chan’s hips have been snapping against yours for the latter half of the hour tonight. really, you shouldn’t have done what you did. it was a quick, off handed, self deprecating remark about yourself, and just like that, chan had enough.
he was already feeling on edge from the studio. and now he felt like he failed you to not reassure you enough. that’s how you got yourself here.
you can’t apologize. not because you’re being a brat or doing anything on purpose, but rather because chan has you laid prone on your stomach as his hips feverishly snap against your ass. making it quite literally impossible to reply outside of breathy moans being punched from your lungs. repeated motions that have had you crying into the pillow your face is sunken into.
“c’mon baby, you can do it… say “i’m sorry channie”… f-fuckin’ hell!”
chan’s body slowly comes down onto yours, his chest flush against your back as his arms ensnare around your shoulder. his head drops to the back of yours, his voice a low rasp of heavy breathing. his hips slow to grind against the plush of your ass, rocking and rutting into the wetness of your arousal. his panting turns into a low growl at your refusal.
“pretty girl… sweet baby, say it. say it and i’ll make you cum so good.”
meanwhile, you’re just a mess under him. head turned slightly as his bicep wraps under your chin, hands clawing at his strong arms. eyes bleary and wet with tears from how good it feels every time he quickly bottoms out and fills you so right. the sounds are obscene, salacious squelches as he drags every drop out of you. and you’ll do just the same to him if you keep fluttering around him like that.
“‘m s-sorry, cha— haah— channie! it feels so good, so good, please don’t stop!”
chan smiles to himself as he drags out a moan from his chest, laughing in a way that pinches off at the end in a high whine. his brows furrow and eyes close, slowing his movement down to fuck himself deeper.
“that wasn’t so h-hard now, was it, pretty thing…?” chan’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip to catch himself from drooling down your back. his hands pin your lower back down to the bed, forcing a nasty arch that makes you sob in equal parts relief and overstimulation.
“who’s my good girl, yeah? is that you? am i fucking my good girl stupid right now? huh? m-my beautiful good girl…”
chan’s sentences are punctuated with deep strokes, feeling his pelvis thrust and rock against you in languid motions. his words are overwhelming but that’s what he wants. you were just being so mean to the woman he loves, which is you.
“are you going to keep fighting with yourself or let me fuck you good, gorgeous?” chan heaves out, his chest pressing against your shoulder blades as he kisses into your hair. he ducks his head to lick a stripe up your spine to your neck, and chuckles a moan when he feels how squirmy and whiny you get. your moans are almost sobs from how his plush mushroom tip is kissing against that sensitive spot inside.
“sweetheart,” he drawls out, almost in a singsong voice. “you’re so… very precious… perfect girl, yeah? thank you f-for— fuck— sharing this perfect body.”
those deep strokes are reciprocated with your pussy squeezing him so tight chan swears he might be able to taste the stars. and because chan knows how to elevate your orgasm…
“sh-shit baby, breathe… breathe, just breathe, let it happen babygirl—”
a few inhales and exhales, and chan is wrapping that bicep around to grab your face. he loves that teary look in your eyes, like it feels too good to do anything but cry. your pussy is clenching on him like a vice, the sweet slapping and mixing of fluids…
he can’t help it, chan brings his lips hovering over yours, whispering, “i love you, sweetheart… cum for me.”
there’s a ringing in your ears when it happens, the churning of the knot builds so quick, you don’t even have time to think. chan’s groan bleeds into a whimper the second he feels your tight cunt shudder with shocks, milking him and causing his own release. the hiccuped sobs of moans you release have him praying the walls are thick enough to hide from neighbors. chan wants them all to himself.
he presses as deep as he can to flood you with hot cum, kissing all over your face from tears. your skin is tacky with sweat and stunning in the afterglow. chan runs his hands over your sweat slicked forehead, pushing back anything still sticking to you.
“don’t ever say that stuff again, baby… yeah…? you did such a good job, sweetheart… such a perfect and sweet girl…”
chan smacks a kiss to your temple, laying his weight down on your back. your eyes are already drooping from contentedness while he traces patterns onto your hip. his initials. little hearts. swirls that never end.
“i’m here to protect you from all of that… always.”
—
author's note: well… this is unexpected! thank you for 900 followers i love you guys so much :’) final exams are biting my ass right now
in which chan, who never sleeps with the same person twice, starts to realize that he can't keep away from you.
*°࿐ notes: made for this request! i've been feeling so burnt out lately, and this really helped ngl. tysm for requesting nonie~
fuckboy!Chris who never, ever fucks the same girl twice… until he meets you.
fuckboy!Chris who treats you like you’re just another number at first—another pretty face at some house party, thigh warm against his on a stranger’s couch, his hand lazily kneading at the bare skin because he’s already decided how the night ends. He gets your name once and then tells you his, slow and smug, testing how it’ll sound when you’re moaning it back at him.
fuckboy!Chris who’s so much fucking bigger when he crowds up against you—broad chest, thick arms, thighs that bracket you and make you feel tiny even before he touches you. The kind of size that makes your brain go soft because you know he could just pick you up and put you where he wants you, and the worst part is how badly you want him to.
fuckboy!Chris who shoves your back against his bedroom door that first night, one hand sliding under your ass to haul you up. Your legs fly around his waist on instinct, and he holds it there, his grip firm, fingers digging into the soft skin of your thigh. You gasp against his mouth when your hips accidentally roll over the thick, hard line of his cock, and he laughs into the kiss, low and breathy.
“Easy,” he murmurs, teeth catching your bottom lip. “I’ll take care of it.”
fuckboy!Chris who fucks like a man with something to prove. He’s used to girls falling apart in ten minutes and he’s bored of it, so with you he takes his time just to see what happens. He lays you out on his bed, gets your dress rucked up around your hips, panties shoved to the side, and spends way too long just… looking. Big hands spreading you open so his thumb can swipe through your slick, middle finger teasing at your entrance but not pushing in yet.
fuckboy!Chris who talks you through it like he’s slipping under your skin—voice all gravel and honey right by your ear while his thick cock stretches you out, inch by inch, until your nails leave crescents in his shoulders. He hitches your knees up high, folding you almost in half so your feet barely have anything to press against, your whole body pinned and helpless under the weight of him.
“That’s it,” he groans, head dropping to your throat as he bottoms out, so deep you swear you feel him in your lungs. “Take all of it for me. Knew this pretty pussy could handle me.”
fuckboy!Chris who loses his mind over the size difference—how your hand looks when it wraps around just the base of him, how your thighs tremble against his ribs when he really starts to move. He watches you in the mirror across the room, the way your tits bounce with every rough snap of his hips, your face going slack and pretty when he hits that spot inside you over and over until your voice cracks.
“Look at you,” he pants, leaning back just enough to cage your wrists above your head with one hand, the other bracing under your thigh as he pounds into you. The bedframe slams the wall, your whimpers spilling into the room. “So fucking pretty under me… you hear yourself? All those little noises just for my cock?”
fuckboy!Chris who swears he doesn’t kiss girls, not really, not the way that matters—but somehow his mouth keeps finding yours mid-thrust, stealing your breath, swallowing your broken, wrecked sounds. He groans when your legs lock around his waist like you’re trying to keep him there forever, like you’d die if he pulled out.
“Fuuuck—yeah, hold on to me,” he rasps, voice fraying. His forehead presses to yours, sweat-slick and desperate. “Clingy little thing, aren’t you? You want me to stay?”
fuckboy!Chris who was supposed to pull out. He always does. That’s the rule. No sleepovers, no cuddling, no finishing inside. But then your nails rake down his back and he feels you clamp down around him so tight he sees white.
His hips stutter, rhythm breaking as he drives into you harder, deeper, chasing it.
“Shit, baby, I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”
He should pull back. He knows it. Instead his hand flies to your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek as he forces your head up so you’re looking right at him when he spills, cock throbbing, hot and thick inside you. He groans into your open mouth, eyes squeezed shut.
“Fuck… shit, look what you made me do,” he pants, staying buried, cock twitching as his cum leaks out around the seal of you, sticky and obscene.
fuckboy!Chris who tells himself that’s it. One time. You were good, sure, but there’s always someone else. Except then he’s in the shower later with his head against the tile, jerking himself off to the memory of your fucked-out face, the way you gasped when he lifted your hips and pushed you down onto him like a doll. He comes too fast, embarrassingly fast, and the worst part is he still isn’t satisfied.
fuckboy!chris who tells himself he only comes back because you’re convenient. Because you’re close. Because you’re good. And you are—fuck, you’re good. You look up at him with those glassy eyes while you’re on top of him and he has to brace a hand against the mattress so he doesn’t shake, veins in his forearms popping as he rasps out, “slow down, baby, fuck— you tryna make me fall in love or what?”
fuckboy!Chris who starts seeing you everywhere after that—your lip gloss in the corner of his sheet, your hair tie on his nightstand, the faint bruise your teeth left on his throat. His phone lights up and he pretends he’s not waiting for your name, but his stomach flips every time it’s someone else.
fuckboy!Chris who texts you at 1:43 a.m. u up? fully expecting you to ignore him. When you actually answer, his fingers tighten around his phone, a slow grin spreading across his face.
yeah. why?
you know why, he sends back before he can talk himself out of it. come over.
fuckboy!Chris who never, ever fucks the same girl twice—who built a whole persona on that, on being untouchable, unbothered, too busy chasing the next warm body to even think about repeats—until you.
