wants contact. his hand on your knee. fingers hooked in your sleeve. his forehead against your shoulder.
“you’re on me.” you mutter.
“yeah.”
“why.”
a pause. you can feel him thinking. “…i like it.”
you sigh but don’t move him. because you like it too.
you never ask where he’s been when he disappears for a night, and he never tells you. well, he would, but he knows you don’t want to hear it.
you’re in the kitchen one night and he’s literally following you step for step. you turn around suddenly and he almost walks into you.
“stop haunting me.” you murmur.
“i live here now, kinda.” he shrugs and reaches out, thumb brushing your jaw.
you end up laughing at him. god, he’s cute. (serial killer btw)
you know what he is, you know what you’re doing, and you most definitely know this ends badly in every possible timeline. but you’re the first person he’s ever wanted near him without an end goal. without wanting to chop you up. well, we know it started as that, but he doesn’t want to do that anymore.
and that’s why he keeps breaking the rule about your home. your place smells like you. sounds like you. is you. and god, he can’t fucking stay away from you.
you, on the other hand, are not missing pieces like he does. yours are just… bent. you feel everything. too much, if anything. fear, guilt, affection, anger, all of it overlapping, constant. you don’t lack a moral compass, you actively ignore it.
that’s the difference.
you know he’s wrong. you know staying is wrong. you know your own bad decisions. still do them.
part of it is control. you survived him once, you set rules, and he follows most of them. being with him tricks your brain into thinking you have power over something you absolutely do not.
and part of it, is that you know you’re his only one. being the only picture of love for a powerful asshole like this feels fucking amazing.
most days, you exist in this strange middle smth. you’re on the couch, and he’s half draped over you, heavy, warm, his arms around you. he wants you all over him so much.
then one night, you’re in your apartment, barefoot, in the kitchen. when the door unlocks, your shoulders tense automatically, but then you relax, it’s chan. you gave him a key weeks ago after arguing with yourself for three straight days.
“hey.” you call.
when he doesn’t answer, you turn. and your stomach drops so hard you feel it in your knees.
there’s blood on his shirt. not a little, not a cut. it’s smeared across the front. dark and drying.
“chris.” you say.
he looks at you, calm, eyes clear and… too clear.
“what happened?” you ask, voice already shaking.
he glances down at himself like he forgot. “oh.”
OH?
“you’re bleeding?” you ask.
“no.”
“then whose is that?”
a pause. he doesn’t answer.
now, you get a taste of reality.
“chan.” you say, backing up. “no. no, no, no. not in my kitchen. not… don’t bring that here.”
he goes still. “i didn’t mean to—”
“i don’t care what you meant!”
he steps toward you. you step back.
“you said— you said you’d keep it away from me.” you say. “away from my life.”
he looks… off balance. his smart but fucked up little brain obviously doesn’t know what to do with this. “i don’t want you to look at me like that.” he says quietly.
“like what?!”
“like i’m—”
“what you are?”
that hits, you can tell. he exhales, shaky now. “i don’t know how to split it.” he says. “i don’t know how to be with you and not be… me.”
“that’s not my job to fix!”
“i know.” his voice cracks on the last word.
he closes the distance fast, not aggressive, just desperate, and grabs you, not hard, just holding on.
“i don’t want you to leave.” chan says, pathetic suddenly. “i don’t—“
“you’re not the victim.” you’re rigid in his arms. heart racing, hands hovering, not sure about what to do.
“i know.” he says again. “i know. i just… i don’t know how to stop being this.” his grip tightens, clinging to you.
despite everything, the blood, the horror, the reality crashing through your denial, you let him hold you. not because he deserves it, but because somewhere along the way, you stopped knowing how to let go.
“i messed up.” he says.
“no shit, chan.” you whisper, your tone affectionate despite how rude the words are.
“i didn’t think—”
“that’s the problem, baby. you don’t think about what happens after. you just do it and then show up here.”
he runs a hand through his hair, leaving a smear across his forehead. oh your fucking god bro.
“i don’t have anywhere else.” he says.
“that is not my responsibility!” you raise your voice again. he deserves it.
his breathing changes, faster now. uneven. “i don’t want you scared of me.” he says.
“i am scared of you.” you reply.
he pulls you into him then, desperate. that’s how he deals with all these feelings, it seems like. this is what he needs when it’s too much. your touch.
you stiffen, then shove at him weakly. “you’re covered in blood—”
“i know.” he says into your shoulder. his voice shakes, actually shakes. “i know. i know. i know.”
he’s freaking out now too. not about what he did, but about you pulling away.
then his hands drop from you. the air changes. “y/n, don’t do this to me.”
you shake your head. “i’m not doing anything, chris. i’m reacting to the fact that you walked in here drenched in someone else—”
“you think you’re better than me.” he cuts in. he looks… scary. terrifying, actually. that’s because he’s panicking.
“…i never said that.”
“you don’t have to.”
he steps back, running both hands through his hair, smearing red across his temples. he looks fucking crazy.
“you knew what i was.” he says. “you don’t get to act shocked now.”
“i’m not acting!” you shout. “i am shocked! there’s a difference between knowing and seeing it in my fucking living room!”
he kicks the leg of the coffee table hard enough that it scrapes across the floor. the sound makes you jump.
“i try.” he says, voice rising. “i follow your rules, your places, your times, your conditions, and the one time i can’t clean it up perfectly, suddenly i’m too much.”
“you ARE too much right now!”
that shuts him up for a second. his chest is rising fast, hands flexing, and you can see the restless, we can even say dangerous energy crawling under his skin. not directed at you exactly, but not not either.
but you know he’s not losing control because of what he did. he’s losing control because he thinks he’s losing you. that fear, for him, doesn’t look like retreat. it looks like attack.
“chan. baby.” you say, voice lower now, and you slowly step closer. “you’re not losing me.” you say.
his eyes are sharp, searching, suspicious. “you just said you were scared.”
“i am.” you say. “and it is what it is. but do you see me going anywhere?” you brush your hand over his pretty cheeks. “no. i just need you not to bring that here. i need separation. i need a line. not from you, but from other people’s guts in my living room. most people don’t like that, and i’m one of them. and that’s okay. it doesn’t mean i like you any less, and you know that.”
his eyes flick to the blood on his hands like he’s seeing it clearly for the first time. “i didn’t think.” he mutters.
“i know. and that’s okay. i know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”
his breath shudders out of him.
“i don’t want to fight you.” you add softly. not entirely true. you are furious. you are shaken. but you want him calm more than you want to win this moment. because calm means safe.
“…i can try.” he says. he means keeping allat human remains away from you, and you know that. no need for clarification. it’s not a promise, though. it’s the most he has.
you nod, because right now de-escalation matters more than truth.
“thank you. go clean up.” you say quietly.
he doesn’t move.
“bathroom.” you add. “now.”
a beat, then he nods. obedient isn’t the right word, it’s not submission. it’s… trust in your direction.
you lean up and press the smallest kiss against his cheek before he pulls away from you and goes to the bathroom.
when you can hear the water running from there, you stand, staring at nothing.
your boyfriend is in your bathroom washing blood off his hands.
your boyfriend.
you love him.
you shouldn’t, but you so do.
when he comes back, he’s shirtless, hair damp, skin scrubbed red in places as if he tried to sand himself down to something cleaner underneath. he stands there awkwardly.
you open your arms. “c’mere, baby.” you insane fucking bitch.
chan comes to you immediately, no hesitation. he folds into you, arms wrapping around your waist, face pressing into your shoulder, into your neck. you hand goes to the back of his head automatically, fingers in his hair, the other hand spreads across his back.
he’s warm, solid, a man who has done unforgivable things. a man who melts the second you touch him like this.
“you’re okay.” you murmur.
he exhales hard against your skin.
“i didn’t mean to bring it here.” he murmurs.
“i know.”
is that fully true? does he mean it in the way you mean things? you don’t know, but you know he didn’t mean to hurt you. and that’s the line you have chosen as enough.
you smooth your hand down his back slowly, repetitive. “you’re okay.” you repeat. “you didn’t mean it.”
that part isn’t true. he meant what he did out there. somewhere. to someone. but he didn’t mean to crack open your safe space. he didn’t mean to make you look at it.
“i don’t want you scared.” he says into your shoulder, tightening his adorable grip on you.
“i’m not.” you lie softly. you are. you always are, a little. but you also know him, the way his system works, how he came here knowing this was a safe place.
you rest your cheek against his head.
you evil boyfriend. your terrifying, capable, deeply fucked up boyfriend. held in your arms like he’s the one who needs protection.
so yeah, that… went like that. he learned from it, you learned from it. you have calmed down about it since then.
and he’s still very, very gentle with you. for an example, you’re in the kitchen with him standing somewhere behind you. it’s morning. you’re pouring yourself tea, when you feel something nudge your elbow.
you look down. his mug has silently, slowly slid across the counter toward you.
you stare at him. “use words.”
he blinks once. “tea.”
“you are capable of full sentences.”
he considers that. “more tea would be… good.” brutally charismatic dream man to the world btw.
you pour it.
“thanks.” he says quietly, hands wrapping around the mug.
it’s adorable, if you ignore literally everything else.
he’s on your dick constantly. shoulder touches. fingers hooking in your belt loop when you walk past. forehead pressing into your shoulder while you’re brushing your teeth. physical contact is how his little feelings come to the surface.
once, like in the MIDDLE of the fucking night, you’re asleep. actually calm in your sleep too, when the mattress dips.
you wake up just enough to process the arm that slides around your waist and a face pressing into the back of your neck.
you mumble, half conscious. “cold.”
“sorry.” chan whispers.
you reach back blindly, grabbing his wrist, pulling his arm tighter around you. you smell soap. strong. recently used. you’re awake enough to translate that into “he recently killed somebody and just washed up then immediately came to you” but too tired to think much of it. and too in comfort now that he’s here, so you fall back asleep.
in the morning, you will see his shirt in the sink, confirming your theory from last night. and you will not ask.
then one day you realize you stopped thinking of the worst when he comes home late. stopped asking where he was. and it’s not because of you wanting to ignore it anymore. it’s from acceptance now.
“you’re late.” you say one night to the man who you once told to stay the fuck away from your place, and now wait for before going to bed.
“yeah.” chan answers.
you glance back. he’s standing there, a little too still. shirt in his hand this time.
you sigh, tired more than shocked. “shoes off. bathroom. now.”
he nods. “sorry.” he adds, already walking.
you turn back to the stove, jaw tight. “jesus.” you mutter, stirring harder. “i made pasta.”
from the hallway: “i like your pasta.”
“i know.”
he doesn’t understand guilt the way people describe it. he understands consequences, and he understands loss. you are the only loss that terrifies him, because he loves you with his whole, damaged system. it should scare you more, and sometimes it does, but mostly, when he’s got his face buried in your neck, breathing slow, hands warm against your back, he’s just your boyfriend. your awful, terrifying, weird, quiet boyfriend who pushes his mug toward you instead of speaking and crawls across furniture to ask permission to kiss you.
and you love him so much.
sometimes, in very quiet moments, when he’s asleep beside you, face relaxed into something almost boyish, you study him.
this man could end lives.
this man panics if you don’t text back.
and what’s even more brutal is how he performs to the world. because he performs perfectly.
you watch it sometimes, and it’s fascinating. it’s horrifying. it’s the same face that rests in your lap at night, blank and quiet and real.
you remember the first time he walked up to you, casual, charming, disarming.
you didn’t stand a chance.
nobody does.
because he holds doors, makes eye contact like the person talking is the only one in the room. waiters like him, strangers tell him things, women glance twice. he laughs at the right volume, tips well, knows just enough about everything to keep conversations moving. he’s the guy moms hope their daughters bring home. he’s not shy to show you off, always behind you in public, arms loosely around your waist, chin on your shoulder.
you fell for that guy. then, you fell for the actual guy under the costume.
and the guy under the costume would do anything for you. you’re in a parking garage once after you asked him to take you shopping. you’re mid-sentence, telling him about something, keys in hand, when chan goes still. not even that dramatic fucking bullshit that movies do, just… still.
you notice because he was touching you a second ago, hand at your lower back, and now he’s not.
“what?” you ask.
his eyes are over your shoulder, and you turn. a guy is walking past too close, hoodie up, moving weird, fast, then slow. his gaze flicks between you, your bag, the car. your brain also starts doing that thing, the math, but chan’s obviously faster with it because he steps slightly in front of you.
“hey.” the random ass guy says(an: insert that “who’s this” meme from tiktok comments omfg guys), already too near. “you got the time?”
“no.” chan replies, calm.
the guy’s hand moves, too fast. you, inexperienced little you, don’t even process it fully, just that the motion is wrong. but chan is not inexperienced, and soon, there are bodies colliding with the side of the car. a grunt. a hard, final sound you’ll pretend later you didn’t recognize.
chan is standing.
the other guy isn’t.
you stare.
“are you hurt?” you ask chan. that’s your first question. not what just happened. not oh my god. chan is the first thing you care about, not even the violence anymore. that says a lot about your relationship’s improvement.
“yeah.” he says.
you step closer immediately, checking him over, hands on his arms, his sides, his chest. your fingers come away shaking, but not from what’s on them. from adrenaline.
“you okay?” you ask again.
“i’m fine.”
your gaze flicks past him, to the body on the concrete. meanwhile chan looks at you like he’s waiting. for fear. for disgust. for the moment you finally see him clearly and step away.
you don’t, well, you do see him clearly, but you also don’t step away. at all. you grab his jacket instead.
“let’s go.” you say.
when he’s driving you home, you’re scared, but not of him. you’re scared of what just rearranged inside you. because you replay it, the moment, the motion, the outcome, and your mind keeps landing on one thing.
chan moved without hesitation. between you and danger. and the only emotion that cuts through the shock is relief. relief that he was there.
and while driving, he just reaches over slowly and puts his hand on your knee.
at home, you can obviously see that he feels guilty that you saw that. but you step into him, and press your face into his chest. he immediately wraps around you.
“i only care that you’re okay.” you say into his shirt.
it’s true.
something settles after that night in the garage. the constant internal argument quiets. the this is wrong/but i love him/but this is wrong loop loses volume. you stopped trying to solve it. acceptance is ugly, but it’s peaceful.
and chan feels it immediately. he is a fucking expert in you, so when you stop freaking out when he brings blood home, when your body language loses that last thread of tension around him, he softens too.
he kisses you more, for an example. passing by you in the kitchen, kiss to your temple. sitting beside you, absentminded press of his mouth to your shoulder. lips on your forehead when you’re half asleep. you shoulder when you’re brushing your teeth. the top of your head when you’re sitting and he’s standing behind the couch.
you’re on your laptop once, deep in something, and he just leans down and presses a kiss to your temple.
you don’t even look up. “hi.”
“hi.”
he walks away.
that’s it. that’s the interaction.
he’s still not verbally expressive, still not a “talk about feelings” person. but physically, he’s all there. touch is this asshole’s way of expressing his love for you.
the sex is better too. this new honesty makes everything between you more direct, makes the communication easier, and boy does it make you cum harder. he’s fucking amazing in bed, you couldn’t even deny that when you were still scared of him. but now? oh your fucking god.
and after sex, when you’re asleep, he watches you longer and differently. his little eyes are literally shining when he looks at you, especially when you’re naked and guard down and asleep next to him. he feels so lucky.
you still argue. you’re both stubborn, both wired wrong in ways that clash. but neither of you want to argue really.
“you’re not listening.” you say one evening, arms crossed.
“i am.” he replies, calm.
“then don’t just nod. actually respond.”
a pause. “…i don’t know what the correct response is.”
you sigh, some of the heat draining. “try anything.”
“…i don’t like when you shut down.” he says finally. it’s clumsy, so blunt, but so so so real.
you blink. “okay. that’s something.”
progress, yes, though he still disappears sometimes and still comes back late. but! he tells you more now.
“i’ll be gone tonight.” he says some days.
“okay.”
“don’t wait up.”
“i won’t.”
a beat.
“be careful.” you add.
he nods.
one night, you’re both on the couch, your legs over his lap, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your ankle.
“you’re calmer.” he says.
“so are you.”
“that’s because you’re calmer.”
you glance at him. “don’t make me responsible.” then you nudge his side with your foot gently.
he catches it, and presses a brief kiss to your ankle bone. the same man that removed ankle bones before btw.
you know exactly what kind of man you love now. you’re not pretending he’s good, you just… chose him anyway.
he talks more, too. you’ll be lying in bed and he’ll say: “i don’t like when they panic early. it’s loud.”
you stare at the ceiling. “cool. hate that sentence.”
he nods into your shoulder. “yeah.”
another night: “i prefer planning. impulse is messy.”
“please stop workshopping murder in my bed.” you mutter.
he kisses your collarbone lightly. “okay.”
he keeps talking, in pieces, over weeks. just… information. and you realize this is his version of intimacy. letting you see the internal logic, the preferences, the way his brain categorizes things most people couldn’t even think about without unraveling. he’s not confessing, he’s including you. and you just listen, sometimes telling him to shut up, sometimes asking questions, like that “letting my horse take me places to let him know i care about his interests too” tiktok trend or idk how it goes.
once you’re in a bookstore. some guy is talking to you about a novel you’re holding, being overly friendly in that way men do when they think they’re charming. you’re polite, nodding, listening, when an arm slides around your waist from behind.
chan’s chin rests briefly on your shoulder.
“hey.” he says, voice so so so charismatic, smiling at the guy like they’re old friends. “did you find what you were looking for, baby girl?”
you close your eyes for half a second. oh my god. you can feel chan turn the public personality on. relaxed posture, perfect smile, protective but casual. like he just wandered over from being handsome somewhere else.
“yeah.” you say dryly. “book.”
“nice.” he says, kissing the side of your head.
the stranger mumbles something about having to go. chan watches him leave, expression pleasant. then, quietly in your ear: “he was standing too close.”
“i had it handled.”
“oh, i know.” he doesn’t remove his arm, and you don’t make him.
it’s insane how easily he switches. but you can catch it now perfectly. when his face goes blank between expressions, when he talks about things he knows only you can be told about, when his hand tightens slightly in his sleep. and now you just brush your thumb over his knuckles until he settles.
what changes, in the end, isn’t that he becomes better. it’s that he becomes unguarded. with the world, he still has that mask. but with you, that starts crumbling, because somewhere along the way, his brain filed you under safe.
like you’re in your room, drawer open, looking for a charger. chan appears behind you like he always does, silent, looming, curious.
“what are you looking for?” he asks.
“nothing you need to help with.” you reply.
too late, his hand has already reached into the drawer. you turn just in time to see him pull out your vibrator, and examining it.
you snatch it out of his hand so fast you almost dislocate your own shoulder.
he blinks. “i thought—“
“that is a private object, chan. it’s okay if we use it during sex, you do not need to pull it out now.”
“i wasn’t using it.”
“THAT IS NOT THE POINT.”
he nods slowly, processing. “privacy.” he repeats.
