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Pairing: Bangchan x afab!reader
Genre: smut smut smut no minors pls! (Includes outside sex, voyeurism vibes, fingering, cam streaming)🔞
Summary: There’s one site you keep going back to. No matter how hard you try to stay away, you find yourself back on your bed, laptop glowing, hands between your legs.
Wc: 10k
Enjoy reading <33 If you want any specific ideas tell me and I will see what I can do!
A/N: omg I finally finished this lmao, I had exams and this lowkey took sm longer than usual.. i hope you guys like this pt2 bc it was requested #missedyall #bangchan is dada 😛😛 (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ
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✧( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ )✧
The moment the call ended, you threw your phone onto the bed like it had burned you, then immediately lunged for it again when Chan's last text buzzed through, a single winking emoji followed by
'Don't overthink it.'
You groaned, pressing your hands into your eyes. Sixty minutes. Sixty minutes to decide if you were actually doing this, or if you were going to ghost the guy whose rent you'd basically been paying for the last three months.
Your reflection in the bathroom mirror looked embarrassing. Cheeks flushed, hair a mess. You turned the shower on too hot, letting the steam fog the glass. The water stung where it hit your oversensitive skin, but you barely noticed, too busy replaying everything.
The blow dryer roared in your ears, drowning out the frantic pulse of your heartbeat as you sectioned your hair with trembling fingers. Every sweep of the brush felt so deliberate, like you were preparing for a battle instead of a date with a guy whose dick you'd seen more times than your own reflection this month.
When you finally stepped back from the mirror, the woman staring back at you looked like you again. Smoky liner, glossy lips, hair falling in soft waves that screamed “ I definitely didn’t do this for you.”
The outfit had seemed perfect when you pulled it from the closet, dark jean shorts that hugged just right, a silky top that dipped low enough to tease, at least, that’s what you’d told yourself before the third wardrobe change. Now, standing in front of the mirror with one shoe already tied, you hesitated. Your phone buzzed on the dresser, breaking your thoughts.
The notification lit up your screen. Chan’s name followed by a single sentence that shouldn’t have made your stomach flip.
Chan: Boba in the park near Namsan Tower?
You stared at it for three full breaths before typing back,
Y/N: You’re joking.
The response came instantly.
Chan: Nope. Meet me at the fountain in 30 pretty girl.
The smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it.
The Uber smelled like old takeout and cheap pine air freshener, the kind that did nothing but announce how hard it was trying. You slid into the backseat, suddenly hyperaware of everything.
The city sped by in streaks of neon and shadow. You pressed your forehead against the cool glass, watching strangers flicker past, a woman adjusting her scarf, a man laughing into his phone, a group of teenagers sharing a single cigarette under a flickering streetlamp. Normal people doing normal things, unaware that you were hurtling toward something that felt anything but normal.
The driver took a sharp turn, and your knee bumped against the door. You exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around your phone. Chan’s last message glowed on the screen, taunting you. You could still cancel. You could tell him you’d gotten sick, or that your dog had—you didn’t have a dog. The lie fizzled before it even formed.
The Uber rolled to a stop at the park entrance, tires crunching over loose gravel. You fumbled with your phone, fingertips slipping before managing to tap the payment confirmation. The driver smiled and drove off.
The bag strap dug into your shoulder as you adjusted it for the third time in as many minutes, fingers catching on the buckle like it had a personal vendetta against you. Above, the sky stretched dark and endless between the branches of ginkgo trees, their fan-shaped leaves whispering secrets you couldn’t quite hear.
The park was nearly empty, just a few stray people lingering under the dim glow of the lampposts. Most of the crowd had migrated toward the food stalls lining the perimeter, drawn by the sizzle of meat. You slowed your steps, suddenly self-conscious of the way your shoes echoed against the cobblestones. The fountain loomed ahead, its water shimmering under the colored lights.
The first thing you noticed wasn’t the way Chan leaned against the fountain’s edge, though that was distracting enough, but how the neon lights from the street stalls caught the silver jewelry, making him more visible in the darkness. He’d swapped the tank top from his stream for a black button-down rolled at the sleeves, the top two buttons undone just enough to show the edge of his collarbone. Dark jeans hugged his thighs, ripped at the knees in a way that screamed I didn’t try. He was annoyingly so put together.
Chan's thumb froze mid-scroll when the steps of your shoes echoed across the empty plaza. His head snapped up so fast the silver hoop in his ear swayed and then his whole body stilled. You watched, pinned under his gaze, as his pupils dilated in real time, darkening until they swallowed the warm brown of his irises. His lips parted slightly, breath catching just audibly enough for you to hear it over the fountain's murmur.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he breathed, voice rougher than it had been through the phone. His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but thought better of it. The neon signs from the food stalls painted shifting colors across his throat as he swallowed hard. "You—" He cut himself off with a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. "You look like you walked out of my fucking dreams."
You couldn’t help but giggle, the sound bubbling up despite the way your pulse hammered against your ribs. "Nice to meet you, Chan," you said, tilting your chin up just enough to watch his reaction, the way his smirk flickered into something softer, almost surprised, before he caught himself and leaned back against the fountain’s edge with deliberate casualness.
"Nice to meet you too, y/n..." Chan's smirk returned full force as he pushed off the fountain's edge. "Or should I say... BigDaddyBitch69?"
"That was cringe," you said, laughing as you kicked a stray pebble with the toe of your shoe.
"It was your username," he shot back, stepping closer until the scent of his cologne tangled with the sweet syrup smell of boba drifting from the vendor stalls. "You picked it." His fingers brushed against yours as he reached for the bag strap digging into your shoulder, nudging it back into place with a casualness that betrayed the way his pulse jumped under his thumb when you didn't pull away.
"You look..." Chan's voice trailed off, fingers still lingering near your shoulder strap. His gaze flickered from your lips to the way the park lights caught in your hair like scattered stars. "Really fucking pretty," he finished quietly, as if the words had surprised him too.
You felt the flush crawl up your neck, hotter than when he'd teased you through the screen earlier. "That's your opener?" you snorted, nudging his hand away with your elbow. "After everything?"
Chan smirked again, fingers flexing slightly where they hovered between you. "At least the screen isn't separating us anymore," he murmured, the words curling warm against your ear, closer now than they'd ever been through phone speakers. You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress the shiver that skittered down your spine when his pinky brushed yours, deliberate and testing.
His palm was warmer than you expected when you finally slid your fingers against his, calluses catching on your skin in a way the digital version of him never could. Chan's breath hitched, his grip tightening just enough to make your pulse stutter.
Chan's fingers tightened around yours as he tugged you gently off the cobblestone path, his boots crunching softly on the grass. The distant hum of the food stalls faded behind you, replaced by the whisper of leaves overhead and the occasional chirp of crickets hiding in the shadows. The tree he led you under was old, its gnarled roots pushing up through the earth like fingers. The canopy was thick enough to blot out most of the artificial light, leaving only the occasional flicker from a distant lamppost and the glimpses of stars between the branches.
"Here," he murmured, voice lowered like the darkness demanded it. His thumb traced idle circles against your palm.
The grass was cool beneath your thighs as you sank down under the gnarled old tree, the bark rough against your shoulder blades when you leaned back. Chan’s knee brushed yours as he settled beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him even through the crisp fabric of his shirt.
You tipped your head back against the tree trunk, letting the stars blur above you. Somewhere between the humidity and the distant city lights, the constellations shined brighter, closer tonight than they'd ever been through your apartment window. Chan shifted beside you, his shoulder pressing warm against yours as he stretched his legs out in the grass.
"Beautiful view tonight," you mumbled, staring up at the light between the ginkgo leaves. Chan made a soft noise of agreement, but when you glanced sideways, his gaze wasn't fixed on the sky at all. His eyes traced the curve of your throat instead, lingering where your pulse fluttered.
Chan's fingers traced idle patterns against your wrist, his touch featherlight where his fingertips brushed your pulse point. "Tonight's special," he murmured, tilting his chin toward the sky where the branches thinned enough to reveal a gathering of stars usually drowned out by city lights. "There's supposed to be a meteor shower—Gemini or something. Figured it'd be better than some stuffy café or restaurant.."
You snorted, shoving at his shoulder, but his grip tightened, pulling you flush against his side. The warmth of him seeped through your thin shirt. "You're ridiculous," you muttered, but you couldn't hide your smile.
Chan was prettier up close than any screen could capture, not just the sharpness of his jaw or the way his lashes caught the scattered park lights, but the tiny imperfections that cameras smoothed over. The faint scar bisecting his left eyebrow, the way his lower lip caught slightly when he smirked, the barely-there freckles along his nose bridge that only showed up under dim lights.
The realization hit you like a delayed reaction, the way your pulse jumped when Chan tilted his head to catch the light, the reflexive clench of your thighs when his fingers flexed against yours. It wasn't just deep attraction, it was conditioning. Pavlov would've had a field day with you. Weeks of watching that same smirk through a screen, hearing that voice coil low in your ears right before you came, your brain had rewired itself without permission. His face wasn't just handsome now, it was a complete trigger.
Chan smirked like he knew, because of course he fucking knew, as you clenched your thighs together reflexively. The bastard didn’t even try to hide his grin when your breath hitched, his thumb stroking slow circles against your pulse point like he was counting each erratic beat. "Actually wanted to ask you something, y/n," he murmured, leaning in until his breath ghosted over your cheekbone. The scent of his cologne, something expensive and woodsy wrapped around you.
You swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of the way his knee pressed against yours, the heat of him seeping through you.
"Ask me what?" you managed, proud of how steady your voice sounded despite the way your heart hammered against your ribs. Chan's grin widened, slow and knowing, as he tilted his head.
Chan's fingers tightened around yours as he reached into his bag with his free hand, pulling out a sleek black camera with shaking fingers. The park lights glinted off the lens as he bit his lip, suddenly avoiding your gaze. "I was wondering," he started, voice rougher than usual, "if we could stream together tonight." His thumb brushed over the record button.
You stared at the camera, pulse stuttering in your throat. This wasn't pixels on a screen anymore. "Here?" you whispered, still in disbelief.
"Your face won't be in it," Chan said quickly, his fingers tightening around the camera as he angled it away from your face with deliberate care. The red light blinked mockingly at you from the side. "But don't feel pressured—"
You cut him off by grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him forward, your lips crashing against his before he could finish the sentence. The camera tumbled from his grip, landing with a soft thud in the grass as his hands flew to your waist, fingers digging into the silk of your shirt like he was afraid you'd vanish. His mouth was warmer than you'd imagined, his surprised gasp tasting faintly of the spearmint gum.
Chan moaned low in his throat when you pulled away, a sound you'd heard a thousand times through headphones but never felt vibrate against your lips until now. His fingers twitched against your waist like he wanted to drag you back, but instead he exhaled sharply through his nose and reached for the fallen camera. "Fuck," he muttered quietly.
The tripod unfolded with practiced clicks, its spindly legs sinking slightly into the soft ground beneath the tree. You watched, transfixed, as Chan's fingers moved across his phone screen. His tongue poked out between his teeth in concentration, the silver hoop in his ear swaying as he tilted his head to check the camera angle.
Chan's thumb hovered over the 'Go Live' button, the neon glow from his phone screen casting light across his face. He turned to you suddenly, closer than you expected and exhaled sharply through his nose. "You sure?" His voice was lower than usual, rougher at the edges like he'd been swallowing smoke. "Last chance to back out."
You glanced around at the empty park, the distant hum of food stalls barely audible through the thick canopy of leaves. The darkness felt heavier here, pressing in from all sides like velvet curtains drawn tight around you both. Your pulse hammered against your ribs as you nodded, biting down on your lower lip to stifle the nervous laugh bubbling up your throat.
Chan's fingers brushed against your cheekbone, featherlight, before his thumb pressed gently against your lower lip still swollen from kissing him.
"Relax," he murmured, his breath warm against your temple as he nudged your face away from the camera's line of sight. His other hand adjusted the tripod with practiced ease, tilting it downward until all it could capture was the way your fingers twisted in the grass beside his thigh. "Just follow my lead."
You exhaled sharply through your nose, the scent of greenery and Chan's stupidly expensive cologne filling your lungs. His knee pressed harder against yours beneath the camera's blind spot, a silent reassurance that made your pulse stutter in a way that had nothing to do with nerves. He turned on his dim ring light and pressed the button.
The camera's red recording light blinked to life like a predator's eye in the dark. Chan exhaled sharply through his nose and suddenly his fingers were under your chin, tilting your face away from the lens with deliberate care. His thumb brushed your lower lip once, twice, before his hand slid down to grip your hip.
"Hello, darlings," Chan purred, flashing that practiced smirk at the camera lens as notifications flooded the screen of his phone. The chat exploded instantly, hearts, fire emojis, a cascade of donations with increasingly unhinged usernames scrolling too fast to read. His thumb stroked idle circles against your hipbone beneath the frame, a silent counterpoint to the filthy promises dripping from his lips for the audience. "Miss me?"
You bit down on a laugh as the chat went feral.
Bagelkiwi: WHO'S THE GIRL??
Ricepenis: THIS LOOKS HOT
Hornee4Chan: Chan you look way too good.
scrolling past in rapid succession.
Chan's fingers curled possessively around your thigh beneath the camera's blind spot, his thumb tracing slow circles against the sensitive skin just below the hem of your shorts. His smirk widened as he felt you stiffen, his grip tightening just enough to make your breath hitch audibly.
"Tonight's a special stream.." Chan murmured, leaning closer to the camera until his lips filled the frame.
"Got a very... special guest tonight."
The words curled through the humid summer night air thick with intent.
"And I'm going to fuck the shit out of her as you guys watch," he smiled innocently, the words pitched just loud enough for the mic to catch while his lips started to brush the shell of your ear.
The chat exploded.
Chan's fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts before you could catch your breath, peeling them down with agonizing slowness that had nothing to do with the fabric clinging to your damp thighs. The summer air kissed newly exposed skin as he worked the denim over your hips. You arched off the grass instinctively when his thumb found the lace edge of your panties, already soaked through and his chuckle vibrated through your ribs where his chest pressed against yours.
"Stay still," he murmured against your collarbone, nipping at the skin there just hard enough to make you gasp. The camera caught none of it, angled perfectly to frame the slow reveal of your thighs while keeping your face mercifully out of shot. His teeth grazed your pulse point as your shorts finally cleared your knees, the denim catching momentarily on your ankle bracelet before he tossed them somewhere into the dark. The chat scrolled wildly on his abandoned phone, but neither of you glanced at it, too focused on the way Chan's palm touched your bare thighs, his fingers flexing against your skin like he was memorizing the shape of you.
Chan’s palm pressed hard against your soaked panties before you could bite back the moan bubbling up your throat, but his mouth covered yours before the sound could escape, swallowing your gasp whole. His lips were hotter than you remembered from minutes ago, his tongue sweeping past your teeth with a familiarity that shouldn’t have existed yet. You arched into his touch instinctively, your hips lifting off the grass as his fingers curled against the damp lace, the rough pad of his thumb finding your clit through the fabric with terrifying precision.
The chat scrolled wildly on Chan’s phone screen beside you, a frenzy of emojis and usernames you’d recognize from his donation alerts. His free hand tangled in your hair, tilting your face away from the lens as he broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, "shh," against your swollen lips. His thumb circled your clit faster, the lace dragging teasingly against oversensitive flesh, and you sobbed into his mouth as your thighs trembled around his wrist.
Chan grinned and leaned into the camera's frame,
"You guys like this view?" He winked a deliberate flutter of of lashes that sent the chat into screams, before angling the tripod downward with one hand. The lens caught the way your thighs trembled beneath his palm, the damp lace of your panties glistening under the park lights. "Pretty, right?" he whispered.
His free hand slid higher up your thigh, fingertips tracing the crease where your hip met your stomach with teasing lightness. The camera jostled slightly as he adjusted the tripod again, the red recording light blinking mockingly at you from the side. Chan's thumb hooked into the waistband of your panties, tugging just enough to make you gasp, but he didn't pull them down. Not yet. Instead, he dragged the lace aside with agonizing slowness, exposing you to the humid night air while the camera captured every twitch of you beneath his touch.
The heat that crawled up your neck had nothing to do with the summer humidity. You were painfully aware of every inch of exposed skin—the way the damp grass tickled the backs of your thighs, how Chan's fingertips burned brands into your hip, the night air brushing against parts of you that had no business being outside.
Yet your pulse throbbed between your legs in time with the chat notifications pinging on Chan's phone, each vibration sending waves of humiliation and arousal crashing through you.
"Look at you," Chan murmured, tilting the camera downward just enough to capture the way your inner thighs glistened under the park lights. His thumb circled your clit through the bunched lace, the rough pad catching on your oversensitive flesh in a way that made your toes curl in the grass. "So fucking pretty like this." The praise shouldn't have made your stomach flip, not when it was clearly for the audience but your hips jerked upward anyway, seeking more of his touch.
Chan's fingers curled around the hem of your silk top with practiced ease, tugging it upward until the night air licked at your bare stomach. You stiffened instinctively, but his palm pressed flat against your ribs, pinning you to the grass as his other hand adjusted the tripod to capture the slow reveal. The fabric pooled beneath your shoulder blades, exposing the delicate lace of your bralette—the same sheer black one you'd worn during last week's stream, the one that made his eyes darken when the donations hit $5000.
"Fuck," Chan breathed, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple through the lace. The camera caught the way your chest rose sharply with each breath, the way the park lights caught the damp patches where your arousal had seeped through. His fingers flexed against your ribs as he leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "You wore this for me?"
Chan's fingers traced lazy circles along your inner thigh, so close to where you wanted them, yet maddeningly distant, while his lips hovered just above the shell of your ear. "Relax," he murmured, the word curling warm against your skin as his thumb brushed the lace edge of your bralette. The camera caught none of this intimacy, angled perfectly to frame only your bare thighs and the way his fingers dipped teasingly between them without ever quite touching yet where you ached.
His first finger slid into you with terrifying ease, the stretch barely registering through the slick heat already coating his knuckles. You gasped, a sharp, punched-out sound and Chan's free hand clamped over your mouth before the noise could escape. His palm tasted like summer grass as he pressed down harder, muffling your whimpers while his finger curled inside you with deliberate precision.
You already felt like cumming, the pressure coiling low in your stomach tightening with every slow curl of Chan's fingers. Above you, he bit his lower lip, grinning down at your trembling thighs with a confidence that shouldn't have been possible when his own breath came in ragged bursts. The silver hoop in his ear swayed as he tilted his head, watching your hips jerk helplessly against his palm like he was memorizing every twitch for later.
"Look at you," he murmured, his voice rougher than it had been for the camera, lower, intimate, just for you. His thumb brushed your clit in a slow circle that made your vision whiten at the edges. "Gonna cum already? After all that teasing?"
The whine tore from your throat before you could stop it, high, desperate, embarrassingly loud in the quiet park air. Chan's smirk curled against your temple as he angled the camera downward more, capturing the obscene squelch of his fingers moving inside you. The mic picked up every filthy sound, the slick slide of his knuckles, the shuddering gasp you couldn't swallow, the way your thighs trembled when his thumb pressed harder against your clit. You scratched at his back holding tightly as he moaned back quietly.
"Jesus," Chan breathed, his free hand tightening in your hair as he adjusted the tripod with his other wrist. The camera lens glinted, focusing sharply on where his fingers disappeared between your legs, the ring light catching every strand of slick stretched between his skin and yours. "Listen to that." His voice dropped lower, rougher, pitched just for the mic as his thumb circled faster. "Hear how wet she is for me?"
"How wet are you guys at home?"
The orgasm hit like a train, sudden, violent, tearing through you with enough force to arch your spine clear off the grass. Chan's fingers curled deeper inside you right as your thighs clamped around his wrist, and the choked noise you made against his palm barely resembled human speech. The first spasm ripped through your abdomen so hard your vision whited out, the park lights blurring into streaks of neon above Chan's shoulder.
Then you squirted, hard, a hot rush soaking Chan's fingers and the grass beneath you with embarrassing force.
The first splash hit the tripod leg with an audible ping, sharp enough that Chan jerked back in surprise, his fingers still buried inside you moving as another hot gush soaked his wrist and the grass beneath again. The camera wobbled precariously before tipping sideways, the lens smeared with droplets as it landed in the damp grass with a muted thud. Chan stared at the mess for a stunned heartbeat before barking out a laugh, rough and startled and so fucking delighted it made your thighs clench around his hand again.
"Holy shit," he wheezed, his free hand swiping through the puddle on the tripod like he couldn't believe it was real. The lights caught the slick shine on his fingers when he held them up, turning the droplets into liquid gold as they dripped onto his jeans.
Chan’s fingers hovered for a heartbeat, glistening under the park lights, dripping onto his ruined jeans, before he slowly brought them to his lips. The camera, still wet on it's lens , caught the deliberate flick of his tongue against his knuckles, the way his eyes fluttered shut for half a second as he tasted you. When he reopened them, his pupils were blown wide, the warm brown of his irises nearly swallowed by black.
"Fuck," he rasped, throat working around the word. His thumb brushed his lower lip, smearing what was left, and the camera's red recording light blinked steadily, still live, still capturing every second.
The chat exploded. Donation alerts pinged rapid-fire on his phone screen, usernames and dollar amounts scrolling too fast to read. Chan barely glanced at them. His gaze stayed locked on you, on the way your chest heaved against your bralette, the tremble in your thighs where they’d fallen open, as he leaned closer, angling the camera upward with one hand. "You see that?" he murmured, voice rough as gravel. His thumb pressed against your parted lips, still wet from his mouth.
Chan's thumb smeared wetness across your lower lip—his own saliva mixed with yours—before he pressed down hard enough to make your jaw slacken. The camera, still angled upward from the grass, caught the obscene shine of it under the park lights. "Look at them," he murmured, nodding toward his phone screen where the chat scrolled wildly. "They fucking adore you."
You turned your head just enough to see the donations and messages on his phone.
Your cheeks burned, but something hotter coiled low in your stomach.
Chan’s thumb hovered over the mute button for half a second, just long enough for you to see the faint tremor in his fingers, before he tapped it with decisive force. The chat froze mid-scroll, the sudden silence between you both almost louder than the rustling leaves overhead. His palm cradled your jaw, tilting your face toward him with uncharacteristic gentleness. "Hey," he murmured, voice stripped of its usual teasing lilt, "your face got flashed for like two seconds when the camera fell. You okay with that?"
You blinked up at him, still dazed from the aftershocks rolling through your thighs. A laugh bubbled up your throat, as you reached up to swipe your thumb over the smudge of your lipstick at the corner of his mouth. "After that?" you snorted, gesturing vaguely toward the damp grass and the still-recording camera. "Pretty sure my dignity’s in tatters anyway."
Chan's laughter curled through the humid air just a little bit disbelieving. His fingers traced idle patterns against your inner thigh, he shook his head slowly. "You look so fucking beautiful like this," he murmured, his thumb brushing the smear of wetness still glistening on your lower lip. The park lights his face as he tilted his head, studying your flushed face with something dangerously close to wonder. "Ruined and perfect."
You swatted at his wrist halfheartedly, your muscles still twitching with aftershocks. "Shut up," you muttered, but the words lacked bite, especially when Chan's fingers flexed against your thigh.
The camera clicked back to life with an audible hum, its lens refocusing with precision. Chan's fingers, still glistening under the park lights, adjusted the tripod with deliberate care, angling it upward until both of you filled the frame.
The camera's red light blinked mockingly as you lifted a shaking hand in a hesitant wave, your fingers still damp with sweat where they curled in the humid air. The chat exploded
Kevin(justkevin): HOLYFUCKINGSHIT
Sexylemonade: WHO IS THIS?!!
scrolling past in a frenzy, but your focus stayed locked on Chan's grin, the way his teeth caught when he bit down on his lower lip.
"Say hi properly," Chan murmured, his palm pressing flat against your stomach to push you more fully into frame.
Your fingers twitched against the damp grass as Chan angled the camera higher, the lens capturing the way your thighs trembled where they splayed open. "Hi," you breathed, the word cracking halfway through as Chan's thumb brushed your inner thigh, not quite touching where you throbbed, just close enough to make your hips jerk.
The chat erupted in a frenzy of pink hearts and dollar signs, donations flooding in so fast the screen blurred
Spicydaddy?: $800 TO SEE HER FACE AGAIN
Bisexualtrevor: idk who i’d rather be more 😭😭
Meltingonmytongue: FUCK SHE'S PRETTIER THAN I IMAGINED
A particularly large donation banner exploded across the screen
Bigdickbighouse: $2000 TO HEAR HER MOAN CHAN'S NAME
and Chan's grin turned wolfish. His free hand slid from your thigh to the lace of your bralette, fingers skimming the sheer fabric just hard enough to make you arch off the grass. "You hear that, princess?" he purred, pitching his voice just loud enough for the mic.
Chan's grin widened as he leaned back slightly, the camera catching the deliberate shift of his hips, the way his erection strained visibly against the thin fabric of his jeans, the outline unmistakable even in the dim park light. His fingers ghosted over the bulge with practiced nonchalance, pausing just long enough for the lens to focus before pressing down hard enough to draw a sharp breath through his nose. The chat erupted into a frenzy of dollar signs and donations pinging rapid-fire.
"See what you do to me?" he murmured, tilting the camera lower to capture the way his knuckles whitened where he gripped himself through the denim. His thumb brushed the fly of his jeans—slow, teasing—before popping the button with a flick that made your stomach flip. The metallic echoed louder than it should have in the humid air, and you swore you could hear someone in the chat scream through their keyboard.
Chan’s tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, his gaze locked on the camera’s screen where your thighs trembled in the frame. The red recording light reflected in his pupils as he adjusted the tripod with one hand, the other still splayed possessively across your stomach. "Let’s continue," he murmured, voice roughened at the edges, and the camera caught the way his fingers flexed against your skin when you shivered.
