◞⁺⊹ . living with your hot streamer roommate gets complicated when his chat keeps noticing the tension between you… and so does he.
streamer roommate!chan who’s genuinely the best and worst person you’ve ever shared a place with. worse, because living with one of the most famous streamers on the platform means constant noise— mechanical keyboards clicking at 4 am, chair wheels creaking, that low, raspy morning voice of his leaking through the walls when you’re just trying to sleep.
but better, because the rent is cheap, and he’s not a bad guy in the slightest. polite, helpful, and insanely hardworking. even if he does occasionally leave wires trailing around the floor until you almost trip, or run around shirtless in the living room, flexing like he’s forgotten you live there.
he hardly ever even asks you to join in on his streams. those times when you do hop in, it’s always casual and harmless. usually. you swear it’s only for the views (and that sweet ad revenue), definitely not because it’s fun to tease him and make his chat lose their minds shipping you. definitely not because you couldn’t stop staring at him the first time you “accidentally” caught one of his streams.
streamer roommate!chan, who looks hotter than he has any right to when he’s live. he doesn’t even have to try.
half the time, it’s just effortless— loose black hoodies hanging off his shoulders, his thick, veiny forearms exposed since he always rolls up the sleeves. his hair fluffier than usual because you heard him cursing in the hallway earlier when he didn’t have time to fix it.
he leans close to the camera, biting his lower lip in thought, barely paying attention while the donations start rolling in at record speed. the chat’s a mess, every other line something profane or downright out-of-pocket.
CHAN IS SO FINE, LORD
FLEX REAL QUICK BRO
how is the roommate even alive rn??
if roommate doesn’t bounce on it every night, i will.
you shouldn’t laugh when your name comes up. shouldn’t feel so smug about seeing the chat foam at the mouth over someone they can’t have— but god, you don’t hate it.
streamer roommate!chan, who asks you to join his streams “just for fun,” though you know full well he’s doing it partially because you rake in the views and partially because he likes having you close. he’s careful not to say that, of course..
“here, come sit,” he says, scooting his chair back so there’s room for you to slide in (and just so happens to rest his hand on your thigh the second you do). “chat’s been asking for a roommate feature.”
he says it innocently, as if his smile isn’t giving him straight away. his stupidly broad shoulders make it even harder to focus when he leans toward you to explain what’s happening on his screen, his thigh brushing yours in the cramped space.
“cute, right?” he asks about something in-game, but all you can think about is how his hand is still on you, his warm fingertips idly drumming against your skin.
the chat eats it up every single time.
SHE’S SO CLOSE TO HIM WTF
roommate content is hitting DIFFERENT today
she’s def in love
they’re only half right.
streamer roommate!chan who inexplicably decided tonight was the night to rock the internet harder than usual.
you weren’t even meaning to check in— he’s always streaming through the night, through dinner, through potential time you could be spending together.
but walking into the shared kitchen and hearing his low chuckle felt… different. you rounded the corner only to see him shirtless, fitting his headset perfectly over his messy curls, biceps flexing as he pressed a few buttons on stream deck.
“dude, what the fuck,” you muttered, incredulous, but he just turned to you with that sheepish look that drove you fucking insane.
“what? they started asking why i keep streaming in hoodies,” he replied, a shameless grin splitting his face. “and hey…” he paused, flexing painfully hard just to make you roll your eyes, “content is content.”
streamer roommate!chan, who doesn’t stop there.
later, when you find yourself accidentally clicking into his stream out of curiosity (just curiosity), you get why he seemed so smug about his little setup tonight.
the angle is too perfect for the viewers— the dim glow from his monitor lighting him up just right, sweat beading along his collarbone. his voice is low and relaxed, perfect for ASMR-filthy comments:
“don’t tempt me, chat,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to the screen with a smirk so deadly you’d swear he practiced it. “you should know better than that.”
and you hate yourself a little for blushing. hate the way your stomach flips when someone donates asking about “his hot roommate” and his eyes flick to a tiny part of his screen in an instant.
streamer roommate!chan, who clearly knows you’re lurking because suddenly, all his focus narrows in.
“oh?” he says, his smirk curling even wider. “did you guys notice the username too ??” he asks his stream innocently, as if it isn’t painfully obvious who he’s talking about.
your heart stops, your face burning as the chat ignites into absolute flames.
ROOMMATE SPOTTED ?!??:!
OH HE KNOWS
ROOMMATE REVEAL ROOMMATE REVEAL ROOMMATE REVEAL
chan she’s in the chat say hi rub ur pecs
he doesn’t skip a beat, his dark eyes almost locking with the camera like he knows you’re staring.
“don’t let them bully you, chat can get aggressive,” he teases, leaning a little closer to the camera just to laugh. “they’re just jealous you get all this for free.”
streamer roommate!chan, who doesn’t stop smiling as the chat absolutely explodes with thirst comments.
“i didn’t mean it like that,” he protests with a laugh, running one hand through his hair, making it even messier. his pink tongue darts out between his teeth to wet his lips, his biceps flexing faintly as he leans back in his chair.
it absolutely looks intentional. every part of him on screen screams simple confidence, sharp corners and smooth lines.
you’re trying not to stare at the way he moves, voice carrying low and melted through your screen, but it’s impossible not to when another flood of donations comes in:
I WILL PAY TO HAVE THIS VIEW
I NEED YOU TO GRUNT IN MY EAR
CHAN STREAMER BOYFRIEND ARC GOOOO
“boyfriend arc?” chan repeats thoughtfully, and his tone might be distracted, but his eyes keep skipping back to the chat, clearly knowing you’re still there.
“hm, might have to think about that one…” his voice dips as the sentence trails off.
it’s like he’s talking directly to you.
streamer roommate!chan, who definitely noticed when your comments went silent after that.
he keeps playing it cool with his chat, cracking light jokes about donos and raiding later— but when the feed ends, and you’re still awkwardly hiding in your room, you hear the soft knock at your door.
“hey,” he calls softly, the light tilt of a smile audible in his voice even from the other side of the wood. “you’re not avoiding me, are you?”
the hesitation in your chest is sharp and embarrassing when you crack the door open just slightly, only to see him leaning against the frame, arms crossed, still gloriously shirtless, still smirking like he knows exactly how badly he’s been fucking with you tonight.
random draft i’ve had collecting dust for weeks bc i couldn’t tell whether i liked this or not, but i thought i may as well post it :p
Chan is the type of guy to come home late from the studio just to find you waiting for him, asleep, on the couch.
Chan is the type to feel the most guilty about it. but what heightens the emotion is how he finds himself entranced by the sight of you peacefully sleeping. dozed off, your chest heaves up and down at an easy pace.
Chan is the type of guy to climb on top of you, one hand resting at your hip and the other against the couch's backrest; pressing kisses to your forehead then your cheek while muttering soft words like, "baby wake up. you didn't have to wait for me, let's go to bed."
Chan is the type to try and hide his hard-on as he brings your drowsy figure to your shared bedroom, not wanting to bother you too much. however, you notice rather quickly, the pink dusting his ears catching the dim lighting.
Chan is the type of guy to try to seem shocked as you gently push him onto the bed, but that was the only thing on his mind while he nuzzled his face onto your neck to breathe you in affectionately (no interior motives, he swears).