“yes. privacy. personal. mine. it’s okay for you to touch it when it’s in context, otherwise it’s not pleasant to have you throw it around.”
“okay.”
five minutes later he opens your bathroom cabinet while brushing his teeth.
you smack the door shut.
he looks at you, toothbrush in mouth.
“…privacy?” he tries.
“privacy.”
“right.”
he’s not being creepy on purpose. he just genuinely does not have the instinct most people have that says this is someone else’s space inside their space. his brain works like this: your house = your shared environment = accessible. drawers? shelves? phone screens? all just… objects in the environment.
you’re folding laundry. he walks past, casually picks up one of your panties and starts examining it.
you slap his hand away. “what are you DOING.”
“i was looking.”
“AT WHAT.”
“you.”
you sigh.
he looks at you. “…context matters?”
“yes, good job.”
he still forgets sometimes, he just feels so comfortable around you, and he really wouldn’t mind if you were the one snooping around in his things, because he doesn’t have any secrets from you. you start realizing that because he doesn’t attach taboo to things the way most people do, he also doesn’t instinctively categorize them as off limits. to him, objects are objects. curiosity is neutral.
another time, you come out of the shower and nearly die on the spot. he’s sitting on the bed, reading your journal. not snooping in a sneaky way, not hiding it, just sitting there, legs crossed, flipping a page.
you freeze. “what are you doing.”
he looks up. “you think in lists.”
you snatch it from him.
“i wasn’t judging.” he says calmly. “i wanted to understand you better.”
“i appreciate that, baby, but this is a no.”
“…so journals are private.”
“YES.”
a pause.
“what about notes apps.”
you point at the door. “OUT.”
this man can plan crimes down to the minute. he can read people in seconds. he can charm strangers, disappear in crowds, control his expressions like a trained actor. but understanding why he cannot open your nightstand without warning? that takes fifteen separate lectures. you’ve scolded him in every room of your house at this point. kitchen: “stop opening containers that aren’t yours.” living room: “that’s my journal, don’t touch it.” bedroom: “knock. yes, even here. no, i don’t have a problem with you seeing my body, i just need my privacy.” bathroom: “if the door is closed, you WAIT.”
“you’re very complicated.” he tells you once, but he still tries, because you are the only person whose discomfort registers that high.
but he opens drawers, he reorganizes things “more efficiently.” he once moved your entire bathroom counter layout and then looked confused when you stood there staring at it.
“it’s better.” he said.
“it’s WRONG.”
“functionally—”
“emotionally wrong, babe!”
then something shifts again. not in him. in you. because one night he’s sitting beside you, close but not touching, clearly trying very hard to stay in his lane, hands in his lap, wanting to go through stuff. it’s in his little instincts. and you feel it. the restraint. the way he’s holding himself back because you said no before. and instead of relief, you feel… something else. tenderness.
so you tell him to go the fuck on and snoop around.
you let him do it now. whatever.
he starts wearing your hoodie sometimes. you start not caring. he uses your shampoo. you just buy more. he sits on your side of the couch. you sit on him instead. somewhere along the way, your space stops being mine and becomes ours, and you don’t remember signing that lease, but here you are.
you catch him one afternoon in your room while you’re working at the table, fiddling absently with something on your dresser, bored, waiting for you to finish.
you look up. your fucking vibrator is in his hands again.
and you just sigh. “don’t break anything.”
he doesn’t. you let him play around.
what he doesn’t understand though, is when you baby his ass. that absolutely fries his system. you’re on the couch, he’s half lying on you, and you grab his face suddenly.
“who’s a menace?” you coo.
he blinks.
“you are. yes you are. big scary menace.” you pinch his cheek.
“why are you talking like that?” he asks.
“because you’re cute. look at your face. stupid.”
“…okay.”
you kiss his nose.
affection he understands. playful nonsense affection? no. but he lets you do it, every time.
from the outside, he’s still perfect. charming. polite. magnetic. then he comes home, drops the mask, and stands in your kitchen in your socks, drinking juice straight from the carton while you smack his arm.
“glass!”
he gets one immediately.
you shake your head. “unbelievable.”
he kisses your temple on the way past.
and you don’t even care anymore that he comes home drenched in other people sometimes.
author’s note: i only tagged people who asked to be on my general taglist. if you asked to be tagged for sorry we tried to kill you part 2 but didn’t mention my general taglist and you’d like to be tagged for my other works too, let me know :) this just means i didn’t tag those people this time because i wasn’t sure if you meant only part 2 or my other upcoming works as well. let me know. love y’all<3 (also the fact that you’re reading this rn, which tells me you’re THAT interested in my work, deserves a reward, which is me telling you that the part 2 of sorry we tried to kill you is coming out next, theeeen a separate serial killer felix like this)
Summary: Bang Chan loves making full use of his Stray Kids leader money—especially when it comes to her.
Warnings: Mentions of sex, blowjobs, handjobs (you know… all the jobs), lingerie, daddy kink
A/N: Other members were requested! Lmk which Member you desire next.
୨ৎ Felix ୨ৎ Hyunjin ୨ৎ Seungmin ୨ৎ Jeongin ୨ৎ Changbin ୨ৎ Han ୨ৎ Leeknow
───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───
Bang Chan wasn’t just her boyfriend.
He was her provider. Her protector.
It didn’t matter that he was knee-deep in deadlines, producing tracks until sunrise, answering five calls at once, and coaching the younger members like a seasoned general—
────୨ৎ────
The fur coat was stunning. Hand-delivered from Milan.
Not just fur. Cruelty-free, custom dyed in her favorite shade, with a golden nameplate on the inside that read:
“For my queen. - BC”Real Fendi. Snow leopard print, soft as sin, the kind of thing only his girl could pull off. She hadn’t even asked for it—just sighed once at a photo on her phone—and now it was hanging in her closet like it had always belonged there.
“I just mentioned it once,” she breathed, stunned.
“You don’t mention things to me, baby,” Chan said with a lazy smirk from the doorway, sleeves rolled, veins prominent, eyes dark. “You make declarations. And Daddy listens.”
────୨ৎ────
He was at the studio when she sent him the mirror selfie. Her in the coat, nothing underneath but lace.
Chan nearly groaned aloud, biting his lip as he watched the photo load. It was late, everyone else had gone home, but he was still at the mixer, sleeves rolled up, chest heaving with the weight of his next verse.
And now? Now he was hard.
He called her immediately.
“You tryin’ to kill me, princess?” he murmured, voice already thick. “You really put that on while I’m here working?”
She giggled sweetly. “I missed you.”
Chan’s response was immediate. “Stay right there. Don’t take it off. I’ll be home in fifteen.”
When he got back, she was waiting.
She was lounging on their bed, that coat slipping off one shoulder, her lips glossy, eyes wide and waiting. Chan stood in the doorway, jaw clenched, watching her like he hadn’t seen her in weeks.
“Come here.”
She obeyed instantly, crawling to him on all fours, the coat dragging behind her like a queen’s train.
He caught her chin between his fingers when she reached him, lifting her face to meet his eyes. “You know what this coat means, don’t you?”
She nodded. “That I’m yours.”
“No, baby,” he corrected, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip. “That you’re my only. And I take care of what’s mine.”
────୨ৎ────
There were perks to dating the leader of Stray Kids.
Like when she wanted a quiet date night, and Chan rented out an entire theater. Not just the movie—they projected a montage of her favorite K-dramas, edited together by a professional team he personally directed.
While she sat curled up in her fur, eating popcorn from a crystal bowl, Chan lounged beside her in joggers and a tight black tee, arm around her shoulder, legs spread like he owned the whole damn city.
Because he did. When it came to her—he did.
“Everyone should know what kind of taste my baby has,” he murmured against her temple. “And no one gets to enjoy it but me.”
────୨ৎ────
Her nails were fresh.
Long, almond-shaped, with crushed diamonds embedded in a sheer pink base. Chan had flown in a nail tech from Japan who only did private celebrity sessions. She didn’t even ask. He just made it happen.
He watched her trace a finger down his chest one night, those expensive nails glinting in the warm bedroom light.
“You like them?” she whispered.
Chan didn’t answer with words.
He grabbed her by the wrist, pressed her palm flat against his abs, and dragged it slowly lower until her hand was resting right over the hard bulge in his sweats.
“I paid for those hands,” he growled, voice thick. “Now put ‘em to work, princess.”
Her fingers twitched against the heavy outline in his sweats. He was already hard, aching, and she could feel the heat through the fabric—how thick he was, how much he needed her.
She didn’t rush.
Instead, she trailed her nails—slowly, teasingly—up his length, letting the crushed diamonds scrape softly through the cotton. Just enough to make him hiss.
Chan’s jaw tightened. “Don’t play.”
But she only smiled, sinking to her knees between his legs, those glossy, dangerous nails curling under the waistband of his sweats and pulling them down with a drag so slow it felt like torture.
His cock sprang free—heavy, flushed, leaking.
And her breath hitched at the sight.
All that for her.
She wrapped one manicured hand around him—delicate, expensive fingers closing around his base like they were sculpted for this. He groaned low, head falling back, and the sound made her clench.
She stroked him slow. Luxurious. Worshipful. Letting her rings clink softly with every glide. Her thumb swiped across the tip, spreading the bead of pre-cum with a practiced motion, her other hand resting light on his thigh, nails biting down with each twitch of his hips.
He looked down at her, eyes blazing.
“Look at you,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “Spoiled little thing… working Daddy’s cock like a fucking jewel thief.”
She grinned—wicked and proud—and twisted her wrist just how she knew he liked it. Grip just right. Pressure perfect. The way only she knew how to do.
And when his hips started to stutter, when he cursed under his breath in three different languages, she leaned in and whispered, sweet and smug:
“Wanna come for me, Daddy? All over the hands you bought?”
His groan broke in his throat.
And seconds later, he did.
────୨ৎ────
Studio nights weren’t quiet anymore.
Sometimes, she came barefoot, wrapped in one of his oversized hoodies and nothing else, curling up on the sofa while he clicked through beats. Sometimes, she sprawled across his lap, thighs bare, pressing lazy kisses to his throat while he adjusted synth levels like it was just another Tuesday.
“Need to focus, sweetheart,” he’d murmur—but his hand would already be gripping her thigh, stroking slow circles, letting her know she was welcome anywhere he was.
She slid under the console like she belonged there, eyes glinting in the dim studio lights, lips already parted.
He didn’t say a word. Just let out a breath and leaned back slightly in the chair, the hand not working the mixer dropping to the side—to her.
She unzipped him slow. Silently. Pulled him out with both hands like unwrapping a gift she already knew by heart.
He was half-hard already. That changed the moment her warm breath ghosted over the tip.
She started with his balls—because she liked to tease. Wet, open-mouthed kisses along the soft skin. Tongue tracing slow circles. Gentle sucks, one after the other, until his thighs twitched and his breath caught in the mic.
“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, barely audible.
She giggled against him.
And then she moved up.
Took the tip between her lips. Swirled her tongue around it like candy. Then sank down in one long, greedy motion—until he hit the back of her throat.
Chan slammed his hand on the desk, pretending it was about a track beat.
In reality, he was struggling not to thrust into her mouth.
She set a rhythm—slow, wet, deliberate. Hands twisting at the base, spit dripping onto her fingers as she bobbed her head. Every time she hollowed her cheeks and moaned around him, his grip on the chair tightened.
“You’re insane,” he rasped, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m working—”
She pulled off with a pop. Whispered, “Then work, Daddy. I’ll just keep your stress levels down.”
And went right back down on him.
Deeper this time. No mercy. Her nails dug into his thighs while her tongue worked underneath, tip pressed into that sensitive spot beneath the head. She sucked like she was trying to milk him, and Chan was fucking losing it.
When she went back to his balls—licking, sucking, slurping—and stroked him at the same time?
That’s when he came. Hard. Into her mouth, into her throat, with his head thrown back and a low growl muffled by his sleeve.
She swallowed everything.
And when she came back up from under the desk, licking her lips like she’d just come back from brunch.
────୨ৎ────
When she missed him during tour, she didn’t cry. She waited—with full trust that he would make it up to her.
And oh, he did.
The moment he stepped through the door, he lifted her up, walked her straight to the bed, and unwrapped her like a present.
“My good girl,” he whispered, voice rough, eyes dark with hunger. “Waited so sweet for me.”
She moaned as his hands explored her body like it had been years, not weeks. His thrusts were punishing, praise spilling out between every deep stroke, his voice laced with so much heat and pride, it broke her open.
“Missed this pussy,” he growled. “Missed my perfect, spoiled baby.”
────୨ৎ────
Once, a stylist made the mistake of telling her she “looked expensive.”
Chan had overheard. And later that night, he chuckled as he kissed her bare shoulder and whispered:
“She is expensive. And I’m the only one who can afford her.”
────୨ৎ────
Chan knew she didn’t love him for the money. Not the furs, not the jewels, not the VIP service that followed her around like a shadow.
She loved him.
It was in the way she waited for him to get home, curled up on the couch in his hoodie, sleepy-eyed and soft. In the way she packed snacks for the studio because she knew he’d forget. In the soft kiss she left on his temple every morning before he woke up.
And God—when she showed up at the studio late at night, just to sit quietly and wait?
That did him in.
She’d curl up on the studio couch, that coat wrapped around her, half-asleep but still humming along to the beat he was mixing. No complaints. No demands. Just there for him.
That was why he spoiled her. That was why he had to.
synopsis: jisung’s oh so loving roommate, felix, graciously gifted him a late birthday/early christmas present. little did either of them know that some shitty porn chip would leave jisung falling in love.
pairing: cyber!jisung x artificial!fem!reader
genre: smut, cyberpunk au
contains: mentions of cyberware, simulated sexual intimacy, kissing, handjob, unprotected sex (kinda…? idk it isn’t real), coming untouched (also kinda??), desperate jisung, dropping the love bomb
word count: 3.5k
now playing: scent - xlov
the circuit — - cyberpunk!skz
[a/n]: FIRST INSTALLMENT OF CYBERPUNK AU LETS GOOOOO >< i hope this all translates well bc it was a liiiittle difficult to write bc i wanted to make it as cyberpunk-y as possible while still keeping it easy to read. ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOYYYY <3<3
the chip lands on jisung’s desk with all the ceremony of a drug dealer flicking a business card.
“happy birthday, genius” felix teases, grinning like he’s just handed over the keys to a car instead of some bd chip. it clatters against a half-empty energy drink can and comes to rest beside a tangle of charging cables that haven't been untangled since purchase.
jisung looks up from his monitor, where three overlapping windows display code he's been staring at for the past two hours without actually reading. his neural hud flickers with half-formed notifications he keeps dismissing on reflex.
deadpan, jisung says "my birthday was two months ago."
"late birthday. early christmas. does it matter?" felix leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. jisung raises a brow, only slightly worried at how his roommate looks far too pleased with himself. "found it at some sketchy kiosk downtown. the guy had like, fifteen of these things in a shoebox under the counter. vintage trash, but i figured you'd get a kick out of it."
the chip itself is wrapped in neon packaging that hurts to look at. it’s garish pink, the likes of which clashes horribly with the electric blue lettering. theres a winking emoji sticker slapped across the front. and to make all matters better, the label reads premium experience in a font that screams nothing about this is premium.
jisung picks it up between two fingers like it might be contaminated.
"you got me porn."
"i got you artisanal porn," felix corrects. "there's a difference."
"there really isn't."
"just try it, you prude. you've been wound tighter than a fucking overclock chip for weeks. when's the last time you even jerked off?"
jisung's emotion filter gives a warning pulse under his jaw—a little electric hiccup that hints at a rising stress level. he rubs at it absently. "i'm working."
"you're spiraling," felix says flatly. "there's a difference." he pushes off the doorframe and heads back into the hallway, calling over his shoulder as he goes. "well, it's yours now. do with it what you will. or don't. i don't care…”
a pause.
“but if you do, i want a full review!"
"i'm not reviewing your back-alley porno."
"your loss!"
the chip sits on jisung's desk for three days.
he doesn't touch it. he hasn’t even looked directly at it. it just exists in his peripheral vision, a gaudy little reminder that felix thinks he needs to get laid. or at least needs to simulate getting laid.
and damn, if that isn’t somehow worse.
but the thing about jisung's brain is that it never shuts up. it catalogs everything. notices everything. and the chip, with its stupid winking emoji and neon packaging, has wormed its way into his subconscious like a splinter under his thumbnail—painful and very, very prominent.
by the third night, he's exhausted in that specific, jittery way that comes from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. his body feels like a live wire. his thoughts are racing, overlapping, doubling back on themselves in a feedback loop he can't break.
he's tried working. tried gaming. tried scrolling through feeds until his eyes burn.
nothing works.
he sits on the edge of his bed, surrounded by the ambient glow of his monitors and the faint whine of his overclock chip—barely audible but always there, like tinnitus made of electricity.
his hands are restless. his leg bounces. his jaw aches from clenching. his- oh, right…
he’s also horny.
not in a casual, ignorable way. in a way that makes his skin feel too tight, makes every nerve ending buzz with uncomfortable awareness.
his eyes drift to the desk. to the chip that looks back at him like a fucking taunt.
"fuck it.”
jisung swipes the chip into his palm, tears off that ridiculous packaging (seriously, they should totally rebrand), and slots it into the braindance port behind his left ear with a soft, satisfying click.
it takes barely a second before the world dissolves.
the first thing that hits him isn't visual, it's tactile. the sensation of cool sheets against his back, the weight of a body that isn't his own settling over his lap. his neural hud flickers, trying to process the sudden shift in sensory input, but it can't keep up.
the braindance doesn't care about his implants. it bypasses them entirely, feeding directly into the raw nerve endings of his brain.
when his vision stabilizes, he's in a bedroom. it’s quaint. for a back alley bd, that is. it’s minimalist with soft lighting that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. there’s clean lines, muted colors, the whole nine yards.
it feels intimate in a way that makes his chest tighten—like he's stepped into someone's private space without permission.
except he has permission. that's the whole point.
and that’s when you make your appearance.
you don't fade in or materialize gradually. no, you're just there, straddling his lap with a confidence that makes his breath catch.
your weight is solid, real, impossible to distinguish from flesh and bone. your hands rest on his shoulders, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his hoodie, and when you smile at him, it's not shy or tentative—it's knowing. like you've been waiting for him. like you've done this a thousand times before and you know exactly how it's going to end.
"hey there, babyboy" you purr, voice low, teasing. dripping with amusement. "took ya long enough."
jisung's mouth goes dry.
he tries to respond, but his brain is still catching up, still trying to reconcile the fact that none of this is real even though every nerve in his body is screaming otherwise. his emotion filter flickers erratically under his jaw, sending little electric pulses through his skin—overstimulation warnings that he doesn’t even have to think twice about ignoring.
"i-" he starts, but you cut him off by leaning in closer, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear.
