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.”
꒰ b. chan x fem!reader ꒱
tags: mdni! smut, daddy kink, idol!chan, soft!dom chan, fwb, mention of sexting, sex toys, lube, f. orgasm (multiple), masturbation (m. & f.), somnophilia, clit play, boob play, light choking, slight dirty talk, pet names, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, like dubcon at first??
word count: ≈5.3k
m. list ֺ 𓏲𝄢̣̣̥ taglist
wen’s note: like and reblog this if u love skz :3 .ᐟ.ᐟ <3!!! and if u want chan’s bfc (big-fat-c*ck...) down ur throat lmao. bring back daddy chan!!
Chan has been thinking about it for quite some time... and lately it’s all that crosses his mind in the solitude of his nights, when he feels his needs rising and inevitably misses everything about you with a heated-wrenching feeling, he wonders... when was the last time you called him daddy while you were having sex?
It’s almost an automatic thought that he takes refuge in during long, heavy days of pure stress. Rehearsals, filming, traveling, overloaded schedules where he barely has time for himself at night when he just gets to “sleep” in his room... that’s why, when he’s alone, he can only think about human contact with someone other than a coworker or one of the members of his band, and that’s when you inevitably pop into Chan’s mind. Every single detail he already knows about you, like a map by heart.
You text each other quite often, but due to your schedules—especially his—it’s almost impossible for you to see each other. And, although it may sound bad... when he thinks of you, he thinks of sex. Chan is a very energetic and sexual person, and extremely organized, tidy, with clear thoughts; his time counted even when he’s supposed to be resting, so he always tries to organize everything that goes through his mind. He’s straightforward with you—sex and friendship, that’s all he’s looking for in this very busy period of his life; always a good time with you, one kind of time and company he misses madly right now. But he gets a little unhinged when he feels sexually frustrated and stressed—like this precisely moment—, and when night falls, his mind is flooded with images of you, always ready to help each other, relieving each other’s stress, enjoying the sweetest pleasure, your body on top of his or vice versa, the feel of your skin, your femininity, your mouth around him, sucking hard on every ounce of energy he so desperately wants to release.
That’s how you two work. But it’s been a while since you’ve seen each other.
And, clearly, it’s no surprise that he’s been quite frustrated lately. He’s alone; his hand isn’t enough, porn no longer satisfies him. Jeongin, also tired, is always hanging around in the apartment they share, so there’s no privacy. So he just thinks and fantasizes about you, mindlessly scrolling through social media to see what his fans think of him, trying to distract himself with anything he can in the little free time he has, and suddenly the question pops into his head—when was the last time you called him daddy in bed?
The thought is silly and even somewhat amusing at first. Chan must admit that he quite enjoys that little kink a little too much; it makes him feel even more dominant and authoritative. You know it. Everyone knows it. His fans assume it with considerable certainty.
But suddenly the thought is not so lighthearted, and he remembers that it has probably been months since he has enjoyed very dirty sex with you, moaning “daddy” over and over again. Lately, all your encounters have been hot, but normal, no roleplaying, no toys, just both of you using your bodies. But the memories don’t help him at all. He shudders and shifts uncomfortably, clearly aroused every time he relives those moments. He really needs you.
And then, that idea haunts him. He longs for the moment when he can be alone with you and feel you again. He buys you lingerie and new sex toys, and lives with his feelings on the surface, hoping that one day you can both play again just like before.
And that luck comes on a rather random day. Jeongin asks to finish his schedule earlier than expected, all the members agree, and Chan comfortably asks him:
“Are you going to the apartment to rest?”
Jeongin raises an eyebrow at his question, smiling with his typical innocent but mischievous smile, narrowing his eyes, and showing his teeth. He’s up to something, Chan knew it instantly, yet he simply tries to keep the conversation light.
“No. I have plans. I won’t be coming to the dorm today.”
That surprises and excites him a little at the same time.
“Oh yeah? What plans? Outside of schedule, right?”
“Yes, yes. Personal stuff.”
Chan examines him and can’t resist blurting out:
“You got a date? With who?”
“None of your business,” the younger one jokes.
Chan laughs, but doesn’t let his serious side go, always trying to keep up their image in order.
“Be very careful that you don’t get cau...”
“Caught. Yes, I know. I have everything under control.”
And from that moment on, Chan didn’t hesitate for a second to send you a message asking if you could come over to his apartment that night... since Jeongin wouldn’t be there.
Neither of you had plans to see each other so spontaneously, yet you confirmed as soon as you received the message because you knew exactly what it implied and meant. You had been teasing and had been needing each other for a long time.
And that day was no exception. The first thing Chan does after inviting you to his apartment is send you photos of himself at the gym, wearing his tight, slutty tank top, his very muscular and attractive figure on display, his veins showing, his impressive arms looking so deliciously tempting; him telling you that after the gym and taking care of a few things, you can meet up.
You can’t help but get a little turned on, you know how flirtatious he is, but you still fall for it every time. You rush out of work and return the favor—a rather provocative photo after getting out of the shower, telling him you’re getting ready to see him.
Both are incredibly eager to see each other, awakening every sense and desire for one another. However, just when Chan thinks his day at work is over, an unfinished business comes up that he must take care of. He believes it won’t take too long, and between his impatience and desperation, he encourages you, saying that you should go to his apartment anyway and that he’ll be there soon, and then you’ll be able to see each other. To tease you even more, he texts you the following, which makes your skin tingle.
Sweetie, go to my room when you get there
Daddy has a surprise for you
Something we’re going to have fun with later 😉
I can’t wait to see you, baby ㅠㅠ
You understand everything perfectly... It’s been a while since Chan called himself Daddy, and the memories of those times, the feelings still lingering in you, excite you even more. So... it is that kind of encounter.
So you go to his apartment, all dolled up for him. You know the key-code to get in, and you’re immediately embraced by the clean smell of his home. The apartment is spotless, even though Chan travels a lot, quite often, and normally you’d leave your suitcase there, a little mess because you know you’ll be leaving again anyway, but not for Chan. He’s very strict about order and cleanliness.
You walk around his apartment, certainly happy, somewhat skeptical that you are finally there, that at any moment he will walk through that door and you will see each other... you think about what you will do to him... about the small talk you’ll obviously have before even starting anything sexual, catching up on details of each other’s lives that you haven’t mentioned in messages, and finally, you’ll both slowly get closer, letting the tension consume you... and so, your first big desire is to give him head, to suck his cock hard, keeping your body sensitive, excited, your mind, mouth, and hands terribly busy... that’s what you want right now and couldn’t wait for it.
Finally, you head to his room, impatient to see what you might find, but at first glance there was nothing but his perfectly tidy room.
That’s when you let him know you’ve arrived at his room and, somewhat indecisive, you decide to play his little game of seduction, calling him daddy at the end of the message.
Chan’s ears turn red as he reads your message at the company building, then smiles, and quickly replies that you should check his closet and the drawer in the dresser next to his bed. You obey him and are surprised to see a box of pink lingerie and a drawer full of new vibrators and dildos. Your reaction is to let out a little laugh as you think about how perverted he has become with you, but impatience returns as you realize once again that he would continue with the game, his undeniable daddy kink, his dominant and authoritative side. And then you come up with the great idea of waiting for him, already wearing the lingerie, even though you already had a cute set on under your clothes.
And again, you start teasing Chan. You send him provocative photos of yourself wearing the lingerie from the best possible angles, lying on his bed, selfies in his mirror, saying how much you miss your daddy and want him to be right there with you.
On the other hand, Chan can’t do anything but swallow nervously and tense up when he sees your photos, pretending to look at something on his phone.
But, unfortunately, the first few hours pass, and Chan hasn’t arrived at his apartment; he’s stuck in that last-minute meeting. You both start to get frustrated and bored.
You think that maybe it wasn’t the right time to see each other, plus you’re tired from your long day at work. So, you’re about to take a sweet nap in his bed, surrounded by his masculine scent and perfectly clean sheets, still wearing lingerie... when your intrusive thoughts take over—what if you masturbate?
You’re slightly overwhelmed, physically tired from the stress and work you’ve been carrying all week, but at the same time, you’re excited, not only sexually, but also knowing that you would release stress and be pleased by Chan, and just horny. Missing him, missing the idea of exactly how he fucks you, which now seems so far away, given the hours that have passed, and he’s not even on his way home.
You lazily pick up the vibrator and a dildo and, with a resigned sigh, still slightly embarrassed, lying on his bed, you take off your panties, open your legs, and press the vibrator against your clit. The sensation is not long in coming; you are so sensitive, so aroused that you let out a soft moan as the toy does its job. You move gently in his soft sheets, your pelvis wiggles, and you lightly massage your breasts... thinking exactly about him, the way he does it, and how he touches you. You gently press the toy harder against your sensitive spot, enduring the gentle pain and overstimulation it is becoming. You bite your lip to stifle a moan, close your eyes, enduring as long as your body can take it, until having your first orgasm, your muscles throbbing and your femininity already lubricated. You quickly turn off the vibrator and enjoy the small orgasm for the remaining seconds, staring at the ceiling.
