all the things i’ve been seeing about chan’s shoulders got me thinking and going a little feral 😵💫
18+, 18+!! i swear if i need to block another goddamn minor i will go insane.
“Shit baby… feel s’good,” Chan moaned, hips slamming against yours, his low grunts ‘n groans right in your ear. His body completely caging yours, forearms resting on the bed next to your head, head dropped.
Your moans spilled out of your mouth continuously, Chan hitting that spot almost every thrust. Quickly pushing you farther and farther to another orgasm- you’re third just tonight.
The two of yous sounds were obscene
“T-too much!” You managed to get out, your arms tightening around his neck, just to move and scratch his shoulders.
“You can take it angel, i know you can. Been so long since we’ve seen each other, just one more?” Chan gets out through laboured breaths. One of his hands moving to softly hold your head- his form of comfort even as he wrecks you.
You whine at his words, but don’t refuse. Instead tightening your legs hold around his hips and pulling him closer somehow.
The pleasure was so good and overwhelming, you couldn’t handle it. That on top of your embarrassing sounds was too much- you bit his shoulder again. The firm muscles Chans built over the years being perfectly biteable.
“Atta girl,” Chan chuckled, feeling your teeth sink into his shoulder. Hand holding your head ruffling your hair. A fond, unmatching-with-the-scene smile making its way to his face. “You’re adorable.”
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
warnings: unprotected sex; switch!chan; dirty talk; masturbation; fingering; handjob; oral sex (f! and m!receiving); face fucking; cock warming; overstimulation; edging; begging; cum play; voyeurism; exhibitionism
summary: chan likes two things a little too much: the pretty barista who always smiles at him when he sees him and a mysterious camgirl who keeps him awake at night. that’s bound to end well
live: unfiltered series
there are producers and songwriters who make hits and then, there is bang chan.
at only twenty-eight, he has somehow become one of the most sought-after producers in the country. inside the company he works in, his name carries an almost ridiculous amount of respect, and outside of it, artists from every major label fight for the chance to work with him, hoping his touch will turn a good song into a great one.
his schedule is packed months in advance, his email never empty, his phone constantly buzzing with texts from managers, artists, other songwriters and producers and friends asking for “just one more session”. and somehow, despite all of it, he never seems overwhelmed, if anything, he thrives on it.
chan loves people. he loves hearing new stories, bouncing ideas off strangers, learning things about someone and bringing them up weeks later. whether it is a rookie trainee nervously introducing themselves or a veteran artist stopping by his studio to complain about something, chan greets everyone with the same warm smile and easy laugh.
he is the type of person who makes everyone else feel important, which is probably why everyone adores him. no matter how busy he is, and he is always busy, chan always finds time for people.
he has his own studio in the company, a little room on the fourth floor that has practically become his second home. half-finished lyric sheets cover every available surface and coffee cups decorate his desk like trophies. his keyboard is worn smooth from years of use and the speakers have blasted everything from orchestral demos to experimental hip-hop until two in the morning more times than he could count.
most people joke that he should just move a bed into the studio, and it isn’t entirely inaccurate. he arrives before almost everyone else and most nights he is still there long after everyone has gone home. but everyday before he goes home, he follows the same routine: saves whatever he’s working on, stretches until every muscle in his back cracks, throws on his hoodie, grabs his bag, turns off the light and then goes to the café that’s inside the building.
officially, it’s because he desperately needs caffeine after spending hours buried in music. unofficially, well… the caffeine is only part of the reason why.
tucked inside the company’s lobby, there is a small café that stays open late to accommodate employees with late schedules. most people come for convenience, the coffee is surprisingly good and the pastries fresh, and it saves them from having to find somewhere else still open.
chan had started going there almost a year ago and at first, it really had just been for the coffee but then, he had met you. now it has become the one part of his day he looks forward to more than anything else.
it isn’t subtle, at least not to anyone paying attention. his coworkers had noticed how he always volunteered to “make a trip downstairs” whenever they all wanted something. your coworkers had noticed how he’d linger at the counter just a little longer than necessary, managing to stretch a thirty-second transaction into a five-minute conversation, just so he could be there with you.
everyone knows he likes you, or everyone except you, as far as chan can tell. or maybe you do know and you’re just kind enough not to embarrass him. either way, it doesn’t stop him. every single night, without fail, chan finds himself standing in front of the café counter with a tired smile, pretending he is there for the caffeine when in reality, he is there because you are.
and today is no different.
when chan leaves his studio, ready to go home, a couple of trainees hurry towards the lift with their bags slung over their shoulders, looking just as exhausted as he feels. he also sees a security guard who offers him a nod when he sees him.
“calling it a night?”, he asks chan.
he smiles, “trying to”
the guard laughs, “i’ll believe it when i stop seeing your studio light every single night”
chan chuckles under his breath before he waves goodbye and makes his way downstairs. the familiar smell of freshly ground coffee reaches him before the café even comes into view and he can see the warm lights spilling into the lobby, making the café feel almost cozy against the emptiness of the building.
there are only two customers sitting by the windows, their laptops open in front of them. and behind the counter, you, wiping down the espresso machine and humming softly to whatever playlist the café has on tonight.
chan feels the corners of his mouth lift automatically because it doesn’t matter how exhausted he is, seeing you erases almost all of it. you turn around and find him there, staring at you. your face brightens into a smile that looks so effortless it makes his stomach flip every single time.
“there he is”, you say.
chan walks over, resting one arm against the counter.
“i was wondering when you were gonna come today”, you tell him.
“well, seeing that i practically lived here… you could have come to see me before”
you tilt your head, pretending to think, “i guess so…”, you laugh then, which makes him laugh too, “so… the usual?”
“the usual”, he says as he nods his head.
“one large americano with one extra shot, no sugar, and…”
chan points at you, “very, very hot”
you roll your eyes with a smile before turning towards the machine.
“one lava americano coming right up”, you say.
chan watches you move around behind the counter with ease - you work quickly, but never look rushed. every movement is smooth, from grinding the beans to steaming the water and sealing the cup. then you walk back over and slide it across the counter towards him.
“extra hot”, you say as he grabs the cup.
the two words are delivered with the exact same tone every night. it had become an inside joke months ago and you said it every single time, without fail.
chan looks down at the cup before looking back at you, “you’ll never let that go, will you?”
“never”, you say as you shake your head.
“one day i’ll order it iced just to shock you”
you pretend to gasp, “i’ll refuse to serve it”
he laughs, “i don’t think you can do that”
“i don’t care, it’d be worth it”
he laughs again, shaking his head as he wraps both of his hands around the cup which is really hot, exactly how he likes it.
“so”, you ask him after a moment, “big project today?”
“how did you know?”
“you have the, i don’t know… “this that new pop” kind of face”
he snorts, “what? y/n what does that even mean?”
you laugh too, “i don’t know, but i’m sure you made a banger today”
he laughs again and then takes a careful sip of the coffee before signing happily.
“okay, you really weren’t kidding”, he says.
“what?”, you say.
“it is extra hot”
you cross your arms over your chest, “you asked for very, very hot”
“i know, but i think this could be considered plasma”, he teases you.
“you’ll survive, i’d hate to lose my favourite fan”, the words slip out before you can stop them and you try to take them back, but you can’t, “i mean of my coffee, fan of my coffee, because you like it and um-”
chan’s grin spreads slowly across his face, “oh?”
you close your eyes and groan, “don’t”
“i’m your favourite?”
“i didn’t say that”
“you literally did”
“i didn’t mean that”, you say, hiding your face behind your hands now.
“i’ll remember this day forever”, he says, placing one of his hands on his chest.
you shake your head, laughing despite yourself, “ugh, you’re impossible”, and then lower your hands so you can look at him again.
he stays there for another few minutes, talking with you as he drinks his coffee, and when he finishes it, he looks around the café, seeing that there’s only you two there now and then he towards the front doors.
“i should probably let you finish closing”, he says.
“yeah, you probably should”, you say but neither of you moves.
he smiles at you again, “well…”
“well…”
“this is usually where i say goodnight”, he says.
“yeah, and i tell you not to work too late at home”
“and then i promise you i won’t”
“and then i pretend i believe you”, you say as you smile knowingly.
he chuckles before taking a small step backwards, “goodnight, y/n”
“goodnight, chris”
he turns towards the exit, makes it about eight steps and then stops. his heart is pounding so loudly he is convinced you can hear it from behind the counter.
he’d spent weeks telling himself he’d ask you on a date and every single night he’d walked away thinking “i’ll do it tomorrow”. tomorrow became next week, and next week became next month.
if he doesn’t ask you now, he probably never will, so before he can overthink it, he turns around.
“hey”
you look up immediately, “what?”
he walks back towards the counter, rubbing the back of his neck.
“so…”, he says, and the confidence that everyone else always sees has completely disappeared, “if this is weird, you can absolutely say no”
your eyebrows lift slightly, “okay…”
“i was wondering…”, he says and then he laughs nervously, “shit, this is much harder than i thought it’d be”
“come on, you can do it”, you say, smiling at him.
the encouragement makes him smile too, “i was wondering if…”, he takes a breath, “if you’d maybe want to have dinner with me sometime”
for a second, the café seems completely silent, the espresso machine isn’t hissing and the music fades into the background. chan is convinced he’s forgotten how to breathe but then you smile at him and that makes every ounce of anxiety worth it.
“i’d really like that, chris”
he blinks, surprised, “really?”
“really”, you say, smiling even more.
the grin that spreads across his face is impossible to hide, “so that’s…”
“a yes”, you say.
“a yes”, he says as he laughs, almost in disbelief, “i was fully prepared for you to tell me you weren’t interested”
“oh, i’m definitely interested”, you say, giggling, and he swears that sound alone could make even the worst day worth enduring.
he looks down for a second, smiling to himself, “wow, okay, i- umm…”, he starts, trying to sound casual even though he is certain he is glowing, “you work tomorrow, right?”
“i do”
“the evening shift?”
you give him a curious look, “yeah”
he smiles sheepishly, “i already knew that, i might’ve… accidentally memorised your schedule”
you stare at him for a second, “accidentally? i’m gonna say that’s either really sweet or slightly concerning”
“i choose sweet”
you laugh at his answer, “yeah, i figured you would”
“okay, so… i’ll wait for you after your shift”
“you don’t have to do that, chris”
“i want to”, he says, smiling at you.
you can’t help but reciprocate, “okay, so it’s a date then”
his heart nearly stops, “it’s a date, yeah”
the words echo in his head like the catchiest chorus he’s ever written. you both stand there smiling at each other for another moment before you finally break the silence.