"don't think too hard," you murmur. "you're not here to think, baby."
your hand slides down from his shoulder to his chest, fingers splaying over his sternum before dragging lower, slower, until they're resting on his stomach. his abdomen tenses under your touch. the laugh that runs through you is soft, cruel, right against the shell of his ear. it’s like you can feel the way his body is already betraying him.
"you're so tense," you say, pulling back just enough to look at him. your eyes are bright, playful, but there's something else there too, something that feels almost predatory. "relax. i'm not gonna bite. not unless you want me to, at least."
jisung’s not proud of the way his cock twitches in the confines of his pants.
he swallows hard, hands hovering uselessly at his sides like he’s unsure where to put them, unsure if he's allowed to touch you back.
you notice and you take one of his hands in yours, guiding it to your waist. your skin is warm so warm through the fabric of your shirt that it almost makes him feel feverish. the sensation is so vivid, so utterly overwhelming, that he nearly pulls away on instinct.
"there we go," you say softly, like you're coaxing a nervous animal. "see? not so scary."
your other hand drifts lower, and there’s no hesitation as your palm presses into the pathetically obvious tent in his pants. it’s firm. it’s deliberate . it’s just the right amount of pressure to send jisung's hips jerking up in search of more.
a broken sound escapes his throat, half gasp, half moan, and you look delighted.
"oh, you're sensitive," you chirp. it’s not a question, it’s a statement. something wicked creeps into your tone as you press a little harder "i like that."
you keep your hand there, rubbing slow circles over the growing bulge in his pants, and jisung feels like he's going to combust.
his overclock chip whines louder in the back of his skull, his neural hud flashing warnings he doesn't have the capacity to read.
jisung’s entire world narrows down to the heat of your body, the pressure of your hand, the way you're looking at him like he's the most fascinating thing you've ever seen.
"you gonna keep staring at me like that baby," you qustion with a tilt of your head. "or are you gonna do something about it?"
it’s at that moment jisung's brain finally catches up.
his grip on your waist tightens and he pulls you closer, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. you let him, encourage him, even, by leaning into his touch with a satisfied hum.
"there we go," the words are breathy, light, and you give jisung a few seconds to let them sink in before you’re leaning down to kiss him.
it's not soft. it's not tentative. it's messy and hungry and overwhelming, and jisung loses himself in it completely.
your tongue slides against his, teeth catch on his bottom lip. when you shift your hips up, letting them drag over his in a way do sultry in should be illegal, jisung groans into your mouth like a starved man.
you continue to work your hips over him in smooth circles, and the friction is maddening. it’s not enough and far too much all at once.
it send jisung spiraling.
he’s already half-delirious, already teetering on the edge of something he can't name but can feel so deep under his skin that it burns. and for fucks sake, haven't even gotten his pants off yet-
"god, you're easy," you murmur against his lips even though it holds no malice in it. there’s only pure, unfiltered satisfaction. "i’ve barely even touched you and you're already fallin’ apart..."
jisung opens his mouth to argue, to say something sharp and defensive, but of course it’s at that very moment that you decide to slip your hand fully under the elastic of his waistband. every coherent thought he has proceeds to evaporate.
your fingers wrap around him, warm and sure, and he bucks into your grip with a strangled noise that would be embarrassing if he had the capacity to care.
"that's it," you say, tone soft and encouraging. "just like that. let me take care of you."
and he does. because what else is he supposed to do?
you work him for like that for a good while, long enough that when you pull your hand away jisung makes a sound that's almost a whine, all needy and desperate in a way that should mortify him.
before he can voice much of a complaint besides a little whispered “no-“, before he can beg you to come back, you're shifting in his lap, rising up just enough to work his pants and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free. the cool air hits his overheated skin so hard his entire body jolts.
"look at you," you murmur, something there's something almost reverent in your voice as your fingers trace along his length feather light. jisung jerks beneath you again. "so pretty like this. so responsive."
jisung's head falls back against the headboard with a soft thunk. his hands are shaking where they grip your waist, his knuckles white with the effort of holding on.
his neural hud is going haywire, flashing warnings about elevated heart rate and spiking cortisol levels, but he doesn't care. he can't care. not when you're looking at him like that.
"hey," you coo, not oblivious to the way his chest rises and falls like he’s jumped a damn building instead of just sitting through attention. "need ya to stay with me, baby…”
"’m here," he manages, voice rough and damn near unrecognizable in his own ears. "i'm- fuck, ‘m here."
you offer him a smile, warm and genuine. jisung’s lips twitch to return the gesture, but they quickly part around a gasp as you guide him to your entrance.
the braindance flickers.
it's subtle at first, nothing more than a brief distortion in his vision, like a glitch in a holo-feed. but then the world stabilizes again and something's different.
you're still there, still straddling his lap, but the clothes you'd been wearing are gone. just… gone.
the transition is so seamless that jisung's brain struggles to process it, like the bd has simply edited out a few frames and skipped straight to the next scene.
your skin is bare now, warm and soft under his hands, and the sight of you—all of you—makes his breath catch in his throat. there's no awkward fumbling, no clumsy undressing. one moment you were clothed, and the next you weren't, and somehow that makes it feel even more surreal. even more perfect.
the first brush of contact is all slick heat against his tip, the warmth of it enough to make him moan. and when you sink down on him, slow and deliberate, taking him inch by excruciating fucking inch, jisung genuinely thinks he’s died. or dying. or something along those lines.
the sensation is catastrophic. it's too much. it's not enough.
it's everything.
jisung's hands tighten against your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise if you were real, if any of this were real.
but in this moment, you are real. the weight of you in his lap, the way you clench around him, the soft sigh that escapes your lips as you take him fully—it's all real. it has to be.
"oh god," he chokes out, voice cracking on the words. "oh god, oh fuck, you feel-"
he can’t keep the words flowing as you start to move, rolling your hips in a slow, languid rhythm.
jisung loses the ability to form coherent sentences.
his head spins, vision blurring at the edges as every nerve ending in his body screams with overstimulation. his overclock chip is whining so loudly now that it's almost painful, but he doesn't care. he doesn't care about anything except the feeling of you around him, tight and wet and so fucking perfect.
"you're so good," he babbles, the words spilling out before he can stop them. "so fucking good, i can't- i don't—"
all you do laugh, breathless yet pleased. the sound goes straight to his cock. "yeah? you like this pussy, baby?"
"yes. fuck, yes," his hips buck up to meet yours, desperate for more friction, more contact, more of you. "i love it, i love…"
he cuts himself off, biting down hard on his bottom lip, but it's too late. the word is already out there, hanging in the air between you, and he can't take it back.
you pause, just for a second, your movements stilling. you look down at him with something that might be surprise, or curiosity. or maybe it’s just amusement. "you love it?"
jisung's brain is screaming at him to shut up, to play it cool, to remember that this isn't real. apparently though his mouth has other plans.
"i love you," he blurts out, and the words are raw and desperate and completely sincere. "i love you, i love you, i- fuck—!”
you start moving again, faster this time, and jisung's words dissolve into a broken moan.
"you're perfect," he rambleson, high and strained. "you're so perfect, i've never- no one's ever made me feel like this, i swear to god, i'd do anything for you, anything, just- just please don't stop, please don't, i need…"
he doesn’t finish that thought either, his brain only being able to process the single minded task of letting his hands roam. they smooth up your sides, slide over your stomach, cup your breasts with trembling fingers. every touch feels sacred, like he's worshipping at an altar he doesn't deserve access to.
his emotion filter has given up entirely, and he's crying now. actual tears stream down his face. not that he notice, though.
you lean down to capture his lips in a kiss that's messy and desperate, and jisung sobs into your mouth. his orgasm builds too fast, coiling tight in his gut, and he knows he's not going to last much longer. he's already too far gone, too overwhelmed.
"i love you," he whispers against your lips, over and over like a prayer. "i love you, i love you, i love you…"
you pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes soft and warm, and you brush a tear from his cheek with your thumb. "i know," you mutter. "i know, baby. i've got you."
that's all it takes.
jisung comes with a broken cry, his body arching up off the bed as pleasure crashes over him in waves. his vision whites out, his hearing cuts to static, and for a few blissful seconds, he doesn't exist.
there's no jisung, no braindance, no reality. just the feeling of you around him, holding him, loving him.
when he finally comes back to himself, he's shaking.
his entire body feels like it's been wrung out and left to dry. his neural hud is flashing critical warnings now, but he dismisses them with a weak flick of his wrist.
you're still there, still straddling his lap, but you've gone still. you're watching him with an expression he can't quite read, something that’s tender and sad all at once.
"you okay?" you ask quietly.
jisung nods, even though he's not sure it's true. his throat feels raw, like he's been screaming, and his face is wet with tears he doesn't remember shedding.
"yeah," it comes out as a croak. "i'm- yeah."
the smile you offer him this time doesn’t quite reach your eyes. bot like it did before. you lean down and press a soft kiss to his forehead, and jisung's chest aches with something that feels too big to name.
"good…" you whisper. "that's good."
and then the world starts to dissolve.
the edges of the room blur first, bleeding into static and pixels. your body becomes translucent, flickering like a broken holo-ad. jisung reaches for you, panic surging through him, but his hands pass through you like smoke.
"wait," he gasps. "wait, no, don't—"
but you're already gone.
jisung gasps as the braindance ejects him back into reality.
the transition is violent—always is when you don't taper out properly—and for a few disorienting seconds, he doesn't know where he is.
his vision swims, his neural hud flickering back online with a barrage of notifications he immediately dismisses. the dim glow of his apartment resolves around him: cluttered desk, half-dead neon strip on the ceiling, the faint hum of his overclock chip settling back into idle mode.
and then he feels it.
the mess.
"oh, fuck" he breathes, looking down at himself.
his pants are ruined. completely, utterly ruined. the fabric is soaked through, sticky and cooling against his thighs, and the realization hits him like a freight train.
he came.
he came hard, somewhere in the middle of that braindance, and he hadn't even noticed. hadn't felt the real-world version of it because he'd been so deep in the simulation, so lost in you, that his body had just… gone ahead without him.
"jesus christ," he mutters, peeling the headset off with shaking hands. his face is still wet—tears, he realizes with a fresh wave of humiliation. he'd been crying. actually crying over a braindance construct.
he sits there for a long moment, staring at the mess in his lap, and the weight of it all crashes down on him.
the high is gone. the warmth, the connection, the feeling of being loved—it's all gone, evaporated like it never existed in the first place. because it hadn't. none of it had been real.
you weren't real.
jisung's chest tightens and he has to force himself to breathe. his hands are still trembling as he fumbles for the tissue box tossed haphazardly on his bedside table, trying to clean himself up even though the damage has already been done.
his pants are unsalvageable. his dignity even more so.
"fucking idiot," he mutters to himself, scrubbing at his face. "you're such a fucking idiot."
but even as he says it, even as he tries to ground himself in the harsh reality of his apartment, he can still feel the ghost of your touch on his skin. still hear your voice in his ears, soft and warm and perfect.
he stares at the braindance chip for a long time.
it's just sitting there against his bedsheets, innocuous and unassuming, just a small rectangle of chrome and circuitry.
but jisung knows what's inside it. knows exactly what's waiting for him if he slots it back in. the warmth. the connection. the feeling of being wanted.
you.
his hand hovers over it, trembling slightly. his rational mind is screaming at him to stop, to walk away, to snap the damn thing and never look back.
this isn't healthy. this isn't real. he knows that. he knows that.
but his fingers close around the chip anyway.
"just one more time," he whispers to the empty room, and his voice cracks on the syllables. "just… just one more time."
WARNINGS: smut, manipulation, loss of virginity, fingering, unprotected sex (use protection!!), voyeurism, friends to lovers, emotional manipulation, pet names, age gap (chan is 2 years older), dirty talk (if there's anything I missed let me know!)
SUMMARY: a nervous attempt to prepare for a first date turns into something far more dangerous when you're caught by your best friend, chan. what starts as embarrassment quickly ignites into forbidden tension, blurred boundaries, and a moment that changes everything between you two.
author’s note ♡ hii! This was written pretty fast since I’m currently on a trip and the idea just randomly popped into my head. thank you so much for any likes, reblogs, and comments- they truly mean a lot to me. I hope you enjoy the story!
READ UNDER THE CUT! MDNI!
it was just another friday night, the kind where you were waiting for chan to come over so you could put on a movie like you always did.
you were sprawled across your bed, facing the headboard, chin resting in your hands as you nervously bit your lower lip.
7:49 glowed in the corner of your computer screen.
chan was late. like always.
maybe now would be a good time.
he wouldn’t be here for at least another thirty minutes, so you had time, right?
a pornhub tab sat open among your other Google tabs.
what's the point behind all of this? you might be wondering. well, let me answer you real quick. turns out, this handsome, muscled college guy has invited you on a date. problem is, you have never been on a date. you haven't even hold hands with a guy romantically before, much less kissed or fucked one. you simply refuse to come off as a prude, which honestly you are, but that dream of a man doesn't need to know that.
so, somehow, you had convinced yourself that watching porn for the first time was a good idea.
now that you thought about it, it sounded much better in your head. anyways....
somehow, you feel like you are doing something wrong, and you can't seem to shake the guilt away. still, you didn’t back out. you hit enter, and within seconds, countless search results appeared. not knowing where to start, you clicked the first link, which led you to a site called pornhub.
the homepage was flooded with videos, each with a bold, eye-catching thumbnail. your cheeks burned as you skimmed through the titles, noticing the same words popping up again and again, making you wonder if that was all the site had to offer.
you scrolled through different categories, feeling overwhelmed.
how were you even supposed to choose?
so focused on your “research,” headphones on and volume up, you failed to hear the front door open. you didn’t notice chan walking up the stairs, and you definitely didn’t realize he was standing right behind you until he spoke.
and by then, it was too late.
“the fuck are you doing, sweetheart?” he blurted out, staring at the screen in pure shock at the sight of his supposedly innocent best friend scrolling through pornhub.
well shit, maybe you aren't as innocent as he thought you were.
you jolt instantly, jumping out of your seat on your bed as you feel all the colour draining from your cheeks. no way chan just caught you in the act. this can't be real. despite how bad you want to run away, you are left with no other choice but to turn around and face him, wishing the earth would swallow you up.
"i– this is not what it looks like, i swear i can explain," you stutter nervously, taking of the airpods with trembling hands. from here on, the anxious rambling begins, "i wasn't doing anything... this guy– well, i... i uhm– i got a date, 'kay? with this guy from class and– listen, i know this is silly, but..."
"jesus christ, baby, slow down, okay?" he stops you, his heart nearly melting from how cute you look, so shy and flustered. he almost feels bad for interrupting whatever the hell you were doing here.
the colour has returned to your cheeks, and you are all flushed now, from head to toe. your face feels like it's on fire- you have never been this embarrassed before.
"could you please start over?" he asks, hoping to hear a coherent explanation to why on earth would you spend your time waiting for him to watching porn on his laptop.
you take a deep breath, fidgeting with the hem of your top. you are so deeply ashamed that you somehow even forgot that he was coming over, you don't seem to remember that you are wearing nothing but a flimsy white singlet and a tiny pair of matching panties. chan’s very aware of that fact, though, hungry eyes trailing all over your beautiful body.
"i've got a date with a guy from class," you start explaining, white teeth nibling occasionally on your plump bottom lip, "but i've never dated anyone, ya' know? i've no experience, and i don't want him to think i'm pathetic if we..."
"fuck?" he finishes your sentence, a roguish grin spreading across his handsome face.
if possible, your blush deepens even more at the vulgarity while you mutter a quiet 'yeah' in response.
honestly, he is a bit jealous of that guy. not only you are willing to let him fuck you, but you are also trying to learn how to do it properly so he has a good time doing it.
god, what a shame for him he is going to kill him as soon as he finds out who he is- there's no chance chan’s letting you near any other man but him.
"i thought, uhm, maybe watching that would help..." you add coyly, his silence making you more nervous.
it is cute how you try to avoid saying words like 'fuck' or 'porn', like it is a crime to pronounce them or something.
"you know what? let's watch it together," he proposes.
there's a mischievous glint in his eyes that doesn't go unnoticed. you swear your cheeks might just explode at any second, and you can't help the pathetic stutter that comes out when you talk. "uhm, i don't think that'd be appropriate," you refuse, shaking your head.
"why not? you want help, and i can help you here, sweetheart," he answers, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle —unlike chan, "that's what best friends are for, aren't they?"
he takes a few steps in his direction until he is standing right beside you.
then, he grabs the laptop in his large hands as he flashes you a wicked smirk, his curtain bangs falling messily on his forehead. you gulp, having him so close makes you feel a certain way- you cannot deny that.
"you, uhm, being my bestfriend is exactly why not," you stammer as you tilt your head back to look at him, his height towering over you.
"bullshit," he retorts, huffing. "you trust me?"
your first mistake is, probably, trusting bang chan. "yeah, i do, but..."
"that's why im perfect for the job, baby," he interrupts you. his words are clearly intended to manipulate you, but you are way too innocent to notice it, "i'm probably the guy you feel most comfortable with, aren't i? i can give you all the advice you need."
to be fair, he isn't wrong about that. and you are honestly too embarrassed to ask your girlfriends for help on this department, not wanting them to think less of you. plus, chan is a guy- he knows better what guys like, right?
"wouldn't it be kinda... weird ?" you ask, clearly hesistant.
"weird?" he repeats. "no, 'course not."
only a few more sweet, reassuring words is all it takes for him to gently coax you into watching his favourite pornos with him. his cock starts to harden in his pants just at the thought of having you like that. when you finally accept, he swears he's on cloud nine.
god, he's been wanting you for months now- he can't believe this is happening.
"c'mere, baby," he eagerly instructs you, getting on your bed.
he sits with his back resting on the headboard and pats the spot between his legs to invite you to sit there. he places the laptop next to him, the pornhub website still open on it. you move slowly towards him, cheeks slightly flushed from the embarrassment as you settle on the mattress in between his parted thighs, your back pressed to his hard chest.
he wraps one strong arm securely around your waist, his hand coming to rest gently on your tummy. with his other hand, he reaches for the laptop sitting beside him, carefully bringing it closer so the two of you can see the screen properly.
your heart is beating so fast in your chest that he can probably hear it, too. the way he is touching you is not making it easier for you to stay calm, either, his fingers tenderly tracing patterns on your belly over the thin fabric of your shirt while he scrolls through the page.
he seems to sense your discomfort and chuckles low in his throat, his warm breath tickling your ear. "relax, baby”, he whispers teasingly, his voice laced with amusement. "i'm not gonna make you watch anything that'll traumatize you."
"it's just– this is a bad idea," you babble, fidgeting nervously when he finally clicks on a video and a pretty young woman appears on screen.
the actress is beautiful- she has a gorgeous body and face. her lips are full and pink, and she has these big, expressive eyes that appear to gleam. and you don't realize it, but she looks exactly like you.
the scene starts playing; in it, the girl is watching some movie with a guy that, apparently, is her roommate —at least that's what the title says.