But climaxing alone leaves you feeling even emptier. And Chan’s sudden message, which notification sounds alarms you at just the right moment, gives you a very good and dirty idea.
Chan apologizes again for not arriving yet. And you, without any remorse, send him a short video—lying on his bed, you show your face, slightly flushed with embarrassment, and your still blossoming and intense arousal from your recent orgasm. You bite your lip subtly, and the camera on your phone slowly pans down, capturing your breasts in that lingerie, your hand sensually moving down your body until it reaches your pussy. You record it directly and explicitly, your wet, throbbing pussy, spread your lips for him, and then you proceed to record how your entrance expands so that the dildo slides inside you. You moan softly and penetrate yourself only twice, and the video cuts off to send it to Chan.
i really miss u, daddy 😔
come over quick
im touching myself already
thinking of u
im waiting
You masturbated a couple more times, ignored Chan’s messages, and got distracted for a few minutes. You came twice, left the dildo coated with your wet pussy, and suddenly you stopped. You’re exhausted, partially satisfied, but satisfied nonetheless, and you feel too lazy to get up and clean up the little mess you’ve made. You put the toys aside, close your eyes, and your body unconsciously relaxes completely, leaving you pathetically asleep in a peaceful, deep, and pleasant sleep.
Meanwhile, Chan opens his eyes in surprise as soon as he plays the video. He is grateful that no one is next to him and that he is wearing an AirPod, so he watches the video, completely flustered the first time, and then repeats it with his heart racing and appreciates the details. The exquisite image of what he should have been satisfying himself with long ago if he weren’t stuck in a meeting, your sweet moans directly into his ear, and the soft sound of your wet pussy when you touch it and insert the toy into yourself... Chan swallows nervously, clears his throat, and feels his cock harden. He has to get out of there and see you as soon as possible; he can’t stand it for another second. If the meeting went on any longer, he would have to interrupt it for a quick bathroom break and jerk off right there, given how horny and needy he’s getting.
It’s already quite late by the time Chan finally arrives home, slightly worried and embarrassed that he’s kept you waiting, that because of him the plan hasn’t worked out as you both hoped. Not to mention that he hasn’t heard from you since you sent him that video. He doesn’t know if you’re angry because he was late, if you’ve left, although he realizes you’re still there when he sees your shoes in the foyer.
Chan smirks as he approaches you, resigned to the fact that tonight’s plans are ruined because he refuses to wake you up, and he’s a little tired himself. So his next thought is that he’ll take a shower and lie down next to you, see what tomorrow brings for you two. However, that tender perception he had of you vanishes when he’s only a few feet away, getting a better look at you. His smile fades gently, and he carefully examines every inch of you. You are asleep on your side, your hands cushioning your cheek, your butt slightly raised, naked from the waist down, panties and used sex toys carelessly tossed aside in contrast to your angelic appearance.
His jaw tenses because, despite being tired, he has been holding back his desires for quite some time... and seeing you like this, so innocently provocative in a position that only worsens his dirty thoughts and deep lust, doesn’t help.
Chan takes a step back, restraining himself, before losing himself in the curves of your figure that lead to your exposed vulnerability, analyzing it in detail, leaving him like a pervert who memorizes and watches the speed at which you breathe while you sleep.
He decides to get in the shower, trying to calm down, hoping the water will lower his arousal, but it seems almost impossible; he feels completely uncomfortable as he feels his erection rise again, this time fully erect, hard and firm, as if he had taken a pill to achieve the perfect state of firmness.
He sighs in frustration and grabs himself, trying to masturbate with the water falling on his body... but it just felt so wrong, the friction of his hand, his attempt to pull it, wasn’t satisfying him. He didn’t want his hands, or to do it himself, let alone when the image of you is engraved in his mind, sleeping so peacefully and half-naked, or the image of touching yourself, waiting for him. He couldn’t help it; you are there, lying on his bed like a helpless sleeping beauty.
He finishes showering, awkwardly putting on his underwear as his member is sensitive and the fabric rubs against it. Chan stands there, in front of his bed, watching you occupy a sweet space on it. He thinks his erection will go away, that he’ll take a deep breath and just focus on sleeping... but he’s just so fucking horny right now. He’s even shirtless because of how hot his body temperature feels.
Chan didn’t want to do it, but he does it anyway, looking at you again, even more closely; he’s surprised that his noise didn’t wake you up. You must be fast asleep, and it seems that you are indeed. Unlike when he found you, you’ve moved a little; one of your legs is still bent, while the other is stretched out. You’re still sleeping on your side... and your pussy is still exposed, looking so appetizing. All of you. He doesn’t think he can hold out that long, not with you like this.
He sighs in frustration once more, wondering what he should do. Wake you up and immediately confess that he wants sex? Chan didn’t want to complicate things further, so he takes the lubricant, pulls down his shorts and underwear, and begins to masturbate with the image of you on your back, ass round and up for him, lips sweetly together.
He puts lubricant on his hand and starts from the tip, moving down to his swollen length. He bites his lip and throws his head back for a second, his breathing and pulse quickening. There is a certain guilt in his conscience, as he is like a pervert, jerking off his cock, trying not to moan loudly, touching himself in front of the image of you asleep.
Still, he can’t help himself. The lubricant slides deliciously over his very erect cock. He tightens his grip, watches you, and imagines that it’s your tight pussy, that you‘re there for him, taking his size inside you, moaning, writhing, and asking for more and more in your sweet voice.
But you have no idea what’s going on around you. You’re comfortably asleep. Meanwhile, Chan is struggling to come, holding back his grunts, breathing deeply, masturbating harder, the room filling with the sound of his hand satisfying his penis and desire... yet he feels like something is missing for him to come, and it bothers him to know exactly what it is. He wants to have you.
Would it be inappropriate to touch you? You woke him up before with your mouth on his cock... could he return the favor for the first time?
He doesn’t think twice and acts almost on impulse. He thinks that if you wake up, he might be able to slowly and gently persuade you to do it, and if not... at least he could touch or caress you, since he can’t resist any longer. Chan carefully lies down next to you, behind you. You feel a slight weight beside you, but you remain asleep, unaware of what is surrounding you. Chan breathes in your scent and observes you intently, from your hair to every detail of your relaxed body, breathing calmly.
But having you even closer makes it harder for him to control himself. He can appreciate in greater detail how sweetly wet you still are, your entrance glistening slightly. And yes, you drifted off an hour ago, body still warm and slick from your earlier touches, hips tingling, thighs slightly parted, every curve alive with sensitivity. You had anticipated Chan touching you.
He can’t resist, and his hand slides carefully down your hip, at first brushing against you with the utmost delicacy, barely even touching you. You feel a soft tickling sensation, and your body reacts by twitching slightly. Chan pulls his hand away and waits a few seconds, but you remain asleep, so he continues, moving closer to you. His caresses remain delicate, but soon become persistent and present. His hand moves from your waist to your hip, where he traces slow, teasing circles, and a shiver runs through you unconsciously. Your back arches slightly, and your skin gently brushes Chan’s exposed, sensitive cock, which throbs intensely and makes him moan softly.
At that point, Chan believes that once again he cannot endure, besides he conveniently finds it very difficult to masturbate and touch you at the same time in that position, and his impulses and desires once again whisper and suggest ideas to him, such as simply sliding into you, fucking you gently while you sleep without interrupting your rest, and, if he does, wakes you up, he’d just justifying himself.
His heart races, but somehow he believes that this is the only way he can release all his tension and sexual frustration—by finally taking you.
He convinces himself that it will only be this once, that if it bothers you, he will stop, and that in the best-case scenario, you won’t even notice. He would be very careful.
He had been ignoring the thought, but it was more than clear that it simply turned him on to see you lying there, peacefully asleep, and that he could fuck you carefully, almost like a secret. A naughty, risky act.
It was something so daring that it really got him going right now. So he does it that way, slowly, stealthily, and carefully; he positions his body, holds his cock, his hands almost trembling from how energetically nervous he is. The silence in the room is quite loud in a way, and in his mind, he just repeats over and over, do it, do it.
Chan rubs his glans, coated in precum, against your slick folds and entrance. He moans softly and closes his eyes because he can still feel the warmth of your intimacy and finally he presses against you from behind, the warmth of both sexes connecting, his member gliding easily into your already wet insides, and the effect of his already well-lubricated cock. He lets out a needy and ragged sigh, every muscle in his body contracting at the most delicate and simple action. He waits for a reaction from you, but at first, there is none. Chan had never been this careful with you before; he was barely just adjusting himself inside.
Gently, he pushes himself a little further, still without touching you, watching closely as your pussy subtly stretches to make space for him. His tip rests at your entrance and stays there, secure and warm, superficially inside you, but incredibly satisfying enough to begin delicately provoking his collapse. Chan thinks for a moment that just the tip, he’d do his best to fuck you like that, playing with it and with your cunt delicately, just enough to come and not wake you up, as to what would happen if he tried to penetrate you. However, you react unconsciously, causing an exasperated growl to escape from him, fueling his desire to simply put it all in without a second thought; your hips tilt instinctively, adjusting to him better, inches below just his glans, you arch your back, and your thighs tighten to almost guide him.