The lens refocused sharpening on the sweat-slick hollow of your throat. He angled the shot perfectly, framing the two of you, his jeans unbuttoned just enough to reveal the sharp line of his abdomen, your legs splayed open, grass stains blooming across your soft thighs.
Chan's fingers cradled your jaw with unexpected tenderness, his calloused thumb brushing your cheekbone as he tilted your face toward his. The camera caught everything. His lips were softer than you expected when they met yours again, moving with a sweetness that contradicted the filthy promises still dripping from his mouth seconds ago. You could taste the sharp tang of desperation, and the taste of your own arousal still smeared across his lower lip.
The kiss deepened slowly, Chan's tongue tracing the seam of your lips with deliberate patience until you gasped against him. His free hand slid from your thigh to tangle in your hair, angling your head.
Chan moaned into your mouth, loud, unguarded, a sound so sexual it vibrated through your ribs where his chest pressed against yours. The camera caught all of the intimacy, angled perfectly to frame the obscene slide of his tongue between your lips and the way his fingers twisted in your hair.
You arched against him instinctively, your hips lifting off the grass only for Chan's knee to press down between your thighs, a silent warning that made you whimper against his tongue. His fingers tightened in your hair, tilting your head back further as he deepened the kiss with bruising intensity. The camera caught the way your throat worked when he swallowed your gasp, the mic picking up every slick sound of lips and teeth and desperation.
Chan's thumb grazed your nipple and the moan tore from your throat before you could stop it. "Ch-Chan," you gasped, his name fracturing into syllables as his fingers pinched the stiffened peak through the fabric. The camera caught every tremor of your lips, every flutter of your lashes as his touch wrenched another helpless sound from you.
"Louder," he murmured against your temple, his teeth grazing the delicate skin there just hard enough to make you jerk. "Let them hear who's making you feel this good."
The slap came unexpectedly, soft but stinging, just enough to make your breath hitch against his palm before dissolving into a moan that cracked halfway through. "Chan—" His name spilled from your lips like a prayer, louder than you intended, as his fingers flexed against your cheekbone. The camera caught the way your lashes fluttered, caught the exact moment your thighs clenched around nothing, a fresh rush of wetness soaking the grass beneath you as if your body couldn't decide whether to arch into the sting or away from it. You pulled his hair gently as he groaned harder.
Chan's thumb swiped over the heat on your cheek, his grin all sharp edges under the park lights. "That's it," he murmured, voice pitched low.
Chan's fingers curled into your hair with sudden purpose, not rough, but firm enough to make your scalp tingle, as he dragged your lips from his with an obscene pop. The camera caught the string of saliva that stretched between you for half a second before snapping, his breath hot against your swollen mouth as he murmured, "Ass up, princess." Not a request.
Your spine arched immediately when Chan's hips rolled forward, the heat of him searing through your skin where his erection pressed against your ass.
Chan groaned, a rough, punched-out sound before pulling out his throbbing cock with deliberate slowness. The camera caught everything, the way his fingers trembled slightly as they worked his zipper down, the obscene glisten of precome beading at his tip, the way his abs flexed when he finally freed himself with a relieved exhale. His grip looked almost painful where he squeezed the base, veins standing stark against flushed skin as he angled his hips toward the lens.
The chat exploded. Donation alerts pinged rapid-fire on his abandoned phone, but Chan barely glanced at them. His gaze stayed locked on you, on the way your breath hitched when he dragged the blunt head of his cock through your soaked folds without entering you. The mic picked up every filthy sound.
Chan's cock was obscenely large, thick enough that your fingers wouldn't meet if you tried to circle them around the base. You'd seen it countless times through pixelated streams, but nothing prepared you for the visceral reality of its weight against your inner thigh, the way the veins pulsed visibly when he stroked himself slowly for the camera.
"Like what you see?" Chan murmured, angling his hips so the lens caught the way your breath hitched when the blunt head nudged against your entrance without pressing in. His thumb swiped through the wetness smeared across your thighs, gathering it on his fingertips before dragging the slickness up his length with agonizing slowness. The mic picked up every filthy sound, the sticky drag of skin on skin, your shaky exhale, the way his breath roughened when your hips jerked involuntarily toward his hand.
The slap landed on your ass, not hard enough to sting, but enough to make your breath hitch again. Your spine arched instinctively, pushing your ass higher against Chan's hips just as his teeth caught the hem of his shirt. The camera caught the slow reveal of his toned abs, each ridge of muscle flexing as he tugged the fabric upward with his teeth, the silver hoop in his ear glinting under the park lights when he tilted his head for the lens.
"Fuck," Chan groaned around the cotton, the vibration humming against your lower back where his free hand splayed possessively. The shirt finally cleared his head with a rough jerk, exposing the sweat-slick dip of his collarbones and the taut lines of his stomach you'd traced so many times through pixelated streams. His cock twitched against your thigh where he'd freed it earlier, the flushed head leaving a sticky trail on your skin.
"Ready?" Chan's breath brushed against the nape of your neck, the words muffled by the way his teeth grazed your shoulder blade. The blunt head of his cock pressed against your entrance with tantalizing pressure, not enough to breach, just enough to make your thighs shake where they bracketed his hips. You nodded frantically, but he didn't move. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, holding you suspended in that agonizing limbo between anticipation and fulfillment.
"Yes," you gasped when he still didn't thrust, the syllable fracturing into a whine as you arched back against him. The camera caught the way your spine bowed, the lens focusing sharply on the your entrance pulsating. "Please—Chan—"
He went in slow, so slow you could feel every inch of him stretching you open, the burn of it radiating up your spine in delicious waves. Your teeth sank into your palm to stifle the moan, but it escaped anyway, muffled and broken against your skin. Above you, Chan groaned loudly. The camera caught none of his expression, only the obscene glide of his hips as he bottomed out, his thighs flush against the backs of yours, his entire length swallowed inside you.
"Fuck fuck fuck" he gasped against your shoulder blade, his breath warm. His fingers flexed on your hips, blunt nails digging into flesh as he paused, letting you feel the full, impossible stretch of him. Chan’s breath hitched when you clenched around him involuntarily.
The stretch burned in the best possible way, that delicious ache of being filled beyond what you thought you could take, your body yielding to him inch by relentless inch. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, blurring everything overhead. The sensation was overwhelming, electric, every nerve ending awake with the realization that this was real, that Chan was really here, inside you.
His hips pulled back slow and deliberate, the drag of him drew a choked noise from your throat before he snapped forward again, harder this time. The slap of skin against skin echoed obscenely in the humid air, louder than the rustling leaves overhead, louder than the distant hum of the city beyond the park. Chan moaned low and guttural, his fingers tightening on your hips hard enough to leave marks as he set a punishing rhythm. The camera caught everything now, his expression, the obscene way your thighs trembled with every thrust, the view of him entering in and out.
"Shit—" Chan's voice cracked mid-thrust, his hips stuttering against yours as his fingers dug bruises into your waist. "I'm already close." The admission came out ragged, almost disbelieving, his breath hot against your shoulder where his teeth had been seconds earlier. His rhythm faltered, one deep, grinding stroke that pressed him impossibly deeper before he stilled completely, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as he fought for control.
You clenched around him instinctively, just to hear the way his breath punched out in response, a sharp, startled sound that dissolved into a groan when you did it again. "Fuck, don't—" His hips jerked forward involuntarily, his cock twitching inside you as his control unraveled. The mic picked up every filthy detail, the wet slap of skin when he bottomed out, the hitch in your breathing when his thumb found your clit, the way his voice broke on your name when you arched back against him.
Chan’s fingers curled around the tripod leg, lifting the camera with one fluid motion as he angled it downward. The lens captured the obscene stretch of your pussy around him, the way your thighs trembled with each thrust, the glisten of sweat and slick between them, the flushed pink of your entrance where he pistoned in and out. His free hand slid between your legs without hesitation, fingers finding your clit with practiced precision as he adjusted the focus ring with his thumb. "Look at you," he murmured, voice roughened by exertion, the camera wobbling slightly with each snap of his hips. "Taking me so fucking well."
The stream was filthy sounding, the wet slap of skin echoed, your choked whimpers, the slick squelch of his fingers working your clit in tight circles. Chan tilted the camera lower, the camera shook with each punishing thrust until the image blurred into streaks of gold and skin.
Chan’s grip on the tripod slipped when your hips bucked backward against his next thrust, a sharp, involuntary movement that made the camera wobble dangerously. His free hand flew to your hipbone, fingers digging in hard enough to steady both you and the shot as he groaned through clenched teeth.
"Fuck, stay still," he gritted out, but the command lost all bite when his next snap forward punched a moan from both of you simultaneously.
The chat scrolled wildly on his abandoned phone, but neither of you cared, not when Chan’s fingers flexed against your ass cheek, spreading you wider for the camera as his thrusts turned erratic.
Chan's fingers flexed around the tripod as he lowered the camera back into position, adjusting the lens with one hand while his other slid up the sweat-slick curve of your spine. "Cum on my big fat cock," he murmured, voice roughened by exertion, half command, half plea, before his palms found your hips and flipped you effortlessly onto his lap. The sudden shift knocked the breath from your lungs, your thighs straddling his waist as the camera caught the way his cock glistened under the park lights, thick and flushed between your bodies.
His hands guided your movements with possessive certainty, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he lifted you just enough to tease, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your entrance without pressing in.
"Look at the camera," he ordered, voice dropping to a growl when your lashes fluttered shut involuntarily. His thumb swiped through the mess between your thighs, gathering slickness on his fingertips before smearing it across your lower lip. The lens zoomed in mercilessly, capturing the way your tongue darted out instinctively to taste yourself, the way Chan's pupils dilated at the sight.
Chan's fingers tightened around your jaw, tilting your face toward the camera with bruising force. The neon lights caught the smear of saliva at the corner of your mouth, the lens focusing sharply on the way your lips parted around a whine as he growled, "Bounce, whore." The command sent electric heat straight to your core, your hips jerking forward instinctively before you'd even processed the words.
You moaned, high and broken as your thighs strained to lift yourself higher on his cock, the stretch burning deliciously when you dropped back down too fast. The camera caught every obscene detail, the way your breasts bounced with each desperate movement, the sweat dripping between the two of you, the flush spreading down your chest as Chan's grip kept your face angled toward the lens. His free hand splayed across your lower back helping you move faster.
"Holy fucking shit—" Chan groaned, the words cracking into a shuddering exhale as his head tipped back, exposing the slick column of his throat to the camera's unblinking gaze. His fingers spasmed against your hips where he held you in place, his cock twitching inside you with such violent intensity that you could feel the thick vein along the length pulse against your walls.
"Thank god I'm recording this," he rasped, voice deep as he chuckled. His thumbs dug into the crease of your thighs, spreading you wider for the lens. The tripod wobbled precariously when his hips jerked upward without warning, the sudden thrust punching a sound from you that didn't even resemble language.
Your mouth fell open in silent pleasure, the tremor in Chan's biceps as he fought to keep the shot steady, the obscene glisten of sweat and slick where your bodies joined. His phone screen lit up with a frenzy of donations, the chat scrolling too fast to read except for
'$8000 TO SEE HER FACE WHEN SHE CUMS' flashing in neon pink. Chan's breath hitched when he saw it, his grip tightening possessively "You hear that, princess?" he murmured, the words vibrating through your ribs where his chest pressed against your back. His free hand slid around your hipbone, fingers finding your clit with unnerving accuracy. "They wanna see you cum on my cock."
Your hips rolled forward instinctively, too fast, too hard, and Chan's groan vibrated through your ribcage when his cock hit that sweet spot deep inside you. The camera caught the way your eyelids fluttered uncontrollably, rolling back as your thighs strained to maintain the rhythm. Chan's thumb circled your clit with agonizing precision while his other hand palmed your breast roughly, twisting your nipple until your entire body jerked with oversensitivity.
"There it is," Chan murmured, his voice roughened with pleasure as your movements turned jerky and uncoordinated. His fingers pinched your nipple just hard enough to make you whimper, the sharp sting blending deliciously with the relentless pressure on your clit.
The slap landed sharp and sudden, right where thigh met ass a stinging help getting you even closer.
“Cum.” The camera caught the exact moment your orgasm ripped through you, the way your fingers clawed at his forearms, the obscene flutter of your thighs around his waist, the wet shine of tears at your lash line when your back arched like a drawn bow. Chan’s grip on your hips turned bruising as he held you down through the convulsions, his cock pulsing inside you with each ragged thrust—harder, deeper—until the everything blurred behind your clenched eyelids.
Chan’s groan vibrated through your ribcage when your walls clenched around him, his rhythm stuttering into something desperate and uneven.
Chan's hips stuttered against yours with violent precision, three sharp, ragged thrusts that punched the breath from your lungs before he buried himself to the hilt with a groan so guttural it vibrated through you. The camera caught everything as Chan moved it closer to see you squirting on him and twitching as his cum filled you. The obscene flex of his abs as his cock twitched inside you and the wet slap of skin when his hips jerked forward one final time was definitely a sight to remember.
You felt it before you saw it, the sudden, scalding rush of him flooding your insides in thick pulses that made your oversensitive walls flutter instinctively. Chan's breath hitched against your shoulder blade, his teeth sinking into the sweat-slick skin there as his release came in waves.
Chan lifted you slowly like you weighed nothing, one hand splayed between your shoulder blades, the other hooked beneath your trembling thighs, his biceps flexing under the neon lights as he peeled your sweat-slick body off his.
"You okay?" Chan murmured, his thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheekbone, so unexpectedly tender it startled you. His breath fanned warm across your temple where he’d tucked your face against his neck, hiding you from the lens as his fingers traced idle patterns down your spine. The contrast between this gentleness and his earlier dominance sent your pulse insane again, his palm cradled the back of your head like something precious even as his other hand adjusted the tripod to frame only him.
"That was so good," you murmured. His answering kiss landed on your temple soft and lingering.
His phone screen lit up with other large amounts of donations, but Chan ignored them entirely, his focus narrowed to the way your pulse fluttered under his lips when he kissed your throat next.
Chan’s fingers dug into the crease of your thighs with deliberate pressure, spreading you wide as he tilted the camera downward with his free hand. The lens caught the first glistening drop before it even fell, a slow, viscous string of his release stretching between your swollen lips before snapping onto the grass beneath you. His exhale came out ragged, pupils blown wide under the light as he watched another white bead gather at your entrance. "Look at that," he murmured, voice roughened beyond recognition. The camera wobbled slightly when his thumb swiped through the mess, gathering it on his fingertip before pressing back inside you with two knuckles. Your gasp echoed through the mic, sharp and involuntary, as he crooked his fingers just enough to make your thighs jerk.
The chat exploded. Donation banners flooded Chan’s phone screen
$7K TO SEE HER GETTING FUCKED AGAIN!!
FUCKKK THAT’S HOT 🔥
I WANT TO TASTE HER TOO :((
but his attention never wavered from where his fingers worked you open for the lens. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip when another thick bit of cum dripped free, the mic picking up the wetness as it hit the grass. "Still so tight," he groaned, twisting his wrist to expose your flushed inner walls to the camera.
Chan's fingers curled inside you with unexpected gentleness, his knuckles pressing deep where you still pulsed around him in aftershocks. The sudden stretch made your breath hitch, not from pain, but from the obscene fullness of him working his own release back into your trembling body. "Fuck," he groaned against your shoulder blade, the vibration traveling down your spine as his thumb circled your oversensitive clit in slow, teasing strokes. The camera caught every twitch of your thighs, every flutter of your lashes when his fingers twisted just enough to make you clench around him again.
"Look at you," he murmured, angling the lens downward to capture the way his cum glistened at your stretched entrance with each lazy thrust of his hand. His free arm hooked beneath your trembling thighs, spreading you wider for the camera as his thumb smeared a pearly streak across your inner thigh. The mic picked up the wet sound of his fingers moving inside you quickly, the choked whimper you couldn't swallow when his palm pressed flat against you.
Chan’s fingers tightened around the tripod, tilting the lens upward until it caught the flush high on your cheeks, the swollen curve of your lips where his teeth had just been. The lights overhead painted your skin in streaks of gold and violet as he leaned in again. His kiss landed unexpectedly soft, just a brush of lips against yours, a tease of tongue that made you chase him when he pulled back too soon. The camera caught the way your brows knit together, the frustrated little noise you made when his thumb pressed against your lower lip to keep you from following.
"Patience," he murmured before his teeth grazed your bottom lip in retaliation.
You pulled back first, just enough to catch the way Chan’s pupils dilated under the park lights, his lips parted around a breath you could still taste.
Chan's fingers curled around the tripod with practiced ease, lifting the camera just as your forehead dropped against his shoulder, heavy with exhaustion, slick with sweat. The lens caught the exact moment your breath hitched when his thumb traced your lower lip, smearing leftover wetness in a slow arc that made your lashes flutter.
"Say bye to everyone," he murmured, voice roughened but warm, tilting the camera to frame your dazed expression as you blinked up at the lens. Your lips parted around a soundless gasp when his palm slid possessively up your spine, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades to press you closer.
"Isn't she so sexy, chat?" Chan murmured, his smirk audible as his thumb swiped through the wet mess between your thighs for the thousandth time, holding his glistening fingers up to the camera lens. A beautiful display that sent the donation alerts pinging wildly again. His free hand palmed the back of your neck possessively, fingers tangling in sweat-damp hair as he tilted your face toward the tripod. "Look at that face," he coaxed, voice dropping to a growl when your lashes fluttered weakly. "All fucked-out and still begging for it."
The mic picked up your whimper perfectly, embarrassingly honest, as Chan's slick fingers traced your swollen lower lip. You tasted yourself sharply when his thumb pressed inward, the tang flooding your mouth as the camera watched mercilessly, your tongue darting out to clean him. Chan's breath hitched audibly, his hips jerking against your ass where he'd pulled you halfway into his lap, his semi-hard cock already twitching back to life against your thigh.
Chan’s lips brushed your cheek as his free hand reached for the tripod, tilting the camera to frame both your flushed faces. “Big thanks to everyone who tipped tonight,” he smirked, voice roughened but sincere.
“Especially VIPs, you know who you are.” His thumb swiped across your lower lip absentmindedly, smearing leftover wetness as the chat exploded with heart emojis and dollar signs.
You barely registered the donation alerts still pinging, not when Chan’s other hand slid down to cradle the back of your thigh, fingers tracing idle circles on your oversensitive skin. The contrast between his public persona and these private touches sent a shiver down your spine.
Chan's fingers lingered at the nape of your neck, his thumb tracing idle circles against your pulse point as the camera's red light blinked steadily. "Obviously," he drawled, voice still rough around the edges but sliding effortlessly back into performer mode, "massive thank you to this pretty girl for being my special guest tonight." His grin sharpened when your cheeks flushed darker, the mic picking up your shaky exhale as his palm slid possessively down your spine.
The stream ended with Chan's customary wink and a promise.
"Same time next week, yeah?" before the screen blinked black. He minimized the donation tab, but his phone screen stayed lit with relentless notifications. Blog comments flooded in before his fingers even left the end stream button, the preview pane overflowing with horny demands: 'WHEN'S SHE COMING BACK??' and 'MORE PARK STREAMS PLS' stacked atop each other in urgency.
Chan stretched his arms overhead, the hem of his shirt riding up to expose the faint scratches you'd left across his back hours earlier. "Fuck, they're obsessed with you," he chuckled before swiping open the blog with deliberate nonchalance. The first top comment loaded instantly:
$10,000 IF SHE SITS ON HIS FACE NEXT TIME.
❤️ 248 LIKES 🔁 86 REPOSTS
He turns off his phone and turns back to you.
"You might have to take over," Chan joked, thumb brushing your temple as you both dissolved into breathless laughter against each other's shoulders. His phone buzzed facedown on the grass, another avalanche of notifications, but neither of you moved to check it. The park lights cast long shadows across his smirk, catching the silver in his ear when he tilted his head to nuzzle your hair.
The first thing you noticed was how carefully Chan wiped the lens, his fingers slow and methodical around the smudged glass, like he was handling something sacred. As if the camera hadn't just captured him buried inside you twenty minutes ago with its focus ring fogged from your panting breaths.
"You okay?" Chan murmured, his knuckles brushing your bare knee when he crouched to retrieve your discarded underwear from the tripod leg. The lace was shredded beyond repair—he held it up with a smirk before tucking it into his back pocket like a trophy shrugging and smirking. You rolled your eyes but didn't protest, too busy watching the way his forearms flexed as he dismantled the equipment with practiced ease.
Chan's fingers lingered at the small of your back just a second longer than necessary as he helped you up. The grass stains on your knees were the only evidence left, already fading into the dark like secrets. You put everything back on swiftly like nothing had ever happened.
The moon was bright, too bright, really, for the kind of privacy you suddenly craved. You looked up at him, and for a heartbeat, the chaos of the last hour dissolved into silence. His thumb brushed your lower lip, not teasing this time, before he leaned in and kissed you like you were something precious.
No teeth. No camera. Just his mouth moving against yours with a tenderness that made your ribs ache.
Chan’s smirk curled at the edges like he knew exactly how wrecked you still felt, how your thighs trembled when he tugged you upright by the hand.
"Still want boba tea, darling?" The question was dripping with the same teasing lilt he’d used when whispering filth into the mic but his fingers laced through yours.
You laughed and nodded, embarrassed now. “I can’t believe I just hooked up with some sexy cam boy I don’t even know and had sex in front of like 1m viewers.” The words tumbled out half-hysterical, your voice still rough from moaning. The neon lights overhead made Chan’s grin look predatory as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.
His laughter vibrated against your temple, warm and unexpectedly unguarded. "You know my name, my favorite boba order, and exactly how I sound when I cum." His teeth grazed your earlobe, playfully before he pulled back just enough to watch your reaction.
"That’s more than most of my exes got in three months."
You swatted at his chest.
"Taro milk tea with coconut jelly," you recited, chin tilting up with misplaced pride as you rattled off Chan's usual order from memory.
The words tasted sweetly absurd after what you'd just done together. Your knees still trembled against the plastic park bench you had now moved to, the cheap material squeaking under your shifting weight.
Chan's eyebrow arched, "You memorized my drink order from last month's mukbang sex stream." His voice dripped with delight and disbelief, fingers brushing yours. "Fuck, you're adorable, my dream girl."
Chan's fingers laced through yours with still tender, his thumb brushing the back of your knuckles. Neon signs blurred in your periphery as you both walked toward the sidewalk, his pace deliberately slow despite the late hour.
"You're walking funny," he murmured against your temple, lips quirking when your thighs visibly stiffened. The boba trucks pink sign reflected in his pupils as he glanced down at you, transforming his smirk into something softer. His fingers squeezed yours, once, twice—like he was reassuring himself you were real.
The chat would've lost their collective minds if they saw this version of him. Tousled hair, sweet smiles and his big hands, sweat-damp shirt clinging to his shoulders where you'd clawed at him earlier. Only you now get to see this version.
Pairing: Bangchan x afab!reader
Genre: smut smut smut no minors pls! (Includes phone sex, voyeurism vibes, masturbation, cam streaming, sex toy use)🔞
Summary: There’s one site you keep going back to. No matter how hard you try to stay away, you find yourself back on your bed, laptop glowing, hands between your legs.
Wc: 8k
Enjoy reading <33 If you want any specific ideas tell me and I will see what I can do!
A/N: I feel like my fics r long but i feel like i am unable to write a short one lmao. Maybe i should write rlly short ones to get used to not yapping.. idk tho 🤔 (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ
☆...━━━━━·:*☆...━━━━━·:*☆...
✧( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ )✧
The keyboard clicked under Bangchan’s fingers. His setup was simple but effective, a decent microphone, soft ring lighting, and a webcam. He leaned back slightly in his chair, stretching his arms overhead with a lazy grin.
"Alright, alright. I see you, user... uh—" He squinted at the screen, then snorted. "'BigDaddyBitch69'? Really?“
The chat exploded with laughter emojis and rapid fire messages. Chan scrolled through them, fingers occasionally pausing to tap out quick responses between bites of cold pizza. His apartment smelled vaguely of reheated leftovers and that lemon-scented cleaner he'd use constantly.
The username ‘BigDaddyBitch69’ had been a joke, a stupid, sleep-deprived decision made at 3 AM after your friends shoved their phones in your face, giggling about this "ridiculous cam site." You searched it later alone, purely to mock it, to screenshot the absurd usernames and over the top thumbnails to send back to the group chat. But then the algorithm served you him, Bangchan, smirking at the camera with a half-empty energy drink, and the sharp cut of his jawline under shitty LED strips.
The pizza crust cracked audibly between Chan's teeth as he tugged absently at the hem of his shirt, still chewing. "Y'know what," he announced to the camera, swallowing hard, "This shirt is a bit restricting.." He peeled the fabric up over his head, revealing a torso that was unfairly toned for someone who'd just inhaled three slices of pizza. The shirt landed somewhere off-camera with a soft thwap.
Chat lost its collective mind. Emojis and donation alerts flooded the screen, he had to squint against the sudden barrage of rainbow colored notifications. Chan smirked, licking a smear of grease from his thumb. "Relax, relax," he drawled, leaning forward just enough to make the shadows dance along his collarbones. "It's not like you guys haven't seen me shirtless before. Unless—" He feigned shock, clutching his chest. "Wait. Are there newbies here? Should I be scandalized?"
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, too aware of how rough the keys felt under your fingertips, before finally tapping out a donation message. The screen flashed pink as Bangchan's eyebrows shot up at the amount, his lips parting slightly before curling into that infuriatingly perfect smirk. "Oh? Someone's feeling generous tonight," he purred, dragging a fingertip lazily along the waistband of his sweatpants. The fabric dipped dangerously low, revealing the faint shadow of his hipbones.
You shifted against the pillows, thighs pressing together as warmth pooled low in your stomach. It was ridiculous, really, how the simple flex of his forearm when he reached for his water bottle could make your breath hitch.
The cursor blinked mockingly in the donation message box as Chan’s voice dripped through your headphones like honey. "What do you want from me, my darling?"