"shhh..." he hushes you softly, his voice barely audible over the sounds emanating from his laptop's speakers. "just watch. don't overthink it."
"okay," you answer between gritted teeth.
your pretty eyes are fixed on the laptop while you try not to cringe at how bad the script and acting are, which is nearly impossible, to be honest. despite that, you keep watching in silence as the video plays, growing more flustered as the clock ticks.
you didn't know mouths could be used for that... interesting.
as opposed to you, chan’s pretty chill behind you, like he's unbothered by this whole situation —he's actually hard as fuck inside his pants, the thing is you haven't noticed. you wonder how he can act so unfazed, since you keep pushing your thighs together to try and soothe the throbbing sensation building in between them while you take in the lewd actions occurring on screen.
you weren't expecting your body to have this reaction, and now you don't know what to do to make it stop.
chan soon becomes aware of the way you keep letting out soft sighs and squirming in his arms, plush ass rubbing against his cock every time you do it. it's a miracle he is still holding back, though he doesn't know how much time he will be able to.
he's not even paying attention to the video anymore, his entire focus put on you. he finally ventures to lean in, his hot breath grazing the shell of your ear as he whispers, "you know, i could do that to you..." his hand slowly slides to your plush thigh and he gives it a gentle squeeze.
his movements are measured and controlled not to scare you, but your breath hitches in your chest at his actions either way, body tensing up in his grasp. your brain is telling you to push him away, but the insistent throb in your sex doesn't like that idea, not one bit.
"you– you could?" you utter quietly, not taking your eyes away from the laptop.
chan notices the uncertainty in your voice, but the way you haven't pushed him away yet emboldens him to continue, his large hand gradually sliding north.
"yeah, baby," he murmurs huskily against your ear, fingertips brushing along your inner thigh. "i could put my fingers inside you, just like he's doing to her..."
his words make you blush heavily as a little gasp is released from your pouty lips. "would it feel good?" you ask naively.
your eyes are transfixed in the sight of the guy on the screen pushing his fingers inside the girl's pussy. god, she seems like she's enjoying it so much... and you desperately want to feel like that too. you can't even bring yourself to care that it's your bestfriend offering to show you.
chan’s fingers creep higher and higher until they're barely brushing against your cotton panties. "yeah," he growls huskily against your ear, "it'd feel real good, sweetheart. i promise..."
you shudder, a sweet little mewl escaping your throat involuntarily. you can't help but blush at your own reaction, slightly embarrassed by it. you tear your eyes away from the screen, head falling back against his chest as you look up at him.
"it's throbbing, chan…” you whine, self-control slipping from your hands. "can you make it better?"
chan’s fingers finally make contact with your wet underwear, pressing against your clit through the fabric. he rubs gentle circles around your sensitive nub, his other hand curling around your supple thigh to spread your legs wider.
"oh, baby, you're soaked through your panties..." he pants out.
your body literally melts into his touch like butter, perfectly shaped brows knitting together in a frown of pleasure. the girl in the video moans, and you do too, both sounds echoing in the silence of his room.
taking your moan as an invitation, chan carefully hooks his fingers in the gusset of your panties to push them aside, exposing your sopping cunt to the cool air of his bedroom. then, he traces your wet slit slowly, leisurely, as if savoring the velvety feel of your skin.
"such a pretty little pussy..." he praises, eyes hungrily taking in the pink expanse of flesh.
you squirm and let out a soft whimper, biting your lip right after to avoid keep making noises; the last thing you want is to wake up your neighbours. chan notices your struggle and swiftly reaches up to cover your mouth with his free hand, muffling your sweet moans.
he gathers some of the wetness dripping out of your cunt before trailing his fingers all the way up to your clit, rubbing it gently. your eyes roll back, hips bucking up against his hand instinctively. the way your swollen bud throbs beneath his fingertips is going to make you mad. he begins to touch your clit in fast, tight circles, his other hand still holding your mouth shut to keep you quiet.
he leans in to whisper against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine, "if you make a sound, i'll stop, got it?"
“can’t let everyone know that you’re a slut, hm?” you nod obediently in response, making your best effort to comply- you don't want him to stop doing this, never. as a reward, chan slides a thick finger down your slit and presses it against your clenched entry, steadily applying pressure until your tight muscles finally give in and allow his digit ingress.
"so fucking tight," he groans under his breath at the feeling of your narrow pussy engulfing his finger.
withdrawing his finger almost all the way out, he teases your entrance with the tip, making you tremble with anticipation before pushing it back in to the knuckle, his palm cupping your mound as he starts to thrust in a smooth, lazy rhythm. you swallow a whiny cry while your eyelids flutter shut, pretty face scrunched in a blissful expression.
chan works his finger in and out of your slick pussy slowly, marveling at how your velvety walls flutter around the digit. he curls it inward, searching for that special spot that's guaranteed to drive you wild.
after a few experimental pokes, chan’s fingertip finally brushes over your g-spot, eliciting a muffled moan from under his palm. he smiles wickedly against your skin, and you shudder in his grasp, pleasure waves running through your body.
"that's it, sweetheart... feel good?" he croons softly, fingering you nice and deep.
you can't bring yourself to reply, the sensation of his large digit fucking your pussy, added to the constant rubbing of his palm against your puffy clit has your mind feeling all fuzzy. your body language is the only answer he needs, though.
chan leans in to tenderly nip at your neck, his hot mouth latching onto your slender throat as he keeps pumping his finger steadily in and out of your dripping cunt. he knows you're close when he feels your inner muscles starting to clench erratically around his digit.
“chan,” you moan onto his palm as you feel this new, strange sensation building in your tummy, pussy tingling so nicely.
heaven help him. hearing you, his bestfriend, moan his name like that makes chan’s hard dick throb almost painfully against his zipper.
and then it happens. the coil in your belly suddenly snaps and you have to bite onto your lip harshly to keep yourself from screaming as you cum for the very first time, on your bestfriend's hand. chan continues to pump his finger in and out of your spasming cunt as you ride out your climax, wanting to prolong your pleasure.
when you finally come down from your high, you're all shaky and flustered in his arms, panting heavily to try and catch your breath. he has a satisfied smirk on his lips while he slowly withdraws his slick digit from your quivering hole to bring it up to his mouth and lick it clean, savoring your taste.
"did so well for me, baby," he coos as he uncovers your mouth, gently turning your head to the side to press a kiss to your swollen, red lips.
you return it sloppily, eyes fluttering shut in the process, and you sigh contently against his mouth. he can't help but rock his hips against your ass, rubbing his hard on against you.
"did i make you feel good?" he asks between little kisses, his breathing growing uneven. you nod in response. "yeah? then it's just fair you make me feel good too, sweetheart... wanna do that f'me?"
"yes," you whisper against his lips without even thinking, feeling him smirk into the kiss.
"such a good girl," he praises.
at some point, the porn video playing on his laptop ended, so he simply closes it up and tosses it away, the device landing somewhere on his king size bed. then, he turns you both around, until you are laying on the mattress and he is on top of you.
he is quick to undo his pants and yank them down, just enough to free his raging hard on, which bounces against his abs. let me tell you this, he's big, the tip pink and fat, already leaking precum.
suddenly, realization hits you. this is your childhood bestfriend for god's sake, are you really gonna let him fuck you?
is it really worth it to ruin a friendship like this?
he notices how your body tenses up, one hand reaching to stroke your plush thigh reassuringly while the other wraps around his shaft, giving it a slow pump.
"hey, baby, relax..." he whispers gently, "i'll put just the tip in, yeah? there's nothing wrong with that."
you hesitate. his strong arms slide beneath your legs to tug you closer. then his cock brushes your pussy and you whimper. how are you supposed to say 'no' ?
it's just the tip.
"mhmm, 'kay" you end up agreeing with a little nod.
chan flashes you a lopsided smirk, his hand gripping his cock again while the free one yanks your panties aside once more. keeping eye contact, he slowly glides the fat head of his dick up and down your drenched slit, coating it thoroughly in your arousal. you shudder as his tip eventually meets your puffy clit, the gentle rubbing sending shivers down your spine.
“chan,” you whimper.
chan’s eyelids droop, a low hum of pleasure escaping his throat as he continues to slowly drag the reddened head up and down your chubby pussy lips with squelching sounds. his breathing grows heavier the longer he teasingly rolls it against your slick folds, reveling in your breathy whimpers. he feels like he's about to burst already, pre-cum steadily leaking from the tip and onto your flesh.
he can't fucking take this anymore.
with a slow, gentle thrust, he sinks his cock into your warm, slippery pussy, just the head breaching your entrance before he pauses, savoring the initial penetration. his eyes lock onto yours, his pupils blown wide with lust.
"jesus, fuck." he grunts.
your cunt starts fluttering around him. he has barely slid the first two inches in, as he promised, but he's so thick that even that feels like a tight fit. you let out a moan, which mingles with a strained groan from chan as your velvety walls clench tightly around his swollen cockhead.
"gonna– might just nut already, shit" chan mutters through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to just drive forward and hilt himself deep. "so goddamn tight."
your hips buck unconsciously against his, making him slip in just a tad further —which nearly makes him lose all his self-control. somehow, he manages to keep his shit together, hips rocking slowly to thrust in and out of you while his veiny hand strokes the rest of his shaft.
you're totally enthralled by the sight, liquid heat pooling in your belly while you watch him use your body for his pleasure. he looks so good, you can't believe he's real. your chest fills with pride at the knowledge that you're making this greek god feel good.
this is the fastest chan has ever cum, the movement of his hips becoming jerky and sloppy after a few minutes as he spills his sperm inside you. he's panting heavily, sweat beading on his brow while his fist squeezes the base of his cock tightly.
you're left wanting more when he slowly pulls out, pussy stretched out and leaking white spurts of cum. he gazes down at you with a smirk, lightly tapping the head of his dick against your swollen clit, which has you writhing beneath him.
"so fucking gorgeous stuffed full of my cum," he whispers, his cock smearing the sticky substance all over your slit. you mewl in response.
"hmm, 'm sorry for making such a mess on your pretty pussy, sweetheart, lemme clean it up, yeah?"
you blush in response when he leans forward, throwing your creamy thighs over his broad shoulders, to put his mouth onto your sex. you almost cry at the heavenly feeling, his playful tongue delving between your folds to lap up his own release. he cleans you up thoroughly, only to mess you up again right after, his spit soaking your cunt as he makes you cum again.
after tonight, you are cancelling that date, that's for sure.
synopsis: you don’t like seungmin. he’s hot, sure, but other than that? you’re certainly not his biggest fan. between dating rumors and a charity event that ended with some messy escape to the bathroom, neither of you view one another in a very high light. now you’re stuck doing some skzcode collab with him for press, and to make matters better, he’s targeting you like it’s his only goal in life.
pairing: idol!seungmin x idol!reader
genre: smut
contains: dating rumors, hate fucking, protected sex (we all cheered!!), marking, kissing, idk man they kinda hate each other and it’s very obvious T-T
word count: 3.2k
requested by: anonymous
now playing: brb - kasper
[a/n]: i fear i’ve never played laser tag/capture the flag so please forgive me if this is all completely unrealistic and wrong T-T also im sorry anon if this isn’t really the genre you were aiming for- i wasn’t super certain sooo i kinda just ran with it and this is where it got me 🫡 i hope you enjoy !!
your manager is cruel, unreasonable motherfucker of a man.
you don’t wanna be here. you’d made that incredibly clear to both your members and the big man himself. but alas, here you are, getting the rules of capture the flag explained to you while seungmin eyes you like a fucking hawk.
the rumors had been spreading for three months now. and in your opinion? it’s all seungmin’s fault.
three months ago you and another girl from your group (an eight member girlgroup named (un)interested) had attended some designer charity event for promo and networking. it had been on the more mundane side of events—champagne flutes, mindless chatter, too small a space rented for how many celebrities and influencers were invited. the usual.
the only interesting thing of the night had been none other than kim seungmin.
you'd been standing near the bar, nursing a glass of champagne you had no intention of finishing, when seungmin seemingly appeared out of thin air.
conversation had been easy, surprisingly so. he was charming in a way that felt effortless, throwing out dry observations about the pretentious crowd that had you stifling laughter behind your hand.
what you hadn't noticed was the photographer lurking in the corner, or the way seungmin had leaned in just a bit too close when he spoke, or how his hand had briefly touched your lower back when someone brushed past.
by morning, the photos were everywhere.
you were just thankful the cameras hadn’t followed the two of you slipping out and slipping into bathroom for a messy makeout and arguably messier head.
regardless, it was all seungmin’s fault. and now here you are, collaborating on some stupid skzcode because your manager had deemed all press is good press or somthing along those lines.
as staff swarms around you to make sure sensors are strapped properly and your weapon is set with the right amount of lives, you can feel seungmin’s eyes on you like it’s something physical.
your last thought before cameras are flicked on and filming begins is how badly you’d rather be anywhere else.
by the time round three rolls around, you're beyond pissed.
seungmin seems to have made it his personal mission to hunt you down every. single. round.
round one? he'd found you within the first two minutes, systematically draining all five of your lives while you'd tried—and failed—to dodge around abandoned props and camera equipment.
round two had been worse somehow, because you'd actually thought you had a chance at surviving when you'd found a decent hiding spot behind one of the larger set pieces.
you hadn't.
seungmin had found you anyway, that stupid smirk playing at his lips as he'd shot you down over and over again, your vest vibrating with each hit until all your lives were gone.
now, halfway through round three, you can hear the faint thump of heavy footsteps against the grass and you swear you’re heart drops out of your ass, right along with all of your hope.
you're crouched behind a fake wall, heart pounding, finger tensed on the trigger of your laser gun.
you know he's close. you can feel it.
"found you," his voice comes from directly behind you, and you don't even have time to spin around before the first shot hits your sensor.
your vest buzzes. four lives left.
you want to take his neck into your hands and strangle him.
"you've got to be fucking kidding me," you hiss, finally whirling to face him.
seungmin's grin is infuriating. "what? i'm just playing the game."
you try to shoot back, but he's faster. another shot. three lives.
"you've been targeting me this entire time-" another buzz cuts you off. two lives.
"maybe you're just easy to find." his tone is so casual, so unbothered. it makes your blood boil.
you attempt to dodge, to run, to do literally anything, but the space is too cramped and he's too close. another shot hits your sensor.
one life left.
"seungmin, i swear to god-"
the final shot hits before you can finish your sentence. your vest gives one long, defeated vibration before going dead.
zero lives. eliminated.
again.
seungmin lowers his gun, that same insufferable smirk still plastered on his face. "better luck next time, hun."
you're livid. absolutely seething. your grip tightens on your now-useless laser gun as you stare him down, jaw slack as the sheer audacity of this man washes over you.
"you're such an asshole," you grumble, voice low enough that the cameras scattered around the set won't pick it up clearly.
his smirk only widens. "you love it."
before you can respond, one of the staff members calls out that round three is over and everyone needs to return to the main set for closing comments.
you storm off without another word, seungmin's quiet laugh following you the entire way.
the second the cameras cut, you're moving.
you don't even bother peeling off your sensor vest and handing it to the staff members hovering nearby. you just stride straight past them, ignoring the concerned looks from your members and the way chan tries to catch seungmin's attention.
you know exactly where he's going. the green room trailer parked just outside the set—the one they'd designated for the boys to use between takes.
and sure enough, when you yank the door open without bothering to knock, seungmin's already inside. he's leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone like he doesn't have a care in the world. like he hasn't just spent the last two hours making your life a living hell.
he glances up when you enter. when he realizes it’s you the corner of his mouth twitches. "can i help you?"
"you think you're so fucking funny, don't you?" you snap, slamming the door shut behind you hard enough that the whole trailer shakes.
seungmin pockets his phone, crossing his arms over his chest. "i think i played the game pretty well, yeah."
"you targeted me every single round."
"and?"
"and??" you repeat with a scoff, incredulous. you take a step closer with fists clenched at your sides. "you made me look like an idiot out there."
"you made yourself look like an idiot," he counters, tone maddeningly even. "i just shot you a few times."
"a few-" you cut yourself off with a sharp exhale, trying to rein in the urge to actually throttle him. "you eliminated me every single round, seungmin. you didn't go after anyone else like that."
he shrugs, unbothered. "maybe everyone else was just better at, oh i don’t know, the game?."
that does it.
you close the distance between you in two strides to jab a finger into his chest. "you are such an asshole."
seungmin doesn't even flinch. if anything, he looks entertained. his eyes flick down to where your finger's pressed against him before meeting. "you’ve already called me that."
"because it's true!"
"mm." he hums thoughtfully, like he's actually considering the ways in which he’s wronged you. "and yet, here you are. in my trailer. alone."
your jaw clenches. "because i'm pissed."
"clearly."
"stop-" you exhale sharply through your nose, trying to keep your composure. you poke at his chest again. "stop acting like this is funny."
"it kind of is, though." his smirk returns, lazy and infuriating. "you're all worked up over a game."
"it's not about the game," you bite out. "it's about you being a smug piece of shit who can't just—"
you don't get to finish.
seungmin moves faster than you expect, one hand coming up to grab your jaw while the other catches your wrist—the one still jabbing at his chest. his grip is firm but not rough, and suddenly he's much, much closer than he was a second ago.
"can't just what?" he murmurs, voice dropping lower. his thumb presses into your cheek, forcing your lips to purse just slightly. you hate the way your breath catches. "can't leave you alone?"
you glare up at him, heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. still, you force yourself to nod. "yeah. that."
his smirk softens into something almost dangerous. "where's the fun in that?"
you should push him away. you should tell him to fuck off, storm out of this trailer, and never speak to him again unless absolutely necessary for schedules.
instead, you surge forward and kiss him.
it's not soft or sweet or any of that romantic bullshit—it's all teeth and anger and three months of unresolved tension finally snapping. your hands fist in his shirt, yanking him closer as you bite down on his bottom lip hard enough to make him groan.
seungmin kisses back just as hard, matching your intensity with his own. his hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair and tugging just enough to make you gasp against his mouth.
he uses that opening to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding past your lips in a way that's absolutely obscene. you should hate this—hate him—but instead you're pressing closer, eliminating what little space remained between your bodies.
"still mad?" he murmurs against your lips, and you can feel his smirk even without seeing it.
"furious," you bite back, punctuating it with another harsh kiss.
"good." his hands drop to your waist, grip tightening as he walks you backwards until your back hits the counter. "you're hot when you're angry."
"fuck you."
"that's kind of what i'm going for, yeah."
you want to snap back with something cutting, something that'll wipe that insufferable smugness off his face, but then his mouth is on your neck and your brain short-circuits completely.
he's not gentle about it—teeth scraping against sensitive skin, sucking hard enough that you know there'll be marks. marks you'll have to cover up later, marks that'll be a pain in the ass to explain to your members and makeup artists.
you should stop him. you don't.
instead, your hands find their way under his shirt, nails dragging across his torso hard enough to make him hiss against your throat.