Chan is the type to take a deep, ragged, breath the second you tug off his pants. cool air meets his aching cock, precum glistening at the tip.
Chan is the type to twitch as you wrap your hand around him, thumb soothing the vein on his side. he shudders, lips parting into a gasp that curls into a praise as you slowly jerk him off.
Chan is the type to throw his head back the moment your wet warm mouth envelopes him. engulfing him to the brim, the sleepiness in your eyes while you choke on his cock has him moaning pathetically.
Chan is the type to get close too soon, the feels of you around him too much to bear. finally getting to unwind after a long day. his legs quiver, tense and shaky around your head. you press two palms on his thighs, calming his tremor.
Chan is the type to curl a hand into your hair, more grounding than controlling. he'll do it because he doesn't know where to keep his hands, and you're so so pretty that he has to push your hair from the view.
Chan is the type of guy that one eye contact is enough to undo him. a broken groan (whimper) flying out of his mouth, shivering as his high crashes down. warm cum spurts inside your mouth, swallowing every last bit of it, just to pull of him and show him your clean tongue.
Chan is the type of guy to chuckle about your dirty behavior, as if he wasn't a flustered mess about it. trying to play it cool by grabbing you up and kissing your saliva coated lips. tasting himself on you, his cock throbs again. really he can't help it when you're this good to him...
—
other member ver: bangchan lee know changbin hyunjin han felix seungmin i.n
synopsis: chan spends an entire day convinced you’re upset with him when you don’t answer his messages, only to find out you’re quietly suffering through cramps. the relief is instant, and he makes it his mission to comfort you until you’re smiling again.
warnings: mentions of period blood/cramps, soft angst, extreme fluff.
wc: 3830
You woke up already tired.
The sun filtering through your curtains wasn’t warm and inviting like usual, it was sharp, too bright, almost mocking the dull heaviness in your body. You blinked against it, rolling over and burying your face deeper into your pillow, hoping maybe, just maybe, you could drift back to sleep and ignore the world. But your body had other plans. There was a low ache deep in your stomach, one that you recognized instantly, the kind that made your entire body feel heavier than it should.
“Not today…” you mumbled into the pillow, groaning as you curled your knees up closer to your chest.
It wasn’t unusual. This happened every month, almost like clockwork. But no matter how prepared you tried to be, no matter how many times you went through the routine, it never got easier. The cramps were already building, wrapping around your abdomen like an iron band and tightening bit by bit.
You reached for your phone on the nightstand out of habit, squinting against the light of the screen. A couple of notifications blinked up at you, nothing urgent, just social media, a reminder from your calendar, but you didn’t even bother unlocking it. You weren’t in the mood to scroll, to read, or to interact. Your phone slipped back down to the nightstand with a soft clatter, forgotten almost instantly as another wave of cramps had you squeezing your eyes shut.
All you wanted was relief. Relief, and maybe comfort.
Dragging yourself out of bed felt impossible, but you did it anyway, moving on autopilot. Clean up first. That always came first. You shuffled to the bathroom, slow and clumsy, going through the motions that had become too familiar. Fresh products, washing your hands, splashing cool water on your face. The reflection staring back at you in the mirror looked pale and a little miserable, hair messy from sleep, eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion.
You sighed, too tired to even think about fixing yourself up. The best you could do was change into something soft, an oversized shirt that hung loosely on your body, a pair of shorts that wouldn’t dig into your waist. You shuffled back into your room, each step weighted down, and practically collapsed onto your bed again.
The blanket was a cocoon, cool at first and then slowly warming with your body heat. You curled into yourself, clutching at your stomach instinctively, even though you knew it didn’t help much. It was just… something. Something to hold onto while your body decided to wage war on you.
Your phone buzzed again, faint on the nightstand, but you didn’t move. You didn’t even check who it was. It could wait. Everything could wait.
Meanwhile, somewhere else across the city, Chan was looking down at his own phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He had just finished up a long meeting, the kind that left him drained but buzzing with too many ideas at once. Normally, he’d text you right away, just to check in, to share something funny or complain about how endless the discussions felt.
So that’s what he did.
Chan: Finally done with this meeting, feels like I aged 10 years. Chan: What are you up to?
He stared at the screen, waiting for the little “typing…” bubble to pop up. Usually, it didn’t take long. You were quick to respond, even if it was just a short emoji or a “busy rn.” But the seconds stretched into minutes, and the screen stayed blank.
Chan chewed on his bottom lip, shrugging it off at first. Maybe you were busy. Maybe you were still asleep, though he knew you rarely slept this late. He tossed his phone onto the desk and went back to scribbling in his notebook, letting the beat in his head spill onto paper.
But after an hour, when he checked again, there was still nothing from you.
His fingers tapped out another message almost without thinking.
Chan: Hey, you okay?
Still no reply.
That tiny seed of worry started planting itself in his chest. He tried to brush it off again, telling himself not to overthink, but Chan wasn’t exactly great at not overthinking. Especially when it came to you.
By the time his call went unanswered, the seed had already sprouted, growing heavier with each passing hour.
Back in your bed, you shifted under the blanket, curling deeper into it as another cramp rolled through. You groaned softly, too exhausted to even reach for the phone that lit up again on the nightstand. You barely registered the vibration against the wood before your eyes fluttered shut.
You weren’t ignoring anyone. You weren’t upset. You just couldn’t deal with anything beyond the war your body was waging against you.
The world could wait.
And that included Chan’s worried little texts, though you didn’t know it yet.
The day moved on, but Chan’s mind didn’t.
Normally, he thrived on busyness. His schedule was packed with practice, meetings, producing, and endless checklists of things to get done. It was the kind of chaos he had gotten used to, even relied on. But when his phone stayed silent despite the three, four, five times he checked it, everything else seemed harder to focus on. His pencil stilled over the notepad where he was scribbling chord ideas. His ears tuned out halfway through one of the members joking with him.
He kept thinking about you.
You never ignored him. That was the thing. Even on your busiest days, you’d slip in a quick reply, something lighthearted just to let him know you saw him. A little emoji, a “later” text, even a single “♡.” Something. Anything.
But now? Nothing. Not one reply since morning.
By the time he called you and it rang all the way through to voicemail, that tight knot in his chest was pulling harder.
“She’s upset with me,” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Hyung, what?” Jisung asked, glancing up from across the room.
“Nothing,” Chan waved it off, forcing a smile. He wasn’t about to dump his spiraling thoughts onto the others. This was his problem to figure out.
Still, he couldn’t stop thinking. Did he forget something? Yesterday… he tried to replay everything in his mind. He’d been tired, sure, but had he snapped at you? Had he been distracted and missed something important you told him?
He sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. The problem was, his brain wasn’t good at letting go once it latched onto a worry. It gnawed at him, over and over, convincing him of the worst possible explanation until he almost believed it.
By the time late afternoon rolled around, he couldn’t take it anymore. His phone screen mocked him, still blank of any message from you. He didn’t even think twice before shoving his notebook into his bag and telling the members he’d head home early.
He wasn’t going home, though.
The drive over to your place was both quick and painfully long. Quick, because Chan’s hands gripped the wheel a little tighter, pushing the speed just enough to shave off time. Long, because the silence in the car gave his thoughts too much room to echo.
What if you didn’t want to see him? What if showing up uninvited only made things worse?
Still, he couldn’t turn back. He needed to know. Needed to see you, to understand what had happened, to make sure you were okay.