The chat was a frenzy of suggestions, some filthy, some absurd, but your fingers twitched, hesitating. Because the truth was, you knew what you wanted. You’d imagined it a hundred times, his hands, his mouth, the way his sweatpants would feel under your palms if you could just—
The screen flashed pink again. Your donation. Your demand.
Chan’s smirk deepened as he read your donation message aloud, his voice dropping into that low, teasing register that always made your pulse stutter. "’Please give us a view of everything…’” He repeated the words slowly, as if savoring them, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair.
"Everything, huh?" He arched a brow, tilting his head just enough to let the light catch the curve of his throat. "That’s a tall order, doll. You sure you can handle it?"
You didn’t breathe. The screen blurred for a second, your fingers gripping the edge of your laptop as Chan pushed back from the desk with deliberate slowness. The chair creaked, and then he was standing, one hand hooking into the waistband of his sweatpants while the other braced against the back of the chair. The fabric dipped lower, revealing the sharp V of his hips, the faint trail of dark hair leading downward and teasing, always teasing. "You’re the highest bidder," he murmured, "Guess I owe you a proper show."
You couldn’t help yourself, donating again, message hornier than the last. “I would love to fuck you 7 days a week.”
The words glowed on the screen for half a second before Chan's laughter, warm and startled filled your headphones. "Seven days a week?" He dragged a hand through his hair, the muscles in his abdomen flexing as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Bold. You'd get sick of me by Wednesday."
"Though.." he added, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, "I wouldn't get sick of you."
Your next donation notification chimed before he could finish the thought. Chan's eyes flicked to the amount, then back up, his smirk turning predatory. "Oh? Now you're just showing off." He stood in one fluid motion, the sweatpants hanging precariously low as he stepped closer to the camera. The lens caught the sweat gleaming at the hollow of his throat, the way his breath hitched, just slightly when he glanced at your username again. "Tell you what," he murmured, fingers toying with the drawstring of his pants. "Since you're feeling invested—"
Chan’s fingers lingered on the drawstring, tugging it loose with agonizing slowness. The fabric slackened further, dipping low enough to reveal the faintest shadow of skin beneath. The chat was a wildfire now, emojis and demands scrolling too fast to read, but Chan’s gaze never wavered from the camera from you.
"Why don't we make this interesting?" He tilted his head,
"Double the donation, and I'll—" His grin sharpened. "—lose the pants."
Your fingers moved before your brain caught up, the donation notification flashing red this time, twice the amount he'd asked for. The chat erupted into chaos, but Chan's laugh cut through, rich and delighted. "Fuck, you're eager." He hooked both thumbs into the waistband, the fabric clinging stubbornly for a heartbeat before finally sliding down his hips. The tease of it was unbearable, the way he paused just to watch the chat lose its collective mind, the way his abs flexed as he arched his back slightly, dragging the sweatpants down inch by torturous inch.
The sweatpants hit the floor with a soft whisper and Chan bit his lip. His grin was all teeth, all victory, as he kicked the discarded pants aside with one bare foot. "Happy?" he purred, spreading his arms slightly, letting the stream drink in the sight of him. The waistband of his boxers clung low, the fabric straining just enough to outline the shape of him, and you could see the faint tremor in his thighs as he shifted his weight, like even he wasn't entirely immune to the tension crackling through the screen.
The chat was a blur of emojis and screaming capitals, but Chan's eyes flickered to your username again, his smirk softening into something dangerously close to genuine warmth. "Someone's quiet," he murmured, tapping the side of his headset as if he could hear the way your breath had gone shallow. "Cat got your tongue, or are you too busy appreciating the view?" He rolled his hips just slightly, the motion lazy and calculated, and you could see the way his boxers strained tighter, could see the damp spot already forming at the front.
The donation notification flashed gold this time, triple the usual amount and Chan's breath audibly hitched. His fingers, which had been idly tracing the waistband of his boxers, froze mid-motion. The chat went eerily silent for half a second before exploding into a frenzy, but Chan barely glanced at it. His gaze locked onto the screen like he could see through the pixels straight to you, his lips parting around a slow exhale. "I need you," your message read, simple and raw, and something in his posture shifted the playful arrogance melting into something hotter, heavier.
Your fingers twitched against the keyboard, then slid away, down, lower, almost without your permission as Chan’s breath hitched audibly through the headphones. The sound was rough, ragged, like he’d been running, and your palm pressed flat against your stomach before dipping beneath the waistband of your own shorts. Fuck. The fabric was already damp, your skin overheated, and you bit your lip hard as Chan’s voice curled through the speakers: "That’s what you want?" His fingers traced the outline of himself through the thin fabric of his boxers, slow and deliberate, and your own fingers mirrored the motion without thought, your body moving on autopilot, chasing the same rhythm.
The chat was a blur of motion, but Chan wasn’t looking at it anymore. His gaze was fixed on the camera, his pupils blown wide, dark enough to drown in.
The chair creaked under Chan’s weight as he lowered himself back into it, his fingers hovered at the waistband of his boxers for a heartbeat, before he hooked his thumbs into the fabric and tugged. The elastic snapped against his hips, then gave way, and the boxers slid down just enough to free his cock, already hard and flushed against his stomach. Chan exhaled sharply through his nose, his smirk faltering for half a second before settling into something darker, more intimate. "There," he murmured, dragging a hand lazily along his length, his fingers gliding over the slickness already beading at the tip. "Happy now?"
The chat was a mess of emojis and down bad people, but Chan’s gaze flicked to your username, his lips curving into a smirk that was equal parts challenge and invitation. His fingers tightened around himself, stroking once, twice, the motion slow enough to make your own breath stutter.
The screen flashed pink again then again, then red, gold, a rapid-fire of notifications as the chat erupted into a bidding war. Chan's smirk wavered for a fraction of a second, his fingers pausing mid-stroke as the numbers ticked higher, the amounts scrolling too fast to read. Someone had just tripled your donation. Then quadrupled. Then—
"Fuck," Chan breathed, his laugh strained at the edges as he dragged his free hand through his hair, disheveling it further. "You guys are determined tonight." His hips arched slightly off the chair, his cock twitching against his palm as another gold notification popped up, five times your last donation, his breath hitched audibly. The chat was a blur of usernames and money signs, but Chan’s gaze flicked back to the camera, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted around a shaky exhale. "Someone’s feeling competitive," he purred, though his voice cracked halfway through, betraying the effect it was having on him.
Your fingers fumbled for your phone while your other hand stayed buried beneath the waistband of your sweatpants, knuckles brushing damp fabric. The screen lit up with a fresh notification as you tapped in the amount, your thumb hovering over the send button for half a second before committing. The payment went through with a soft chime, and Chan’s head snapped up like he’d been electrocuted, his fingers tightening reflexively around himself. "Don’t stop what you’re doing," your message read, his laugh came out breathless, ragged at the edges.
"Bossy," Chan murmured, but his hand moved again, slow and deliberate, his thumb swiping over the head of his cock in. The camera caught the way his abs flexed, the sweat-slick dip of his collarbones, and you imagined the heat of his skin under your palms, the way his pulse would hammer against your lips if you dragged your tongue along his throat right now.
“You like watching me like this?" he asked, his voice dropping into a deep rasp.
Chan’s throat worked as he swallowed, his gaze flicking between the chat and the camera with lazy amusement. His fingers never stopped moving, but his smirk softened into something almost tender as he read the latest flood of donations aloud. “BigDaddyBitch69—still holding strong, huh?” He chuckled, shaking his head before his eyes locked onto your username, the corner of his mouth quirking up.
The chat exploded with heart emojis and exaggerated horny messages, but Chan ignored them, his focus narrowing in on you like you were the only one in the room. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his skin glistening under the soft glow of the ring light. “Seriously, though,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that private, husky register that made your stomach flip. “Thank you. All of you.” His fingers slowed, his touch slowing as he stroked himself.
The donation notification chimed softly, the words, “Thank you Chan.." flashing pink across the screen. Chan’s fingers stilled mid-stroke, his smirk faltering for a heartbeat before softening into something dangerously genuine. He exhaled through his nose, his chest rising slowly as he leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. "You’re thanking me?" he murmured. His thumb brushed absently over the head of his cock, smearing precum in a slow circle. "Darling, you’re the one who just funded my next holiday."
The chat erupted into a chorus of “AWWWW" and heart emojis, but Chan barely glanced at them. His gaze stayed fixed on your profile, his free hand lifting to tap the side of his headset like he could pull you closer through the screen. "Seriously," he added, quieter now.
“You don’t have to—" He broke off with a shaky laugh as another donation notification popped up "For the holidays then.” His hips jerked involuntarily, his cock twitching against his palm. "Fuck," he breathed, his smirk returning, sharper now. "You’re gonna ruin me."
Chan's breathing hitched as his strokes quickened, the rhythm turning erratic, sharp snaps of his wrist that made his abs tense. The ring light caught every twitch of muscle. You could see the moment his control slipped, his fingers tightening just shy of rough, his hips lifting off the chair with each upward drag. The chat was a blur of motion, but you barely registered it, your own fingers mirroring his pace beneath your waistband, sticky and desperate.
"Fuck—" Chan's voice cracked, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk like an anchor. His bicep flexed as he braced himself, his gaze locked onto the camera like he could feel the weight of your attention like a physical touch. “You’re watching me," he rasped, not a question but a statement.
Chan's moans punched through the headphones low, ragged, barely held together and your fingers twitched in response, pressing harder against yourself as if you could chase the sound deeper. He arched off the chair, his throat working around another broken noise, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "Fuck, fuck—" His voice shattered into a gasp, his hips stuttering forward into his fist, the motion desperate now. The camera caught the way his eyelashes fluttered, the sweat-damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead as he tipped his head back. You imagined biting there, marking him, and your own breath caught sharply, your thighs pressing together involuntarily.
"You sound so good," you typed, the words blurring slightly as your fingers trembled over the keys. Chan's eyes snapped open at the notification, his gaze locking onto the screen like he could see straight through the pixels to where you were sprawled across your bed.
"Thank you.." Chan moans out, voice cracking around the edges as his fingers tightened around himself. The camera caught the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks. "Can I cum yet, BigDaddyBitch69?"
You couldn’t help but giggle at your ridiculous username flashing across the screen, fingers flying over the keyboard with a hastily typed “Yes i want to see you.”
Chan’s laugh punched through the headphones, low, breathless, already way too wrecked as he read your message aloud. "Yes I want to see you," he echoed, his voice curling around the words like he was tasting them. His fingers twisted lazily around his cock, thumb swiping over the head just to watch the way his hips jerked involuntarily. "Fuck, you’re so demanding tonight," he murmured, but there was no bite to it.
His hips jerked forward, the motion uncontrolled, desperate, and the camera caught every twitch of muscle as his control unraveled. "Urghh—" His voice cracked, breaking into a groan as his thumb swiped roughly over the head of his cock, spreading the slickness there. "You like that?" he gasped, his gaze locked onto the camera like he could see the way your own fingers were moving beneath your waistband. "You like watching me fall apart?"
"God—fuck—" His voice shattered as the groans echoed off his walls.
The first spurt caught Chan by surprise a hot, messy stripe across his stomach that made his breath punch out in a ragged groan. His fingers tightened reflexively, milking himself through it as another thick pulse followed, splattering over his knuckles and dripping down onto his thighs. The camera caught every twitch of his abs, every shuddering gasp as he rode it out, his hips jerking weakly into his own grip. The way he came was so dirty, squirting everywhere almost too perfectly.
"Mhmm—" His voice cracked, the word dissolving into a moan as his head tipped back against the chair, throat working uselessly around the aftershocks. Cum glistened on his skin, his fingers trembled where they still loosely circled his cock, squeezing out the last few drops.
Chan groaned, his fingers slipping off the keyboard as another shudder ran through him. "Shit—got it on the keyboard," he muttered, breathless, reaching blindly for the towel draped over the back of his chair. The fabric landed with a damp thwump over his stomach, and he exhaled sharply through his nose as he wiped himself clean, the motions lazy but efficient. The camera caught the way his abs twitched under the rough drag of the towel, the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin.
He scrubbed half heartedly at the keyboard sticky with more than just energy drink spills now, before tossing the towel somewhere off-screen with a tired chuckle. "Fuckin' mess," he murmured.
You'd been clenching your thighs together, fingers circling just there with torturous slowness, trying to drag it out, trying to match the rhythm of Chan’s lazy strokes on-screen. But then his breath hitched, ragged and broken, and his name tumbled from your lips like a plea, your hips jerked involuntarily, your fingers pressing too hard, too fast.
The orgasm ripped through you suddenly, your back arching off the mattress as your thighs trembled. You hadn’t meant to, hadn’t wanted to yet, but the sound of Chan moaning for you, the way his voice cracked around the edges, undid you completely. The laptop screen blurred as your vision whited out, your free hand clutching at the sheets like an anchor while warmth flooded your stomach, your fingers, the sticky mess between your thighs.
You breathe out, slow and shaky, fingers still curled into the damp fabric of your sweatpants as the aftershocks hum through your veins. The laptop screen flickers, Chan wiping his stomach with the towel, his smirk lazy but satisfied, but your focus wavers, heartbeat thudding in your ears louder than his post-orgasm chuckle.
Chan leaned back in his chair with a groan, the leather creaking under his weight as he stretched his arms overhead. The muscles in his abdomen flexed under the soft glow of the ring light, still glistening faintly from the towel he'd used moments earlier. There was a glint in his eyes, something mischievous, as he tapped the keyboard to bring up the stream schedule overlay. "Alright, degenerates," he announced, voice still rough around the edges, "Tomorrow’s Genshin stream. Got some... new toys." His grin widened, sharp enough to cut glass. "You guys should tune in."
The chat exploded into a frenzy of questions, but Chan just winked, dragging a hand through his hair.
The thought of Chan teasing his audience tomorrow, those knowing smirks, the way his fingers would linger just a little too long on the controller, made your thighs press together involuntarily. Your sweatpants were still damp, the fabric clinging uncomfortably, but the heat pooled low in your stomach. You imagined him leaning into the camera, that half-smile playing at his lips as he pretended to focus on the game, all while his free hand dipped below the desk just far enough to make the chat lose its collective mind.
"Thank you for tonight guys.. i’ll see you whores tomorrow.." Chan grinned, winking into the camera as his fingers hovered over the stream's end button. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. "Don’t miss me too much.”
The chat spammed crying emojis and demands for "five more minutes," but Chan just laughed, warm and breathless, as he reached for his water bottle. His gaze flicked to your username one last time before the screen went black.
You sighed, pressing your forehead against the cool edge of your headboard. The glow of Chan’s offline stream banner cast a faint blue haze over your tangled sheets. Embarrassment prickled at the back of your neck, not just for the username, not just for the donations, but for the way your fingers still twitched against your thigh like they hadn’t gotten the memo that the show was over. Again. For the third night this week.
Downstairs, your roommate’s muffled laughter seeped through the floorboards. Normal people had post-dinner conversations. You had post-cum shame with a side of PayPal receipts.
Your phone buzzed against the mattress, the screen lighting up with a notification that wasn’t from PayPal this time. You blinked at it, still half-dazed, Unknown Number and swiped it open before your brain could catch up.
Unknown: Enjoy the show?
Your thumb hovered over the notification for seconds before your brain caught up. Chan? The thought flickered and died, obviously a scam.
Some bot probably scraping donation receipts. You snorted, tossing the phone onto the rumpled comforter. As if Bangchan would actually—
Your phone buzzed again, sharp, insistent and this time, the screen lit up with a photo attachment. The thumbnail was too small to make out details, but the shape was unmistakably human.
Fingers shaking, you tapped the image.
The photo loaded in agonizing increments, first the blurred curve of a shoulder, then the sharp shape of a collarbone still glistening with sweat. Your breath caught when you took in the picture fully, Chan’s torso, lit by the familiar blue glow of his ring light, a fresh bruise blooming just above his hipbone where his thumb had dug in too hard. The caption beneath it read, 'Forgot to show you this.'
Your phone clattered onto the mattress as you scrambled upright, heart hammering against your ribs. This wasn’t possible. Streamers didn’t text donors. Especially not with that photo, still damp at the edges like he’d snapped it right after wiping himself down. You stared at the screen until the pixels burned into your vision, half expecting the message to vanish like some sleep-deprived hallucination.
Your fingers trembled as you typed,
Y/N: Who is this?
and sent it before you could second guess yourself. The reply came instantly, as if he'd been waiting with his thumbs hovering over the screen.
Unknown: Guess.
You snorted, thumb jabbing at the screen with exaggerated disbelief.
Y/N: This isn’t real. 🙄
The mattress creaked as you shifted, knees pressing together under the tangled sheets. "Nice try, scammer," you muttered to the empty room, tossing your phone onto the pillow like it had personally offended you.
Your phone buzzed again before it even hit the pillow, two rapid-fire vibrations that mumbled against the fabric. You snatched it up.
First, the familiar white fabric of Chan’s tank top clenched between his teeth. Chan’s head tilted back, his shirt pulled up just enough to expose the flexed abs, still gleaming faintly from the stream. The message beneath was a single, devastating word.
Unknown: Proof.
Y/N: Proof my ass.
you muttered out loud again, thumb jamming into the screen with enough force to crack the glass protector. The words felt clumsy, too loud in the silence of your bedroom but you sent them anyway.
Y/N: Literally anyone could’ve screenshot the stream and cropped it.
The notification popped up with a soft ping. A video attachment this time, the thumbnail a blur of motion that made your pulse stutter. You hesitated before tapping it.
The video loaded, Chan leaned back in his chair, his tank top riding up just enough to tease again. He grinned at the camera, cocky and triumphant, his fingers tapping idly against his bare thigh. "My god, princess," he murmured, voice rough with post-orgasm smugness. "You are impossible to convince."
His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, the motion deliberately slow. "Hello, BigDaddyBitch69," he added.
You buried your head instantly into your pillow, the fabric muffling your scream as Chan’s voice, real, alive, impossibly his, through your phone speakers.
The phone vibrated violently in your hand, not a text, not a photo, but an actual call, Unknown number flashing across the screen. Your thumb hovered over the accept button, your pulse hammering loud enough to drown out the ringing. ‘Answer it.’ your brain screamed. ‘Throw it out the window’, your dignity countered.
You answered on the fifth ring, too late to be cool, too soon to pretend you hadn’t been staring at the screen like a deer in headlights. The video loaded slowly, damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, finally the full picture, him sprawled in his gaming chair, shirtless, the neon lights casting long shadows across his collarbones. "Took you long enough," he drawled, his grin sharp enough to cut glass.
"Hi- Chan..." you breathed, the words barely louder than the rustle of sheets as you adjusted your grip on the phone. The screen showed him leaning closer, close enough that you could see the faint pink flush still lingering at the tips of his ears, the way his throat worked when he swallowed.
"Hi yourself," he murmured, voice rougher than it had been on stream, like he'd been shouting. Maybe he had. The thought made your thighs press together under the tangled comforter. "Enjoy the show?"
Your fingers twitched against the phone screen, hesitating before you exhaled sharply and turned on the camera. The screen blinked, adjusting focus, and suddenly there you were, flushed cheeks and tangled hair framing your face like a halo. You nod replying to him.
Chan’s breath hitched audibly through the speakers. “There you are,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something warmer, rougher. His thumb swiped absently across his lower lip, like he was savoring the sight. “Fuck, you’re pretty.”
"Shut up," you laughed nervously, the sound catching in your throat as Chan's gaze burned through the screen. Your fingers twitched against the phone, the warmth of your palm making the glass slick. "Thank you," you added, softer now, the words barely audible over the hum of your laptop fan.
Chan’s grin widened. "Thank you," he echoed, his voice dipping into that rasp.
"BigDaddyBitch69." The username rolled off his tongue like a private joke.
You rolled your eyes, smirking as Chan’s voice curled through the phone speakers, that fucking stupid username again, dripping off his tongue like honey. "Seriously?" you muttered, "You’re really gonna keep calling me that?"
Chan’s grin widened, his teeth catching the low light of his ring light. "What, you don’t like it?" He leaned closer, the camera tilting as his fingers adjusted the angle, catching the sweat-damp hollow of his throat. "I think it’s cute."
“What’s your name doll?”
"Y/n," you replied, smiling as Chan's brow arched in amusement.
"That suits you better," he murmured, shifting in his chair. The leather creaked under his weight as he reached for something off-screen. "So," he continued, setting the phone down.
"Y/n who watches my horny streams and donates enough to feed me for a month. You got a last name to go with that?"
"Now why would I tell you that?" you smiled, fingers teasing the frayed edge of your waistband where it clung to skin. His gaze flickered down, just for a heartbeat, to where your pj shorts clung to you for dear life.
Chan's exhale crackled through the speakers, his gaze dropping to follow the motion like a predator tracking prey. "You’re not curious why i called?”
Your phone screen blurred momentarily, your vision still catching up with the fact that Bang Chan was calling you, that his shit smirk was currently taking up 80% of your screen. "I—" Your voice caught, the syllable cracking under the weight of too many competing thoughts.
How did he get this number? Why is he so sexy? Did I actually pass out during the stream and hallucinate this entire conversation?
Chan's smile deepened as your silence stretched, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "What, cat got your tongue?" He leaned back slightly, the camera catching the way his fingers drummed against his bare thigh, lazy and rhythmic. "Relax, princess. I didn't hack you."
“Just... asked my manager to do a little digging after your 30th donation this week."
Your pulse spiked so violently you could feel it in your fingertips. "What?" The word came out sharper than intended, your grip tightening around the phone. "You—you stalked me?"
Chan’s laughter crackled through the speakers, warm, unguarded, the kind of sound that made your ribs ache with how real it was.
"Relax," he murmured, his fingers tapping idly against the desk.
"Sent it all back. Every cent." His thumb swiped across his phone screen, the motion lazy. "Check your PayPal."
Your phone buzzed against your palm, a notification.
BangChan has refunded your payment of $5000.
The breath punched out of your lungs. "You—" The words tangled in your throat. "Why?"
"Well..." He dragged the word out, his smirk turning dangerously soft at the edges. "I was curious about you. After I saw how much you were sending me—" His thumb swiped absently over his lower lip. "It intrigued me even more."
The admission curled warm in your chest, your fingers tightening reflexively around the phone.
"Most people donate fifty bucks and expect me to propose," he continued, his grin sharpening. "You threw a grand at me just to watch me squirm."
Chan’s laughed warmly.
"What can I say?" His grin widened. "I like my girls rich." The words hung between you for a heartbeat before his smirk softened, his thumb wiping absently over his lower lip. "I’m kidding—I truly don’t need your money though."
You can't help but smile as he watches you through the phone, really stares at you, the way his gaze lingers on the curve of your bottom lip where you've been worrying it between your teeth. Chan's expression shifts subtly, his smirk softening into something dangerously close to tenderness as he exhales through his nose.
Chan's fingers stilled against the desk, his smirk stopping for a second, just long enough for you to notice the way his throat worked before he spoke. "I came to ask you something else too, y/n." The words came out softer than expected, his usual rasp sanded down at the edges. The ring light caught the nervous tap of his index finger against his phone screen, the motion too quick to be casual.
You arched a brow, thumb hovering over the mute button like a coward's escape route. "Ask away, streamer boy."
Chan’s gaze darkened, the playful glint in his eyes shifting into something heavier, something that made the air in your bedroom feel suddenly too thick. His voice dropping into a whisper that crackled through the phone speakers like static. “Do you want a private show, y/n?”
The question hung between you. Your pulse thudded against your ribs, loud enough that you wondered if the microphone could pick it up. You watched, transfixed as Chan leaned forward, the camera tilting to catch the flex of his bicep when he braced one hand against the desk. His other hand dipped below the frame, the motion deliberately slow.
Your breath caught, sharp and sudden as your head bobbed in a nod before your brain could catch up with the embarrassment coiled in your gut.
Chan's exhaled low and satisfied, his fingers already moving below the frame with practiced ease. The desk creaked again, louder this time, and you imagined the way his thighs would tense under the strain, the way his knuckles would whiten around the base of his—
"Good girl," he murmured, the words rough with approval, and your thighs pressed together involuntarily at the praise. The phone screen blurred slightly as your grip tightened. Chan's smirk deepened, his free hand adjusting the camera angle with deliberate slowness until the lens caught all your favourite parts of him.
"These past weeks I've imagined what you've been doing behind the other side of the screen..." Chan's voice dipped into a husky whisper, the confession curling through the speakers like smoke.
The camera caught the way his fingers paused mid-stroke, just long enough to make your breath hitch before resuming with agonizing slowness. "How your fingers look when you touch yourself." His thumb swiped over the head of his cock, the motion deliberately messy, spreading slickness that glistened under the ring light. "If you bite your lip like you're doing right now."
Your teeth immediately released your lower lip, warmth flooding your cheeks. He knew, knew exactly how his words coiled around your ribs and squeezed, how your thighs pressed together.
"First," he rasped, "I thought about you during last Tuesday’s stream." The confession punched out of him between ragged breaths, his hips stuttering forward into his fist. "When I was playing Valorant and pretending to focus on headshots." His laugh was more air than sound, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk hard. "Kept imagining you riding me while I fumbled the controller."
The camera wobbled slightly as you adjusted your phone against the laptop screen, the angle catching the way your fingers trembled against your waistband. On screen, Chan’s grin turned wolfish as he mirrored your movements.
"There we go," he murmured. His free hand trailed down his abdomen, fingertips wrapping around his cock with deliberate slowness. The camera caught every inch of him thick and flushed, his grip tight enough to make the veins stand out under the strain.
Your breath quickened as you finally tugged your shorts down. The cool air against your damp skin made you shiver, but Chan’s gaze, heavy and unblinking through the screen burned hotter than any touch. "Fuck," he breathed, his thumb swiping over the head of his cock in slow circles. “Look at you."
"You're even prettier than your profile picture, doll."
