𖦹 star player - part one | part two | part three
jock!chan x nerd!fem!reader
y/n is a very kind, very smart girl who keeps to herself and her minimal group of friends. when some of the popular girls pick her as the new victim of their bullying, star football player chan figures out a way he can help alleviate their taunts, in exchange for tutoring.
𖦹 good girl | 18+
chan x fem!reader
chan calls you whilst he's away on tour and shows you just how much he misses you
𖦹 good luck charm
chan x reader
you're chan's good luck charm in the studio, though really more of a distraction than anything
hyunjin ⋆˚࿔
𖦹 ghost
ghost!hyunjin x living!fem!reader
after inheriting a haunted mansion, y/n befriends the hopelessly romantic ghost that resides there, the veil between life and death slowly thinning as halloween night approaches.
han ⋆˚࿔
𖦹 plug!jisung
plug!jisung x fem!reader
how plug!jisung would treat his favourite customer.
chan loves thinking about you at the gym. not necessarily in a sexual way, though, it happens when he's missing you and his mind wanders.
no, not now though. because now like often, chan sits on the bench under the bar of the rack, listening to the airpod in one ear and changbin's distant grunts in the other. but all he can think of is you, and he smiles up at his reflection in the ceiling's mirror like a dork. her dork, he thinks to himself as a dimple makes its presence known.
he worked himself until failure through his sets, fueled on thinking about going home and having dinner with you. you were pretty particular about being in the kitchen alone, and chan would always sneak his way around you and wrap his arms around your waist, nuzzling his nose into your neck and pressing popcorn kisses into your skin.
he admires his arms in the mirror above, and for once, he doesn't scrutinize himself. you love his arms and how strong they hold you, and for him in this moment, that's enough.
his shoulders ache, and he knows you'll make him lie down on his stomach and declare that the masseuse is ready for her favorite customer. he'll snort a laugh into the pillow on his head, heart filled to the brim. you'll smack his bum and tell him he's said far more corny things.
there's redness in his skin where the bar was pressed into him. just a testament to his growth.
he lays there, and the song changes in his ear, causing him to raise his phone. and like clockwork, he sees you messaged him about a minute ago. your heart's long for each other even in distance. you asked him when he's coming home so you can start cooking, sending him a picture of the spread of ingredients on the kitchen island.
chan closes his eyes for a moment, a stupid grin on his face. maybe it's late at night. maybe he's still running off his rapidly beating heart. but he swears, he's never been more smitten in his life.
so, in turn, he directs the phone camera to the ceiling mirror, snapping a picture for you in feigned nonchalance and sending it to you. he only has to wait for a moment before he's laughing at the GIF you send, a wolf howling to the moon. cheeky little thing. you send a slew of "my handsome guy" and "come home quick, big boy" and it makes him sigh softly in the blissful feeling that washes over him. bashful. you're spamming him with niceties and he can't wait to get home and tackle you in a fit of cuddles like a clingy koala.
you'll fake-complain that he's sweaty and gross, and he'll mock you in a high pitched voice as he tickles his hands up your shirt... his shirt, to be exact. gosh, he loves you.
"ya, changbin... are you almost done?"
the sound of a dumbbell dropping on the matted floor echoes, and changbin's head is raised from the corner of the desolate gym. he already knows that lovesick look in chan's eyes. it's impossible to not have it down by now. changbin just fights a smirk and nods, to chan's secret joy.
there you go again on the phone. disarming him. not distracting him, but fueling him. chan grunts as he sits upright, triple checking his message thread with you before sending a final message. there isn't much to say, he'll hold you and caress you as he whispers the finer lines at home.
'i'm coming home now sweetheart. get started on dinner before i kick you out of the kitchen'
EPISODE 2: SHE SAID I WAS A VIRGIN ON VC, SO I RUINED HER HOLES UNTIL THE WHOLE FLOOR KNEW MY NAME!
this is smut, do not interact if under 18
you swore you’d never fuck a gamer virgin. he swore he’d never fold for a sanrio girl. then you found out you live two doors apart, and now you’re at each other’s dorms at 3 am to settle your “rivalry.”
pairing: gamer!yang jeongin x gamer!f!reader, fake enemies to lovers genre/tags: college au, smut with some plot ig, dumb gamer terminology, my shitty humor (as always), jeongin’s irrational fear of sanrio girls, virgin!jeongin, sexting on discord, mutual masturbation, fingering, oral (m + f receiving), overstimulation, unprotected s*x, switch!jeongin, spit kink?, multiple positions, idk what horny demon possessed me to make this tbh….. words: 13.2k
[ note. ] — it’s been a while since i put out a new fic (kinda) but i’m happy i’m finished w this ! *btw, this is the second installment of my nerd!skz series, check out my first one if you haven’t already but you don’t have to read it to know any context since they’re all stand alone fics. lmk what y’all think <3
Throughout his life, Jeongin has always considered himself as a late bloomer. Frustratingly late. Painfully late. He’s reached a point where all he wants to do is crawl under his desk and remain there for the rest of his life. And yeah, maybe that’s melodramatic, but it’s hard not to feel humiliated when your cock is hard more often than it isn’t, and the only action it’s getting is from your own goddamn hand.
Horny. Always horny. Distractingly horny. He could be sitting in lecture, pretending to take notes, then out of nowhere his brain would malfunction because some girl up in the third row bent over to pick up a pen. He could be doing his laundry, pulling out a wrinkled hoodie, and suddenly his dick would twitch like Pavlov’s dog at the thought of someone else wearing it. He could be gaming, headset on, grinding ranked like his life depended on it— and suddenly he’d lose focus because some streamer moaned in the background. The truth was ugly: Jeongin was perpetually ready to fuck, with no one willing to let him.
He didn’t get his first kiss until nineteen. Nineteen. Practically prehistoric in college standards. Meanwhile everybody he knew was damn near getting some on the daily— hookups after frat parties, sneaky links between classes, messy situationships that ended in groupchat rants. Jeongin would sit there in voice call, muted, pretending he wasn’t silently suffering while his right hand was his most loyal girlfriend. He lived in a permanent state of post nut clarity, except there was never any clarity, just the same depressing cycle of lust and disappointment.
Porn tabs served as his white noise. He swore he knew half of the top trending actors by name, could identify the production watermarks, and could quote videos line by line like they were classics. His feed bombarded him with recommendations of everything he wasn’t getting; step-this, roommate-that, the kind of wild shit he couldn’t imagine happening to him in ten lifetimes. His life wasn’t messy, it was monotonous.
Study, game, jerk off, repeat.
It wasn’t like he was a complete loser. He had friends, attended class, even received the occasional invite to a party. But when it came to women, something short-circuited. Talking to girls wasn’t impossible, but keeping them interested? Forget it. Somewhere between the awkward jokes, nervous laughs, and the way he hyper-fixated on whatever game he was currently playing, girls just… lost interest. He’d tried everything. Different cologne, new clothes, ditching the cheap graphic tees in favor of button-downs, even growing his hair out, because apparently girls were into that now. But it didn’t matter. He still got no pussy.
And what made it even worse? His roommate, Han Jisung, arguably one of the nerdiest, most socially inept guys Jeongin had ever met—blinked and somehow ended up in a relationship. And not just with some ordinary girl. No, Jisung bagged one of the hottest girls on campus. Jeongin didn’t know how it happened. Divine intervention? Blackmail? A pact with the devil? He didn’t care. He was salty.
So he was determined. If Jisung could do it then so could he.
Except dating apps were a hard no. His friends hounded him about Tinder, Bumble, even the lesser known apps but designed for “real connections”, but Jeongin refused. He wanted to meet someone the “normal” way, not through swiping like he was picking groceries. Except “normal” wasn’t cutting it. Normal left him alone in his room, headset denting his hair, grinding ranked games till the sun came up.
Gaming was the only place Jeongin almost felt like he wasn’t a total fuck-up. Behind the screen, he wasn’t the guy who still hadn’t gotten laid and couldn’t hold a girl’s attention longer than a lecture. Here, he was sharp, quick with insults, cocky when he was winning and ruthless when he was losing. It was the one place he had control— until you showed up.
One of his mutuals invited him in this late night Discord server, it wasn’t unusual, though he’ll rarely ever talk in them. He’d interact maybe once or twice a day but half the time the chat was muted. But when someone dropped a message saying ‘need one more for league’ he didn’t hesitate to join. The lobby loaded, four mics lit up green, someone coughed loudly into theirs. And the first words you ever said to him weren’t a hello— they were, “holy shit, how do you miss that? Are you blind?”
It should’ve rolled right off his back, but instead it ignited something in him. He fired back immediately, some petty remark laced with sarcasm, and that was it. That was the start. From then on, every match turned into a war zone. The endless infighting, name calling over voice chat, the sniping for trivial kill-steals in match, it should have been grating. Instead, it became addicting.
Because beneath all the shit-talk, Jeongin couldn’t get you off his mind no matter how hard he tried. There was something about the way your voice dipped when you got serious, the way you laughed out loud when you killed him in the game, and somehow managed to sound hotter than any girl he’d ever met in person. He’d never admit it though, not when you called him a “useless jungler” every other match, but with every cutting word out of your mouth, the more he’d wanted you.
And it killed him. Because he was still the late bloomer, the lonely virgin whose sex life consisted of incognito tabs and an increasingly overworked wrist. You were just another reminder of what he couldn’t have… except, maybe this time, he had a chance to change that.
+
Jeongin slumped back in his gaming chair with the overwhelming confidence of a man who definitely hadn’t just missed smite on dragon. The HP bar was gone, the pit was empty, and his jungle dignity has long since evaporated with the last chance of winning this match. The condensation from his third energy drink of the night slowly bled into his mousepad, but it wasn’t like he was paying much attention. He was too busy flaming the shit out of you.
“Jesus, kitty, do you even know what you’re doing, or are you just sightseeing?” He snapped, lips stained slightly blue from his gamer fuel of choice, some cursed flavor that tasted like artificial blueberry and pure regret. It was 1 am but he was fully awake, jittery from all the copious amounts of caffeine he consumed, eyes darting to the scoreboard as he anxiously ran a hand through his hair.
You scoffed so loud it boomed through his headset, practically rupturing his eardrums.
“Okay, Mr. Iron Elo, you wanna talk rotations when you haven’t warded once all game?” Your voice was venom wrapped in sugar, the kind of tone that would make most people want to mute their mic.
All except for Jeongin, of course.
Because everytime you insulted him, dragged him through the dirt, his cock stirred in his sweats like it had a personal vendetta. And he hated it. Hated how emasculating it was, sitting there rock hard over being called useless, virgin, dogshit at gaming. But he couldn’t stop. The sound of your taunting voice had wormed it’s way under his skin like some sick dopamine hit, maybe this was some demented kink he had and no one told him yet.
His mic crackled with frustration as he slammed the keyboard for the hundredth time that match. “I swear to fucking god, if you int one more dragon fight—” he grits through clenched teeth, sounding reminiscent of a raging little kid that just got his Roblox privileges revoked. “Are you on something, or are you just this bad at playing?”
“Bruh,” you shot back instantly, “I was literally 1v3 and still doing more than your busted ass jungle routes. You’re playing like someone trying to unlock the clown skin.”
Jeongin’s jaw tightens as his champion exploded on screen— again. “If you flash into tower one more time I’m throwing out my ps5 and flying to your house to break your keyboard.”
“Do it. At least then you’d be useful for once,” you laugh, egging him on further. “Maybe if you stopped speedrunning how to disappoint your team, we’d be winning.”
From across the room, Jisung groaned loudly, chucking a cheeto directly at Jeongin’s head, where it bounced off with a sad little puff. “Oh my god, can you two stop dry humping each other through voice chat for five minutes? Some of us are trying to watch Spy x Family in peace!”
Jeongin didn’t even flinch. “Suck it, Jisung.”
“Awww, is that your roommate?” You cut in sweetly, then dropping the innocent act altogether. “Tell him I said your mic sounds like poverty and you’re built like a hot pocket left in the microwave for too long.”
He stifled a laugh— barely. No way in hell was he giving you the satisfaction of knowing you’re actually funny.
“I’m built like a challenger-tier jungler, actually,” he quickly retorts, dodging another in-game gank. “Which is more than I can say for your support play. You miss more stuns than I miss serotonin.”
You hummed with mock sympathy. “Poor thing…no serotonin, no map awareness, no bitches.”
“You’re the definition of human repellent,” he seethed, tilting his head back in disbelief.
“And you act like someone who’s never touched a woman. Like, ever. Honestly? You give off 21-year-old virgin energy.”
That one landed like a critical hit— but his dick had a different reaction. Stiffening so suddenly it ached, straining for attention. It should’ve shut him up, humiliated him into silence, instead he doubled down.
“I could 1v1 you in real life and still come out on top,” he muttered, cheeks burning even though you couldn’t see him.
“Oh no, he’s mad now,” you cooed, voice dripping with faux concern. “Did I bruise your fragile little gamer ego, sweetheart? Poor thing probably hasn’t even been inside a Build-A-Bear, let alone a—”
“Okay,” Jeongin cuts you off, “first of all, Build-A-Bear is a respectable establishment. Second, you wouldn’t last a single round if we took this offline.”
“Oh? You threatening to fold me in real life?” You kept on with your teasing spree, your tone dropping even lower, dangerous in a way that made his stomach do backflips. “Be careful. You might find out I’m not just good with a mouse.”
Jeongin had to mute. Had to pace his room, hard as fuck, while his Sasuke pfp glowed on Discord next to your cutesy Hello Kitty avi. He’d called you “kitty” once as a joke and now it was like a loaded gun he kept firing at himself. Everytime he said it, you doubled down harder. Everytime you cooked him, his cock twitched like it wanted more. It was embarrassing. Degrading. Yet, he couldn’t get enough.
Jisung peeked over the top of his monitor with one eyebrow raised.“Yo, you good? You’re breathing like you just got jumped by three e-girls.”