Until he’s on his knees between your thighs the next time, shoulders spread wide against your inner legs, licking into you like a man starved because just feeling you around his cock isn’t enough anymore. Until he’s growling against your pussy, voice rough and wrecked:
“Gonna ruin you for everyone else, you know that? You feel what I’m doing to you? No one’s ever gonna have you like this but me.”
fuckboy!Chris who starts staying after. He’ll finish with you—deep, messy, your cunt still fluttering around him—and then he’ll realize he’s still inside you ten minutes later, just lazily rocking his hips while you whimper into his neck, your fingers tracing patterns on his back. He tells himself he’s just catching his breath, that’s all.
fuckboy!Chris who hears his friends joking about how he never sticks around, never calls, never double-backs… and doesn’t say anything about the fact he’s already been in your bed three times this week. Or the way his jaw tightens when you mention some guy from class, tongue pressed into his cheek when your phone lights up with another name while you’re straddling his lap.
fuckboy!Chris who suddenly gets really opinionated about your love life for someone who “doesn’t do relationships.”
“Why you even talking to him?” he mutters, peeping over your shoulder at your phone. “His texts are dry as hell. You seriously into that?”
fuckboy!Chris who pretends it doesn’t bother him when you say, half-teasing, “Relax, you’re not my boyfriend,” after he snatches your phone and flips it screen-down. He scoffs, leans back on your pillows with his arms behind his head like he’s unbothered, shirt riding up just enough to show the cut lines of his stomach.
“I know,” he says. “I’d be a shit one.”
But he fucks you mean that night, rougher than usual, your knees hooked over his forearms as he drives into you, eyes dark and focused like he’s trying to fuck the word boyfriend right out of your vocabulary. Every thrust is deep, punishing, your breath hitching into little choked-off cries.
“Not your boyfriend,” he grits, hips slamming into the backs of your thighs. “But you let me fuck you like this, yeah? You let me be the only one who sees you like this?”
fuckboy!Chris who can’t stop talking once he’s in deep and losing it.
“Look at this little cunt,” he pants, eyes fixed where you’re stretched around him, where his cock disappears inside you again and again. “Always so ready for me, always so tight—shit, bet you’d take whatever I give you, huh? Fingers, tongue, anything I want.”
You whine his name, broken and high, and feel him shudder behind you.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot,” he gasps, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “You were made for this fucking cock, swear to God.”
fuckboy!Chris who starts doing stupid things, out of nowhere. Like showing up with takeout on a night you didn’t invite him. Like remembering how you take your coffee without ever meaning to. Like shrugging off his hoodie and tugging it over your head when you shiver, grumbling, “you say you run hot and then complain about being cold, unreal,” while his brain quietly short-circuits at how cute you look in it.
fuckboy!Chris who gets reckless with his own rules. You spend the night once because it’s late, and then again because you “accidentally” fall asleep on his chest, and then again because he mumbles, half-asleep, “Just stay, yeah?” into your hair, and you do.
fuckboy!Chris who wakes up hard against you, arm heavy over your waist, face tucked into your neck, and realizes—horrified—that he feels… calm. Not trapped, not itchy to leave. Just… good. Your breath soft and even, your hand curled around his fingers like you trust him with something fragile.
fuckboy!Chris who panics and pulls back. Starts answering slower. Starts making excuses. Starts trying to prove to himself he’s still the same as he was before you, going out more, letting girls press up on him in clubs, flirting just enough to remind himself he knows how.
fuckboy!Chris who can’t follow through. He gets them back to his apartment, hands on autopilot, mouth saying all the right things—until they touch him in a way that isn’t yours, until they laugh at the wrong moment, until they look up at him and he thinks, not you. Everything in him goes flat.
“Actually,” he says once, stepping back with a crooked, apologetic grin, “I just remembered I’ve got an early morning.”
“Now?” she scoffs. “Seriously?”
He shrugs, already walking her to the door. “Yeah. Sorry, sweetheart.”
fuckboy!Chris who shuts the door on someone else and somehow ends up in his car, engine rumbling under his hands while his brain short-circuits. He tells himself he’s just going for a drive, just clearing his head. Definitely not typing your address into his GPS even though he could get there blindfolded by now.
fuckboy!Chris who’s halfway up your building’s stairs before he realizes he doesn’t have a reason to be there. No real one, anyway. Not one that doesn’t sound pathetic when he says it out loud.
I missed you.
He stands outside your door for a full minute, fingers flexing uselessly at his sides, heartbeat loud in his ears. He almost turns around. Almost.
He knocks.
You open the door in an old t-shirt and tiny shorts, hair a little messy, eyes going wide when you see him.
“Chris?”
He did not plan what to say. Panic hits so fast his brain grabs the first thing it can find.
“I’m sick,” he blurts.
You blink. “…What?”
“I’m—” he fakes a cough on the spot, winces at himself halfway through it and commits anyway, hunching his shoulders like he’s in a drama. “S’bad.”
There’s a beat of silence where you just stare at him, taking in the hoodie, the faint smell of cologne.
Then your mouth curls, unimpressed. “If you wanted to come over to fuck,” you say flatly, “you could’ve just said so.”
His ego flares like a personal emergency. Absolutely not. No way is he admitting that he bailed on another girl and came here because he—what, missed you? Needed you?
He coughs again.
“Nah, I’m serious,” he insists, putting a hand to his forehead like he’s checking for a fever. “Think I’ve got, like… the plague or some shit.”
You squint at him. “You walked here with the plague.”
“Drove,” he corrects, like that helps. “Didn’t wanna give it to anyone. ‘Cept you, I guess. Sorry, baby.”
You exhale, half a laugh, half a sigh. “You’re so stupid.”
But you step back to let him in.
fuckboy!Chris who instantly sheds his shoes and beelines for your couch like he lives there, flopping down with a dramatic groan. He drapes an arm over his eyes, other hand fisted in the hem of your throw blanket like he’s on his deathbed.
“Let me feel,” you mutter, stepping closer.
His brain promptly exits the chat.
“Feel what?” he asks, voice pitching up, because there are about five different answers he’d like to give that have nothing to do with health.
“Your forehead, dumbass.” You plant a hand on your hip.
He swallows and sits up a little, and it hits you—he does look off. Not just tired. His hair is a little damp at the hairline, cheeks flushed in a way that doesn’t look like his usual post-gym glow. His breathing isn’t labored, exactly, but there’s something… off-rhythm about it.
You reach out, press your palm flat to his forehead.
fuckboy!Chris who has had your hands on every inch of him and somehow still feels like he’s going to combust from the simple, cool weight of your palm on his skin. His eyes flutter shut on reflex, lashes brushing his cheeks, shoulders slumping.
“You’re hot,” you say, even though he’s not.
He opens one eye. “In a sexy way or—”
You smack his shoulder. “Christopher.”
He winces, but there’s a ghost of a grin there. It fades when you lean in again, thumb brushing the side of his neck like you’re checking his pulse. Your brows knit.
“On a scale of one to ten, how fake is this illness?”
He peeks at you from under his arm, lashes low. “Nine point seven,” he admits. Then, quickly, “But the part where I feel like shit is real.”
Your expression shifts, just a little. “Headache?”
“Yeah.” He swallows, the lie burying itself under the truth. “Headache.”
You hover for a second longer, still clearly suspicious, then your shoulders drop. “You could’ve just said you were having a bad night,” you mutter, brushing a bit of his hair back from his forehead with your fingers before you can stop yourself.
He goes very still under your touch.
“I’m having a bad night,” he says quietly.
fuckboy!Chris who says it like a joke at first—even now, his instinct is to twist everything into something lighter, something you can both laugh off later. But it sits between you too heavy to be funny, and when you don’t immediately fire back, he realizes he said it a little too honest.
You exhale, the edge in your shoulders softening against your will.
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I kind of figured.”
You end up herding him toward your bedroom like he’s some oversized, sulky cat. He sits on the edge of your mattress, suddenly shy in a way that makes no sense given how many times he’s had you naked and begging under him.
“Top on or off?” you ask, rummaging for an extra blanket.
His brain immediately supplies a slideshow of you asking that in very different circumstances. His cock twitches in his sweats. Not the time, not the time, not the time—
“On,” he croaks, in case his body betrays him.
You snort. “Relax, I wasn’t trying to strip you. I just don’t wanna wash hoodie lint out of my sheets if you start writhing around in your ‘death throes.’”