The words hit you like a physical touch. Chan's voice had dipped into something raw and unhurried, his accent thickening around the edges as his thumb stroked lazily along his cock, smearing precum down the shaft.
Your fingers dipped under the damp fabric of your underwear, the tips catching on the sticky mess you’d made earlier. His grip tightened around his cock.
The words tumbled out between panting breaths—"Chan... what if I didn’t look like my profile picture?" you laughed dryly as you watched his fingers freeze mid-stroke, his brow furrowing for a fraction of a second before his smirk returned, sharper now.
Chan’s smirk deepened. "Trust me," he rasped, his voice rough with amusement and something darker, "I got my manager to check about you after I spent weeks wanking over your picture."
Your fingers froze against your opening, the sudden stillness betraying your shock. "You—" The word caught in your throat, your pulse thudding wildly in between your legs.
The heat of Chan’s gaze through the screen was almost tangible, like a physical weight pressing against your skin. You could feel it tracing the curve of your bottom lip where your teeth had worried it raw, following the trembling path of your fingers as they dipped beneath your waistband again. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the warm brown of his irises.
"You like that?" you murmured, curling your fingers just enough to make your back arch off the mattress. The movement dragged your shirt higher, exposing the flushed skin of your stomach, nipples hard and peaking through the shirt. Chan’s grip on his cock visibly tightened as he sped up.
The screen blurred momentarily as Chan shifted his phone, the camera tilting to catch the sly curve of his smirk. "Hold on," he murmured, his voice rougher than before like he'd been swallowing gravel. The desk creaked as he leaned away, his free hand disappearing off-screen. You heard a drawer slide open, the rustle of plastic, then the unmistakable click of a button powering on.
When he came back into frame his hair was ruffled perfectly as he bit his lip. The toy in his hand was sleek and black, the silicone glistening under the ring light. "Got this yesterday," he admitted, thumb stroking lazily along his cock. The vibration setting hummed audibly through the phone speakers. "Was gonna debut it tomorrow for the degenerates." His grin turned wolfish as he adjusted the angle, catching the way the toy twitched in his grip. "But I think... I'd rather you see it first."
Chan's breath hitched as the fleshlight kissed the head of his cock, just barely, just enough to make his hips jerk forward instinctively. The dimmer lighting now caught the slickness already gathering there, the way his fingers trembled around the toy's base as he held it up. His gaze never left yours through the screen, dark and hungry, pupils swallowing the warm brown of his irises. "Fuck," he breathed, the word cracking halfway through as he rolled his hips again, dragging the tip through the tight entrance without pressing in. "Look at you—fucking yourself on your fingers like you wish it was me."
Your breath stuttered at the accusation, true, painfully so, as your fingers curled deeper inside yourself, the wet sound obscenely loud in the quiet of your bedroom. On screen, Chan's throat worked around a swallow. The toy remained at his tip, teasing,the black silicone glistening.
"Tell me," Chan rasped, his voice cracking under the strain as he finally, finally pushed the toy down in one torturously slow motion. The silicone stretched obscenely around his girth, the vibration setting making the entire shaft twitch visibly in his grip. "Tell me you imagined this." His hips rolled forward with deliberate slowness, the desk creaking under his shifting weight. "My cock fucking into you just like this—"
The moan tore from your throat before you could bite it back loud and needy. His hips stuttered forward into the toy’s tight grip, the vibration making his thighs tremble harder under the desk. "Fuck," he gritted out, his free hand scrambling to adjust the camera angle until it caught the obscene stretch of silicone around his cock, the way his knuckles whitened around the base. "That’s it, princess. Let me hear you."
Your fingers curled deeper, the heel of your palm grinding against your clit in rough, uneven circles that made your back arch off the mattress. The sheets tangled around you, damp with the evidence of your earlier climax, but the ache between your thighs was already building again, hotter this time.
Your fingers twitched against the phone screen hesitating before you exhaled sharply and reached for the nightstand drawer. The wood scraped open with a dry rasp, your fingers closing around the familiar silicone before your brain could second-guess the impulse. The toy was heavy in your palm, still faintly sticky with lube from last night’s escapades, and you watched Chan’s pupils dilate in real time as you brought it into frame.
"Oh?" His voice cracked mid-syllable, the toy in his own hand stuttering to a halt around his cock. The vibration setting buzzed faintly through the speakers.
"What’s that, princess?"
“You.” you replied mumbling as you adjusted your phone again, angling it just right. The screen wobbled momentarily before settling, the camera catching Chan’s sharp intake of breath as the silicone head pressed against your clit with a quiet buzz.
"Fuck," he hissed, his grip tightening around the toy buried in his lap. The vibration setting cranked up with a sharp twist of his wrist, making his thighs twitch harder.
The toy slid in with a slow, slick resistance that made you moan, half gasp, half whimper as your fingers tightened around the base. Chan's answering groan echoed through the phone speakers, rough and unfiltered, his hips stuttering forward into his own toy with ragged urgency. The camera wobbled as he adjusted his grip, catching the obscene stretch of silicone around his cock, the way his abs tensed with each shallow thrust.
"Look at you," he rasped, his voice sandpaper-raw. The ring light glinted off the sweat beading along his collarbones, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk hard enough to make the tendons stand out in sharp relief. "Taking it so fucking good—just like I knew you would." His thumb swiped over the head of his cock where it protruded from the toy's entrance, smearing precum in a slow circle that made you clench around the dildo.
The confession tumbled from your lips before you could bite it back raw, the kind of honesty that made your phone slip in your sweaty palm. "I wish this was you, Chan," you gasped, the toy bottoming out inside you with a slick sound that echoed through the speakers. "I wish you were in me every time."
Chan's breath hitched audibly, his grip on the toy tightening until his knuckles turned white. The camera wobbled as he leaned forward, catching the way his lips parted around a silent curse, the sweat-slicked hollow of his throat working as he swallowed harder. "Fuck," he rasped, his hips stuttering forward into the toy’s tight grip. The vibration setting buzzed louder, his thighs trembling under the desk.
"Seven days a week huh?" Chan teased, his smirk widening as he watched your pupils dilate through the screen. The camera caught the way his fingers slowed around the toy's base, his thumb tracing lazy circles where silicone met him, like he could physically feel the rhythm of your pulse into his skin. “You’re so cute..”
The words curled warm against your ear through the phone speakers, his accent thickening around the edges in a way that made your grip tighten around the toy buried inside you. Your hips jerked involuntarily at the sensation, the movement dragging a ragged gasp from your throat that Chan mirrored instantly, his own hips stuttering forward into the toy's tight grip with wet sounds.
The toy slipped deeper with a wet drag that made your back arch off the mattress, the vibrations turning up another notch as your thumb fumbled against the controls. Chan’s groan crackled through the speakers as his hips jerked forward into his own toy, the desk creaking under his shifting weight. "Fuck," he gritted out, "That’s it, princess. Faster."
Your fingers obeyed before your brain could catch up, twisting the dial until the toy buzzed violently against your clit, the sensation sharp enough to make everything in you tremble. On screen, Chan mirrored your movements with ragged urgency, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased the same high.
"Chan—I'm about to—" The words dissolved into a ragged moan as your fingers pumped harder, the vibrations swimming through you. Your thighs clenched around the silicone, the muscles trembling under the strain as your back arched off the mattress.
Chan didn’t stop moaning, his hips stuttering forward into his own toy with a wet slap that echoed in the quiet of your bedroom. The camera wobbled violently as he braced one hand against the desk, his other gripping the toy's base like a lifeline. "Do it," he gritted out, his voice shredded at the edges. "Come for me, princess. Let me see you."
The orgasm hit you as you listened to Chan’s words, your hips jerking off the mattress as the toy's vibrations sent shocks up your spine. Your thighs clamped around the silicone with a force that would've bruised flesh, your back arching as the first wave crashed over you. And then, unstoppable..
Squirt arched through the air, catching the dim bedroom light before splattering across your phone screen with a wet smack. The camera lens blurred instantly, droplets clinging to the glass in trembling constellations as your climax ripped through you with shuddering force.
Your fingers scrabbled against the sheets, the toy still buzzing violently against your clit as aftershocks wrecked your body, each pulse sending another spurt against the fogged-up phone.
Chan's entire body locked up, thighs trembling, the veins in his forearms standing out as his orgasm ripped through him with violent intensity. The toy made a wet, squelching sound as he slammed home one last time, his hips stuttering erratically while his cum painted the inside of the silicone in thick pulses. His groan cracked halfway through, transforming into something guttural and raw, the kind of sound that would've made you clench around nothing if you weren't already spent and twitching against the soaked sheets.
"Fuck—fuck—" Chan panted, his free hand scrambling to catch the edge of his desk as his vision whited out momentarily. The camera tilted, catching glimpses of his sweat-slicked torso heaving for air, the toy still clamped around his softening cock with an obscene grip. His fingers trembled visibly as he finally pulled out with a slick pop.
Chan blinked slowly at the mess on his screen, your phone screen still streaked with evidence. His lips parted around a shaky exhale before his smirk returned, lazy and sated. "Holy shit," he rasped, his voice wrecked beyond recognition. He dragged a hand down his face. "That was so fucking hot."
You laughed breathlessly, your fingers twitching against the damp sheets as you watched him through the phone, his chest still rising and falling rapidly, his abs flexing with each unsteady breath. "You're one to talk," you murmured, gesturing vaguely at the toy he'd abandoned on his desk. The silicone glistened under the ring light, strands of cum clinging to the entrance in sticky threads.
The phone slipped from your sweat-slicked fingers, landing face-up on the damp sheets. Chan's laughter echoed through the speakers
"Careful, princess," he murmured, his thumb swiping lazily along his lower lip. "Wouldn't want you breaking your phone before our next show."
"You're insufferable, never happening," you breathed.
The phone screen glistened under your trembling fingers soaked with evidence of your climax. You exhaled sharply through your nose, dragging the hem of your shirt over the smeared surface with embarrassment.
On screen, he was propped lazily against his desk, one hand stroking through his damp curls while the other toyed absently with the abandoned fleshlight.
"So," he grinned, tilting his phone until you could see his cocky expression. "I'll pick you up in an hour?"
The words hung between you like a lit match. Your breath caught, fingers tightening around the damp sheets as reality crashed over you, this wasn’t pixels and paid fantasies anymore.
"I just met you," you huffed, rolling your eyes hard. The phone screen flickered as you adjusted your grip, still shaky from earlier and caught the way Chan's smirk deepened in response. He leaned forward until his face filled the frame.
"Incorrect," he drawled, stretching the word out with deliberate slowness. His tongue escaping along his lower lip.
"We met weeks ago when you watched me cum every day up until now." The smirk playing at the corners of his mouth deepened as your flush crept down your neck. "Seems pretty intimate to me, doll."
"That's not—" You huffed, dragging a hand through your tangled hair.
"Let me rephrase," he murmured.
"You just squirted all over fucking Facetime for me." His teeth caught the edge of his grin. "I think we're past the 'we just met' bullshit, don't you?"
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sharp tap-tap-tap of Chan’s fingers drumming against his desk.
You opened your mouth to argue, to deflect, to say something, but the words died in your throat when Chan leaned forward abruptly, his face filling the frame again until all you could see was his pretty eyes and smirk that pulled you in, in the first place. "One date," he hummed, the words curling warm against your ear through the speakers. "If you hate me, I’ll refund your next month’s donations in advance."
"I hate you," you muttered, biting down on your lower lip to suppress the grin threatening to show on your face. "I'll send you my location now."
Chan's smile widened, infuriatingly, as he leaned forward.
summary: You'd never risk ruining the friendship, but maybe you'd be more willing if you knew he felt the same.
warnings: FWB, Childhood best friends to lovers, miscommunication, smut, fingering, multiple orgasms (reader), unprotected sex
word count: 4.4k
a/n: I listened to a lot of Bella Kay while writing this, mostly Promise?
I'm scared to death that I'll be wishing for you for the rest of my life.
You've known Chan since middle school; you've known him longer than you haven't, and you don't take that lightly.
Which is why you avoided telling him how you felt when you were 16 and he asked another girl to homecoming.
You avoided telling Chan how you felt when you were 18, and he was choosing which college to go to.
You've avoided telling Chan your feelings every day since you started sleeping together 6 months ago.
"Now you have to tell him how you feel," your friend Minnie says to you the day after you and Chan's very first night together, "because that's for sure happening again." Her voice certain.
"It can't," you say with a shake of your head.
"So pretty." Chan's breath is hot against your face, with his fingers under your skirt working themselves in and out of your cunt with ease. You're sure you're dripping down his wrist.
He has you pressed against the back of Minho's bar's bathroom door. It was a much-needed night out for the group, and also a Wednesday night, so the bar wasn't as packed as it usually is.
While your group of friends is busy playing pool, you allow yourself to be lured away by the man whom you promised you wouldn't even so much as look at with anything but innocent eyes after hooking up for like the 20th time last week.
"he does it on purpose," your best friend Jihyo says in your shared apartment one night. "he knows you can't resist him, but he lets you feel like you're succeeding before tugging you back." She lazily picks at the tub of ice cream in your lap.
"And why would he do that?" You tilt your head, you don't believe her, but you want to know her reasoning.
With the spoon in her mouth, she hums before yanking the silverware out with a pop, "because he likes you just as much as you like him, but you're both too chickenshit to do anything."
You shake your head, retrieving your spoon from her, and as the strawberry cheesecake-flavored ice cream melts on your tongue, you think about Jihyo's words. There's no way Chan sees you as anything but a friend he has sex with sometimes, and even if he did, you can't and won't risk your friendship on a maybe.
"be quiet for me, yeah?" Chan whispers against your ear. "and cum for me." he encourages.
You're not thinking about how messy this is- hooking up in a public bathroom when your friends aren't that far away- when you cum, your mind is only on him, on the man who dyed his hair blonde on a whim and said he'd keep it when you said you liked it.
Clarity doesn't hit till you're watching Chan wash his hands in the sink, "wanna come to mine after? Jeongin is crashing at his parents' tonight."
When you don't respond, he looks at your reflection in the mirror, eyebrows raised in question. You've fixed your skirt, but you're still pressed against the bathroom door. "Chan, we need to stop this."
He looks down to close the tap, but you don't miss the amusement on his face. When he turns to you, the amusement melts away, replaced by something softer when he sees the crease in your brows.
"What's wrong, y/n? This is good, don't you like this?" he's leaning against the sink now, undivided attention on you.
You want to say yes- that's why you keep coming back, but worry sets in every time you catch yourself wondering what he's doing when he's not around, or when you miss him even though you just saw him. Your feelings are getting messier every time you feel his lips on yours, and you can't keep putting yourself through this.
"No." You finally say, a sigh escaping you.
Chan frowns, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as alarm takes over his features. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't-"
You feel guilt immediately for making him think he'd made you uncomfortable in any way.
"No, I don't regret any of this, I just mean-" you finally step away from the door. "You're my best friend, and this already went on for a lot longer than it should have." Chan doesn't say anything, you continue. "I mean, we're only getting older, we should be going out with people, looking for the people we're gonna marry. Not doing.... this." You gesture between the two of you.
Chan's eyes are on your hands, and when they look back up to meet yours, his face is completely wiped of emotion. He's angry, and it scares you a bit. In all your years of friendship, Chan has never once directed his anger towards you, not seriously at least. There was that one time in high school when you promised to save a seat for him on the bus, but your classmate Jeremy took it before you could say anything. Chan rolled his eyes at you, but he still walked you home- in silence.
"What?" You ask nervously.
"No, you're right. We're almost 30 after all." He starts for the door, making you frown.
"That's it?" It's not that you expect him to give you any push back, but you expected at least a little reassurance from him that the two of you are still good and this is the right choice.
"What? I agree with you, it's best we stop here." His blank eyes bore into yours for a couple of seconds before he walked past you and out the bathroom door.
"Is there a deadline for marriage? Why the hell would you say that?" Jihyo all but shouts at you when you fill her and Minnie in on what happened while sitting on the floor of your living room.
"Well, no, but isn't 30 the norm, or at least when you actually think about it?" you ask.
"That's just an excuse," Minnie says with a roll of her eyes. You glare at her.
"What did he say after? Jihyo asks, pulling your eyes away from Minnie.
"Nothing really?" You frown, the memory of Chan's blank expression comes to mind again. "he just agreed with me and then walked out." You shrug.
"Oh, that's what happened between you two, the vibes were really off towards the end of the night." Minnie looks at Jihyo, who nods in agreement.
"off how? We didn't even talk to each other?" You look between the two girls like they're the crazy ones.
"Exactly, you guys are always attached at the hip, laughing and joking, being the loudest of the group."
"I'd argue Changbin is the loudest." you point out, the girls ignore you.
"So he obviously wasn't okay with you calling it off," Jihyo says.
"he said he was!" you exclaim.
"Well, yeah, because he's a man," Jihyo says, but Minnie is the one who finishes her point. "Men are liars."
You sigh before concluding, "he'll get over it." and you don't miss the look Jihyo and Minnie share.
A week of no contact has you feeling like a caged animal in the zoo, watching Chan through the glass as he posts on his IG story and sends messages in the group chat while he refuses to acknowledge you.
You sent a few reels, and when those are left on seen, you sent him a text which he left on read. In all the years you've known Chan, you've never gone a week without any interaction with him.
"You're going tonight." Jihyo throws a dress at you that she picked from her closet.
You groan, you're already showered and wrapped in a towel, as you search for your comfort PJs when Jihyo walks in.
You knew she was going out tonight, so you planned to cuddle on the couch and rot for the rest of the night.
"It's his apartment, and I know he doesn't want me there." you say.
"It's Jeongin's birthday, you can't miss it." As she says this, you uncrumple the dress she threw at you. It's a lacy, black strap dress. "I haven't even worn it yet, so feel honored," Jihyo says before walking to your vanity, picking up your blow dryer.
"Now come here, it's already 8."
"Stop pulling it up." Jihyo scolds you outside Chan and Jeongin's apartment as you wait for someone to answer the door.
You only noticed how booby the dress was after putting it on, but by then it was already too late to change; Jihyo wouldn't let you.
"I'm not trying to flash my tits to all our friends," you hiss.
"No, just one." She responds, but before you could say anything else, the front door swings open.
"Noona!" Han says with so much enthusiasm that it has you already wanting to go home.
Then his eyes drop to your chest, eyebrows raising. "Whoa, that's one way to get someone's attention."
"Shut up or I'll bring up the story of you getting pants," you say, pushing past him and into the apartment.
"I'm shutting up." you hear him say behind you, but your eyes are already on him.
Chan, who looks up as soon as you step into his home, as if he could sense you.
He looks away before you can even raise your hand to wave. You knew you missed him, missed his laugh, his comforting eyes, and his stupid, pretty face. You were very aware that you missed him, but seeing him now, across the room, still avoiding you, really makes you miss him.
"Thanks for coming." Jeongin says cutting through your tunnel vision on Chan.
"Of course." You smile, and Jeongin returns the gesture when you hand him a tiny gift box, his eyes forming small crescents as he pulls you into a side hug, hand lightly patting your arm as he thanks you.
"I'll open it later." he says before excusing himself to place the gift on the dining table along with the others.
"It's working." Minnie says beside you, you look over at her before following her line of sight to catch Chan just as he looks away.
"You should make him jealous." She proposes making you fix her with a squint.
"He's not gonna get jealous of any of these boys." You gesture to the group of the same boys you've known since middle school, high school, and college.
"Of Lee Minho, he might." She suggests the two of you find the man sitting on the couch with a bored expression as Han and Hyunjin speak animatedly to each other on either side of him.
"The two of you dated in college." She reminds you, it was before the two of you became friends, you had the same math class, and he asked you out for coffee a few times, but nothing really happened besides one heated makeup session at a frat party.
"Yeah, and there's a reason we didn't continue. Besides, I'm not using anyone to make Chan jealous." Your voice drops to a whisper at his name. "I just want our friendship back," you turn back to face the scattered friend group.
Your eyes drift to Chan once again, and he's laughing so hard that he has to place his hand over his chest. He looks so beautiful, and you wish you knew what was said to make him laugh like he's losing his breath.
"y/n!" You're pulled from your thoughts by Seungmin calling you from beside the TV in the living room. "Karaoke?" he's holding up a microphone, and YouTube is already pulled up on the TV.
You were with Chan when he decided to stop by the store and look at the options for stereos. As soon as he saw the speakers with two microphones, the first words out of his mouth were "the boys would love this."
You roll your eyes but smile as you cross the living room to him. "Voulez-vous?" he asks. You nod before turning to Han, your duet partner. "You're singing with me?"
"Of course!" Han hops up from his spot on the couch, grabbing the mic from Seungmin.
You get a few encouraging cheers from your friends as they gather around the couches. "I'm after!" Changbin holds up a finger like he's in school asking a question.
As the music plays your friends clap along to the beat, and when it gets to the chorus, they're singing along to the "AH HA!" s
Your eyes find Chan's at some point; he's watching the two of you, smiling, but it isn't the same smile you're used to; it doesn't make a warm feeling settle in your chest like it always has. It really just makes you sad.
You try your best to keep the vibes up, looking over at Han, who's singing like his life depends on it, and almost like he senses you need a pick-me-up, he slings his arm over your shoulder and brings you closer, forcing you to sway with him.
When the song comes to an end, you catch yourself searching for Chan, where he was standing 20 seconds ago, but he's gone.
The night comes to a close by 1am. Most people work in the morning, so the group started to deplete by midnight.
Chan managed to avoid you the whole time, but as your friends stumble out of the house, you decide you're done letting him evade you.
"I'll stay for a bit, to help pick up." you tell Jihyo, who nods and bids you goodbye with a hug.
Minho stands by the door, sharing a look with Jihyo, and he nods like she just gave him a silent order. Then, he says, "Hey, Jeongin, wanna do last call at the bar?"
Jeongin's smile is ear-to-ear because he knows that means drinks are on Minho, and he's gonna make the best of the rest of his night.
"Hyung, don't wait up!" Jeongin shouts over his shoulder to Chan, the tone in his voice resembling that of a mischievous child.
Minho rolls his eyes and shoves the younger man out the door, "byee!" he calls out before slamming the door behind himself.
You turn to see Chan already picking up dirty cups and plates in the living room, trash bag in hand. You get the broom from the hallway closet and start sweeping up any crumbs you find.
You're both silent for a couple of minutes before Chan says, "You didn't have to stay."
"I always do, the oldest, remember?" you say lightheartedly. It was the role Chan appointed to himself; he always stayed behind to pick up, always arrived first at restaurants, and always planned trips for the group. You, at some point, slid yourself beside him, blaming it on being one of the two older ones in the friend group.
"That was before," he says so low you almost miss it. The broom pauses mid-sweep, and you look up at the man who continues to pick up like he didn't just say something that has confirmed all your fears.
"Before what?" you ask because, for some sick reason, you need him to say it bluntly. You need him to tell you that your friendship will never be the same again, you'll never be best friends again.
Chan looks up, expression bored, like he would rather be watching paint dry than waste his time talking to you.
"before we had sex?" you feel your lip twitch.
Chan sighs, shaking his head as he goes back to picking up trash. "Let's just drop it."
You abandon the broom, walking closer to him. "No. Tell me." You wait for Chan to look up at you before saying, "Did I fuck everything up?"
His eyes flicker back and forth between your eyes. "What did you fuck up?"
"us? our friendship?" Your heart pounds against your chest as you wait for his reply.
"No." Chan drops the trash bag from his grasp. "Nothing could ever mess with that."
"Then why are you acting this way? Why are you mad?" you cross the living room to him.
"I'm not mad," he shakes his head.
"Then what is it? Why are you avoiding me?" There is a pause after, Chan's eyes flicker across your face before he blurts out like he can't hold it in any longer. "Because I love you."
"What?" You're shocked. How could he say that so abruptly?
Chan's ears start to flush. "I love you, and it's not your fault that you don't feel the same, so I'm sorry for taking it out on you."
He starts to turn from you, but out of impulse, you reach for him, grabbing his forearm, stopping him from taking another step away from you.
"It's not that I don't love you-" you swallow a lump in your throat. "It's because I love you that I'm scared to lose you."
Chan's eyes soften, and he grabs ahold of your hand still on his arm, "How would you lose me?"
"What if something goes wrong? What if we realize that we're better off as friends and then everything is weird and awkward." You pause, taking a breath. "What if you see parts of me that you never knew were there and you realize you don't actually love me."
"I've known you 15 years, you really think there's any part of you I haven't seen before?" he says, amusement in his tone. You shrug, still not convinced.
"Look at what happened this week. You refused to talk to me, and we weren't even actually dating." you say.
"I know, I'm sorry," he pauses. "I just couldn't understand why you couldn't see us as an option. I don't want to go out and date other people; I want you. "
You want him too, you know you really do, but you still can't force yourself to say the words.
Chan sees it on your face. "You'll never lose me, you're tangled within my very being, whether we like it or not. There is nothing you can ever do to get rid of me."
Maybe that was really all you needed to hear because as soon as his words settle in the air, you're surging forward.
You've kissed Chan countless times before, but something is different this time. Maybe his lips are softer, maybe he perfected the exact way you enjoy being kissed, but whatever it is, the way his mouth moves against yours calms your nerves and quiets your thoughts.
Maybe this is the way it was supposed to be; maybe all those years where you found yourself longing to kiss him, you just should've.
When you pull away, you find Chan's plush lips parted, his eyes searching your face for anything that will tell him how you feel. "You can't get rid of me either." You say. Chan chuckles, nodding, "I know, and I don't want to." You close-mouth smile, leaning back in for a kiss.
Chan pulls back his eyes searching yours. "Can I take you to my room now?"
Chan's room is always neat and tidy; there's not even a sock on the ground as the two of you stumble in. His hand pulls you in by the base of your skull. You hum into the kiss, your hands resting on his wrists. The kiss is rough, like he's been waiting all night for it.
You tug at his t-shirt, and Chan pulls away from your mouth to help you by tugging it off before reconnecting to your lips like he can't be away from them for long.