“She’s insufferable,” Jeongin mumbled before yanking his headset back on, “and she’s not even good.”
Five seconds later though, he’s unmuted and back in the game like nothing even happened.
You both kept going at it for hours— you roasting him alive with every death on the kill feed, while he’s half arguing, half foaming at the mouth. When the match finally ended (a loss, because of course it was), neither of you wanted to call it a night just yet.
That’s when your phone dings, alerting you of a notification from Discord, a new message.
pussydemonslay3r: ggs u absolute trashcan my 60 year old grandma can play better than u
A smirk tugs at your lips, thumbs already flying.
kittykushqueen: like u were any better 💀 rematch or are u scared i’ll sit on ur face next round?
His hand jerked up immediately, adjusting his glasses to make sure he read that correctly.
“…What the fuck,” he muttered under his breath, instantly taken aback. He craned his neck to look over at Jisung’s gaming chair like someone might catch him reading it. He swore he felt it in his knees.
pussydemonslay3r: ur so annoying queue up again before i block and report u for emotional damage
kittykushqueen: oh nooo 😢 did the scary sanrio girl ruin ur kd and dick game in the same night?
Even the mods in the server were so done with both of your antics. One of them was some guy known as ‘The Wizard’, types in the chat:
THE_W1Z4RD: get a room or a private channel damn we tryna queue not third wheel your e-sex chats
You didn’t reply. Jeongin didn’t either.
Because you were already messaging each other privately. Staying up until 4 am like either of you didn’t have classes to go to in the morning.
+
The very next day, like clockwork, you’re both back on the game at 10 pm sharp. The lobby countdown hadn’t even finished ticking down, the map was still blurry on the loading screen, but you were already at each other’s throats, per usual.
“Can you please stop auto-pathing into tower range like it’s your safe space?” Jeongin grumbled. His tone carried the same sharp irritation he always seemed to reserve just for you, though his voice cracked slightly at the end. It hadn’t even been a full five minutes yet and already you had him tense in his chair, fingers white-knuckling his mouse. He shifted in his seat, one knee bouncing, headset pressing warm against his ears as he glanced at the minimap. He wanted to focus, but his attention kept flicking back to comms, waiting for your comeback.
You didn’t make him wait long.
“That’s rich coming from a guy who only picks jungle because he likes the feeling of being unreasonably blamed for everyone else’s bad decisions.”
Jeongin huffed, leaning forward, elbows planted on his desk. “That’s literally the point of jungle.”
“Yeah, and so is compensating for a lack of pussy.”
The words felt like a slap. Jeongin froze, blinking at the screen while his hand hovered over his keyboard. His mouth opened, then closed, as if his brain had to reboot before responding. Never in his life would he think he’d be getting owned by some random Discord girl with a Sanrio obsession of all things.
“…Are you done?” He muttered, trying to act bored, though the stiffness in his voice gave him away.
You giggled, a cruel, bubbling sound that made his stomach knot.“Not even close. You’re such a pussy, by the way. Bet you’ve never even been inside one.”
“I’ve had multiple opportunities, actually!” His voice raised in defense, though it sounded a lot more desperate than confident.
“Are the ‘multiple opportunities’ in the room with us?” You couldn’t even take him seriously, parroting his words in a singsong tone that sent you straight into a fit of cackles.
His cheeks flamed, hands jittering as he dragged his mouse too far across the desk, overshooting a gank. His champion whiffed and exploded in the kill feed. “Shut the hell up,” he hissed, “I don’t see you pulling anyone either, kitty.”
The nickname made your laughter cut short. “Stop calling me that.”
“What? Kitty?” He repeated, getting more arrogant now, leaning into the mic just to make sure it was loud in your headset. “Fits you perfectly. Cute, whiny, claws out all the time.”
Your whole body betrayed you the second those words landed, the heat crawling up your neck making your skin prickle. It was ridiculous, really— barely a minute ago he was mocking your rotations and calling your gameplay mid, the same cocky bite to his voice that always made you want to snap back twice as hard.
And now? Now you were blushing in front of your PC like some schoolgirl, fingers stiff on the keys while your mind spun over a dumb petname he probably didn’t even think twice about. You didn’t let it show, though. Your laugh had already come and gone, and you smoothed your voice back into something flatter, more casual, like his little jab hadn’t just turned you inside out. Because if there’s one thing worse than letting Jeongin rile you, it’s letting him know he actually got under your skin.
“You’re projecting. You’re the one whining.” You try your best to act all nonchalant, as if him calling you cute wasn’t the highlight of your entire night.
“Better whining than mauled by bronze mechanics,” he fired back, grabbing for his Monster can like he needed to steady himself. The carbonation fizzed out as he cracked it open too hard, foam spilling over his fingers and dripping onto his pants. He cursed under his breath and tried to shake his hand dry without pausing the match.
“Don’t get pissy just ‘cause I’ve got better map awareness and tits you’ll never see,” you purred, ulting the kill right out from under him. “Sounds like a skill issue. Maybe try playing with both hands next time, virgin.”
He rolled his eyes at that last comment, the fact you called him that more than his own name was becoming a constant reminder of his sad reality.
“You act like I’ve never seen tits before..”
“Stop the cap,” you spoke dryly, “I know you haven’t.”
“I have seen real tits,” he insisted, sitting up straighter, as if posture alone could make him more believable.
“Whose? Yours in the mirror? The anatomically correct ones in your biology textbook? Don’t say hentai. Don’t you dare say hentai.”
His throat worked around a dry swallow. “You’re not funny..”
“I’m hilarious,” you countered immediately, tone dripping with mock authority. “Say it. Call me mommy.”
He choked. Like, actually choked on his drink. You could hear it through his mic; the ragged cough, the muted thud of his knee colliding with his desk.
“…Excuse me?” He rasped, voice raw from his previous coughing fit.
“You heard me.” You state confidently, dragging out the syllables for even more dramatic effect. “I carried lane, saved your kill-streak, and emotionally dismantled you in under five minutes. Call me mommy.”
Jeongin stared at his screen, wide-eyed, body buzzing with an energy he didn’t know how to contain. His cock strained miserably in his sweatpants, and he squeezed his thighs together under the desk, wondering if uninstalling League could also uninstall this feeling of profound confusion and arousal.
“I’d rather rawdog a ranked climb in bronze for the rest of my life,” he muttered weakly.
You chuckled. “I know you say it in your sleep, don’t lie.”
He didn’t answer. He physically couldn’t. His brain was split between the flashing screen and the heat curling in his gut.
You hit tab, checking stats. His death count had mysteriously spiked during that exchange, his scoreline uglier than it had any right to be.“Poor baby Jeongie. Losing LP and composure.”
Jeongin groaned again, dragging both hands down his face, pressing the heels of his palms hard into his eyes. “God, you are the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.”
“And yet, you haven’t logged off once.”
He doesn’t respond, jaw clenched, throat too tight. His cursor hovered, chest rising and falling way too fast. He exhaled, dragged his hand across the desk, and finally gave in to the pull that’s been gnawing at him since last night.
He typed straight into your DMs, fingers twitching with something he didn’t want to name.
pussydemonslay3r: u talk all this shit online but irl i’d shut u up so fast
kittykushqueen: baby u wouldn’t shut me up. u’d ruin ur headset from how hard u’d be panting 😘
pussydemonslay3r: …
His stomach lurched as he sat there frozen, hand tightening around his mouse so hard it squeaked against the pad. He hated how fast his cock responded to a line of text, because it practically jumped like it had been waiting for you to type that. Thank god Jisung wasn’t here right now, otherwise he would’ve been royally fucked.
He tilted forward slightly, pressing his knees together as if that could hide how hard he was getting, but it only made it worse— he could feel the outline straining against his sweats. His face was hot, cheeks flushed in the glow of his monitor, but he refused to let you have the satisfaction of knowing he was already on the edge from a single fucking message.
kittykushqueen: gg btw even tho i carried ur loser ass all game
pussydemonslay3r: ur delusional i literally saved ur lane, again
kittykushqueen: lmao wtv just admit u wanna kiss me or smth i’ll wait
His throat went dry all over again, a soundless laugh leaving him. He shifts uncomfortably, dragging his palm slowly across the thigh of his joggers, hovering just close enough to relieve the pressure without fully giving in.
You were baiting him, and unfortunately, it was working.
pussydemonslay3r: u think i’m that easy? 💀
kittykushqueen: i know u’re that easy u’re one dm away from folding like a lawn chair
He stared at your message for a long second, his lip caught between his teeth. His cock pulsed, already sticky at the tip from the way he’d been grinding his thighs together. He could feel it throbbing everytime his heart raced. He should’ve stopped, should’ve shut his PC, but instead his fingers typed the dumbest thing they could.
pussydemonslay3r: prove it
He shouldn’t have said that, because his entire body went rigid the second he hit send. Minutes later, a ‘photo incoming’ bar crawled across his screen and his whole body stiffens.
One image attachment. No caption. No warning.
He clicked it and his mind went blank almost immediately.
It wasn’t full-on nudes per se, but it didn’t need to be. It was worse, if that’s somehow possible. You were splayed out on your bed, the glow of purple LED lights painting your skin, legs casually spread wide enough that the camera had captured the perfect angle. The thin tank top you wore barely covered anything, straps sliding off your shoulder. No bra. Just the faintest hint of your nipples pressing through the fabric, the curve of your thighs up front and center, and one hand resting suspiciously low below your waistband.
Your face wasn’t even visible, just your lips, parted like you’d been moaning into your phone before you took it. Your other hand held the camera steady.
Jeongin’s hands flew off his keyboard as if it burned him. He didn’t type. Didn’t blink. Just sat there, completely motionless, trying to process whether or not any of this was actually real. His eyes stayed glued to the screen, wide and unblinking, his breath coming out in short, shallow bursts through his nose. His headset was still on, but the game noise had turned to static in his ears. All he could hear was the pounding of his own pulse.
And maybe you knew the effect this would’ve had on him, because when he took too long to respond, two more notifications light up his screen.
kittykushqueen: don’t tell me u nutted already i barely even showed u anything lawl
He jolted, dragging one shaky hand down his face. His cock was rock solid now, pressing tight against the front of his sweats, precum sticking damp against the fabric. He swallowed hard, adjusting himself, his hand lingering at his crotch as he tried to steady his breathing enough to finally type back.
pussydemonslay3r is typing…
can’t even give me 5 secs jfc
But before he hit send, he snapped a picture. He didn’t even think. His body was on autopilot, every nerve in his system begging him to match what you’d just done. So he leaned back in his chair, one hand sliding under his waistband to wrap around himself. He palmed his cock slowly, biting back a groan when his fingers curled around the base. It didn’t take much to get fully hard; he already was. His sweatpants slipped low enough to reveal the flushed skin at the base, his fist loose around the shaft. His tip was wet, leaking across his thumb from the single pump he gave himself just to make it look right. His shirt had ridden up a little in the process, baring the strip of toned stomach that always made his mirror selfies look better than they should.
He takes the picture, his jaw clenched tight, hair messy from how many times he’d run his hand through it tonight. He stared at it for half a second then sent it.
[One attachment.]
No caption.
You opened it instantly.
kittykushqueen: oh u a freak for real look at u all hard just from a lil cleavage.. embarrassing
Usually, a snide little comment like that would’ve sent him over the edge, but right now he was too horny to care, and his hand squeezed tighter around his cock in reflex. His breath grew uneven, the t-shirt he wore stuck to his back with sweat. He tried to calm himself down, tried to think of a witty comeback before you could tell he was already unraveling. His thumb swiped over the sticky bead at his tip, spreading it down his shaft as he clumsily typed with his left hand.
pussydemonslay3r: ur one to talk u sent me a softcore thirst trap like it was ur steam pfp
His message blinked into the chat, but he was barely able to focus on it. His eyes kept flicking between his hand stroking himself slow, and the glow of your name lighting up when you started typing again.
kittykushqueen: softcore??? bitch my hand was in my panties
Jeongin’s practically hyperventilating. He shifted lower in his chair, sweatpants pulled to his thighs now, fist moving steadily along his cock. He hissed under his breath, the sound slipping out before he could stop it. The image of your fingers tucked under your waistband, actually touching yourself while baiting him in chat, made his hips jerk up into his palm.
pussydemonslay3r: not low enough bet u got soaked just from imagining me looking at it
The second he hit send, silence. No instant reply. No cackling emoji spam. Just the empty space of the chat window waiting for you.
He swallowed hard, the pause making him more frantic. He throbbed in his hand, while his other hovered over the keyboard, ready to type something else just to break the tension. The silence stretched long enough that he couldn’t keep still, thighs trembling uncontrollably.
Then your reply landed.
kittykushqueen: i am soaked. do u wanna see or are u gonna keep acting like a bitch in voice chat
Jeongin let out a shaky exhale, head slowly falling back against the seat. Twitching violently in his fist, precum dribbling down his knuckles. He closed his eyes for a second, taking in steady breathes, but it was useless. He was losing it.
This was hell and heaven all at once. This was everything he’d been missing, everything all those endless porn tabs had failed to give him. The connection, the sting of your voice in his ear, the way his name on your lips could make him lose all his composure.
He should’ve logged off, shut his PC down, taken a cold shower, and gone to sleep.
Instead, he types:
pussydemonslay3r: video prove it and if u moan my name i’ll win this next match with my dick out
The moment he pressed enter, he knew he’d fucked up. His hand grew tighter around his cock, pumping slow as if he was bracing himself for what’s to come.
Then the ‘recording’ notification popped up on your end.
His entire body tensed, staring at the screen, dick so unbearably hard he had to squeeze it to keep from groaning. He was already halfway gone, he’d probably burst on the spot just from one video alone.
The three dots danced once.
Stopped.
Started again.
His heartbeat thundered.
[Attachment: 1 video. No caption.]
Jeongin almost felt his airways close in on him. His fingers trembling on the mouse. For a moment he hesitated, staring at the file, sweat rolling down his temple. Then he clicked.