"careful." he warns, but there's no real heat behind it.
"or what?" you challenge, doing it again just to prove a point.
seungmin pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and pupils blown wide. "or i won't be nice about this."
"who said i wanted you to be nice?"
something shifts in his expression—something hungry and almost dangerous. "yeah?"
"yeah." you fist your hand in his shirt, yanking him back down into another bruising kiss.
this time when he kisses back, there's nothing playful about it. it's all heat and desperation and three months of tension finally reaching its breaking point.
his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you onto the counter in one smooth motion. you wrap your legs around his waist automatically, pulling him closer until there's no space left between you.
"still wearing this stupid vest," seungmin mutters, fingers finding the velcro straps.
"whose fault is that?" you shoot back, but you're already helping him, yanking at the velcro off and away from your body.
the vest hits the floor with a dull thud, forgotten the second it's off. seungmin's hands are back on you immediately, sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing against your ribs through the thin fabric of your shirt.
"this too," he mutters, tugging at the hem.
you don't argue. you just lift your arms and let him pull it over your head, your own hands already working on the buttons of his shirt.
"impatient," he observes, but his breathing's gotten heavier, less controlled.
"shut up," you mutter, finally getting the last button undone and shoving the fabric off his shoulders.
his skin is warm under your palms, muscles tensing as your nails drag down his chest. he makes a low sound in the back of his throat—something between a groan and a curse—and then his mouth is on yours again.
this kiss is messier than the last, all gasping breaths and clashing teeth. his hands are everywhere—your waist, your thighs, sliding up your back to unclasp your bra with practiced ease.
"how many times have you done that?" you ask, half-breathless.
"jealous?" he shoots back, tossing the bra aside without looking.
"no."
"liar." his mouth trails down your neck again, lower this time, and you have to bite your lip to keep from making an absolutely embarrassing sound when he takes one nipple into his mouth.
your hands fly to his hair, tugging hard enough that he groans against your skin. the vibration makes everything worse. or maybe i’ts better. you're not entirely sure which.
"seungmin…" his name comes out shakier than you'd like, and you can feel him smirk against your breast.
"yeah?" he switches to the other side, teeth grazing sensitive skin, and your grip in his hair tightens.
"stop being a fucking tease."
he pulls back just enough to look at you, lips swollen and eyes dark. "where's the fun in that?"
"i'm going to kill you."
"later." his hands drop to your pants, fingers making quick work of the button and zipper. "right now you're going to let me fuck you."
it's not a question.
he hooks his fingers into your waistband, and you lift your hips so he can pull your pants and underwear down in one go. the cool air of the trailer makes you shiver, but then seungmin's hands are on your thighs, spreading them wider, and you forget about everything else.
"fuck," he mutters, gaze dropping between your legs. "you're already—"
"don't," you warn, face heating. "don't say it."
"soaked," he finishes anyway, and you want to kick him except his fingers are sliding through your folds and your brain whites out completely.
he circles your clit with his thumb, slow and deliberate, watching your face the entire time. you bite down on your lip hard enough to hurt, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you moan.
"stubborn," he murmurs, pressing harder.
your hips jerk forward involuntarily, and his smirk returns. "there it is."
"fuck you."
"yeah, you mentioned that." he slides one finger inside you without warning, and this time you can't bite back the sound that escapes.
you’ve never seen seungmin look smugger then when he purrs out a low "that's better."
he adds a second finger, curling them just right, and you have to grab onto his shoulders to keep yourself steady. your nails dig into his skin hard enough that little crescent marks are left behind. seungmin doesn't seem to mind.
honestly, it just seems to encourage him.
"more," you manage to gasp out.
"greedy." but he obliges, fingers moving faster, thumb still working your clit in tight circles.
the pleasure builds quickly, heat pooling low in your stomach. you're close—too close, too fast—and you're not ready for this to be over yet.
"wait-" you grab his wrist, stilling his movements. "not like this."
seungmin only raises an eyebrow.
you reach for his belt, fingers fumbling slightly with the buckle. "i want you inside me."
he sucks in a sharp breath, and for the first time since this started, he actually looks affected. "yeah. yeah, okay."
he helps you with his belt, then his pants, shoving them down just enough to free himself. you catch a glimpse—he's hard, flushed, already leaking—and then he's stepping between your legs again, one hand braced on the counter beside you.
"condom?" you ask, trying to hold onto some semblance of rational thought.
"fuck, right," he mutters, already reaching for his discarded pants.
he produces a foil packet from his wallet. of course he has one on hand, the prick. you watch as he tears it open with his teeth and you watch, throat dry, as he rolls it on with practiced ease.
"ready?" he asks, positioning himself at your entrance.
"if you don't hurry up—"
he pushes in before you can finish the threat, and the words die in your throat.
he's not absurdly thick by any means, but fuck does the length make up for it. it hits you in a way that's just shy of too much, and you have to breathe through the initial burn.
"okay?" his voice is strained, jaw clenched tight.
"yeah," you manage. "move."
he does. it’s slow at first, giving you time to adjust, but you're too impatient for that. you wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back to pull him deeper.
"faster," you demand.
seungmin lets out a breathless laugh. it’s so close to your ear that you can feel the way his breath fans across your skin. "bossy."
"are you going to do it or not?"
his grip on your hip tightens, and then he's moving faster, harder, exactly like you wanted. the angle's perfect, hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl and your vision blur.
"fuck," you gasp, head falling back.
"yeah?" his voice is rough, wrecked. "good?"
"shut up and—" the rest of the sentence dissolves into a moan as he adjusts the angle slightly, somehow making it even better.
the trailer fills with the sound of skin against skin, both of your harsh breathing, the occasional creak of the counter beneath you. it's dirty and frantic and probably the worst idea you've had in months, but you can't bring yourself to care.
seungmin’s hand vacates from your waist for a moment to grab your wrist. he says nothing, but the way he guides it between your bodies is on order within itself, no words needed.
your hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. the added stimulation makes everything sharper, more intense, and you can feel your orgasm building in record time.
"close," you gasp out.
"me too." his thrusts are getting less coordinated, more desperate. "come on, let me feel it."
it only takes a few more circles of your fingers before you're coming, clenching around him, his name falling from your lips like a curse rather than a prayer
seungmin follows seconds later, burying himself deep with a choked groan. you can feel him pulse inside you, and it sends another aftershock through your body.
for a long moment, neither of you move. you're both breathing hard, bodies pressed together, the reality of what just happened slowly sinking in.
"liar." but he's smiling when he pulls back to look at you, and despite everything—despite the rumors, the tension, the absolute insanity of fucking in a trailer where anyone could have walked in—you find yourself smiling back.
"this can't happen again," you say, even though you're not entirely sure you mean it.
"obviously," he agrees, but his hand is still on your thigh, thumb drawing absent circles on your skin.
"i'm serious."
"so am I." when he pulls out carefully you both wince at the loss. "completely serious."
"seungmin."
"we should probably get cleaned up," he says instead of responding, already reaching for the tissue box on the counter. "before someone comes looking."
he's right. you know he's right. but as you watch him dispose of the condom and start gathering your scattered clothes, you can't shake the feeling that this is far from over.
and judging by the look he gives you when he hands you your shirt, something heated and promising, he's thinking the exact same thing.
[a/n 2]: so i think imma start posting once a week, maybe two or three IF i’m feeling motivated/have requests. BUT i wanna start getting at least one thing out per week !! idkidk i just have a lot of things i’m excited about ><
WARNINGS: smut, loss of virginity, size kink, pain kink, pet names, creampie, multiple orgasms, swearing, teasing, praise, mentions of alcohol, handjob, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it up pls)
SUMMARY: a harmless night in- wine, teasing, and stupid game- turns dangerous when chan stops joking first. one dare pulls you closer than you've ever been, and suddenly you can't hide how badly you want him- or how much he already knew. now you're sitting on his lap, his voice in your ear, and friendship feels like the last lie you're both still pretending to believe
MORE UNDER THE CUT!
the living room smelled like takeout and cheap wine. you and chan were both sprawled out on the couch, knees almost touching, the coffee table covered in empty sushi boxes and the remains of a half finished bottle of red.
“okay that was like- once” chan defended himself, waving his chopsticks like a dramatic lawyer in the courtroom.
you burst out laughing again. the image of chan confidently stepping into the centre of the living room earlier that week, saying “fucking finally, I fixed the footwork. watch me.” he wiggled his eyebrows, grinning like the idiot he Is, only to go too slow, then too fast, and then-
rip
he had frozen mid-crouch, staring at you with the world’s most defeated expression while the universe punished him for showing off. you had been wheezing on the carpet for a good minute.
“yeah once” you giggled, wiping a tear from your cheek “tell yourself that buddy”.
chan groaned dramatically and threw his head back against the couch cushion.
“okay, new topic. ‘m not liking this one” chan said rolling his eyes, but the grin on his face didn’t go unnoticed. It never did.
“ugh you’re such a buzzkill channie” you teased, letting your head fall back against the couch. your cheeks were hot from the wine, eyelids drooping a little, and the blanket wasn’t helping with the sudden heat crawling up your neck.
chan stretched put his legs, brushing your foot with his in that familiar way he always did when he got comfortable.
except for tonight, the touch felt..
different.
warmer.
“buzzkill huh?” he said quietly, a smug little tilt forming at the corner of his mouth.
“mhm” you hummed “certified”
“oh please,” he scoffed, shifting closer on the couch. “you wouldn’t survive a day without me keeping you entertained.”
you snorted. “entertained by your suffering? absolutely.”
chan pressed a hand over his heart like you’d stabbed him. “wow. incredible. I open my home to you-“
“we signed the lease together, dramatic boy”
“-and all I get in return is mockery.”
“you love it.” you said softly.
his eyes flickered to yours for a second too long. then he smiled- small, a little shy, the kind he only ever gave you.
“yeah,” he said, voice low. “maybe I do.”
and the room suddenly felt hotter than before, the wine in your throat thicker, the taste sweeter, your heart beating louder.
minutes passed by. You stretched, nudging your shoulder against his, and he didn’t move away- he barely even noticed, or maybe he was choosing not to.
then, without warning, chan sat up straighter.
“truth or dare?” he blurted out.
you froze, caught off guard. “..what?”
“truth or dare” he repeated, leaning back with that cocky tilt of his head. “your choice”
you blinked at him, trying to play it cool. “..are you drunk?”
“maybe a little,” he said with a grin. “maybe... I just wanna se how brave you really are.”
“we are not 12 anymore, chan” you giggled, pink covering your cheeks.
“scared?” he mummured with a smirk, “don’t go shy on me now, y/n”
you hesitated, heart thudding a little faster than it should. “fine, I pick truth.” you finally said, though the tiniest part of you wanted to say dare.
chans smirk widened. “too easy,” he leans forward, eyes sharp but teasing, voice low “have you ever fantasized about a teacher?”
you choked on your sip of wine, laughing before you could even process it.
“you know the answer to this!” you exclaimed, cheeks heating as you waved your hands at him.
he didn’t miss a beat. he leaned closer, gaze teasing, voice dropping just a little lower.
“oh, I do know,” he said, smirk widening. “but I want to hear it from you.”
you laughed again, trying to push the tension off, but your stomach twisted in anticipation.
“channie…” you started, shaking your head.
“mm?” he murmured, letting the word linger, letting the look in his eyes do all the talking.
you both laughed, the sound light and teasing… but the air between you felt charged, electric, like something was about to snap.
“okay your turn” you smirk mischievously. “truth or dare?” you lean on your elbows.
chan’s dark eyes locked on yours immediately. “truth,” he said, low and confident, like he owned the moment.
you leaned forward, letting the corner of your lips twitch into a small, dangerous smile.
“okay…” you murmured, voice quiet but sharp, “what’s the first thing you’d do if I let you… right now?”
chan froze for a heartbeat, just enough to make your stomach tighten. His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk, but his gaze didn’t waver.
“you’d let me?” he murmured, voice rough, teasing but with an edge you couldn’t ignore.
“and you think you’re ready for that?”
your breath hitched just slightly. the room felt smaller, hotter, every sound amplified.
“I—maybe,” you admitted, voice low. “depends on what you’d do.”
chan leaned closer, elbows on his knees, his face inches from yours. his smirk was slow, dangerous, the kind that promised trouble.
“mm… then I’d make sure you’d never forget it,” he said, letting the words linger between you like a challenge.
the tension coiled tighter, electric, teasing—but you knew this game had just turned serious.
chan’s eyes were still locked on you, the air thick between you.
he leaned back slightly, spreading his knees just a bit wider on the couch, confidence dripping from the movement.
“my turn, right?” he murmured.
you nodded once, heart pounding.
he tilted his head, studying you for a long moment that made your stomach twist.
then, with that slow, knowing smirk.
“alright, y/n… I dare you to come sit on my lap.”
you blinked. “on your lap?”
“mhm.” his voice dropped, dark and steady.
“right here.” he tapped the space directly on his thigh, not an inch between your bodies, close enough that your thighs would touch, close enough to feel his breath.
but he knew exactly what he was doing.
the tension shot through your spine instantly.
“you can do it,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to your lips for barely a second. “can’t you?”
your chest tightened. “chan—”
“it’s just a dare,” he said softly, the smirk back. “unless you’re scared?”
the room felt like it was holding its breath.
your pulse hammered against your throat.
chan watched you like he was tracking every thought in your head-every hesitation, every flicker in your eyes.
you swallowed, pushing the blanket off your legs as you slowly rose from the couch.
chan didn’t move.
didn’t blink.
he just leaned back slightly, hands resting loosely on his thighs, like he was inviting you in without saying a single word.
your knees wobbled. it was stupid, you’d known him for years. you’d lived with him. you’d seen him at 3am wandering the kitchen half-asleep with mismatched socks.
but this wasn’t the chan you were used to.
this was the one who knew exactly what he was doing to you.
you stepped closer, your knee brushing his.
something in his jaw flexed.
“closer,” he murmured, voice low enough to vibrate through you.
your breath caught.
you shifted again, stepping into the space between his legs.
your thighs grazed the denim stretching across his.
you weren’t sitting on him, but you were close enough that your body felt like it was leaning into his gravity.
chan’s hands lifted slowly — not touching you, but hovering, like he was resisting the urge.
his voice dipped lower.
“you’re shaking.”
“you’re-” you swallowed, trying to breathe normally “-you’re being intense on purpose.”
he smirked.
“maybe I am.”
your chest tightened. “that’s cheating.”
“baby,” he murmured, eyes dragging over your face, “this whole game is cheating.”
you didn’t even realize you were leaning in until he did, his gaze sharpening as you swayed a little closer.
he tilted his head up, looking at you from beneath his lashes.
“still scared?” he whispered.
“no,” you said, barely audible.
“good,” he murmured, sitting up straighter, closing that last inch between you without touching.
because the tension alone was enough to undo you.
“I like you better like this.”
“…like what?” you whispered.
he smiled — slow, dangerous, sure of himself.
“brave.”
you stood between his knees, breath shallow, heart pounding so hard you swore he could hear it.
chan tilted his chin up just slightly, looking at you like he was dissecting every twitch in your expression.
he still wasn’t touching you, and somehow, that made everything worse.
“brave, huh?” you said quietly, trying to sound steady.
he hummed low. “mhm.”
he leaned in- just enough that his breath ghosted your collarbone.
you felt your knees go soft.
“and nervous,” he added, voice barely there.
“but you’re trying not to show it.”
“i’m not nervous,” you whispered, though it came out thin.
chan’s smirk grew slow and dangerous.
“sweetheart… you came all the way over here, and you still won’t look at me.”
your stomach twisted.
against your will, your gaze dropped- anywhere but his eyes. his jawline, the slope of his nose, the mole under his eye-
“uh-huh,” he murmured. “right there.”
you froze.
then, slowly, he lifted one finger.
not to touch you.
just to lift your chin an inch.
not even contact.
just the suggestion of it.
and your whole body reacted.
“look at me,” he whispered.
you did.
and God, you shouldn’t have.
his eyes burned into yours-focused, intense, unreadable.
you felt heat crawl up your spine, all the way to the base of your skull.
“still not scared?” he asked, voice low enough to shake you.
“no,” you breathed.
a beat passed. Two.
then chan leaned back a little — not pulling away, just… assessing.
he dragged his gaze down your body and up again, slow enough you forgot to breathe.
“you didn’t sit,” he said softly.
“it wasn’t a real dare,” you shot back, though your voice trembled.
“It was,” he corrected. “you just didn’t do it.”
“and what?” you whispered. “you gonna punish me for it?”
his breath left him in a quiet laugh- low, disbelieving, almost dangerous.
“oh, baby,” he murmured, eyes darkening as he rose just slightly from the couch, closing the space you’d left between your body and his,
“don’t tempt me like that.”
your pulse jumped so violently your fingers curled at your sides.
chan’s lips hovered near your ear — close, close enough to feel warmth but never touching.
“you think this is tense now?” he whispered.
your stomach dropped.
“you have no idea how much worse I can make it.”
chan leans forward- eyes sharp, but teasing, hands on your hips, voice low.
“when is the last time you’ve been fucked”
the question didn’t just hang between you- it hit you.
your breath stuttered. Heat shot straight down your spine, pooling low in your stomach. chan watched every micro-reaction, eyes half-lidded, like he was cataloging your heartbeat.
you opened your mouth—nothing came out.
chan’s lips twitched, a slow, dangerous smirk spreading as he dragged his thumbs over your hips, the pressure firm enough to make your knees weaken.
“mm. that long?” he murmured, tilting his head, voice dipping to something dark and amused. “figures.”
“chan—”
“no,” he interrupted quietly, gaze locked on your flustered expression. “answer me.”
your pulse hammered. You tried to step back, but his fingers tightened just slightly—just enough to freeze you in place.
“i- i’ve never,” you managed, barely a whisper.
chan exhaled a soft laugh against your cheek, the sound low, warm, teasing.
“yeah,” he murmured. “I can tell.” the answer lingered. “fuck, baby” he mumbled under his breath, head thrown back.
your breath caught.
before you could react, chan’s hands slid from your hips to your thighs—big, warm hands curling around the back of them like he was claiming the space. the sudden change made your breath hitch violently.
“chan—what are you—”
he didn’t answer.
instead, he pulled.
one smooth, confident drag toward him.
your balance tipped, hands instinctively grabbing his shoulders—and chan used the moment, guiding you down onto his lap with a firm, sure pull.
a soft gasp slipped out of you as your thighs spread over his, your body pressed flush against his chest.
his hands stayed exactly where they’d landed—one gripping your upper thigh, the other settling low on your waist, fingers splayed possessively.
chan leaned back into the couch, gaze lifting to meet yours with a slow, satisfied smile.
“there,” he murmured, voice like velvet with an edge. “that’s better.”
your heart thrashed against your ribs.