“you should go home and sleep, chris”
“i’ll think about it”, he says.
you laugh, “okay, see you tomorrow, chris”
he waves his hand, a little goodbye just for you, “see you tomorrow, y/n”
this time, when he walks towards the door, he doesn’t turn around, he doesn’t need to. he pushes through the glass entrance with the biggest smile he’s worn in months and his mind already racing ahead to tomorrow evening.
for once, he can’t wait for the next day to begin.
the front door clicks shut behind chan as he enters his apartment, the sound echoing like a signal that the day is finally over. he drops his bag by the entrance, his shoulders rolling back as he exhales a long, tired breath. he kicks off his shoes and pads straight towards the bathroom, already taking off his clothes and tossing them aside before he steps inside the shower.
water cascades over his broad chest and down the ridges of his abs, washing away the tension in his muscles. he washes his body starting with his arms and stomach, and then he moves lower, where his cock hangs heavy between his thighs. he gives a few lazy strokes to clean himself and before they turn into something more, he stops himself with a quiet chuckle.
not yet, he has plans for later.
once he’s done, he steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist before heading to the kitchen. he prepares something easy and fast and then he eats standing at the counter, his mind already drifting towards what is coming next. dinner done, he cleans the plate and makes his way to his bedroom, grabbing his phone and closing the door behind him.
chan lets the towel drop and then stretches out on his bed, completely naked and relaxed. this is his ritual now, the one thing that helps him unwind completely. he opens the familiar page and scrolls past the endless thumbnails until his eyes land on the one profile that always stops him cold. months ago he’d clicked on her livestream by accident and nothing had been the same since. something about her pulls him in every single time. he has never seen her face, never heard her voice, but her body moves like it is made for his eyes alone. the way she touches herself, the way she seems to know exactly how to drive her viewers insane without saying a word… it’s hypnotic.
he is about to pull up one of her older livestreams when a notification pops up on the screen and his pulse kicks harder.
angelofyourdreams is live.
she is streaming right this second.
chan taps in immediately, his screen filling with her familiar setup and the chat already exploding with comments and donations. she is there in the centre of the frame, wearing nothing but a lingerie set that barely covers anything, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide her hard nipples pressing against it, dark and tempting through the material. between her spread thighs the lace is visibly soaked, clinging to the outline of her pussy lips, a dark wet patch growing as she shifts.
her hands move slowly, tracing over her own skin. her fingers slide up her stomach, cup her breasts and then punch her nipples through the lace. she rubs herself over her panties next, pressing two fingers against her clit and the wet spot spreads wider.
leethighs: fuck i’m stroking so hard for you right now
dirtypup: my cock is throbbing just watching you
quokkjone: wish i could bury my tongue in that pussy
chan can’t help but comment too.
midnightwolf: i’d fuck you so deep you’d forget your own name
his hand wraps around his cock then. he’s already half-hard just from watching her and the first firm stroke makes him groan low in his throat. he grips the base tight, his thumb swiping over the tip to spread the precum that had gathered there. on screen, he sees the girl taking her bra off and then hooking her thumbs into the waistband of the lace and peeling it down her legs until she’s completely naked.
her cunt is glistening, the lips swollen and shiny with her arousal, her clit peeking out from its hood. she spreads her thighs wider for the camera and lets her fingers slide through her folds, gathering her juices before circling her entrance. she pushes two fingers inside and then rolls her hips to meet them. chan matches the her rhythm, stroking himself as he watches her fuck herself on her own hand, adding another finger as her other hand stays on her clit, making her thighs tremble.
aussielord: i’m coming already fuck
maknaeontop: your pussy looks so tight and perfect
artprince69: wish those were my fingers instead
strongspear: i’d fill you up so much it’d leak out for days princess
chan’s breathing grows ragged and his hand moves faster, squeezing harder now. he can feel the heat building low in his gut, his balls tightening as he watches her fingers disappear inside her dripping cunt again and again. she arches off the bed, her body shaking, and he knows she’s close, and he is right there with her.
his stokes turn desperate, his hips lifting off the mattress to fuck into his own hand and then, the pressure snaps all at once. thick ropes of cum shoot across his stomach and chest while on screen the girl comes hard around her fingers, her thighs clamping together as her whole body shakes.
once her orgasm ends, she pulls her fingers out of her and then reaches out to end the livestream, the screen going dark. chan lies back against the pillows, his chest heaving and his cum cooling on his skin. a deep sigh leaves him, his body now loose and the tension from work completely gone.
as soon as chan enters the café, he feels his heart beating noticeably faster and he catches himself smiling before he even sees you.
he had been distracted the entire day, not because of work, he always got that part done. he had been thinking about you and your date all day, and everyone working with him could see his mind was somewhere else that day.
as he gets closer to the counter, he sees that you aren’t behind the counter. instead, there’s another barista cleaning up the espresso machine. she looks up the moment she hears chan coming in, her expression turning into a knowing grin.
“well, look who it is”, she says.
chan laughs softly, “hi”
“you’re not coming for the coffee today, aren’t you?”
“not today, no”
she leans both elbows on the counter, “so… you finally asked her out, huh?”
he rubs the back of his neck, “i did, yeah”
she nods her head and then points towards the hallway leading to the staff room, “she’s in the back changing”
chan smiles at her, “that’s okay, no rush”
“you look nervous”
chan looks away, “i am nervous”
she reaches beneath the counter and sets a glass of water in front of him, “here, for the nerves”
“thank you”, he says as he takes the glass.
a comfortable silence settles between them for a moment before she speaks again.
“i’m glad you finally asked her out”
chan looks up, “you are?”
she smiles warmly, “she’s really looking forward to seeing you”
his heart skips, “really?”
she shrugs innocently, “yes… but i didn’t tell you anything, it’s our secret”
before he can say anything else, the staff room door opens. chan turns to look and forgets what he was about to say. you step out, no longer wearing the café uniform he’d grown so used to seeing. instead, you’d changed into clothes that were simple and comfortable, and somehow they suited you perfectly. your hair, usually tied back while you worked, now frames your face naturally.
you walk over to him as soon as you see him.
“sorry”, you say.
chan smiles at you, “you don’t have to apologise”
“i made you wait”
“i would’ve waited longer”
the words come out before he can stop them and you smile, looking down for just a second.
“you’re sweet”, you tell him.
he scratches the back of his neck and laughs as he looks down, “i try”
your coworker watches the exchange with an expression that screams “finally” and then she claps her hands together.
“okay”, she says and you both turn to look at her, “i’m just gonna stand here and pretend that i don’t exist”
chan and you laugh and then he turns to look at you, “ready?”
you look at him and nod your head, “ready”
you both walk towards the door and he opens it for you, but before you can step out, your coworker’s voice calls after you.
“no show today, angel?”
you stop halfway through the door and look back over your shoulder, a small laugh escaping you.
“no show today, no”
she laughs and waves you both goodbye, “enjoy your night!”
“we will”, you say and then you both leave.
chan looks at you for a brief second.
angel?
that’s an unusual nickname, maybe it’s something your coworkers had come up with. it fits, he supposes.
“i’m sorry”, he hears you say suddenly.
“for what?”, he looks at you.
“she’s nosy”
he laughs then, “it’s fine, don’t worry”
he opens the front door of the building, letting the air drift inside.
“dinner?”, he asks you.
you smile at him again, “dinner”
side by side, you step out into the night, completely unaware that the casual nickname chan has just overhead will stay in the back of his mind for longer than either of you could have imagined.
if someone asked chan the next morning how the food was, he honestly wouldn’t be able to answer, and it’s not because it’s not good, it’s because he just isn’t paying nearly as much attention to it as he’s paying to you.
the restaurant has turned out to be exactly the kind of place he’d hoped you’d enjoy. it’s modern with warm lighting hanging from the ceiling, wooden tables scattered across the dining area and the music loud enough to create a lively atmosphere but not so loud that people can’t talk.
one half of the floor is dedicated to the restaurant itself and the other is almost like a lounge. there’s a polished wooden bar stretched along one wall while groups of friends laugh over games of billiards, darts, table football, and arcade machines tucked into the corners. glasses clink together every few seconds and every now and then someone cheers loudly after sinking a difficult shot.
it feels relaxed and comfortable, and most importantly, there isn’t a single awkward silence between the two of you, not once.
“you actually did that?”, you ask him between laughs.
he laughs too, “i swear”
“you expect me to believe you accidentally sent the demo to the ceo instead of the artist?”
“it was one time”
you burst into laughter, setting your fork down before you drop it and then you hide your face behind your water glass. he smiles into his own drink because, god, this is so much easier than he’d imagined it was gonna be.
for months he’d worried that, outside the café, the conversations would dry up, that without your coffee and his late night routines, you’d realise he wasn’t all that interesting.
instead, the hours keep disappearing. you’d talked about everything: your childhood memories, favourite movies, your favourite singers, the type of books you like, the movies you see.
now dinner plates have long since disappeared, replaced by two desserts sitting between you. you absentmindedly pick at yours while chan steals part of it.
“hey!”, you tell him, pretending to be mad at him.
“i’m hungry”
“you ate an entire steak, chris”
“i’m still hungry”
you shake your head, but he can see you’re smiling, “i can’t believe you”
“i will buy you another one”
“i don’t want another one, i physically can’t eat it”
“i’ll help you”
another laugh, another easy smile and another moment where chan finds himself thinking that this is the best day he’s had in years.
as you continue eating, your attention drifts for just a moment. most people probably wouldn’t have noticed, but chan did. your eyes wander towards the lounge section of the restaurant, specifically towards the billiards tables. a group of friends has just finished a game, laughing as one of them celebrates what seemed like an impossible shot.
you watch them for a second then quickly look back down at your dessert as though you haven’t been looking at all.
chan smiles to himself, “you wanna play?”
your head snaps back up, “what?”
he nods his head towards the billiards table, “billiards”
“how did you-”
“you’ve looked over there five times”
“i have not”
“yes, you have”, he says, laughing softly.
“no, i was just…”, you glance over again almost instinctively, “looking”
“so you don’t want to”
you laugh a bit, “it looks fun”
“then let’s play”
you look back at him, “i’ve never actually played before”
“so?”
a tiny smile tugs at your lips, “i… i don’t know how to play, chris”
he leans forward slightly, “you trust me?”
you meet his eyes for just a second, and then nod your head, smiling at him.
“i do”
“then let me teach you”, he says.
there is something about the way he says it that makes it very difficult to say no.
“okay, fine”, you say.
his smile grows immediately, “perfect”
the waiter appears a few moments later with the bill and before you can even reach it, chan picks it up.
“oh no”, you tell him.
“what?”
“we’re splitting it”
“we’re not”, he says, getting his wallet out to pay.
“chris!”
“i invited you”
“that doesn’t matter”, you say as you reach for the bill but he pulls it away, then you reach again and he holds it higher, “chris!”
“what?”, he says again, laughing now.
you cross your arms, “this is not fair”
he smiles innocently, “i don’t see the problem”
“the problem is you’re paying for everything”
“i don’t see a problem there”
he hands over his card before you have another opportunity to protest again. once he gets it back, chan thanks the waiter before standing up and offering you his hand.
“come on”
you look at his outstretched hand for a moment before smiling at him and taking it. his fingers are warm but so are yours and neither of you mentions the fact that neither of you lets go immediately.
most of the billiards tables are occupied by noisy groups but one sits empty beneath a hanging lamp. chan lets go of your hand and moves to pick up two cues from the rack and hand one to you.
“i have absolutely no idea of what i’m supposed to do”, you say as you stare at it.
he laughs, “i know”
“i could hit you with a ball”
“i trust you”, he says as he laughs harder.
you look at the table before you look at the cue in your hands again, “okay”, and a nervous smile spreads across your face.
he steps beside you, already reaching for the triangle rack to set up the balls.
“professor bang”, you say.
“mmhm?”
“please try not to fail your first and only student”, you tease him.
he looks over his shoulder with a grin, “i make no promises”
he finishes arranging the balls into a perfect triangle, then picks up the white ball and places it carefully on the table before he turns to look at you.
“okay”, he says, slipping into the teacher mode, “first lesson”
you stand up straighter, “i’m listening”
“you’re not supposed to hold the cue like you’re about to fight someone”
you look down at it, “i’m holding it wrong?”
“a little”
“a little?”
he smiles, “a lot”
you laugh, “okay, show me how to do it”
chan moves so he can adjust his own cue first and then you move, trying to copy him as best as you can, keyword being trying. you try to copy his hands, where he puts them and how he puts them, one a bit higher and the other on the flat felt, with his fingers a bit open so the cue can slide through.
you keep doing it wrong and he keeps laughing at you, so loud that a couple at the next table glances over with amused smiles. he moves next to you to adjust your grip first, moving your fingers only slightly, then he gestures towards your other hand and you flatten your palm again on the felt.
“okay”, he says, “see? it’s not that hard”
you look down and laugh, “i guess you’re earning your title, professor bang”
he circles the table, studying the angle and then points towards one of the striped balls, “your goal is that one”
you follow his finger, “that seems very far away”
“you’ve got this”
you sigh and then lean forward exactly as he’d shown you, “this is harder than it looks”
“it is”, he says laughing.
“so why do people make it seem easy?”
“years of practice”
“great”, you say, “okay… like this?”
“yeah, now just… nice and easy”, he says, his grin widening.
you nod your head, looking at the ball, “nice and easy”
you move the cue forward and the white ball rolls far more gently than either of you expected, nudging the striped ball just enough for it to move towards the pocket before stopping a few inches short.
you look at it, “i almost did it!”
chan smiles, “that’s the spirit”
you look up at him with a proud grin that makes him laugh all over again.
“i think i like having my own personal teacher”
“oh really? but i’m expensive”, he says, walking towards you now.