“I don’t writhe,” he mutters, which is a lie and you both know it.
You flick off the lamp by your dresser, leave the one by your bed on low. The room shrinks around the soft pool of light, everything quieter, edges blurred. You toss the extra blanket onto the mattress, then gesture.
“Lie down properly,” you say.
He hesitates, then swings his legs up, sitting stiffly with his back against the headboard like he’s in a waiting room. His hands are flat on his thighs, fingers drumming restlessly.
You crawl onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping with your weight. That gets his attention; his gaze tracks the movement of your body, the hem of your t-shirt riding up just a touch as you settle.
You pat your lap. “Here.”
His brows lift. “There?”
“No, the floor,” you deadpan. “Yes, here.”
He stares at you like you’ve offered him something dangerous and he’s not sure he should touch it. This is stupid, he thinks. He’s put his head between your thighs without blinking and now he’s nervous about putting it on them.
“You sure?” he asks, and even he can hear how rough it comes out.
You roll your eyes, softer this time. “Chris. C’mere.”
fuckboy!Chris who has never, ever laid his head in anyone’s lap in his life like this, not unless it was on the way to sliding down their body.
fuckboy!Chris who has never been shy about taking what he wants when it comes to your body, but somehow feels like he’s crossing a line just by shifting down the bed, turning, and easing his head onto your thighs. The mattress springs sigh, your warmth seeping through the thin cotton of your shorts.
You adjust him without ceremony—one hand at the back of his neck, thumb rubbing at the tense knot there as you guide him until he’s exactly where you want him.
“Better?” you ask.
He didn’t know he needed this until the second his head finds the curve of you and everything inside him… drops. Unwinds. Lets go.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s… good.”
Your hand finds his hair like it’s been waiting there all along. You start to card your fingers through the strands, slow and deliberate, nails scratching lightly at his scalp.
fuckboy!Chris who has taken you apart with his hands, his mouth, his body—who has bent you and folded you and held you down—and yet somehow, this undoes him more than any of it.
His eyes slide shut before he can stop them. His shoulders, always so squared and ready for impact, gradually sink into the mattress. Every stroke of your fingers sends a little shiver down his spine, not sharp, not electric—just… warm. Soothing. Intimate in a way he doesn’t have a category for.
“Tired?” you murmur after a moment.
“Mm.” His voice vibrates against your thighs. “Yeah.”
“How bad was it?” you ask quietly. “Your day.”
He swallows. His first instinct is to say it was fine. To make a joke. To say something glib and easy that keeps everything on the surface where it’s always been safe for him.
Instead, your nails catch on a tender spot behind his ear and his answer slips out softer than he means it to.
“Shit,” he says. “It was shit.”
You hum, fingers never stopping. “Yeah?”
He could tell you about the girl he almost fucked tonight and couldn’t. About how he stood in his own kitchen with someone’s hands on him and felt… nothing. About the way his chest has been tight for days, like there’s a fist around his ribs that only loosens when you’re close.
Instead, he swallows it all down.
“Doesn’t matter now,” he mutters.
You don’t push. You don’t pry it open or ask for details or turn his bad day into a post-mortem. You just make a quiet, noncommittal sound and keep stroking his hair, nails lightly scratching at his scalp in slow, steady passes.
It’s such a small kindness it shouldn’t knock the air out of him.
But it does.
He feels it in the way his body reacts—like some invisible tension wire inside his chest finally snaps loose. His shoulders sink further into the mattress, muscles unspooling one by one as your fingers comb through his curls, carding from his hairline all the way back to the nape of his neck.
He lets out a sound he doesn’t recognize.
It’s tiny. Half-sigh, half-whine. It slips out of him on the exhale, vibration buzzing against the soft skin of your thigh. He goes still immediately after, like he can pull it back in by force.
You’re an angel for pretending you didn’t hear it.
Your hand just changes angle, fingertips dragging from his temple, over the shell of his ear, back to that spot at the base of his skull. You circle there, gentle pressure and lazy scratches that make his toes curl in his socks.
He doesn’t mean to, but another little noise escapes him—deeper this time, a soft, broken-edged hum that sounds suspiciously like a whimper.
“Feels that good?” you murmur, almost amused.
His cheeks burn. “Shut up,” he mutters, but it comes out breathy, not sharp at all.
“Didn’t say it was a bad thing,” you say. Your thumb strokes along his hairline, catching the dampness there, smoothing the flyaways back. Your nails skim his scalp again, slower, firmer.
He shudders.
The hand on your leg tightens, fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh like he needs something to hold on to. His other hand, the one on his chest, slides lower to grip the hem of his hoodie, knuckles going white as he clenches.
You keep touching him like you have all the time in the world. No rush, no goal, just long, repetitive strokes that make his thoughts blur at the edges.
It’s obscene, almost, how good it feels. Every drag of your fingers through his hair sends a warm, lazy heat spilling down his spine, settling in his chest, his stomach, the backs of his knees.
“Mm,” he hums, eyes squeezing shut when you scratch a little harder at his scalp. “Fuck, that’s…”
He trails off, jaw slackening. Another small sound slips out, embarrassingly close to a whine. It makes the corner of your mouth twitch.
“Good?” you supply.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “S’good. So good.”
You slow it down even more, changing the pattern—fingers threading through his curls, separating them, letting them slip through the spaces between your knuckles. You use the pads of your fingers to massage small circles into his scalp, working from one side to the other, like you’re trying to erase every leftover thought clinging to his brain.
His breathing changes.
It’s softer now, coming in slow pulls. Every exhale brushes warm over the inside of your thigh. You can feel the way his body keeps reacting in tiny involuntary flinches: the twitch of his shoulders when you scratch behind his ear, the little kick of his foot when you drag your nails right at the nape.
A soft, breathy whimper falls out of him, high in his chest, broken off halfway like he tried to swallow it and failed.
You don’t stop. If anything, your touch gentles, fingertips tracing the curve of his skull with almost ridiculous care.
“There you go,” you murmur, more to him than anything. “Just relax.”
He lets out a helpless huff of laughter. “I am,” he says, voice fuzzy. “That’s the problem.”
“Is it?” you ask.
He doesn’t answer, not really. Just hums again, the sound low and wrecked, pressing his cheek more firmly against your thigh like he’s trying to burrow inside it.
You can feel how warm he is. Not sick, not feverish, just thoroughly undone. His lashes lie dark against his cheeks, his mouth parted around soft, involuntary breaths. The notorious fuckboy, the one who always has the upper hand, the exit strategy, the next option—reduced to a whimpering puddle because you’re playing with his hair.
Your fingers slide down, combing through the curl at his nape, then drifting to stroke the side of his neck. You trace absent patterns there—little loops and lines that make his pulse jump under your touch.
He squeezes your thigh, a small, desperate gesture.
fuckboy!chan who starts to melt in earnest, muscles slack, hand slipping from a grip on your thigh to a loose, warm weight. Every so often, he makes a sound—tiny, half-formed, the kind of whine he’d mock someone else for—but he’s too blissed-out to care.
If he could hear himself, he’d be mortified. If his friends could see him, he’d never live it down.
But it’s just you here. Just you and the soft light and the quiet and the gentle drag of your fingers through his hair. And for once, he lets himself have this without thinking about what it looks like.
Without thinking about what it means.
He tips his head a little to the side, just enough that his nose brushes the inside of your thigh through the fabric. He inhales, deep and slow, like he’s trying to memorize your scent. Your hand automatically slides down again, cupping the back of his head, thumb stroking behind his ear.
“Y’gonna fall asleep on me?” you ask after a while, voice barely above a whisper.
“Maybe,” he whispers back. His words are getting fuzzy at the edges, each one a little slower than the last. “You’re… dangerous, you know that? Could get anything you want from me like this.”
“Good to know,” you say, amused. “I’ll start drafting my list.”
He huffs a quiet laugh that dissolves into a tiny, breathy “ah—” when your nails scratch lightly behind his ear again. His toes curl under the blanket. He has never been this defenseless in front of anyone, and somehow it doesn’t scare him. It just… feels right.
“You are so adorable, Channie,” you murmur without thinking, the words slipping out on a breath.
His entire body jolts.
Heat rushes up his neck, flooding his face, his chest. He feels it burn all the way to the tips of his ears. A strangled noise catches in his throat and he grips your thigh again, harder this time, fingers biting into your skin.
He doesn’t know what to do with that. With you. With the way his tough-guy persona, the fuckboy mask, all of it feels so flimsy in the face of this quiet, devastating tenderness.
So he doesn’t do anything.