With your hands on the bare skin of his waist, you push him towards the bed. When he feels like the back of his knees meet the edge, he falls into a seating position and away from your lips.
You hike up your dress and climb onto his lap. Your mouths meet again; he slips his hands up past the hem of your dress and rubs at your bare thighs.
Chan pulls away; you both gasp for air. "I want you to ride my fingers first," he whispers roughly. "I miss the way you feel on my fingers."
"It's been a week."
"Too long." He says, before his mouth finds yours again, and his hand trails to your clothed core. He rubs you through the thin fabric of your underwear. You gasp, and Chan's tongue invades your mouth, tongue moving against yours, making you groan into his mouth.
When he pushes your underwear to the side, he pulls away, leaning back to watch your face when his fingers slip past your lower lips. You gasp when Chan rubs back and forth, collecting your essence. "God, you're so wet already." He comments.
You would've been embarrassed if it wasn't for Chan easing a finger into your leaking hole. You both moan at the feeling, "So fucking soft." he whispers, his head tilting back, eyes never leaving your face.
He slowly works his finger in and out, and you both lean forward so your foreheads are pressed against each other. "And warm," he adds, his breath warm on your face.
"I'm gonna add another, yeah?" His eyes peer up at you, and you nod.
You sound soaked as he twists two fingers into your cunt. "It feels so tight and perfect, if only you knew how long this week felt." He says, but you're hardly listening when his fingers pump into you so deliciously.
"Ride my fingers, baby." You clench at the pet name coming from his mouth, because although he's definitely called you that before, this is the first time you can hear it without spiraling. He groans at the feeling of you pulse around his fingers.
You start slow, lifting up and sinking down onto the digits. Chan looks down, his eyes looking over your figure. "god, it should be illegal for you to be seen in this dress."
You speed up a bit, and Chan uses his thumb to rub at your clit. You moan, falling forward, your head resting on his shoulder. You turn your head to face him. "fuck me." Your words are barely above a whisper, but you're right by his ear. "I wanna cum on your cock" you say.
Chan groans, and before you know it, you're flipped and lying on your back, and he stands to take off his pants. You quickly sit up to slip off the straps of your dress before pushing it down your body along with your underwear.
You couldn't wear a bra with the dress, so you now lay bare; Chan's lustful eyes roam your body. "On your knees," he says, and you don't have to be told twice.
You arch your back when Chan joins you on the bed, hands gliding along the smooth skin of your thighs, hips, and up to your waist, fingers pinching the skin before sliding back to find your core. You look over your shoulder to see him focused on your cunt.
His fingers play with your clit, making you twitch. His fingers meet your entrance again, and you moan as they slip back in with ease. "Cum on my fingers first," he demands, eyes meeting yours. You nod.
You hold eye contact with him for as long as you can, but when his fingers work into you faster and harder than before, your head falls to the mattress.
"Cha-" you're cut off by a particularly deep thrust that has your eyes rolling back. Your hips move back onto their hand of their own accord.
"I want you to soak my hand," Chan says, and you pick your head up to nod. "Can you?" You nod again. "Then do it now." You're still nodding as you feel yourself about to fall over the edge.
When you cum Chan groans at the feeling of you tightening around his fingers. You search for breath as Chan continues to thrust their digits into you through your orgasm.
When he pulls his fingers from you, you have only a few seconds to calm your pounding heart before you feel his cock collecting your slick, rubbing up and down your slit.
"You look so fucking good," Chan says before slipping into your entrance with a hiss. "You feel even fucking better," he groans.
He grips your hips tightly, starting with slow thrusts; you're sensitive since you just came, the sound of your slick cunt accepting his cock that fills the room is downright filthy.
It's not too long before Chan picks up pace, pounding into your cunt with a force that feels close to punishment. It has you seeing stars. Your face is in the mattress as you groan. "Fuck. Chan," you whimper, trying your best to wait for them.
"I love it when you say my name like that," He says. "Like the way you liked when I called you baby." You clench, and you have to actively prevent yourself from cumming.
"Oh yeah," he groans. "Fucking cum, babygirl." You clench again, but Chan doesn't let you put it off again; his fingers find your clit, and as they roughly toy with the little nub, your orgasm crashes into you.
Chan grunts as your cunt grips their cock.
The arch in your back falls as your energy depletes. He adjusted himself after losing the previous angle. Leaning over you, his bare chest to your back. The thrusts sound sloppier now after you've cum twice.
"Good?" He asks. You find it in yourself to nod, and when Chan places a kiss on your cheek, "good girl." you thank him by purposely clenching onto his cock.
"Oh," he moans. Leaning back up, he adjusts his grip on your hips, lifting you to meet his brutal thrusts.
"Can you give me one more?" He asks through strained teeth.
You shake your head. Chan reaches around and rubs at your clit. "You sure?" You grip the sheets but don't reply.
"One more, please, I promise," he whispers. You nod, looking over your shoulder, "Together?" Your voice is so soft, it sounds unrecognizable to your ears.
Chan groans, "Yes." He says it quick. "Yes, let's cum together, baby," and you do; the feeling of you spilling over the edge has chan spilling inside you.
Your heart is pounding as you try to catch your breath when Chan comes into view beside you, his chest heaving.
He looks over at you, his hand reaching out to push the hair out of your face. His soft eyes look over your features before he leans in to place a soft kiss on your lips.
"I really do love you." He says.
You smile, your eyes heavy with exhaustion, "I love you too."
A/N
Thank you for reading!!
First smut on this account!! My main is @honeywritten where I post WLW smut (mostly aespa- mostly Karina)
➥ Idiots in Love, Secret (Mutual) Crush, Fluffy Sexy
➥ Contains: Just down bad Bartender!Chris railing you flat on a pool table after hours because my brain is R O T T I N G, a somewhat cute twist on the overused porn trope "I don't have money, how about I suck your dick?"
➥ You challenge the stupid hot bartender to a game of pool to get out of paying the gigantic bill your entourage racked up.
*a/n: Just one of the 971003 fics you will surely see about these pictures. And y'all are bad frens for not telling me about them as soon as they were out.
“Come ON, man! It’s Chae’s birthday, and we’ve been your regulars since THE DAY you opened this place!” you protest vehemently, pointing at your very inebriated group of friends waiting for their Ubers out front.
“And thank you for your continued patronage,” Chris responds flatly. “Was there a point?”
“I may or may not have said I’d pick up the tab as a birthday gift,” you grimace, then bat your eyelashes at him like a cartoon bunny. “Can’t tonight be on you just this once?”
“You want me to gift you a night for thirty people?” he snorts. “You guys dried out my entire inventory!”
“It’s good manners, and you haven’t even wished her a happy birthday,” you fake a pout.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHAEEE~!” Chris yells towards the entrance with a big smile, and she waves back at him with childlike joy, making hearts with her hands. He then looks back at you with murderous intent, sliding the bill across the counter like he wants gambling debts to be paid off. “Manners went out the window when you decided to trash my bar. In addition to your friends’ sailor drinking, you’ll be paying for the damages.”
“IT SAYS I OWE YOU LIKE TWO GRAND HERE, WHAT THE FUCK?!” you scream when you see the grand total of four digits.
“The pinball machine is broken, the toilet is overflowing, the wall needs to be plastered and repainted because your frat-ass himbos poked holes all over it with the missed darts, the darts weren’t the only things they couldn’t aim, AND they emptied the entire condom machine in the restroom,” he cites all the charges against you. “You’re lucky I’m not getting your house foreclosed.”
“Ugh, FINE, can I at least split it into four cards?”
“Can’t. The POS terminal doesn’t work.”
“I’ll pay you tomorrow then.”
“Oh, you’re not fucking going anywhere without paying me,” he sternly denies your motion.
“Where am I gonna find this much cash at this hour?!”
You look outside and watch your dear, dear friends wave you goodbye with dumb smiles as they get into their Ubers. As Chris wholesomely smiles at them all, the pool table at the back of the now-empty bar steals your attention.
“I’ll play you for it,” you propose.
“‘Scuse me?”
“I’ll play you for the damages,” you lean into the counter. “One hand. If I win, you clear the tab.”
“And when I win, you’ll still owe me money,” he scoffs. “What do I get out of this?”
“I don’t know, figure something out!” you raise your voice. “Just make it doable.”
You make it too easy for him sometimes. Chris bites his smile to keep the mask intact and declares his bet.
“Fine,” he crosses his arms against his chest. “You lose, you flash me.”
“Flash y— What?”
“You flash me,” he repeats. “Doable enough, yeah?”
“You can’t be serious,” you look at him blankly.
“I didn’t ask to fondle your tits. I just wanna look,” he says seriously, but is clearly trying to suppress a smirk. “All your friends saw it when you were playing truth or dare. Why shouldn’t the guy who served you the entire night?”
“Fine,” you grit your teeth as you extend your hand, shaking his like you want to break it rather than make an agreement.
Ultra content with your end of the bargain, Chris locks the front door and turns the sign on it to ‘Closed’ while you rack up the table. Ever the gentleman, he lets you go first and only lasts two turns before he starts dissing your skills.
“There is no way you’re gonna win like this, just saying,” he reaches for the chalk. “You’re making a few crucial mistakes.”
“Yeah, Cue-ristopher? ENLIGHTEN me, please,” you deride.
Chris takes that to mean ‘Legit give me a tutorial on how to properly play pool’. He gets behind you and practically hugs you, moving your arms like a puppeteer.
Meanwhile, you’re trying to think of ways to not die.
Not only is this the first time you’re alone together with the unofficial Chrome Hearts ambassador, but you have never stood in a proximity from each other that’s not at least a bar counter’s length apart. Now add the fact that you would suck this man’s soul out of him if you ever got him alone. Which is… right now… kinda sorta…
Fucking crazy he still hasn’t figured out why you’re forcing your entourage to hang out at that bar every goddamn night.
“See how the ball is too close to the pocket?” he points at your target. “If your bridge is this short, you’ll hit with too much force and send the cue ball right into the pocket. Longer bridge, slower speed, more control, yeah?” He then checks your grip and adjusts your posture. “Relax your wrist. Arm 90 degrees to the table. Don’t hold the very end of the cue.”
He holds your hand and slowly slides it a few inches up. You know you’re reading too much into this, but the way he moves is too reminiscent of… something else.
“Move up…” he softly instructs into your ear, “right here.”
HOW ABOUT HE MOVES UP RIGHT INSIDE YOUR PUSSY, THOUGH?!
“Now your front hand,” he leans forward and places his hand on yours. “Hook your index finger over the shaft.”
Is he picking these words on purpose, like…?! Since when is pool filled with innuendo for terminology? And more importantly, why is his body a million degrees behind you? Why is he taking deep breaths?
Is this a preview of what it would feel like to feel his body weight on you?
“That’s right,” he approves and gives you your final order. “Now hit that.”
You hit with remarkable accuracy, sending the cue ball to the very edge of the pocket, but it doesn’t fall into it. You can’t care less. You’re trying to brainstorm more ways to feel Chris closer. It’s going to look super tacky if you just said, “Fine, I quit,” right now and flash him, especially right after he’s shown you how to hit like a sniper. Will he think you’re just trying to get out of paying if you made a move on him right now? Will it make you look easy? Does he even find you attractive, or is the “Try this cocktail I’m experimenting with” thing something he does for a lot of people?
In the middle of your spiral, you feel a whisper in your ear, and it’s so soft that it makes you shudder. Nevertheless, you can swear you felt a little throb on your hips just now as he quietly speaks the words with a huge grin.
“Good girl.”
AAAND you snap.
You slowly turn around, resting the butt of the cue on the floor, and lean against the table. Your eyes narrow as if to scan him because something doesn’t make sense here.
“All the things you could ask from me, yet you asked me to flash you,” you recount the terms of your bet. “Why?”
“Can’t a man just want to enjoy a good view?” he retorts.
“He can,” you acknowledge, “but you’re an ass man.”
“How would you know?”
“When I’m by the bar, you never slip no matter how much of a low cut I wear, but you always check me out when I leave the stool,” you touché the crap out of him. “So spill.”
He feels so busted, breaking into a big smile as he averts his eyes from you. Now that it’s out in the open, he sees no harm in being more direct. He rests his hands on the table on either side of you and cages you under him.
“Maybe I was building up to something else,” he responds.
“Why not just go ahead and ask to fuck me then?”
“And you would agree?”
“If you can persuade me.”
He looks down at your chest and lightly brushes the back of his fingers from your exposed collarbone down to your cleavage. You gasp when you suddenly find yourself in the air in his arms, and he makes you sit on the table. He hooks his fingers into the belt hoops of your jeans and pulls you a bit closer, slowly undoing the button.
“So if I just… got on my knees for you right now,” he drags the zipper down, “gave you a nice, sloppy head…”
He slips a hand inside, gently caressing your soaked folds with two fingers. Then he removes them and spreads his fingers apart, licking his lips at the sight of the slick between them. You can’t help how thickly you gulp when he looks right into your soul as he licks them clean.
“...would that be persuasive enough to let me fuck you on this table?”
“What a freak,” you chuckle. “First time getting physical, and you want a threesome with the table?”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he tsks. “It’ll be awkward between me and the table tomorrow since we work together.”
You burst into laughter, and he joins you. You feel like you can breathe again, but it’s short-lived. When the laughter dies down, the air immediately starts thickening again.
“You know,” you pull him closer from his collar, “your experimental cocktails have too much pineapple juice in them.”
“If you don’t like it, then stop drinking them,” he counters.
“Then stop feeding them to me.”
“Then stop accepting it.”
“Then stop acting like you’re not trying to get me to taste better,” you hold up his damp fingers. “Did it work, at least?”
“That’s a myth. I figured if you bought into it, you would start associating me with cum,” he replies with a smirk. “You taste so fucking delicious as it is, I should make a cocktail out of you.”
Yeah, you throb between your legs a little bit, and what about it?
“So if I just… paid a one-off service fee instead,” you slide your hands down his chest, “can we just call it even?”
“Just so you know, gratuity is not included,” he informs you before he leans in for a kiss.
His lips are impossibly soft, moving within yours with such a memorized rhythm as if you’ve already been kissing each other for years. His hands move to peel your pants off of you, and he drags them down to your ankles, spreading your legs while kneeling before you. You don’t get a heads-up before he dives right in, hands wrapped around your thighs as he drags his tongue all over your slick folds.
You can’t believe you have actually manifested your most frequented wank session material into existence.
“There is no way you’re gonna make me cum like this, just saying,” you lie your ass off for the sake of snark. “You’re making a few crucial mistakes.”
“Enlighten me, please,” he slurps into your entrance.
“Get your fingers wet,” you instruct him as you spread your lips. “Then wrap your lips around my clit.”
He follows your orders to perfection, and you move his hand towards your entrance.
“Now hit that,” you urge him.
And man, does he hit.
It has nothing to do with pace. Chris doesn’t rush. He sticks his tongue out, relaxes it, and presses it against your clit, moving his head in a circular motion and occasionally closing his mouth on your pussy. His middle and ring fingers keep working you as he eats, stimulating a delicious spot inside you in an almost languid rhythm. Yet it works so well that the slick you’re oozing is dripping down his wrist.
“Don’t–Don’t stop…” you moan, your eyes rolling back. You need something to grab onto and squeeze, but there’s nothing around you other than him. “So wet, god, Chris, you’re fucking killing me…”
He chuckles into your pussy so softly that something shoots up from your crotch and hits the ceiling of your head. When he notices how your legs shake, he starts moaning into you more, quiet but deep, and it sounds so lewd as if you’re the one satisfying him. You hold his head in place and ride his tongue, trying your hardest not to go insane while listening to his sounds of pleasure, and when he starts slurping on your clit, you snap.
Chris doesn’t remember ever witnessing something so obscene and so beautiful in the same breath.
He gets back up on his feet, and you almost lose your mind seeing half his face covered with you. He seems proud of it. He seems like he wants a reward for it. A kiss, a compliment, a flash of your tits…
He unbuckles his belt and takes his cock out, his tip flushed dark pink with how hard he is. It’s so mouthwatering that your hands move on instinct to feel him, tracing the bulging veins with your thumb.
“Any mistakes here I need to be aware of?” he asks, aligning himself with your entrance.
“Just hit that,” you hold onto his shoulders with a fucked out smile.
A deep groan rips from his throat as he disappears into you. You lick your palm, reaching under to cup his balls, and he starts smiling to himself with his eyes closed like he’s getting high. His girth makes you feel so full, and your mind goes more blank with every thrust, unable to form a single thought. Before it becomes a full white space inside your head, your end of the bargain knocks on the door of your consciousness, and you peel your top off, pressing your breasts together while pinching your nipples a little bit. His face contorts at the sight, and he leans in to suck on them, his pace suddenly turning erratic.
“Lie down for me, beautiful, I’m gonna cum on them,” he requests. “Play with those for me, yeah?”
You lie on your back and get your fingers wet, looking right into his eyes as you rub your nipples. He feels incredible being buried deep inside you, all swollen and wet for him, but the way he makes your tits bounce just makes him wanna hit that harder.
“Oh, fuck, you’re so hot. Yeah, like that. Like that. Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum. I’m gonna cum so hard for you, baby, clench. Clench harder. Harder, yes. Yes. FUCK!”
The warm, thick strings of his seed land on your breasts, and it feels so strangely satisfying. You smear it all over your skin like your bespoke moisturizer, and even though he’s just cum, Chris loses it a little bit. You hold onto his hands and pull yourself up, kissing him through his faded euphoria.
“For your information, I was just trying to be a gentleman,” he holds your face, “I’m also a tits man.”
“You don’t say,” you narrow your eyes, joining his silly giggles, and as you put your clothes back on, your phone goes off with a notification.
Chaerry Blossom
say thank you to chris again for the gift <3 he’s the best
also hit that already before someone else does smh
“Um… Efren Reyes, yes, hello,” you snap your fingers in front of Chris’ face. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”
“About what?”
“What does Chae mean with ‘gift’?” you show him the screen.
Chris reads the text, then fashions a response template for you. “Tell her I said, ‘Anytime, and happy birthday’.” He buttons his pants back on and fixes your hair. “The mention of hitting that is up to you, but if you do, a five-star review of my performance would be appreciated.”
“What are you saying?” you furrow your brows.
“Oh, come on, it was her birthday today. Wouldn’t be good manners to take money,” he explains with the most vexing smile. “Consider it a gift from me.”
“So… we didn’t have to do this shit at all,” you purse your lips, brows knit so tightly with the realization of being hustled that a valley forms between them. “In very camp porn fashion, you were already planning to fuck me for the tab.”
“I never opened a tab for you guys tonight.”
Your mouth parts open, and all that comes out for a while is ceaseless stammering. What does he mean he didn’t open a tab? What does he mean consider it a gift from him?
“What the heck was that whole production then?!” you eventually yell at his face.
“Wanted to shoot my shot. I was prepared for you to cuss me out, and if that happened, I was just gonna say I was messing with you,” Chris shrugs. “Which, I technically was.”
“You freaked me out just for the LOLs?”
“I freaked you out for a chance to finally get you alone so I can ask you out,” he confesses.
Your flabbers are gasted, your dumbs are founded, and your thunders are struck. You don’t know what to say to him for a while, much less when you realize some things you’ve been carrying around for the longest time might not have been one-sided at all.
“We’re… literally here every night,” you state the obvious.
“Yet every night you come in together with your friends, too busy chatting it up at your booth, then leave together,” he gives an executive summary of your nightly routine. “Even when you guys go to the restroom, you move in flocks, like what’s up with that?”
“We’re not rampant alcoholics, dumbo. Why would we hang out here every night?” you emphasize once again.
Chris takes a moment to process your words, then his dimples start to deepen. It’s like a yawn effect—every time you see him smile, you inadvertently smile, too.
“Well, at least we were able to test how sturdy the pool table is,” you caress the green surface, then look at him with a smirk that’s up to no good. “Wanna go test how sturdy my bed is?”
“I can tell you the results up front; it’s so failing the test,” he melts into your lips again.
❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to make Chris hit that.
I'd hit that too if I see Bangchan anywhere. Of course another masterpiece 😩 that was so hot and oh my god, the tension UGHHH CAN I HAVE SOME MORE PLEASE
Lol sorry guys I havent been around 😭😭 i got hooked into junk journaling and havent had the desire to read fics (I know it's sad okay im sorry 😭) but I got bored during my break and so....🤭
Life update: I got a casual nursing job 🫡 officially an RN or whatever heheh
or: being fwb with someone you have feelings for is hard, even harder when he's a douchbag who doesn't even bother introducing you as a friend, like where is the friends in friends with benefits? well, it's none existent now, because you're about to be more than friends, he just needed a little wake up call.
warnings: MDNI! smut with some plot, fwb!chan, generic plot, some angst if you squint, jealousy, possessiveness, he's an asshole (but he redeems himself), college au, college parties.
wc: 4.8k
The sheets were twisted around your legs, damp with sweat and smelling like sex.
Chan laid sprawled next to you, one arm thrown over his face, chest still rising too fast. You watched the ceiling above you, counting the seconds until he’d roll over and say something stupid — or worse, nothing at all.
This was how it always went. A text at midnight, usually after some party where you’d spent the whole night pretending not to watch each other. His place or yours, never sober enough to bother with a condom unless one of you remembered at the last second.
No talking afterward unless it was 'nice' or 'I should go'.
You weren’t his girlfriend. He wasn’t your boyfriend.
It had started last semester, after a particularly messy game of beer pong where he’d cornered you in the bathroom, fingers already under your skirt. Neither of you had asked what it meant. it just happened.
Chan shifted beside you, the mattress creaking as he sat up. You didn’t look at him, but you could feel his eyes on you. “You good?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you said, because that’s what you always said.
He reached for his jeans on the floor, the fabric rustling as he dug for his phone.
The silence stretched too long. You rolled onto your side, pulling the sheet up just enough to cover yourself. Chan glanced at you, thumb still tapping his screen. “You want me to go?”
You almost laughed. “You always do.”
Something flickered in his expression — too fast to name — before he shrugged. “Right. Well.” He stood, hopping into clothes that were scattered throughout different areas of your room.
He didn’t kiss you goodbye. He never did.
The front door clicked shut behind him, and you exhaled, staring at the ceiling again.
It was fine. This was fine.
You had midterms next week anyway.
~
The first midterm exam was a blur of half remembered formulas and caffeine jitters that made your hands shake.
You scribbled your last answer with thirty seconds left, then bolted for the door before the professor could call time.
Outside the lecture hall, the air was thick with the smell spring, too cheerful for the hollow feeling slowly growing in your chest.
You spotted Chan immediately. He was leaned against the bike rack, scrolling through his phone like he hadn’t just ghosted you for 3 days. His head snapped up when your shoes scuffed the pavement, and his mouth quirked into that stupid smirk that made your stomach flip.
“Hey,” he said, like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t left you tangled in the sheets with your thighs still sticky and your pulse pounding in your ears.
“Hey,” you echoed, adjusting your backpack straps. The silence stretched, awkward.
Chan’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, thumb swiping absently, and something bitter curled in your throat. “Busy?” you asked, nodding at the screen.
Chan's smirk didn’t waver as he pocketed his phone. "Just a group chat. some study session tonight." He shrugged, "You should come."
You snorted. "Hard pass. I’d rather stab my eyes out with a highlighter."
He answered you with a laugh, and you hated how your chest tightened at the sound.
You were about to make an excuse—library, laundry, literally anything—when a voice cut in from behind you. "Chan! There you are."
You turned to see a girl with a sleek dark ponytail and a textbook clutched to her chest. Her smile faltered when she noticed you, then went back to normal. "Oh. Hi."
"Hey, hae," he said, voice suddenly lighter. Too light.
The girl — hae — sidled up next to him, close enough that her elbow brushed his arm. "You disappeared after class," she said, flicking her ponytail over one shoulder. "I was gonna ask if you wanted to grab a drink before our next class." Her gaze slid to you, "Unless you're busy."
You clenched your teeth so hard your jaw ached. Chan shifted his weight, "Nah, just catching up with—" He gestured vaguely at you, and the omission stung more than it should have.
Not his girlfriend. Not a friend. Not even a name worth mentioning.
hae’s smile widened. "Cool." She hooked a finger through Chan’s belt loop — his fucking belt loop — and tugged. "Let’s go. You still owe me notes from Tuesday."
You watched them walk away. Your nails dug into your palms, but you forced your face into something neutral, something unbothered. You were fine. This was fine.
By midnight, the anger had curdled into something hotter, something restless under your skin. You were halfway through a half assed attempt at studying when your phone buzzed
u up?
you stared at it before typing back,
yea
his reply came immediately
dorm's empty, come over?
~
Chan was already shirtless when he opened the door, hair mussed like he’d been running his hands through it. His grin was lazy, familiar. “Hey.”
You didn’t answer. Just stepped inside and let the door click shut behind you.
It was fast, no pretense of tenderness tonight. His hands dug into your hips, your back hitting the wall before you could make it to his bedroom.
You wrapped your arms around him, trailing kisses down his neck, “damn, missed you too,” he snickered.
~
After, tangled in his sheets. again. you stared at the ceiling. again. Chan sprawled beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest still rising too fast. again. The silence was sticky with everything you weren’t saying.
“So,” you said finally, voice too loud in the dark. “hae.”
Chan stiffened. His arm slid away from his face, but he didn’t look at you. “What about her?”
You rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow. “You let her drag you away by your belt loop like some fucking lapdog.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “We study together. It’s not a big deal.”
“Sure.” You laughed, “And I’m just some girl you fuck when you’re bored.”
Chan sat up suddenly, sheets pooling at his waist. “That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?” You kept your voice steady, even as your pulse hammered in your throat. “Because, as it seems, we’re not serious. You made that real clear today.”
“You’re pissed because I walked away with hae?”
“I’m pissed because you let her drag you away.” You fully sat up now, looking at him next to you as you tried real hard to hold your tears back.