“you— that wasn’t—” Your voice broke. “that wasn’t the dare.”
he hummed thoughtfully, slipping one hand higher up your thigh, dragging heat with it.
“no,” he agreed, eyes dark. “that was me getting tired of waiting.”
your breath faltered completely.
chan’s hand slid up your spine, dragging a shiver out of you as he pulled you closer, barely an inch between your mouths.
“now,” he whispered, eyes locked to yours, “say it again.”
You blinked, chest heaving. “say… what?”
chan’s smirk deepened, gaze flicking briefly to your lips.
“when’s the last time someone touched you like this?”
his hand squeezed your thigh—slow, deliberate.
your breath stuttered.
because sitting on him like this—hearing that—feeling that—
your answer came out smaller than you wanted.
“…Ive never done it..”
chan inhaled sharply through his nose, jaw clenching, like he was holding back something sharp and hungry.
then he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmured:
“good.”
his fingers dug into your hips, pulling you imperceptibly closer.
“because I want to be the one you remember.”
“chan-“ you whimpered. “you know we can’t.”
“yeah, you keep saying that, but look at you- squirming in my lap.” he hummed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
his hand then slowly slid to your jaw- his thumb now on your lower lip.
"open." your lips parted instantly, and he slid his thumb inside, pressing down on your tongue, holding it there as he stared down at you. The weight of his presence made your body tremble, every nerve screaming with the need to please him.
"look at you," he drawled, his voice dripping with need. "so desperate, baby. hm?”
he took his thumb out of your mouth- his eyes still on your lips. “atta girl.” he whispered with a grin on his face, the hunger noticeable in his eyes.
you swallowed hard, still perched on his lap, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you steady. chan’s gaze softened—not less intense, just… warmer, like you were something fragile he didn’t dare rush.
“should be your turn now, hm?” he murmured again, voice low but steady, like he was coaxing rather than teasing.
your breath caught. “i don’t— what do you mean?”
chan let out a slow breath, his thumb brushing your hip in small, absent circles that made your heartbeat trip over itself. the smirk was gone now- replaced with something gentler, deeper, like he was finally letting you see underneath all the banter.
“you made me wait,” he said quietly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “…so I want something back.”
your chest tightened. “c-chan— I didn’t—”
he shook his head just slightly, the motion soft, his touch reassuring on your waist.
“not like that,” he whispered.
“not anything you don’t want.”
the words settled between you, grounding and terrifying all at once.
“what… what do you want?” you breathed.
chan’s lips tugged into the smallest smile- shy at the edges, even, though his hands were still steady around you.
“I want you to look at me first,” he said simply.
you blinked. “I am looking at you.”
he chuckled softly, tilting his forehead toward yours, noses almost brushing but not quite.
“not like you’re trying to escape,” he murmured.
“look at me like you’re here. with me. right now.”
your hands tightened on his shoulders, nails barely grazing the fabric as heat crawled up your throat. the request was simple—too simple—and somehow that made it worse. More real.
slowly, you lifted your gaze, meeting his fully.
chan’s breath hitched—just slightly, just enough that you felt it.
“there she is…” he whispered, smile curling, eyes warm enough to unravel you.
“knew you could do it.”
you exhaled shakily, the tension coiling in your stomach easing—not disappearing, just… shifting.
“was that what you wanted?” you asked, voice barely a murmur.
chan’s fingers brushed up your spine, slow and careful, like he was memorizing the way you fit against him.
“how about a kiss?” he offered. oh, he was being so sweet, for now.
your pulse fluttered helplessly. you wondered what his lips would feel like against yours.
prehaps you wouldn’t have to wait so long to find out…
“and if I say no?” you managed.
“that wouldn’t be fair now would it, baby?”
god, was he irresistible.
your breath stuttered—not from nerves this time, but something deeper, something that made your chest ache in a way completely different from tension.
“it….wouldn’t,” you whispered.
chan’s eyes searched yours, thumb brushing once against your waist, gentle as a promise.
your eyes found his for the last time, before you leaned in.
chan was swift with his kiss, leaning into you as you were pressed against his chest. you kissed back, soft at first, but when you felt his tongue pressing against your lips, you opened your mouth and surrendered.
he wrapped his hands around your waist, palming at the skin beneath your shirt. a heat crept upon your cheeks as his lips kissed yours with a hunger. pressed up against you, his cock twitched a little in his pants. he had to have you, you were practically begging for it in a skirt that short.
“you taste so sweet, baby” he mused as you pulled away from him. he wondered what you'd taste like in other places, whether your cunt had the same sweetness of your mouth.
you wanted more- your cunt ached, unfamiliar feeling, but nontheless you knew you needed to be satisfied.
chan could see this, the way you clenched your thighs on his lap together, and how your heart thumped inside your chest. he'd felt it when he'd been flush against you.
'you wanna thank me some more?' he inquired, his dark brow cocked.
you bit your lip, but you knew you couldn't deny the rush inside your body, the way you were growing increasingly wet between your thighs. the ache that nagged at you, yearning to be satisfied.
'mhm,' you nodded dumbly, feeling his hands grab at your thighs.
as if the wine took over you, confidence filled your veins.
his frown turned to a smile, and he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.
chan grabbed you under your thighs, and went straight to your room, as if you weighed nothing. soon letting you go, making you lead the way.
you trailed along to your room, not desperate enough to let him have you against a wall, glancing back at him every so often and watching as his eyes followed you. you shoved the door open, and switched on the little lamp by your bedside table.
your room was bare, for the most part, but chan always said that it suited you, the cream bedsheets and the old floral wallpaper. it was so innocent. he wondered if you'd stain those sheets tonight as he stretched you out. he'd want to keep them, as a reminder of what’s about to happen.
you sat down on the bed, and he followed suit, still reminded of his achingly hard cock. you couldn't keep your eyes off the bulge in his trousers; it was of a considerable size, and made you gnaw at your lip in anticipation.
"i want to help you,” you said, mouth going dry at the sight of him.
“help me, doll?” he inquired. your words were a little cryptic, but he could tell that your eyes were clearly focused on his achingly hard cock.
“mhm, you're so hard” you murmured. although you were innocent, you'd read enough romance novels to figure out what he needed.
“you can certainly help me” he grabbed your hand and guided it to his clothed hard-on.
you palmed it lightly, gasping as you felt it. he watched as your mouth spread into an exclamation of delight, lips flickering a little. you were so innocent, the way you were gentle in your touches, how you sighed with amazement.
he groaned at the touch, but moved your hand away to free his cock from the restraints of his pants and boxers. your mouth hung agape as he pulled them down to his knees and you were presented with his hard cock. he was big, not that you'd really seen a cock before, but it had to be at least eight inches, and it was throbbing desperately against his stomach.
chan guided your hand back, and wrapped it around the base. you could feel the blood coursing through it, and saw a little bit of precum dribbling from the tip.
“just move your hand up and down, princess” he cooed, and you stroked him, sweaty palms not causing as much friction as he expected.
you moved your hand to the tip, and he urged you to give it a squeeze, groaning as you did so. you felt so good, the way you were thumbing his dripping head, stroking so diligently. but he wanted more, he needed to feel you.
your thighs burned as you continued to stroke him, and you watched as he bucked his hips a little at your touch. you fastened the pace, not too quick, but just enough that his breaths grew haggard. it didn't seem so intimidating now that you were doing it, and his moans suggested you were doing a good job.
but still, your own body was aching with need, and you found yourself grinding into the bed. chan saw this, the way you were practically squirming, and moved one of his own hands to grip at your thigh.
"does doll want me to touch her too?' he said between breaths.
you nodded lazily, hand still pumping his cock. he was close already, the feeling of your hand too much, and the anticipation of finally burying himself deep inside of you was sending him over the edge.
chan’s fingers traced lightly up your thigh, and when he reached your skirt, he pushed past the hem and slipped between the apex of your thighs. you spread them, and gasped as you felt his fingers brush against the wet patch of your panties.
“oh baby, you're so wet” he sighed, his cock throbbing. he was so close...
you mewled as he removed your panties, fingers gently prying them off of you and leaving them to hang at your ankles. you kicked them off, but were left sighing as he ceased his touch for a moment.
his cock twitched in your grip, and he let out a loud, rough groan, spurts of cum coming from the tip of his cock. you blushed, watching as he came onto your hand, and his stomach. he'd have to wash his clothes tonight, because it was stained with the pearly ropes.
sweat beaded at his forehead, but he didn't let the waves of his own pleasure distract from what he wanted most, which was to feel you. you spread your legs, and he sighed at the sight of your glistening cunt.
he ran one finger over your folds, and you clutched at the bedsheets, attempting to ignore how sensitive you already were. his thumb pressed against your clit, and you couldn't stifle your moan this time, a feeling of warmth shooting across your body. you wanted more, and ground into the feeling of his thumb running circles against the sensitive spot.
“so wet for me, aren't you?” he muttered, his long fingers edging further down your folds.
“feels so... good,” you huffed, eyes fluttering shut with bliss. of course you were already lingering on the edge of your own pleasure-he doubted you'd ever even touched yourself before.
he eased a finger into your hole- feeling your slick walls take it in, but only barely. you were so fucking tight, and he watched as you winced a little at the feeling. it only hurt for a second, but you were so wet that you were longing for more.
“oh please” you gasped, feeling him arch his finger while his thumb began to vary its ministrations against your clit.
“gonna cum for me, baby?” he cooed, moving his thumb up and down, watching as your thighs began to tremble.
the heat was unbearable now, and when he added another finger, stretching you out, you felt your whole body begin to tingle with the beginning of your release.
“mhm!” you cried out, exasperated from his touch.
you gushed around his fingers, though he continued to rub his thumb against your clit, and arch his fingers inside of you, mesmerised by the wetness coating them. your breath hitched, and you came completely undone, burning and trembling as he made you cum.
he felt his cock harden again at the sight of you coming around his fingers, and as he removed them from your hole, he decided he couldn't wait any longer.
chan pushed you back into the bed, cock pressing against your thighs. your head swam with the excess of your desire, but you surrendered yourself to him, longing to feel him buried deep inside of you.
he guided just the tip towards your hole, and ran it teasingly through the soaking folds of your cunt. you mewled, and clutched at his back in an attempt to get him to push into you. deciding he was greedy, he pressed the tip into you, and you let out a shocked groan.
it hurt-he was big, but you hadn't expected it to make you tingle so much. you bit back a few tears, and let him put the rest of the tip in. you were so tight, he couldn't believe it. if you'd felt tight around his fingers, this was a whole new sensation. you were clenching around his cock, and he had barely so much as the head of it inside you.
“too big,” you gasped, feeling him ease his cock further in. it stung a little, the stretch slightly unpleasant. but you wanted him so bad. "it hurts!”
“poor baby,” he mused, stroking your cheek. “you gotta learn to take it, like a good girl. i know you want it, doll?”
you did, you wanted it so bad. even though it hurt, you felt your stomach knot tightly as it did when he'd rubbed your clit. he began to buck his hips, grunting at the tightness of your cunt. your walls stretched around his big cock, taking him in as best they could, slick with want and need.
"fuck, you're so fucking tight” he groaned as thrust inside of you.
more tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks. he watched as you tried to fight off the feelings of pain, surrendering yourself to the pleasant feeling of fullness and his throbbing cock inside of you. he wanted nothing more than to pound into you, make you scream his name as he filled you up, but you were too delicate. he'd have to wait until you were ready, and you were special, anyways. a pretty doll just for him.
"oh!" you gasped as he fucked himself deeper, reaching a new angle inside of you.
the sound of your slick mingling with the slapping of his balls echoed against the walls of your room, and you clutched at his back. your desire began to brim again, edging its way up your thighs and deep into the pit of your stomach. chan could hardly contain himself, you fit around him so perfectly, slick walls coating his cock as he thrust in and out.
"fuck baby, i don't know how much more i can take” he admitted haggardly. he attempted to control his urges, but you were just so tight. what was stopping him from coming in you right then and there?
“need you” you mumbled as he rutted against your hips, thrusts growing more desperate.
he moved one hand down to rub at your overstimulated clit, fingers deftly helping to unfurl the ache inside of you. you sputtered at the sensation, head spinning as he fucked you into the mattress.
he was so close, the clenching of your walls sending the blood straight to his head. he let out a final grunt, and slowed his thrusts, and felt himself come undone. he ground his cock into you, letting the thick spurts of his cum coat your walls. he came a lot, more than he'd ever done before, balls draining with what felt like every last drop.
he still continued to fuck up into you, wanting you to finish around him before he pulled out. your legs began to tremble, the feeling of his cum too much to handle, and you let out a sweet cry.
'so good, you pressed your lips together, coming undone around his dick.
chan pulled out, cock coated in a milky ring of your spend, his tip still red and angry from use. your body tingled, and you felt his cum trickling down between your legs. he couldn't believe how pretty you looked, all fucked out for him, drunk on his cock.
he'd turned such a pretty innocent thing into a stupid whore, who could barely form a sentence without sighing from the excess of her pleasure.
he wondered how long he'd have to wait to go another round, and whether or not you'd let him. but you'd been so good to him that night, doing exactly what he told you and coming for him not once, but twice.
“such a good girl for me, baby” he mused, stroking your thigh. 'and so innocent”
I'm sorry if this is too out of pocket or random if it is please just ignore it I unfortunately couldn't find your fic guidelines so bear with me pls 💔 I just wanted to req and ask (nsfw?) which of the guys you think prefers 🍒 or 🍑
as or tits (or something inbetween)?
/ᐠ - ˕ -マ (have a cat face cuz images arent working T-T)
pairings: ot8 (separately) x f!reader
genre: smut
contains: tit play, spanking, thigh fucking, oral (f!receiving), multip sex positions
word count: 0.6k
[a/n]: i wrote this in like… 15 minutes and didn’t proof ANY of it- also you can 100% tell which ones i personally think about most >< (i think about tit lover jisung like 4,000 times a day. it’s so bad.)
방찬 - bangchan
tits - let’s get serious for a second here. we’ve all seen genshin mains. honestly, do i need to say any more?? google ahri from lol and take a single glance at the first image that pops up, and that’s all the proof you’ll need.
이민호 lee minho
thighs - you love his, and he loves yours. it’s a very mutual enjoyment. sometimes when you’ve done something that really ticks him the wrong way, he’ll lay you on top of him while he fucks your thighs, using the pillowy skin to get off while leaving you needy and desperate.
서창빈 seo changbin
ass - i feel like this motherfucker would be the type to just have a hand on your ass at all times. when he’s leading you somewhere his had doesn’t naturally fall to the small of your back. nono, it immediately slides over your ass, giving you a light pat to encourage you forward. his hand is in your back pocket 24/7, mindlessly kneeling at you through the fabric. and if you’re naked? he’s bringing a hand down hard with an open palm just to watch how the fat jiggles.
황현진 hwang hyunjin
tits - what can i say?? hyunjin just thinks they’re so pretty, so fucking perfect. is similar to jisung in the way that he could just spend hours mouthing at them until they’re overly sensitive and flushed pink from scattered bites. also 10000% his favorite place to leave hickeys.
한지성 han jisung
tits - i don’t think you guys understand how obsessed i am with jisung being obsessed with tits. it’s mindless and fucking constant. jisung loveloveLOVES burying his face in your tits, fabric in his way or not. watching a movie after a long day? his hand slips under your shirt to work you like you’re his favorite stress ball. riding him stupid on a random thursday? his mouth is sloppy as it works over your breasts. this man will literally spend hours laying on top of you with his face shoved between them, kissing lazily, mouthing at one nipple while his fingers slowly pinch and twist and pull the other.
이필릭스 lee felix
thighs - they’re just so soft. there isn’t much felix looks forwards to more than being between your thighs, pressing soft kisses to the skin, taking it between his teeth just to watch you squirm. and don’t even get him started on the way they close around his head once he actually starts eating you out. mans could live like that for the rest of his life and be perfectly content.
김승민 kim seungmin
ass - i don’t even know how to justify my reasoning for this. i can just feel it in puss iykwim T-T whenever you’re on top of him his hands just naturally drift, gripping hard at the fat to help you set your pace as you grind in slow circles over his dick, hitting hard when you tease him for longer than he feels he deserves.
양정인 yang jeongin
tits - oh jeongin, my sweet boy. mans in absolutely enraptured by the way they bounce and jiggle no matter which way he’s hitting it from. if he’s hitting it from the back? his hand snakes around to take both into one of his stupidly large hands. missionary? his eyes are glued to the way they shift each time he pushes in. he’s like a fucking kid in a candy store fr
synopsis: your christmas eve is going exactly as planned—cozy pjs, a warm cup of coffee, lazy doom scrolling—whenever changbin drops in to shatter your moment of peace. because how does he plan on spending his chirstmas eve? fucking in the gym showers.
pairing: changbin x f!reader
genre: smut
contains: poor descriptions of gym workouts (i haven’t stepped foot in a gym in 2 years), unprotected sex (don’t), kissing, shower sex
word count: 5.2k
now playing: i want it all - cameron grey
[a/n]: uhmmm so i love changbin??? yeah that’s all i have to say i hope you enjoy this masterpiece as much as i do ><
the morning light filters through the living room window, the harshness of it softened by the overcast winter sky outside.
everything about the living room screams that stereotypical cozy holiday comfort. theres a modest christmas tree tucked in the corner, piled with more ornaments than needed (changbin was persistent), and the faint scent of cinnamon still lingers in the air from a candle you’d lit a few hours before.
determined to soak up every easy moment of you’re morning, you’re sprawled out on the couch in your favorite pajamas, phone is in your hand as you lazily thumb through social media feeds full of last-minute holiday preparations and cheerful christmas eve posts. a mug of tea sits fresh on the coffee table and a thick winter throw is draped over your legs.
this is exactly how you planned to spend your morning: doing absolutely nothing.
the peace is perfect. quiet. one could even go as far to call it serene.
and it is at that very moment that changbin, in his full changbin glory, emerges from e bedroom.
you glance up from your phone as footsteps draw closer, and you honestly wish you hadn’t. you barely get a second to breathe before your brain is short circuiting.
why? well, because changbin is dressed for the gym, obviously.
of course he is. because apparently, working out on christmas eve is a completely reasonable thing to do.
there’s a black compression shirt stretched across his torso like it’s a second skin, highlighting every cut and curve of his muscular build. the fabric stretches across his broad chest and shoulders, allowing you to see the definition of his arms every time he shifts.
and to make all matters far worse than they already were, his gray sweats hang low on his hips in that effortlessly attractive way that should probably be illegal.
he walks through the living room with an energy that seems far too bright for the early hour, his sole focus being pulling on his gym shoes by the door.
you say nothing, perfectly content with watching as he bends down to tug the laces tight, and it really isn’t your fault when eyes betray you, tracking the movement of his shoulders, the way his shirt rides up slightly to reveal a sliver of toned skin at his waist.
resisting the urge to pounce and sink your teeth into his bicep, you force yourself to look back to your phone.