By the time he parked outside your place, the nervous energy in his chest had built up so much he could barely breathe evenly. He sat there for a moment, fingers drumming on the steering wheel, before finally exhaling hard and muttering to himself.
“Alright, just… just talk to her. Find out what’s wrong. You can fix this.”
He grabbed his bag and headed up, his footsteps slower than usual. He had his own key, you’d given it to him months ago but right now, the idea of unlocking your door without permission made his chest twist.
He rang the bell once. Waited. Rang again.
No answer.
Biting his lip, Chan reached for the key anyway. “Don’t freak out,” he whispered to himself as he carefully unlocked the door. “It’s fine. Just ask her. It’s fine.”
The apartment was quiet when he slipped inside. Not the kind of quiet that felt empty, but the kind that was lived-in, peaceful, interrupted only by the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen. He set his bag down by the door, hesitating for a long moment before making his way further in.
“Y/N?” he called softly.
No response.
His heart beat faster, every step toward your bedroom door heavier. He knocked gently, then pushed it open just enough to peek inside.
And there you were.
Curled up in bed, blanket cocooned around you, face half-buried in the pillow. Your hair was a little messy, your expression tired even in sleep or what looked like sleep. You didn’t move at the sound of the door, didn’t flinch when he stepped inside.
Chan’s chest tightened. He wasn’t sure if it hurt more to think you were ignoring him on purpose, or if something else was wrong entirely.
He hovered at the side of the bed for a moment, crouching slightly as he whispered, “Hey…”
Your eyelids fluttered, but you didn’t speak.
“Are you…” he hesitated, swallowing hard before finishing, “Are you upset with me?”
And that was when you blinked at him, slow and a little dazed, before pouting softly.
“No…” you murmured, your voice hoarse. “Not upset. Just… got my period. Hurts too much.”
For Chan, the relief was instant and overwhelming. His shoulders sagged as a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding rushed out of him.
“Oh my god,” he whispered, rubbing a hand over his face. “I thought—baby, I thought you were mad at me. I’ve been losing my mind all day.”
He let out a small, shaky laugh, rubbing at his face again before dragging his fingers through his hair.
“Baby…” he sighed, the corners of his mouth tugging up into the gentlest smile. “You scared me half to death. I thought I did something wrong. I thought you were mad at me.”
Your lips curled into the faintest pout, and you shook your head against the pillow. “No. Just… hurting. A lot.”
Chan’s gaze softened even further. He reached out instinctively, brushing a few strands of hair back from your forehead, his fingers warm and careful. “You should’ve told me,” he murmured, his voice so tender it made your chest ache for a whole different reason.
“I didn’t even look at my phone today,” you admitted, wincing as another cramp twisted through you. “Couldn’t deal with anything.”
That made him sigh again, though not in frustration, in sympathy. “My poor baby,” he whispered, his thumb brushing against your temple. “I’m sorry you’re hurting.”
For a moment, he just stood there beside the bed, his hand lingering on your hair. But then, without hesitation, he toed off his slippers and carefully slipped under the blanket beside you. The mattress dipped with his weight, and warmth spread instantly across your body as his arm wrapped gently around your waist.
He pulled you close, careful but firm enough to make you feel anchored. His lips pressed a fleeting kiss against your temple. “Better?” he asked quietly.
You melted against him, your forehead pressing into his chest. “Mhm,” you hummed, your voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.
Chan smiled against your hair, the tension that had followed him all day finally easing. “Tell me what I can do for you,” he said, pulling back just enough to look down at your face. “Do you need more products? Something to eat? I can heat up your pad for you… or I can grab you water, or tea. Just say the word.”
You blinked up at him, your lashes heavy with exhaustion, and gave a weak little nod at each suggestion. Yes. Yes. Yes.
That made him chuckle, low and warm, before he pecked your temple again. “Alright, so basically, all of it,” he teased.
You whined softly when he shifted like he was about to get up, your hand immediately fisting into his shirt. “Don’t go yet,” you mumbled, your lips brushing the fabric.
His heart squeezed at that. He froze, then settled right back down against the pillows, tightening his hold around you. “Okay,” he whispered. “Not going anywhere.”
The relief in your body was almost visible. You tucked yourself even closer into his chest, curling into him as if he were your own personal safe space, which, in a way, he was. His chin rested lightly on top of your head, his arm rubbing soothing circles against your side, never pressing too hard against your cramping stomach.
For a while, silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t heavy. It was comfortable, filled with the sound of his breathing and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. That rhythm, steady and grounding, made your own body relax little by little.
And then Chan started talking.
He told you about his day, how endless the meeting felt, how he kept thinking about you the whole time and wondering what you were up to. He slipped in jokes, silly imitations of the others, exaggerations that were meant to make you laugh.
And you did.
Not a loud laugh, not the kind that shook your whole body. But a soft, breathy giggle that made his chest vibrate with happiness. Every time the sound left your lips, his eyes lit up like you’d just given him the best gift in the world.
You tilted your head back slightly to look up at him, your cheek still pressed against his chest. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, though the fond smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.
“Yeah,” he admitted with a grin, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “But if it makes you smile, I’ll happily be ridiculous.”
Your heart swelled at that, warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the blanket. Even through the cramps and the exhaustion, even through the ache that made your whole body curl inward, you felt loved. So deeply loved it almost overwhelmed you.
And the thing about Chan was, he never made you doubt it.
-
It didn’t surprise you when, after a little while, Chan stirred beneath you. His hand was still drawing slow, absent circles against your side, but there was a restless energy in him, that familiar leader instinct that wouldn’t let him sit still when someone he loved was hurting.
You felt the shift in his chest as he leaned down, whispering against your hair. “Baby, I know you don’t want me to move, but… I should get your heating pad. It’ll help.”
You made a small noise of protest, burrowing closer into him like a stubborn child. “Later…”
Chan chuckled, the sound low and fond, and kissed the crown of your head. “You said yes to everything, remember? If I don’t do it now, you’ll just get worse. Two minutes, tops. I promise.”
You pouted, but your fingers finally loosened their grip on his shirt. “Fine,” you sighed, your voice small.
That was all the permission he needed. He slipped carefully out from under you, tucking the blanket snug around your body before he stood. “Stay right here. Don’t move,” he teased, pointing playfully as if you were capable of going anywhere in your current state.
You watched him move around your room with ease, his presence filling the space in a way that made it feel warmer, safer. He ducked into your closet to grab the heating pad, plugging it in with practiced efficiency, like he’d done this countless times before. Which, to be fair, he had.
While it warmed up, he padded into the kitchen. You could hear faint clattering, the fridge opening, a cupboard door closing, the hum of the microwave. Even from bed, you pictured the way his brows furrowed in concentration, how he’d open every drawer just to make sure he had all the options.
When he returned, his arms were full.
The heating pad, wrapped in its soft cover. A glass of water balanced carefully in his hand. A mug of tea that smelled faintly of chamomile. A small plate with crackers and a couple of chocolate squares because Chan always remembered that sometimes you needed sugar more than anything.
You blinked at the sight, your lips twitching upward. “You brought the whole kitchen,” you teased softly.
Chan set everything down on your nightstand, grinning sheepishly. “Better too much than not enough,” he said, settling beside you again. He pressed the warm heating pad gently against your stomach, watching your reaction closely. “Tell me if it’s too hot.”