He just lies there, whimpery and boneless, letting you pet him like he’s yours. Letting himself be soft where no one else can see.
fuckboy!Chris who can talk you through every way he wants to fuck you, who can narrate your own pleasure back to you in filthy detail without flinching—completely wordless now beneath your hands, all his slick lines burnt away by the simple, devastating luxury of being petted and held.
fuckboy!Chris who thought he’d come over tonight to take the edge off, to use your body like a distraction—now humming quietly into the softness of your stomach, eyes half-closed, letting you turn him into a whimpery, pliant mess with nothing more than your fingers in his hair and the steady warmth of your lap.
pairing: bangchan x f!reader genre: smut, drabble (minors dni) word count: 648 warnings: determined bangchan, bangchan talks you through it if you look closely while walking a mile in louboutins, first time squirting, mating press, creampie (please. do. not. do. it. PLEASE), dom!bangchan in a way, breath play in a way as well????, bangchan burying his face in your tits, lmk if i missed any hehe author’s note: ifinallywrotesomethingpleasedon’tcomeformeifitskindatrash inspired by: often - the weeknd
꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦
chan had you laying down, legs pressed down on either side of your head, and a pillow strategically placed under your lower back. whimpers and whines falling from your saliva slicked lips right onto his, sharing the same oxygen as if you both needed it to survive. he is not too far behind you though, letting out soft groans and low moans. you two have been going at it for a good hour, however, that was all his plan and not yours.
your sweet boyfriend had learned that you have never squirted before. your past partners couldn’t get the job done and quite frankly you couldn’t either. you have tried before but grew frustrated at the anticlimactic outcome, quite literally. you had decided that you just were one of the few people who weren’t able to do it. chan on the other hand, knew you could and was determined to get you to that point.
your legs trembled beneath his rough grip, overstimulation making its presence known with every orgasm chan provides you. “c-chan… i can’t- fuck! i can’t t-take anymore” you managed to say. “yes you can, baby. need to get you all nice and overstimulated so you can squirt” chan replies, his voice dripping with desire and excitement as he proceeds to plow into your divine cunt. you’ve been down this road many times before and you already know the outcome, you shake your head at his words, “i c-can’t, chan” you respond in a defeated tone. “yes. you. can.” chan replies rather roughly, changing the angle of thrust slightly and continuing his punishing pace.
a gasp was ripped out from your throat as the mushroom tip of his cock rams your sweet spot repeatedly. your whimpers start to get louder and higher in pitch as you feel another orgasm approaching rapidly. “there it is, baby. that’s the spot i was looking for” he spoke softly, biting your bottom lip gently afterwards. as your orgasm nears, you notice the sudden feeling of needing to pee. panic settles in and you try pushing your boyfriend away from you. “c-chan, please stop. i f-feel like i’m g-gonna pee” your voice laced with embarrassment as you try to get him off of you. chan’s eyes light up at your sudden announcement, “that’s it, baby. that’s the sign you’re almost there. you’re gonna squirt. start pushing, push for me” he encourages while placing his hand on your lower abdomen and starts pushing down slightly. he makes sure to keep the same pace and intensity, not wanting to ruin this amazing experience for you.
after a few more thrust, a gush of liquid came out of you. drenching chan’s abdomen and the sheets below you. you let out a pained moan as you squirted, the sensation being too good for your own sake. “fuck, yeah. just like that, keep it coming. i know you got some more in you. fuck… such a sight to see” chan rambles on as you finish squirting, unable to peel his eyes away fromyour sopping pussy. he then came unexpectedly, too lost on the beautiful view in front of him to notice he was close. he growled as he emptied himself inside your warm cunt, burying his face between your gorgeous tits. “i love you so much, my pretty girl. i knew you could do it” he whispers, panting against your skin. you giggle at his words, panting along with him as well. “i love you too, channie. thank you for proving me wrong” you whisper back. your hands soon find their way to his hair, raking your fingers through his locks, trying your best to help calm him down. his hands find your waist, fingers caressing the soft skin, imitating your actions, trying to call you down as well. “let’s do that again, yeah?” he suggests, still out of breath making you laugh at his eagerness.
story summary - In which your boyfriend has a bit of a corruption kink.
pairings - Christopher Chahn Bahng "Bang Chan" x reader
contains - sweet chan, corruption kink, smut, p in v, fingering, oral (m. receiving), slight degradation, established relationship, pervy chan if you squint, FREAK BANG CHAN, freaky reader if you squint, they're both down bad, he's still gentle though, hyperfem reader, it's not that bangchan is like emo or anything he just isn't sparkly lime the reader, reader is a virgin, first time sex, virginity loss, porn no plot, a little bit of fluff
notes - MDNI, first stray kids fic ahhhh, based on a poll! Please ignore mistakes I type really fast so my writing gets ruined
To be fair, Chris doesn't know he has a corruption kink. He doesn't just go around flaunting it. He didn't choose to have it. Well, not until he got with you.
You, his sweet girl. Literally, you wore perfume that smelled like candy, heels to the grocery store, lipgloss to the gym.And he liked that, he thought you dressed cute, he liked the way you curled your hair, the way you giggled at everything.
And he hated the way he wanted to ruin you. He wanted to destroy you for everyone else, he wanted to make you into his little fuck toy.
Of course, he had never acted on these fantasies, he couldn't. You were a virgin, and he wasn't so possessed that he would take that moment from you.
So he waited. Waited until your 5 month anniversary, when you got home from your date, and you were sitting on the foot of the bed, staring up at him.
"I'm ready to have sex."
You're so fucking blunt.
Chris's eyes widened as he took in your words.
"Are you sure? You're ready? Like now?"
You nodded, placing your hands on his hips which made his breath hitch.
"I'm sure, I want this. I want you to be my first."
He nodded, taking a breath before crouching down to your eye level.He kisses you, soft, slowly.
You respond eagerly, arms wrapping around his neck.
Without breaking the kiss, he pushed you back on the bed, crawling above you.
His lips moved down to your neck, the kisses becoming more rough and urgent.
He met your breasts, taking his large hand and tugging your dress straps down your chest.
He wanted to grope and bite your tits. He wanted to watch them bounce around but he had to wait. He needed to at least wait to get his dick in you.
He pressed little kisses all around your cleave, taking off your bra.
Your nipples stiffened once the cool air hit them. Chris looked up as his fingers met your nipple, watching your face scrunch in pleasure as he tugs and twists.
Before you can even react properly, his lips are making a trail down your stomach to the top of your panties.White with a little rose on the front.
They're so cute. You're so cute. He can't believe himself.
His nose presses against your clothed clit, causing you to gasp softly.
He can smell your arousal and it's driving him fucking insane.
He tugs your panties down to your ankles, eyes closing in on your pussy.
Untouched, wet, and perfect. That's how he would describe it, he looked up at you, kissing your lips as he slipped in his middle finger. You gasped eyes flicking down to the point of action.
"Shh, just relax and let me take care of you."
He cooed, his fingers slipping in and out of you.
He watched your walls clench around the invading digit, so tight and it was just his finger. He tried to slip in a second, but it took some work.
"Is this the first time someone touches you like this?"
You nod frantically.
"You've never even touched yourself?"
"Just once, in high school. I rubbed my clit... and I rode my pillow once."
"Did you cum?"
"No... I couldn't."
"Do you think I can make you cum?"
He asked as he pushed in a third.
You gasp, moaning into his shoulder.
"Mmm, yes! Fuck yes"
He smirked, fingers pumping into your vigorously, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit.
"Then do it. Cum, cum on my fingers baby."
And who were you to disobey?
You came on his fingers, burying your face in his shoulder as you did.
His fingers pulled out with a wet pop, and pulled him to his mouth to clean.
"Taste so fuckin' good baby... you need more?"
You nod, holding him close.His fingers took your chin, forcing you to look at him.
"Use your words."
"Need more Chris... need you to fuck me.. please?"
Your voice was like honey, so sweet and smooth.
And he couldn't wait to gear you scream his name.
He undid his belt, sliding his pants and boxers off.
One word to describe his dick? Big.So fucking big.
He pumped himself a few times before moving the tip to your clit.
He circled it teasingly, then dragged the tip up and down your folds.
You whined, hands gripping his shoulder.
"Please Chris..."
He smiled, but it wasn't pure, it was corrupt.
He pushed in the tip, causing you to arch against him. He kept pushing, inch by inch, letting you cling to him.
"Chris! 's too big! It won't fit!"
Chris used one hand to pin your hands above your head, and the other to spread your folds wider, taking him deeper.
"You can take it. You will take it. Because you wanna be my good girl right? You want me to fuck you properly?"
You nod, taking deep breath as you let him in.
He finally got all the way in, but he gave you a second to adjust.
Then, he set a slow, delicate pace, careful to not overwhelm you. He need to make this perfect for you.
But when your walls squeezed him, and he looked at your face etched in pleasure and glittery makeup, he couldn't be patient.His pace got quicker, his thrusts got more brutal.
You called out his name, tits bouncing with every movement.
"You like that baby? You like when I fuck you rough?"
You nodded.
Chris let out a dark chuckle.