“how expensive?”
he pretends to think for a moment, “one dessert on our next date”
you walk closer to him, your chests almost touching, “so you’re already planning a next time?”
chan’s smile grows, “i’m hoping there’s gonna be one”
your own smile answers him before your words ever could, “i think we can arrange that”
the noisy chatter from the other tables fades into a low hum as the two of you continue playing. the shots keep getting more and more difficult, but chan continues to tell you and show you how you’re supposed to do it each time.
“try this one”, he says at one point, stepping in close.
his chest nearly grazes your back as he reaches around to guide your movements. his hands settle over yours on the cue, warm and firm, adjusting your grip. you feel the heat of his body radiating through his clothes, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the wood and felt of the table.
you lean forward and he moves right behind you, his body aligning with yours. his palms slide down to your hips to correct your posture, his thumbs pressing lightly into the curve just above your waistband. you shift your weight and the cue slides forward, sending the white ball spinning before hitting the striped ball, which drops into the corner pocket.
“very good”, chan breathes against your ear, his approval sending a shiver down your spine.
the game progresses with increasing intimacy. every complicated shot brings him behind you again, his body getting closer to yours each time. his hands cover yours on the felt, guiding the cue with gentle pressure. when you miss a shot, he laughs softly and repositions you, one of his arms wrapping around your middle to steady your balance.
his breath ghosts over your neck as he explains what you have to do, but his touch on your body speaks louder, moving lower and lower each time.
you both know the line you’re toeing and your movements grow bolder in response to his. you press back slightly at one point, your ass brushing the front of his jeans. chan inhales sharply, his grip tightening on your waist for a split second before he forces himself to focus on the game.
he tries to think of anything else but your body is right there, warm and inviting. he moves his hips back just enough to create some space between your bodies, willing his cock not to respond, reciting the rules of the game in his head like a mantra.
another shot lines up and he steps in again, closer than before. his chest presses to your back as he adjusts your arm. you feel the solid line of him, the way his thighs bracket yours. the cue moves, you hear the balls clack, but neither of you tracks the result. his hand moves again, his palm flattening against your hip, pulling you closer to him.
you turn slowly in his hold, your cue still in your hand, your chest brushing with every breath now. the space between you shrinks to nothing. his eyes drop to your lips, dark and hungry, mirroring the way yours fix on his. the air thickens and you can feel his hand on your waist, his thumb stroking once in a daring caress, but before he can close the distance, you speak first.
“we should play another game”
chan nods his head, completely lost, his gaze still locked on your mouth as if he hasn’t processed what you just said.
“take me home, chris”, you continue, the suggestion hanging between you like a spark waiting to ignite, and at that moment, you both know you’re gonna get burned.
the ride home feels like an eternity, the heat from your earlier touches still lingering on your skin, both of you aware that the game has shifted from cues and balls to something far more primal, and that’s why once you close the door of your apartment behind you, everything detonates.
your lips crash onto his without hesitation, your hands pulling him closer to you. chan groans into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist to lift you slightly, pinning you back against the wall. your tongues slide together in a desperate tangle, month of pining after each other exploding in a hungry kiss.
his hands roam your body boldly now, one sliding down to grip your ass and pull you closer, his cock pressing against your thigh through your clothes. you grind forward in response, your fingers threading into his hair to angle the kiss deeper, sucking on his tongue as the tension from the game finally unleashes in full force. your bodies move in sync, your hips rolling and your mouths devouring each other.
“bedroom”, he says between kisses, his voice already wrecked, “where’s your room?”
“down the hall, third door on the right”
he carries you there with your legs locked around his waist and your mouths still fused together. the second your door closes behind you, he pins you against it, your back hitting the wood with a soft thud. his hips rock forwards, grinding his cock against your soaked panties through your clothes, the friction sending sparks up your spine.
“you have no idea”, he says against your lips, his voice low and rough, “how long i’ve thought about having you like this”
you pull back just enough to meet his eyes, “is that why you watch my lives? so you can have filthy fantasies about me?”
chan freezes. his hands stay on your body but he pulls back an inch, his breathing hard and his eyes wide with sudden shock. you slide down until your feet touch the floor, then step closer again, pressing your body against his. your fingers trace up his chest as you look up at him through your lashes.
“chris… i’m the camgirl you always watch”, you say, watching the realisation dawn across his face.
“no show today, angel?”
angel.
show.
that’s what your coworker had said before you left the café. the username of the girl he watches is angelofyourdreams and he is sure that if he checks his phone now, there won’t be a livestream happening, which there normally would be, like every night.
he stares at you, his chest heaving as the pieces click into place so fast you can almost see the moment it hits him.
his pupils blow wide, his lips parting on a shaky exhale, but you don’t give him time to speak. you lean in and press your mouth to the column of his throat, kissing the hot skin there before dragging your tongue along his pulse point.
“i always knew you watched me”, you murmur between kisses, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, “your username, the way you comment… i recognised you the second you sent the first one, chris”, your teeth graze his earlobe, “and i find it so fucking hot that you’ve been watching me all this time. that you get hard for me every night and you’ve probably jerked off to my lives more times than you can count”
chan’s whole body jerks. his hand tighten on your waist like he is physically holding himself back from coming right there in his pants. a low, broken sound leaves his throat as your lips move lower, sucking a mark just above his collarbone while your hand slides down to palm the thick bulge straining against his zipper.
“all those nights you watched me finger myself, spread my legs, come all over my hand while you stroked your cock”, you continue, your voice a sinful whisper against his skin as your fingers work his belt open with deliberate slowness, “did you imagine bending me over the desk in your studio? fucking me in the café? making me ride you until i scream your name?”, you kiss back up to his jaw, then catch his lower lip between your teeth, biting down just hard enough to sting before releasing it, “show me, chris. show me every single thing you’ve ever wanted to do to me”
something inside chan snaps the second those words leave your lips. the realisation that you had known it was him all along, that you had watched his filthy comments night after night and then smiled sweetly at him in the café the next day, hits him like a live wire. his eyes darken and his jaw clenches as the last thread of control burns away. the image of you pretending to be innocent while you knew exactly what he did to himself thinking about you - or rather the camgirl - made something primal roar to life in his chest.
before you can react, his mouth crashes back onto yours with bruising force. his hands move with frantic purpose, yanking all of your clothes off until you’re both completely naked in the middle of your room. his cock stands thick and heavy between you, already leaking at the tip from how worked up he is.
“on your knees”, he says, his voice commanding but threaded with raw need, “right here on the floor”
you drop to your knees without hesitation and the moment you are settled, his cock is right in front of your face. one of his hands wraps around the base, slowly stroking himself while the other slides into your hair, his fingers threading deep and gripping tight. he pumps his fist a couple of times, letting you watch the way his thumb smears the precum across the tip.
“i’m going to fuck your throat”, he says, “for every single time you knew it was me watching you. for every night you spread your legs on camera knowing i was stroking my cock to you. for seeing me every day and still pretending you were so sweet and innocent”, his grip in your hair tightens just enough to tilt your head back, “you knew and you let me suffer”
you look up at him through your lashes, your lips already parting and your voice trembling with want, “please, use me, chris. fuck my mouth however you want. i want it”
chan’s breath hitches and then he guides the head of his cock to your lips, rubbing the tip across them until they glisten.
“open”, he says.
you obey instantly, your tongue flicking out to taste him. he pushes forward slowly at first, letting you adjust to the stretch as he slides over your tongue and deeper. the hand in your hair holds you steady while the other stays wrapped around the base as he moves his cock into your mouth.
“fuck… that’s it”, he groans when your lips close around him, “suck me just like that”
he starts to move, letting you get used to his cock on your mouth. your tongue presses up against the underside of his cock, swirling around the tip every time he pulls back. saliva quickly coats him, making each slide wetter and filthier and he just watches your mouth stretch around him with hungry eyes, as your eyes roll back.
“i’ve been dreaming about this”; he says as his hips roll forward a little harder, “look at you, on your knees for me”
he pushes deeper on the next thrust, the head of his cock brushing the back of your throat. you gag softly, some tears rolling down your face, but you don’t pull away, and the sight makes him curse under his breath.
“fuck… you’re so fucking perfect”, he says, his voice strained, “taking it so well. breathe through your nose, baby. let me in”
he holds your head gently but firmly and thrusts again, this time sinking until your nose nearly touches his stomach. more tears spill down your cheeks from the pressure, but the heat in his gaze only intensifies. he pulls back, letting you gasp for air, making strings of spit connect your lips to his cock and then he pushes in again.
he continues fucking your mouth and every time he hits the back of your throat you swallow around him, the tight squeeze making his thighs tremble. his hand in your hair never hurts, just keeps you there, exactly where he wants you.
“that’s it, y/n… just like that. suck harder- fuck, yes”, his voice cracks on the last word when you hollow your cheeks and take him deeper on your own.
you keep your eyes on him, watching the way his abs flex and his jaw goes slack with pleasure. he is so hard it almost hurts, the veins of his cock pulsing against your tongue.
“i-i’m gonna come”, he warns you, “want it in your mouth?”
you moan around him in answer and then he thrusts faster, chasing his release, the hand in your hair tightening as his control finally fails. with a broken groan, he buries himself as deep as he can and comes hard. his cum floods your mouth, hot and heavy, some of it spilling from the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin because there is simply too much.
he keeps thrusting through it, riding out every wave while you swallow what you can, the rest leaking messily down your throat and onto your chest and nipples. his whole body shakes with the force of it, a wrecked sound leaving his chest as he finally slows, still holding your head gently.
he pulls out slowly, his cock twitching and a final bead of cum dripping from the tip onto your tongue. you look up at him, your lips swollen, your chin shiny with his cum and your eyes glassy, and he lets out a shaky exhale at the sight. he then slides his arms and pulls you up against him. he starts kissing you again, tasting his own cum on your tongue.
he walks you backwards without breaking the kiss, guiding you until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed. you sit down on the mattress and he sinks to his knees between your spread thighs. he moves to your collarbone, pressing slow and open-mouthed kisses along your skin.
his tongue moves lower, finding the streaks of his cum that had dripped onto your chest. he licks your nipples, sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth and cleaning every drop with his tongue, making your back arch, before he moves to the other nipple.
“f-fuck… chris”, you moan as you try to move closer to him.
his lips move lower again, over the curve of your stomach. then he moves you just enough to have your feet planted on the floor while your back rests flat on the bed, the position leaving you completely open for him.
chan’s tongue drags a stripe from your entrance to your clit, before he seals his lip around it and sucks. a broken moan tears from your throat as he licks and sucks you, each of them perfectly timed to keep you hovering right on the edge without tipping over. his tongue flicks rapidly over your clit for a few seconds then slows to long and lazy strokes that have you grinding down against his face.
“chris- please”, you gasp as your fingers move to his hair, “more. i-i need more”
he hums against you and then one of his fingers slides through your folds, gathering your juices before he presses it inside, then adds a second finger. his mouth stays on your clit, sucking and licking and driving you insane. every time your walls started to flutter around his fingers, he stops, pulling back just enough that the orgasm slips away again.
“fuck, you taste even better than i imagined”, he says against your soaked cunt, “i could stay here for hours”, he says as he licks another slow stripe, then sucks your clit between his plump lips.
your hips buck hard but he holds you down with one strong hand across your lower belly. you are shaking, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure.
“please, chris, please let me come. i can’t take it anymore”
he answers you by thrusting his fingers deeper while his tongue works on your clit. the pressure builds again, hotter and sharper than before, your thighs shaking around his head, but just as you feel yourself about to tip over, he slows once more, keeping you right on the precipice.
“i’m begging you”, you sob, your hips twitching uselessly against his hold, “let me come, p-please”
chan groans low in his throat and he finally gives in. his fingers curl hard against that perfect spot that makes you stop breathing while his mouth sucks your clit harder and you finally hurtle over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you. your walls clench around his fingers and he doesn’t stop, he keeps licking and sucking and fingering you until your legs are shaking uncontrollably and broken little cries spill from your lips.
he presses one last gentle kiss to your oversensitive clit before he pulls his fingers free. he looks up at you from between your thighs, his lips shiny and his eyes dark with satisfaction. your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, the aftershocks still rippling through you.
his hands slide beneath your body, lifting you as he rises from his knees. he moves you further onto the bed, lying you down properly with your head on the pillows before he climbs over you. his body covers yours completely, skin pressed to skin, and his mouth finds yours again. your hands roam everywhere, over the hard planes of his shoulders, down the flexing muscles of his back, on his neck, moving to his ass to pull him closer to you.