The video filled his screen.
Short. Filthy. And absolutely devastating.
You were still lying back on your bed, tank top pushed up now, exposing your chest— nipples hard, skin flushed, one hand between your legs, fingers slow and lazy as you circled your clit through soaking panties. You didn’t speak, but you moaned, soft and drawn out, ending on a shaky little sigh as your hips rolled into your own touch. The camera wavered slightly in your grip. At the very end, you breathed one word, barely audible:
“Jeongin..”
He snapped.
Every ounce of restraint shattered. His fist was working overtime, pumping harder, hips jerking up to meet the motion. He was leaking all over his knuckles, smearing it with every slick stroke. His thighs wouldn’t stop shaking under the desk, chair creaking with how hard he shifted against it, bucking shamelessly as he tried to stay quiet— but it was already too late. A shaky groan left him, desperate and hoarse, like he’d been holding it back all night. His vision blurred at the edges, all focus zeroed in on the video replaying on his screen.
pussydemonslay3r: fuck. ur voice say it again moan my name again while u touch that messy lil pussy
Your typing bubble popped up instantly.
kittykushqueen: mm i will if u stroke that pretty cock for me, baby i wanna hear how nasty u get when ur mic isn’t on push-to-talk
Jeongin’s chest heaved, his free hand wiping the sweat off his forehead, his grip pumping faster. He could barely manage to type anymore, every word shaking as he pressed on the keyboard harder than necessary.
pussydemonslay3r: hop on vc now
He yanked his headset back on, nearly tangling the cord in his panic, adjusting the mic with wobbly hands. His palms were damp, his cock still painfully hard and aching against his stomach. He fumbled with Discord settings, clicking through until the private voice channel opened. His chest rose and fell in fast, shallow bursts.
There was a moment of awkward silence. He could hear his own shaky breathing echo in his headset, the faint click of your mic on the other end.
Then your voice slid through, smug and breathy, thick with arousal. “So quiet now. Where’s all that shit talk, virgin boy?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Jeongin muttered— but his voice cracked halfway through it, and you giggled, soft but menacing, like you already knew how hard he was, how close he was, how wrecked he sounded.
“What’re you doing?” you cooed. “Jerking off to my voice? To my moans? Bet you’re leaking all over your hand like a good little loser.”
He let out a strangled sound, breathing hard. “Fucking- yes. Yes, I am. Happy?”
Your answering moan nearly made him cum right then and there. Quiet but lethal, your fingers clearly moving faster now on your end, the wet squelch of your pussy audible through the mic. The sound filled his ears, shameless and intimate, drowning out the game, his room, everything else.
“Put the mic closer,” he growled suddenly, the command tearing out of him before he could stop it.
“Say please.”
“Fuck you.”
“Then beg.”
He cursed under his breath. You could heat the creaky sound of his gaming chair as he shifted forward along with some faint rustling in the background, then his mic shifted.
And then you heard it— the wet drag of his fist stroking his cock, slow at first, then faster, messier. He groaned directly into the mic this time, not holding back. No filter. No push-to-talk.
Just Jeongin, raw and undone.
“Fucking ruined by you,” he muttered, voice low and broken. His breathing hitched with every stroke. “Always run your mouth like you’re not just as desperate. Bet your fingers aren’t even enough right now. You want me to fill you up so bad, don’t you?”
“God- yes,” you let out a high-pitched gasp, picking up your pace. “I want your cock so deep I can’t even talk shit anymore. Wanna be so full I forget what rank I am.”
Jeongin’s hips bucked harder against his hand, leaking all over his abs, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his rhythm sped.
“Say my name again,” he demanded, aching for more. “Say it like you did in the video.”
You whined his name in his ear, soft and dirty, completely destroying him. He grunted, increasing his stamina, thighs tensing as he imagined your mouth on him, your voice in his ear, your pussy clenching around him like that.
“I’m gonna cum,” he warned. “If you moan like that again, I’m- fuck- ’m gonna—”
“I’m gonna cum too,” you moaned, voice stuttering. “Cum for me, Jeongin. Be a good boy and make a mess.”
Those words did it for him. His body convulsed, mouth falling open as a helpless groan rips from his throat. Hot cum spilled across his fist and stomach, thick spurts painting his skin, his breath breaking into short, desperate gasps. His mic caught everything, every noise he couldn’t contain.
You bit your lip, still rubbing your clit, the wet slap of your fingers growing louder than before. His moans pushed you over the edge seconds later. You tipped hard, hips grinding against your hand, eyelids fluttering as you moaned his name again, louder, shameless, dragging it out until you broke apart completely in his ears.
The channel went quiet except for breathing. Your breaths, ragged and uneven. His, hoarse and heavy, chest heaving.
“…So we’re definitely not queuing again tonight,” Jeongin finally rasped.
You giggled, fucked-out and smug. “Too scared I’ll dominate you again?”
“I literally just came so hard I saw stars. You think I can aim after this?” He dragged his hand down his face, cum sticky across his skin.
You smiled lazily, voice warm but still teasing. “Damn. All that from a softcore thirst trap?”
He groaned, exhausted. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
You purred, “baby, I haven’t even turned the webcam on yet.”
+
The next night rolled around and Jeongin was right back where he swore he wouldn’t be. Hunched over at his scratched-up gaming desk, fingers already drumming against his glowing keyboard. His screen lit up with the Overwatch lobby countdown, and his stomach twisted with a mix of dread and anticipation. He’d promised himself a break after last night’s… incident. He’d promised he wouldn’t let you get to him again. And yet, here he was, 2:32 am, mic unmuted, cocky smirk plastered on his face to hide the fact that he was lowkey bracing for whatever was about to come out of your mouth this time.
You were in the lobby too, your username glowing in the party list, already trash talking in team chat before the game had even started. Jeongin adjusted his headset, took a swig of his Monster, and reminded himself that he hated you. Absolutely despised you. The messages, the video, the voice call— it hadn’t changed anything. You were still his sworn enemy. His rival. The insufferable little menace who spammed “gg ez” even when you lost. The only difference now was that everytime you called him a virgin loser, his dick leveled up before his pride did.
“Why the hell are you playing Ana again?” He groaned, exasperated as he flicked through hero selection. “You can’t aim for shit.”
Your voice quickly cut in, sugary-sweet and annoying as ever. “Suck my dick.”
Jeongin almost choked again, but swiftly caught himself.
“Yeah, from the back,” he says without missing a beat, face heating slightly. “But can you heal me while doing it, or are we just throwing this game again?”
You cackled, loud and sharp. “Nah, I’m letting you die on purpose. Builds character.”
“You say that like it hasn’t already broken me spiritually.” He tilted back in his chair until it squeaked dangerously, then lurched forward when the match countdown hit.
“Good. I thrive on your mental instability.”
He groaned again, “you’re genuinely evil.”
“And you’re genuinely down bad,” you chirped. “Now push the payload, baby boy.”
He smacked his forehead on the desk with a soft thunk. “Quit calling me that..”
You were giggling, some unholy mix of adorable and infuriating. Jeongin could practically see the shit-eating grin on your face through voice chat.
The game was nothing but chaos— team kills, botched ults, passive-aggressive pings. You played recklessly, taunting enemies in chat and spamming emotes mid-fight, while Jeongin tried desperately to play clean, to prove that he wasn’t just the guy who’d jerked off in voice chat less than 24 hours ago.
“I’m dead again,” he snapped a few minutes in, glaring at his screen. “Because somebody was too busy spamming voice lines to keep me alive.”
“Oops,” you sang. “Guess I’ll have to twerk on your grave.”
Jeongin’s eyes grew wide, flicking toward his second monitor where your Discord bubble lit up. “What?”
“You heard me. Full split. Ass in the wind. Right on your pixelated tombstone.”
He let out a strangled noise. “Oh my god..”
“‘Here lies Jeongin,’” you said in a fake solemn tone. “‘Died like he lived: being a little bitch on voice chat.’”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
His throat tightened. “…I do.” But it came out too soft, too weak, like even he didn’t believe himself.
“Aw, poor Jeongie,” you cooed, dragging out the syllables on purpose. “Getting cooked and can’t handle it?”
He clenched his jaw, fingers flying across his keyboard to respawn. “God, you’re so fucking annoying.”
“And you’re so fucking fun to annoy.”
“Uh huh,” he muttered, forcing his tone flat even though he’s clearly flustered, “keep lying to yourself, kitty.”
You sneered. “You did not just pull out the ‘kitty’ card out on me again.”
Jeongin smirked faintly, leaning back like he’d just landed a game winning play. “What’re you gonna do? Cry about it?”
Your scoff came sharp through the mic. “Say it one more time and I’ll uninstall your entire hard drive.”
His grin widened, cocky even as his palms were uncontrollably sweating. “Say it two more times and you’ll what?”
You groaned, smacking your desk loud enough for him to hear. “You’re such a pain the ass.”
“Yeah?” His voice dipped low, teasing. “Funny, you’ve been in my lobby every night this week. Who’s really suffering here?”
Your silence stretched for half a second too long, and Jeongin’s cock twitched embarrassingly in his shorts. He scrambled to fill the gap before you could notice.
“Thought so,” he muttered, respawning into lane with a huff.
The bickering didn’t stop from there. Every death was blamed, every misplay ridiculed. You called him all types names every chance you got, and everytime, his pulse jumped even as his blood boiled. He kept threatening to log off, to uninstall, to block you, but he never once did.
Two more matches. Both disasters. One ended in a rage quit from your support. The other ended with Jeongin screaming into his mic because you’d thrown yourself into the enemy spawn “for the content.” By the time the final scoreboard tallied up, it was 4:03 am, the two of you had logged off voice, but you’re right back to messaging each other again.
kittykushqueen: we’re highkey insufferable lol if someone recorded our vc it’d get shipped harder than enemies in anime
You laughed softly to yourself after hitting send, your thumbs buzzing from how fast they’d been flying across your phone all night. Your ears still rang faintly with the sound of his voice— whining about losing or barking half-assed insults, all of it burned into your skull even after the call had ended.
The typing bubble popped up, disappeared, then popped up again.
pussydemonslay3r: nah bc i’d be the fan favorite u’d be the mean one everyone hates
You snorted, tugging your blanket higher over your shoulders. Your dorm room was mostly quiet except for the whir of your mini fridge in the background, but it still felt loud with how hard your heart was beating.
kittykushqueen: wrong !!! i’m the hot one ur the whiny tsundere virgin
pussydemonslay3r: wow. ratio + cry about it + i’m logging off
You rolled your eyes so hard your head tilted back against the pillow.
kittykushqueen: wait wait wait random question…. what school do u go to?
Another pause. Long enough for your stomach to twist.
pussydemonslay3r: [uni name] why
Your eyes widened. You blinked once. Then again, rubbing them like maybe the sleep deprivation finally caught up to you and was making you hallucinate.
kittykushqueen: LMFAOOOO NO WAY this is gonna sound absolutely insane but like what dorm u in??
pussydemonslay3r: orion floor 4 why wassup
Your jaw actually dropped to the floor. You sat up straighter, staring at your phone like it had just grown legs.
kittykushqueen: no. fucking. way me too ?????
pussydemonslay3r: u lying are u playing me rn
kittykushqueen: dorm 418 bro we’re neighbors
The typing bubble appeared instantly.
pussydemonslay3r: STOP I’M 416 so ur the girl who always blasts doja at 3 am
kittykushqueen: and ur the guy who tried to microwave a spoon in week 2
pussydemonslay3r: OH MY GOD SHUT UP THAT WAS ONE TIME
kittykushqueen: this is fate or a glitch in the matrix
pussydemonslay3r: …so u wanna 1v1 irl?
kittykushqueen: say less but i’m bringing the strap (it’s a nerf gun)
pussydemonslay3r: god u’re so weird i’m obsessed
You stared at those last words for a long moment, your breath shallow, chest tight. It was stupid— insane, even— that all this time the boy you’d been tearing apart online for weeks, the one you’d teased into jerking off for you less than day ago, was only two doors down. You pressed your phone to your chest, biting back a smile that wouldn’t leave. The walls of your dorm felt paper thin all of a sudden, every sound suddenly amplified. Adrenaline courses through your veins, part nerves, part thrill. You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh, hide, or knock on his door right that second. Maybe a combination of all three.
+
The hallway outside dorm room 416 was dead quiet, dimly lit by the soft flicker of overhead fluorescents and the faint buzz of someone’s dying LED strip light from a couple doors down. The silence only made your knuckles sound louder when you rapped three sharp knocks against his door, petty and deliberate. Like you were showing up to collect debt he owed.
You heard some shuffling on the other side. Then the door cracked open, revealing Jeongin— blinking blearily behind smudged glasses, hair sticking up at odd angles, wearing a plain black t-shirt and basketball shorts that hung low on his hips. He looked… unprepared. As if he hadn’t expected you to actually show up. Not that you could blame him.
“I came to fight,” you announced, arms crossed, expression serious. Completely at odds with your bright pink Hello Kitty pajama set and fuzzy slippers.
Jeongin looked you up and down, then blinked again. “In that?”
You roll your eyes dramatically, “it’s fashion, bitch. You aren’t dressed any better.”
He huffed out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck like his brain was still buffering. “Okay, damn. Come in, I guess, before someone sees you and assumes I’m being held hostage.”
You stepped inside without hesitation, smirking. “You are being held hostage. By my superiority.”
His room was exactly what you’d imagined— and maybe even a little worse. Bookshelves filled to the brim with mangas, rows of Funko Pops and action figures, a massive Death Note poster was taped crookedly above his bed. His desk was cluttered with half empty cans of Monster, an open pack of Hot Cheetos, and keyboard crusted faintly from too many late nights. On his pillow, a Soul Eater plush sat propped up as if it owned the place.
“Wow,” you said, spinning slowly. “You really don’t get laid.”
He clicks his tongue. “God forbid a man has hobbies.”