"So is that what you want? To be fucked like a whore? Cause I can do that baby."
He hand moved to you nape, adding just enough pressure to make you feel how bad he wanted you.
His pelvis crashed into yours with each thrust.
You liked this. You liked the way he fucking you. You need to take him deeper, so you spread your legs, trying to open up more.
"Chris... deeper, go deeper."
You cried.
Chris smirked, pulling out abruptly before flipping you onto all fours.
With your ass now facing him, he slammed back in, fucking you from behind.
You moaned at the new angle, words turning into incoherent babbles.
"Am I the only who can fuck you like this?"
He asked, hands gripping your hips. You couldn't speak, just moaned.
That's when Chris smacked your ass, fisting a hand on your hair and tugging your head back.
"I asked you a fucking quesiton."
You screamed at the sudden aggressiveness.
"Yes fuck! Only you! Your the only one who can fuck me like this!"
"That's a good girl."
He praised, hand slipping in between your bodies to rub your clit.
"Chris... baby, baby I feel... I can't- mmm..."
"You're gonna cum baby, let it happen, cum on my dick."
Your orgasm came over you quickly. But Chris couldn't help you ride it out. Because if he did, he'd cum and as much as he wanted to claim you, he didn't want to force you into anything. He pulled out, flipping you onto you back and pulling your head up, rubbing his red tip on your lips.
"Say 'ah' Baby. Open up f'me"
"But I've never-"
"Doesn't matter. I trust you, I know you'll do great."
You opened your mouth wide, letting him push his dick in.
When you felt him hit the back of your throat, you wrapped your lips around him.
He groaned, throwing his head back as he gripped you hair into a ponytail, moving your mouth against him.
"That's it baby... just like that. Suck me dry."
He watched as your pretty pink lipgloss smeared all over his giant cock, and it made him so crazy.
"Fuck baby... I'm gonna cum... you gonna swallow it?"
You let out a strangled sound around him in response.
He'll take that as a yes.
Before you knew it, his warm cum was slipping into your throat, you tried to swallow as much as you could, but you did choke some out.
He lifted you up into his lap, kissing you all over. "You did so good for me sweet girl..."
Little does he know, this one night was going to change you forever.
From this moment on, you can't be fucked the same. You need his fat cock, need him to hit it from behind, need to be degraded by him.
『 ↳✧･ﾟ CW: Fluff, slice of life, mutual pining, friends to lovers, comfort, etc. Bang Chan referred to as Chan, Channie, Chris, and every sweet name you can imagine.
『 ↳✧･ﾟ A/N: WELCOME BACK SCENARIOS!!!! This time, they are in chronological order. This a special edition!!! A timeline of how a relationship with Chan would sort of be. Late post, sososos sorry! Hope u enjoyyy.
(pictures are not mine. Credits to their respective owners!)
PRE-RELATIONSHIP
07:06 p.m. ; Chan's bedroom 📍
Chan wanted to get married young, have kids. He was way too much of a family man. That much was obvious. But, of course, things turned out different since he chose to follow his dreams instead. Being an idol was hard; relationships even harder. And when he found a girl he wanted to marry, she had broken up with him.
“Ugh,” he huffs. “When am I going to get married?”
He was complaining, very bitterly, after seeing the wedding pictures of some old classmate on social media. It made him feel a little hopeless. He'd like to think he was a good man. Respectful, kind; a gentleman...
He was thirty now, he wasn't as young as he'd imagined he'd be when married. Marriage felt approachable when he had a girlfriend, but now, he had to start all over again.
Tonight though, he was supposed to be working on a new song, yet he had taken a break. And doom-scrolling with his—not so jolly—mood these days didn't pair up well.
You were here just to spend some time together, even if that came at the expense of sitting around while he sat in headphones in front of his computer. A weird way of quality time with your best friend, but quality time nonetheless.
“I volunteer,” you joke half-heartedly, you too scrolling on your phone.
Chan and you had been friends for quite a while now, and you’d seen how much of a loving partner he could be. You saw the way he treated his past girlfriends, the way he was around the kids. You knew him, and he was a good man despite his small flaws. You fell somewhere along the way, especially when he started working on his self-esteem issues.
He doesn't reply at first, maybe sour about the situation, maybe thinking you were making fun of him somehow. His voice is still gentle when he responds, "don't... joke with that." he muses; chair swiveling just enough for him to face you.
"Not joking," you offer him your left hand, wiggling your empty ring finger. "You've taken way too long. Can't believe you're so oblivious."
It wasn't exactly a secret that you liked him. But you had never officially confessed either. And Chan, outside of music, was a little dorky and shy. He took your obvious flirting as just your friendly way of being. Friends joked like that, he thought.
Chan stares at you for a second. "...Obli—Wait, are you being serious?"
"I mean," you shrug. "I wouldn't marry you right away. I wanna be your girlfriend for a while."
His gaze fleets, finding a spot somewhere on the floor. The tips of his ears have gotten a little red. "Y/N... what are you even talking about?"
"Just saying out loud what we've always known." You say softer now. "No pressure, though."
DATING : FOUR MONTHS
10:52 p.m. ; Chan's bedroom 📍
Chan is in bed playing on his phone, waiting for to finish your night routine. You now came over to spend his few days off with him. Try and find some quality time in between both of your hectic schedules. So, most of the times, you'd see each other just to have dinner, and sleep together.
You climb onto your side of his bed, and he doesn’t tear his gaze from the game. “Channie?”
He continues to focus on the game on his phone. He replies to your question with a simple hum, signaling that he's listening even though he doesn't look up from the screen.
“I have a crush on you…” You say with a big smile. Chan freezes for a second, registering the words you have said and letting his phone drop. He turns to you with a grin, amused and endeared. He was your boyfriend now.
"You have a crush on me?" he asks, feigning cluelessness.
“A biiig, fat crush.” You nod. It’s implied you do—or did, considering you two have been dating for a few months now.
He laughs wholeheartedly as he realizes what you’re doing. He scoots a little closer to you, clearly enjoying this little joke. “Oh really? A big, fat crush, hm?” he teases. “And how long have you had this crush on me?”
Your smile grows wider when he plays along. “Oh, for such a long time.” You reply with feigned nonchalance. “But I couldn't keep it to myself anymore.”
He pretends to be deep in thought for a moment, before looking at you with a slow nod. “Hmm, I see. And you waited this long to tell me? You must really have it bad for me.”
His unexpected response wipes the smile off your face, only to create another one. “Idiot…” You mumble, rolling your eyes.
He laughs at your response. “Hey! I thought you had a crush on me. Don’t be mean to your crush.” He playfully pokes your side, still grinning. He knew was lucky you even looked in his direction.
“Do you have a crush on meee?” You whine with impatience. You wanted to hear it back.
Chan’s smile softens at your question, and he looks at you with utter affection. Heart eyes, you like to call them. “Of course I do. I mean, how could I not?” He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I have a big, fat crush on you too, baby.”
DATING : EIGHT MONTHS
03:17 a.m. ; Y/N's apartment 📍
It was no secret Chan snored. His members even teased him for it. While the snoring wasn't ideal, you had learned to ignore it as your years together went on. Your dad used to snore too, so in a way, you had grown a little inmune to it.
But sometimes it got bad. Like bad enough to be scary.
Chan’s breathing would just collapse, and he’d wake up in shock, with a big gasp and body stiff. His lung and heart area ached right after too. It burned from the lack of air and created a chest pain he had, unfortunately, become familiar with.
It happened tonight again, no different than any other time. Though it had been a while since it last happened.
It usually awakens you too. “Chris? Baby?” You rub his back gently. Your sleep seems to have vanished from the scare.
Chan was sitting upright, trying to calm his racing heart and the pain he felt. He was still breathing heavily, the pain in his chest slowly dulling. He didn't turn to look at you. "Hey... sorry. I’m okay." he said.
Your eyes are trained on him with so much concern. “you sure?” Your hand rubs up and down his back, inching a little closer to him.
Chan nods, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just had another one of those... episodes."
“C’mere,” you ask softly. “Lie on your side.”
Chan hated it. His shoulders were too broad, and it ached being in this position for long, but these things never happened when he laid like this, so he entertains your idea.
“Stay like this, okay?”
"Okay." he said softly, watching you as you got up.
You make a quick trip to the kitchen for a glass of water and painkillers, just in case. You really only take a minute or so, and he’s endeared by your efforts to care for him. Chan really needed someone to take care of him sometimes, and he was lucky to have you do it so selflessly.
“I got some painkillers too,” you take a seat by his side bed, watching him barely sit up to drink the water. “Not sure if you want them.”
Chan downs the water greedily, his throat dry from the snoring. He let out a small sigh of relief as he set the glass back down. However, when you mentioned the painkillers, his expression soured a bit. “I don’t like taking them. They make me feel all groggy.” he said, running a hand through his hair.
“That’s okay,” you reply gently. “You don’t have to take them." Chan nods. He appreciated that you understood his preference.