“i wanted this so badly”, he says against you lips, “i couldn’t stop thinking about you”
your hands keep exploring, your fingers tracing every muscle and your nails scraping down his sides until he shivers. the kiss grows messier, your tongues chasing each other while your bodies rock together in small and needy movements.
suddenly, you press your hands against chan’s chest and push him. he lets you roll him onto his back without resistance, letting you straddle his hips as you lay on top of him now. your hands stay on his chest, pinning him down while you look at him with a wicked little smile.
“you’re not the only one who’s had fantasies”, you tell him, your voice low and husky, “i’ve thought about you for months. about how it would feel to just sit on your cock and keep you inside me, warming you while you throb and ache”
his eyes widen at your words.
cock warming.
his cock jerks hard against your ass at the image, already swelling again, but at the same time, he’s not sure if he’s gonna last, he thinks the image alone could make him come there and then.
“shit- wait, i don’t know if i can-”, he says, his voice rough with sudden desperation, but you cut him off with a kiss.
your tongue pushes into his mouth and you nip at his bottom lip before releasing him, “shh, it’s my turn now”
you shift up on your knees, reaching between your bodies to wrap your fingers around his cock. you drag the head through your folds, coating him in your arousal before lining him up. you start pushing him inside you, both of you moaning at the same time. you sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch until your ass meets his hips and he is buried inside you. the stretch burns so good you have to pause, breathing hard, feeling every throb of him against your inner walls.
“please, m-move”, chan begs you, his voice cracking as his hands move to your hips, his fingers digging in, “fuck- you feel so tight. please ride me”
you shake your head, staying perfectly still, clenching around him deliberately before you lean down to kiss along his jaw.
“you know, i’ve imagined this exact moment a lot of times”, you say as your lips brush his ear, “i’d use my fingers and pretend they were your cock, just feeling them inside me like this. but it wasn’t what i wanted, i wanted to feel you get harder and harder until you couldn’t take it anymore”
he groans, his hips moving upwards, but you press down harder, keeping him pinned there.
“i also fantasised about waking up with you already inside me”, you continue, your voice breathy, “about you filling me up in the middle of the night and just staying there, your cock throbbing while i clenched around you. we could try that another day if you want”
you can feel him swelling even more inside you, the head of his cock pressing deeper with every word you say. his breathing turns ragged, his chest heaving under your hands.
“y/n, please… i-i’m gonna come if you don’t move”, he says, his voice strained.
you finally start to move, slowly, very slowly, lifting just a bit before sinking back down. the drag of him against your walls makes you both moan. your clit brushes against the base of his cock with every move, sending sparks through your core.
chan’s grip tightens on your hips, “faster, p-please, go faster”, he begs you, his eyes glassy with need.
you give him what he wants and pick up the pace until your thighs burn and the wet sounds of your bodies fill the room. his hand slides between you, his thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing circles that make your vision blur.
you fall forward on his chest, your mouths crashing together in a kiss while your hips keep moving and you keep swallowing each other’s moans as the pleasure builds higher.
“fuck, i’m… i’m close”, chan gasps against your lips, his fingers working your clit faster while his other hand moves to your ass, helping you move on top of him.
you clench around him hard, riding him with quick and shallow rolls that drag your clit against his skin with every thrust. his cock pulses inside you, thick and hot, and the feeling pushes you right to the edge.
“come with me, chris”, you whisper, your voice breaking, “fill me up, please”
the orgasms hit both of you at once. your walls clamp down around him while he thrusts up hard, burying himself deep as he spills inside you. his cum fills your cunt, mixing with your own juices as you shake on top of him. the kiss turns sloppy, all tongue and desperate sounds while your bodies shake together through every wave. you stay locked like that, trembling as the room spins around you.
his cock still pulses faintly inside your cunt, the warm mix of your juices and his cum leaking out around his softening cock with every tiny shift. you move your head just enough to look at him and brush some strands of hair from his forehead with gentle fingers.
“you okay, chris?”, you whisper, your voice hoarse from all the moaning.
he nods, a lazy smile tugging at his lips as his hands slide up your back in soothing strokes, “yeah… more than okay. you?”
you nod your head, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone before nuzzling into his neck. slowly, you begin to move again, but this time it’s tender. you rock your hips in gentle circles, feeling his cock twitch and start to stir once more inside you, but you keep it unhurried, savouring the connection.
chan groans softly and moves you so he can kiss you again. you melt into the kiss, your hands cupping his face as you suck gently on his lower lip, the kiss turning wet and sensual, your mouths parting and reconnecting with soft sighs.
his hands roam your body again, palming your breasts and rolling your nipples between his fingers until they’re hard again, then they slide down your body to grip your ass cheeks and spread them slightly, letting more of his cum drip from your cunt onto his balls. you clench around him again, drawing a low moan from his throat that vibrates against your lips.
he breaks the kiss first, pulling back just enough to look at you with a dazed and incredulous expression, before a soft laugh escapes him, rumbling through his chest beneath your palms.
“i can’t believe all this time it was you”, he says, his voice still rough, “months of wanting you and also jerking off to those streams, imagining exactly this, with you”
you laugh too, a bright and breathless sound that makes your cunt flutter around his cock.
“surprise”, you say, teasing him, leaning in to capture his mouth again, your tongue dancing with his as your hips give another lazy roll, grinding your clit against the base of his cock.
he breaks the kiss again, “when you said yesterday i was your favourite fan… you meant the livestreams?”, he asks you suddenly, a shocked look on his face.
you laugh again, pulling him back into the kiss without answering directly at first, just your lips parting his and your tongues sliding together as you suck on his tongue like you want to devour every reaction. the make-out turns even slower, more intimate, full of nips and licks along his jaw, your neck, your teeth grazing his earlobe while your walls still squeeze his cock inside you.
you break the kiss this time, pulling back just enough to trace lazy patterns over this chest with your fingertips, circling his nipples before dragging lower across his abs, feeling them tense under your touch. you bite your lip, your eyes locked on his as you feel the head of his cock pressing insistently against your cervix with every subtle shift.
“so… are you ready to show me some more of those fantasies that you have?”, you say as you clench around him again, feeling every vein and throb of his cock inside you.
chan leans up closer, his hands tightening on your waist as his eyes darken with renewed hunger.
“i’m more than ready”, he growls against your lips before kissing you again, his tongue pushing in as you feel his cock swell fully hard once more inside you, already twitching with fresh need and ready to fuck you through every fantasy you’ve both been holding back.
a/n: and with that the event is done!!!! thank you all so much for reading, i really hope you liked the stories and thank you again for all your love and support 🩷
the library
likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated 🌟
Tags: slow burn, best friends to lovers, rich chan, spoiled reader, sexual tension, sexy dance, sexting, domestic softness, jealousy, power imbalance, bratty reader, smut, unprotected sex, possessive chan, dom bff.
Word count: 9.8k
Summary: You’ve lived with Chan long enough to forget that he’s your best friend and not your boyfriend. He spoils you. Buys you things you don’t need. Lets you walk around his house in little shorts and call it “comfort.” And you let him—because he never says no. Until the night you take it too far. A party. Too much champagne. A dance that should’ve never happened.A pair of hands that should’ve never touched. Now, there’s a line you both can’t unsee. And when the tension finally breaks, it’s not just about lust—it’s about five years of blurred boundaries, unspoken rules, and a love neither of you were supposed to feel.
This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!
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The sound of the blender was the first thing you heard when you padded into the kitchen, still half-asleep and wearing one of Chan’s oversized hoodies. Your feet dragged across the cool marble floor, a lazy yawn escaping as you rubbed your eyes and rounded the corner.
There he was barefoot, shirtless, and already fully awake like some kind of freak. Hair tousled, muscles flexing slightly as he screwed the lid onto a protein shaker. He looked up when he noticed you, and his entire expression softened.
“Mornin’, baby girl.”
You grunted in response, collapsing into one of the barstools like you’d been dramatically wronged by the concept of morning itself.
Chan chuckled, already reaching for a mug. “Coffee?”
“You’re my favorite person in the world,” you mumbled, cheek squished against the counter.
“I know,” he said with a grin, setting the coffee down in front of you with that same quiet care he always gave you. “Drink up. You’ve got a shoot today, yeah?”
“Mmm.” You barely nodded. “No energy.”
“You say that every morning. And then you post ten stories looking like a literal angel.”
“Because I am an angel. Just a tired one.”
He shook his head fondly, walking around the counter and tugging lightly at the hood you had up. “You could’ve worn your own clothes to bed, you know.”
“But yours smell better.”
That earned you a half-smirk and a soft pat on the head. “Fair.”
It had been four years since you moved in. What was supposed to be a temporary arrangement; a few weeks to get your life together after cutting ties with your parents, turned into an unshakable routine. A shared home. A rhythm. Chan never pushed, never questioned your decision to stay, not even after he offered to set you up in your own place. A luxury penthouse. Any neighborhood, any view. All you had to do was ask.
But why would you leave? You had everything here. Your safe place. Your comfort. Your best friend who treated you like you hung the moon.
Chan made sure you never lifted a finger unless you wanted to. New car? Done. Spa weekend? Booked. Your favorite snacks flown in from another country? He’d find a way. And when the world got too loud, too cruel, too exhausting—he was there, holding space for you, letting you just be.
You never had to earn his affection. It was freely given, infinite and warm. And never once did you see the sharp edges of his temper directed your way. He could be terrifying when provoked; intense, commanding, even explosive in his rare moments of fury, but with you, it was different. Always gentle. Always soft.
“You want me to drive you today?” he asked casually, taking a sip of his shake.
You blinked at him over your coffee mug. “Don’t you have meetings?”
“Pushed ‘em.”
“You didn’t have to—”
He raised an eyebrow.
You shut up.
Because of course he did. That was just Chan. No matter how much you insisted he didn’t need to baby you, he always would. And deep down, you didn’t really want him to stop.
“Thanks,” you said quietly.
He leaned down and kissed the top of your head. “Anytime baby girl.”
<><><>
The next morning, you danced around the kitchen like you always did on pure instinct, pulling open drawers, prepping ingredients, making enough breakfast for two without even asking. Chan tried to stop you every time. He could afford a chef. He had one on call. But you never listened. This was your thing.
“You know I can make my own eggs,” he said from behind you.
“No, you can’t,” you replied easily, tossing a glance over your shoulder. “You burn eggs. It’s a weird talent.”
“That happened once.”
“Mmhmm.”
He didn’t argue after that, just leaned against the counter and watched you move. You weren’t dressed yet, still in that hoodie he liked seeing on you more than he’d admit, hair messy, face bare. Comfortable. Real. This was what his mornings had become: you humming under your breath, feeding him like it was your mission in life, and making the house feel like a home instead of a museum of expensive things.
Chan didn’t need much. He didn’t ask for much. But you noticed everything. The way his shoulders tightened after late-night calls with his team. How his jaw clenched when he was overwhelmed. How even on his best days, he carried this quiet heaviness like something he couldn’t shake.
So you filled in the spaces.
You did his laundry, folding each item with absurd care. You stocked his favorite snacks, kept his vitamins in a tiny container by the sink, laid out his hoodies when you knew he’d had a long day and just wanted something soft. You never said you were doing it for him, but he wasn’t stupid. He saw it. Felt it. And maybe that was why he never asked you to leave.
Because you were his peace.
You set a plate down in front of him with a satisfied little sigh, then went back for your own. “Eat, you’ve got stuff to do.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted you with his fork.
He had just taken his first bite when your phone lit up on the counter beside him. His eyes flicked toward it casually, and something about the name flashing across the screen made his brow twitch.
He didn’t say anything, but you noticed. Of course you did.
You reached for the phone and stared at the name.
Eli.
You hadn’t spoken to him in over a year. Not since you blocked his number and told him to stay the hell out of your life.
Your stomach turned.
You didn’t answer. Just locked the screen and tossed the phone aside like it didn’t matter.
Chan watched you closely, chewing slower. “You good?”
“Yeah.” You gave him a quick smile. “Just a ghost.”
His jaw tensed.