You flopped onto his gaming chair, leaning back and giving it a lazy spin, your legs crossed, looking perfectly at home. “So this is the nerd lair. I’m impressed. It’s giving.. incel with taste.”
He leaned against the wall, arms folded. His eyes kept flicking to your bare thighs where your pajama shorts had ridden up, and he tried to force himself to look anywhere else. “It’s called having a personality.”
You snort. “Says the man who told me on Discord that Sanrio girls are a red flag.”
“Because they are,” he defended, pushing off the wall. “and I stand by that. You people are dangerous.”
“You people?” You gasped, mock-offended.
“I’m serious!” He jabbed a finger at you. “Sanrio girls throw hands, cry in club bathrooms, and threaten to slash tires with glittery keychains.”
You shrugged casually, picking at a chipped nail. “And we have the best pussy.”
Jeongin froze. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes flicking down again before he forced them back up to your face. “…You can’t just say that out loud.”
You flashed a cheesy grin. “What, does Hello Kitty scare you?”
“She’s five apples tall, I just know she’s hiding something.”
“She’s literally a cat,” you deadpanned.
“She’s a concept,” he argued, stepping forward, getting way too into it. “She doesn’t even have a mouth.”
“Yet she’s still more emotionally available than most men.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then he groaned, pressing his palm to his face. “I- okay, fine, you win this one.”
You hopped up from his chair, padding over until you were toe-to-toe, poking at his chest. “Say it louder.”
He rolled his eyes, but there was a blush creeping in at the tips of his ears. “You win. Congratulations. What do you want, a medal?”
You tilt your chin up to look right at him, “nah. Just wanna see the look on your face when you lose again.”
He arched a brow, curiosity sparking under the irritation. “Oh yeah? And how do you plan on doing that?”
You didn’t answer. Instead, you pushed at his chest lightly. He stumbled back, caught off guard, until the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he dropped onto the edge of his bed with a surprised “oof.” His hands hit the blanket to steady himself, but before he could recover, you climbed right onto his lap, straddling him with a wicked grin.
Jeongin’s whole body went limp, feeling another uncomfortable lump forming in his throat. His hands hovered awkwardly at your hips, not quite daring to touch, but his eyes darted over every detail of you up close— the smooth skin of your thighs pressed against his, the strap of your pajama top slipping off one shoulder, the heat of your body right against his crotch.
“Are we… still fighting?” He asked, voice a little higher than normal.
“Mhm.” You leaned down, eyes glinting. “And I’m about to win this round too.”
His brain blanked. The urge to throw another insult warred with the ache in his cock that had been building since the second you knocked.
He blinked once. Twice. Then closed the gap, kissing you.
It was clumsy at first, hesitant, like he’s in disbelief that a girl as pretty as you was actually real and currently sitting in his lap. But when your hand found the back of his neck and your fingers tugged gently at his hair, he got the memo, dissolving right into you. His lips moved in tandem with yours, warm and eager, but still refraining from fully touching as though he’s terrified you’d have second thoughts and pull away.
The Soul Eater plush toppled off his pillow and hit the floor.
Neither of you noticed.
Your breath caught as Jeongin kissed you deeper, his hands finally grounding themselves on your hips like he was done being shy about it. His grip tightened— not rough, but certain. The hesitation he’d held a moment ago seemed to melt away, replaced by something firmer, hungrier. He shifted you closer until your knees dug into the mattress on either side of him, and the heat between your bodies left no space untouched. His mouth moved with more confidence now, tongue flicking against yours, his breath hot and uneven. Every exhale carried a low hum, almost a growl, betraying just how badly he wanted this.
This wasn’t just lust— it was longing.
You felt his fingers flex against your hips, testing, adjusting his hold. He drew small circles against the thin fabric of your pajamas, fingertips lingering just beneath the waistband, not quite enough to push further, but enough to make your skin prickle with anticipation. The firmness in his touch made you realize he wasn’t playing anymore— no teasing in vc, no pretending to hate you. Just solely focused on you, pulling you in, and it made your pulse stutter.
You break away just slightly, lips still tingling, eyes searching his. “You sure you’re not scared of Sanrio girls?”
Jeongin smirked, face flushed from the kiss. “Terrified,” he said. “But I think I like the fear.”
A laugh bubbled out of you, but the sound turned into a gasp when he guided your hips against his, slow and purposeful. You could feel him now— unbearably hard, pressed against the thin barrier of your pajama shorts, and the confidence behind his movement made your head spin. His hands urged you closer, encouraging you to roll your hips again, and when you did, he let out a curse under his breath.
“You like teasing, huh?” He murmured, voice low as he leaned in, trailing wet kisses along the rim of your jaw. “Running that mouth, thinking I won’t do anything.”
You blinked, momentarily stunned by the shift in him. “Is this you trying to sound hot right now?”
“Is it working?” He asked, lips brushing over the edge of your neck, pausing just long enough for his tongue to dart against your skin.
…Yeah. It was. But you weren’t gonna let him know that just yet.
“I think you’re bluffing,” you challenged, tilting your head back slightly. “All talk.”
“Oh?” Jeongin tugged gently at the hem of your pajama top, his fingers lightly brushing underneath. “Then let me prove it.”
His voice was gentle, but commanding in a way you hadn’t expected from the guy who just ten minutes ago was raging about lag spikes and accusing Hello Kitty of being a demon. He wasn’t stuttering, wasn’t nervous, looking straight at you with a seriousness that made your chest tighten. This was a whole new side of him you’ve never seen before… and you could barely contain your own excitement.
Your hands slid up into his hair, threading through the messy strands until you had a firm hold, messing it up further. He bit his lip when your nails scraped lightly against his scalp.
“Okay, gamer boy,” you said, a little more breathless than you intended. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Jeongin chuckled against your skin, warm and cocky, and way too arrogant for someone who still had a plushie lying upside down on the floor like it was a casualty. His lips trailed lower, peppering kisses across the side of your neck, pausing every so often to gently suckle. His hands slipped further under your top, fingertips gliding over your waist. He wasn’t rushing, and somehow that made your heart beat even faster.
“You always talk this much during games?” He murmured, nipping at your neck.
You exhaled, nails still tugging on his hair. “You always flirt like this with girls who roast you in Discord?”
He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his expression serious despite the flush spreading across his cheeks. “Only the ones who send me thirst traps and make me question my entire existence.”
You smirked, dragging your fingers over to toy with the hem of his shirt. “So… me.”
“Unfortunately, yes,” he muttered, right before leaning in and kissing you again, this time with more intent, more pressure. His tongue slid against yours, teasing and warm, and when you shifted in his lap, he let out a quiet, wrecked sound that went straight to your core.
You felt the twitch of his arousal against you, solid and needy through the thin layers of clothing, and the fact that he was trying so hard to keep it together only made it ten times hotter.
“God,” he breathed out, forehead resting against yours, “you’re gonna kill me.”
“You’re the one who said ‘1v1 me IRL,’” you teased, reaching for the bottom of his t-shirt. “Don’t start what you can’t finish, Jeongin.”
He lifts his arms and lets you peel it off, his body heat rises under your palms as you raked your nails down lightly. He inhaled sharply.
“Oh, I plan on finishing,” he affirms, though he paused not even a second later, eyes flicking away sheepishly. “That sounded a lot cooler in my head..”
You burst out laughing, and he kissed you again just to shut you up.
His lips moved slower now, savoring the way you taste. Every tilt of his head, every drag of his mouth felt deliberate, unhurried. His hands kept roaming under your top, gliding up your sides, exploring every inch of you. You whispered his name softly, and the way he looked up at you with the utmost intensity made your chest ache. He looked at you as if you were the one thing he’d never expected to have, and now that you were here, he wasn’t letting go.
“Tell me what you want,” he meets your gaze with pleading eyes, already so eager. “I’ll do anything.”
The way he said it made you clench around nothing, heat curling low in your stomach until it ached. His cock was throbbing under you, pressing against you in a way that had you grinding down without even meaning to. Every little shift made him jolt, breath stuttering, thighs tensing under your weight. His hands gripped your legs tighter, thumbs brushing up near the edge of your shorts, seconds away from slipping underneath. He looked equal parts nervous and wrecked, but the hunger there was undeniable.
“Wild that you’re about to lose your virginity to the girl who flames you the hardest,” you said, grinning.
He let out a dry little chuckle, the sound low and shaky. Whatever pride he’d been clinging to had already gone out the window— he was hard, you were on top of him, and in his head that meant he’d already won.
“Yeah,” he admitted, lips curling into the faintest smirk. “And I’d do it again.”
His fingers slid beneath the elastic of your shorts, teasing the center of your damp panties. “You’re soaked,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice thick with disbelief. “All that attitude just to end up dripping for me.”
Your hips jerked up instinctively, a whine spilling from your throat as your eyes scrunched shut. His eyes darkened instantly, pupils blown wide, the faint shine of his glasses reflecting the lamplight. He looked absolutely undone, and yet fully in control.
“Look at me when I touch you.” His voice was firmer now, commanding.
Your lips parted to sass back, to remind him who was supposed to be winning this so-called fight, but the moment his hand pressed firmly against your clothed clit, all that witty defiance ended up dissolving into a ragged moan.
You looked straight at him.
“Good girl,” he murmured, the words slipped out low and husky, his tone steady but threaded with something desperate. His glasses had slid down his nose, his messy black hair framing his face, looking like every anime character you’d secretly thirsted over too long— except this wasn’t your screen. He was very real. And very much between your legs.
“I’ve waited way too long to get you like this,” he said as his fingers dragged lazy circles, feeling your juices seeping through the fabric. “Talking shit in voice chat, calling me a pussy. You really think I wasn’t gonna do something about that?”
“Jeongin,” you breathed, hips rolling toward his hand, your thighs trembling. The sound of his name spilling from your lips had his head reeling, he swore he could cum untouched just from hearing it.
Before you knew it, you toppled over and your back collided with the mattress, he’d flipped you over to be on top now. He slid down the bed, settling between your legs once again, his face hovered close enough that you could feel his breath against the cotton barrier of your panties. When he looked up at you, pupils dark and lips swollen, you felt chills go up your spine.
“Say my name again,” he said softly. “And I’ll make you forget how to say anything else.”
All you managed was a shaky breath but you did as you were told, letting out another soft moan of his name that sent the blood rushing straight to his cock.
His hand dips back beneath the elastic, his fingers pressing against your soaked panties, and the sticky wet sound made both of you groan. He slipped them aside without warning, and the cool air on your wet cunt had you clenching before he even touched you. Jeongin pushed two fingers inside, filling your tight little hole, watching your face as your back arched. The stretch had you gasping, clutching the sheets beneath you tighter. His jaw clenched at the way your walls fluttered around him immediately, gripping his fingers like you’d been waiting for this forever. He pumps in and out slowly at first, his thumb brushing lightly over your clit. Your hips rolled up to meet him, chasing the friction. His lips curled, cocky but awed.
“Take my fingers so well, baby,” he muttered, voice rough. The slick squelch of your cunt echoed in the small room, loud and shameless. He pressed a third finger in before you had time to process, groaning at the way you stretched around him. “Want more?”
“Yes! Fuck—” the word tumbled out broken, your thighs twitching against his sides. You were stuffed, trembling, clenching around every push of his fingers as they drove deeper, curling them just right inside you.
Jeongin leaned closer, his forehead pressing to your stomach as he worked his hand faster. “Messy girl. Getting it all over the sheets already.” His words vibrated against your skin.
Your body buzzed with heat, sweat clinging to your skin, exhaustion mixing with pleasure until it felt like you were floating. Every thrust of his fingers dragged you closer, the pressure building, your moans spilling free without filter.
Jeongin was loving every second of it. The way your cunt swallowed his digits, the sounds of your wetness filling his ears, the sight of you squirming under him. His pace quickened, eyes locked on your face, soaking in every reaction.
“Mmm… you’re perfect,” he groaned. “Look at you- clenching so tight. You’ll take whatever I give you, won’t you?”
Your thighs squeezed around his arm, lips parting to release a broken moan. You couldn’t think straight, couldn’t focus on anything except the way he stretched you out, heat pooling heavy in your stomach. All you could do was hold tighter, breath shallow, feeling lightheaded as your orgasm approached fast and hard.
Your orgasm slammed into you hard from the way his fingers curled inside, but Jeongin didn’t let you come down from it. The second your body started to spasm around his hand, he pulled his fingers out, leaving you gasping, and shoved your shorts and panties down your legs in one impatient tug.
Before you had the chance to catch your breath, he already nestles himself between your thighs, spreading you open with both hands and lowering his face.
“Jeongin—” you barely managed his name before his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking hard, tongue flicking over the sensitive nub with zero hesitation.
Your back arched clean off the bed. A strangled moan ripped out of you as your hands shot to his hair, tugging at the strands. He groaned against your cunt, the vibrations making your entire body jolt.
“Fuck- holy shit—” your voice broke, knees shaking uncontrollably as he licked a long stripe from your entrance up to your clit before burying his tongue back down into you. He was messy, spit was everywhere, your wetness coats his chin as slurping sounds filled the room.
You’d never expected him to be this good. You figured he’d be clumsy, unsure, but he was focused, greedy, working your pussy like he’d studied for this moment. And in a way, he had. Every late night porn binge, every video of girls grinding on tongues and riding faces— he’d memorized it all. Now, he was putting that research to use.
He alternated between sucking your clit, swirling his tongue around it, and pushing it inside you as far as it would go. Each shift in rhythm had you writhing, your thighs snapping shut around his head, but he only groaned in satisfaction, prying them back open to keep at it.
“Jesus, Jeongin, stop—” you whine, though your hips were grinding against his face. “I-I can’t—”
“You can,” he muttered into you before flicking his tongue over your clit again. His voice was wrecked, almost unrecognizable, and his tongue never let up.