He laid back down, wincing slightly as his shoulders ached from the odd position. He reached out for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. You smile, eyes still glimmering with a little concern. “I'm sorry, I know you don’t like sleeping this way.”
Chan smiles a little tired. He did hate sleeping on his side, but he knew it was a necessary measure if he wanted to avoid it. "Yeah...” he said, shifting slightly to try and find a comfortable position. “But I guess it’s better than waking up gasping for air.”
“You need to stop giving me these scares.” you say quietly, nagging in a way, but always loving. “Maybe look into that surgery we’ve talked about.”
Chan’s expression sours a bit at the mention of the surgery. He knows it’s been a topic of discussion between the two of you for a while now, but he’s always been hesitant about the idea.
“I don’t know…” he said, still holding your hand. “It’s a pretty big surgery, and recovery time seems intense.”
You nod. “I know. But everything else can wait when it comes to your health.”
Everything meant his job, and he knew it. But he was too hard-headed.
Chan sighed heavily, knowing you had a point. His health should be his top priority, and yet he couldn’t help but worry about the impact it would have on his career.
“I know, but…” he said, his expression conflicted. “I'm so busy right now…it’s all so packed. I can’t just…disappear for a while.”
“I know, my love.” You gently pet his head, thumb running over his temple. “Just promise me you’ll listen to your body.”
Chan closed his eyes at your touch, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders ease. He knew you were right, that he needed to listen to his body and take care of himself.
DATING : ONE YEAR, SIX MONTHS
02:38 p.m. ; hotel room 📍
With time, naturally, your relationship had grown more serious. Sometimes you still wondered how you went from friends to this. Because this time you two were meeting in Milan for a few days. An impromptu vacation since Chris would be attending a Fendi show.
You had flown in separately, met him at the hotel, since your relationship was still secret. And you two had been talking about tonight. How he would attend the show, maybe a party afterwards. Whatever he needed to do as part of his job of being one of Fendi's ambassadors.
But even then, he still worried about you. Tried to care for you, leave things for when he wouldn't be around; a protector after all.
So he sat at the edge of the bed, holding you, standing in between his legs. “Promise me you’ll eat, okay?” He urges, bringing your hand up to brush a kiss on your knuckles. “Eat well,” he clarifies. For you had a sneaky way of turning that sentence and manage to skip your meals.
“You worry too much,” you say trying to pull away from his hold.
Chan's grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly, holding onto you. This could be your only flaw, how much you tried to get out of eating enough. It worried him every time. “Promise me you’ll eat well,” he insists, his expression serious.
“Yeah…” you say halfheartedly.
Chan sighs at your response, able to tell you’re not taking this seriously. “Y/N,” he warns.
“Not my name!” You whine.
Chan can’t help but huff out a small chuckle at your reaction. Despite the seriousness of the situation, your playful whine brings a soft smile to his lips. He only called you sweet names, so you knew it was serious when he called you by your name.
He tugs on your hand, wanting your full attention. “Not your name?” he echoes. “Well then, listen to me, baby girl.” His eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of worry and affection. “I want you to eat well, okay? No skipping meals.”
Something about the way he asks, or the way he looks at you makes you giddy. “Okay... I will.” You relent.
Chan’s expression softens as you agree, his worry visibly easing. He knows he can’t control everything, but he’s relieved you’re listening.
“Thank you,” he says sincerely, his grip on your hand relaxing.
DATING : ONE YEAR, NINE MONTHS
08:21 p.m. ; shared apartment 📍
"Woah, woah, what are you doing?" He practically goes pale the moment you're grabbing your blanket and a pillow.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" You bite back.
Chan and you had never argued this bad. You had small stupid fights, like every couple did every once in a while. You two got along pretty well, so even those were rare.
"You're not sleeping on the couch." He states.
"Watch me," you say, mostly to push his buttons more.
And before you know it, he's in your way, towering above you, hand gently holding your arms. "Hold on!" He pleads, whiny. "I'm trying to understand why we can't communicate right now."
"Because you're not listening to me! Why do I always have to yell at you?" You exasperate. "It's like you want me to."
"I-I don't... honey," he stammers.
"No. Just let me be." You plead.
"No, no, no, hold on. Wait, baby." He pleads. "I'm... Just sit down and let's talk this through."
NEWLY ENGAGED : TWO YEARS TWO MONTHS
12:25 a.m. ; shared apartment 📍
"What are you doing, my love?" A warm voice rouses you awake. Chan had spent a late night in the studio, and was now just coming home.
You were dozing off in bed, phone propped up playing whatever video for some background noise. "hm... Chris?"
"I'm home, sweetheart." He says softly, his hands finding your left one; lips press to the ring on your finger.
It never got old. The rush he got from knowing you were engaged now, and bound to marry soon. It made him happy. Euphoric.
His nimble fingers gently find the accessory and pry it off with care. "You can't sleep with jewelry on, baby girl."
"It's my engagement ring." You coo, watching as he places it on your bedside table.
He smiles proud, leaning to press a kiss to your forehead. "Even so."
ENGAGED : TWO YEARS FIVE MONTHS
01:40 a.m. ; shared apartment 📍
"Why are you still up?" You murmur with voice rough, scaring him in the quiet room.
His head whips towards the door, surprised. His hair is messy from bed, headphones halfway on. "I'm..." He hesitates when he sees the look on your face. He knows you wouldn't be too happy to find out he was working late into the night. Especially when you had been working to fix his night-owl schedule into something a little more reasonable.
"Come back to bed." You mean to ask, but it's more of a gentle order.
He doesn't get up right away, computer still frozen on the newest project he was working on. He felt like a deer in headlights, though he was just a man being reprimanded by his soon-to-be wife.
"Please," you say a little annoyed.
Chan chews on his bottom lip as he saves and exits without any sort of retort. He never argued back, and he certainly wouldn't start now.
He quietly tucks the metallic device onto his work bag and turns off the lights as he exits the room. He then follows the hallway to your shared bedroom, where you had already gotten back into bed.
He climbs beside you, staring at your back for a moment before he dares approach you. His arm weighs on your waist, and a soft kiss is pressed to your shoulder. "Are you mad?" He whispers in the dark.
You take a moment to reply. "...no."
His hand apologetically rubs up and down your arm. "I'm sorry," he says despite your answer. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought—"
"You can't sleep because you constantly think of work." You say in a way that seems almost nagging.
Chan doesn't take it personally. He knows well the kind of man he is. "I know, I'm sorry, baby."
MARRIED : YEAR #1
06:22 p.m. ; living room 📍
"I want a baby." Chan says with a smile.
He had just gotten home a few minutes ago. Today he had a shoot with the kids for their new SKZ's code episode. One that involved babies.
You chuckle,"You want a baby." You say incredulous.
He smiles even wider. "C'mon, it'll be so cute."
"You have baby fever."
"Y/N.." he drawls out the last syllable. "You don't wanna have a baby with me?" He pouts.
"I do! But not right now." You respond.
"Let's have a baby," he coos, arms wrapping around you. "Imagine a mini us running around."
"Can I think about it?" You offer, but it's practically like you've said yes already. Smile wide, eyes closing. Chris is already excited about the idea.
so this piece is actually based of of this request. to who ever sent this, i wanna give you a fat kiss in the face because i love this so so much. mwa! anyways. i will start writing all the request cultivated on my askbox so expect more of those for the next days! < 333
HEY— this is an 18+ post! please proceed with viewer's discretion as this contains graphic smut themes not suitable for some readers. porn without plot. MDNI!!!!
A deep, involuntary groan slipped from your lips the moment you tried to shift on the bed. Your body protested instantly—every muscle sore, your thighs trembling from the brutal pounding they’d taken last night.
Chan, who had been sprawled on his stomach beside you, sleeping soundly, snapped his eyes open at the sound. His messy hair fell over his forehead as he lifted his head, instantly alert.
“Baby? Where are you going?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep and laced with worry.
You bit down hard on your lower lip, trying to swallow the whimper threatening to escape. A deep frown creased your face as you attempted to swing your legs over the edge of the bed, but a sharp, aching throb shot straight through your core and down your inner thighs. Your abused pussy clenched painfully at the slightest movement, still swollen and leaking from the way Chan had ruined you for hours.
Before you could even steady yourself, Chan sat up, the sheets sliding down his toned chest. He scooted closer, one strong arm wrapping around your waist as he gently pulled you back against his warm body.
“Baby? What happened, hmm?” he cooed softly, his breath brushing against your ear, voice still husky from sleep but now dripping with that familiar teasing concern.
“My legs hurt,” you huffed, voice shaky as another wave of soreness pulsed between your legs. You instinctively pressed your thighs together, only for the motion to make your tender, well-fucked cunt throb even harder. The sticky mess of his cum from last night shifted inside you, making your cheeks burn.