He didn’t push you. Not yet. But you could feel the shift in the air—like something had cracked just slightly. Like the bubble you and Chan had built so carefully around yourselves had caught a whisper of the outside world trying to crawl back in.
You didn’t mean to flinch when Chan spoke.
“You gonna block him again?”
It wasn’t the question itself—it was the way his voice sounded when he asked it. Flat. Too calm. Like the kind of calm that only came before a storm.
You kept your back to him, rinsing the last plate and placing it carefully in the drying rack. “Yeah. I mean, I already had him blocked. He must’ve used a new number.”
Silence.
Then, “Persistent.”
You dried your hands slowly, pretending the slight tremble wasn’t real. “He’s not important.”
“He used to be.”
That one hit harder than you expected. You turned to face him, brows pulling together slightly. “You mad at me?”
His expression didn’t shift much, but his jaw moved—tight, clenched.
“No,” he said almost instantly, voice lower. “Never at you.”
But there was something in his eyes.
You didn’t see it often, well atleast not directed at you. Not ever, actually. You’d seen Chan angry before. In business meetings, in defense of someone he loved, once even on the phone with a producer who had crossed the line. But never like this. Not standing in front of you. Not burning behind his stare like that.
You didn’t know what to do with it.
So you just nodded, like that made it all okay, and turned back to finish wiping the counter. Your hands moved on autopilot, scrubbing the same spot twice.
And then, quieter—deadly quiet—you heard him speak again behind you.
“Don’t answer him again.”
You didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. Of course you wouldn’t. Of course.
But Chan wasn’t done.
“Ever,” he said, voice dropping further. “Or I swear to God—”
He cut himself off.
You looked at him then, really looked. His fingers were white-knuckled around the counter’s edge. His breathing had slowed into something controlled. Too controlled.
And even then, even now, your first instinct wasn’t fear. It wasn’t confusion.
It was to calm him down.
Without a word, you stepped closer and reached for him. Your arms circled his waist like it was nothing—like you hadn’t just seen a glimpse of something primal behind his usually warm eyes. You laid your cheek against his chest, right over his heartbeat.
“I won’t,” you whispered. “I promise.”
He didn’t move at first. Didn’t even breathe.
Then you felt it—his shoulders sinking, that tension leaking out like someone had pulled the plug. His arms came around you, pulling you in, hands splaying wide across your back like he was scared you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.
“I just—” His voice cracked slightly. “I can’t stand the thought of him near you again. Not after everything.”
“I know.” You pressed your lips to his chest, right where his heart thudded. “He won’t get near me. Not while I have you.”
That was the truth. You didn’t even think about it anymore—how natural it felt to belong here, in his arms, in his home. How much of your life revolved around this man, this space, this rhythm. You didn’t care about penthouses or privacy. You didn’t need freedom when you had this.
Because Chan was your home. And more than that—you were his.
“Don’t forget your water bottle,” you called out, tossing it across the living room.
Chan caught it one-handed like the athlete he always pretended he wasn’t, but the smug grin that followed gave him away. “You just wanna keep me hydrated so I live long enough to keep spoiling you.”
You gave him a look. “Duh.”
He laughed, slinging the strap of his gym bag over one shoulder. He’d been dragging his feet all morning—pretending he was gonna leave, then circling back to ask dumb things like “Do we have any more peanut butter?” or “Should I shave today or keep the scruff?”
Now he was hovering by the front door, sneakers half on, clearly stalling again.
“You gonna go, or do I have to call the trainer myself and tell him you’re scared of cardio?”
“Rude,” he muttered, but he didn’t move. Just eyed you for a moment.
You were back in the kitchen, wiping the counter down for the second time that morning. Another instinct. Another way to make sure his space felt good, clean, safe. You didn’t think about it—you just did it. You always had.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked suddenly.
You looked up. He wasn’t asking like earlier. This time, his voice was softer. Less fury, more concern.
You rolled your eyes with a little smile. “Chan. I blocked him. It’s done.”
He nodded. “Still wanna know how he got a new number. Motherfucker’s like a roach.”
You laughed. “Maybe he’s a fan of yours and saw your name in my contacts. Thought you’d forgotten about him.”
Chan’s expression darkened just slightly.
“I didn’t forget. Told him what I’d do if he reached out again.” He didn’t say it like a threat. It was a statement. Calm. Dead serious.
You blinked. “Wait—you talked to him?”
Chan shrugged, casual as hell. “Last time he called you. I answered instead.”
Your eyes widened. “When was this?!”
“Few years ago,” he said, grabbing his keys off the hook. “Told him to disappear. Guess he forgot.”
You stood there, towel in hand, heart thumping for no good reason. Not scared. Not upset. Just… a little stunned.
“Chan.”
“Hm?”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“You were already going through enough.” He looked at you like it was the easiest decision in the world. “Didn’t want to stress you out.”
You tossed the towel at him. “You terrifying, overgrown guard dog.”
He dodged it and smirked. “Someone’s gotta scare the vermin away.”
You walked over and poked him in the chest. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“So lucky,” he drawled, catching your finger and tugging you just slightly closer.
There it was again—that quiet intensity. Not romantic. Not lustful. Just… full. You filled his world, and he didn’t know how to hide it anymore.
You leaned in and kissed his cheek, quick and easy like always. “Go train, old man.”
Chan huffed a laugh and finally turned to leave, but before he stepped out, he paused and said over his shoulder:
“If he texts again, you tell me. No matter what.”
“I will,” you promised.
Because you knew he meant it. And maybe that was why the idea of Eli crawling back didn’t scare you anymore.
Not when you had Chan.
<><><>
That evening started like any other movie night. You padded into the private cinema room wearing one of Chan’s oversized hoodies—soft, warm, and swallowed in the scent of him—because you always did. His cologne clung to the cotton, familiar and comforting, and it made you feel closer to him. Closer than you probably should have.
He was already sunk deep into one of the reclining chairs, phone in hand, a bowl of snacks resting lazily on his lap. He looked up and smiled when you walked in, like nothing made him happier than just seeing you. Like you were all he needed to end the day right.
You curled up beside him without a word, folding into the crook of his side like you belonged there. His arm lifted automatically, welcoming you into his warmth. It wasn’t weird. This was just what you two did.
But it felt different tonight.
You weren’t sure if it was the way his hand dropped to your bare thigh beneath the blanket, fingers drawing mindless shapes against your skin—or the way your own hand somehow found his chest, fingers brushing softly, tracing the shape of his collarbone like you had every right.
You didn’t mean to kiss him.
Not on the mouth, of course. That’d be crazy.
But you’d always been touchy with him, hadn’t you? Just little things. Kisses to his shoulder when he carried you to bed, to his jaw when he bought you something ridiculously expensive just because he felt like it. So why should tonight be different?
Your lips pressed gently to the curve of his bicep, then again, just higher. He tensed slightly beneath you, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t stop you.
Instead, his fingers slipped up under the hem of the hoodie, splaying across the small of your back—warm, possessive.
You didn’t even realize how close you’d gotten until you were practically on his lap. The movie blurred in the background, completely irrelevant.
You pressed another kiss to his shoulder. Then another, slow and deliberate. He turned his head toward you, breathing heavier now, eyes hooded.
“Baby,” he said softly.
You froze. “What?”
His hand tangled in your hair, gently tugging you back just enough to look in your eyes. His thumb brushed your cheek like he couldn’t help himself.
“You don’t even know what you do to me.”
Your heart skipped. But you smiled, trying to play it off. “I was just thanking you. You’re comfy.”
“I’m serious.” His gaze dropped to your lips. “You keep doing stuff like this and one day, I’m not gonna be able to stop myself.”
That hit you like a match to gasoline. You swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of how heavy the air had become between you.
But still… you didn’t pull away.
And he didn’t let you go.
<><><>
You were already in a good mood when he came home, but the shopping bags in his hand? That turned it into ecstasy.
“Wait—are those from Dior?” you gasped, nearly tripping over yourself as he placed them casually on the marble kitchen island like he’d just come back from buying groceries.
Chan didn’t even look fazed. “Got bored waiting for a meeting to end, so I stopped by the boutique. Thought you’d like some of this.”
“Some?” you echoed, your voice high-pitched as you tore into the first bag, a squeal leaving your lips when you found a silky black slip dress folded like a secret inside tissue paper. “Channie, are you kidding?”
“Do I ever kid?” he smirked, walking past you, casually undoing his watch and setting it beside the sink. “Try it on. The others too.”
There were others.
Gucci. Prada. Cartier.
And you? You were living. Floating. Glowing. Letting him spoil you was second nature by now, but nights like this reminded you—he didn’t just give you luxury. He wrapped you in it.
“You’re such a menace,” you muttered, eyes sparkling as you slipped behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “You’re gonna ruin me for everyone else.”
He glanced down at you with that lazy smile, the kind that curled slow and deep. “That’s the point, sweetheart.”
You wore the Dior slip dress that same night to the rooftop party Chan reluctantly agreed to attend with you. It fit like it had been painted on, soft and glossy, barely brushing your mid-thigh, your legs on full display in the matching Louboutin's he also got you.
“Baby,” he said when you walked out of your room, one brow raised, voice a little tight. “You’re not serious.”
You twirled for him with a smirk. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He stared. Stared like he was trying to burn it into memory. “Do not disappear from my sight tonight.”
<><><>
You were tipsy. Not sloppy—just glowy, warm in the chest, your limbs loose and fluid with every bass-thumping beat. The rooftop was packed, the skyline glittering behind you like a movie set, and your dress—courtesy of Chan’s impromptu Dior shopping spree—sparkled just as hard.
He’d barely looked at you when he handed it over earlier that night, like it wasn’t several thousand dollars of backless silk. “Wear it if you want,” he’d said casually, as if it were groceries.
You’d worn it.
Now you were dancing. And not just dancing—moving like you had something to prove. Letting your hips roll too slow. Letting a stranger rest his hands too low. Your smile too wide. Your laugh too sweet.
You felt Chan’s eyes on you before you even turned.
He was stalking through the crowd like something out of a damn K-drama, black button-down unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves shoved up, eyes locked on you. You barely had a second to giggle before his hand was wrapping tight around your wrist.
“Outside. Now.”
You squeaked. “Channie, I’m just—”
“I said now.”
Oh. He was pissed.
You let him pull you off the floor, across the rooftop to a shadowed corner near the stairs where the music was distant and no one could hear him grinding his teeth.
“Are you insane?” he snapped, dropping your wrist only to press both hands to his hips like he had to physically restrain himself from pacing. “You don’t let strangers touch you like that. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I looked hot,” you said, crossing your arms—half-defensive, half-drunk. “And it was just a dance.”
He turned to you slowly, brows raised. “Just a dance? Do you see yourself right now?”
You did. You looked like luxury and trouble. And maybe you leaned into that just a little more.
“So what if I had a little fun?” you said sweetly, stepping into his space. “You dragged me out just to scold me like some angry boyfriend?”
“I’m not your boyfriend,” he ground out, jaw ticking.
“No. But you act like it.”
That shut him up.
He stared at you, unreadable. Furious, maybe. Or barely hanging on.
So naturally, you kept going.
You twirled around, your dress fluttering around your thighs, swaying again just a little too close, dragging your hands slowly up his chest—pure mischief. “You shouldn’t buy me pretty things if you don’t want people to stare, Channie.”
His hand caught your wrist again—tighter this time.
“You’re really pushing it tonight.”
“I know.” You smiled up at him. “You’ll still let me go home with you though, right?”
His nostrils flared. “You live with me.”
“Exactly.” You beamed. “Now can we go back to the party? Or are you gonna keep playing possessive best friend in the dark?”
You barely had time to blink before he spun you, gently but firmly pinning you to the railing behind you, just inches from his chest. He leaned in close, voice low and dangerous in your ear.
“You don’t want to see what real possessive looks like, baby.”
Your stomach dropped—heat rushing everywhere.
But he stepped back a second later like nothing happened, casually running a hand through his hair.
“Go ahead,” he said, shrugging like his entire body hadn’t just radiated barely-contained rage. “Go dance. But if another guy touches you—don’t expect me to be this nice.”
And then he walked off, leaving you pressed to the railing with your heart pounding, legs weak, and absolutely no idea what game you were playing anymore.