“You didn’t even introduce me. Just ‘catching up with—’ like I’m some random you bumped into.”
“Oh, so now we’re doing introductions? What, you want me to tell people you’re my girlfriend?” he regret the words right as they spilled from his mouth, and you looked back it him in disbelief.
The word hung between you. before you decided to swing your legs off the bed, reaching for your clothes on the floor. The fabric was still warm from his hands. You yanked your shirt over your head.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
You didn’t wait for him to reply. The floor was cold under your bare feet as you stepped into your jeans, yanking them up. Chan didn’t move, he might have wanted to, but he didn't.
His silence was worse than anything he could’ve said — proof that he’d let you walk away a hundred times before and wouldn’t stop you now.
Your bra was somewhere near his dresser, but you didn’t bother hunting for it. Just tugged your sweater on over your t-shirt. Chan’s fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you, but he stayed put, jaw clenched tight.
“You’re really leaving?” he asked, like he couldn’t believe you’d actually go through with it.
You scooped your shoes off the floor without answering. The laces dragged as you shoved your feet into them, not bothering to tie them.
The doorknob was cool under your palm, and for half a second, you hesitated — stupid, pathetic hope curling in your chest. But there was no sound of footsteps behind you, no hand on your wrist pulling you back. Just silence.
you twisted the doorknob, letting the door slam behind you as you left.
~
The week passed in a blur, your textbooks spread across your desk. You aced the rest of your midterms — probably because Chan wasn’t in your bed, or your head, or your vagina every other night.
The irony wasn’t lost on you. Still, your fingers hovered over his contact in your phone more times than you’d admit, thumb almost brushing the call button before you’d snap it shut and toss it onto your pillow.
The fifth time your roommate, yunjin, caught you staring blankly at the same page of your psychology textbook for forty minutes, she ripped the book from your hands and slammed it shut.
“Nope,” she declared, tossing it onto your bed where it landed with a thud. “We’re done here.”
You blinked up at her, your brain still foggy from three nights of fitful sleep, “What?”
“You,” Yunjin said, grabbing your wrist “are going to a party.” She yanked you upright with surprising strength for someone who subsisted entirely on instant ramen.
“And before you argue — no, you don’t have a choice. I’ve watched you mope around this room like a victorian widow for a week now. It’s pathetic.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but Yunjin was already rifling through your closet. She tossed a sparkly cropped black top at your face, followed by jeans so tight you’d have to lie down to zip them.
“Put these on,” she ordered, then paused, eyeing your unwashed hair with disdain. “Actually, shower first.”
The hot water did nothing to loosen the knot in your chest, but the steam cleared your head enough to remember how to function like a human being.
By the time you emerged, Yunjin had laid out your makeup on the desk, textbooks gathered and thrown somewhere, “Sit,” she commanded. and you sat there with your hair still in a towel while she did your makeup.
“You’re being weirdly intense about this,” you muttered as she swiped blush across your cheeks.
Yunjin didn’t pause. “Someone has to be. You’ve been acting like your life ended because one idiot boy can’t figure out his feelings.”
She grabbed your chin, tilting your face toward the light to inspect her work. “News flash, the world is full of idiot boys. Tonight, we’re going to remind you that you don’t need any of them.”
~
The party hummed with the kind of manic energy unique to college students who'd just survived midterms — music too loud, sticky floors, red cups getting passed around.
You let Yunjin steer you through the crush of bodies, her grip on your wrist unyielding as she carved a path toward the kitchen.
The scent of cheap vodka and sweat hung thick in the air, and you focused on that instead of the way your pulse jumped when you spotted Chan across the room, leaned against a wall with some guy friend of his.
He hadn't seen you yet. His head was tipped back in laughter, the familiar curve of his throat exposed under the dim overhead light.
Sakura spotted you first, her face lighting up like a flare in the dark. "Oh my god, there you are," she crowed, reaching across the kitchen island to snag your wrist then pull you in a hug. Her fingers were sticky with punch, but you didn't pull away as she dragged you into their orbit.
chae was perched on the counter beside her, legs swinging lazily as she sipped something pink from a plastic cup. The familiar sight of them loosened something tight in your chest.
"You look like shit," chae announced cheerfully, kicking your hip lightly with the toe of her boot. The bluntness made you laugh. It was the kind of honesty only she could get away with, delivered with charm that it felt like affection.
"Thanks," you deadpanned, stealing her drink for a sip. "Midterms."
Chae wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, don't remind me. I had to bribe my TA just to look at my paper."
She leaned in conspiratorially, her breath warm against your ear. "Also, Yunjin texted us. We're under strict orders to distract you tonight." Her fingers made air quotes around the word, nails glittering under the kitchen's light.
The conversation flowed, uncomplicated for once, the kind of chatter that didn’t require thinking.
You leaned into the counter, letting their voices wash over you, the tension in your shoulders easing for the first time in days.
It was almost enough to make you forget the way Chan’s gaze had flickered toward the kitchen twice already.
Then mingyu stumbled into you, his elbow knocking your ribs as he reached past you for the vodka.
you recognized him, he's someone from chan's obnoxiously big circle of frat guys.
"Shit—sorry," he mumbled, blinking at you with the bleary focus of someone three drinks deep. His face lit up in recognition. "Oh hey! You’re—" He pointed at you, brow furrowing. "Chan’s girl, right?"
The words hit like a bullet. Sakura’s cup paused halfway to her lips. Chae’s eyes widened, darting between you and where Chan was now very much not looking in your direction.
You forced a laugh, "Not even close."
mingyu blinked at your response, then shrugged. "Cool, cool." He leaned against the counter beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.
"So what do you go by, then?"
"Just my name works fine,"
He was easy to talk to in a way, no loaded silences. Just easy smiles and stupid jokes. It was casual. Nice.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Chan stiffen. His drink hovered halfway to his lips, frozen mid sip as mingyu leaned in to whisper something in your ear, his hand settling lightly on your waist to steady himself.
The music pulsed, loud enough to drown out whatever nonsense mingyu was murmuring, but you laughed anyway.
Chan’s cup hit the counter with a sharp crack. His jaw was tight, fingers flexing at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from crossing the room.
You met his gaze across the sea of bodies, holding it for a few seconds.
mingyu followed your line of sight and snorted. "Damn. If looks could kill." He didn’t move his hand, though. "You sure you’re not together?"
You took a slow sip of your drink, the sweetness cloying on your tongue. "just play along."
Chan pushed off the wall abruptly, shouldering through the crowd toward the backyard. The screen door slammed behind him with enough force to rattle the frame. You exhaled.
mingyu’s thumb stroked absently over your hipbone. "You okay?"
"Fine," you lied.
chae, after watching the entire scene, slid off the counter with a sigh. "I’m gonna go see where Yunjin wandered off to," She paused, squeezing your shoulder. "we'll be back, okay? Don’t do anything stupid."
sakura sighed, "Too late for that." But she followed chae anyway, leaving you alone with mingyu and the ghost of Chan’s stare still burning against your skin.
mingyu’s laugh was low as he leaned in. "So, not Chan’s girl, that means you're free to dance?"
You hesitated, then nodding. "Yeah. Let’s dance."
some time passed. you let him spin you around, laughed at his jokes. It was easy, too easy, to pretend you weren’t counting the minutes since Chan stormed outside.
You were mid sip of some sickly sweet concoction mingyu had shoved into your hands when the crowd parted like a curtain, and chan emerged from the middle.
His gaze locked onto mingyu’s fingers curled around your waist, and something dark flickered behind his eyes.
"Can I talk to you?" he asked, but it was not really a request.
mingyu tried to step in, "Hey, man—" but it didn't really work.
"Alone," Chan snapped.
You tilted your head, smiled, "We’re busy."
Chan’s jaw twitched. He stepped closer, his voice dropping low, "Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking."
You hesitated, long enough to watch his throat bob, before sighing. "Fine." Turning to mingyu, "I’ll be back."
"Take your time."
Chan didn’t wait. He grabbed your wrist and pushed through the crowd, his grip firm on your wrist.
he took you to an empty room upstairs, shutting the door behind him. He exhaled sharply, raking his free hand through his hair. "What the fuck was that?"
You yanked your arm free, "Dancing? Pretty sure you’re familiar with the concept.
Chan’s laugh was jagged. "With mingyu?" He stepped closer, crowding you against the wall. but you held your ground, tilting your chin up. "You’re really gonna play this game?"
"We’re not serious," you mimicked, throwing his words right back at him. "That’s what you said, right? Or did your 'study buddy' blow your brain too?"
His hands flexed at his sides. For a heartbeat, you thought he might walk away, he always did, but then he moved, one palm slammed against the wall by your head while the other gripped your hip, fingers pressing into the same spot mingyu had touched minutes ago.
"You think I don’t see what you’re doing?"
You swallowed hard. "Enlighten me."
"Bullshit revenge act." of course, he read right through you. "You wanted me to watch."
You arched a brow. "And if I did?"
"Then mission fucking accomplished."
The party noise faded to a dull roar, drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears. Chan’s chest heaved inches from yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips.
"You’re such a hypocrite," you hissed, "You don’t get to act jealous when you—"
Chan’s mouth crashed into yours before you could finish, clacking in a kiss that was more teeth and tongue than anything. His free hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the angle. It was messy, desperate, fuelled with all the pent up anger you suppressed all these days.
When he finally pulled away, his lips were swollen, pupils blown wide. "I don’t want him touching you," he ground out, thumb swiping roughly at the smudged gloss on your chin. "Ever."
"You don’t get to decide that."
His grip tightened, fingers pressing into the soft skin just above your waistband. "Watch me."
Chan’s mouth was on yours again before you could protest, his teeth scraping your lower lip in a way that sent a jolt straight to your core. You arched into him, nails digging into the fabric of his tank top as he crowded you back against the wall, his thigh slotting between yours with bruising pressure.
"Fuck you," you gasped against his mouth, but your hips rolled against him on instinct, chasing the friction.
"oh I will," he growled, hands sliding under your top, his palms were rough against your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as he yanked the fabric up.
The cool air hit your skin just as his mouth did — tongue swiping over your nipple, teeth following in a sharp bite that made you gasp.
"You’re such an asshole," you breathed, but your fingers twisted in his hair, holding him there.
he laughed against your skin, one hand already working the button of your jeans. He didn’t bother undoing it fully, just shoved the fabric down your thighs enough to slide his fingers past the waistband of your panties.
You were wet — had been since he dragged you up here — and his groan vibrated against your collarbone. "Fuck, you’re dripping," he muttered, dragging two fingers through your folds. "This what you wanted? Me losing my goddamn mind watching someone else's hands all over you?"
You keened when his fingers circled your clit, the pressure almost painful.
"You don’t own me," you managed, but the words dissolved into a whimper as he pushed two fingers inside without warning, curling them just right.
Chan’s breath hitched at the way you clenched around him. "Don’t I?" He worked you ruthlessly, his thumb pressing tight circles against your clit as his fingers fucked into you. "Tell me to stop, then."
any retort died in your throat when he twisted his wrist, fingers crooking, hitting that spot that made your knees buckle. "I—Fuck!" You bit down on your lower lip hard to try to conceal any sounds, but the moan tore free anyway as he sped up, his palm grinding against your clit with every thrust.
"You gonna come for me?" His voice was rough, laced with a challenge. "Or you still thinking about him?" The bastard punctuated the question with a sharp twist of his fingers, and you came with a choked cry, hips stuttering against his hand as he worked you through it, prolonging the pulses until your thighs shook.
Before you even caught your breath, Chan was on his knees, yanking your jeans the rest of the way down. He didn’t give you time to recover, just hooked your thighs over his shoulders and buried his face between your legs.
His tongue was flat and hot against your oversensitive clit, licking into you like he was starving. You writhed, but he held you firm, his fingers digging into your thighs as he sucked gently at your clit before lapping at you.
The pleasure coiled tight again. He hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine, and you arched off the wall with a gasp, your fingers pulling at his hair for purchase.
"Fuck—Chan," you choked out, throwing your head back against the wall, your eyes screwed shut.
He pulled back just enough to blow a cool stream of air over your wetness, watching the way you shuddered before diving back in with renewed hunger. His nose bumped your clit as he fucked his tongue inside you, savoring the way your hips jerked against his mouth.
You could feel the tension building again, tighter this time, intensefied, your thighs trembling where they bracketed his head.
"Look at me," he growled against your skin, his breath hot.
You forced your eyes open, looking down to meet his gaze through the messy tangle of your lashes. His lips were slick, his chin glistening. His tongue circled your clit lazily, once, twice, then flattened against it with firm pressure.
the sight alone made you cum again with a sob, your back bowing off the wall as your orgasm ripped through you, sharper than the first.
Chan didn't let up, his mouth working you through it until you were whimpering, oversensitive and raw, your hands fisting in his hair to tug him away. He relented only to press a filthy, open mouthed kiss to your inner thigh.
he rose from his knees, his mouth slick with you, before you could catch your breath, he crushed his lips to yours, messy, desperate, tasting yourself on his tongue.
his hands slid under your ass to lift you up effortlessly. The bed hit your back a second later, mattress springs creaking under the sudden weight as he climbed over you, caging you in with his body.
You arched under him, nails scraping down his back. "Too bad we’re not serious," you taunted, throwing his words back at him with the same smirk he used to give. "Right?"
"You drive me fucking insane," he gritted out, dragging his teeth down your throat. His hips grind against yours, the hard line of his cock pressing into your thigh through his pants.
"You know that? Every goddamn time—" His hand fumbled between you, yanking his zipper down with impatience. "Every time I see someone else’s hands on you, I want to—" The words dissolved into a growl as he shoved his pants down just enough to free himself, thick and flushed against your stomach.
Chan’s breath stuttered. He caught your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head as he reached between your legs with the other, fingers dragging through your wetness.
"Shut up," he muttered, but there was no heat in it — just raw frustration as he lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance. "Just—fuck—just let me—"
You gasped as he pushed in, The stretch burned. He was bigger than you remembered, or maybe you’d just forgotten how he felt after days of pretending you didn’t care.
"Fuck," he groaned, hips stuttering as he bottomed out. "You’re—god—still so tight."
"Missed your ego, mostly."
your legs locked around his waist, pulling him deeper. The friction was maddening, the way he filled you so completely it stole your breath.
Chan’s laugh was ragged, his forehead dropping to yours as he rolled his hips in a slow, torturous grind. "You like that?" he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction when your nails dug into his shoulders. "Missed this, didn’t you?"
"and I missed you"
you let out a shaky sigh at that, his words never sounded this affectionate before.
"You don’t get to say shit like this after—"
Chan kissed you before you could finish, deep and desperate, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he was chasing the taste of your anger.
"I know," he muttered, after he pulled away, "I’m a hypocrite. An asshole. Whatever you want to call me." His hips rolled again, "But i'm yours."
The words barely had time to register before Chan’s hips snapped forward, driving into you with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs.
The bedframe rattled against the wall with each thrust, the sound muffled by the distant thump of bass from the party downstairs.
“Tell me you’re mine, too” he demanded, but it was more like a plea.
The words slipped out before you could stop them—"Yours," you gasped, nails raking down his back as his hips stuttered against yours. "Only yours."
Chan groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your collarbone where his teeth had marked you moments before. His hands slid under your thighs, hooking your legs over his elbows to drive deeper, and suddenly you were full in a way that made your vision blur at the edges.
"Say it again," he demanded, his voice rough with something that wasn't just lust — something desperate.
You arched under him, meeting each thrust with a roll of your hips that drew a strangled moan from his lips. "Yours!" you repeated, louder, eyes rolling back when he hit that spot that made your toes curl.
"You take me so well," he murmured against your sweat slick skin, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Always so perfect for me, fuck—" His hips snapped forward, the angle shifting just enough to drag a whimper from your throat. "Look at you. Mine."
The possessiveness in his voice sent a jolt straight to your core, the heat coiling tighter with every filthy word.
His thumb trailed up to your clit, circling roughly as his pace grew frantic. "Come with me," he ordered, his voice wrecked. "Let me feel it—god, please—" he begged.
You shattered with a cry, your back bowing off the mattress as the pleasure crashed over you in waves.
Chan followed with a groan, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you, his forehead pressed to yours as he rode out the aftershocks.
For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing and the distant thump of bass from below. Chan's weight slumped against you, warm and familiar, his lips brushing your temple in a kiss so tender it made your chest ache.
He exhaled sharply, rolling off you to collapse onto his back beside you. His arm flung over his eyes.
The bed creaked as you turned onto your side, studying the sharp line of his jaw, the way his throat worked as he swallowed. "I think," you said slowly, tracing a finger down his sweat damp chest, "i think you just proved a point."
"mmm, and what point would that be?"
"That you're an idiot," you said simply.
His arm slid away from his face, revealing dark eyes gone soft at the edges. "Yeah," he admitted quietly. His fingers found yours, threading through them, "But now I'm your idiot now."
"Yeah," you agreed softly. "You are."
a/n: yes I borrowed hae's character from @starlostjisung 's exchange series (I hope u don't mind queen I couldn't think of anyone..), notice how she's a bitch in both universes 💔💔
I wanted to try oil pastels after binge watching them on tiktok
I had done them before in middle school but oh lord were they so bad 💀 I told myself never again
But oil pastels look the easiest to do and so why not? I actually enjoyed them. Maybe oil pastels are the medium I should be using 👀
The blackberries look so shiny and realistic idk how i did that lol. This was on impulse and did it in an hour so I definitely want to practice and take my time doing them!
“If you’re hinting at me to buy that for you, just ask,” Minho says suddenly, walking up behind you.
In your hands is a heart-shaped box of chocolate. Like you do every Valentine’s Day, you scanned the ingredients list on the back, hoping to find a safe box to no avail. You let out a quiet groan as you put the box back.
“Or you can buy it yourself since you’re independent and all that.” He suggests.
You turn to your best friend, and roommate, giving him a frustrated look. You can’t help the pout that appears on your face as your lower lip juts out. You don’t even realize you’re pouting until Minho boops your lower lip.
“You look pitiful right now. How do I make it stop? Do you want me to ask you to be my Valentine or something? Take you out on a date? Help you egg an exes’ house? What?” Minho makes sure to move into your line of sight.
"It's nothing. Let's finish shopping, our frozen things are defrosting." You quietly sigh as you take the shopping cart and start pushing it away from all of the Valentine's candy.
Plop!
Screech!
You freeze as the chocolate box you just put away is sitting on top of the cart. You bite your lower lip as you slowly turn to Minho, quickly losing your patience.
"Minho--"
"What? Those aren't for you. I'm going to eat them while marathoning a new drama tonight. Maybe I'll give you one if you join me." He says nonchalantly, taking over the cart and pushing it towards the checkout.
"Number one, this is why you're single. You can't do cute, romantic things to save your life. At the very least, come back without me later and buy it." You huff, running to catch up to him. "Number two, read the back of the box,"
Minho slows the cart down and picks up the chocolate box, "What do you mean read--Oh,"
You watch as Minho's smile drops as he reads the ingredients of the chocolate box, littered with your allergies. It's the same disappointment you get every time you try to buy yourself a box of candy. If at least one piece of candy doesn't have nuts, it was made in a place that processes them, and that's too much of a risk to take for curiosity.
"No problem, I'll look for a different one." He walks back over the the wall of candy, searching through all of the boxes.
"It's no use, Min. They either have one that has a few chocolates that have nuts in them or they were made in a place that uses nuts. And all the safe ones are too small and taste like ass," You walk over to Minho to pull him away.
"You know what ass tastes like?" He smirks, still looking through the boxes.
"I will hit you in this supermarket in front of all these people," You threaten. "C'mon, let's go. The whole concept of Valentine's Day is a capitalist scam and way overrated anyway. The whole holiday is stupid. I was just curious. It's not that serious."
You tug on Minho's arm, trying to pull him away from the chocolate once again. He wiggles out of your grip and continues to look, waving you off.
"I know, I know you're all big and tough and think relationships are pointless. Now just wait a minute."
You roll your eyes, walking back to the cart and pushing it away from him. "Whatever, meet me at the checkout line when you're done doing the impossible."
About 10 minutes later, you're loading both yours and Minho's groceries on the counter when a defeated Minho walks up behind you. He silently helps you unload the cart, his face scrunched up.
I told you so. You think to yourself. You know better than to say that to his face, especially when he's deep in thought like that. The last time you let an "I told you so" slip he was insufferable for an hour purposely testing your patience and trying to dare you to say it again.
"That's so stupid," Minho mutters under his breath, his eyes trained on the road.
You look up from the receipt as you divide up the groceries so you can send him your half of the money. Your eyes scan the road, searching for whatever caused Minho to break his code of silence. Nothing. The road is quiet and everyone appears to following all of the traffic laws. For once.
"What...are you still on the chocolates? Minho, it doesn't matter, I don't care. I can get chocolate whenever I want. The fact that it's in a heart-shaped box doesn't change the flavor. And it'll be cheaper too."
"I think you do care. That's why you checked the box. Admit it, deep down behind your antiromantic exterior, you want to celebrate Valentine's Day like everyone else. That's why you were looking in the first place."
"S-shut up and take me home." You stutter, taken off guard by Minho's point.
While you have your own, valid hang-ups about Valentine's Day, he's a little bit correct. Growing up, you never got to eat most of the candy you'd bring home from class parties because of your allergies. And your exes would either get you a box of chocolate, disregarding your allergy or just get you flowers and a stuffed animal. Simple things, but you always read those situations as they didn't care enough to pay attention or they couldn't be bothered to even check. In the end, you were right, those relationships didn't last long. In a way, your allergy has become your test for relationships and so far, nobody's passed.
***
You let out a deep sigh as you flop down on the couch, exhausted more than usual after a shift at work. Not like your job doesn't drain you in general, but somehow it sucks more life out of you during the holidays. And Valentine's Day was no exception.
Too many of your coworkers spent the day bragging about what their partners got them or their plans after work. All the communal snacks in the breakroom were heart-shaped themed. Cute, but not worth the risk of possibly going into anaphylactic shock over it. You could have eaten one anyway and got to go home early. But you decided against it in the end.
"I'm going to order some food for dinner! Do you want anything?" You shout into your apartment. You know Minho's home. You saw his bag and keys by the door where he always leaves them when he's home.
You wait a few minutes, hoping to hear some sort of sign that he's awake. You've made the mistake a few times of waking him up from post-work naps, awakening his angry side. Not a fun day.
"I picked us up some dinner on my way home since I had some time to kill!" Minho finally calls out from the kitchen. "I got to go home early, there was a flood."
"Lucky bastard," You mutter under your breath, propping yourself up on your elbows. "Did you cause the flood?"
Minho walks into the living room, setting the takeout bags on the coffee table next to you.
"You couldn't prove it if I did." He smirks before disappearing back into the kitchen.
You sit up now, getting ready to eat. You pull the coffee table as close to the couch as you possibly can so that neither have to lean over too much to reach the food. You grab the remote for the TV, freezing when something catches your eye. A red heart chocolate box, a stuffed cat, and a single tulip.
When did those get there?
You're not sure if they were already there when you got home. They must have been, you just didn't register them when you walked in. You furrow your eyebrows as you try to think. You're almost certain that Minho isn't dating anyone. But still, you're not sure why any of that stuff is sitting in your apartment.
"Why do you always move the table so close to the couch?" Minho whines when he comes back with drinks.
"Did you get into a relationship in the last 24 hours?" You question, taking the drinks from Minho as he climbs over the table to the empty spot next to you.
"I'm not stupid enough to start a relationship the day before a couple holiday. That's something Hyunjin or Jisung would do." He chuckles, taking the remote from the table.
"Then what's this?" You point to the mysterious gift on the table.
"It's for you," He says casually, turning on the TV.
"Me?" You point to yourself in confusion. "From who? A secret admirer?"
"From me, dumbass. Secret admirer...your delusional ass has been spending too much time with Chan hyung." He pulls up the show that you two were watching together last night after dinner.
You stare at the surprise Valentine's gift for a moment, confused. And a little guilty. You did nothing but bring Minho a cup of coffee before you went to work. But you didn't do that because of Valentine's Day, you did that because you wanted to.
You pick up the box and gently flip it over, ready to read the ingredients. Only, the back of the red velvet box is blank.
"Where's the ingredient list?" You question opening the box to at least find the flavor guide only to find the box full of little round chocolates.
"There isn't one," He takes a sip of his drink before unpacking the food.
"Then how am I supposed to know--"
"Don't worry about that," He lays out your utensils in front of you. "I made them so I know they're fine."
You freeze, replaying Minho's words in your head. He made you chocolate? A heart-shaped box of chocolate? With his own two hands? He did? Lee Minho? Your best friend.
"What?" He laughs when he sees the awestruck look on your face, "Y/n, it's no big deal?"
"No big deal? Are you fucking Willy Wonka! What do you mean you made me a box of chocolates?" You ask quickly, slurring your words in excitement.
"Ah, calm down. It was nothing."
You stare at your best friend for a minute, really stare at him. He's wearing one of his old black shirts and a pair of dark grey sweatpants. Both are covered with various, small stains. His bangs are clipped to the top of his, out of his eyes. If you didn't know any better, you would think that he didn't even go to work. That he stayed home, working on the chocolates for you. You know for a fact that he downplays everything, making it seem like everything is easy for him, even if they were really difficult.
"Eat your food and stop gawking at m--Why are you crying?" Minho pauses, his eyes soften as he looks at you. You didn't even know you were crying until Minho pointed it out. Your emotions betraying you as usual.
"Because that's the nicest thing anyone's done for me." You sniffle, still holding onto the box of chocolates.
"Not my fault you date losers." He laughs to himself.
"I'm serious. You...you just...Minho, what the hell??"
"You're welcome, now eat."
Minho's face is as red as the chocolate box as you continue to quietly sniffle and cry. Nobody's made this much trouble for you ever. They treated your allergy as an inconvenience rather than trying to accommodate you. Including your parents.