The sigh that left your lips was almost instantaneous. The ache didn’t disappear, but the warmth dulled it, eased it just enough for your muscles to relax. Your shoulders dropped back into the pillows, your eyes fluttering shut.
“There we go,” Chan whispered, satisfied, before slipping the glass of water into your hand. “Small sips first. You didn’t drink much today, did you?”
You shook your head faintly, sipping obediently while his hand hovered near the glass like he was ready to catch it if you dropped it.
Once you finished, he traded it for the mug of tea. “This’ll help too. Just a little at a time.”
You sipped that as well, the warmth coating your throat, easing you further into comfort. By the time he set it back down and tucked the blanket more securely around you, your body felt lighter, as if his care had lifted some of the weight along with the pain.
“Snack later,” he said gently, brushing his fingers through your hair. “For now, just rest.”
You couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re spoiling me.”
Chan laughed softly, leaning down to press a kiss against your temple. “Always,” he murmured, his voice so certain, so matter-of-fact, that your chest ached with love.
When he finally settled back beside you, his arm slid under your shoulders, tugging you close again. This time, though, the heating pad was tucked securely against your stomach, the tea and snacks waiting nearby, and his presence felt even more grounding.
“You okay now?” he asked quietly, watching your face.
You nodded, nuzzling into him. “Better. Thanks to you.”
The smile that bloomed across his face was soft, almost boyish, like your words alone could light him up. “Good,” he whispered. “That’s all I want.”
With the heating pad warming your stomach and Chan’s body heat pressed against your side, you finally felt yourself breathing easier. The sharpness of the cramps was still there, but dulled enough that you could focus on something besides the ache. Something like the way his thumb rubbed absent circles into your arm, or the way his breathing rumbled softly in his chest beneath your cheek.
Chan noticed the way your body relaxed and smiled down at you. “See? I told you it’d help,” he said gently, his voice the kind of quiet you only used in bedrooms, in moments that felt too soft for the outside world.
You hummed, too comfortable to put the gratitude into words. Instead, you tilted your head just slightly, brushing your nose against his shirt.
Chan’s chest swelled with affection at the tiny gesture. To fill the silence, he started talking again, his tone light and animated. “So, Jisung fell asleep in the middle of the meeting today,” he said, shifting his voice into an exaggerated impression. “Head tilted back, mouth wide open, the whole deal. I thought he was gonna choke on his own snores.”
You snorted, muffling a giggle into his chest.
“And Hyunjin kept trying to poke him awake without anyone noticing,” Chan continued, “but he missed every time because he was laughing too hard. It was like watching two clowns on stage. I almost lost it in front of the managers.”
Your lips curved into a sleepy smile. “I wish I’d seen it.”
Chan chuckled, brushing his lips against your forehead. “I’ll reenact it for you later if you want. Though it won’t be nearly as funny without Jisung’s actual snore.”
You laughed again, the sound light and breathy, and his chest warmed at the sound. He would’ve told a hundred more stories, exaggerated every detail, made an absolute fool of himself, just to hear it again.
The conversation flowed in gentle waves, sometimes you asked questions, sometimes you only hummed in response, and sometimes you just lay quietly, letting his voice wash over you. He didn’t mind at all. In fact, Chan liked that you didn’t feel the need to fill every silence. He liked that he could talk and you’d simply listen, eyes drooping, your body softening against him like you trusted him to hold you together when you couldn’t.
At one point, you shifted just slightly, peeking up at him through heavy lashes. His eyes met yours instantly, warm and intent, like he’d been waiting for you to look at him.
“What?” you whispered, your voice small but curious.
Chan smiled, the corners of his lips curving in that way that always made your chest flutter. “Nothing. Just… you look cute.”
You rolled your eyes, heat creeping into your cheeks. “I probably look like a mess.”
“Not to me,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “Never to me.”
The words sank into you, making your heart squeeze. You tucked yourself closer into his chest, hiding your face as if that could conceal how much his love affected you.
He only laughed quietly, kissing the top of your head. “You’re special to me, you know that?”
Your throat felt tight, but you nodded against him. “I know. You make sure I know.”
“Good,” Chan murmured, satisfied. His hand returned to stroking gently up and down your arm, soothing in its repetition.
Minutes stretched into something softer than time, a space where you weren’t quite awake but not quite asleep either. You drifted in and out, lulled by the steady rhythm of his voice as he told you more little stories: the way Seungmin complained about the studio chairs, how Felix tried to bribe everyone with cookies, how Changbin nearly walked into a glass door because he was too busy texting.
Sometimes you laughed, sometimes you only sighed, but always you stayed tucked safely under his arm, wrapped in his warmth. And every time you stirred, every time your face tightened in discomfort from another cramp, Chan was right there, rubbing your arm, murmuring soft reassurances, pressing the lightest kisses into your hair until you relaxed again.
It wasn’t grand or dramatic. It wasn’t even about fixing the pain.
It was about him being there.
And that, more than anything, made you feel cherished.
//
masterlist.
a/n. Don’t mind me just saw a cute edit of chan & couldn’t help myself
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ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ ♡⸝⸝ chan is just so proud to call you his wife.
husband!bang chan x fem!reader
wc: 0.8k
warnings: (obviously) mentions of marriage, kissing, and weddings. also a brief reference to idol relationship stress and one singular suggestive line. pretty much just a fluffy drabble bc i was thinking abt breaking dawn wedding scene (turning page WILL be played at my own wedding) and my desire to be a wife LMAO.
after your wedding day, “my wife” becomes chan’s favorite words.
even before your actual marriage, there’d be times he’d call you his wife. offhanded, casual, for convenience, whatever. but it means so much more now that your vows have cemented the one thing he always knew: you are it for him.
he is utterly obsessed with referring to you as his wife and finds any way to mention you. the words roll off his tongue so easily and with so much pride. because how could he not be proud to call you his life partner? how could he not show you off to everyone?
of course, he loved calling you his girlfriend, then his fiancé—he’s always loved calling you his anything. but “wife”? that’s his favorite.
it’s not in a possessive way. it’s never to erase your own identity. it’s just in a “oh my god, i can’t believe i’m married to the love of my life” way.
it really hit him on your wedding night, after all the festivities were over and it was just the two of you. no drinks clinking, no claps and cheers, no camera flashes. he looked at you in all your post-wedding glow, and realization struck all at once.
“you’re my wife,” he mumbled, awestruck. almost in disbelief. he’d cried during his vows, kissed you hard, signed the marriage certificate. but it only became real in bed that night.
“i’m your wife,” you repeated, smile wide and bright. a reflection of the pure happiness you felt to wear that title. “and you’re my husband.
husband. he decided then that he doesn’t even care about his own name anymore. your husband is so much better.
“damn right i am,” he beamed.
out of all his accomplishments, that one has to be his favorite. and he certainly made sure to prove that to you that night. no inch of your body was left untouched or unkissed; he was the perfect blend of gentle and rough, of love and desire.
he falls asleep the happiest and most in love he’s ever been, still wondering if it might all just be a perfect dream. the next morning, when he wakes up to a flood of congratulations messages and pictures friends and family took at the wedding, he’s so relieved.
you’re a dream, but he’s not dreaming.
one of the first times he gets to say his new favorite phrase publicly comes during an interview a few weeks later.
the interviewer directs her question to him specifically. “who was your last text from?”
almost immediately, the rest of the boys break into knowing smiles and quiet chuckles. they already know the answer.