It’s even better than he had imagined. The idea of fucking you like this fills him completely with a wild and almost uncontrollable urge. Even so, he remains still, his muscles tensing tighter, the rest of his length throbbing with the same intensity as his heartbeat. There’s something twisted and so hot about doing it in the dark, hiding, even from you.
Chan bites his lower lip hard, checking to see if you’re still asleep, and you are. He dares to touch you again, his hand resting on your hip as he tries to slide even deeper inside you, slowly and gently, watching for your every reaction. He controls and contains his moans of pleasure, at the same time refraining from pushing too far into you, as he thinks it’s impossible for you not to feel his swollen cock suddenly slip inside you.
Soon, part of his cock is embraced by the warmth, wetness, and tightness of your pussy, ready but completely relaxed. Even so, as you both feel it, your muscles and body react on their own, you gently arch your back more, your thighs move with a very provocative impatience, you hum sweetly—unaware, confusing, moving your torso a little, and, best of all for Chan, your pussy prepares itself, adapting to him, throbbing gently as you feel him.
Chan tries to move, penetrating you delicately in a sweet back and forth motion, pulling out a little but not completely—his cock teases the surface of your entrance and then slides back into you, just a few, but very significant inches below his glans, light enough but intense to make his shaft throb and gently squeeze his already swollen veins, of his entire arousal that erects every sense of him.
He continues like that, his hand holding your hip without pressing hard, every muscle tense, almost whimpering and sweating from the indescribable sensation that brings him to his imminent climax. Your body reacts to him, to each of his delicate thrusts, spreading your walls, getting wetter for him due to the constant action and friction, making you slick and ready, shivering slightly as warmth takes over your femininity and controls each gentle pulsation, getting you used to him. Meanwhile, tiny, soft breaths escape without awareness, your face remains calm, eyes closed, utterly unaware of what’s happening.
Chan caresses you without losing his rhythm, completely blinded by the overwhelming, pumping and electrifying sensation that runs passionately through his veins and every corner of his body. His knuckles and fingertips skim your skin, from your thighs to your bare arm. He thinks you look so angelic like this, breathing deeply, moving your body as you try to adapt to whatever you’re feeling; with every movement that makes your hips press back, thighs clench, the subtle lift of your hips, spine arching, and soft, unthinking moans escape. Your body pulses instinctively around him with each deliberate thrust, quivering and tightening Chan, whose body is desperately begging to reach orgasm.
He continues, slow and deliberate, letting your body’s natural rhythm dictate the pace because he doesn’t want to wake you up. And he thinks he can control himself, and he does for a good while, until he feels his orgasm building slowly, pleasantly, and a little painfully.
Chan loses himself for a moment, the tense muscles in his thighs begin to tremble, even though he has been trying to maintain the best possible position, in addition to his impending climax. He whimpers, closes his eyes tightly as he sighs and moans softly, “fuck, f-fuck,” feeling pleasantly overwhelmed. His grip on your hips tightens, and he unconsciously lets himself go deeper into you.
And, for you, right there it becomes inevitable not to feel it, all of him and the act, the heaviness and warmth of his figure behind you, his hand holding you, and the constant tingling pulsation in your pussy that you know so well, but which takes you completely by surprise as you slowly regain consciousness.
Your eyes open slowly, and you’re a little startled at first. Your heart races, and your senses become alert as you feel him pressing inside you with more intensity.
You know it’s him, but you’re still confused, so the first thing you say is:
“Ch-Channie?”
But he doesn’t stop, because he feels so close, right at the peak of his pleasure, excited in complete bliss. He leans close and murmurs warmly against your ear:
“Shh… shhh… it’s okay, baby, you can stay still, daddy’s gonna cum in your pretty pussy, my princess.”
You swallow nervously and blink suddenly. His soft, rough tone of voice makes you shiver, and your mind starts to catch up with the sensations your body has already known.
Chan takes advantage of the fact that you’ve woken up and abruptly moves his body closer, pushing his firm cock deeper into you, and begins to massage your breasts, holding you with a strength that only he can control. Fighting him is futile, even though you think that’s not exactly what you want right now.
“Cha-n,” you whimper.
You are still in a gentle state of confusion, but you are starting to get excited by feeling helpless, trapped by his strong grip, his cock burying itself deep into your already very wet pussy. You don’t know when you got like this, but you simply love that your body has accepted it.
“Should I stop, princess?” he adds in a sultry sigh.
You come back to your senses, although Chan’s big cock inside you numbs you as you revel in pleasure and a subtle burning sensation. You whimper as you try to adapt to his faster rhythm, to his cock deep inside you, stretching and pushing you from within.
You shake your head frantically and your mind fills with so many things you want to do, move impatiently, look at his face, appreciate his new haircut that you haven’t seen, kiss him… but you limit yourself to the immediate sensations, responding with a soft moan:
“No-no, daddy, please, keep going—don’t stop.”
“Good girl. It’s okay, I knew you’d take daddy’s cock very well. I know you like it when I fuck you like this—with daddy waking you up inside you, huh, isn’t that right?”
Chan presses his body against yours, thrusting deeply and somewhat roughly, skin colliding, the sounds of your excited bodies joining together, you can barely adapt.
“Fu-ck-daddy, it’s too much!” you moan.
Chan shudders when he hears your sweet moans and that little nickname and game of domination coming from your lips.
“It’s okay. My princess can take it, right?”
“Y-yes, daddy!”
You’re very easy to arouse, especially when it comes from him, and in the surprising, sensitive, and anticipatory state you were in. You were practically ready for him. You watch his pale hand with his protruding veins massage your breasts and then descend to your clit where he indulges in playing with it. You writhe with pleasure and impatience, overwhelmed and breathless.
“Stay still, baby. Let daddy take care of you, okay? I owe it to you, my sweetheart, after making you wait so long that you had to touch yourself.”
You obey him. Chan moans in your ear as he penetrates you hard. His arm slides beneath your face and takes complete control of your body, holding your neck gently.
“I bet you enjoyed your new little toys, but nothing like daddy filling your little pussy with his cum, baby girl.”
You feel his cock twitching inside you, and, followed by a soft whimper, he fills you with his warm semen. However, he doesn’t stop, he continues to thrust into you during his orgasm, his hand on your throat and caressing your sensitive spot with the other. You become more tense and impatient, he knows how close you are too.
“Cum, cum for me, princess, oh fuck—yes! Do it. Cum on daddy’s cock.”
And you release yourself. Cumming shakely for him in a breathless whimper.
Chan slows the pace of his thrusts until he stops, releases his grip, his hand moves from your clit to embrace your waist, and lets you both feel the pulsing intimacy of each other after your orgasm. He sighs and plants a warm kiss behind your ear.
“You did very well, sweetheart. Sleep again, you can rest with my cock inside you.”
genre: smut!! minors will be hunted for sport
contains: drabbles – you and each member desperately need each other but are so so tired :(
wc: 4k (~ 500 each)
♡ note: a reupload. i'll say it until the end of time, but i'm incredibly, freakishly grateful for the love the original series received <3
divider by @lariesographic / my masterlist
CHAN
Any reasonable person would be sleeping at this hour. You were asleep before Chan woke you, visibility exhausted and desperate for relief. He climbs into bed and presses himself into your back, large hands reaching around to your inner thighs. “Please, pretty girl, just let me do something, anything,” he whispers against your skin.
He rarely says what he needs so plainly, even rarer that he’s willing to beg. You can’t deny him, especially not when he grazes his fingers over your clit just to hear you gasp.
The room is dark, the only light flickering in from the moonlight and a bedside lamp he switched on. In his eyes, you’re glowing, always so perfect for him. Shadows dance across his chest as you move.
He lets out a content sigh as you sink down onto him. “Fuck, baby,” he whispers almost inaudibly. He clenches his jaw, like he’s trying so hard to keep still. You pause once he’s fully inside, taking your time to adjust to his size.
He props himself up on his elbows, unable to stop himself from staring at where he disappears inside of you. Slowly, experimentally, you roll your hips. His mouth falls open at the movement. A small amount of sweat already causes his biceps to glisten in the low light. You moan, and his eyes snap up to admire your blissed expression.
You keep grinding, feeling him hit the perfect spot inside you, clit brushing against him with every motion. Fuck, he’s so good for you. You chase your high by speeding up ever so slightly. He grips your waist and sets a slower pace himself. “ - Gonna kill me,” he whimpers, “Not gonna last.”.
He can’t help himself - he thrusts once up into you, still moving your hips. You let out a choked moan, eyes squeezing shut. He can see how weak you are - sleepiness and pleasure finally overtaking you. He takes the opportunity to sit up and hold you against his chest. You never stop your motions.