Your whole body shudders, hands clawing at the sheets, your cries bouncing off the walls of his dorm. He was practically drowning in you— his chin, his cheeks, even the tip of his nose glistened with your slick. He was groaning with every movement, rutting subtly against the mattress just from eating you out, like he couldn’t get enough.
Everytime you thought you were about to break apart, he pushed you harder— sucking, licking, moaning into you until your orgasm crashed over you again, harder than before. You screamed his name, whimpering in pathetic desperation, nails digging into his scalp.
But he still didn’t stop.
He lapped at you through your orgasm, tongue relentless, mouth wet and noisy. The overstimulation had you thrashing, another string of whines spilling out without control, your body jerking under him as if you were trying to escape. He pinned your hips down with his hands, holding you in place while his tongue drew quick circles over your clit.
“Too much- Jeongin, fuck, please,” you begged, half sobbing, your thighs twitching violently.
He finally pulled back just enough to smirk up at you, the entire bottom half of his face drenched with your arousal. His eyes were blown wide, hair a complete mess from your grip.
“Beg prettier,” he rasped, then immediately dove right back in, pressing more open-mouthed kisses to your overly sensitive clit.
Tears pricked at your eyes from the intensity, your body spasming. You’d never been eaten out like this— messy, sloppy, desperate. He devoured you like he’d starved for it. And each time you thought he’d pull back, he pushed harder, forcing orgasm after orgasm out of you until you were nothing but a convulsing, overstimulated mess.
When he finally pulled away for real, your chest was heaving, sweat dampening your hairline. You were in ruins, legs spread wide, sheets completely soaked beneath you. He licked his lips, still panting, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, though it did absolutely nothing to clean him up.
“I could eat you forever,” he muttered, dazed, voice low and rough.
You whimpered, trying to steady your breathing, thighs still twitching through the aftershocks, and yet the sight of him, hair ruined and lips swollen, made arousal surge right back into your veins.
Slowly, shakily, you pushed yourself upright, crawling toward him. His eyes tracked you the entire way, chest rising fast, his hard cock straining obviously against his shorts.
Your palms pressed against his chest, shoving him back until he laid flat on the bed. You swung a leg over him, settling on his hips, your hands smoothing down his bare chest as you leaned forward.
He moaned when you kissed him again, getting a taste of yourself on his tongue. Your hand slipped down, tugging at the band of his shorts.
You pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips, your smile wicked. “My turn.”
And then you started to slide down his body, ready to take him into your mouth.
You pulled his shorts down in one rough motion, his cock springing free, flushed red and leaking. He jolted at the exposure, a broken sound catching in his throat as you wrapped your hand around the base. He was thick in your grip, pulsing with every tiny shift of your fingers, the head already slick with precum.
“Fuck..” Jeongin hissed, head falling back into his pillow. He tried to cover his face with his arm, embarrassed at how fast he was leaking for you, but dropped it when you bent down and let a thick string of spit drip directly onto the swollen tip. It slid down his shaft, mixing with his precum and your hand stroking lazily along his length. His hips bucked before he could stop himself, a groan escaping. “Oh my god—”
You licked a slow stripe up his cock, pressing your tongue flat against the vein before circling the head and spitting again, deliberately letting it dribble out of your mouth onto him. He throbbed in your grasp, chest rising faster.
“You’ve been dreaming about this, huh?” You smirked, stroking him with the mess you’d made. “Bet all those nights jerking off to hentai didn’t prepare you for the real thing.”
Jeongin groaned, hands fisting the sheets tight. “S-shut up—” his protest cut off in a sharp gasp when you took him into your mouth, lips sealing around the head, tongue lapping up every drop of slick and spit.
You moaned around him, vibrating down his cock, and he lost it instantly. “Shit- ah—” his hips jerked, and you pinned him down with one hand against his stomach, the other guiding his cock deeper.
Detaching slowly, a thick strand of spit stretched from your lips to his tip. You slapped his cock down against your tongue, your mouth wide open so he could see the mess you’d made. Drool ran down your chin, dripping onto your chest. “Look at this. Look at how hard you are for me, gamer boy.”
The noise he made was downright sinful— half a groan, half a whimper. His hands shot to his hair, tugging at it until his knuckles turned white. He looked worn out already, and you hadn’t even gone all the way yet.
You swallowed him down again, forcing your throat to relax as you pushed further. Your nose brushed his pelvis, and your throat clenched tight around him, gagging loudly. Spit bubbled at the corners of your lips, coating him, dripping onto his balls as you swallowed and pulled back only to sink down again.
You pulled off only for a moment, spit and precum running down your chin, only to drool another messy string directly onto his cock before sucking the head back into your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks, bobbing your head faster now, the obscene wet sounds filling both your eardrums. His thighs shook violently, his breath coming out in sharp, broken pants.
“Gonna- ah- fuck, gonna cum!” His voice cracked, frantic, almost pleading. His hand hovered over your head like he wanted to shove you down but was too overwhelmed.
You didn’t let up. If anything, you went harder— taking him so deep you’re damn near choking on his length, spit soaking your face and dripping down onto the sheets. You let it get filthy, sloppy, your tongue working fast as your throat milked him.
His whole body tensed, stomach caving in as you’re sucking the life out of him, abs flexing under your hand. With a guttural moan, he spilled into your mouth, hot ropes of cum flooding your throat in heavy pulses. You swallowed instantly, gulping it down while your tongue kept working the head. His cock twitched again, and he choked out a loud, broken cry.
You pulled back to suck him clean until he hissed from the oversensitivity. When you finally let him slip from your lips, you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue to show him. Clean, every drop swallowed. Then you licked your lips, drool still glistening on your chin.
Jeongin stared at you like he’d just ascended. His chest heaved, his glasses crooked, hair sticking in every direction as he rose from the pillow. He looked completely undone, eyes glassy, lips parted.
“My god—” his voice was beyond wrecked. “you’re insane.”
You don’t even reply, just flash him a little smirk before crawling up his body and straddling him again, your soaked pussy pressing against his softening cock, making him groan under you. You kissed him deep, letting him taste himself on your tongue, spit messy between your mouths.
When you pulled back, your voice was husky. “Don’t get comfy yet. I’m not done with you.”
You kissed down his jaw, shifting until you were sliding lower again, ready to take him back into your mouth, but this time to get him hard all over so you could ride him.
Jeongin barely had time to catch his breath before you were sliding down his chest again, your tongue tracing over his skin, tasting the sweat that had started to gather there. His was still sensitive from the load he’d spilled down your throat, but when your lips wrapped around the head and you sucked gently, he cursed, already half-hard again.
“Fuck, baby, slow down,” he gasped, but his hips betrayed him, pushing up into your mouth. His voice cracked, needy and strained.
You popped off with a wet sound, saliva stringing from your lips to his cock. “Mm, no. I’m not waiting. Wanna feel you inside me now.”
His jaw went slack, a sharp curse slipping out under his breath as he watched you spit onto his cock again, stroking him until he was hard and heavy in your hand. His eyes flicked down between your legs, watching the way your pussy glistened, still dripping from how hard he’d worked you over earlier.
You straddled him, grabbing his cock and guiding the tip to your entrance. The first push in had you both moaning, your head falling back as your walls stretched around him, his hands clutching your waist like he needed something to stabilize himself.
“Holy shit—” Jeongin choked, voice quivering. “You’re- fuck, you’re so tight. You’re really- fuck, you’re taking all of me?”
Your nails dug into his chest as you sank down inch by inch, feeling every vein, every twitch of his cock as it stuffed you full. The stretch burned in the best way, and when you finally bottomed out, sitting flush against his hips, you whimpered at how deep he reached.
“God, you’re so big,” you moaned, rolling your hips slowly to adjust. “Stuffing me so full I can’t even think.”
Jeongin’s head fell back into his pillow, sweat already beading along his hairline. “Fuck, you’re perfect, oh my god—” He lifted his hips to meet yours, groaning as your pussy swallows him whole. “Don’t stop- please.”
You braced your hands on his chest and started to move, bouncing on him, grinding your hips to milk every inch, each slap of your ass against his thighs making him groan louder. He tried to keep his eyes open, to watch the way your tits bounced in your thin pajama top, but his eyes kept rolling back when you slammed down hard enough to make his cock twitch deep inside you.
“Fuck- you’re gonna ruin me,” he panted, nails biting into your waist. “Keep riding me, kitty, please- oh fuck—”
The nickname had you clenching around him, your walls fluttering as you moaned shamelessly. You leaned forward, kissing him hard, sloppy and wet, spit mixing as his tongue tangled with yours. You loved how messy it was, how needy he sounded, how completely undone he looked beneath you.
But then he gritted his teeth, flipped you onto your back, and drove his cock back into you in one sharp thrust. You yelped, legs flying up around his waist as he started pounding into you, fucking you with a pace so raw and desperate you could barely breathe.
“Thought you could win this round?” He growled, his voice breaking with every thrust. “Look at you, whimpering, moaning, you love it, don’t you? Love when I fuck you stupid.”
“Yes! Yes, fuck- Jeongin!” You cried out, your nails dragging down his back as he held your thighs open, driving himself into you over and over. Your cunt was so wet it splattered everywhere, the lewd sounds echoing louder than his grunts, the mattress squeaking under the force.
He buried his face in your neck, kissing, biting, moaning into your skin as he fucked you. His thrusts were relentless, sharp and deep, hitting that spot inside you that had your eyes rolling back. You couldn’t even form words anymore, just broken sounds, gasps, and his name spilling from your lips.
“God- you’re dripping all over me,” he groaned, hips snapping hard. “Gonna make me cum again if you keep squeezing me like that- fuck.”
Your legs trembled around his waist, tears brimming your eyes from the overstimulation, but you didn’t want him to stop. Every thrust had your stomach tightening, the coil pulling tighter and tighter until you were on the edge again, your cries muffled against his shoulder.
When you came, it ripped through you like a shockwave, your cunt spasming around his cock, milking him. He grunts into your ear, fucking you through it, letting you ride it out until you collapsed boneless beneath him, panting and shaking.
But he wasn’t done.
He pulled out, his cock slick and throbbing, and manhandled you onto your hands and knees before sliding back onto the bed. His chest rose and fell fast, sweat dripping down his temple, but his eyes were still wild. He tugged you onto him, guiding you until you were facing away from him, your ass pressed against his thighs.
“Reverse cowgirl,” he panted, gripping your hips. “Wanna see you ride me in the mirror.”
You glanced up— and there it was. The full-length mirror propped against his wall reflected everything. Your blissed-out face, your messy hair, your pussy dripping as his cock lined up again with your entrance.
You sank down slowly, both of you watching the mirror as his cock slid back inside you. The sight made your stomach clench, your walls already fluttering before you even started moving.
“Oh fuck,” Jeongin sighed, throwing his head back before forcing his eyes open again to watch the reflection. “Look at you, so fucking sexy, I can’t—”
You braced your hands on your thighs and started bouncing, slamming yourself down onto him over and over. His cock hit so deep you saw stars, your moans getting louder as you rode him fast, the mirror showing every obscene detail. His grip bruised your hips, pulling you down harder, and you could feel how close he was by the way his cock twitched inside you.
“Fuck, Jeongin- so deep!” You cried, grinding down and rolling your hips, your eyes locked on the mirror.
He was moaning openly now, no shame, watching you lose yourself on his cock. His voice cracked as he begged, his head falling back against the mattress. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop—”
And neither of you did.
You rode him harder, faster, your reflection showing just how messy and fucked-out you both were, your bodies glistening with sweat. By the time you both reached the edge again, you weren’t thinking straight— just raw, desperate pleasure, chasing the high together as the mirror reflected every second of it.
The tension in the room finally snapped with one last shared cry, your body seizing around him as he spilled deep inside, groaning through his teeth while holding you flush against him. You barely managed another thrust down onto him before your body gave up, trembling and overstimulated, your legs refusing to hold you any longer.
You collapsed on top of him, your sweaty back sliding against his chest as his arms wrapped tight around your waist. His cock still pulsed weakly inside you, buried deep as you both gasped for breath, your skin coated with sweat, sheets beneath you a sticky, ruined mess.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of panting. His chest heaved against your spine, your cheek pressed into the crook of his arm. Your body still recovering every few seconds from aftershocks, and he rubbed your hip slowly, grounding you back into the moment.
When you finally had the strength to roll off him, you turned onto your side, curling into his chest. He tucked an arm under your head, pulling you close in a way that felt too easy, too natural for what had just happened.
You let your eyes close for a second, your voice hoarse when you muttered, “getting cracked into another dimension by a virgin who spends his time gaming all day was definitely not on my bingo card.”
Jeongin snorted, chest shaking beneath your cheek. “On the bright side, at least I can live up to my username now.”
You laughed weakly, smacking his chest with the little energy you had left. He winced dramatically, like you’d actually hurt him, then grinned when you snuggled closer despite yourself. The sex appeal had evaporated completely with that dumb comment, replaced with something much lighter. Normally his dumbass one-liners would’ve drove you insane, but now? With his arm around you and his breath warming your hair, you found it almost… endearing.
You both lay there in silence for a while, tangled messily in sheets, sore and sated. His fingers traced random shapes against your arm absentmindedly, and you let him. Neither of you moved to get up, neither of you said “good game” or “queue again.” For once, there wasn’t an insult looming between you.
Still, the quiet wasn’t simple. It felt heavier, charged in a different way. You were supposed to be enemies— sniping at each other on Discord, flaming in voice chat, swearing you couldn’t stand him. But after everything that just happened? After the way he’d touched you, the way you’d screamed his name, the way he was holding you now like you belonged there?
The thought hovered at the tip of your tongue, soft and uncertain, making your chest tight. What are we?
You didn’t ask. Not yet, at least. But the question lingered in the room, in the space between your bodies, in the warmth of his arm tightening around you as you both drifted off into the silence of early morning.