“my wife, actually,” chan says with no hesitation. and god how good it feels to say those words on camera, in front of the millions of eyes that will inevitably watch the video.
he’s all dimpled smiles and blushed cheeks when everyone in the room lets out a collective “aww.”
“ah, right, a newlywed! congratulations!”
needless to say, he’s giddy as hell for the rest of the interview. he didn’t even get a chance to show his phone background—which is, of course, a photo from your wedding day.
after that, he finds a way to make conversations about you. “my wife loves that movie!” “my wife picked it out,” “it’s my wife’s favorite song.” he really can’t help himself, it’s like some husband instinct he has. you’ve always occupied the most space in his mind.
and if people get annoyed by it, he quite frankly doesn’t care one bit. there was once a time when he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get to speak about his relationship so openly. he spoke of marriage as a dream, something he longed for but wasn’t sure it was attainable. not for someone like him, in his career.
so yes, he’s basking in his marriage glee loudly. every second of it is incredible, so much more than he could have expected.
when your wedding video and professional pictures come back? oh, it’s wraps.
he keeps a picture in his wallet and a framed one on his bedside dresser. the rest of them sit in an album on his phone that he finds himself in often.
on tour, when the timezones are too different and the distance too great, he scrolls through them. it’s a reminder of what he has to come home to. he counts down the days until he can hold you in his arms again.
and the video becomes his greatest comfort. you watch it together first. as expected, you cry, wipe your tears, then cry some more. such special memories captured so beautifully, the happiest day of your lives.
then, you hear the sniffles beside you and look over to find him tearing up as well. if he could relive that day a thousand times, he would, but this is as close as it gets.
“you just look so beautiful,” he whispers, the droplets glistening in his eyes. “i’m so lucky.”
your heart swells and the tears roll harder. “i’m the lucky one.”
truthfully, you’re both lucky. not everyone gets to experience a love like this in their lifetime. it radiates even through pictures and videos. you can feel it.
“no, you don’t understand. you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says louder, firmer.
Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix, the kind that lived in his shoulders, in the way he rolled his neck between schedules, in the quiet sighs he didn’t realize he let out when he thought no one was watching.
The studio was empty except for him and the low hum of his computer, still replaying the same beat he'd been working on for hours. His hoodie was draped over a chair, a half-empty water bottle sat beside his keyboard, and his headphones rested around his neck.
That’s when the door creaked open.
You peeked in hair slightly messy, phone clutched in your hand.
“Channie?” you called softly.
He looked up, surprised, before a smile spread across his face.
Not his stage smile. Not his fan smile.
His real one.
“Hey,” he said, voice warm.
You smiled back and walked over, stopping in front of him. For a second, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn't awkward.
It never was with him.
You opened your arms.
“Come here.”
He let out a quiet laugh, but stood anyway.
The hug you gave him wasn't rushed. It wasn't playful. It was the kind of hug that said, I see you. I know you're tired. You don't have to be strong right now.
“Channie…” you whispered, leaning back just enough to look up at him. “Are you okay?”
Chan froze for half a second, his eyes slipping shut as he let out a slow breath
When he opened them again, he looked down at you with nothing but love.
“I will be now that you're here,” he whispered.
A quiet giggle escaped your lips.
Then he melted.
He wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on top of your head. His eyes slipped closed as though your presence alone had flipped a switch inside him. His grip tightened just a little, like he wasn't ready to let go.
You buried your face back into his chest, smiling.
“Did you know,” he murmured, “you’re really good at this?”
“At what?” you asked, voice muffled against his hoodie.
“Making everything feel...better”
You pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were soft—tired, but bright in that way only he had. The kind of look he saved just for you. Your cheeks warmed.
“You spend so much time taking care of everyone else,” you said softly. “You deserve to be taken care of, too, Channie. So… just let me take care of you for a little while, okay?”
He looked at you for a long moment.
Like he wanted to say a hundred things but couldn't find the words.
In the end, he simply smiled.
"Thank you," he whispered before pressing a feather-light kiss to the top of your head. He gently pulled you back into his chest, his embrace lingering a little longer this time, as though he was trying to hold on to the peace you'd brought him.
You smiled against his chest and hugged him again, gently rubbing small circles against his back.
Neither of you spoke.
You didn't have to.
The weight on his shoulders didn't disappear.
It probably never would.
But in your arms, it finally felt a little lighter.
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: he's tired, and the only thing that can reconciliate his spirit is you.
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut!! fluff, established ralationship, pwp
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit descriptions of sexual acts, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex (piv), unprotected sex, creampie, cum play, breast/nipple play, a light playful spank, lots of kissing & making out. Channie is very soft but also veeeery selfish.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.3K
a.n. hi... omg... it's been so long... I'm shy... 🧍♀️
He's gotten home an hour and a half ago. You waited for him at the entrance, kissed his cheek softly, hugged, and let him get undressed and shower the day off.
Chan has tried to relax his muscles under the pressure of hot water, the bathroom steamy and humid making him sigh, feeling already less… heavy with responsibility. He feels safe at home. At home with you, to be precise. He takes care of a lot of things but to be vulnerable in front of you, it's a relief sometimes.
He swoons, when he gets out the bathroom welcomed into the corridor by your light humming. His tank top clings to him since he didn't even dry himself properly, sweats hanging loose around his waist, naked feet padding the cold floor, and your voice gets slightly louder at every step he takes.
He giggles when you gasp, his hands resting on your hips, his chin on your shoulder. He sees your expression relax into a soft smile with the corner of his eye, and then melts against you.
“Hi baby.” his voice is low and relaxed, making your belly flip a little bit.
“Hi, baby.” you say back, playful and pleased by the weight of his on you.
You feel him humming- the vibration going straight to your back, and you can't help by smile. He's so… Channie, tonight. Clingy and cuddly and lovely. It makes you almost blush, how much he trusts you with such a delicate feeling.
“Are you okay?” you ask, washing the dishes by the sink, the machine out of order since last week. There's a bit of hesitation in the way he squeezes your waist, the way his nose nuzzles on your nape.
Chan doesn't say anything, for a while. He just keeps on squeezing you everywhere, almost like a cat kneading dough. You understand that it's been a long day. You don't ask further.
You halt for a second, when you feel his lips against your skin. Plump, moist, leaving a sensation of something blooming on your shoulders. He doesn't speak yet, just gradually drags you closer and closer, your back pressed against him. You keep washing the dishes.
“I missed you today,” he murmurs against your shoulderblade, having tugged at your (his) shirt down to expose more of you. “Couldn't wait to get home to you.”
You smile wider, even if he can't see it properly. Then you caress his hand that's now resting on your belly, quick but reassuring, before resuming the scrubbing of a pan.
“Well, you're here now. Aren’t you?” your head tilts, and he catches the opportunity to leave a wet kiss on your neck, his tongue swiftly taking a taste.
“Mh.”
He's engrossed in his little world, you.
“Then I get here and you're already waiting for me with such… tempting attire.” he whispers. Not accusatory, not fierce, but as stating a matter of fact. It makes you giggle. Oversized, consumed shirt with holes and wrinkled shorts?