You caught up to him at the bar again—he’d tried to disappear into the crowd, tried to drown his irritation in another glass of whiskey, but you were too far gone and way too stubborn to let him off the hook that easy.
“Chan,” you whined, grabbing his arm and tugging like a bratty little siren, “you ruined my dance.”
“I saved your ass,” he muttered, not even looking at you.
“You owe me.”
He glanced over finally, eyes sharp but dark under the club lights. “Don’t push it.”
You smiled sweetly. Fake as hell. “Just one dance.”
“No.”
You dragged him anyway.
He let you.
Let you guide him right into the dim VIP corner—where the bass was deeper, the lights darker, and the crowd less concerned with what anyone else was doing.
The second the music shifted—low and filthy—you turned, pressed your back to his chest, and rolled your hips into him like you’d done it a thousand times.
Chan froze.
Dead silent.
You were smiling to yourself, just drunk enough to be shameless, just bratty enough to know you were pushing every single one of his buttons.
You grabbed his hands and placed them on your waist, forcing him to hold you as your ass moved in slow, hypnotic circles, rubbing right against him in time with the beat.
“Don’t you dare let go,” you teased over your shoulder.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath.
You dipped lower, grinding harder, and heard the way his breath hitched behind you.
He wasn’t dancing. Not really.
He was just… enduring.
And you were loving every second of it.
Your fingers slid up his forearm, dragging along the veins you knew always popped when he was tense. You leaned back into him, head brushing his shoulder as your hips kept moving, smooth and slow and deliberate.
“Thought you didn’t want weirdos touching me, Channie,” you said, faux-innocent, breathless from the rhythm. “So dance with me.”
“You call this dancing?” he growled into your ear.
You arched your back, hands in your hair now, dress hiking up just enough to flash more thigh than he’d probably ever seen on you.
“Mmm, yeah,” you moaned softly, throwing it back again—slow, deep, filthy.
He cursed under his breath.
His fingers flexed around your waist, digging in just a little tighter. You were dizzy with music, heat, and alcohol—but fully aware of the way he was breathing now. Shaky. Unsteady.
You had him.
He wasn’t just watching you anymore—he was feeling you.
Everything about the moment was screaming wrong—you were best friends, and this wasn’t how best friends danced—but still, he didn’t stop you.
Didn’t step away.
Didn’t tell you to quit.
He just held on tighter… and let you work.
When the bass dropped again. Darker now. Slower and even dirtier. You didn’t hesitate.
One arm reached back, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck while your other hand guided his—down your stomach, over your hips, until both his palms were molded around you like you were made for him.
You leaned back into him, ass pressing right up where he’d been trying not to feel you—where the thin fabric of your dress was the only thing separating you from him—and you moved.
Dragged. Rolled. Grinded.
Like you didn’t care how many red lines you were crossing.
“Y/N—” he warned, voice raw, lips grazing the shell of your ear, “Behave.”
You didn’t.
You let his hands roam further, teasing his fingers up toward your waist—up your ribs—then dragging one dangerously close to the underside of your breast.
He flinched like you’d shocked him, like your skin was on fire.
And maybe it was.
You turned your head, brushing your lips across his jaw, not quite kissing, just lingering.
“You’re not stopping me,” you whispered.
He growled.
Actually growled.
His grip on your waist tightened, fingers sinking into your sides like he was trying to anchor himself to reality—like your body grinding against him, soft and sinful, wasn’t about to unravel every last thread of his control.
“You’ve had too much to drink,” he grit out.
“So stop me,” you whispered, shifting your hips again—slow and deliberate—dragging yourself up his thigh like a stripclub fantasy gone rogue.
One of your hands slid down to his again, guiding it back to your waist, but lower this time—so low his fingers brushed the curve of your ass and you swore you felt his whole body tense behind you.
You smirked.
Chan didn’t find it funny. He was seething.
His jaw clenched so hard you could feel it brush against your temple, and his voice when it came was low, strained, and barely human:
“Y/N, if you don’t stop…”
But he didn’t finish the sentence. Because he didn’t know what would happen if you didn’t. And neither did you.
You just kept moving.
The second your ass arched back again—grinding slow, sultry, shameless—Chan’s grip locked on your waist like a vice.
“Enough.”
You didn’t get the chance to blink before he spun you around, one hand wrapping around your wrist, the other coming to the small of your back, steering you through the crowd like he didn’t give a damn who saw.
You giggled.
He didn’t.
Not even close.
“Chan, where’re we goin’?” you asked, voice slurring just enough to make it sound like a song.
He didn’t answer. Not really.
“Home.”
One word. Clipped and dangerous. And fuck, he was walking like a man on the edge—shoulders squared, jaw clenched, muscles rippling with every step while you were practically tripping over your heels trying to keep up, your drunk giggles only making him grip you tighter.
Like your laughter was gasoline on a flame.
“You’re mad,” you teased, leaning your weight into him like deadweight.
“I’m furious.”
That made you giggle harder.
He didn’t stop until he’d yanked the passenger side door open and dropped you in the seat like you weighed nothing. Slammed the door. Rounded the car with the same heat in his steps. He slid into the driver’s side, slammed that door, and his knuckles went white around the steering wheel.
You turned to him with a cheeky smile, tugging on his sleeve.
“You’re not really mad.”
He didn’t even look at you.
“Put your seatbelt on.”
“Why? You afraid I’ll fall into your lap again?”
He finally looked at you—and that look?
Could’ve melted diamonds.
“You think this is funny?”
The laugh you gave him was light, teasing. “A little.”
Chan shifted, arm coming up to rest behind your seat, so he was fully turned toward you. His voice dropped—low, firm, the kind of tone he only used when you were being a real pain in the ass.
“You don’t get it, do you? You almost made me cross a line in there.”
You blinked, still a little tipsy, still smiling. “What line?”
His eyes burned into yours.
“The one where I stop being your best friend and start being the guy who ruins you.”
That wiped the smile right off your lips.
You sat back in the seat, heart kicking, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment settle over your skin like static.
Chan turned away, facing forward again.
“You’re gonna sleep it off. We’ll talk tomorrow. And you’re gonna listen, for once. Because you don’t get to keep pushing me like this and acting like it’s cute.”
Silence.
“Maybe I spoilt you too much,” he muttered, shifting into gear. “Cos clearly, you don’t like to fuckin’ listen.”
And just like that, he drove off—leaving the music, the crowd, and the heat of temptation burning behind you.
<><><>
Your head was pounding.
Throbbing, actually.
Like someone had taken a bass speaker and shoved it directly into your brain. You groaned as you rolled onto your back, blinking up at the ceiling in confusion.
…This wasn’t your bed.
Wait. Yes, it was.
But why were you in his shirt? And why did you have glitter on your thighs?
Oh no.
You sat up slowly, spotting the water and ibuprofen on your nightstand—placed there no doubt by one incredibly annoyed but still annoyingly sweet man. The man whose footsteps you now heard approaching from the hallway.
You flinched at the sound. He was stomping.
“Someone’s heavy-footed this morning,” you muttered.
Chan stepped into the doorway with a blank stare and a mug in his hand. The look on his face? That one he reserved for when you did something so wildly irritating he couldn’t even find the words yet.
“Oh, you’re awake.”
You offered him a sheepish smile. “…Did I do something?”
He just stared.
“Chan?”
He placed the mug on your nightstand with a bit too much force.
“You don’t remember?”
You blinked up at him with your most innocent expression. “I mean… I remember the party? The rooftop? I think I danced a little?”
“A little,” he repeated, deadpan. “You grinded on me. In the corner. Like it was a fucking stripclub. Like we weren’t best friends. Like I wasn’t five seconds from hauling you over my shoulder and taking you home.”
Your cheeks flushed hot. “Oh.”
“Oh?”
You cleared your throat, unable to stop the sheepish grin creeping in. “Did I look good though?”
Chan’s face did something strange. Like he short-circuited. “Are you—? What?”
“I mean,” you teased, poking at him now because why not, “was I sexy? Did I make your heart race? Or was it just embarrassing and sad?”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Just answer the question.”
Chan ran a hand over his face like he was praying for patience. “That’s not the point.”
“But did you like it?”
Silence. His stare burned holes into you.
You leaned back against the headboard with a slow smirk, hugging your knees to your chest. “You’re mad and flustered. That’s a good sign.”
Chan tilted his head, voice low.
“Do you really wanna know how it felt?”
You nodded way too fast. “I do.”
He leaned down, eyes locked on yours, one hand braced beside your head on the headboard.
“It felt like temptation.”
Your breath caught.
He didn’t blink. “It felt like you knew exactly what you were doing, and you wanted to see just how far you could push me. And it felt like if I hadn’t dragged you out of there, I’d be doing things to you we couldn’t take back.”
You stared up at him, mouth parting in surprise.
Then you whispered, “…Shit.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Shit.”
You blinked once. Twice.
“…Still kinda flattered though.”
Chan groaned and pulled away, heading for the door again.
“You’re not allowed to drink for at least a month. Minimum.”
“Chan, don’t be like that—”
“A month.” he repeated, disappearing down the hall.
You flopped back into your pillows, heart still racing. A grin slowly crept over your lips.
Damn. Maybe you did get carried away.
<><><>
You were in the zone. Like, completely tuned out, bopping your head to the music in your ears as you folded Chan’s fresh laundry on his bed. Your hips swayed with every beat; every little spin you gave the shirt in your hands before laying it down neatly beside the others.
Your little frilly shorts fluttered with every movement, riding higher each time you reached or twisted or bent. But you didn’t notice. You were too busy humming along to your playlist and tossing socks into a neat pile.
The door had been left cracked open.
And Chan had come home earlier than you realized.
He paused when he saw you from the hallway—his girl, his best friend, in his bedroom, dressed in that matching little cotton set that barely counted as clothing. The fabric on your shorts stretched and hugged the soft curve of your ass as you bent over to tuck the edges of his sheets into place, clearly trying to finish making the bed for him.
His lips parted slightly. A breath caught in his throat.
He was supposed to head to his studio.
But then you wiggled your hips to the beat—innocent, playful—and Chan’s thoughts scattered like smoke.
Something possessed him.
Next thing you knew, you felt a presence behind you.
A firm, warm grip closed around your ass, fingers spreading possessively over the curve.
You jumped, yanking a single AirPod out with a startled gasp, only to spin around and find Chan.
Standing behind you. Wide-eyed. Frozen.
“Oh—fuck,” he blurted, jerking his hand back like it burned him. “Shit, I didn’t mean to—fuck, I didn’t even think—”
You blinked up at him, heart thudding. But honestly? Not because you were mad.
Your lips curved, and you shrugged softly. “It’s okay. I didn’t mind.”
Chan’s whole brain short-circuited.
You didn’t… mind?
You weren’t mad?
That was all it took. His hand—that same hand—dropped right back down to where it had just been, like it had a mind of its own. It found your ass again, slow and deliberate this time, fingers pressing in like he needed to confirm how soft it felt.
You didn’t move. You just looked up at him, blinking innocently.
“Just finishing up,” you said, as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary. Like his hand wasn’t full of your ass.
Chan stared at you like he’d never seen you before. His throat worked around a swallow.
Then—fuck it—he leaned in and wrapped his arms around you in a hug. Except… his hands didn’t settle at your waist like they always did.
No. One hand stayed exactly where it had been—on your jiggly ass—while the other pressed into the small of your back, pulling you close.
“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he muttered into your hair.
You tilted your head. “What’d I do?”
“You exist in those shorts,” he gritted out. “That’s what you did.”
You smiled against his chest, your cheek warming against the familiar scent of his cologne.
“Guess I should wear them more often then.”
Chan exhaled shakily. You could feel the way his fingers twitched against your ass.
Yeah… this tension? This was no longer accidental.
“I mean…” you hummed into his chest, arms looping lazily around his torso, “you did kinda sneak up on me. Could’ve warned me first.”
“You were too cute to interrupt,” he mumbled. His voice was gravel-soft, barely there. “You were doin’ that little dance again.”
You pulled back just enough to raise your brows. “You were watching me?”
He looked guilty. Just for a second. Then shrugged, mouth twitching like he couldn’t decide if he should play it cool or apologize.