Chan let out a low, amused chuckle, the sound vibrating against your back as he cradled you tighter against his chest, one large hand possessively stroking down your bare thigh.
“Stop laughing!” you whined, though it came out more like a breathless moan.
“This is all your fault. You were so fucking eager last night—couldn’t even hold back. You fucked me like you were trying to break me.”
Your words only made him grin wider, his fingers slowly tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, dangerously close to your still-dripping pussy.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” Chan murmured, his voice low and sweet. “Come here, baby. I’ll soothe you, okay?”
He slowly pulled you closer and began pressing soft, warm kisses along your cheek. His lips trailed down to the sensitive skin of your neck, then lower across your shoulder blades. Each kiss was gentle, but the heat behind them made your pulse race.
“Chan… I need to wash up,” you tried to protest weakly. “I feel so sticky…”
But the words barely left your mouth before a soft, needy moan slipped out instead. His lips had found that exact spot on your neck—the one he knew drove you crazy. He sucked lightly, tongue flicking against your skin, and your whole body trembled.
“I’ll wash you up later, yeah?” he hummed against your neck, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. His large hand roamed freely over your still-naked body. His fingers glided down your stomach, teasing your hips, until they finally settled between your legs.
Your breath hitched as his warm palm cupped your sore, swollen pussy. You were still dripping with the mess he left inside you last night—sticky cum and your own slick coating his fingers.
“Let me make it up to you from last night, baby,” he whispered, voice thick with lust. “I’ll soothe all this soreness away… nice and slow.”
Before you could answer, Chan gently laid you back down on the bed. He moved with surprising care, but the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable. He positioned himself between your trembling thighs, spreading them wide open with his strong hands. The cool air hits your throbbing, puffy pussy, making you whimper.
“Shh, relax for me,” he cooed, though his voice had already turned darker, rougher with need.He didn’t start gentle.
Chan dove in like a man starved. His hot mouth latched onto your swollen clit, sucking hard enough to make your back arch off the bed. His tongue was relentless—flat and broad one second, flicking fast and firm the next. He licked long, messy stripes up your dripping slit, tasting the mix of his dried cum and your fresh slick. Every stroke soothed the deep ache inside you even as it made your legs shake uncontrollably.
You gasped loudly, fingers tangling in his messy hair. The soreness between your legs throbbed painfully at first, but each hungry lick seemed to melt it away. The more he devoured you, the better it felt, the raw, bruised feeling slowly turning into burning pleasure.
Chan groaned against your pussy, the deep sound vibrating straight through your core. He pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with it in short, greedy thrusts while his nose rubbed against your sensitive clit. He was messy and loud, slurping and sucking noisily, spit and your juices coating his chin and dripping down your ass.
“That’s it, baby… let me soothe this pretty little pussy,” he growled between licks. “Still so fucking swollen from how hard I fucked you last night. But you’re getting wetter for me already.”
His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open as he ate you out like he was trying to ruin you all over again—only this time, every rough suck and deep lick eased the throbbing pain, turning it into something hot and addictive.
You couldn’t stop the broken moans spilling from your lips. The soreness was still there, but it felt so much better now… almost like the pain itself was melting into pure, filthy pleasure.
Chan could feel you getting close. Your thighs started shaking around his head, your hips bucking weakly against his mouth. He doubled down, sucking your swollen clit harder while two thick fingers slid deep inside your slick, aching pussy. He curled them perfectly, stroking that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust.
The pleasure built fast and overwhelming. Your body tensed, toes curling as the orgasm rushed toward you.
“Oh fuck— Chan!” you cried out, voice breaking. “I’m cumming— I’m cumming so hard! Please don’t stop— ahh!”
“Come for me, baby,” he growled against your folds, voice muffled and hungry. “Let it all out. I’ve got you.”
The orgasm hit you hard. Your back arched sharply off the bed as waves of intense pleasure crashed through your body. Your sore pussy clenched and pulsed around his fingers, gushing fresh slick all over his tongue and chin. The throbbing pain that had tormented you all morning finally melted away completely, replaced by a warm, blissful afterglow that left your whole body limp and satisfied.
Chan kept licking you gently through every pulse, drawing out every last tremor until you were a trembling, moaning mess beneath him.When your breathing finally slowed, he lifted his head. His lips and chin were shiny with your juices. He looked up at you with a soft, proud smile, eyes full of affection.
“There we go… all soothed now, yeah?” he whispered.
Without another word, Chan slid his arms under your body and easily lifted you off the bed. He carried you bridal-style toward the bathroom, your head resting against his chest. You felt safe, warm, and completely taken care of in his strong arms.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he turned on the warm shower. “Let me wash every inch of you myself.”
@stryscribbles loveeee. Happy (late) birthday! this is for you, i hope you liked it and i'm sorry the lateness💕 here's to many more!🎉
Do You Meant It? - BC
Pairings: Chan x Reader. Established Relationship
Warnings: Fight. Chan is an ass at the beggining before he realizes he f-ed up. curse words.
Summary: “Do you know you can count on me for anything?” No, you don’t. When you needed him, he yelled at you. Now, Chan is trying to make up for what he broke.
“Do you know you can count on me for anything?” Chan had once said, you smiled at him
“I don't want to bother you with my problems” You had said, your hands on his wrists
“Your problems are mine, you're my partner, I want to help you on these things”
“Only if you do the same” You looked up at him, resting your head on his chest
Your mind went back to that memory of him, his words back then were different to what he was saying now.
“Listen to me, I have a comeback to finish preparing, I have songs to finish writing, I have daily meetings, dance and singing rehearsals; and you’re just getting in the way, you understand?” His voice raised “I've got a lot on my plate, and you just won't stop nitpicking! If it's not red, it's blue. You complain when it's sunny, and you complain when it rains. If you don't eat this, or if you eat that! I can't take it anymore! Everything that comes out of your mouth is nonsense, and I don't want to listen to you right now!”
“Nonsense?” You replied, hands together and voice cracking up, you were starting to see blurry because of the tears “I'm just telling you how bad I'm having it now at work, Chan. Plus my studies. I'm tired”
“Well, guess what? We all are tired. It's not just you, don't feel too special about it, ‘kay?” He grabbed his gym bag “gosh, I don't need all of this” he murmured
And he left without giving you a proper goodbye.
If he thought your problems were a nuisance, well, you’d do as he asked. You wouldn’t say another word to him about it.
You cried like never before, until you fell asleep on the sofa; Chris still hadn’t come home.
And after that day, you never acted the same way around him again.
When he asked you about your day, you gave short, vague answers. You could tell he wanted to keep the conversation going, but your mind kept drifting back to that night.
"Anything new happened at work today?"
"No, nothing new."
"How are things going with Professor Kim?"
"Just the usual, he's still sending loads of homework"
"Hey, what do you think of this?"
"It looks great."
Everyone could tell. You’d become withdrawn and a little insecure. Not just with Chan, but with your friends and some of your relatives, too.
You felt like a burden. Until that day came.
“Come on, Y/N.” One of your classmates and close friends, Si-woo, came over to you in the library. "We're working on this project together, and the one thing we're not doing is talking about what we need to do. Don’t avoid me.”
“I told you you’d do your part and I’d do mine.”
“But I have a question about something. Can you help me?” You sighed.
“What’s up?” Si-woo smiled as he moved closer to you, his notebook already open and his highlighters in hand.
Between jokes and studying, Siwoo managed to get more than five words out of you.
Something no one had managed to do in the last three weeks.
“Tomorrow. Same place, same time?” he asked, and after a few minutes of thinking it over, you nodded.
“That sounds good.”
And just as he said, the next day, Siwoo was sitting at the table in the corner, with two cups of coffee on it and his head buried in a literature book.
“How far have you gotten?” you asked, sitting down next to him.
“Well, I’ve found several references we can use to support our argument. I think it might be good.”
“Let’s see,” you said.
“Before we start,” he said, grabbing a cup and handing it to you, "Black. Two sugars. I didn’t know if you liked it any other way.”
“With milk and three sugars. But this is fine; I need to stay awake as long as possible.” You both laughed.
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
You took a sip, nodding. “Come on, let’s get started—we’ve got a lot to do.”
And while Siwoo was tearing down those walls you’d built, little by little and without even realizing it.
Chan was a mess and didn’t know what else to do.
You accepted his invitations; you accepted his caresses, you accepted his kisses, but it was as if you weren’t fully there.
When he tried to bring up the subject, you deflected him, you grew cold, your posture stiffened, and you tried to leave or change the subject.
“What are you laughing at, gorgeous?” He asked with a small smile happy to see you smile finally after these past weeks
As soon as you heard his voice, your smile slowly disappeared “Oh, it’s nothing” You shook your head slowly “Just a texting with a friend”
“Rina?”
You shook your head “Not sure if you remember him, his name’s Siwoo”
“Don’t think I’ve met him before”
“He’s nice” You said “We’re doing a project together so yeah”
But what hurt him the most was seeing you smile and laugh heartily at your phone. Whatever it was— or someone —was making you happier than he had in recent days.