The new angle has his cock reaching deeper inside. He feels you squeeze tighter, and his head falls to your shoulder. He’s done for when you breathe his name like it’s the only thing you remember. He needs you to come with him, needs you to feel just as good as he is.
He reaches between your thighs and rubs small circles on your clit. A few more delicious motions, and both of your highs hit you together. He lets out a final moan, lightly biting your skin in an attempt to be quiet, and you feel the familiar warmth inside you. You try to ride out your own pleasure, but falter, his name falling from your lips as his fingers stay on your clit.
He keeps holding you against him, giving you both time to catch your breath. Eventually, he chuckles quietly and softly kisses your neck. “Thank you, baby,” he murmurs. He falls back with you into the mattress, whispering his praises until you fall asleep again.
MINHO
The entire world has faded to just you two in his hotel room. Minho’s sighs and flustered groans ring in sync with your heavenly grinds. His upper back is pressed against the headboard. It must be uncomfortable, but he doesn't seem to even know where he is right now. Usually he’s a lot more composed than this. Usually, he wouldn’t just let you climb on his lap, tease your tongue down his neck, whisper how good he’s being in his ear. However, his muscles are heavy after performing, and you looked so sweet asking, of course he gave in to you.
The view of you is enough to draw out an unhurried smile that reveals his bunny teeth. His gleaming eyes search yours – intent on mentally cataloguing everything about this moment. That focus doesn’t last long. All it takes is one more small bounce, one more of your barely-contained gasps, and his head lolls backwards. His eyelids shutter halfway closed, but he never stops watching you. You’re squeezing around him perfectly, and you’re so warm in his arms, fuck, he can’t remember why you don’t do this more often.
You’re beautiful like this. Moaning for him. Full of him. Giving everything to him, just as he gives everything to you. “C’mere,” he murmurs before pulling you further into his embrace. He kisses you, slow and sensual, absorbing your sounds as you keep rocking on him. His cock drags along your fluttering walls with every movement. Still working his lips against yours, he brings his hand down between your bodies to circle your clit in time with your grinds. As if reading the other’s mind, both of you speed up at once, chasing both your highs.
Eventually, you have to pull away to breathe. “Minho,” you pant, gripping your nails into his shoulders, “Minho, feelsogood.”
His cock twitches in you. His name, lovely and melodic, falling from your lips alone is almost enough to send him over the edge. Combined with your warm cunt pulling him in and the slight pain digging into his shoulders, he’s so close. He can tell you are too; your motions are starting to falter as heat builds inside you. His free hand holds your waist steady, helping guide you through the motions.
Another roll of your hips. Another gorgeous moan. “Baby, fuck,” is all the warning he can give. He groans your name, his grip tightens around you, and you feel the familiar warmth inside you. His orgasm triggers your own. Overwhelming pleasure washes over your body with Minho still circling your clit in an attempt to help work you through it.
After a few seconds, the stimulation gets too much. He chuckles as you gently swat his hand away from your core. Still his lap, he straightens his positioning to get even closer to you. “Come back,” he whispers, connecting your lips again, holding you as you melt into him.
CHANGBIN
How could he ever resist his princess, laying in his bed like she knows she belongs there?
You knew what he wanted the moment he crawled back beside you. He didn’t bother putting clothes back on after his post-gym shower. The scent of his body wash surrounds you, cozily tucked into the blankets. His damp hair is still slightly clinging to his skin. He leans in and gently kisses your shoulder. “G’morning,” he whispers against your skin.
You kiss him in response. His groan is stifled in your mouth, but his arms wrap around your waist and easily shift you on top of him. You giggle at the sudden show of strength, matching his own smile at finally being able to feel you. He missed you so badly.
He adjusts your hips slowly, giving you time to stop him if you want. You don’t. He moans as you sink down onto him, whispering “Fuck, princess,” into the cool air. “You don’t know what you do to me”. His head falls backwards onto the pillow. You take him so well. You pause, adjusting to his size, and his hands tighten on your hips, like he’s trying to contain himself.
You sit up to straddle him and finally move, dragging your hips once back and forth. He bites back a gasp. God. He’s deep inside you now. You’re gorgeous on top of him. Even when you’re still sleepy, chasing your pleasure, you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.
Underneath you, his muscles glow in the morning light. He’s heartbreakingly gentle with his touches, like he’s conscious of his own strength even like this. He almost loses it when you meet his eyes and smile back, so so perfect for him.
Another roll of your hips. His cock slowly drags against your walls at your relaxed pace, and he’s no longer trying to hide his sounds. You speed up ever so slightly, chasing your own high. His eyes squeeze shut. Curses and pretty moans fall from his lips the more you keep going, the more you keep perfectly squeezing around him.
You’re lost in him. Every motion brings you closer. He’s filling you perfectly, and your clit grazes him at every movement. You lean forward, anchoring your arms on his chest for support “Baby, fuck,” you breathe out, and his eyes snap open again to check on you.
He groans at the sight - he can’t help it. You look wrecked for him. He’s not going to last. He needs you to come with him, fuck, he’s already holding back.
You feel him start rubbing lazy circles on your clit in rhythm with your pace. Your choked cry is music to his ears. His other hand catches you when you slump forward, not able to support yourself anymore. “I know, princess,” he groans, voice as wrecked as you feel. “I know, I’ve got you.”
Pressed against his chest, your release washes over you. He tries to keep rubbing your clit, his fingers faltering from the feeling of being squeezed tighter as yours continues. His own high hits him, and he moves his hand up to hold you as you feel the familiar warmth inside you.
He doesn’t let go afterwards. You’re laying on him, wrapped in his arms, and he swears he’s in heaven. “Let’s just stay here,” he whispers, “for a little bit longer.” You nod against him. He has no intention of moving anytime soon.
HYUNJIN
The only sounds in the room are your intertwined moans and the creak of the bedframe, matching the steady rhythm of your grinds against him. Sleepiness still lingers in the air, but right now, you each want to make the other feel good. “That’s my girl - fuck,” he moans from below you. Tiny amounts of sweat clings his hair to his skin. His hands grip your waist, not bruising, just guiding. “You feel so good - always s’good for me.”
He fills you up so well. The angle has him hitting the perfect spot, and your clit brushes against him with every grind. Every movement brings you closer to your release.
You roll your hips slowly, feeling every inch of him deep inside you. He sucks in a sharp breath. His grip on your waist tightens almost imperceptibly. A whine escapes his lips, eyes quickly darting to yours to check if you heard it.
Of course you did. You smile back down at him and repeat the motion, enjoying the view of his head falling back as he stifles another whine. One hand drops from your waist to cling to the rumpled bedsheets, like he’s holding himself back.
Another roll of your hips. His cock pushes further in, causing your knees to weaken from pleasure. You whimper, “Hyunjin, baby -”
“I know, I’ve got you,” he breathes, and brings his hands up to support your weight. You let your body slump forward, leaning your arms against his chest as you try to keep your rhythm. His gaze lingers on your breasts, swaying as you move.
Your pace falters more with each delicious grind, your high quickly approaching. He feels your walls clench around him and he knows you won’t last much longer. Neither will he. He needs you to come with him, but fuck, he’s already almost there.
His eyes clench tight, one of his signs that he’s close. “Baby, please,” he begs, for nothing specifically and everything at once. He grabs your hand and guides it to your clit, choking on a sob as he watches you rub small circles in rhythm with your pace.
Your orgasms overtake you at once. His name falls from your lips over and over, like a prayer, as waves of pleasure wash over you. He groans as he spills familiar warmth deep inside you.
Afterwards, you lean forwards, laying on his chest. He runs a hand through your hair, pausing every so often to kiss the top of your forehead. He whispers, “I love you,” against your forehead. Eventually, the two of you drift off to sleep, still tangled in each other.
HAN
Everyone else is asleep. He should be quiet. He should stop moaning. However, he’s buried deep inside his pretty girl, and he wouldn’t notice if the world ended right now. You’re on his lap, kissing down his neck, driving him insane. He angles his head to give you more space, and moans even louder as you take advantage of it.
You shift your weight, pushing him deeper inside you. Your head falls forward onto his shoulder. Everything about him - his scent, his touch, him - invades your senses. He’s brushing the perfect spot, and you’re not even moving yet. Like he’s reading your mind, he slightly squeezes your hips, his fingers digging into where they rest.
His eyes are big behind his glasses. His chest rises and falls with how heavily he’s breathing.
You rotate your hips, enjoying the view of his eyes rolling back into his skull. You moan in tandem - the sensation is too delicious for you to stop now. You repeat your motions. His high-pitched whine only spurs you forward, chasing the sensation of his cock hitting deep inside you again and again. His nails dig deeper into your skin. Already, the pain mixed with pleasure is almost too much.
He’s not doing much better. Each time you moan his name brings him closer to the edge. He needs you to finish before him. He moves his hand to grip your inner thigh, thumb barely brushing your clit. He looks up at you, tears shining in his eyes. “Can I, please?” he breathes out.
You nod so fast your vision slightly blurs.
“thankyouthankyouthankyou”
Then he’s pressing slightly harder, rubbing lazy circles while staring intently at where he’s connected to you. His glasses fall slightly down his nose. He doesn’t care.