You sniffle, putting the chocolate box back on the table before finally digging into your food. A smile as wide as the Grand Canyon spreads across your face.
"Don't smile like that, it's unsettling."
"I'm happy, Minho."
"I know, that's what's unsettling."
"Thank you," You say softly.
"You're welcome, now shut up and eat. Sitting here crying over a box of chocolates."
"Careful, Min. People are going to start thinking you're in love with me or something," You tease, taking a sip of your drink.
"So? What if I am?"
The soda goes down the wrong pipe, causing you to choke on it. You're sputtering for air as Minho slaps your back.
"Jesus, I was teasing you back. What is wrong with you?"
"D-don't do that!"
"Where's the fun in that?" He smirks, his hand resting on your back.
—
Buy me a coffee?
—
Permanent Taglist (closed)
Red means that it wouldn't let me tag you (either at all or properly)
"No big deal? Are you fucking Willy Wonka! What do you mean you made me a box of chocolates?"
To be loved is to be seen 🥹 with this having someone make something for you because of your allergy 😭 and I love how I can see Minho definitely be a man who would do this. But any skz would do this 🥹 love love this story. I wish there was a part 2! What happens afterrrr
Warnings: p in v, creampie, oral f receiving, unprotected sex, praise kink, light possessiveness, mild overstimulation, mild breeding kink
A/N: just a quick something before doing the requests i got lately
The gravel crunched under the tires as the rental SUV finally rolled to a stop in front of the cottage. Chan killed the engine and for a long moment neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t empty, it was full: of pine sap, distant woodpeckers, the faint metallic tick of the cooling motor and the sudden, almost embarrassing awareness that this was real. You were here. Married. Alone. For ten whole days.
Chan turned to you first. His left hand still rested on the wheel; the new platinum band on his fourth finger caught a stray shaft of late-afternoon sun and threw a tiny prism across the dashboard. He noticed you looking at it the same second you did.
"Still feels weird" he murmured, flexing his fingers once like he was testing whether the ring would stay put.
You reached over and covered his hand with yours. Your own ring, thinner, more delicate, but matching, clicked softly against his.
"Good weird?" you asked.
He exhaled through his nose, the sound half-laugh, half-sigh. "The best kind."
Then he was out of the car before you could answer, rounding the hood with that quick, purposeful stride he always used when he was trying not to look nervous. He opened your door like it was ceremony. Offered his hand. You took it and let him help you down even though the drop was barely 10 cm.
The air smelled sharply of resin and damp earth. Somewhere a stream flows. The cottage sat maybe twenty meters ahead, dark cedar siding, wide windows framed in forest green, a generous wraparound porch already dusted with fallen needles. Smoke was supposed to curl from the stone chimney later; right now the sky was still too bright for that kind of coziness.
Chan didn’t let go of your hand. Instead he tugged you gently toward the front door, then stopped short on the bottom porch step. You felt the shift in him before he even spoke, the way his shoulders squared, the sudden sheepish tilt of his head.
"What?" you asked, already smiling.
He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. Ears going faintly pink. "I, uh… I know no one’s watching. But I still want to do it right."
You blinked. "Do what right?"
He didn’t answer with words. In one smooth motion he bent, hooked an arm under your knees and the other behind your back and lifted. You yelped, more surprise than anything, then dissolved into helpless laughter as he carried you up the three steps. Your arms automatically wound around his neck; his hoodie smelled like the airport, your perfume, and him.
"Chan-"
"Tradition" he said solemnly, though the corners of his mouth were fighting a grin. "Can’t skip tradition on day eleven."
"Day eleven of forever" you corrected and felt the way his chest stuttered under your palms at the reminder.
He paused at the threshold long enough to nudge the door open with his foot. The hinges gave a soft, almost polite creak. Then he stepped inside, careful not to knock your head against the frame, and only set you down once he was fully over the line.
The moment your feet touched the wide-plank floorboards he kissed you. Not the quick, giddy ones from the past few days. This was slower. Deeper. His hands framed your face like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go. When he finally pulled back his forehead rested against yours.
"Hi, wife" he whispered.
Your heart did something ridiculous: tripped, then soared.
"Hi, husband."
He smiled against your mouth, small and private, then kissed you again. Shorter this time. A punctuation mark rather than a paragraph.
Only then did he step back and actually look around. The cottage was exactly as the photos had promised, only better in person. Open-plan living area with a vaulted ceiling crossed by exposed beams. A stone fireplace that took up most of one wall. A kitchen island made from a single thick slab of walnut, still showing faint saw marks. Windows everywhere, floor-to-ceiling on the back wall looking straight into dense evergreens. The light inside was green-gold, filtered through needles.
Chan let out a low whistle. "This is… wow."
You wandered toward the windows while he went back outside to grab the suitcases. By the time he returned, two trips, stubbornly refusing your help, you had already kicked off your sneakers and were padding barefoot across the cool floorboards.
He dropped the bags near the couch, then came up behind you. Arms sliding around your waist. Chin hooking over your shoulder.
"Smell that?" he murmured.
You inhaled. Cedar. Woodsmoke from the last guests. Something faintly sweet, maybe wax polish. Underneath it all, him. Warm skin, faint traces of cologne that had survived twelve hours of travel.
"Yeah" you said softly.
He pressed his lips to the side of your neck. Just once. Lingering. "We’re really here."
You turned in his arms, hands sliding up to rest against his chest. His heart was beating a little fast. "We are."
For a few minutes you just stood like that, swaying slightly, not quite dancing, just breathing each other in. Eventually hunger won out. You hadn’t eaten since the airport breakfast sandwiches.
Chan insisted on making dinner. You perched on one of the bar stools at the island and watched him move around the tiny kitchen like he’d lived there for years. He’d packed half the suitcase with groceries from a market stop an hour back: fresh vegetables, thick slices of hanwoo beef, garlic, gochujang, sesame oil, a bottle of soju wrapped in a towel so it wouldn’t clink.
He hummed under his breath while he worked. Some melody you didn’t recognize, probably something he was still tinkering with in his head. Every so often he’d glance over at you and smile. Small. Secret. Like he couldn’t quite believe you were sitting there in his hoodie (the black one with the frayed drawstrings you’d stolen three years ago) watching your brand-new husband cook.
When the beef hit the hot pan the kitchen filled with sharp, caramelizing sizzle. You inhaled so deeply your eyes watered a little.
He laughed. "Hungry?"
"Starving."
He plated everything family-style: thin slices of perfectly seared meat, blistered shishito peppers, quick-pickled radish, steamed rice still sticking slightly to the sides of the pot. You ate at the little dining table near the windows as the sun dropped behind the ridge and turned the forest into velvet black.
After dinner you didn’t bother clearing the table right away. Instead Chan pulled you onto his lap on the wide leather couch. The fire he’d started earlier was crackling now, throwing shifting shadows across the walls. You tucked your face into the crook of his neck and felt him exhale, long and slow, like he was finally letting the last of the city tension bleed out of him.
"Tell me something" he said quietly.
"Hm?"
"Anything. Just… talk to me."
So you did. You told him about the way your mom had sobbed when she saw you in the wedding dress for the first time. How your little cousin had tried to sneak an entire tray of macarons under the table. How you’d caught Chan’s youngest sister filming you both during the first dance and making kissy faces behind the camera.
He laughed, soft, rumbling, every time you got to a funny part. His fingers kept tracing absent circles on your lower back.
Eventually you ran out of stories and just listened to his heartbeat instead. After a while he spoke again, voice so low you felt it more than heard it.
"I keep thinking about the vows."
You lifted your head. "Yeah?"
He nodded. Eyes on the fire. "When I said ‘in all the chaos and all the quiet’… I didn’t know what the quiet would actually feel like. Not really. Not until right now."
You cupped his cheek. Thumb brushing the faint freckle under his eye.
"It’s nice, isn’t it?"
"More than nice."
He turned his head to kiss your palm. "I could get used to this."
You smiled. "We’ve got nine more days to practice."
His grin turned a little wicked. "Nine days" he echoed. "And nights."
You laughed and swatted his chest. He caught your wrist and kissed the inside of it, then tugged you closer until you were straddling him properly. The hoodie rode up your thighs; his hands found skin immediately: warm, possessive, but still careful.
"Not tonight" you murmured against his mouth. "Tonight I just want… this."
He searched your face for a second, then nodded. "Okay."
So you stayed like that, kissing slow and lazy, hands wandering without urgency, the fire popping every so often like it was keeping time. Eventually you migrated to the bedroom upstairs. It had a king bed made up with cream linens, a thick wool throw at the foot, and another wall of windows that looked out over nothing but treetops.
You changed into sleep clothes while Chan brushed his teeth. When he came back he was shirtless, sweatpants slung low. The new tattoo on his ribs: the tiny crescent moon you’d drawn on a napkin three years ago and begged him to keep forever, was stark against his skin in the low lamplight.
He caught you staring. "Like what you see, Mrs. Bahng?"
The name hit like a soft punch every time.
You crossed the room and slid your arms around his waist. "Very much, Mr. Bahng."
He kissed the top of your head, then your forehead, then your mouth, gentle, lingering. When you finally crawled under the covers he followed, pulling you back against his chest the way he always did. One arm under your pillow. The other wrapped around your middle. His breath warm against your nape.
"Love you" he whispered into your hair.
It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. Not even close. But tonight it felt different. Permanent. Etched.
You turned your head just enough to find his lips in the dark. "Love you too."
Sleep came slow and sweet, wrapped in laundry scented sheets and the steady rhythm of his breathing.
The next morning you woke to birds and the smell of coffee.
Chan was already up, barefoot, hair a disaster, wearing the soft gray hoodie you’d abandoned last night. He’d opened every window on the ground floor; cool morning air moved through the house like a sigh.
He handed you a mug without a word. Black. Two sugars. Exactly how you liked it.
You sat together on the porch steps while the mist still clung to the pines. Neither of you spoke for almost twenty minutes. Just sipped. Watched. Breathed.
Eventually he bumped your shoulder with his. "Walk?"
You nodded. So you walked. Hand in hand down the narrow dirt path that curved behind the cottage and disappeared into the trees. The forest smelled like wet bark and green life. Ferns brushed your calves. Chan didn’t talk much. Just pointed out little things: a woodpecker flashing red against a trunk, mushrooms the color of apricots growing in a fallen log, the way sunlight shattered through the canopy and landed in bright coins on the path.
At one point he stopped, crouched, and picked up a perfect pinecone. Turned it over in his fingers like it was treasure.
"Souvenir?" you teased.
He looked up at you, eyes soft. "For the studio. Put it on the desk. Every time I look at it I’ll remember this."
Your throat tightened. He stood, slipped the pinecone into his hoodie pocket, then pulled you close and kissed you right there in the middle of the path. Slow. Thorough. Like he had all the time in the world. Because for once, he did.
The rest of the day passed in that same gentle rhythm. Coffee. Breakfast (pancakes he insisted on flipping dramatically, nearly catching the ceiling fan). A long nap on the couch with your head in his lap while he scrolled through photos from the wedding on his phone, showing you his favorites and pretending he wasn’t tearing up at the candid of you laughing during your vows.
Late lunch turned into early dinner because neither of you wanted to stop touching long enough to cook properly. You ended up eating cheese and crackers and fruit on the rug in front of the fire, feeding each other bites and laughing when strawberry juice dripped on his chin.
Night fell soft and cool. You took a bath together in the deep clawfoot tub, bubbles up to your chin, his long legs folded awkwardly around yours, both of you giggling like teenagers when water sloshed over the side.
Afterward he wrapped you in the biggest towel like you were something precious, carried you to bed, and spent twenty minutes just kissing every inch of skin he could reach. Not trying to start anything. Just… worshipping.
When he finally settled behind you again, spooning close, his voice was rough with sleep and something deeper.
"Best decision I ever made" he mumbled into your shoulder.
You laced your fingers with his. Felt the rings click together. "Second best" you whispered back. "First was letting me steal your hoodie three years ago."
He huffed a laugh against your neck. "Fair."
And then you both drifted off to the sound of wind moving through the pines and the soft crackle of embers dying in the hearth downstairs.
The golden hour had stretched longer than usual that afternoon, painting the entire cottage in honey and amber through the tall windows. You’d spent most of the day barefoot, wearing nothing but Chan’s oversized black hoodie, the one with the faded logo across the chest and sleeves so long they swallowed your hands. It hit you mid-thigh when you stood still, shorter when you reached or bent. You hadn’t bothered with anything underneath. Not today.
Chan had noticed. He’d noticed the first time you stretched up to grab a mug from the high shelf and the hem rode up just enough to show the soft curve where thigh met hip. He’d noticed again when you leaned across the kitchen island to steal a slice of apple from the cutting board he was using, the fabric shifting, exposing skin that made his knife pause mid-chop. He’d noticed every single time you walked past him, slow, deliberate, pretending you didn’t feel the weight of his gaze dragging down your legs like a physical touch.
By four, the air inside felt thicker than the pine-scented breeze drifting through the open windows. The fire he’d built earlier had died down to glowing coals; neither of you had bothered to add more wood. You were both too distracted.
You were rinsing a glass at the sink when you felt him move behind you. Not sudden. Not rushed. Just… inevitable. His chest pressed lightly to your back first. Then his hands, those beautiful, veined, calloused hands, slid over your hips, thumbs brushing the bare skin just under the hoodie’s hem. He didn’t speak right away. Just stood there, breathing you in, letting you feel how hard he already was through the soft fabric of his sweatpants.
You tilted your head back against his shoulder. "You’ve been staring all day."
His laugh was low. Rough. "Can you blame me?"
One hand slid up, slow and deliberate, until his palm flattened against your stomach under the hoodie. The other stayed low, fingers splaying across the top of your thigh, not quite touching where you wanted him most. Teasing.
"You look…" He swallowed. Voice dropped even lower. "…like mine."
The words landed heavy in your belly. You turned in his arms. The glass clinked forgotten against the sink edge.
Chan’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, that familiar flush creeping up his neck and into his ears. He looked wrecked already and he hadn’t even kissed you yet.
You reached up, fingers threading into the soft hair at his nape, tugging just enough to make him exhale sharply through his nose. "Then take what’s yours, husband."
The word snapped something in him. He kissed you like he was starving, open-mouthed, hungry, tongue sliding against yours with none of the careful sweetness from the night before. His hands shoved under the hoodie immediately, rough palms skating up your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. You arched into him; he groaned into your mouth at the feel of bare skin, no bra, no barriers.
"Fuck" he breathed against your lips. "No underwear?"
"Thought you might like the surprise."
He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a growl. Then he was lifting you, effortless, like you weighed nothing, until your thighs wrapped around his waist. The hoodie rucked up completely now, bunched around your ribs. Cool air hit overheated skin; you shivered.
Chan carried you the few steps to the sturdy oak kitchen table. He didn’t bother clearing the cutting board or the half-chopped vegetables. Just shoved them aside with one forearm, carrots rolling, knife clattering and set you down on the edge.
He stepped between your legs, hands immediately pushing the hoodie higher until it bunched under your arms, exposing you completely to him. His gaze raked down your body like he was trying to memorize every inch all over again.
"God…" His voice cracked. "Look at you."
You leaned back on your palms, thighs parting wider in invitation. "Like what you see?"
He didn’t answer with words. Instead he dropped to his knees, right there on the worn rug in front of the table and hooked your legs over his shoulders in one smooth motion. You gasped when his mouth found the inside of your thigh, teeth grazing just enough to sting. He worked his way up slowly, deliberately, kissing and licking and sucking marks into skin that would bloom purple by morning.
When he finally reached where you were already slick and aching, he paused, just long enough to meet your eyes.
"Been thinking about this since the second we walked through the door yesterday" he murmured, breath hot against you. "About spreading you out. Tasting my wife on my tongue. Making you come so hard you forget your own name."
Then he licked a slow, broad stripe up your center. Your head fell back on a broken moan.
Chan didn’t tease after that. He devoured. Tongue flat and firm, then pointed and quick, circling your clit with devastating precision. Two fingers slid inside you without warning, thick, curled just right and you clenched around them immediately. He groaned at the feel of it, the sound vibrating through you.
"Fuck, you’re so wet" he rasped between licks. "So fucking perfect."
You threaded your fingers into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him hiss. He only doubled down, sucking your clit into his mouth, fingers pumping steadily, thumb brushing the sensitive spot just above where his tongue worked.
The table creaked under your shifting weight. Your heels dug into his back. Heat coiled tighter and tighter in your belly until it snapped, sudden, blinding. You came with a cry that echoed off the high ceiling, thighs trembling around his head, fingers yanking at his hair so hard it had to hurt.
He didn’t stop. Kept licking you through it, slower now, gentler, until the aftershocks faded and you were whimpering from overstimulation. Only then did he pull back.
His lips were swollen, chin glistening. Eyes wild. He rose slowly, hands sliding up your thighs, gripping hard enough to leave prints. When he kissed you again you tasted yourself on his tongue, salty, intimate. You moaned into his mouth.
"Need you" you whispered against his lips. "Now."
Chan didn’t make you ask twice. He shoved his sweatpants down just enough, cock springing free, thick and flushed dark at the tip, already leaking. He fisted himself once, twice, eyes locked on yours. "Condom?" he asked, voice gravel.
You shook your head. "I’m still on the pill. And we’re married now." You smiled, small and wicked. "I want to feel you. All of you."
Something feral flickered across his face. He lined himself up, notched the head against your entrance and pushed in, slow at first, letting you feel every inch, every ridge, until he was buried to the hilt. Both of you froze.
He dropped his forehead to yours. Breathing ragged. "Fuck…" The word was punched out of him. "You feel, shit, baby, you feel like heaven."
You clenched around him on purpose. He jerked. Swore under his breath in Korean, low, filthy things you only half-understood but felt everywhere. Then he started moving. Slow, deep rolls of his hips at first. Letting you adjust. Letting you feel him stretch you, fill you, claim you in a way that felt brand new even after years together. His hands gripped your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above your hip bones.
"Look at me" he breathed.
You did. His eyes were liquid dark, pupils swallowing the brown. Sweat already beading at his temples. That stupidly beautiful face flushed and focused entirely on you.
"Mrs. Bahng" he whispered, testing the words again like they were still new magic. "My wife."
He thrust harder on the next stroke. Deeper. You gasped. He smiled, slow, dangerous.
"That’s it. Let me hear you."
The pace built steadily. The table rocked beneath you now, wood groaning in protest. Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving red crescents across ink and skin. He fucked you like he was trying to imprint himself inside you: long, punishing strokes that hit exactly where you needed, grinding his pelvis against your clit on every deep thrust.
"God, you’re so tight" he groaned. "So fucking wet for me. Always so ready."
You wrapped your legs higher around his waist, changing the angle. He swore again, loud this time, head dropping to your shoulder as he drove in harder.
"Chan-"
"Say it again" he demanded against your neck. Teeth grazing your pulse. "Say my name."
"Chan" you gasped. "Husband, fuck, please-"
He lifted his head. Kissed you messy and desperate. One hand slid between you, thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that matched the rhythm of his hips.
"Come for me again" he growled against your mouth. "Wanna feel you come all over my cock. Wanna feel my wife fall apart."
The words, combined with the relentless pressure, the stretch, the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the universe, sent you over the edge for the second time.
You shattered. Loud. Unrestrained. Back arching off the table, thighs shaking, walls pulsing around him so hard he nearly lost rhythm.
He fucked you through it, harder, faster, chasing his own release now. His thrusts turned erratic, hips snapping, breath coming in sharp pants against your throat.
"Where?" he managed, voice wrecked. "Tell me where-"
"Inside" you breathed without hesitation. "Want it inside. Want all of you."
That did it. He slammed in one last time, deep, grinding and came with a guttural moan that vibrated through both of you. You felt him pulse, felt the hot rush of him filling you, felt the way his whole body shuddered as he emptied inside.
He didn’t pull out right away. Just stayed buried deep, arms wrapping around you, pulling you up until you were sitting pressed chest-to-chest. His forehead rested against yours again. Both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat.
For long minutes there was only the sound of your breathing, the faint crackle of dying coals in the fireplace, and the occasional drip of water from the sink you’d never turned off.
Chan kissed your temple. Soft. Reverent.
"Mrs. Bahng" he whispered again, like he couldn’t stop tasting it.
You smiled against his cheek. "Mr. Bahng."
He huffed a laugh, still breathless, then kissed you properly. Slow. Lazy. Full of all the things neither of you needed to say out loud anymore.
Eventually he softened enough to slip out. You both winced at the loss. He glanced down between you, watched the slow trickle of his come leak out and made a low, appreciative sound in his throat.
"Fuck. That’s hot."
You laughed, swatting his chest weakly. "Perv."
"Your perv." He grinned. Kissed the tip of your nose. "Forever."
He helped you down from the table, legs shaky, thighs sticky then scooped you up bridal-style like he had on the threshold yesterday. You looped your arms around his neck.
"Bed?" you asked.
"Shower first" he decided. "Then bed. Then maybe round two."
You raised an eyebrow. "Already?"
He carried you toward the stairs anyway. "I’ve got eight more days to make sure you can still feel me when we get home" he murmured against your ear. "Gonna make sure you never forget what it feels like to be mine."
You shivered. Pressed closer.
"Good" you whispered back. "Because I don’t ever want to forget."
He kissed you again, right there on the stairs, slow and deep and full of promise.
Then he carried you the rest of the way upstairs, into the bathroom, under the warm spray of the shower where he washed you carefully, reverently, like you were something sacred.
And when you finally collapsed into the big bed afterward, clean, boneless, tangled together under the thick quilts, he pulled you close, lips brushing your shoulder.
"Love you" he murmured into your skin.
You turned just enough to find his mouth in the dark. "Love you too."
The forest outside was quiet except for the wind in the pines.
Inside, it was only the sound of two hearts beating in time. And the soft click of wedding rings brushing together under the covers.
a/n: js blame this gif, i had to write a lil something for jake, hope you guys like it!
“You’re really fucking bad at this,” you muttered, tossing your cards onto the table with a smirk, “you’ve lost three hands in a row.”
Jake narrowed his eyes, jaw clenched as that cocky grin of his slowly reformed when he leaned back in the armchair. His shirt was long gone—thrown across your room right after the second round, and now he sat there in nothing but his jeans, his thighs spread like a goddamn invitation for you.
“I’m the one losing and yet,” he drawled, clicking his tongue, “you’re the one sitting there with your nipples hard and thighs clenched shut.”
“Confidence doesn’t suit losers, hm?” You said, rolling your eyes, though you were painfully aware of the wetness pooling in your panties.
“It’s not confidence y’know? It’s experience. I know how it’s gonna end.” He took another sip of his beer, eyes fixated on you.
You shifted on the rug, refusing to give him the satisfaction of reacting, “yeah? Tell me, psychic, how does it end?”
“With you naked,” he said simply, using that deep sultry voice of his, “and sitting on my lap.”
Your stomach tightened at the casual certainty in his voice, he was way too overconfident for his own good, which had you scoffing. You tossed him his cards and dealt the next round before you could think too hard about how right he probably could be, only for him to lose—again.
“Wow,” you said, dragging the word out. “That’s four in a row. This might be your new record, Jakey.”
He simply stared at you from across the table, bottom lip bitten and red now. You knew that look so well—the very one he used to get when he was right on the edge of snapping, of fucking you dumb.
You nodded at his jeans, the last thing he had on, well, besides his boxers, “guess that confidence’s wearing pretty thin now, huh?”
He said nothing, just reached down and undid the rest of his fly, eyes locked on yours. The sound of the zipper was enough to make your stomach flip. Then he stood up, sliding the denim down over his thighs, kicking them off without breaking eye contact.
You wondered why you even let him into your apartment, your obsessive ex. With a gulp, you looked away, especially after staring at his body, the one you’d seen endless times. What’s worse was that Jake caught it, the way your gaze dropped, something that boosted his already inflated ego as just sat back down, spreading his legs even wider, letting you look. Letting you see how much you’d already fucked with him.
“Deal,” you muttered, trying to sound unaffected, however, this time, your hand was trash and Jake’s grin turned wicked when you set your cards down.
“Off,” he said simply.
You sighed, “be specific.”
His eyes drifted to your waist, then back to your face, “panties.”
Heat cascaded across the expanse of your skin. Still, your fingers slipped beneath the waistband and eased them down, letting them fall at your ankles before stepping out of them. You sat again, bare, pretending this wasn’t already getting out of hand.
Jake exhaled like he’d just had an orgasmic experience, “fucking knew it.”
“Knew what?” you snapped, though your voice came out softer than intended.
“That you were already soaked,” his tone deeper with satisfaction, “that you wanted me the second I walked in.”
You opened your mouth to deny it—then shut it again because your body betrayed you anyway with the way your breathing changed, the way your thighs shifted again. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, close enough now that you could feel the heat of him.
“One more round, yeah?” He murmured, “winner calls the shot.”
“And if you win?” you asked.
He smirked, “you sit on my lap while we finish the game.”
Your heart hammered, “and if I win?”
“You can keep pretending you don’t want to.”
You dealt again, and to your absolute bad luck, you lost, looking up at him now, while he just crooked a finger, voice full of lust and satisfaction, “c’mere.”
It was really infuriating how cocky he was, how he always came back and you let him, despite everything that happened. God, you really hated him, “I’m not your dog.”
“You sure about that, pup? Come here.” He gave you a look, making the whole situation worse, but a bet was a bet, so you simply ignored his comment, moving forward.
His hands were on you instantly, dragging you down so your bare cunt settled right against the thick length beneath his boxers as you bit your lip to prevent any sound from coming out.
“Fuck,” he muttered, chuckling, “there she is, good girl.”
“Don’t—” you started, but your voice faltered when he rolled his hips slowly, pressing your clit right against him.
He smirked, “yeah, exactly that.”
His mouth brushed your jaw as his hand slid lower, fingers parting you like he always did, “another bet,” he murmured, “if you fall apart on my fingers before the next shuffle, you admit you still want me.”