“How it this tempting?” it sounds absurd, really.
His kisses never cease, but something shifts. In the way he's a bit more insistent, in the way his hands fists the cotton covering you. He scoffs, not believing how you can’t grasp it.
“Are you joking?” he nips at your earlobe, making you flinch, spoon splashing back in the bubbles.
“There's so much room for me to touch… to imagine…” every word accompanied by the movements of his hands, fingers drumming absentmindedly.
“You have nothin’ under this, right baby?”
He whispers in your ear, shivers dancing all over your body now, dishes forgotten, tap running as to hush your conversation from someone who's not even there.
You don't say anything, feeling his hands creep under the shirt, touching you so delicately, until they reach your breasts- he closes them around the supple skin, fingers brushing your nipples while he groans. He's satisfied. He's really, really satisfied.
His kisses double down, peppering every inch exposed, gradually adding his teeth to the equation.
Chan lifts the shirt, uncovering you as much as possible, desperate to see more of your skin.
You close the tap, grab the border of the sink, arch back into him when his lips finally reach your jaw, your cheeks. Turning your head there's finally a kiss, hungry yet gentle. Your lips dance in a rythm they know by heart, comfortable and stable if not for your gasps when his thumbs flick your sensitive peaks.
“Babygirl,” he sighs, brows furrowing in concentration. One of his arms travels by your side, guided by your curves, squeezing your lower back, “please I need you.”
It's still gentle, the way he demands. It's as if he could kneel by any second, praying you for it.
“Please baby, please need ya- don't have to do nothin’ love, please-”
Chan is out of breath, bringing your hips to collide against his, bulge prominent by his sweats settling deliciously against your ass.
Throwing your head back, you give him a weak nod before making your lips meet again, kissing for a minute more. It's incredible, that after all this time he still gets you hot and needy just with a few words. He casts erotic spells on you, and there's no defense against them.
He twists you effortlessly, kisses sliding until his mouth is on your sternum, your tits, your stomach.
“‘Been thinkin’ ‘bout this sweet pussy all day.” he blurts out between suctions, going lower, lower, mouthing at your navel on top of your shorts. Your knees buckle, you clench. The way he's so blunt in his confession, shameless, he never fails to make you feel wanted.
“This gorgeous, gorgeous little pussy.” he cups it, massaging exactly where your clit is with his thumb, even if nothing will be enough until he'll undress you- but Channie always satisfies you. No doubt in that.
He's kneeling before you, for real now. One of your hands flies to rest on top of his head, short blond locks hard to grab now, but still you steady yourself while your other hand holds onto the edge of the counter.
But Chan feels it. Chan knows he's feeling your folds a little too well. You can’t be also already wetting every layer of clothing, as much as he knows he can make you do that. He sighs. That's when he pushes your shorts by the side, and he's met with your bare sex, breathing and smeared in that sweet nectar he loves so much. The cold air meets your center, making your cheeks burn.
“Babygirl…” it's a gasp, and a twinkle in his eyes. He looks up at you, yours already hazy, a full conversation happening between glances.
“Thank you…” it's a whisper now, while he goes to kiss your thighs.
It's sudden when you feel the first lick. Quick, tentative. Then he takes your calf, caresses it, places your leg over his shoulder, deliciously pillowy. From this point of view his chest is puffed and full, chiseled thighs framing his shaft, jaw tensed, dark eyes look up at you hungry and needy.
He spreads your folds, looks at them for a second longer, and then dives in. There's no warning, no sign, so greedy he can't help but enjoy it immediately. It's a sight, really. Eyes now closed, long eyelashes framing them, already lost in it. His nose is the only thing you see, with his lips closed around your clit, and then his tongue falls flat over it, making you squirm.
He massages your leg and keeps the shorts out of his way, while he moves his head smearing your juice all over the lower half of his face. The tip of his tongue prods at your gaping hole, then plunges in, slow and steady, while he moans when your fingers pull his hair.
“So sweet, m’pussy ‘s always so fuckin’ sweet f'me.”
He's blissed out. Maybe even more than you.
“Needed ma baby today, needed this,” he whispers, “my angel's...” his voice trails off, resuming. It's the hottest thing when he blabbers his incoherent little thoughts. Your whimpers and sweet moans do nothing but fuel his need, making his cock throb in his pants.
You try to stay still as much as possible, letting him enjoy the moment. He's doing it for his own pleasure, after all. So you don't speak either, just let him hear your lovely sounds, grab at anything in sight to anchor you when he gets you close to your peak and then leaves you on the edge.
Chan can be mean when eating you out. Sure, he loves to have his babygirl drool and go dumb on his tongue, loves feeling you spasm when you ride his face… but he can't deny, he enjoys it for himself too.
It's just so comforting. Having something to suckle a little on, keep him occupied while having his mind completely empty, the feeling of your soft lips and velvety walls on his tongue. He loves playing with you clit, feeling it harden, his eyes roll back in his skull whenever you cum in his mouth. He feels so proud, and you always tell him how good he is, how good he feels, how much of a good job he did… he's a poor lovesick puppy, a slave for your praise and pleasure.
He gives you one last lick, before leaning back on his ankles, looking at your puffy clit and drooling hole. Mesmerizing. He won't let you come yet. Channie, he likes it when you do it together. Despite your whiney protests he doesn't relent, shushing you cautiously.
He licks his lips clean, catches a stray droplet with his finger and puts it back in his mouth. Can't waste anything.
“Gon' let me fill you up now? Hm?”
You're fucked out, seriously. Depriving you of your high isn't something he does often, but you know he'll get you there.
He seems even more massive when he gets up with his shoulders getting so wide they can hide and shield you from anything, settling your sore leg back down. He kisses you again, making you taste yourself, before having you right back facing the sink, still with bowls and plates left in soapy water.
He lowers his sweats, cock springing free already as he wasn't wearing anything underneath either, as always. He's whining, impatient yet savouring, completely in his headspace.
You lower down without any instruction, pressing against him, waiting patiently.
His hand goes to move your shorts yet again, cock nudging then at your entrance, tip slipping a little bit on your slick. Chan is mesmerized. You're bending so pretty for him, still dressed, on your tiptoes, pretty sounds coming from your lips. He spreads your asscheeks, making your pussy follow as well, guiding his cock the right way.
“Was dreamin’ of having you like this babygirl,” the tip, thick and hot, teases your barely stretched hole, “Y'always make me feel better.”
When the tip is settled, his hands hold your hips steadily, but not before caressing your side, and leaving a kiss on the center of your back.
“Channie- yes, baby-” you can’t help it, really. His cock gets into you almost effortlessly, every vein making your eyes roll, every millimeter of stretch having your knuckles get white against the counter.
He's slow, eyes closing for a second as he feels you bare, raw, so welcoming like you were made for him.
Chan doesn't speak anymore- instead, long sighs touch his vocal cords, making him moan.
You clench around him, he sees stars.
Moans transform into grunts and laments, hands holding you more steadily, your back now pressed against his all over again.
You're so sweet, he can't help but praise you, whispering in your ear, while his cock pistons into you faster. He hits all the right spots.
He holds you tighter, one hand skimming through all the messy clothing, finding your abused clit again. Gosh, now you're even wetter, squelching sounds fill the room obscenely. His pelvis starts to collide with you, skin against skin makes the sounds louder. It's a mess, yet a comforting one.