Fuck. Your movements get sloppier as the pleasure builds. His bedframe scrapes against the wall as you speed up. He’s incapable of forming words, just babbling half-sentences of praise. “Fuck, baby - so good for me - please - fucking please,” spills out.
He can feel how close you are with how you clench around him. He just needs to hold on for a bit longer. He keeps rubbing your clit, and lifts himself up to kiss you. His lips work against yours, hoping he can convey his passion through it.
Your orgasm hits you like a train. Your moans grow in volume as you try to ride it out. He never stops rubbing your clit. His own follows closely behind yours, spilling deep inside you. He breaks the kiss to repeat your name like a prayer.
You fall against his chest, both of you panting as you come down. His arms engulf you and squeeze you tighter against him. “Thank you,” he whispers against your cheek. Reluctantly, he moves you off his lap and ensures you’re comfortable laying against him. You two stay like that, holding each other, until you both drift off to sleep.
FELIX
His deep moans amplify the lust residing in the air. The only light comes from his long-forgotten PC, the abandoned login screen illuminating you two on his bed. Felix forgot the game exists. Right now, he’s just focused on trying to control himself as you roll your hips on top of him.
You’re in his arms, making out with him, running your fingers through his long hair. You’re always so perfect for him. Always his ethereal angel. He’s already lost in you, and you’ve barely started. As you continue your slow movements, he breaks your kiss to brush a loose strand of hair out of your eyes, whispering, “so, so beautiful,” almost to himself. His cock twitches just from your resulting sweet smile.
You take your time, enjoying every inch of him. Your clit brushes against him with every movement. Your quiet moans are the prettiest sound he’s ever heard. He would stay here listening to you forever, if you let him.
He’s vaguely aware he has a roommate on the other side of the wall, but that awareness is waning by the second. It’s gone completely when you speed up, chasing the feeling of him hitting deep inside you. He lets out a choked groan. His abs flex with restraint, like he’s holding himself back.
Curses mixed with your name spill from his lips. One hand gently lands on your inner thigh, then travels over to your clit, rubbing small circles in rhythm with your motions. Your eyes squeeze shut, entirely focused on your building pleasure.
“Look at me, angel,” his low voice breathes out. “Please.” Of course you do, and fuck, he looks divine. His freckled cheeks twinge pink. His long hair falls messily over his shoulders. He holds your gaze and sighs, “That’s my girl.”
You clench around him at the praise, and he swears he sees heaven for a moment. His head falls back into the pillow behind him as he keeps babbling, “Feels so good - always s’good - angel, fuck.” A few more motions, and you weaken from the sensations, leaning forward to steady yourself on his chest. Your combined moans fill the room.
God, he’s so close, but he needs you to come with him. His fingers speed up on your clit, rubbing faster circles as he revels in your noises. Your highs hit together. He moans even deeper as you feel the familiar warmth inside you. Your hips falter on him as you try to ride out your waves of pleasure. He works you through it, still babbling out his love for you.
Afterwards, he wraps his arms around you once more, pressing you into his bare chest. “Thank you, angel,” he whispers into your hair. He holds you against him, wrapped up in his sheets and each other, until you both drift off to sleep.
SEUNGMIN
Seungmin could not care less about the rest of his members going about their nightly routines outside his door. Why would he, when you’re in his arms, making out with him, slowly rolling your hips like you have all the time in the world. You do, as far as he’s concerned. He never rushes with you if he can help it.
Your hands are laced in his hair, absentmindedly twirling some longer strands between your fingers. He moans at the sensation every so often. Right now, he would do anything if it meant you would stay in his bed, making him feel so good he’s about to start seeing stars. Your lips are so soft against his, and he’s fitting wonderfully inside you - squeezing like you are perfectly made for him.
You pause your movements for a moment, and he actually whines. He pulls away from the kiss to steady his breathing. His efforts are futile - his breaths quickening again when you sit up, him still inside you, and graze your fingers over his chest. The new angle is pushing him in deeper than he was before. He moans your name and leans his head back into the pillows beneath him.
You resume your motions, feeling every inch of his cock hitting deep inside you. He genuinely might lose it from the sight alone. His hands rub up and down on your thighs, trying to feel as much of you as possible. He can’t help himself - moaned snippets of praise spill out of his mouth faster than he can register his own words. “Fuck, baby - so good - oh my god - you’re beautiful,” is just part of what you’re able to catch.
Your clit brushes against him with every grind. The sensation is delicious, paired with Seungmin’s whimpering voice and him staring up at you like you’re a goddess, you’re not going to last. He’s not either - he’s babbling more with each passing second. From below you, he stares up, suddenly looking more desperate. “Tell me you’re mine,” he whispers, and thrusts lightly up into you.
You weaken from it, leaning forward onto him. He takes advantage of the position to kiss you again. “I’m yours,” you whisper against his lips.
That does it. His head falls forward into your shoulder, whining softly again, as you feel the familiar warmth inside you. Your own orgasm follows quickly afterwards, pleasure washing over you, your pace faltering as you try to ride it out.
For a few moments, neither of you move. He rubs small circles on your back as he attempts to recover from the slight overstimulation. Eventually, you begin to get off him, only to be met with him lightly grabbing you, keeping you in place. “Don’t,” he murmurs, “please.”
JEONGIN
He’s most beautiful in the quiet moments. He’s ethereal always, but there’s something about the unguarded version of Jeongin, with messy hair, easy smiles, and holding you close like he can’t fathom ever letting you slip away, that always gets you needing more. Outside, the low hum of others in the same space filters through the bottom of his door, but they might as well be lightyears away for all the attention Jeongin pays them. It’s easy to forget that anyone else exists. It’s easy to revel in each other, barriers shed, until every stress, every thought vanishes.
You pull away from the kiss first, Jeongin’s eyes still closed and moving to follow after you, a line of spit that should be much more obscene than it actually is connecting the two of you. “Can’t wait anymore,” he murmurs, eyes still closed. “Please,” he adds, “just want you.” Underneath you, his flannel pajama bottoms tent seemingly painfully. You’re not doing much better.
“Anything for you,” you breathe, intended as teasing, but it comes out more like an admission. Regardless, it has the desired effect, a strangled groan leaving him as he shimmies out of his clothes with record-breaking speed.
Your moans intertwine as you sink down onto him. You’ve done this countless times, and will be in this position countless more, but you don’t think you’ll ever get used to the delicious pressure in the first few seconds. He knows this, too, if his barely-contained smug expression is anything to go by. It vanishes when you roll your hips, feeling his cock deep inside you. His forehead falls forward onto your shoulder, his hair tickles your collarbone. His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose.
“Fuck,” he groans into your skin, “you’re so good at that.” As if to accentuate his point, he can’t contain a sharp inhale as your movements speed up.
Like mirror images of each other, the cockiness on your face is wiped away as his fingers find your clit to rub small circles in sync with your grinds. Raising his head again, his gleaming eyes search yours, soaking in your pleasure as much as he can. He can’t help himself; he thrusts up once, smiling again at your gasp. He pulls you in to kiss you again, lips working against yours, only broken by the moans escaping both of you.
Your movements falter the more your pleasure builds. Jeongin notices. Of course he does – he notices everything about you. His fingernails dig into where they rest on your hip, surely leaving crescents to discover in the morning, and without breaking rhythm, he takes over setting the pace himself.
It doesn’t take long with Jeongin fitting perfectly inside you, his fingers circling your clit, his lips heated against yours. Your release washes over you with a cry of his name. He keeps moving you, keeps touching you, to help you ride it out. A few more motions, and he follows, your name falling from his lips.
A few moments pass. He holds you pressed against his chest as you both catch your breath, Eventually, you move to get off him, but his grip only tightens, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “Stay here with me,” he whispers.
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Warnings: p in v, creampie, oral f receiving, unprotected sex, praise kink, light possessiveness, mild overstimulation, mild breeding kink
A/N: just a quick something before doing the requests i got lately
The gravel crunched under the tires as the rental SUV finally rolled to a stop in front of the cottage. Chan killed the engine and for a long moment neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t empty, it was full: of pine sap, distant woodpeckers, the faint metallic tick of the cooling motor and the sudden, almost embarrassing awareness that this was real. You were here. Married. Alone. For ten whole days.
Chan turned to you first. His left hand still rested on the wheel; the new platinum band on his fourth finger caught a stray shaft of late-afternoon sun and threw a tiny prism across the dashboard. He noticed you looking at it the same second you did.
"Still feels weird" he murmured, flexing his fingers once like he was testing whether the ring would stay put.
You reached over and covered his hand with yours. Your own ring, thinner, more delicate, but matching, clicked softly against his.
"Good weird?" you asked.
He exhaled through his nose, the sound half-laugh, half-sigh. "The best kind."
Then he was out of the car before you could answer, rounding the hood with that quick, purposeful stride he always used when he was trying not to look nervous. He opened your door like it was ceremony. Offered his hand. You took it and let him help you down even though the drop was barely 10 cm.