WARNINGS: smut, enemies to lovers trope, coworkers to lovers trope, public sex (kinda), mentions of alcohol, dirty talk, fingering, degradation, possessive behavior, toxic relationship dynamics, no aftercare, chans texts are written in italic, chan being mean :(
SUMMARY: you swear that you and chan hate each other, always arguing over the smallest things, always at each others throats, until one celebration dinner proves that your chemistry is anything but professional, and the line between rivalry and desire snaps in the most dangerous way possible.
author’s note ♡ this story actually came from my first ask, and it was so much fun to write!! your encouragement really means the world to me. i’m definitely thinking about maybe making a part two… so if you enjoyed this, keep an eye out 👀 thank you so, so much for reading, and for any feedback, comments, or just love you send my way, it makes me so happy! i hope you enjoy every second of it, forgive me for making chan a big meanie in this one♡
READ UNDER THE CUT!
bang chan is pretty handsome, fuck, even beautiful if you ask me.
but also an asshole.
and the worst part?
he knows it.
you woke up today at 7:42 am, you were supposed to be at work by 7.
you leap out of bed, trip over a shoe you swear wasn’t there last night, and stumble into the bathroom. toothbrush in one hand, hairbrush in the other, you try to do everything at once. minty foam dribbles down your chin as you pull on a wrinkled shirt and hope no one notices.
you grab your travel mug, barely giving the coffee time to cool before rushing out the door. the morning air is cold, your nerves are hot, and your brain is running on panic and caffeine dreams.
halfway down the sidewalk, your phone buzzes again. a message from your coworker- from chan.
where are you?
you’re unbelievable
i swear if u don’t come in 5 minutes im starting without you
you look down to reply, and in that exact moment your foot catches the edge of the curb.
the phone in your hand tilts.
the coffee flies.
your reflexes slower than the time.
no, no, no-
splash.
a wave of scalding brown liquid soaks your shirt, your jacket, and somehow even your pants. the lid clatters to the ground, rolling away like it’s ashamed of what it’s done.
you stand there, dripping, smelling like a walking café, watching steam rise from your chest. people pass by pretending not to stare. your phone buzzes again.
you wipe your screen with your sleeve and type back, jaw tight.
im literally almost there
his answer came immediately.
just get here already
don’t talk to me like you’re my boss
the reply comes almost instantly, again.
keep that attitude when you see me
we’ll see how brave you are in person
oh fuck you, bang chan.
you leave him on read after that.
not because you don’t have anything to say, but because if you keep trying, you might actually throw your phone into the traffic.
your hands are still shaking, partly because of the hot coffee, partly because of fucking bang chan.
it has been going on like this for weeks, months even. you and chan- constantly at each other’s throats, snapping in hallways, arguing over the smallest things.
no one at work was surprised anymore. the both of you just couldn’t stand each other, it was an unspoken rule. they’d learn to go quiet when the two of you were in the same space, to suddenly find reasons to leave the room, to exchange knowing looks when voices started to raise.
the funny part?
when it was just you, without him, you were loud. way too loud. always laughing, always talking, always hyped over small things. you were the kind of person who filled the room without even trying.
and chan?
he was the same- easy smiles, effortless charm, the type every girl would bark for.
okay, no.
he was a dick.
still is.
together, though?
it was like throwing sparks into gasoline.
so everyone assumed the truth was simple: you hated each other.
that friday every one from your work sits a the table. the conference room smells like coffee and printer ink, the kind of stale, familiar comfort that comes with end‑of‑week meetings. everyone’s there- every department, every familiar face packed around the long table, chairs scraping, low chatter buzzing.
you slide into your seat, and of course, chan drops into the one right next to you.
of course.
your friend across from you flashes a grin, and you grin back. normally, you’d be loud already, bouncing your leg, whispering jokes. chan, too, usually fills a room without trying- laughing, charming, teasing anyone within reach.
but today?
he’s quiet.
too quiet.
your boss stands at the front, hands clasped. “first of all, I want to congratulate everyone on how well this week went. the latest project was a success because of the effort from every single one of you.”
polite applause fills the room.
“and especially,” the boss continues, looking down the table, “bang chan. your coordination with the client and how you handled the final revisions, excellent work.”
a few people turn to look at him. someone murmurs a “nice job, chan.”
he only nods once.
no smile. no little laugh. no charming, self‑deprecating comment. not even one of his stupidly egoistic lines.
you glance sideways.
his jaw is tight, lips pressed into that thin, straight line- the one he gets when he’s irritated or holding something back. his eyes are fixed on the table, unreadable.
that’s weird…?
you frown for half a second, then shrug it off. maybe he’s just tired.
“also,” your boss says, shifting his gaze, “i want to point out y/n’s work this week. your attention to detail and how you kept the team on track, really impressive.”
your head snaps up.
“thank you,” you say, a little surprised, heat creeping up your neck as a few people smile at you.
and you feel it.
chan’s eyes.
you can feel his stare on the side of your face, steady and intense, like he’s burning a hole through you. he’s sitting close enough that your elbows almost touch, his presence heavy, silent.
you keep your eyes forward, but your heartbeat picks up anyway.
the boss goes on, thanking others, listing names, praising effort.
and then-
something warm presses against your hand in your lap.
your breath catches.
you look down.
it’s his hand. resting over yours like it belongs there.
your eyes fly up to him, wide, confused, a silent what the hell? written all over your face.
chan finally looks at you.
and he smiles.
not his usual easy grin. not the cocky smirk he throws when he’s being a menace.
just a small, slow curve of his lips.
like he’s fully aware he’s messing with your head.
then, just as casually, he lifts his hand away and folds it back on the table, posture relaxed, expression neutral again- like nothing happened. like he didn’t just short‑circuit your brain in the middle of a meeting.
the boss clears his throat. “and one more thing, since the project wrapped up so successfully, we’re going to have a celebratory dinner tomorrow, saturday. I expect everyone to come.”
a ripple of excitement moves through the room.
you’re still staring at chan out of the corner of your eye, heart thudding, trying to understand what the hell that was.
he keeps his gaze forward, calm, unreadable.
like he didn’t just touch you at all.
like it didn’t make your heart race.
saturday evening comes faster than you expect.
your bathroom is warm with steam from the shower, music playing from your phone on the counter- something upbeat, something that makes you sway a little as you stand in front of the mirror. you lean closer, focused, carefully applying your lip combo. the one you love. the one that makes you feel put together, confident, a little dangerous in the best way.
liner first. gloss. a soft press of your lips together.
perfect.
your phone buzzes and you pick it up, your friend already rambling on the other end about outfits, heels, whether the restaurant will be fancy-fancy or just fancy. you laugh, twirl a strand of hair around your finger, promise you’ll send pictures, promise you won’t be late.
eventually you hang up.
that’s when it gets real.
you smooth your clothes, fix your hair properly, take one last look at yourself. and, annoyingly, your thoughts drift.
to chan.
to the way he barely reacted to the praise. to the way his lips went flat. to the way his hand had covered yours like it was the most natural thing in the world… and then how he’d taken it back just as easily.
weird. confusing. so not him.
you shake your head. whatever. he’s just being his usual complicated, infuriating self.
you grab your bag and head out.
the restaurant is already buzzing when you arrive. warm lights, clinking glasses, voices overlapping in happy chaos. you step inside and immediately start greeting people- smiles, hugs, congratulations thrown back and forth.
and then, as you walk further in, you see him.
bang chan, dressed all in black like he planned it, sitting at the bar with a glass of whiskey in his hand. the amber liquid catches the light as he lifts it, takes a slow sip.
but his eyes?
they’re on you.
not wandering. not distracted.
just on you.
for a second, the noise around you fades. he doesn’t smile. doesn’t look away. just watches, calm and unreadable, like he’s taking you in and filing every detail away.
your step falters for half a heartbeat before you force yourself to keep moving.
after a while, everyone’s called over, laughter and chatter guiding you toward the big table that’s been reserved. chairs scrape, people squeeze in, someone complains about the lighting, someone else orders another round.
and, like fate is laughing at you-
chan ends up sitting right next to you.
again.
his arm brushes yours as he settles in, close enough that you can feel his warmth, close enough that every small movement suddenly feels loud.
you don’t look at him.
not yet.
you already know he’s there.
the table slowly settles as your boss stands, tapping his glass lightly to get everyone’s attention. the low hum of conversation fades into expectant quiet.
you’re still half-turned toward your friend, whispering something under your breath, laughing softly, when your boss starts talking about the team, about how proud he is, about the long hours finally paying off.
you nod along, polite, distracted-
and then you feel it.
a hand, warm and unfamiliar in the wrong place, resting on your thigh.
your first thought is that it’s your own, that maybe you shifted and didn’t realize, but then the fingers move.
a gentle squeeze.
your breath stutters.
you look down.
black sleeve. long fingers.
chan.
your head snaps toward him, eyes wide, and you whisper-yell under your breath, barely moving your lips.
“what are you doing?”
he doesn’t answer right away. just looks at you, that infuriating calm in his eyes, the corner of his mouth lifting into the smallest smirk.
his hand squeezes once more, slow and deliberate.
then he leans in, close enough that only you can hear, his voice a low murmur against your ear.
“got dressed up tonight, hm?”
before you can react, before you can even form a proper response, he pulls his hand away and leans back in his chair, posture relaxed, expression neutral.
like nothing happened.
like he didn’t just completely wreck your focus right as your boss raises his glass.
“to the team,” your boss says. “and to many more successes.”
glasses lift. people cheer.
and chan sits beside you, perfectly composed, eyes forward,
as if his hand was never on your thigh at all.
your brain is a mess. your skin feels warm everywhere his hand had been, and you’re painfully aware of how close he’s sitting, how easily his arm could brush yours again.
your friend nudges you. “what are you getting?”
“huh? oh-uh-” you blink at the menu, realizing you’ve been staring at the same line for way too long. “probably the pasta. yeah. the pasta.”
the waiter comes by, people start ordering. you follow along, trying to sound normal, trying not to think about how chan is right there, quiet, composed, like he didn’t just undo you with one whispered sentence.
and then-
you feel it again.
his hand, returning to your thigh like it never left, resting there with infuriating confidence.
your breath catches. you stiffen, pretending to focus on your water glass, on anything but the slow way his fingers settle, warm and possessive.
they slide.
higher. and higher.
your heart starts racing. no. nope.
absolutely not.
you cross your legs quickly, trapping his hand between them.
you glance at him, eyes wide in warning.
he looks at you.
and smirks.
instead of pulling away, his fingers tighten, squeezing your thigh more firmly than before, deliberate, teasing, like he’s enjoying the fact that you’re flustered, that you’re trying to keep it together in a room full of people.
your jaw tightens. you turn your face away, pretending to listen to your friend, pretending everything is normal- biting down on your lip to keep any reaction from slipping out. you can already tell your lip combo is definitely going to need to be reapplied after this.
it lingers for just a second longer than it should.
but we all know chan isn’t sweet like that.
soon, his fingers start tracing the outline of your panties. at that point, you were beginning to soak right through them, and he could feel the wetness peeking through the fabric and staining his finger.
he inhaled a deep breath, wanting so desperately to plunge his fingers inside your core,
“think anyone’ll notice if i start fucking you with my fingers right now?” he whispered into your neck, and your hand reached out to land on top of his, attempting to push him away from your drenched knickers.
your breath hitched, not just from the words, but from how badly your body betrayed you. from the way his words settled low in your stomach- warm and heavy,
the restaurant noise suddenly felt too loud, too close, like every clink of glass might give you away.
“you’re insane,” you whispered back, half-threat, half-plea, fingers tightening around his wrist.
he didn’t pull away. just watched you, eyes dark, mouth curved in that infuriating, knowing smile.
he leaned in close, so close you could feel his breath brush your ear, his voice dropping to a low murmur meant for you alone.
“be a good girl and don’t make a sound, hm?” he whispered, the words soft but commanding. “wouldn’t want the whole restaurant knowing what a fucking slut u are, baby”
your fingers tightened around his wrist, tugging harder now, a silent warning, a plea, a protest all at once. your pulse was racing, your skin too warm, every nerve lit up in a way you absolutely refused to let show.
he only smirked at your reaction, like he could read every thought you were trying so desperately to hide. “chan what are you- plea-“
you could barely finish your sentence before he had pushed your underwear to the side, circling his finger in the juices that splattered across your cunt. you gasped loudly, covering your mouth immediately. your free hand gripped the tablecloth, ignoring all eye contact with him, for you knew if you did, you would be at his mercy.
“y/n?”
your boss’s voice cut through the moment, clear and sudden. you flinched, shoulders tensing, heart jumping straight into your throat.
“yes—yes, sorry?” you answered too quickly, turning your head toward him, praying your face didn’t look as heated as it felt. “what was the question?”
your boss was asking something about the project, about deadlines, about next week’s schedule- normal, harmless things. you nodded along, forcing yourself to focus, forcing your voice to sound steady.
all while chan, that stupid fucking jerk you despised, had his fingers knuckles deep in your soaking cunt.
you could almost hear his quiet amusement in the way he breathed, the way his shoulder brushed yours like it was an accident.
when you finally answered your boss, he leaned in just enough for you to hear him murmur, soft and infuriatingly calm,
chan put his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand to watch your face contort in pleasure, struggling to swallow back a moan when he curled his fingers into your sweet spot.
“you better be fucking quiet if u wanna cum”
you clamped a hand over your mouth, reaching down underneath the table to grasp his wrist. you stifled your moans behind your hand, your fingernails digging into his wrist, his beautiful fingers coaxing the knot of your orgasm to break apart.
chan withdrew his fingers, soaking them in your release as he rubbed slow circles on your clit. he put his lips close to your ear again.
“look at you, baby. that’s it, just like that. god, you’re so fucking pretty when you cum on my fingers.” chan talks you through it.
just like that.
the words sink into you, filthy in a way that has nothing to do with touch and everything to do with tone, with timing, with the way he says it like he knows you’re barely holding it together.
you sit there for a second, frozen, heart racing, thoughts crashing into each other-
what the hell was that, what is wrong with him, what is wrong with me, why did that feel like that
-your mind a mess of heat and confusion.