“You were in my room, playing house in my shorts, dancing to music like nobody was watching. What was I supposed to do?”
Your smirk deepened. “Not grab my ass?”
“I panicked.”
You burst into a soft laugh, resting your head back against his chest again. The moment felt too warm, too familiar, too… dangerously close to something else.
“I didn’t know you liked them this much,” you teased, wiggling your hips just a little. Just enough to make his hands twitch.
Chan exhaled sharply through his nose.
“I’ve been trying to be good,” he muttered, one hand dragging lightly up your spine.
You tilted your head back to look at him, eyes wide, soft with curiosity. “Good?”
“Respectful,” he clarified. “You’re my best friend.”
You blinked. “And best friends don’t touch ass?”
“They shouldn’t,” he bit out, and that was the first real crack in his voice. “But you’ve been pushing it lately, baby. You’ve been testing me.”
Your chest fluttered at the way he said baby. So casually, like it slipped out before he could stop it.
“Have I?”
Chan’s hand slid lower. Not enough to be scandalous, just enough to let you feel that he wasn’t kidding anymore. His palm was warm and heavy, anchoring you to him like he was suddenly realizing he didn’t want to let go.
“You’re not as innocent as you act,” he muttered.
You gave him your best doe-eyed look. “I never said I was.”
That was when he lost it a little.
One of his hands slid up to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, and he leaned in like he was thinking about kissing you—but didn’t. His lips barely ghosted yours.
Not a kiss. Not quite.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he whispered. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”
You did. You absolutely did. But you didn’t say a word.
You just smiled.
“Laundry’s done,” you whispered, pulling back with one last squeeze around his waist. “You’re welcome.”
And then you walked out of his room like you didn’t just flip his entire world upside down in cotton shorts and a matching button-up.
<><><>
That night, you were wide awake.
The house was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning, the distant rustle of trees outside, and your pulse drumming hard against the pillow.
It’d been hours since you left Chan’s room. Hours since you’d walked out of there trying to act like your skin wasn’t still tingling where his hands had been. Like your heart hadn’t stuttered when his lips brushed yours without ever truly kissing you.
You should’ve let it go.
But the problem was, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Your fingers hovered over your phone. Then… tapped.
You: You up?
The read receipt appeared too fast.
Chan: Always. What’s wrong?
You stared at the screen for a second too long.Then:
You: Nothing. Just thinking about earlier.
Chan: Which part?
You smiled. Bit your bottom lip. That was bait, and he knew it.
You fed him a little more.
You: You touching me like that in your room.
Another instant reply.
Chan: I shouldn’t have. I got carried away.
You: I didn’t mind.
A pause. Longer this time. You imagined him lying in bed with that furrow between his brows, one hand behind his head, trying to figure out if you were just being bratty again—or if you meant it.
Chan: I could tell.
You laughed quietly to yourself, propping your phone against your knee, thumbs ready to wreck your whole friendship.
You: You’re really gonna act like you didn’t like it?
Chan: Is that what you want me to say? That I liked having my hand on my best friend’s ass?
You: I mean… you did keep it there for a long time.
Chan: You looked really good like that.
You sat up a little straighter, nerves flickering through your chest like sparks.
You: Like how?
Chan: Bent over my bed in those shorts. You know what you were doing.
You: I was folding your laundry.
Chan: While dancing. In those tiny ass shorts.
You: You liked that?
The dots blinked.
Stopped.
Started again.
Chan: Too much.
You took a shaky breath.
This felt reckless. You were under the same roof. Just down the hall. Separated by a hallway and years of pretending your friendship was innocent.
Your fingers moved again.
You: If I came to your room right now…
No reply.
Not yet. You could almost hear his breathing. Almost feel how still he was on the other side of the house.
Then finally:
Chan: Don’t. If you come in here like that, I won’t let you leave untouched.
You stared at the message. Bit your lip and tucked yourself a little deeper into your sheets, thighs brushing, breath catching.
Your fingers trembled when you typed again.
You: Untouched where?
You saw the typing bubble appear immediately.
Chan: Everywhere.
You: Be specific.
Chan: You want me to tell you how I’d touch you, best friend?
That sent a chill up your spine. Something about the way he called you that. Not sweet. Not teasing. Dangerous.
You: Yeah. I do.
Chan: I’d start with those legs you’re always stretching across my lap. I’d make you open them wider for me.
You: Keep going.
Chan: I’d touch you over those tiny little shorts you love wearing around me like you don’t know they drive me fucking crazy.
Your mouth went dry. Your hand slipped beneath the covers, not to touch—just to feel. To let your own heat rise in the quiet dark.
You: I knew they drove you crazy.
Chan: Of course you did. You’re a brat. You do it on purpose.
You: You like when I act like a brat.
Chan: I like shutting you up when you get too mouthy.
Your stomach flipped. God, this felt wrong. You were just supposed to be folding laundry and going to bed like normal.
Instead—
You: If I was in your bed right now, what would you do to me?
Another pause.
You waited. You could feel the shift. Could practically hear the internal war going on behind his silence. How much he was willing to say. How far he was willing to go.
Then:
Chan: I’d drag you under me. Pin your wrists. Tell you to stop squirming but know damn well you wouldn’t. I’d make you beg me to touch you properly.
You squeezed your eyes shut. Face flushed. Legs pressed tight under the blanket.
You weren’t sure who you were anymore. You weren’t just his best friend. Not right now. You were something else entirely.
You: Would you let me touch you too?
Chan: Not unless you asked real nice.
You: Please, Channie.
That one made him pause. You could feel it. Like the air had been sucked from the room.
Then:
Chan: You’re really playing with fire tonight, baby.
You: You’re the one who said you wanted to touch me.
Chan: And now I wanna do a lot more than that.
You: Yeah? Like what?
Chan: Like make you mine.
Your breath hitched. You blinked at that message for a long, long time. Because it didn’t feel like flirtation anymore. It didn’t feel like a joke.
You: But I’m already yours… aren’t I?
This time, there was no pause.
Chan: Fuck yes, you are.
Your heart was thudding. Your body humming. But your fingers moved with more confidence now. There was something intoxicating about knowing exactly how to push him.
Something dangerous.
You: I remembered the party.
The typing bubble popped up immediately.
Chan: What about it?
You: How you grabbed me like you wanted to throw me over your shoulder.
Chan: You were asking for it.
You: And then you let me grind on you like that? In public?
Chan: Correction. You made me stand there and take it.
You: Mm. I remember how hard you got through those dress pants.
You bit your lip. Your thighs squeezed again.
Then added: You were so thick and heavy against me, Channie. I still feel it.
A full minute passed. He didn’t respond. You almost thought you’d pushed him too far.
Then—
Chan: Keep talking like that and I’ll be in your room in under sixty seconds.
Your breath caught. You smiled to yourself, devilish.
You weren’t done yet.
You: You didn’t even stop me when I dragged your hands over my body. You wanted to feel me, didn’t you? Even when you told me to behave, you kept touching.
Chan: God, you’re lucky I didn’t bend you over the nearest couch right there.
Your mouth dropped open slightly. But you were thriving in this game now. Riding that high. And you hadn’t even touched yourself yet—just lying there soaked and giggly like you’d been corrupted through a screen.
You: You could’ve. I wouldn’t have stopped you.
Chan: Say that again.
You hesitated. Then: I wanted you to touch me at the party. I wanted you to pull me into that corner and make a mess out of me. Is that so bad?
Chan: Baby, if you knew what you were saying right now…
You: I do.
Chan: And I want you to say what you wanted. Out loud. To me.
Your fingers stalled. You swallowed.
Then typed: I wanted to feel your hard dick against me again. I wanted you to grip my hips and hold me still and tell me I was yours. I wanted your voice in my ear, telling me not to run.
Chan didn’t respond for two whole minutes.
You were about to text again when—
Chan: I’m coming up. Don’t move.
Your heart leapt into your throat. You barely had time to throw your phone down before you heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs.
Then—your bedroom door creaked open.
And there he was.
Hoodie sleeves shoved up, jaw tight, chest rising like he’d sprinted the last few steps. His eyes landed on you—bare-legged under your little blanket, looking like you’d been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.
But oh, this wasn’t about cookies.
He shut the door with his foot. Click.
“You’re seriously playing with fire, you know that?”
You blinked up at him, lips parted. “What, just texting my best friend?”
Chan’s laugh was dry—no humor. Only disbelief.
Then his hands were on his hips, like he needed to physically restrain himself from pouncing. His eyes travelled down your body, slow and possessive, before he stepped closer to the bed.
“You said some wild shit just now, baby.”
“I meant every word.”
He tilted his head, smirking. But his voice dropped a little darker. “You wanted to feel me? Hm?”
You nodded, biting your bottom lip.
“Say it again,” he said, close enough now to tug the blanket down from your waist.
“I wanted to feel you,” you whispered.
He leaned in. “Where, sweetheart?”
Your breath hitched. “Against me.”
“Where else?”
You swallowed. “Inside me.”
That was it. That was fucking it.
In a blink, he was crawling over the bed, pinning you back with one hand on your waist and the other sliding under your thigh to pull you open for him.
“Guess what, baby?” he muttered, lips brushing your jaw as you shivered beneath him.
“You’re about to.”
Your breath caught in your throat as Chan’s weight settled over you, his body a solid, grounding force that made the room feel smaller, hotter, like the air itself was pressing against your skin. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough to feel the heat of his breath but not quite touching. It was torture. It was deliberate.
“Chan,” you whispered, voice trembling with something you couldn’t name. Anticipation. Need. Fear of what this moment meant for the two of you.
His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, but there was a storm behind them. You could see it—the way his restraint was fraying, the way his fingers tightened just slightly on your thigh, like he was fighting himself as much as he was holding onto you.
“You’re sure?” he asked, voice low, gravelly, like he was giving you one last chance to back out. One last chance to keep things the way they’d always been.
But you didn’t want that. Not anymore. Not after the texts, the dancing, the way his hands felt like they belonged on your body.
You nodded, slow and deliberate, your eyes never leaving his. “I’m sure.”
That was all he needed.
His lips crashed into yours, and it was like the world tilted. It wasn’t soft or tentative—not like the almost-kiss in his room earlier. This was hungry, desperate, like he’d been starving for you and only just realized it. His hand slid from your thigh to your hip, fingers digging in as he pulled you closer, your body arching into his like it had a mind of its own.
You kissed him back just as fiercely, hands finding his shoulders, his neck, tangling in his hair. You tugged lightly, and he groaned into your mouth—a sound that sent heat pooling low in your stomach. His tongue brushed against yours, and you felt it everywhere, like a current running through your veins.
“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, his chest heaving. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You smiled, breathless, and tugged him closer. “Good.”
He growled low in his throat, and then his hands were everywhere—sliding under your shirt, skimming the bare skin of your stomach, your ribs, stopping just short of where you wanted him most. He was teasing you, and you hated it as much as you loved it.
“Chan,” you whined, squirming beneath him, trying to guide his hand higher.
He smirked knowingly. “What, baby? Use your words.”
Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t look away. “Touch me.”
“Where?” His voice was a low rumble, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your hipbone, maddeningly close but not quite enough.
“Everywhere,” you breathed, echoing his text from earlier.
That did it.
His hand slid up, cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak in a way that made you gasp. His other hand yanked your thigh higher, hooking it over his hip as he pressed himself closer, letting you feel every inch of him—hard, heavy, and so real it made your head spin.
“You wanted this,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw, your neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin just below your ear. “You wanted me to lose it, didn’t you?”
“Maybe,” you gasped, arching into his touch as his hand slipped under your shirt, warm and possessive against your bare skin.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression a mix of awe and something darker—something that made your heart race even faster. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
Your breath hitched. “Then why didn’t you—”
“Because you’re you,” he interrupted, voice rough. “You’re my best friend. My safe place. I didn’t want to fuck this up.”
You reached up, cupping his face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “You’re not fucking anything up, Channie.”
His eyes softened, but only for a moment. Then he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, like he was trying to pour every unspoken word into it. His hands roamed—over your sides, your thighs, tugging your shorts down just enough to feel the bare skin of your hips.
You tugged at his shirt, impatient, and he chuckled against your lips before pulling back to yank it over his head. The sight of him—bare-chested, muscles flexing, eyes dark with want—made your mouth go dry. You’d seen him shirtless a thousand times, but this was different. This was yours.