"no." comes your answer to a question he hasn’t even asked yet.
you feel the moment his eyes shift to you as he straightens up.
when you dare to meet his gaze you’re met with that innocent, almost puppy-like expression of his—the one that absolutely does not match the confident presence that’s rolling of off him in waves.
"i didn't even say anything yet-" he protests, voice carrying a hint of amusement.
"you're dressed for the gym. on christmas eve morning.” you deadpan, giving him a look to help sell the flatness of your tone. “the answer is no." with that, you pull the blanket higher over yourself as if it can somehow shield you from whatever he’s about to propose.
chagbin takes a few steps closer with a whiny little “come on“, that devastating downward smile starting to pull on his lips. "just for an hour. maybe two."
"changbin, it's christmas eve. normal people are baking cookies or watching holiday romcoms. they’re not going to the gym."
"we can do that later, promise. for now though… come with me!" he moves to stand directly in front of the couch so he can reach a hand out to you, a gesture you very pointed choose to ignore.
you shake your head, trying to maintain your resolve even as your heart does an annoying little flip at his proximity. damn his seemingly endless collections of slutty tight shirts. and his sweatpants, also damn those.
"i want to relax. this is me relaxing. see?” you shake your phone in front of his face. “very relaxed."
his raised brow makes it clear he isn;t buying it. "you look super tense actually," he observes, tilting his head. "all that scrolling. very stressful on the thumbs."
"my thumbs are fine, thank you."
"the gym will help," he continues, as if you haven't spoken. "get your blood flowing, release some endorphins. you'll feel great."
"i feel great right now."
"you'll feel better." he reaches down and plucks the phone from your hands before you can stop him, holding it just out of reach. "come on. don't make me beg."
"hate to break it to you, baby, but you’ve already fallen to that level.”
"exactly. and it's pathetic. put me out of my misery and just come with me." his expression shifts into something more playful, more knowing. "besides, when was the last time you worked out? you've been saying you want to get back into it."
you have said that. once. possibly twice. in a moment of weakness after being winded after scaling a single flight of stairs.
"that's not fair, bin-" you protest, and this time it’s you that takes on the whiny tone.
"i'll help you with everything, be your own personal trainer." he flexes slightly—not overtly, but enough that you notice the way his bicep contracts under that damn compression shirt. "free of charge. that’s a very exclusive offer that you are very lucky to get. you know how many people wanna get a piece of this?"
you try to look away and fail miserably. he notices, of course he does, and his smile only grows wider because of it.
"one hour," he says again, persistent as always. "and then we'll come back, and i'll make us breakfast. whatever you want."
you stare at him and that stupidly handsome face and those stupidly defined arms, and feel your resolve crumbling like a poorly built snowman.
"this is emotional manipulation," you grumble.
"…is it working?"
sighing, you throw off the blanket in a dramatic show of defeat. "fine. one hour. but you're making pancakes when we get back."
the grin changbin gives is nothing short of infuriating. "deal."
as you head to your room to change, you hear him call out a smug little "wear something you can move in!"
you're halfway through a set of dumbbell rows when you feel it—that prickle of awareness that tells you changbin is watching you again.
or not just watching, not really. it's more like *studying—*the same expression you catch him with in the studio, focusing on a track that isn't quite itching his brain the way it needs to.
you try to focus on the exercise, focusing on keeping your back straight and pulling the weight up toward your ribs like he's shown you. the gym is quiet except for the distant clang of weights and the low hum of a treadmill somewhere behind you. most people have better things to do on christmas eve, apparently.
lucky them.
"you're dropping your shoulder," changbin says from somewhere to your left.
you glance at him in the mirror. he's leaning against the weight rack, arms crossed over his chest, that black compression shirt doing absolutely nothing to hide the definition of his pecs.
his expression is focused, almost serious, but there's something else there too—something that makes your skin feel a little too warm.
"i am not," you protest, even though you definitely are.
he pushes off the rack and closes the distance between you in two strides. "you are," he says, and then his hand is on your shoulder blade, warm and firm through the thin fabric of your tank top. "keep it level. like this."
his other hand settles on your hip, adjusting your stance, and you have to suppress a shiver.
this is the fourth—no, fifth time he's touched you in the last twenty minutes, and each time it feels more deliberate than the last.
"better?" you ask, your voice coming out slightly breathless.
"much." his hand lingers on your hip for a moment longer than necessary before he steps back. "finish your set."
you do, hyper-aware of his eyes on you the entire time. when you set the dumbbell down and straighten up, you catch his reflection in the mirror again.
and yeah, he's definitely staring.
"see something you like?" you ask, turning to face him with an arched eyebrow.
changbin's mouth curves into a slow smile. "just admiring my excellent coaching skills."
"uh huh. right."
"you're welcome, by the way." he grabs his water bottle and takes a long drink, and you absolutely do not watch the way his throat bobs as he swallows. "your form is improving."
"only because you keep manhandling me into position."
"manhandling?" he looks offended. "i'm being a professional personal trainer."
"professional personal trainers don't usually stand that close."
"i need to make sure you're doing it correctly," he says, his tone infuriatingly innocent. "it's for your safety."
"my safety. right." you move toward the bench press, and he follows. of course he does, he’s your self appointed personal help. "you know, i'm starting to think you just want an excuse to put your hands on me."
he doesn't deny it. instead, he moves to stand at the head of the bench as you lay back, positioning himself to spot you. "maybe i do," he says, looking down at you with that same intense expression from earlier. "you going to complain about it?"
your heart skips. "depends on how good your spotting technique is."
"oh, baby, my technique is excellent." the words are playful, but his voice dips just low enough to be noticable, rougher. "you're about to find out."
you try to focus on the bar above you, wrapping your hands around it, but it's difficult when changbin is standing right there, his arms hovering just above yours, ready to assist. you can smell his cologne mixed with the clean scent of exertion, and when you tilt your head back slightly, you have a perfect view of his forearms, corded with muscle.
"ready?" he asks.
"ready."
you lift the bar off the rack and begin your reps, lowering it to your chest and pressing back up. changbin's hands follow the movement, not touching but close enough that you can feel the heat of them.
"that's it," he murmurs. "nice and controlled. you've got this."
his encouragement shouldn't affect you the way it does, but something about the tone of his voice, low and approving, makes your stomach flutter. you push through the set as best you can, your arms shaking subtly by the last rep.
"come on, one more," changbin urges. "i know you can do it."
you grit your teeth and push the bar up one final time with some effort. his hands come down to help guide it back onto the rack, and then he's leaning over you, his face appearing in your field of vision upside down.
"good girl," he says softly.
the words send a jolt straight through you. you sit up quickly, maybe too quickly, your face definitely flushed now. "don't," you say, pointing a finger at him.
"don't what?" he's smirking now, the bastard.
"you know exactly what."
"i'm just praising your hard work." his head cocks to the side jsut so. "why? is it affecting you?"
"no."
"liar." he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing your cheek. "you're a terrible liar, you know that?"
you swat his hand away, trying to ignore the way your pulse is racing like you’d just down four monsters and a five hour energy. "you're the worst."
"and yet you're dating me." he grabs your water bottle and hands it to you. "questionable judgment on your part, really."
"tell me about it," you mutter, but you can't help the small smile tugging at your lips.
he grins, clearly pleased with himself, and then gestures toward the squat rack. "come on. let's do some squats."
you groan. "i hate squats."
"i know. but they're good for you." he's already walking toward the rack, and you reluctantly trail behind him. "besides, i have a vested interest in making sure you maintain your excellent form."
"oh my god."
"what? i'm being supportive."
"you're being a pervert."
"can't i be both?" he loads weight onto the bar and steps back, gesturing for you to get into position. "alright, show me what you've got."
you step up to the bar, grumbling about his audacity as you duck under and positioning it across your shoulders. the weight is manageable but challenging, and you take a breath before starting your first rep.
"good," changbin says from behind you. you can't see him, but you can feel his presence, close and attentive. "keep your chest up. don't let your knees cave in."
you complete the first rep, then the second. on the third, you feel his hands on your hips again, steadying you.
"like this," he says, his voice right by your ear now. his chest is almost brushing your back. "feel that? you want to sit back into it more."
you do feel it. you feel everything—the pressure of his hands, the heat of his body, the way his breath tickles the back of your neck. it's impossible to concentrate on proper squat form when your boyfriend is pressed up against you like this, his fingers digging into your hips with just enough pressure to make you want to forget about working out entirely.
"changbin," you say, your voice strained.
"yeah?"
"you're doing it again."
"doing what?" his thumbs trace small circles against your hip bones. you nearly drop the bar.
your next exhale is shaky, both from exertion and that unshakable feeling you get when changbin gets too close "the thing. the touching thing."
"i'm spotting you," he says, but you can hear the amusement in his voice. "this is what good spotters do."
"good spotters do not- oh my god." his hand has slid slightly lower, fingers spreading across your thigh under the pretense of checking your positioning. and it could have been believable, maybe, if his fingertips hadn’t brushed unnecessarily high on your inner thigh.
"what was that?" he asks with an innocence that does not match up with how he’s fingers press to your skin..
you finish the set with shaky legs and rack the bar.
when you turn to face him he's standing close, closer than necessary, with that infuriatingly attractive expression on his face—part innocence, part something far more dangerous.
"you're playing games, bin."
he tilts his head, his eyes locked on yours. "am i?"
"yes."
"interesting." he reaches out and snags your hand, tugging you toward him. you stumble slightly, your palms landing on his chest to steady yourself. his heart is beating hard beneath your touch, matching the rhythm of your own. "and what are you going to do about it?"
you look up at him, at the challenge in his eyes, the slight curve of his mouth. the gym suddenly feels very warm, the air thick with tension that has been building since the moment he convinced you to come here.
"i haven't decided yet," you say.
"take your time." his hands settle on your waist, thumbs brushing the strip of exposed skin where your top has ridden up. "but just so you know, i have been thinking about this—about you—all morning."
"that's why you dragged me here? so you could torture me with exercise and your stupid perfect arms?"
he laughs, the sound low and warm. "the exercise is secondary."
"oh really. and what's primary?"
his eyes darken, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "what do you think?"
you're about to respond when you catch movement in the mirror behind him—someone walking past on their way to the exit. you step back slightly, suddenly remembering where you are, and changbin's hands fall away reluctantly.
"we should finish the workout," you say, your voice not quite steady.
he studies you for a moment, then nods slowly. "yeah. we should." but the way he looks at you says the workout is the last thing on his mind. "one more exercise."
"which one?"
"deadlifts." he moves toward the bar, adding weight, and you try to pull yourself together. this is getting ridiculous. you're in public, for god's sake, in a gym, and all you can think about is—
"come here," changbin says, interrupting your thoughts.
you walk over, and he guides you into position in front of the bar. "remember, lift with your legs, not your back," he instructs. "keep the bar close to your body."
you bend down and grip the bar, preparing to lift. changbin steps up behind you, his hands settling on your hips once more.
"just checking your form," he murmurs.
"sure you are."
you lift the bar, standing up straight, and his hands slide up slightly, following the movement. when you lower the bar back down, he goes with you, his body a solid presence at your back.
"again," he says.
you repeat the movement, and this time his hands move more freely, tracing the line of your hips, your waist, adjusting your posture with touches that feel less like coaching and more like something else entirely.
by the third rep, you're barely paying attention to the weight in your hands. all you can focus on is changbin, the way he touches you, the way his breath is coming slightly faster, the tension coiling tighter and tighter between you.
"that's enough," you say suddenly, setting the bar down maybe too quickly.
you turn to face him, and the look in his eyes makes your breath catch. he's done pretending this is about the workout. so are you.
"shower?" he asks, his voice rough.
you can only nod.
changbin grabs your hand and pulls you toward the locker rooms, and you follow without hesitation.
the locker room hallway is quiet, the sound of distant weights clanking and muffled music barely audible. your heart is hammering so hard you're sure changbin can hear it as he leads you past the main locker areas toward the private shower stalls at the back.
his hand is still wrapped around yours, warm and firm, and you can't stop replaying the last hour in your mind—every lingering touch, every heated look, the way the tension had built and built until it got to this moment. the longer you plague your mind with it, the more it feels like you might combust right there in the middle of the gym.
changbin stops in front of one of the private stalls, the kind with a full door and lock rather than just a curtain. smart choice, considering what is clearly about to happen. your pulse races as he pushes the door open and tugs you inside.
the space is small but surprisingly clean for a communal facility, all white tile and chrome fixtures. a bench runs along one wall, and there are hooks for towels and clothes. the fluorescent lighting is harsh, but somehow that only makes everything feel more real, more immediate.
changbin closes the door behind you and flips the lock. the click of it sliding seems impossibly loud in the enclosed space.
for a moment, you both just stand there facing each other, the air thick with anticipation and heavy exhales.
"so…" you say, your voice coming out breathier than intended. "we're really doing this?"
his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide as his eyes drag over you painfully slow. "unless you want to stop."
"i didn't say that."
a slow smile spreads across his face. "good."
changbin reaches past you, and you think he's going for you, but instead his hand finds the shower controls. water bursts from the showerhead, and before you can react, he's adjusted the temperature and the spray is hitting you both.
you gasp as the water soaks through your tank top and leggings almost instantly, the fabric clinging to your skin. "changbin!"
"what?" he's grinning now, water streaming down his face, his compression shirt plastered to his chest in a way that really isn't fair. "we came here to shower, didn't we?"
"that's not—" you don't get to finish the sentence because he steps forward, his hands coming up to cup your face, and kisses you.
all thoughts flee your mind. his lips are hot against yours, demanding and sure. you make a small sound in the back of your throat and kiss him back just as hard, your hands finding his shoulders, his neck, threading into his wet hair.
he walks you backward until your back hits the cold tile wall, making you arch into him in search for warmth.
the contrast between the cool tile and his warm body pressed against your front is dizzying.
his hands slide from your face down to your waist, gripping you firmly as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours.
water cascades over both of you, making everything slick and heated. your soaked clothes cling to your body, and you can feel every hard line of him pressed against you—his chest, his abs, the heavy press of his dick against your hip.
hhe breaks the kiss to trail his lips down your jaw to your neck, finding that sensitive spot below your ear that makes your knees weak. "been thinking about this," he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough. "all fucking morning. watchin’ you work , touching you, seeing you look at me in the mirror..."
"your hands were all over me," you manage as you tilt your head to give him better access. "how was i supposed to concentrate?"
you feel him smile against your neck. "that was kind of the point." his teeth graze your pulse point, and you gasp. "wanted to see how long you could take it before you broke."
"i wasn't the one who broke," you point out through a shudder, his teeth dragging across your skin. "you’re the one who dragged me in here."
"fair." he lifts his head to look at you, water dripping from his hair onto your face. his expression is intense, eyes hooded. "you came willingly though."
"obviously," you say, and pull him back down for another kiss.
this one is messier, more desperate. your hands roam over his shoulders, down his back, feeling the muscles flex under your touch. his compression shirt is completely soaked now, and you want it off, want to feel his skin against yours.
as if reading your mind, changbin pulls back just enough to grab the hem of his shirt and yank it over his head. he tosses it aside carelessly, and then he's in front of you shirtless, water streaming down his chest and abs, and you forget how to breathe.
"jesus…" you whisper.
you’ve never seen him look so pleased in his life. "like what you see?"
"you know i do." you reach out and run your hands up from his stomach, mapping over his ribs, his pecs. he’s all solid muscle and warm skin. "you're unfairly attractive."
"says you." his hands go to the hem of your tank top, his fingers brushing your stomach. "can i?"
you nod, not trusting your voice, and he peels the soaking fabric up and off, adding it to the growing pile of discarded clothes in the corner. the sports bra you wear underneath is dark with water, clinging to your curves, and changbin's eyes darken even further as he takes you in.
"fuck," he breathes. his hands settle on your waist, thumbs brushing the bare skin just above your leggings. "you're so beautiful, baby"
heat floods through you at the sheer reverence in his voice. "changbin..."
he kisses you again, slower this time but no less intense. his hands explore your body, tracing the curve of your waist, sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your sports bra in a way that makes you arch into his touch.
you let your own hands wander, mapping the planes of his back, his sides, dipping lower to feel the v of muscle that disappears into his sweatpants. he groans against your mouth when your fingers trace along his waistband, his hips pressing forward involuntarily.
"such a tease…” he mutters.
"you literally just spent an hour teasing me during reps," you shoot back. "consider this payback."
he pulls back to look at you, a wicked glint in his eyes. "oh, so we're playing that game?"
before you can ask what he means, his hands are on your hips, spinning you around so your front is pressed against the tile wall. you yelp at the cold surface against your overheated skin, but then changbin's body is against your back, his chest pressed to you, his hands sliding around to your stomach, and any cold chill is long forgotten
"let's see how you like being teased," he murmurs so close to your ear that you can feel his breath fan over your skin. one of his hands slides up to cup your breast through your sports bra while the other dips lower, fingers playing with the waistband of your leggings.
you press your palms flat against the tile, trying to steady yourself as he touches you. the water continues to pour over you both, steam rising in a way that makes everything feel dreamlike and surreal.
"changbin," you breathe, and he hums against your neck, his lips tracing the curve of your shoulder.
"tell me what you want," he says it so softly that you nearly miss the command that lingers under his airy words.
"you," you say without hesitation. "i want you."
his hand at your waistband dips lower, beneath the fabric, and you gasp as his fingers find you through your underwear. "like this?" he asks, voice rough in your ear.
"yes-" you gasp. "god, yes."
he makes a satisfied sound and increases the pressure, his fingers moving in slow circles that have you pressing back against him. you can feel how hard he is, can hear his breathing hitch as his hips roll against your ass, chasing some release of his own,
"these need to come off," he mutters it so quietly that you can only assume he hadn’t actually meant to say it out loud. still, you couldn’t agree more.
changbin steps back just enough to hook his fingers in your leggings and underwear and pull them down. you kick them off with minimal struggle, and suddenly you're standing there in just your sports bra, warm water running over bare skin.
you hear the rustle of fabric behind you and know he's removing his own remaining clothes. when he presses against you again, it's skin to skin, and you both groan at the contact.
"turn around," he says, his voice strained. "need to see you."
you turn to face him, and the look in his eyes nearly undoes you—pure want mixed with something deeper, something that makes your heart clench and your thighs squeeze together.
he reaches up and unhooks your sports bra, sliding it off your shoulders and letting it fall. the second it’s gone his hands are on you, touching, exploring, learning every curve and dip of your body as if he hasn’t done this a thousand times already.
"you're perfect," he says, almost reverently, and then he's kissing you again, his hands everywhere and driving you absolutely insane with need.
you snake a hand between your bodies to take him into your hand, and when you do he breaks the kiss with a sharp inhale of fuck, his forehead dropping to press into your shoulder. "baby..."