“y/n?” your friend says, nudging you lightly. “you okay?”
you jolt, realizing you’ve been staring at absolutely nothing.
“i-uh,” you stand up too fast, chair scraping the floor. “sorry. i just-bathroom. i’ll be right back.”
you don’t wait for a response. you weave between tables, pulse loud in your ears, acutely aware of his gaze on your back the entire time. you don’t look at him, but you can feel it- steady, knowing, like he’s watching every step you take.
the bathroom is quiet compared to the restaurant. you push inside, lock the door behind you, and lean forward, gripping the edge of the sink.
you look up at your reflection. your eyes are bright, your lips slightly parted, your face flushed- not just from the warm lighting. you stare at yourself like you’re trying to make sense of what just happened, of what you felt, of why your heart is still beating so fast.
uni & work have been fucking me RAW these last few weeks, but I AM ALIVE AND WRITING I PROMISE. star player WILL be out very soon, plus a few extra one shots i’ve been scribbling!!!!
leaving u guys with my favourite pictures to pay for my crimes
pairing: (Idol) Bang Chan x (Manager) Female Reader
wc: 3k
cw: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), praise kink, marking, mutual consent (not proof read) (lmk if I missed anything)
Minors DNI
Summary: You’re Chan’s manager. Always professional, always careful. But after a long day on tour, he shows up at your hotel door in just sweats asking you a simple question: “Why do you act like you don’t want me?”
A/N: Requests are open!
The hotel room was dark, save for the soft, flickering light of some random Netflix show playing in the background. You weren’t watching it. Not really.
You were lying across the bed, hair still damp from the shower, body sore from the endless chaos of the day. Soundcheck. Press. Scheduling nightmares. Then wrangling eight hyperactive men through a three-hour concert while running on caffeine and pure willpower.
You’d barely managed to scrub off your makeup, slide into one of the plush robes, and collapse face-first onto the mattress.
You were too tired to even respond to texts. The do-not-disturb sign was on the door. Your body was jelly. Your brain was soup.
So when the soft, almost hesitant knock came you blinked like you’d imagined it.
Then it came again.
You sighed, dragging yourself upright with a groan, tying the robe tighter around your waist. Maybe staff had the wrong room. Maybe a delivery mix-up.
You padded over to the door and cracked it open and immediately forgot how to breathe.
Chan stood in the hallway, still damp from the shower, dark curls clinging to his forehead. He wore nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that sat low on his hips and a white t-shirt that was tight around the biceps.
His eyes met yours.
Your fingers tightened around the doorknob instinctively. “...Chan?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned against the doorframe like he had every right to be there.
“Why do you act like you don’t want me?”
You blinked.
That exhaustion you’d felt seconds ago? Gone.
“Wh- what?” you stammered.
His head tilted just slightly. “You act like I’m just another artist on your schedule. Like you don’t look at me the way you do.”
Your brain scrambled for something, anything, professional to say. “Chan, I’m your manager. This isn’t-”
“I know what you are.” His voice dipped lower, a thread of heat underneath it. “You keep your distance. You’re careful. But I’m not blind.”
He pushed off the doorframe, stepping a little closer.
“I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”
Your breath hitched.
He was too close now, just one step outside your door. Your heart thudded against your ribs, warning bells in your head trying to outpace the slow, rising pull in your stomach.
“Don’t lie to me,” he said. “Not tonight.”
You crossed your arms, mostly to ground yourself. Definitely not because his eyes had just dropped to the neckline of your robe like it was something to devour.
“Chan,” you said carefully. “It’s late.”
He didn’t budge. “I know.”
“You should rest. We both should.”
“Maybe.” His gaze flicked back up to yours.
There was no smirk, no playful grin. Just quiet honesty. Raw and exposed in a way you weren’t prepared for.
You tried again. “You’re still running on post-show adrenaline. You’ll feel different in the morning.”
His voice lowered to a near whisper. “I won’t.”
You could practically feel it, the shift in the air, the way the space between you felt too charged, like something waiting to break.
“You’re my job,” you said softly, trying to stay firm. “Technically, you’re my boss.”
He took one slow step forward. You didn’t move. Couldn’t.
“You want me to treat you like an employee?” he murmured. “If that’s what you’re into…”
That made you laugh. “Not funny.”
“Wasn’t trying to be.”
There was something dangerous in his eyes now, not reckless, but deliberate. Like he’d already made up his mind.
“You don’t get it,” you said, voice tight. “I’ve worked too hard to cross a line like this. One night, one mistake, it could ruin everything.”
“It’s not a mistake if we both want it,” he said. “And it’s not one night.”
You opened your mouth to argue, to say something that would restore the distance, but he stepped even closer, and your brain blanked.
You could smell the faint scent of his body wash, familiar in the way only someone you spent almost every waking hour with could be.
His voice dropped, almost too soft to hear.
“I think about you all the time,” he said. “On stage. In the van. When you’re pacing around with your iPad and that little crease in your brow, fuck, I want to kiss it away.”
Your stomach flipped.
“I’ve tried to ignore it,” he went on. “Tried to respect your space. Let you be the professional. But do you even realize how hard you make it?”
Your throat was dry. “Chan…”
“I’m not asking you to love me,” he said. “I’m just asking you to be honest.”
He was so close now you could feel the heat of his skin against yours. One inch more and he’d be touching you.
Your fingers curled tighter around your arms. “You’re not being fair.”
“I know,” he said, and this time, he did smile. “But I can’t walk away from this hallway without trying.”
You looked at him then, really looked.
At the vulnerability in his expression. At the way he was trembling slightly, like underneath all that confidence was someone just as scared to be rejected.
It would be so easy to tell him to leave.
To remind him of contracts and PR scandals and the weight of everything on your shoulders.
But your heart was thudding for a different reason now, and the warmth between your thighs wasn’t exhaustion.
You could still tell him to go.
But you didn’t.
You didn’t say anything.
You just stepped back.
Chan’s eyes searched yours for half a second longer, looking for regret, maybe. Doubt. But you didn’t give him any.
So, he stepped inside.
The door clicked shut behind him like a secret sealed. Your fingers hovered at your sides, too aware of everything.
“Just to talk,” you said, more to yourself than to him.
He nodded once, like he was willing to play along. For now.
You sat on the edge of the bed. He stood in front of you, not touching, but close enough to make your skin ache.
Neither of you spoke.
The tension thickened between the walls. The quiet stretched long and loaded, and you could feel his gaze on you.
Then…
“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he murmured.
You looked up at him, about to ask what he meant.
But his hand came up, slow and deliberate, and he cupped your jaw like he was afraid you’d pull away.
You didn’t.
His thumb brushed across your bottom lip, feather-light. You exhaled a soft, shaky breath.
Then he leaned in and kissed you.
It wasn’t careful. Not really. Not after all this waiting. His lips were warm, sure, a little desperate. Yours parted before you realized you were doing it, and he groaned quietly, like that was all he needed.
His other hand slid behind your neck, pulling you deeper into it, and you let yourself fall, hands gripping his waist, mouth opening under his like you’d been waiting years.
He stepped forward, pushing you gently back onto the mattress, one knee between yours.
You weren’t thinking anymore. Just feeling.
His body covered yours, the weight of him intoxicating, his hips rocking down right where you were already starting to throb.
You gasped into his mouth.
His lips trailed down to your jaw, then your neck, sucking a mark low enough to hide.
“I knew it,” he murmured, voice wrecked and full of want. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”
You arched up against him. The robe slipped open beneath him, and his skin pressed to yours.
He groaned again when your hips rolled up to meet his.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, mouth ghosting along your collarbone.
You just whispered, “Don’t.”
And he didn’t.
His hand found your thigh, dragged it up around his waist as he rocked against you, dragging slow, grinding friction between your legs that made you moan into his shoulder.
“You don’t have to pretend anymore,” he whispered, lips at your ear. “Let me make you feel good. Let me take care of you.”
And God help you, you let him.
You didn’t know when the kissing turned into undressing, when your robe slipped off your shoulders or when his sweatpants started to ride lower from how he moved against you.
All you knew was the feel of his hands on your skin.
So careful. So reverent. Like he was touching something holy.
Chan kissed down your neck like it was something he’d dreamed about. No rushing, no fumbling, just hot, open-mouthed kisses dragged along the column of your throat, down to your collarbones, like he was memorizing every inch of you with his mouth.
He paused above your chest, breath warm, eyes flicking up.
“Can I?” he asked, already undoing the knot of your robe with maddening slowness.
You nodded, breath catching.
When the fabric opened, his mouth dropped open just slightly, then curved into something softer.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re so beautiful.”
You flushed under the weight of it. No one had ever said it like that before, like it hurt him to hold it in.
His hands came up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing lightly over your nipples before he dipped down to kiss between them, then over one, tongue warm and wet.
You whimpered, hips shifting under him.
He looked up again with a small, crooked smile.
“Sensitive?”
You tried to glare. It came out as a gasp when he flicked his tongue again, teasing, suckling lightly until your hands flew up to tangle in his curls.
And that only spurred him on.
He licked down the slope of your stomach, kissing every dip and curve as he made his way lower. When he reached your thighs, he gently nudged your legs apart and settled between them like he belonged there.
Then he looked up at you again, eyes hooded, voice like velvet.
“Been thinking about this for so long,” he murmured. “You, falling apart on my tongue. Just like this.”
You tried to respond, but your breath caught in your throat when his hands slid under your thighs and lifted them over his shoulders.
You were so exposed now. And he looked like he was starving.
The first slow lick made your hips jolt.
“Fuck- Chan”
“Mmm,” he hummed, dragging his tongue through your folds again, savouring it. “Say that again.”
He licked you like he had all the time in the world. Soft, unhurried strokes that made your whole body tremble. When your fingers curled tighter in his hair, he moaned against you loudly, like getting to taste you was as good for him as it was for you.
“You don’t have to hold back,” he murmured, breath hot against your soaked core. “I want to hear you.”
And when he flattened his tongue and dragged it up slowly before sucking your clit between his lips, you did. You moaned, needy and unfiltered, thighs tightening around his head.
“That’s it, baby,” he whispered. “God, you taste so good. So wet for me.”
He didn’t stop. Tongue working you over until your back arched and your hands fisted in the sheets, hips canting up as he devoured you. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you still so he could keep going deeper, harder, just the way you liked.
“You gonna cum for me like this?” he asked, mouth glossy, voice wrecked. “Let me feel it, baby. Let me have it.”
You were already there, clinging to the edge, breath hitching, legs shaking.
And when he sucked just a little harder, groaned against your clit like he needed it, you shattered.
Your body seized with the force of it, the orgasm crashing through you like a wave, and Chan didn’t stop, kept licking you through it, kept whispering praise you barely understood.
“Fuck, that’s it, baby… just like that… perfect for me.”
When you finally came down, you were boneless, trembling, breathless.
He kissed his way back up your body, slow and sweet. Your chest still heaved. Your thighs were soaked and still twitching.
But his eyes?
Still dark. Still hungry.
“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmured, mouth brushing your ear. “Not even close.”
You were still catching your breath when he kissed you again, slow and tender, like he wasn’t the same man who’d just made you cum with his mouth.
Your hand curled around his nape, fingers dragging through damp curls as his weight pressed into you, grounding you in the best way.
“Still with me?” he asked softly, kissing the corner of your mouth.
You nodded, dazed. “Yeah.”
“Good,” he whispered. “Because I’m not letting you go now.”
His forehead rested against yours, and his hand slid between your bodies to tug at his waistband. You felt his cock brush against your thigh and your body responded instantly, another ripple of arousal blooming low in your belly.
“Chan-”
He looked down at you, gaze dark but gentle. “Tell me if you want to stop.”
You didn’t even hesitate. “I don’t.”
He nodded once. Then reached down, guiding himself to your entrance.
He slid in slowly, giving you every inch with careful precision, hips rolling shallow as he filled you. Your back arched. Your mouth fell open.
“F-fuck,” you gasped. “You’re… you’re big-”
Chan groaned like he was in pain. “You’re so tight, baby. Taking me so well.”
His arms wrapped around your waist as he buried himself fully. Your legs locked around him, pulling him closer.
For a while, he didn’t move.
He just held you, breathing into your neck, letting you adjust to the stretch of him.
“You feel like heaven,” he murmured. “Been dreaming of this. Thinking about it every damn night.”
Then he started to move.
Slow, deep thrusts that hit just right. The kind that made your toes curl. The kind that made your eyes flutter shut.
You clung to him, moaning softly with each gentle drag of his cock.
He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your temple.
“You’re so good for me,” he whispered. “So fucking perfect.”
Your body shuddered beneath him. The praise, the weight of him, the slow rhythm, it was blissful.
But then his pace started to pick up. His hips snapped a little harder, a little faster, his restraint fraying with every breathless sound you made.
“You want it rough now, don’t you?” he growled, lips brushing your ear. “I can feel you clenching. You want me to take you.”
You nodded, helpless. “Please…”
His mouth curled into a wicked grin. “Say it.”
“Please, Chan. Need you to fuck me, hard.”
That was all it took.
He flipped you with practiced ease, your back against the mattress now, legs spread wide. His hands pinned your wrists above your head, and when he thrust into you again, it was rougher. Deeper. Brutal in the best way.
Your head tipped back, a cry tearing from your throat.
He fucked you into the bed, hips slamming into yours with every stroke. Sweat dripped from his temple. His abs flexed as he rolled his hips, grinding into your sweet spot until you were writhing under him.
“Say my name,” he panted, voice full of grit.
“Chan,” you gasped, eyes glassy. “Oh my God, Chan!”
“Yeah? That’s it. That’s my girl.”
He dipped down and sucked a mark into your neck, groaning against your skin like he couldn’t help himself.
“You’re mine,” he growled. “When we’re off the clock? You’re fucking mine.”
You came again, clenching around him with a choked sob as he slammed into you, chasing his own high.