He circles your clit in rhythm with his thrusts, smiling when you throw your head back and he sees your mouth open in a silent moan. That's so erotic it gets him closer.
“Can I come baby? C-can I get my cum inside ya?” he's out of breath, losing his tempo, chasing it.
“Lemme cum in this sweet little pussy please my baby please, wan’ cum in ya wanna…”
You can only nod, agreeing in desperation, feeling on the edge yourself. He thanks you profusely, his strokes on your clit getting incoherently fast while he grinds into you, hitting your precious spot repeatedly. Again, again, again-
It's hot, and it's copious, and you suck him in even more. It shoots against your walls and you keep him there, orgasm washing over the both of you. It's a mixture of grunts and moans and names, but it's so beautiful you also feel your heart swell.
Chan doesn't let you fall, keeping you up, peppering every piece of skin in sight. He pulls out after a while, readjusting your shorts, letting them keep his cum in place.
A light slap lands on your asscheek and you squeak, blushing, but he kisses your cheekbone gently, leaning against you.
“Leave the dishes babe. I'll do it tomorrow, promise,” he takes your hand, tugging you further into the house, “let's cuddle yeah?”
It's never a burden to console your husband. It's never difficult to make him feel better. Oh, he's so easy in the end… he just needs “his sweet little pussy” and he's energized all over again.
You're dizzy, sore, trembling, yet something warm and tender settles in you, once again, like every day you've spent together.
Men get turned on by arguing SO MUCH and I have no idea why?!?! My friend told me about the time her boyfriend found out she vapes and her and her boyfriend got into a huge fight then afterwards he was like: ok I have a massive boner right now
Why are men like this?
But I wouldn't mind it with Chris
[ BACK TALK ] - B. C.
+ masterlists +
pairing: b. chan x f. gf reader
summary: after/during an argument
warnings: smut drabble
a/n: This sounds like smth Chris is def into.
Arguing with Chan starts off as passive aggressive. He says something you don’t particularly agree with and despite him promptly apologizing you hold onto it. Chan won’t admit it but knowing you hold a grudge against him is irritating in a way that nothing else can compare to.
Arguing with Chan can get intense and be dragged on for days. Long silences between short conversations. Few texts and even fewer calls. It’s even worse when he stays in the studio far longer than usual or decides that going to the gym is better than sitting idle in your space. There’s times he enjoys watching you stomp or walk away from him when he enters a room you’re in. Then there’s other times he wants to drag you back towards him without a second thought and make you endure his presence -despite your stubborn nature- just for the hell of it.
His cock twitches either way.
You storm off huffing and he’s hard an instant. You don’t spare him a glance like he’ll disappear if you ignore him long enough and he’s still imagining that pouty face of yours stained with tears while he fucks the sense back into you. Yet, his patience remains -a rare occurrence that annoys you more than anything else.
Arguing with Chan leads to you being spiteful, mouthy, and utterly bratty. At first he lets you get away with it, rolling his brown eyes when you make a comment, or scoffing when you brush past him and mumble something about him being in your way. Yet, there’s only so much Chan can take until his patience wears thin ands it completely gone by the time you get a little too comfortable talking to him a certain way.
“I could care fucking less if you stay out late but at least pick up your fucking gym clothes before you leave Chris…”
That’s the voice message you send him an hour after he leaves for the studio.
Your tone bites at his ears and the way you scoff his name sends a thrill down his spine.
He has to pause. Has to think.
Chan sits in silence in for a moment.
Contemplating.
His jaw is tight, eyes trained on your contact information, and his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he considers if he should respond to you
He decides not to.
Arguing with Chan ends one of two ways and both aren’t always options left up to you to pick from. He could be bitter, bold, and direct. Strict if the situation prescribed it. On the other hand his resolutions could be swift, amicable, and kind. Unfortunately, you’d bypassed the latter choice and Chan had come to conclusion that you’d meant to do so from the start. So, when he slammed your apartment door shut, dropped his bag on the living room couch, and stalked through the hall to your bedroom where he heard the shower running you weren’t given the opportunity to protest his expected intrusion.
You were peeling off your sleepwear, ready to shower after a lazy day, and needing to unwind from the annoyance that clung to you since sending him the infamous voice message. The sound of the front door slamming shut went over your head, drowned out by the music you played on your phone, and a passive indication that he was back home.
Chan said nothing as you carried on testing the water, eyeing your form from the back as you bent over to change the temperature of the water, moving closer when you stood straight again.
Arguing with Chan was an adrenaline rush to say the least. He isn’t rash or mean often but he can be impulsive and inherently rough. It’s not the sudden grip of his hand around the nape of your neck that makes you jump and yelp in surprise but rather how forcefully he pushed you up against the nearest wall. “Get the fuck off of me, Chris!” You spat the words out half heartedly, attempting to wriggle out of his hold, but failing miserably as he fisted a handful of your hair and pressed your cheek to the cold tile.
You gritted your teeth, glaring at him as he lowered his head to be eye level with you all the while his other hand snaked down your front to settle between your thighs.
You we were wet, coating his wandering fingers with slick you couldn’t pretend wasn’t there, and Chan took advantage of it.
“Repeat it.” He mumbled through a soft smirk, drinking in the way you shivered while his pointer and middle finger played with your entrance, “ Straight to my face since you were so bold to yell at me over the phone…”
You swallowed hard, knowing full well Chan wouldn’t let you recite a single word you said in that voice message even if you tried, and despite your anger -fear of his retaliation flooded your system.
“Chris.. I’m s-sorry…!” You panted, trying not to tear up as he heavy chest kept you pinned against the wall.
“Too late for that don’t you think?…”
You shut your eyes tight, sniffling as he pressed his lips to your ear and exhaled a slow and warm breath against the shell of it, “Repeat it…one more time….just for me.”
You keened, feeling his erection pressing at your ass through his black sweats, accepting the consequences of your actions with a stifled whine of defeat. “Okay…” you whisper, “…you win.”
Arguing with Chan never ends when you concede or admit defeat. It’s a slow decent into tension. He makes sure his point is made and comes across clear as crystal. A slap across your face, then another, and a third just before he places a deliberate kiss to your pouting lips. You find yourself on the floor, weight on your knees, and his cock slipping into your mouth with a slow and familiar ease. “Isn’t that better, baby?” He groans quietly, smile evident as he weaves a hand through your hair and holds your head steady while his hips buck towards your face at an unrelenting pace. “Fuck….that pretty mouth of yours is good something after all…” Chan laughs between moans, reveling in the helpless state you’re in while he abuses your throat with little regard for your gagged breaths and choked whines. “C’mon baby…” he taunts quietly, tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he tilts his head at you, “Yell at me now…”
He doesn’t stop until your eyes roll with exhaustion, resorting to holding your head back as he jerks himself off to the dazed and teary eyed expression you give him, and rewarding your drained attitude with a heavy load of cum painting your face.
Chan watches it drip down your chin, neck, and flow past the space between your breasts. You lick what you can from your lips, legs involuntarily shaking with need as the taste of him seeps down your raw throat, cunt throbbing at the implication of him using you to relieve the stress you’d put onto him.
Arguing with Chan is indeed a tricky but indulgent hobby anyone should experience from time to time…
a/n: raise your hand if you would purposely piss Chris off just so he could fuck the shit out of you. I’ll go first! - Mrs. Bahng.