You scoffed, ready to argue, but then he pressed two fingers inside you, and the breath left your lungs in a rush. His thumb circled your clit lazily, like he had all the time in the world to unravel you, and he probably did.
“Still tight,” he whispered, thrusting again, knuckles nudging that soft spot he’d always known how to find. You tried to glare at him, tried to hold onto your hate—but your hips chased every curl of his fingers, slick sounds reverberating the room.
“Tick tock,” Jake teased, kissing the corner of your mouth while his fingers worked you open, faster now, thumb grinding down until your thighs trembled against his. You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into skin, swallowing little gasps you refused to give him.
“There she is,” he said softly, “go on, lose to me again.”
And you did—falling apart on his hand, body pulsing around his fingers while he watched you fall, smug and so pleased with himself.
“Told you, darling,” he murmured against your lips, “experience.”
Warnings: rough sex, dubcon if you squint, dom!cheol, stepdad!cheol, mentions of religion, rough sex, degradation a smidge, creampie, no condoms, this should maybe be on my other account
Readers discretion advised.
-
You were in theory- a good person.
A very good person in fact, the kind of person that went out of their way to make someone else smile. The kind of person who would drive across the city to give another friend food when they were sick. The kind of person who would pay for a stranger’s coffee just because.
The kind of person who absolutely did not get turned on by their step father, absolutely fucking not.
When your mom had introduced you to Choi Seungcheol your mouth had run dry. You had forgotten how to breathe right. You couldn’t quite recall why your hands were suddenly so clammy.
Fuck, fuck, fuck it was absolutely fucking wrong to be turned on by your step father, absolutely completely wrong.
Your mother was absolutely the worst, that’s what you kept telling yourself.
She shouldn’t have gotten married to Choi Seungcheol. She just did it as a last ditch rebound from her just as shitty ex-husband and Seungcheol was her fourth husband, in a string of ten years since your father had died.
Your mom got worse and worse with each one. She was just the sort of woman who liked company. The sort of person that was now unafraid of using men for her own gain.
And yes! Feminism! We love that. Treat men like objects!
But Choi Seungcheol… was someone that you wanted to treat you like an object.
He was so kind, even though your mom wasn’t ever around after the marriage. He let her use his money, he let her parade around other men. The man even cooked dinner, and even still- Your mom acted like he was just another one of her past slums.
Seungcheol was an angel, which was ironic as all hell because all he made you want to do was fucking sin.
You wanted to be on your knees for him, you wanted to worship his beautiful dick. (Well, you assumed it was beautiful). You wanted him to pound you and you didn’t even care if your mom walked in-
You stood up abruptly, slamming your laptop shut with a sharp intake of air.
You were definitely not a good person.
You moved yourself to take a long shower, letting freezing cold water drench you as you tried to reclaim semblance of the person you were supposed to be. Not a homewrecker.
Even if there wasn’t a home to wreck.
After taking your cold shower that was leaving you miserable you walked downstairs to go grab something to eat.
You paused as you entered the kitchen, nothing on but a long ACDC shirt.
Why was Seungcheol standing there? Why was he leaning against the countertop? Why was he drinking from a coffee mug you had grown up drinking from?
Before you could leave the kitchen- because food actually, was not a necessary thing to live. Because looking at Seungcheol you felt like he was the only thing that you needed to live and that was bad, and doordash could probably deliver to your bedroom window- Seungcheol’s eyes flickered up to you.
“You’re up late,” he commented.
“It’s my house,” you snapped back, and then despite yourself you stormed into the kitchen. You were a feminist for christ’s sake and you were not going to let this extremely attractive man keep you from doing things in your own home.
You pulled open the fridge, feeling the coolness of the air creeping up your thighs and under your shirt. Your tits strained against the fabric of the shirt because you could feel Seungcheol’s eyes on you-
“You know you’re a lot mouthier than people say,” Seungcheol commented. Your face reddened and you quite literally whipped around.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You snap. Seungcheol’s eyebrows rose.
“Language sweetie.”
You scoffed at the fact you were being called sweetie.
“Do I really need to drop the ‘you’re not my dad’ line?” You asked him. He walked up behind you, much too fucking close.
“Trust me, I don’t need a reminder,” he replied. “I think about it… Quite a bit.”
Oh… You were not going to be exploring that.
“Then why don’t you leave me the fuck alone?”
Seungcheol looked amused.
“I wish I could but… It just seems to me like you need to be taught some respect.”
He leaned forward, his face coming in close to yours. He was too close, breathing your fucking air.
This wasn’t appropriate. You should not be this close to sin itself.
Suddenly, the fridge behind you beeped, telling you it had been open for too long. You bit your bottom lip as he pushed the fridge door closed, getting even closer.
His fingers played with the hem of your shirt.
“Did your mother tell you that she was going out of town?”
You gritted your teeth. Of course, she was leaving you in your own personal garden of Eden, just staring at the one fucking fruit you weren’t supposed to eat.
“She didn’t,” you replied softly. His fingers brushed your thigh and you sucked in a sharp breath of air, your eyes fluttering shut.
“Step dad-”
“We both know I won’t be your step dad much longer,” Seungcheol replied softly. “Your mother is hardly in love.”
“St-still…”
Seungcheol’s hand slid to your ass, and he squeezed it. Your eyes shot open in surprise, as he fingers brushed far down enough to feel how you were basically dripping down your thighs.
“Sweetie I can’t resist you anymore,” Seungcheol whispered, leaning in close to you, his warm breath on your neck. “Tell me not to and I won’t but… I’d like you to just be a good girl and take it.”
Your breath hitched as he tilted his head up to look at you, waiting for your answer.
You surged forward, your lips clashing against Seungcheol’s. You raised your hands to his neck so that you could press him closer to you and as he straightened up you jumped up, wrapping your legs around his waist so that he could carry you over to the kitchen counter.
You continued to kiss him like he was air you needed to breath, your mind going blank as he fumbled to get his pants off. His huge fucking dick settled between your thighs, hard and leaking at the tip as he lowered a hand to your bare cunt.
He pushed your shirt up as he started to kiss down your neck and as soon as your shirt was on the marble floor his hands were squeezing your breasts.
A moan ripped out of your mouth, and you lowered your hands, gripping his cock while he played with your tits. He had to tilt his head away from you letting out his own guttural moan when you did that.
”I’m going to destroy you,” he mumbled against your skin, his lips kissing down until they were sucking one of your tits into his mouth. You whined as his teeth grazed you, and one of his hands lowered to your pussy once again.
”I’ve never touched anyone wetter… You really want this don’t you?” Seungcheol teased you (like an asshole). His fingers slipped into your pussy before you could respond, and you lost the ability to talk.
“I wanted you from the second I first saw you,” Seungcheol mumbled against your breasts, his fingers already pistoning in and out of your pussy. “Knew that I was making a mistake the second I said ‘I do’.”
He slipped another finger into you.
”You parade around this house so indifferent to me and your mother it drove me fucking crazy. Wouldn’t have even stayed with your mom if not for the fact I need you so bad it’s driving me crazy.”
You whined, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck and slowly rocking your hips into his fingers.
”Needed you so bad…” You whimper back. “need you… Right now…”
Seungcheol looked up at you with a sly grin.
”No need to say more.”
He grabbed you by your hips in a bruising grip and leaned his cock to your pussy. There was a brief, fleeting second, where you thought about the fact that there was no condom on Seungcheol’s cock. Where you reasonably remembered there really should be a condom on his cock.
But within seconds of thinking that, his cock slid an inch in and you felt every detail of Cheol and you were basically tugging him closer.
The sounds that Seungcheol was making were making you feel a sort of turned on you had never felt before. Your core burned, and you felt like the only way to sate the feeling was to get Seungcheol deeper and deeper into you.
As soon as you could your lips were on his again, your fingers buried into his hair as you tugged him closer. He nipped at your lips whenever he could, his tongue exploring every part of your mouth. He lowered you onto your back as he devoured you, and you didn’t let him out for air even as he pummeled you so hard that it made your eyes roll back.
Seungcheol’s lips left yours once he realized that he was fucking you so dumb that you couldn’t even focus on the kiss anymore. He kissed down your chin, to your neck, biting down in every spot that he could.
Your mind was in shambles as he slammed his cock so deep into you that with each thrust you saw stars and it still wasn’t enough. You needed him to permanently be buried deep into your body.
”I’m coming deep into your pussy, and you are going to take every fucking drop,” Seungcheol practically growled against your neck. No options- Not that you wanted any.
You nodded and as you did Seungcheol’s cock exploded inside of you, every drop of cum filling you up in a way that you had always dreamed and hoped and imagined it would.
You felt the pleasure coiling up in your body finally explode. The pleasure rolling through your body was so intense that you were left screaming, your whole body shaking as he brutally fucked you through your orgasm, praises of: ‘Good girl, such a good girl’ leaving his mouth.
As you finally came down from your orgasm, Seungcheol kissed you all over your face, looking at you with a sort of fondness you hadn’t expected.
”There we are, that’s my good girl,” he mumbled. “You’re all mine, yeah? You’re going to be step dad’s good little secret aren’t you.”
You looked up at him with a dazed expression, feeling his cum leaking out around his cock you were so full of cum.
SYNOPSIS! - back with enluv productions, we have our favorite idol couple to take the enluv couples quiz! - this consist of a multitude of questions asked by each of them to test how well they know their partner! enjoy <3
word count: 3,310 (and it’s all fluff 😁)
genre(s): interview styled writing + video layout chic (?) & so much fluff like it’s so cavity inducing you may need to call a dentist 🤭
warnings: tooth rotting fluff, both idols, profanity, nervousness, and I am pretty sure that’s all! (if I missed something lmk!)
coco’s love note: idea is based off the gq couples quiz videos !! please note that our reader is in an oc group I’ve made :)
[ video preview begins now – our idol couple are shown sitting comfortably in two opposing director chairs ]
Y/N: What’s our contact names on each others phones?
Chan: Oh that’s easy I have her as (he makes quotation marks with his fingers) “Y/N L/N” and in parentheses (he cups his hands to express them) “gf”
[the room falls silent as y/n stares shocked at chan]
Y/N: There’s no way…you’re so lying right? (her eyes are widened with shock)
Chan: Of course I am baby! Why would I ever just have you as your name? I have you as “future ms.bahng” (he smiles proudly displaying his contact name for y/n and her contact photo)
Y/N: I almost threw these cards at you for real Christopher! Don’t ever do that again!
Chan: What’s my contact name?
Y/N: Bang Chan dash Stray Kids. (she stares deadpanned at the camera before giggling at his expression)
Y/N: Now you know how it feels! I have you as “my love” it’s a bit simple but I just really love you.
[ end of preview - the screen cuts back to the couple as they first start the video and it begins ]
Y/N: I’m Cupid’s Y/N!
Chan: and I’m Stray Kids Bang Chan!
Y/N & Chan: and we’re taking the enluv couples quiz!
[the couples quiz logo pops up over them to signify the start of the interview – y/n’s questions are first]
Y/N: What’s an item of yours I always seem to steal?
Chan: Oh that’s obvious, she always steals my hoodies. All the colorful ones go to her!
Y/N: Correct! His fans always tell him to wear color but I think I’ve stolen everything with a decent amount of color on it…oops? Sorry stays!
Y/N: What’s something I always bring with me on tour?
Chan: Hmm well there are a few ways to go about this. You could be asking like sentimental items or like necessities.
Y/N: I wrote a list so if the items you guess are on it I’ll give you a point.
Chan: Oh god. (he shakes his head and looks up to show he’s thinking) I would say probably your first aid kit bag. She’s pretty clumsy and needs to have a band-aid on her at all times.
Chan: Oh also probably our son. Oh! I know the most important one is definitely your headphones. You don’t ever leave the house without them.
Y/N: Channie I think you need to elaborate on what our son means (she laughs pointing towards the production team) because they seem worried.
Chan: Oh right. Y/N and I have matching plushies that we won each other on our…hmm I think it was our fifth date? I took her to an arcade and they had claw machines. She got me a psyduck plushie it’s really big and I got her a bunny plush. We call them our sons and usually I’ll take the bunny and she takes psyduck. We care for them equally though! We aren’t absent parents!
Y/N: Okay you were right about all of those, you’re missing one thing though. This one is the most important one.
Chan: Babe…I thought I hit them all seriously…gimme a hint pleaseee….
Y/N: It’s something you gave me.
Chan: I’ve given you a lot of things Y/N.
Y/N: Can I just tell you?
Chan: No! I wanna guess.
[a compilation of chan guessing is played in x2 speed, y/n continues to answer no as he guesses]
Chan: I give up! Tell me.
Y/N: It’s my bracelet! (she laughs softly at his expression)
Chan: Oh god, I can’t believe I forgot about our bracelets!! (he holds up his right hand so the camera can see) We have bond bracelets!
Y/N: When you touch them it sends the other person a small vibration and it means that we’re thinking of or miss the other. They’re really nice since we work a lot and don’t see each other as often as we’d hope.
Chan: I touch mine a lot.
Y/N: Mhm he does, but so do I so I’d never complain.
Y/N: Have I ever written a song about you? And if the answer is yes, which one is my favorite.
Chan: Yeah, plenty of them.
Y/N: Woah okay no need to expose me sir.
Chan: Babe I’m not exposing anything, it’s kinda obvious…
Y/N: Just answer the question Chris.
Chan: “two souls” is your favorite and I know that because you worked on it for almost three months then gave it to me on my birthday.
Y/N: He’s right. That song is my baby, it’s so personal but I just really love it so much. He kept trying to sneak into my laptop to listen to it but I caught him every single time! He cried when he first heard it though so it was worth hiding.
Chan: I thought we promised not to talk about that sweetie.
Y/N: Next question!
Y/N: What was my first concert?
Chan: Oh man. I don’t think I know this one babe.
Y/N: Channie I promise I’ve told you the answer to all of these questions.
Chan: Okay can you tell me how old you were?
Y/N: No.
Chan: Please prettty? I think I’ll get it if I know how old you were!
Y/N: I was sixteen almost seventeen. (y/n sends the camera a wink)
Chan: OH! I’ve so got it then. I know it!
Y/N: Okay who was it then?
Chan: It was Seventeen sunbaenim!
Y/N: Ding ding ding! Correct!
Chan: I always forget how big of a carat you are seriously. She loves them. The kids are friends with them so it’s wild to see her interact with them.
Y/N: I’m good friends with them now, perks of being an idol, they always tease me too.
Chan: Who did you bias?
Y/N: Some secrets should never see the light Channie.
Y/N: NEXT!
Y/N: What’s my favorite food?
Chan: It’s Chipotle but you get the most mundane thing ever so you always throw in a side of chips and queso because you’re scared the workers roll their eyes when they see your order.
Y/N: That…what oddly specific…why did you expose me like that omg…embarrassing!
Chan: Babe you recite exactly what I just said every time you order Chipotle, literally word for word I know it by heart now.
Y/N: Feels like he’s attacking me a bit right guys (y/n turns to the cameras as if asking the audience)
Chan: I am not! You have said that to me a million times! It’s seriously engraved in my head.
Y/N: NEXT!
Y/N: What’s my favorite song that you’ve written that’s about me?
Chan: I know the answer but if I say it then fans are going to have a field day on twitter.
Y/N: How would you know? Been on twitter recently Chris?
Chan: (he stares at the camera and winks) I don’t have twitter, you know, idol things and all those logistics.
Y/N: Should we answer the question together?
Chan: Stop cheesing so hard, you did this on purpose didn’t you.
Y/N: Yes I did. Ready? 3…2…1!!!
Chan & Y/N: Red Lights
Y/N: What can I say! It’s a good song.
Chan: Is it my turn yet? I need to seek revenge.
Y/N: NOPE! Still me!
Y/N: How many pets do I have and can you tell me in which order I got them?
Chan: This is terrible because she had pets even before getting with me.
Chan: Okay here it goes. You have three pets, first one is Pickles, he’s a greyhound. Next would be Peanut, he’s a fish and he has a brother named Jelly. They count as one because they’re a pair, and finally we have Kimchi and that’s our gecko, I named him. (he smiles proudly at the camera)
Y/N: Four points! Wow babe good job!
Chan: What kind of dad would I be if I didn’t know our kids names?
Y/N: So true like imagine you forgot one I’d be so mad.
Chan: I know that’s why I got them all right.
Y/N: What’s my dream wedding look like?
Chan: I also know this answer, we talk about it a lot.
Chan: You want a small wedding with the most important people in your life, so like family and friends but also people who have helped you in your career as well. You want a summer wedding and want a pastel creamy green color to be the theme. It’ll be inside but you really liked the forest vibe from Twilight so the inside will be decorated to look like the woods.
Y/N: Okay woah. Do you have access to my Pinterest or something?
Chan: You say that like we don’t talk about getting married all the time. (he smacks his lips playfully at her)
Y/N: I am in love with you, seriously like on god dude.
Chan: Stop saying on god after you tell me you love me, we talked about this!
Y/N: He doesn’t like it because he says it sounds like I’m talking to a brother.
Chan: You sound like my nineteen year old sister!
Y/N: and I love her very much! We went shopping last time we went to visit them.
Chan: and you bought her $800 shoes.
Y/N: What can I say, I love all the bahngs!
Y/N: Last question Chris, let’s see if you get this one right! What was my first impression of you!
Chan: Oh you’re going there? I see how it is. (he fixes himself to sit straight up and looks at the camera) Our fans don’t know this story but Y/N hated me.
Y/N: (laughing to herself and gesturing to the crew again) They look so confused! He made it sound so bad, I just thought he was one of those really weird guys because, so basically we met at an award show and his group, Stray Kids, had been seated next to us.
Chan: We were so close we could touch arms.
Y/N: No truly! And it was funny because his entire group, and if you don’t know, they have eight members in total, all got up and went to the bathroom together. All eight of them! It was hilarious, I’d never seen any group do that!
Chan: We like to stay together. Safety in numbers!
Y/N: They came back after a while and almost missed getting their award. It was just so odd to me at the time but after that we started talking as the show went on and I thought he was super sweet and obviously he cares for his members.
[the couples quiz logo pops onto screen as the video depicts chan at the center, he flashes an excited smile at the camera]
Chan: Is it finally my turn? I’ll be honest I don’t have that many questions…but they’re pretty hard to answer. I don’t know if Y/N will be able to get them right.
Y/N: Don’t antagonize me Christopher! I know everything about you.
Chan: We’ll see about that.
Chan: First question! Before we went on our first date I had originally planned something else but it fell through, what was it and why didn’t we do it?
Y/N: Woah you’re going BACK.
Chan: Mhm, answer the question baby.
Y/N: This is a funny story that not everyone knows actually. Chan loves doing crazy things like he doesn’t do traditional dates ever, it’s always something outrageous that you least expect.
Chan: I want things to be memorable, plus if I have free time I don’t want to spend it sitting around, I want to go out and do things.
Y/N: He originally wanted to take me bungee jumping, (the camera pans to a laughing chan and the staff can be heard gasping) can you believe that! Bungee jumping for a first date!
Chan: It would have been memorable though, right?
Y/N: Yeah definitely. It didn’t happen though because he heard from a mutual friend of ours, Minnie, that I was really scared of heights.
Chan: I canceled the day super quick, the date was in two days and I called and had to cancel but I was honestly grateful I found out because imagine if I hadn’t known and took her to it? Memorable first date but not in a good way!
Y/N: I think maybe now I’d do it, but only if he’s with me because I trust him the most.
Chan: Wait really? Wait we’ll talk about this later, finish the story!
Y/N: Right! He took me swimming instead, it was a indoor private pool place and it was so much fun. He actually taught me how to swim.
Chan: It’s one of my favorite memories because I just knew I’d be asking her to be my girlfriend.
Y/N: Stop I’m going to cry if we get into this again!
Chan: I told her this last time we talked, how I knew she was the one for me our first date. She cried and then called her mom to tell her.
Y/N: My parents love him, maybe more than me to be honest.
Chan: What was the first achievement we got as a group that made me feel like I had made it?
Y/N: This feels like a trick question.
Chan: I promise it’s not.
Y/N: There are two answers because your first win is so memorable that I’d pick that one but you also always say you haven’t made it, because you’re still going, still reaching and setting goals and achievements for yourself.
Chan: You worded that perfectly. She’s right. First win on a music show was huge for us but honestly as a group we have a lot of goals and want to achieve them all, I don’t know if we’re ever going to truly feel like we’ve made it but seeing our fans celebrate our achievements always makes it feel like we’re heading in the right direction.
[the camera shifts and pans to y/n running her thumb on the back of chan’s palm, she whispers something in his ear before they continue]
Chan: What was my favorite sport growing up?
Y/N: Easy! It was swimming and you were really good at it.
Chan: Don’t say that they’re going to believe you.
Y/N: Babe I’ve seen those awards your mom has lining the walls of your house, trust me, you were good.
Chan: My dad owns a swim school so I swam a lot as a kid and naturally went on to compete at meets and stuff. If I wasn’t here doing this, I’d be a swimmer.
Y/N: He’s really good at it, and he taught me how to swim so like he’s a good teacher too.
Chan: I can’t believe I taught you to swim that memory is so engraved in my mind.
Y/N: Mine too! I could not learn for the life of me and then suddenly on my first date with him he taught me. That should tell you how good he is at swimming.
Chan: I don’t know if I’m good now but back then I wasn’t terrible.
Y/N: My boyfriend is so humble!
Chan: What’s one thing that you hate that I do but I love it?
Y/N: Sleeping in the recording room?
Chan: (he lets out a sarcastic laugh) Ha Ha Ha. Close but no.
Y/N: I don’t know, I don’t hate anything you do honestly.
Chan: Want me to tell you?
Y/N: You so want to tell me.
Chan: I do.
Y/N: Tell me.
Chan: It’s when I spend too long in the studio, so long that you have to come get me.
Y/N: You’re so….(she’s cut off by chan’s laughter)
Chan: Let me explain before you blast me in front of everyone!
Y/N: Mmm…go on…
Chan: I know you hate coming to get me but some of my favorite times are when you come because then we spend hours together listening to things I’ve made or messing around and recording things. It’s nice to have you so interested in what I do because I love you and I love music, it’s like my two favorite things are interacting and meeting one another.
Y/N: I hate you so much! You know I’m a sap, I’m going to cry you meanie, that’s so cute what even is this!
Chan: My revenge worked!
[the video cuts to the next clip and the viewer can see that y/n now has a tissue in hand]
Chan: Next question, who gave me advice when we first started getting to know each other and dating?
Y/N: Was it not one of the boys? You said you told binnie first no? So I’d assume him.
Chan: Nope! Guess again.
Y/N: No? Hmm I don’t know…maybe one of your other idol friends?
Chan: It was actually our choreographer.
Y/N: What? Really? Why?
Chan: They saw how stressed I was because I wanted to ask you to be my girlfriend officially and it was making me distracted so they sat me down and made me spill what was bothering me. Funny too because when I told them they told me to just go for it, and I did and then later on they told me they were glad I had because I looked so much happier.
Y/N: Wow this tissue is being used to its fullest today. I am making a mental note to buy them anything they want right now like wow, imagine if they had never told you to just do it. Where would we be?
Chan: Still sneaking around to hang out as “friends” probably.
Chan: Final question, what’s the title of our new collab song coming out?
Y/N: Oh you’re terrible, did you even get permission to reveal this?
Chan: No but I feel like it’ll, a) this will be out by the time we announce it or b) I don’t have a plan B since I’m hoping plan A is successful!
Y/N: Stay please pray for your leader, he’s so going to get us in trouble for this!
Chan: Don’t say that pretty, have some faith in me.
Y/N: Our collab song is called “Here for you,” and it was written and produced by us.
Chan: It’s a love song if you didn’t guess that.
Y/N: I think they got that one babe.
Chan: Making sure they know it!
Interviewer: Can you tell us a little about the song?
Y/N: Well like Chan said, it’s a love song. It’s about finding the right person and immediately knowing they’re the one.
Chan: Immediately knowing they’re your person.
Y/N: We wrote it one night in the studio after fighting, nothing huge but we both had a bad day and it was intense, when you’ve been with someone for a while you have those days you know? He wrote something down to blow off some steam and so did I. We realized that we’d wrote one half of a song each. Then we put it together, fixed it up and made it that night.
Chan: It’s a really special song to us both, that’s why I’m so excited to announce it.
Y/N: We’re really excited to have you all listen to it.
Interviewer: Well thank you both for coming. We appreciate you making some time for us!
Y/N & Chan: Thanks for having us! (they send a smile to the camera and bow in thanks to the crew)
Y/N: We had a lot of fun today, really thank you.
Chan: Maybe we will come back in like ten years, married, and all that and do it again!
[ the camera zooms out and in fades the couples quiz logo, you can see the couple as they whisper to one another after the director yells “cut” ]
ENLUV EXTRA:
Chan: Why do I love Y/N? That’s a big question to ask, and if I named all the reasons we’d be here for a long time, to put it simply she’s my soulmate, I don’t think there is anyone else in the world more right for me than her. She’s caring, fun, creative, so many more things and it’s like wow, people do exist like her out there and I was lucky enough to find her? She must be my soulmate.
Y/N: Why do I love Chris? Hmm let me think. As a society I know we don’t believe in soulmates, and for a long time I put no thought into them you know? But meeting Chan and being able to experience the love he gives, has honestly changed that for me. I don’t think there is anyone out there more perfect for me than him. I can’t put into words why I love him but I can try to describe it. It’s like when you find a new favorite thing to obsess over, and that becomes something you love so dearly but in the case of me and Chan, it’s that feeling on and on, it never falters and my love for it stays consistent.
[ the video ends with a black screen fading out the image of y/n from frame ]
coco’s <3 note: FINALLY SHE IS HERE! I’ve been talking about this fic for almost three months now 😭 and finally it’s done! Hope you all enjoy it as much as I do :) Thank you @odxrilove for being my beta reader for it! I love you wifey 😻🫶🏽 As always, feedback & rbs are always appreciated!