The air smelled sharply of resin and damp earth. Somewhere a stream flows. The cottage sat maybe twenty meters ahead, dark cedar siding, wide windows framed in forest green, a generous wraparound porch already dusted with fallen needles. Smoke was supposed to curl from the stone chimney later; right now the sky was still too bright for that kind of coziness.
Chan didn’t let go of your hand. Instead he tugged you gently toward the front door, then stopped short on the bottom porch step. You felt the shift in him before he even spoke, the way his shoulders squared, the sudden sheepish tilt of his head.
"What?" you asked, already smiling.
He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. Ears going faintly pink. "I, uh… I know no one’s watching. But I still want to do it right."
You blinked. "Do what right?"
He didn’t answer with words. In one smooth motion he bent, hooked an arm under your knees and the other behind your back and lifted. You yelped, more surprise than anything, then dissolved into helpless laughter as he carried you up the three steps. Your arms automatically wound around his neck; his hoodie smelled like the airport, your perfume, and him.
"Chan-"
"Tradition" he said solemnly, though the corners of his mouth were fighting a grin. "Can’t skip tradition on day eleven."
"Day eleven of forever" you corrected and felt the way his chest stuttered under your palms at the reminder.
He paused at the threshold long enough to nudge the door open with his foot. The hinges gave a soft, almost polite creak. Then he stepped inside, careful not to knock your head against the frame, and only set you down once he was fully over the line.
The moment your feet touched the wide-plank floorboards he kissed you. Not the quick, giddy ones from the past few days. This was slower. Deeper. His hands framed your face like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go. When he finally pulled back his forehead rested against yours.
"Hi, wife" he whispered.
Your heart did something ridiculous: tripped, then soared.
"Hi, husband."
He smiled against your mouth, small and private, then kissed you again. Shorter this time. A punctuation mark rather than a paragraph.
Only then did he step back and actually look around. The cottage was exactly as the photos had promised, only better in person. Open-plan living area with a vaulted ceiling crossed by exposed beams. A stone fireplace that took up most of one wall. A kitchen island made from a single thick slab of walnut, still showing faint saw marks. Windows everywhere, floor-to-ceiling on the back wall looking straight into dense evergreens. The light inside was green-gold, filtered through needles.
Chan let out a low whistle. "This is… wow."
You wandered toward the windows while he went back outside to grab the suitcases. By the time he returned, two trips, stubbornly refusing your help, you had already kicked off your sneakers and were padding barefoot across the cool floorboards.
He dropped the bags near the couch, then came up behind you. Arms sliding around your waist. Chin hooking over your shoulder.
"Smell that?" he murmured.
You inhaled. Cedar. Woodsmoke from the last guests. Something faintly sweet, maybe wax polish. Underneath it all, him. Warm skin, faint traces of cologne that had survived twelve hours of travel.
"Yeah" you said softly.
He pressed his lips to the side of your neck. Just once. Lingering. "We’re really here."
You turned in his arms, hands sliding up to rest against his chest. His heart was beating a little fast. "We are."
For a few minutes you just stood like that, swaying slightly, not quite dancing, just breathing each other in. Eventually hunger won out. You hadn’t eaten since the airport breakfast sandwiches.
Chan insisted on making dinner. You perched on one of the bar stools at the island and watched him move around the tiny kitchen like he’d lived there for years. He’d packed half the suitcase with groceries from a market stop an hour back: fresh vegetables, thick slices of hanwoo beef, garlic, gochujang, sesame oil, a bottle of soju wrapped in a towel so it wouldn’t clink.
He hummed under his breath while he worked. Some melody you didn’t recognize, probably something he was still tinkering with in his head. Every so often he’d glance over at you and smile. Small. Secret. Like he couldn’t quite believe you were sitting there in his hoodie (the black one with the frayed drawstrings you’d stolen three years ago) watching your brand-new husband cook.
When the beef hit the hot pan the kitchen filled with sharp, caramelizing sizzle. You inhaled so deeply your eyes watered a little.
He laughed. "Hungry?"
"Starving."
He plated everything family-style: thin slices of perfectly seared meat, blistered shishito peppers, quick-pickled radish, steamed rice still sticking slightly to the sides of the pot. You ate at the little dining table near the windows as the sun dropped behind the ridge and turned the forest into velvet black.
After dinner you didn’t bother clearing the table right away. Instead Chan pulled you onto his lap on the wide leather couch. The fire he’d started earlier was crackling now, throwing shifting shadows across the walls. You tucked your face into the crook of his neck and felt him exhale, long and slow, like he was finally letting the last of the city tension bleed out of him.
"Tell me something" he said quietly.
"Hm?"
"Anything. Just… talk to me."
So you did. You told him about the way your mom had sobbed when she saw you in the wedding dress for the first time. How your little cousin had tried to sneak an entire tray of macarons under the table. How you’d caught Chan’s youngest sister filming you both during the first dance and making kissy faces behind the camera.
He laughed, soft, rumbling, every time you got to a funny part. His fingers kept tracing absent circles on your lower back.
Eventually you ran out of stories and just listened to his heartbeat instead. After a while he spoke again, voice so low you felt it more than heard it.
"I keep thinking about the vows."
You lifted your head. "Yeah?"
He nodded. Eyes on the fire. "When I said ‘in all the chaos and all the quiet’… I didn’t know what the quiet would actually feel like. Not really. Not until right now."
You cupped his cheek. Thumb brushing the faint freckle under his eye.
"It’s nice, isn’t it?"
"More than nice."
He turned his head to kiss your palm. "I could get used to this."
You smiled. "We’ve got nine more days to practice."
His grin turned a little wicked. "Nine days" he echoed. "And nights."
You laughed and swatted his chest. He caught your wrist and kissed the inside of it, then tugged you closer until you were straddling him properly. The hoodie rode up your thighs; his hands found skin immediately: warm, possessive, but still careful.
"Not tonight" you murmured against his mouth. "Tonight I just want… this."
He searched your face for a second, then nodded. "Okay."
So you stayed like that, kissing slow and lazy, hands wandering without urgency, the fire popping every so often like it was keeping time. Eventually you migrated to the bedroom upstairs. It had a king bed made up with cream linens, a thick wool throw at the foot, and another wall of windows that looked out over nothing but treetops.
You changed into sleep clothes while Chan brushed his teeth. When he came back he was shirtless, sweatpants slung low. The new tattoo on his ribs: the tiny crescent moon you’d drawn on a napkin three years ago and begged him to keep forever, was stark against his skin in the low lamplight.
He caught you staring. "Like what you see, Mrs. Bahng?"
The name hit like a soft punch every time.
You crossed the room and slid your arms around his waist. "Very much, Mr. Bahng."
He kissed the top of your head, then your forehead, then your mouth, gentle, lingering. When you finally crawled under the covers he followed, pulling you back against his chest the way he always did. One arm under your pillow. The other wrapped around your middle. His breath warm against your nape.
"Love you" he whispered into your hair.
It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. Not even close. But tonight it felt different. Permanent. Etched.
You turned your head just enough to find his lips in the dark. "Love you too."
Sleep came slow and sweet, wrapped in laundry scented sheets and the steady rhythm of his breathing.
The next morning you woke to birds and the smell of coffee.
Chan was already up, barefoot, hair a disaster, wearing the soft gray hoodie you’d abandoned last night. He’d opened every window on the ground floor; cool morning air moved through the house like a sigh.
He handed you a mug without a word. Black. Two sugars. Exactly how you liked it.
You sat together on the porch steps while the mist still clung to the pines. Neither of you spoke for almost twenty minutes. Just sipped. Watched. Breathed.
Eventually he bumped your shoulder with his. "Walk?"
You nodded. So you walked. Hand in hand down the narrow dirt path that curved behind the cottage and disappeared into the trees. The forest smelled like wet bark and green life. Ferns brushed your calves. Chan didn’t talk much. Just pointed out little things: a woodpecker flashing red against a trunk, mushrooms the color of apricots growing in a fallen log, the way sunlight shattered through the canopy and landed in bright coins on the path.
At one point he stopped, crouched, and picked up a perfect pinecone. Turned it over in his fingers like it was treasure.
"Souvenir?" you teased.
He looked up at you, eyes soft. "For the studio. Put it on the desk. Every time I look at it I’ll remember this."
Your throat tightened. He stood, slipped the pinecone into his hoodie pocket, then pulled you close and kissed you right there in the middle of the path. Slow. Thorough. Like he had all the time in the world. Because for once, he did.
The rest of the day passed in that same gentle rhythm. Coffee. Breakfast (pancakes he insisted on flipping dramatically, nearly catching the ceiling fan). A long nap on the couch with your head in his lap while he scrolled through photos from the wedding on his phone, showing you his favorites and pretending he wasn’t tearing up at the candid of you laughing during your vows.
Late lunch turned into early dinner because neither of you wanted to stop touching long enough to cook properly. You ended up eating cheese and crackers and fruit on the rug in front of the fire, feeding each other bites and laughing when strawberry juice dripped on his chin.