And it hurt him. Of course it did.
“I don't know what to do,” he said one day, lying on the floor of the practice room.
“I don't know what to tell you, Chan,” Minho replied, breathing heavily. “She hasn't talked to me about anything either. I sent her a photo of SongDongDori a few days ago, and she left it unread.”
“And she loves getting SongDongDori pictures, we know that” Felix said fixing his cap
“Kkami is her favorite”
“You wish. We know Bbama is her baby”
“Guys” Chan asked, his voice sounded fragile, almost breathless. He sighed.
“Think about everything for a second, Hyung” Jeongin said from the corner of the room, eyes never leaving his phone. “Since when has she been like this?”
Chan’s mind immediately went back four weeks
However, he couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact night. He shook his head.
He knew he shouldn’t be doing this at work—they were in the middle of a rehearsal, for God’s sake. But the guys could see that something was eating away at their leader; he wasn’t his usual self.
And it hurt them to see him like this. They knew Chan would do everything he could to stay strong in front of them, but they wanted to let him know that if he fell, they were there to catch him.
“I don't know,” he admitted, running his hands through his hair.
“Come on, it could have been something,” Changbin said. “A message. Something you forgot. An argument.”
An argument? You haven't had any arguments lately.
Not since that time when—
It suddenly clicked in his mind.
Not since that time when he yelled at you for telling him about your problems.
“Shit” He murmured getting up “Guys, I-”
“I’ll take it from here and let you know” Minho said nodding “Go”
Chan grabbed his things and left the practice room. His thoughts were racing at 100 miles an hour.
Now he understood why you had acted the way you did. He felt like a piece of trash making you feel that way. He knew your insecurities, he knew your fears, and he used them against you on a day of desperation when everything was going wrong for him.
Meanwhile, you were laughing with Siwoo in your living room; homework already done; you made some coffee for the two of you and Siwoo brought some cookies
“Who would have thought, Y/L/N? You’re back to your old self again.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re laughing again, you’re joking again, you’re being yourself again.”
“Well, you’ve helped me a lot with that, Siwoo.”
“Don’t let anyone bring you down, girl.” You sighed and took a sip of your coffee
“I just don’t want to burden anyone” You said softly not knowing someone else was inside the house
“You’re not a burden” Siwoo said shaking his head "I'm not sure who made you believe that, but they're idiots," you chuckled a little.
"Please," you said.
"All right, all right," he raised his hands but soon dropped them "I know how much it hurt you when he said that to you. Thank you for trusting me and letting me and the lads in once again." You smiled
Two weeks ago you started hanging out with your friends once again. Of course they asked you what had happened to you, and when you plucked up the courage to tell them, most of them weren’t exactly happy that your boyfriend had treated you like that
“How about a rematch on Just Dance?" He said changing the subject
"Now?" He nodded. "Come on, let's go! You won’t beat me.” You laughed, finished the last of your drink and cleared away the cups you’d used.
As you entered the kitchen, you saw Chan sitting in one of the chairs, looking towards the living room.
“Oh! You’re here,” you said, surprised. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Yeah, I’ve only been here a few minutes.”
"Oh, I see," you said. "How was training today?"
"I wasn't feeling well, so I decided to come home”
Your eyes widened, your hand instantly went to his forehead “You don’t have any fever” You said “What are you feeling, baby?”
Chan shook his head “Headache” He rested his head in your palm
“Do you want me to prepare something for you?” You asked softly
“Y/N, everything’s set up!” Siwoo’s voice rang across the department
“You’re busy” He said sighing “I’ll be fine, I’ll take a shower and lay down for a bit”
“I’ll prepare you something quick” You said, Chan shook his head
“I’m okay” He kissed you on the forehead and left the kitchen.
You sighed and, without paying him any mind, decided to put some water on to boil so you could make him a hot milk shake. It had been a long time since you’d seen Chan looking as downcast as he did at that moment.
If you pictured his face in your mind, you’d notice that his nose was red, his eyes were a little teary, and his voice was breaking.
What could have happened to him?
Your heart felt heavy.
"Y/N!" Siwoo came into the kitchen. "Earth calling Y/N," he snapped his fingers in front of your face. You blinked and looked at him.
"What's going on?" you asked.
"That's what I'd like to ask you. I got here and you were zoned out," he made a gesture that made you laugh.
"I was thinking about something."
"Everything okay?"
"I think so," you said. "Chan arrived; he didn’t look too good."
"Mhm," Siwoo said. "Did he say anything to you?" You shook your head.
"No." You looked at the water, which was starting to come to a boil. "Let me take this to him and I’ll be right back."
"If you want, I can leave," He said, you shook your head once again
"I think he'd better calm down a bit”
Siwoo nodded. "I'll warm up then," he said, and you laughed.
"Are you really that bad that you need to warm up?"
"It's not that I'm bad! It's just that I get cramps afterward. Age catches up with you." You laughed loudly at the last part
“Go, warm up old man” You said between laughs
Siwoo left the kitchen laughing, and once again you were alone.
The water was ready; you took out a cup, some milk, a little cinnamon, and honey.
You carefully made him some milk tea and carried it up to your room on a small tray.
You knocked twice and opened the door.
Your heart broke.
There was Chan, fresh out of the shower, wearing sweatpants and no shirt. He was lying face down on the bed, his arms clutching your pillow tightly, his phone resting on the headboard watching something
Small sobs escaped his lips, and every now and then he sniffled. He was crying.
"Oh, Chris." You closed the door, lay down beside him, the cup on his nightstand. "What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry," he said. "I was a complete idiot."
“Come on, I don’t get it, Chris. What happened?” Your arms wrapped around his body, your chin resting on his neck, you looked at his phone; photos of the two of you together were on the screen
It was the first time you’d made physical contact with him in five weeks.
When he felt your touch, he cried a little more
"I promised myself I'd never hurt you. And that was the first thing I did." You sighed, hearing him. "You've been acting differently toward everyone, all because of me and my stupid mistakes."
"I know I don't deserve forgiveness this quickly, but it hurts to know that I brought one of your biggest insecurities to life." He turned slowly, you and him were face to face.
"I'm sorry it took me so long to realize it. I'm sorry I yelled at you like that. I'm sorry I said all those things—they're lies! I'm so sorry you've changed with everyone."
"You hurt me, Chan," you began.
"I know I did," you wiped away his tears, and he closed his eyes.
"I spent weeks bottling up everything I was feeling," you told him.
"Words can't even begin to express how sorry I am for that," he whispered.
"I understand your workload; you’re the leader, the oldest—everyone expects the best from you, and everyone turns to you when there’s a problem." Your hand ran through his hair. "I admire you so much, but you need to draw a line between when you’re at work and when you’re at home," you said. "We can talk about everything that happens to you—the good and, above all, the bad. We’re a team, Chan."
"But as much as I love you, I’m not just someone you can yell at every time you’re frustrated, much less play with my insecurities just like that."
"I know. I know you deserve so much better. Believe me, seeing you laugh with other people and realizing how distant you were with me made me feel terrible. I felt like I failed as a partner."
"You haven’t failed," you assured him. "You messed up a little, yes," you said, "but you realized your mistake and you’ve started to make amends." Chan smiled. "Don’t think you’re completely off the hook."
"I know I’m not," he said, "but I’ll work to erase those words from your heart."
You nodded.
"I brought you some hot milk," you said, nodding toward the cup.
"You didn’t have to."
"Just because I’m mad at you doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring about you." You planted a kiss on his cheek. "Come on, drink it." You stood up.
"Where are you going?"
"I’m going to get you some acetaminophen."
"No, don’t go."
"But Chan—"
"Trust me, I’m already feeling a little better," he said, sniffling. "With the milk, I’ll feel even better."
You sighed, sitting back down on the bed. You looked into his eyes and smiled slowly.
"Can we cuddle for a bit?"
"I can’t stay long. Siwoo is downstairs waiting."
"Just while I drink the milk?" You looked at him. "I know I’m not forgiven yet; I know I have to earn it. But I missed you so much these past few weeks.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Chan laughed.
You positioned yourself behind him; Chan turned slightly to the side, his face buried in your chest, one of his arms around your waist, while yours were around his shoulders. One hand in his hair and the other on his arm.
You stayed like that for a few minutes; you saw Chan stretch out his arm, setting the cup on the nightstand.
“Better?” He nodded without saying anything else.
You watched his eyes begin to close, his cheeks red, and his grip on you tightened slightly.
You smiled.
You grabbed your phone and opened the messaging app
—Siwoo
Before you could send another message, three more came in
—I'm gone now. Don't worry
—Hope you’ve worked everything out
—Rematch next Friday
You laughed and set the phone aside. After planting a kiss on Chan’s hair, you settled in slowly.
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.