“Like what you see?” he teased, catching the way you were staring.
You didn’t even bother hiding it. “Always have.”
He froze for a second, like your words hit him harder than he expected. Then he was on you again, kissing you like he was trying to make up for lost time, his hands slipping under your shirt to tug it off completely. The cool air hit your skin, but his touch was fire, burning away any chill.
His lips trailed down your neck, over your collarbone, pausing to murmur, “You’re so fucking beautiful,” before continuing lower, kissing the curve of your chest.
You gasped when his mouth found your skin, warm and deliberate, his hands holding you in place as he took his time exploring you. Every touch, every kiss, felt like a confession—like he was saying all the things he’d held back for years.
“Chan,” you whispered, fingers threading through his hair as he kissed lower, his breath hot against your stomach.
He looked up at you, eyes dark but soft. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
“Don’t you dare,” you said, voice shaking but certain.
He grinned—slow, wicked—and then his hands were on your shorts, tugging them down along with your underwear in one smooth motion. You were bare beneath him now, vulnerable in a way you’d never been before, but there was no fear. Only trust. Only him.
His hands slid up your thighs, parting them gently, and he leaned down to kiss you again, softer this time, like he was savoring it. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured against your lips.
“Then die happy,” you shot back, and he laughed—a real, warm laugh that made your heart ache.
But then his touch turned serious again, his fingers brushing against you in a way that made your breath catch, your body arching toward him instinctively. He watched you, eyes locked on yours, gauging every reaction, every little sound you made.
“Channie,” you gasped, when his fingers pressed just right, slow and deliberate, like he was learning you.
“Shh,” he murmured, lips brushing your forehead. “I’ve got you.”
And he did. He always had.
His touch was patient, reverent, but there was an edge to it—like he was holding himself back, trying not to lose control completely. You could feel it in the way his fingers trembled slightly, the way his breath hitched when you moaned softly under him.
“More,” you whispered, tugging him closer, needing him closer.
He didn’t need to be told twice.
His fingers worked you with a rhythm that made your head spin, your hands clutching at his shoulders, his back, anything to ground yourself. But it was too much and not enough all at once, and you could feel the heat building, coiling tight in your core.
“Channie, please,” you gasped, not even sure what you were begging for anymore.
He leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me what you want, baby.”
“You,” you managed, voice breaking. “I want you.”
That was all it took.
He pulled back just enough to kick off his sweatpants, and then he was back, settling between your thighs, his body warm and solid against yours. He kissed you again, deep and slow, and you felt him—hard, heavy, pressing against you in a way that made your entire body hum with anticipation.
“You’re sure?” he asked again, one last time, his voice strained, like it was taking everything in him to hold back.
You nodded, pulling him closer, your lips brushing his. “I’ve always been sure.”
He exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for years, and then he was there—sliding into you, slow and careful, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. But there was none. Only heat, only fullness, only him.
You gasped softly, your hands finding his back, nails digging in just enough to make him hiss. He moved slowly at first, giving you time to adjust, but it wasn’t long before you were urging him faster, harder, your hips meeting his with every thrust.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath ragged. “You feel so good.”
“So do you,” you whispered, and you meant it—every word, every touch, every moment.
The world outside didn’t exist anymore. It was just you and him, the heat of his skin, the way his hands gripped your hips, the way he whispered your name like it was a prayer. You were his, and he was yours, and for the first time, that truth didn’t scare you.
It felt right.
The tension built, higher and higher, until you were trembling beneath him, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. He could feel it too—you could tell by the way his movements grew less controlled, more desperate, his lips finding yours again as he pushed you both closer to the edge.
“Chan,” you gasped, your voice breaking as the wave crashed over you, your body shuddering beneath him.
He groaned, low and deep, following you over the edge moments later, his body tensing, his arms tightening around you like he never wanted to let go.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just breathed. Just held each other, the world quiet except for the sound of your racing hearts.
Then he kissed your forehead, soft and lingering, and rolled to the side, pulling you with him so you were tucked against his chest.
“You okay?” he asked, voice soft now, almost shy.
You nodded, your cheek pressed against his skin. “More than okay.”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Good. Because I’m not sure I can go back to pretending after that.”
You looked up at him, your heart swelling. “Then don’t.”
His eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss you again—slow, sweet, like a promise. “I won’t.”
<><><>
The next morning was different.
Not awkward or weird. Just… new.
You woke up tangled in his sheets, his arm draped over your waist, his breath warm against the back of your neck. For a moment, you just lay there, letting the reality of it sink in. You weren’t just best friends anymore. You were something more, something unspoken but undeniable.
He stirred behind you, his lips brushing your shoulder. “Morning, baby girl.”
You smiled, rolling over to face him. His hair was a mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep, but he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.
“Morning Channie,” you whispered back, reaching up to trace his jaw.
He caught your hand, kissing your palm. “You’re not gonna start teasing me already, are you?”
You grinned. “Maybe.”
He groaned, pulling you closer, his lips finding yours in a lazy, sleepy kiss that made your toes curl. “You’re trouble.”
“You love it,” you shot back, snuggling into his chest.
He didn’t argue. Just held you tighter, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go.
You didn’t talk about what this meant—not yet. There’d be time for that later. Time to figure out how to navigate this new thing between you, how to balance being best friends with being… more.
But for now, you were content to just be. To lie there in his arms, his heartbeat steady under your cheek, knowing that whatever came next, you’d face it together.
Because you were completely his. And that was enough.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Authors note: Hiiiiiii! How’s it going guys? I have been soooo busy lately like i need my life backkkkk 😩😩😩 i’m so sorry that i have bot responded to my dms, but its all for a good cause. So tell me how did you like this fic? Its a little on the long side with an almost 10k wordcount but i was hoping that could make up for lost time… this one has been sitting in my drafts for months so i released it because i know i owe yall some content. Sooooo enjoy this while i get the next entry for NAUGHTY DORM CHRONICLES READYYYY ❤️🤭🤩
summary: What happens when you call your best friend a good boy?
warnings: p0rn with very little plot, pet names, outdoor s3x, praise, established relationship, friends to lovers, size difference, overstimulation
“Oh, you are so a golden retriever boyfriend, Channie!” You grabbed your phone and in a flash started to scroll and search for the definition. It was summer and that meant BBQ’s and beers at your place. The sun was high in the sky and the two of you were on your fourth or fifth beer. “A-ha! Here it is!” You turned your phone screen to Chan so he could read the perfectly executed Urban Dictionary definition. His eyes squinted a bit as he read, mouthing the words “loyal” and “easy-going” and “sunshine”. His lips slowly curled up into a smile as his eyes flicked up to meet yours.
“You really think that about me?” He asked softly, his eyes still locked onto you.
“Of course I do!” You beamed, smiling so wide your cheeks made your eyes almost disappear. Chan was fiercely loyal, that was the truest part of the definition, almost to a fault. For the better part of a year he had been in a more than toxic relationship. Every fight, every argument, every misunderstanding he had with her, you tried your best to be the supportive friend even though it was killing you inside. You were happy that the relationship had ended and you knew your best friend was better off but there was a part of you that sensed Channie needed a reminder of just how great he really was.
You leaned forward in your chair so your face was even closer to Chan’s. “I could just pat your head and tell you what a good boy you are!” You giggled softly and patted the top of his head one, two, three times. “Good boy.” You said gently. Not in a teasing tone or as a way to mock him. The words were just stated as fact. Those two words shot through Chan’s chest like a bullet. Bursting through his ribcage clear to the other side. He froze in place for a moment unsure of what this feeling was. He had been praised before, sure. He had been told he was “doing great” by girls while he was inside of them. Slamming away, in and out and in again. Hitting those soft, spongy spots that made their eyes roll back and their tongue loll out of their mouth. He had been told how big he was. “So big!” Was a regular phrase that he never got tired of. His cock stretching and making room inside a tight, wet cunt was a feeling he was used to, a feeling he loved.
But this feeling was new. It was feral, gnawing, needy, aching. You were someone that saw him, really saw him, for everything he was. His accomplishments, his flaws, his ups and his downs. You had been there for all of it and still saw the best in him. He wanted to be good for you. That's what this feeling was. He wanted to hear those words again and again and again while he made you feel the most intense pleasure of your life.
The next few minutes moved like sand through an hourglass. Chan stared at your lips still wet with beer from your most recent sip. He leaned in slowly, lingering in the moment to see what your reaction would be. Would you pull away? Would you be upset with him for evening attempting such a bold move? Kissing his best friend, this could change everything between the two of you. Chan leaned in closer still, his eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes then back to your lips again. He wanted to taste you so badly. He needed to show you just what a good boy he could be. Your breath caught in your chest as Chan’s button lips lightly brushed against yours. His nose angled against your top lip right in that spot underneath your nose. Cupid’s bow. That’s the word that flashed in your mind as you closed your eyes and started to part your lips for him. He smelled like beer and sunscreen. Like summer and sunshine incarnate.
“Chan…” You moaned into his mouth barely above a whisper.
Chan growled back in response, He snaked his hand through your hair until it rested on the back of your neck. He pulled you in hard, deepening the kiss. Your body responded in an instant. Without hesitation you pulled at his tank top to bring him closer to you. A wordless promise that you were ready for anything he had in store for you.
Chan gripped your thighs hard and wrapped them around his waist while simultaneously picking you up and sitting you down on the edge of the patio table. The metal from the old table legs squeaked and creaked softly as you and Chan moved as one. He reached his arms up and slightly back to pull his tank top up and over his head. His biceps flexed and pulsed with the intense muscle that lay underneath. He groaned in frustration at the sight of your jean shorts. While earlier today he was admiring how perfectly they sculpted around your ass, now they were just too tight and too in the way of where he so desperately needed to be.. He pulled at the buttons clumsily and ripped at the zipper so harshly that it completely broke.
“Channie!” You squealed. You weren’t really mad. In all truth you found it incredibly sexy. You had never had someone want you so badly that they were willingly to tear off your clothes.
Chan gave you a slight smirk and simply said, “I’ll buy you new ones.”
Next thing torn to pieces was your panties followed by the same weak objection from you and the promise made from him.
You lived in a quiet, suburban neighborhood. You rented but you loved your quaint little home. One thing you never gave much concern to was your neighbors. You would have backyard barbeques with your friends almost every weekend and while you weren’t particularly “wild” you didn't let the potential of uppity neighbors stop your fun. Besides, your neighbors would party sometimes too. You’d hear loud music or shouting and shrug it off. Who cares? No, you never really considered the people living around you. That was until your best friend started to slide his hard cock inside you. When Chan’s cock was starting to stretch you, slowly inching its way deeper and deeper, then you considered who might be around. Because now, in this moment, you had to moan, you had to scream, you had to shout something. It was all just so good. It was all just so much. He was just SO. GODDAMN. BIG.
“Ch-Channie..” You murmured. “C-cover my m-mouth. I’m gonna scream..”
Chan looked up from where his cock was moving, almost at the base now. He tried hard not to move his hips too much so you could adjust to his size. You were just so tight it was driving him crazy. He nodded and gently covered your mouth with his large hand. Your eyes rolled back as he bottomed out inside of you. You let out a long, muffled moan, gripping hard at his forearms. You wiggled your hips wildly, signalling him to start moving his as well. Then you mumbled something into his hand right before he pulled it away.
“What?” He grunted, his eyes focused again on your perfectly wet cunt wrapped around him.
“I said, Good Boy.” You panted through a smile.
Chan’s pupils widened and his eyelids lowered. His hands found their way to your hips as he gripped hard until the tender sensitive flesh felt like it may bruise. You arched your back from the sensation of pleasure and pain. Chan snapped his hip and began to thrust into you at a feral and unforgiving pace. One of his hands left your hip and trailed slowly down your stomach until his thumb resting on your swollen clit. He rubbed easy concentric circles on the sensitive nub making your pussy squeeze and grip around his cock. Every time you clenched around him he groaned and growled in approval. Little words were used now, just guttural sounds of pleasure and need for release. Only one phrase remained now.
“Say it again.” Chan moaned. His feral cries were mixing with a begging plea that sounded so delicious you felt like you could cry.