"need you," you whisper, hand working over him in a way that has him jolt. "now."
he lifts his head, eyes meeting yours as he nods.
changbin’s hands grip your thighs, lifting you with maddening ease so you can wrap your legs around his waist. his body presses your against the cool tile of the wall.
"tell me if i need to stop," he says, breathless but full of sincerity.
"don't you fucking dare-" you reply, and then he's pushing into you, slow and steady. your moans echo through the shower room at the sensation.
the angle is perfect, the feeling of him filling you overwhelming in the best way. changbin stays still for a moment, his breathing ragged as he gives you time to adjust. his forehead presses against yours, water dripping between you.
"okay?" he asks, voice strained.
"so okay," you breathe. "move. please."
he does, pulling back before pushing in again, setting a rhythm that has you clinging to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. the shower creates a cocoon around you, the sound of water hitting tile mixing with your combined breathing and the occasional moan.
"god, you feel so good," changbin groans, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to leave marks. "so perfect..."
you want to respond, to feed him the praise he deserves, but can't form words anymore, too lost in the sensation, in the way he moves, in the way he holds you like you're precious even while he takes you apart.
your head falls back against the wall, and he takes the opportunity to kiss and bite at your neck, your collarbones.
"look at me, baby" he urges, and you force your eyes open to meet his. the intensity in his gaze makes your thighs twitch. "want to see you when you come."
that's all it takes. the combination of his words, his eyes locked on yours, the feeling of him inside you—it pushes you over the edge. you come with a cry of his name, your body tensing and shuddering in his arms.
he follows moments later, his grip on you tightening as he buries his face in your neck with a groan, hips stuttering as he finds his own release.
for a long moment, you both just stay like that, pressed together under the spray of the shower, breathing hard. slowly, carefully, changbin lowers you back to your feet, his hands steadying you when your legs wobble.
"okay?" he asks softly, brushing wet hair back from your face.
"very okay," you say, your voice a little hoarse. you look up at him and can't help but smile. "that was..."
"yeah," he agrees, grinning back at you. "it really is."
he reaches for the soap on the small shelf, and you raise an eyebrow. "actually showering now?"
"well, we're already here," he says with a little shrug. "might as well make use of the facilities."
you laugh, and he pulls you close again, kissing you softly this time, sweet and unhurried. when he pulls back, there's something in his expression that makes your heart skip.
"happy christmas eve," he says.
"best christmas eve workout ever," you reply, and his resulting laugh echoes off the tile walls.
you both actually do shower then, taking turns under the spray, stealing kisses and touches, laughing when you nearly slip on the wet floor. eventually, you have to leave the small sanctuary of the stall and face the reality of getting dressed in damp gym clothes, but neither of you seem to mind all that much.
as you walk out of the gym together, his hand firmly holding yours, you catch his satisfied smirk.
"what?" you ask.
"just thinking," he says, "i should drag you to the gym more often."
you shake your head, but you're smiling. "you're impossible."
"and yet," he says, pulling you close to kiss your temple, "you love me anyway."
synopsis: seungmin always thought mistletoe was a stupid concept—the kiss, the pressure, the hype. so whenever the holidays are nearing an end and he still hasn't given you the confession you deserve, he takes matters into his own hands.
pairing: seungmin x f!reader
genre: fluff
contains: a little bit of kissing, a very blunt confession
word count: 1k
now playing: rises the moon - maruwhat
[a/n]: so my tumblr literally just. stopped working?? halfway through finishing it???? im gonna fix it in the morning if i can, but for now please accept a shit format and some sped run softseung T-T
the dorm is warm with the glow of shitty led strips and the chatter of the boys from where they’re strewn around the dorms living room.
early that day you’d been invited over for what chan had deemed a ‘low-key holiday hangout’, the likes of which had quickly dissolved into mario kart tournaments and heated debates over which christmas movie is superior.
the debates had started when jisung suggest watching elf, to which half the room had let out a groan. and the mario? they’d already been in the middle of a round when seungmin had let you in.
speaking of seungmin, he’s currently tucked beside you on the couch. he sits close enough that your shoulders brush whenever one of you shifts.
he's been quieter than usual tonight. it’s not normally something you’d pick up on, but with him sitting in such close proximity, eyes fixed stubbornly on the tv screen and lips pressed into a thin line, it’s not really something you can ignore.
that, and the fact that you've caught him glancing at you more than once with an expression you can't quite read.
you don't know how much time the group of you spend like that—just wasting time for the sake of having it to waste.
after the next round of mario kart you had just been watching comes to a close, the winner obvious what with thr victorious shouting coming from your right, seungmin leans over until his lips nearly brush the shell of his ear, words meant for you and only you. "will you step outside with me for a moment?"
you blink at him. "outside? seungmin, it's freezing."
"i know. just for a minute." there's something in his eyes, something nervous. something desperate, maybe. "…please?"
all it takes is a nod from you before seungmin is pushing himself up from the couch and making his way towards the bedroom.
you stare after him for a moment, confused beyond belief. he senses it though, qnd apparently your pause isn't something he takes lightly. seungmin turns just enough to look over his shoulder, staring back at you with that same unreadable expression as before.
he says nothing, but gives his head a small jerk which gets the message across all the same.
seungmin's room is just as tidy as it always was—bed made without a wrinkle in sight, the little desk in the corner perfectly organized.
it's all so seungmin that it nearly hurts.
when your eyes find him in the dark room, he's standing right next to the window. the sound of him flicking the latch fills the air, and before you can process what that means, your watching it unfold in real time. the window gets shoved up and you swear you can feel the temperature in the room drop ten degrees.
"seungmin, what—"
"just trust me," he says, and before you can qustion him further he's maneuvering himself through the window.
you manage a small laugh, more in disbelief than entertainment, and follow him through.
the metal platform of the fire escape is almost comically small, barely big enough for the two of you to sit side by side. you both manage though, legs dangling through the bars as you sit close enough to feel how warm his is beneath his hoodie.
the city stretches out around, lights and signs and car headlights twinkling like earthbound stars.
"okay," you say, wrapping your arms around in a poor attempt to warn off the cold. "you gonna tell me what this is about, or…?"
seungmin sits in his silence for a few moments longer. you watch each and every exhale, his breath clouding the air in front of him.
above you, the night sky is surprisingly clear, stars visible despite the city's glow. the only reason you look up in the first place is because you're following his line of sight.
"i wanted to talk to you," he says finally. "away from everyone else."
"we could've just talked in your room, min." you point out, exaggerating your shiver just enough to really sell your point. "it’s fucking cold."
"and you're fucking fine." he looks over at you then, and even though the smile doesn'treach his lips, you watch the glint of it in his gaze. "besides, this feels right."
you soften at that, turning to look at him properly. his profile is striking in the dim light, all sharp lines and soft eyes.
“so, what do you wanna talk about?"a beat of silence. you hear him sigh a heavy breath. "i think mistletoe is stupid."
you blink once. and then a second time just dor good measure. "…okay?"
"no, i mean-" he huffs a laugh, raising a hand to cars it through his hair. "everyone makes such a big deal about it. like you need some plant as an excuse to kiss someone. it's ridiculous."
"i mean, i guess?" your response is slow, cautious, not quite sure where he's going with this.
"but i've been thinking about kissing you," he continues, and your heart skips a solid eight beats where it sits in your chest. "a lot, actually. and the holidays are almost over, and i don't want to let them end without..." he trails off, finally raising his eys to meet yours again. "without asking if i can."
the world seems to narrow down to just the two of you and that stupid fire escape, the cold forgotten as warmth spreads like a wildfire through your entire being.
"you're… asking permission?" you manage.
"of course i am." he looks almost offended that you'd question it. "i'm not just going to kiss you without knowing if you want me to."
a smile tugs at your lips. teasing, you ask “even if we were under mistletoe?"
"especially under mistletoe," he says firmly, lips pressing into that little pout that he always swore he didn't make. "that tradition is based on the assumption that both people want to kiss just because they're standing in the right spot. but what if one person doesn't? what if they feel pressured? it's-"
"seungmin."he stops, looking at you the most earnest expression you've seen in your entire life."
you can kiss me," you say softly. "i want you to."
his expression shifts, tension releasing from his shoulders as a smile—genuine and bright—spreads across his face. "yeah?"
"yeah."
he reaches up slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away, and cups your cheek with one hand. his palm is warm despite the cold, and you lean into the touch instinctively.
and then he's kissing you, soft and careful at first, like he's savoring every second.
it goes without saying that you meet him half way, your hand coming up to rest against his chest. the way you feel his heart hammering beneath your touch does something cruel to your own.
the city hums below you, and the cold bites at your skin, but all of it fades into background noise. there's only seungmin, his lips on yours, his hand gentle against your face, the way he smiles against your mouth before pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
"i've wanted to do that for a while," he admits quietly.
"me too," you whisper back.
he pulls away enough to look at you properly, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. "can i do it again?"
you laugh, the sound a warm contrast to the air it fills. "you don't have to ask every time."
"i know," he says. "just want you to know you can always say no."
you feel like the grinch with the way you can physically feel your heart swell at the words. "kiss me again, seungmin."
and he does.
later, when you finally clamber back through the window—both of you shivering, lips kiss swollen and cheeks flushed from the cold—none of the others seem to have noticed your absence.
you settle back onto the couch, and this time when seungmin sits beside you, his hand finds yours beneath the blanket someone had draped over the armrest.
chan glances over at some point and catches seungmin's eye. whatever he sees there makes him smile knowingly, but he doesn't say anything.
as the night wears on and your head eventually comes to rest on seungmin's shoulder, you can't help but think he's right.
synopsis: you and chan are curled up on the couch when you look outside to see the first snow of the season. you draw him from his work so he can share the sight with you, and what started as a little work session is quick to shift as he pulls you into his lap.
pairing: chan x f!reader
genre: fluff
contains: kissing, chan being a workaholic but also absolutely lovely
word count: 1.9k
now playing: magnolia - keshi
event taglist is open!!
[a/n]: can you guys tell that i really like writing chan fluff??? also if you are here for my christmas event (hihi i see you and i love you) then please be sure to read the authors note i’ve left at the end of the fic!!
the world outside is quiet in that special way it only gets when snow begins to fall.
you notice it before he does—the shift in light, the way everything seems to soften and blur at the edges even though nothing in your apartment has actually changd.
you're curled up against chan's side on the couch with your legs tucked beneath you. always he little heater, the warmth of him seeps through the oversized hoodie you’d borrowed from him weeks ago and never had the care to return.
it's not like he's complaining, though. you've a sneaking suspicion since the two of you had gotten together that the little fucker has a thing for seeing you in his clothes. if anything, his lack of complaints just further proves your point.
chan’s working as always—laptop balanced haphazardly on one thigh, fingers moving across the keys in that focused rhythm you've come to know so well.
there's a crease between his brows, the one that appears when he's deep in concentration, and you can hear the faint sound of his demo playing through his headphones, the sound only loud enough for you to catch hints of the melody.
you don't mind. this is nice too, just being here with him.
the weight of chan’s arm draped loosely across your shoulders, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the occasional absent-minded squeeze he gives you when he's thinking. it's comfortable in a way that makes your chest feel full and warm despite the slight chill that clings to the air.
but then you glance toward the window, and everything else fades for a moment.
snow.
it's falling in thick, lazy flakes, drifting down like they have all the time in the world.
the streetlights outside cast everything in a soft orange glow, and the snow catches the light as it falls, turning the whole scene into something almost dreamlike.
it's the first real snow of winter, the kind that makes everything feel hushed and magical.
you shift slightly, tilting your head up to look at chan. he hasn't noticed yet, too absorbed in whatever he's working on.
his profile is softly lit by the glow of his laptop screen—the curve of his jaw, the concentration in his slightly narrowed eyes, the way his lips press together in that way they do when he's problem solving.
you have the faint thought of breathtakingly gorgeous he is as you reach up slowly, fingertips grazing his arm as they slide down to gently tug at his sleeve.
"channie?" your voice is barely above a whisper. you don't want to startle him, just... pull him back to earth for a moment.
he simply hums in response but doesn’t look away from his screen. even then, you can feel his attention starting to shift, his fingers slowing their work over his keyboard.
"look," the prompt is soft, paired with a slightly more insistent tug of his hoodie arm as you nod toward the window.
that’s enough to get him to finally tear his gaze away from his work, looking down at you for a moment before turning to follow your line of sight.
for a moment, he just stares, and you watch as his expression shifts—the focused crease smoothing out, eyes widening just slightly, lips parting. "oh…” it’s more of a breath than an actually word. there's something almost childlike in his wonder as he follows that little sound with "it's snowing."
a smile pulls at your lips as you nod in agreement. "mhm. first of the season."
he's quiet for a while, seemingly loosing himself in the sight of the flakes drifting by the window.
chan pulls himself out of his daze enough closes his laptop, leaning forward enoughh to slide it onto the coffee table.
the movement is deliberate, unhurried, like he's making a conscious choice to set his work aside for this.
for you.
he slides off his headphones too, tossing them next to the laptop with a clatter that would be slightly concerning if you hadn’t watched chan full send his phone across the room on a regular occurrence.
when he settles back into the couch, he turns more fully toward you, and suddenly the space between you feels a little warmer than it had a few seconds ago.
his hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing along your cheekbone in a gesture so tender it makes your breath catch.
"how long has it been snowing?"
“no clue,” you shrug, leaning into his touch. "just started, i think. i got you right after i noticed."
he makes a soft sound, the one he often makes when he’s disappointed with himself. "i've been working too long."
"you always work too long," the tease has zero bite to it. just affection, warm and endless.
chan huffs out a quiet laugh. he shifts to pull you closer, maneuver you until his arms are wrapped around your waist to help settle you in his lap. you go willingly, settling against his chest with your head tucked beneath his chin.
"we should do something," he mumbles against your hair. "build a snowman or... i don't know. something winter-y."
you smile against his collarbone, pressing a small kiss to the fabric that covers it. "ooor, we could stay exactly like this."
you’ve already won him over, but he pretends to consider for a moment anyway. all it takes is another soft kiss to his shoulder and he’s muttering "yeah. yeah, i like that better."
you snort a laugh before tilting your head back to look up at him, and what you find is him already watching you with a fondness that makes your ribcage melt around your heart, the very same heart that gives a harsh lurch when th corners of his mouth pull up into devastating little smile.
"hi," you whisper for no real reason except that he's here and you're here and everything feels gentle and warm and right.
"hi," he barely gets the word out before he's leaning down to close the small distance between you to press his lips to yours.
the kiss is a slow, unhurried thing. it’s lazy in the best possible way, like—same as the snow outside—you have all the time in the world.
his lips are soft and warm. you sigh into it, hands sliding up to curl into the fabric of his hoodie, anchoring yourself to him.
chan makes a low sound in the back of his throat, pleased and wanting, and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair.
the kiss deepens slightly, chan using his new found hand placement to tilt your head just the way he needs, but never loses that languid quality—every movement deliberate, savoring.
when you finally pull back for air his thumb traces along your lower lip. "you're distracting," it’s accusing but completely lacks venom.
"you needed distracting," is your counter, and it does it’s job because in the next second he’s leaning in to kiss him again.
chan’s hands wander to map familiar paths along your spine, your sides, your thighs. below your palm you can feel the steady beat of his heart, the too deep inhales that are followed by heavy exhales through his nose.
you kiss him until your lips are tingling, until breathing becomes a secondary concern, until the only things that exist are the warmth of his mouth and the strength of his arms and the soft sounds he makes when you shift over his lap just the way he likes.
when the two of you finally part from each other for something other than just air, chan makes a point of keeping you close, forehead against yours.
his eyes are closed, a peaceful expression settling over his face that you don't see often enough. he's always moving, always working, always pushing himself.
but right now, in this moment? he's still. content.
"i love you," the words fall between you like the snow outside—soft, pure.
perfect.
"i love you too," and even though your words are a mirror of his own, you mean them with every fiber of your being.
he smiles, eyes still closed, and pulls you back down into another kiss.
this one’s a little, if that's even possible—barely more than a press of lips, a shared breath, a promise.
somewhere between your lips and his hands, chan shifts until you’re both laying horizontal on the couch. you're still tangled together, your head on his chest, his arms around you, legs intertwined in a way that should probably be uncomfortable but somehow isn't.
"we should watch the snow," you mumble against his shirt, but make no move to actually follow through on your suggestion.
he huffs out a quiet laugh and you can feel it shake his chest.
"we should," he agrees, but his hand is still playing with your hair, and neither of you move.
the thing is, you can feel the magic of the first snow without even looking at it. it's in the quality of the silence, the softness of the light, the way the whole world seems to have paused for just a moment. and you're here, with him, warm and safe and loved.
and that? its own kind of magic.
eventually, you do shift enough to see out the window again.
the snow is falling harder now, accumulating on the street below, on the leafless trees, on windowsills and cars. everything is being transformed, made new and clean and beautiful.
when chan presses a kiss to your head you can feel how his lips are curled into a grin. "it's really coming down now."
"mm," you hum in agreement, drowsy enough that words don’t come easily. you’re lulled by his warmth and the rhythmic motion of his hand on your back. the contentment of the moment is something physical, something that seeps into your skin and weighs heavy on your bones.
"don't fall asleep," he mutters, but by the way his voice is a little rough around the edges it’s clear that he’s not far behind you. "you'll complain later that your neck hurts."
"worth it," you chirp back, the remark earning you another huff of quiet amusement.
outside, the first snow of winter continues to fall. inside, chan holds you close, and everything is exactly as it should be—lazy and slow and perfect. the moment stretched out like taffy, sweet and endless.
his lips find your forehead, your temple, the corner of your mouth—small kisses, gentle and constant.
it isn’t surprising when you’re mind entertains the idea of staying here forever. in this apartment, on this couch, in his arms. the snow falls and the world outside goes quiet, leaving just you and him and this soft, sleepy contentment that fills every corner of your being.
"love you," you whisper again, because it bears repeating. because you can never say it enough.
chan's arms tighten around you, and his response is a low murmur against your hair. "love you more."
you want to argue, to tell him that's impossible, but sleep is pulling at you now, warm and insistent. so instead you just burrow closer, pressing a kiss to whatever part of him you can reach, and let yourself drift.
the last thing you're aware of is the steady rhythm of his breathing, the security of his embrace, and the gentle hush of snow falling outside. and you think that if happiness had a sound, it would be exactly this—quiet but undeniably full.
[a/n 2] : hello lovely!! i just wanted to let you guys know that i am literally working every. single. day. until christmas. 10am-7pm. that being said, there is a slight chance that i may miss a day or two of the advent event. i’m trying really hard to make sure that doesn’t happen, but editing fics is NOT fun and, believe it or not, it isn’t incredibly easy to edit 2-5k words every day. like i said, it’s a slight chance, but a chance nonetheless. i do promise that all 12 will be posted before year end though!! all i ask is for a little bit of grace on the off chance that i don’t make the deadline ><