◞⁺⊹ . ( fwb!chan ) being secretly fuck buddies with the most insufferable man in your friend group is undeniably messy— and so, so good.
chan should be grateful that his dick is as big as his massive fucking ego.
it’s probably the only thing saving his ass from getting blocked— or from you coming up with some lame excuse to never show up at the same group hangouts again. because god, what is it about him that just makes him unbearable? he’s cocky, loud, and has this stupid little smirk that drives you up the wall everytime he opens his mouth and says something smug or patronizing.
he’s like a walking reminder of everything that annoys you about people— except that unfortunately, he’s also packing well below the waist. so fucking well.
you’re convinced the universe has some deep, twisted sense of humor for saddling you with mutual friends and a far better than expected sexual arrangement with the one guy you can’t stand. no one knows about it, which is exactly how you like it.
you and chan make a mutual point of pretending not to give two shits about each other in public. you roll your eyes at his jokes, call him “chris” with that condescending tone that makes his nostrils flare, and he gives it back just as good: teasing you over everything from your choice of iced coffee to how long it takes you to get ready whenever the group plans a night out.
it works. the whole casual disdain thing keeps everything simple. boundaries unblurred. no feelings, no slipping— just sex.
until you’re alone. until the door closes and he pushes you up against it, and it’s like all that mutual irritation boils over into something raw and unfiltered.
and you hate that you’re thinking about that very thing right now, awkwardly perched on your couch at midnight, scrolling through socials and trying not to think about how everyone’s group chat plans for the weekend ended hours ago, leaving you bored as hell and way too aware of who you could text to fix it.
annoyingly, your pussy always betrays you first.
- - -
you sigh and glance at his contact.
your thumbs hover over the keyboard for all of ten seconds before your libido wins out:
you: you up? [1:11 am]
his reply buzzes in near instantly, which only confirms that he’s as irritatingly predictable as you figured.
your reply is flipping him off in spirit. but you don’t send it. instead, you toss your phone onto the couch and head to check your reflection.
- - -
chan doesn’t bother knocking anymore. the first time he did, you yanked open the door and told him to keep it the fuck down before a neighbor saw him. ever since, he just shoots you a text when he’s two minutes out— his way of barely complying with your demands.
so when the door creaks open and you hear the heavy sigh of his exhale and the shuffle of his sneakers slipping off, you don’t bother looking up from where you’re sitting on the armrest of the couch, legs crossed.
“took you long enough,” you say in a bored tone, your eyes scanning him briefly. his loose gray hoodie hangs a little too perfectly off his shoulders, the fabric slung low enough to expose his collarbones just slightly, and his sweats hug him dangerously low on the hips. he looks too good, and you hate him for it.
“you texted me, sweetheart,” he replies nonchalantly, rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s not like i planned this.”
you scoff. “yeah, keep telling yourself that. pretty sure i could’ve offered to meet you in a dumpster and you still would’ve shown up.”
chan laughs at that, shaking his head as he steps closer, towering over where you’re seated. “such a brat,” he mutters, his tone carrying just a faint edge.
“big words for someone who practically just sprinted here because he wanted to fuck me so bad,” you say, standing up slowly to match his energy.
his jaw ticks slightly, a small smirk turns up the corner of his lips. “nah, you might want to double-check. you’re the one who texted me.”
your nails brush over the front of his hoodie as you lean in, mock sweet. “and you still showed up, didn’t you?”
his dark brown eyes flash. “you’ve got one hell of a mouth on you, y/n. gonna do something about it tonight?”
you laugh, shoving lightly at his chest. “gonna cry if i don’t?” you sneer.
his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist before you can pull back, yanking you flush against him. the sudden movement makes your stomach flip, and his cocky grin only grows wider at the way you falter for all of half a second before regaining your composure.
“nah,” he hums lowly. “but you will.”
your eyes narrow at the bold claim, irritation bubbling faintly in your chest as his condescending tone makes your thighs clench.
“all talk, chris,” you snap back.
“you sure about that, sweetheart?” he murmurs, pressing your wrist back gently enough to pin you against the edge of the couch, your lower back bumping against the armrest.
“yeah,” you say defiantly, even as you feel the burn of smug satisfaction sizzle beneath your skin.
his smirk tightens further.
“guess i’ll have to shut you up, then.”
- - -
you hadn’t planned to fold so fast— you always make him work for it, finding at least three more ways to drag out the inevitable just to see him get impatient.
but he’s strong. so much stronger than you’ll ever admit to him, and it’s hard to stay cocky when his hands are skimming your thighs, lifting you onto the couch with ease and forcing your legs apart with unrelenting patience.
“all this attitude, but you’re already dripping all over me,” chan teases lowly, his palm brushing roughly against the damp patch clinging to your panties. you squirm, fire licking every inch of your body as his fingers press more firmly against your core, the friction making your head spin.
“fuck off,” you snap, still stubborn despite how much your body’s trembling under his touch.
he laughs, deep and low, with this devastating rasp that makes you see red. “nah, baby. you need to be fucked,” he taunts, his thumb circling your puffy clit now, his free hand pinning your hips down to keep you from jerking away.
you bite your lip, refusing to make a sound even when molten heat shoots through you at his precision, determined not to give him the satisfaction.
but chan sees right through you.
“what’s wrong, princess?” he coos mockingly, his lips inching closer to yours. “too stubborn to beg for what you want?” his thumb presses down harder, rubbing insistently as your hips jerk into his hand.
the teasing is too much now, his cocky tone fanning the flames in your stomach until there’s no escape.
“fuck you, chris,” you finally spit out, grinding against his hand, but the words are a little breathless now and less convincing.
his lips slam into yours before you can fight back, the kiss rough and heated, his teeth dragging against your bottom lip before biting down gently and pulling back.
“fine. i’ll fuck you any way you want, baby- but keep acting like a brat, and don’t be surprised when you get treated like one,” chan growls, snapping your panties to the side to drag his cock through your soaked folds.
your breath catches, something sharp twisting through your chest as his tip glides over your clit, every nerve ending firing all at once.
“you’re fucking insufferable,” you mutter, even as you’re spreading your legs wider for him.
“you love it,” he says smugly, and you’d snap back if he didn’t suddenly drive his cock into you so roughly you choke on your own gasp of pure pleasure.
your head tilts back against the cushion, every inch of his thick cock dragging through your walls slowly, deliberately stretching you out in that way that never fails to knock the breath out of you.
“shiiiit, princess- you always feel so good,” chan groans low in his chest, his fingers bruising against your thighs as he holds them apart.
all talk, you think— or you try to think— right before he pulls out completely and slams his hips back into yours with enough force to make your body jolt, a broken moan spilling from your mouth before you can bite it back.
“what’s that? not so mouthy now, are you?” his words are sharp, teasing, filthy. you claw for some semblance of control, but it’s ripped away everytime his cock drives against your g-spot, hitting so deep it’s got you squirming and gasping just to keep up.
and by the time his hand snakes to your throat, squeezing gently just to quiet the cries spilling from your lips, he’s already got you exactly where he wants you.
ik some ppl don’t like when others write chan as mean or an asshole but i gen don’t care bc this is #fiction and i also have free will so >.< (also um, thanks for 200 alrdy ?? very cool, thank u random horny strangers)