He followed moments later, hips jerking, breath breaking as he spilled into you with a rough moan of your name.
When he collapsed onto you, he didn’t let go.
Didn’t pull out. Didn’t say a word.
Just held you close, arms trembling slightly, breath ragged against your collarbone.
The silence that followed was heavier than anything either of you had said.
But this time, it didn’t hurt.
It was soft. Close. Breath-warm and skin-slick, his chest rising and falling against yours as he stayed inside you, not ready to let go.
You could feel the beat of his heart as his arms tightened around your waist.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then, quietly, Chan whispered, “You okay?”
You nodded, cheek resting against his shoulder. “Yeah.”
He shifted back just enough to see your face, brushing damp hair from your forehead. His fingers were gentle, so gentle it made your throat tighten.
“I mean it,” he said softly. “You’re okay?”
You blinked up at him, dazed from pleasure and too many emotions you hadn’t let yourself feel. “I am.”
He smiled, small and sweet. “Good.”
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Then another to your temple. Then one to the corner of your mouth, slow and lingering.
You exhaled, finally letting yourself melt into the moment.
Into him.
Chan pulled out gently and reached for the sheets, covering both of you before curling his arm back around your waist. You let him tug you into his chest, your leg draped over his hip, your hand resting on the soft plane of his stomach.
It felt easy.
It shouldn’t have. But it did.
“You’re gonna hate me in the morning,” he murmured after a while, voice low and tired.
You cracked a smile against his skin. “Not sure I have the energy for hate right now.”
He chuckled, the sound soft and fond. “Don’t go back to pretending, okay?”
You lifted your head, meeting his gaze. It was open, unguarded in a way you rarely saw from him. No jokes. No walls.
Just Chan.
“I see you,” he said quietly. “Even when you’re working. Even when you try to hide it. I see the way you look at me. The way you protect me.”
You swallowed hard.
He leaned in, kissed the tip of your nose.
“You don’t have to pretend anymore. Not with me.”
You didn’t answer right away.
But when your hand slid up to rest over his heart and you tucked yourself under his chin with a whisper-soft, “Okay,” it felt like a promise.
He held you tighter. And when he asked, “Can I stay?” like the room didn’t already belong to both of you now, you nodded, and whispered, “Yes.”
How I be feeling whenever one of my favourite writers (@thebibleophile, @love-bitesx, @pineapple-burgah) puts out a new fic or chapter and I don’t have time to immediately devour it
ʚɞ 'she's fine, she's mine' a 𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒙 smau by @cosmicalily ★ view 𝓵𝓲𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓻𝔂 ʚɞ
୨ৎ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: slowly falling in love with tattoo artist!lee felix ♡ "that's my baby, that’s my sugar, i don't need no honey on the side." - '𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 by jaehyun
author's note: my best friend got a back tattoo with lilies on it (partly bc they're her birth flower, but she also said it's for me) so ink has quite literally just been on my mind atm! again, a random post before i likely disappear again. i have a jongseob one up my sleeve too...wink wink IGNORE THE TYPO ON SLIDE ONE OR ILL FUCKING CHIN YOU
pairing: chan x gn!reader
contains: fluff — all chan wants to do is work, sleep, and be given enough forewarning to fix his hair before you come over. unfortunately, jeongin cannot get his nose out of chan’s love life even if he wanted to (which, for the record, he doesn’t).
♡ note: it’s not a leislibrary fic if jeongin isn’t a menace. if you love me you’ll keep an open mind about the rules of grammar. 2.1k words.
dividers by @lariesographic / my masterlist
Time is a game and Chan has bugged out of the map. At best, he’s doing side quests. He’s hunting down flawless amethysts and family swords, meanwhile there’s fucking dragons and a civil war to be concerned about. You would tell him he’s being dramatic, but he feels completely validated in his dramaticness. He defies anyone to wrestle with his music program over a four-second snippet, with an album deadline looming over their shoulders, without losing their mind.
He doesn’t know when an update is due. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a week. Either way, he needs to start making actual progress soon. It’s not like he’s gotten nothing done tonight — he’s added a riff to a song he’s still workshopping, tweaked it, removed it, added it back in, then ultimately removed it again. He glares at the screen. His laptop, cruel and unforgiving, glares back.
Most times, it’s nice having his own personal studio in his and Jeongin’s dorm. Most times, he doesn’t have to remind himself that dousing the whole thing in lighter fluid would mean his bed also goes up in flames.
He presses play, and the chorus is still missing something he can’t quite place. The beginnings of a migraine twitch behind his eyes.
He can buy a new bed pretty easily.
The fact you haven’t responded to him for the worse part of seven hours has absolutely nothing to do with his obsession over creating something within his control. Those are two separate issues that he is handling perfectly, thank you very much, and he’s succeeding at not thinking about you. Or what you would think of this song. Or whether or not he did something to cause you to ignore him.
Before he can act on his arsonist fantasies, Jeongin raps his knuckles on the familiar doorframe. “How’s it going?” the youngest asks, fully aware of the answer by the deep set shadows under Chan’s eyes. He doesn’t wait for a response before continuing, “Your favorite member is here to detach you from your laptop.”
Without looking, Chan chucks the nearest object that won’t actually hurt – a stuffed plushie no bigger than his hand – at his voice. He grins at the thud of it hitting Jeongin square in the chest. Then, purely to add insult to injury, “Oh, is Felix here?”
Chan expects to be conked in the head with the same plushie, or with Jeongin’s fist, depending on his mood. If living with Jeongin for so long has taught him anything, it’s that he will not let that slide. The youngest has been much more dramatic over much less – he distinctly remembers Jeongin threatening to “live somewhere I’m appreciated” when Chan once tried to wake him up ten minutes early.
Nothing comes flying back at him. Jeongin stays firmly in place, keeping his knuckles to himself. “Nope,” he says, popping the p, and Chan doesn’t need to be looking at him to know he’s grinning. His tone is too I’m-happy-to-watch-you-dig-your-own-grave for Chan’s comfort.
Chan finally looks up, pushing his headphones all the way off his ears and blinking through his eyes adjusting to the dim light.
Jeongin stands in the doorway, as he expected, sporting a shit-eating grin to end them all.
You stand behind him, the subject of his unrequited love and picture of perfection, watching their exchange with amusement glittering in your eyes. You’re clutching the plushie.
Chan stands up so fast his head rushes. The wired headphones clatter against the ground. He’s acutely aware he hasn’t touched a hairbrush today – or yesterday, if he can figure out what time it is. He briefly considers if it’s too late for him and Felix to debut as a duo.
To make matters worse, you just say, “You threw this at me,” and toss the stuffed animal back at him. He doesn’t catch it. It fumbles from his grasp, and lands with a humiliating thump right next to his headphones. Your resulting giggle will be the death of him. Or Jeongin. Quite possibly both.
Chan does his absolute best not to succumb to mortification right then and there, and instead asks, “What are you doing here?” He doesn’t meet your eyes.
“Innie texted me to come over. He said it’s important I see you.” Still smug as hell, Jeongin nods. “And you didn’t answer my texts, so I wanted to see if you’ve eaten. Hold on.” You disappear from the doorway, leaving just Jeongin, mischievous and defenseless.
Chan pounces. “Dude,” he hisses through his teeth, “what happened to the ten-minute warning before they see me?” The standing agreement exists to give Chan time to get his heartbeat under control. He hasn’t even had time to use his emergency travel-sized mouthwash (just in case, you never know, and he prides himself on being prepared).
Jeongin, of course, ignores him. “Dude,” he mocks, “Why don’t you answer your texts?”
Your words come back to him. And you didn’t answer my texts.
Huh? He grabs his phone off the desk, tries to turn it on, and is only met with a black screen. It’s dead.
It’s dead!
You answered him, and he just didn’t see it. He could cry.
When you appear back in his sight, you’re carrying an opaque container, no doubt containing a homemade meal. He could cry again; he doesn’t know the last time he ate anything that didn’t come out of a wrapper. Jeongin gets out of your way so you can step into the room with Chan – who kicks some dirty laundry under his bed and prays you didn’t notice to whatever god that hasn’t given up on this entire situation.
Once he’s in the living room, Jeongin catches Chan’s eyes and smiles at the back of your head. Oh no. Much like how animals can sense incoming storms, Chan can sense when Jeongin is about to pull some terrible little brother shenanigans. He is correct. With all the subtlety of a flare gun, Jeongin begins horribly, slowly, obnoxiously making out with the air behind your back. Apparently, people are allowed to still do that past middle school. He’s dangerously close to getting to second base with an oxygen molecule.
Chan, subtle as a brighter flare gun, shoots Jeongin a withering glare over your shoulder. If looks could kill, Stray Kids would be a seven-member group right now. Fat lot of good it does anyway, because Jeongin’s eyes are scrunched shut as part of his whole routine.
Chan forgot that you can actually see him trying to mentally will Jeongin to burst into flames – and, in the worst moment of his life, you turn around to see what’s so distracting.
Your body freezes.
Oh God.
This is it. This is the end of Chan. He has to bury himself alive once this is all said and done. There’s just no other dignified option.
Like the car crash of a person he is, neither one of you is able to tear your eyes away from Jeongin’s one-person show.
Where’s the lighter fluid when you need it? The next time he’s out – which, if he’s honest with himself, isn’t as soon as anybody would hope – he’ll have to remember to buy a bottle.
Jeongin cracks one eye open, and is met with both you and Chan wearing the exact same horrified expression. He doesn’t look nearly as scared as he probably should be, considering Chan is mentally planning his funeral. There will be lilies and carnations. No roses, he doesn’t deserve them.
He finally straightens out his posture. “Well, I’ll leave you two to…” he winks and Chan decides in that moment to outsource his eulogy, “Talk.”
Chan waits until he hears the lock of Jeongin’s bedroom door clicking shut before he breathes again. A wet blanket of silence settles over the room. From two walls over, he can practically hear Jeongin heel-clicking in joy at being the root cause of All of Chan’s Problems.
You swallow, the gulp audible in the quiet, and Chan prays the ground would open up and swallow you two whole while you’re at it. Dimly, the not-evolved-from-monkeys part of his brain wonders what else you swallow, but there’s no way he’s letting himself follow that train of thought. Last time he followed that train of thought was when you licked vanilla ice cream from the side of your mouth, and Hyunjin kicked him in the shin so hard he had a bruise for two weeks.
He’s weighing the pros and cons of just walking out and starting a new life. Stray Kids? Never heard of ‘em.
A small infinity passes before you both speak at the same time, because good lord of course this situation needs any more awkwardness. “You go,” Chan digs the toe of his shoe into the hardwood floor.
Your voice is smaller than he’s ever heard it. “Sorry about him,” you say. Chan’s head snaps up. Oh, Jeongin better count his days for making you feel the need to apologize. “He’s always,” you take a deep breath, like you’re stalling saying something big. Despite himself, Chan leans forward. “He’s always making fun of my feelings for you.”
“What,” Chan croaks. Then, because his brain still needs time to catch up and denial is easier, he so matter-of-factly states, “You don’t have feelings for me.”
Confusion laces your expression, which, fair. “I - what?”
His cheeks burn hotter than lava. “You can’t like me.” What happened to the confident leader of a chart-topping idol group? His mental state has apparently diminished to the sound logic of “nuh-uh”/“yuh-huh” arguments.
You set the container down in favor of crossing your arms defensively over your chest. “Well, I do.”
“No you don’t.” Denial is not starting to feel easier. In fact, it’s starting to feel like he’s in kindergarten again, filling his school days pulling girls’ pigtails and picking his nose. He’s about three steps removed from accusing you of having cooties.
“This is an argument between five-year-olds,” you point out. Hey, he was just thinking that. “It’s a wonder I still like you.”
Oh yeah. The mortification isn’t gone, because what the hell Jeongin, but his stomach is starting to flutter as his brain comes online again. More than anything, he needs to navigate his response with grace to not scare you off, but his pulse is too quick and his tongue feels too big for his mouth. In a move that will haunt his nightmares for years to come, Chan stumbles over, “I like - I have feelings for you too.”
Chan wishes he could frame the way your face lights up at his admission. He’d hang it over his bed; it would be the last thing he sees before he sleeps and the first thing he wakes up to each morning. You already are the first thing he thinks about, but it would be nice to have a picture to go along with his imagination.
Usually, he has to do his best to squash down any evidence that your smile turns him into mush, and he’s already instinctually biting his lip, when he realizes: he doesn’t have to do that anymore.
He pulls you into him with trembling hands. When your lips connect, it’s better than anything he has ever let himself dream about. You taste like warmth and love and a little bit like your lip balm, and Chan would kiss you forever if he could. He’d stay here, the world could pass you two by, all he needs is you holding him.
Thank God for Jeongin texting you, the bastard. Jeongin, the best person he kno-
Wait.
Chan pulls away. It takes every bit of willpower he can conjure up not to give in to your frustrated whine. “Did you say he’s always making fun of you?”
“Yeah?” You bring a hand up to brush a stray hair out of his eyes, and he’s about to abandon his line of questioning entirely. Not yet, though.
“How long has he known about it?”
“Well,” you let your hand drop, looking thoroughly confused why he’s decided to play detective, “He officially started about six months ago, but I think he knew way before then. Why?” Then, almost as an afterthought, “Minho and Han too.”
As a kind and benevolent leader, Chan will wait until tomorrow’s dance practice to hurt them for sitting on the biggest secret in the world for Six. Months.
Right now, Chan has you all to himself, and he’s not leaving this room for anything in the world. He pulls you back into his arms, taking a moment to angle your foreheads together, trying to memorize every detail of your face. He’s sure you can hear his heartbeat. He doesn’t care. “No reason,” he whispers, before bringing you into him again.
another ♡ note: i wrote most of this at 2 am and my nose bled 4 separate times before finishing it, so most writing & any (read: none) proofreading happened under blood loss. don’t point out anything negative, ty love you.
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