Night fell soft and cool. You took a bath together in the deep clawfoot tub, bubbles up to your chin, his long legs folded awkwardly around yours, both of you giggling like teenagers when water sloshed over the side.
Afterward he wrapped you in the biggest towel like you were something precious, carried you to bed, and spent twenty minutes just kissing every inch of skin he could reach. Not trying to start anything. Just… worshipping.
When he finally settled behind you again, spooning close, his voice was rough with sleep and something deeper.
"Best decision I ever made" he mumbled into your shoulder.
You laced your fingers with his. Felt the rings click together. "Second best" you whispered back. "First was letting me steal your hoodie three years ago."
He huffed a laugh against your neck. "Fair."
And then you both drifted off to the sound of wind moving through the pines and the soft crackle of embers dying in the hearth downstairs.
The golden hour had stretched longer than usual that afternoon, painting the entire cottage in honey and amber through the tall windows. You’d spent most of the day barefoot, wearing nothing but Chan’s oversized black hoodie, the one with the faded logo across the chest and sleeves so long they swallowed your hands. It hit you mid-thigh when you stood still, shorter when you reached or bent. You hadn’t bothered with anything underneath. Not today.
Chan had noticed. He’d noticed the first time you stretched up to grab a mug from the high shelf and the hem rode up just enough to show the soft curve where thigh met hip. He’d noticed again when you leaned across the kitchen island to steal a slice of apple from the cutting board he was using, the fabric shifting, exposing skin that made his knife pause mid-chop. He’d noticed every single time you walked past him, slow, deliberate, pretending you didn’t feel the weight of his gaze dragging down your legs like a physical touch.
By four, the air inside felt thicker than the pine-scented breeze drifting through the open windows. The fire he’d built earlier had died down to glowing coals; neither of you had bothered to add more wood. You were both too distracted.
You were rinsing a glass at the sink when you felt him move behind you. Not sudden. Not rushed. Just… inevitable. His chest pressed lightly to your back first. Then his hands, those beautiful, veined, calloused hands, slid over your hips, thumbs brushing the bare skin just under the hoodie’s hem. He didn’t speak right away. Just stood there, breathing you in, letting you feel how hard he already was through the soft fabric of his sweatpants.
You tilted your head back against his shoulder. "You’ve been staring all day."
His laugh was low. Rough. "Can you blame me?"
One hand slid up, slow and deliberate, until his palm flattened against your stomach under the hoodie. The other stayed low, fingers splaying across the top of your thigh, not quite touching where you wanted him most. Teasing.
"You look…" He swallowed. Voice dropped even lower. "…like mine."
The words landed heavy in your belly. You turned in his arms. The glass clinked forgotten against the sink edge.
Chan’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, that familiar flush creeping up his neck and into his ears. He looked wrecked already and he hadn’t even kissed you yet.
You reached up, fingers threading into the soft hair at his nape, tugging just enough to make him exhale sharply through his nose. "Then take what’s yours, husband."
The word snapped something in him. He kissed you like he was starving, open-mouthed, hungry, tongue sliding against yours with none of the careful sweetness from the night before. His hands shoved under the hoodie immediately, rough palms skating up your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. You arched into him; he groaned into your mouth at the feel of bare skin, no bra, no barriers.
"Fuck" he breathed against your lips. "No underwear?"
"Thought you might like the surprise."
He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a growl. Then he was lifting you, effortless, like you weighed nothing, until your thighs wrapped around his waist. The hoodie rucked up completely now, bunched around your ribs. Cool air hit overheated skin; you shivered.
Chan carried you the few steps to the sturdy oak kitchen table. He didn’t bother clearing the cutting board or the half-chopped vegetables. Just shoved them aside with one forearm, carrots rolling, knife clattering and set you down on the edge.
He stepped between your legs, hands immediately pushing the hoodie higher until it bunched under your arms, exposing you completely to him. His gaze raked down your body like he was trying to memorize every inch all over again.
"God…" His voice cracked. "Look at you."
You leaned back on your palms, thighs parting wider in invitation. "Like what you see?"
He didn’t answer with words. Instead he dropped to his knees, right there on the worn rug in front of the table and hooked your legs over his shoulders in one smooth motion. You gasped when his mouth found the inside of your thigh, teeth grazing just enough to sting. He worked his way up slowly, deliberately, kissing and licking and sucking marks into skin that would bloom purple by morning.
When he finally reached where you were already slick and aching, he paused, just long enough to meet your eyes.
"Been thinking about this since the second we walked through the door yesterday" he murmured, breath hot against you. "About spreading you out. Tasting my wife on my tongue. Making you come so hard you forget your own name."
Then he licked a slow, broad stripe up your center. Your head fell back on a broken moan.
Chan didn’t tease after that. He devoured. Tongue flat and firm, then pointed and quick, circling your clit with devastating precision. Two fingers slid inside you without warning, thick, curled just right and you clenched around them immediately. He groaned at the feel of it, the sound vibrating through you.
"Fuck, you’re so wet" he rasped between licks. "So fucking perfect."
You threaded your fingers into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him hiss. He only doubled down, sucking your clit into his mouth, fingers pumping steadily, thumb brushing the sensitive spot just above where his tongue worked.
The table creaked under your shifting weight. Your heels dug into his back. Heat coiled tighter and tighter in your belly until it snapped, sudden, blinding. You came with a cry that echoed off the high ceiling, thighs trembling around his head, fingers yanking at his hair so hard it had to hurt.
He didn’t stop. Kept licking you through it, slower now, gentler, until the aftershocks faded and you were whimpering from overstimulation. Only then did he pull back.
His lips were swollen, chin glistening. Eyes wild. He rose slowly, hands sliding up your thighs, gripping hard enough to leave prints. When he kissed you again you tasted yourself on his tongue, salty, intimate. You moaned into his mouth.
"Need you" you whispered against his lips. "Now."
Chan didn’t make you ask twice. He shoved his sweatpants down just enough, cock springing free, thick and flushed dark at the tip, already leaking. He fisted himself once, twice, eyes locked on yours. "Condom?" he asked, voice gravel.
You shook your head. "I’m still on the pill. And we’re married now." You smiled, small and wicked. "I want to feel you. All of you."
Something feral flickered across his face. He lined himself up, notched the head against your entrance and pushed in, slow at first, letting you feel every inch, every ridge, until he was buried to the hilt. Both of you froze.
He dropped his forehead to yours. Breathing ragged. "Fuck…" The word was punched out of him. "You feel, shit, baby, you feel like heaven."
You clenched around him on purpose. He jerked. Swore under his breath in Korean, low, filthy things you only half-understood but felt everywhere. Then he started moving. Slow, deep rolls of his hips at first. Letting you adjust. Letting you feel him stretch you, fill you, claim you in a way that felt brand new even after years together. His hands gripped your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above your hip bones.
"Look at me" he breathed.
You did. His eyes were liquid dark, pupils swallowing the brown. Sweat already beading at his temples. That stupidly beautiful face flushed and focused entirely on you.
"Mrs. Bahng" he whispered, testing the words again like they were still new magic. "My wife."
He thrust harder on the next stroke. Deeper. You gasped. He smiled, slow, dangerous.
"That’s it. Let me hear you."
The pace built steadily. The table rocked beneath you now, wood groaning in protest. Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving red crescents across ink and skin. He fucked you like he was trying to imprint himself inside you: long, punishing strokes that hit exactly where you needed, grinding his pelvis against your clit on every deep thrust.
"God, you’re so tight" he groaned. "So fucking wet for me. Always so ready."
You wrapped your legs higher around his waist, changing the angle. He swore again, loud this time, head dropping to your shoulder as he drove in harder.
"Chan-"
"Say it again" he demanded against your neck. Teeth grazing your pulse. "Say my name."
"Chan" you gasped. "Husband, fuck, please-"
He lifted his head. Kissed you messy and desperate. One hand slid between you, thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that matched the rhythm of his hips.
"Come for me again" he growled against your mouth. "Wanna feel you come all over my cock. Wanna feel my wife fall apart."
The words, combined with the relentless pressure, the stretch, the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the universe, sent you over the edge for the second time.
You shattered. Loud. Unrestrained. Back arching off the table, thighs shaking, walls pulsing around him so hard he nearly lost rhythm.
He fucked you through it, harder, faster, chasing his own release now. His thrusts turned erratic, hips snapping, breath coming in sharp pants against your throat.
"Where?" he managed, voice wrecked. "Tell me where-"
"Inside" you breathed without hesitation. "Want it inside. Want all of you."
That did it. He slammed in one last time, deep, grinding and came with a guttural moan that vibrated through both of you. You felt him pulse, felt the hot rush of him filling you, felt the way his whole body shuddered as he emptied inside.
He didn’t pull out right away. Just stayed buried deep, arms wrapping around you, pulling you up until you were sitting pressed chest-to-chest. His forehead rested against yours again. Both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat.
For long minutes there was only the sound of your breathing, the faint crackle of dying coals in the fireplace, and the occasional drip of water from the sink you’d never turned off.
Chan kissed your temple. Soft. Reverent.
"Mrs. Bahng" he whispered again, like he couldn’t stop tasting it.
You smiled against his cheek. "Mr. Bahng."
He huffed a laugh, still breathless, then kissed you properly. Slow. Lazy. Full of all the things neither of you needed to say out loud anymore.
Eventually he softened enough to slip out. You both winced at the loss. He glanced down between you, watched the slow trickle of his come leak out and made a low, appreciative sound in his throat.
"Fuck. That’s hot."
You laughed, swatting his chest weakly. "Perv."
"Your perv." He grinned. Kissed the tip of your nose. "Forever."
He helped you down from the table, legs shaky, thighs sticky then scooped you up bridal-style like he had on the threshold yesterday. You looped your arms around his neck.
"Bed?" you asked.
"Shower first" he decided. "Then bed. Then maybe round two."
You raised an eyebrow. "Already?"
He carried you toward the stairs anyway. "I’ve got eight more days to make sure you can still feel me when we get home" he murmured against your ear. "Gonna make sure you never forget what it feels like to be mine."
You shivered. Pressed closer.
"Good" you whispered back. "Because I don’t ever want to forget."
He kissed you again, right there on the stairs, slow and deep and full of promise.
Then he carried you the rest of the way upstairs, into the bathroom, under the warm spray of the shower where he washed you carefully, reverently, like you were something sacred.
And when you finally collapsed into the big bed afterward, clean, boneless, tangled together under the thick quilts, he pulled you close, lips brushing your shoulder.
"Love you" he murmured into your skin.
You turned just enough to find his mouth in the dark. "Love you too."
The forest outside was quiet except for the wind in the pines.
Inside, it was only the sound of two hearts beating in time. And the soft click of wedding rings brushing together under the covers.
Giving: Tongue flat, deep licks, moans into you. He lives to please. Will spend 30 minutes between your legs with no complaints. Loves it sloppy. Holds your thighs open and says “come on, give it to me.” Doesn’t stop until you’re shaking. He’s a perfectionist and a giver. Tongue game strong, stamina unmatched, and he’s obsessed with reactions. He eats you out like he’s starving, fingers you at the same time, and keeps going after you cum, multiple times. Eye contact? Check. Praise? Constant. “How many times can you cum just from this?”
Receiving: Leans back, one hand on your head, other gripping the edge of the seat. Constant praise. “Just like that, baby,” and “You’re doing so well.” Loves watching you work for it. Moans low and steady, hips roll, not thrust. But if you look up at him with spit all over your mouth? He’s cumming in 10 seconds. Then tells you how proud he is.
Lee Know
Giving: He starts slow just to tease. Light licks, smirks, no pressure. But when he decides it’s time? He locks in, pins your hips, and makes a mess. Licks everywhere but where you need until you're begging. He gets off on making you desperate. Loves edging with his mouth, smirking when your hips twitch. Will pin you down just to make you take it. Clean, slow, devastatingly good. Smug and skilled. “You thought I was done?”
Receiving: Sits back with a smirk, spreads his legs, says “Go on then.” Will hold eye contact while you choke and not even blink. Into face fucking. Hands in your hair, hips moving, loves watching drool drip. Might say “Look at the mess you’re making” and make you keep going after he finishes.
Changbin
Giving: Loud, sloppy, loves hearing how wrecked he makes you. He’ll eat like a man starved, gripping your thighs, moaning into it. Goes in like it’s a workout. Big hands spreading you wide, face buried like he belongs there. You cum once? He says “again.” You cum twice? “Keep going.” Lives to make you cum. Obsessed with taste, obsessed with reactions. Uses tongue and fingers together like a pro, doesn’t stop till your legs close around his head.
Receiving: Can’t stay still. Grips your shoulders, moans openly, hips jerk forward. Gives you constant encouragement, begs a little “F-fuck, don’t stop,” while twitching in your mouth. Comes hard, probably with a deep groan and a broken whimper at the end.
Hyunjin
Giving: It’s not just oral, it’s performance. Eye contact, slow licks, long teasing, whispering praise. He’ll take his time, build you up, drag it out. Will absolutely finish you with just his tongue if he feels like it. Looks up at you with those big eyes, licks like he’s tasting wine. Loves sucking on your clit slowly, playing with his fingers inside. Might be a little too focused on the build up, but when you snap? Heaven. “Shhh... I’m not done with you yet.”
Receiving: Tries to stay composed, head tilted back, breathing heavy until you go deep. Then it’s over. Runs fingers through your hair gently... until he grabs a fistful. Moans high, face flushed, thighs trembling. Might whisper “fuck, you’re too good at this” in that breathy voice.
Han
Giving: Messy, sloppy, noisy. Tongue everywhere, spit everywhere. Gives head like he needs it. Moans loud, slurps loud, doesn’t care if it’s pretty. Face dripping, tongue deep, will fuck you with it until your legs cramp. Then keep going for the aftershocks. He’s nasty with it. Loves spitting, tongue fucking, sucking your clit until you scream. Gets off on making you lose control. Probably jerks off while eating you out. Smiles when you beg him to stop then goes harder. “Cum on my tongue. Now.”
Receiving: Whining, bucking into your mouth, saying your name over and over. Tugs your hair, talks nonstop “Shit, yes, fuck yes, keep going,” moaning like a pornstar. Definitely cums hard and messy, maybe even holds your head down at the end by accident.
Felix
Giving: Sweet tone, nasty mind. Starts soft, builds heat, and then completely surprises you. Deep licks, breathy moans, tongue flat and slow. Loves making you feel safe then breaking you open with intensity you didn’t see coming. Tongue is silky, kisses like a lover, and eats you out like you’re sacred. Loves making eye contact, holding your thighs gently. Will ask, “Do you like this?” then hum against your clit. Killer bass moans = free vibrations. “Can I keep going? You’re shaking so much…”
Receiving: Blushes while asking for it, but once your mouth is on him? Instant switch. Hand over his mouth, eyes wide, breath hitching. Groans deep in his chest, thighs clench, begs for more. Finishes with a whimper and then hugs you like you just saved his life.
Seungmin
Giving: Acts composed, but eats with intent. Only gives when he wants to but when he does, you’re crying. Uses his tongue just right, fingers perfectly synced, and edge control so good it’s frustrating. Smirks at your begging. Controlled, precise, and fucking ruthless. Quietly obsessed with reactions. Watches you squirm and targets what works. Once he locks in? You’re done. Might hold you still and say “Don’t run” while tonguing you through the edge. “Is that all it takes to ruin you?”
Receiving: Sits back, watches you like prey, barely reacts... at first. “Deeper.” That’s all he says. Forces your head down slowly. Smirks when you gag. Might finish on your tongue and tell you to swallow without blinking. Zero praise. Just dominance.
I.N
Giving: Curious and committed. Might start unsure but once he learns what makes you scream, he’s addicted. Uses everything. Fingers, tongue, lips, even teeth lightly. Gets turned on by how much you fall apart under him. Tongue everywhere, fingers deep, and desperate to hear you scream. Might get sloppy but means every second of it. Might overstimulate you on accident but loves watching you fall apart because of him. “Tell me what you like… so I can do it better.”
Receiving: Face red, hand over his mouth, thighs twitching. Tries to be quiet. Fails. Gasps, whimpers, probably covers his face while moaning. You go deeper, he cries out. Might cum fast and apologize, but secretly wants you to keep going.
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
three twenty nine - bang chan x fem!reader
Chan is burnt out and working late...
Unable to get anything done, he calls you to come help him and you know exactly what he needs...
wc: 2.7k.
warnings: explicit sexual content, he's a little subby (?), fluffy as hell, p in v, unprotected (do not do that), kinda public sex in the studio, i call him chris i'm one of those girls sors, if i missed anything let me know!
His head hung over his notebook, fingers knotted in his white blonde hair. Eyes squeezed shut, unmoving, Chan didn’t even flinch when the door you stormed through slammed into the wall, closing with a swift click.
A curve in his broad shoulders down his back made your nose scrunch. He’d been sitting here too long.
Hours ago he sent you a text, one short and sweet— don’t wait up for me i’ve got crazy work to do.
Answering him with the sweetest, i’ll leave the door unlocked, you expected a stern response in regards to your safety, but received nothing.
He didn’t even read the message.
He told the truth, he had crazy work to do. Promo pics for the new album had been released and he didn’t even run to Bubble. All last night he’d been sending messages about working out, his need for exertion, exercise, to move his body, like he’d been talking about for a few days now. Surely he was expected to send more, or update his routine, but while one comeback approached, he found himself knee deep in another.
The next one.
Do It wasn’t set to release for another month or so.
Useless to fight him though, he did it to himself. He didn’t need to carry this burden alone, no matter if he thought he was supposed to, he had seven other members to lean on.
With how his body reacted to your gentle whisper, you quickly realize his message of, come here need help, received fifteen minutes ago would not go over well if answered by anyone but you.
“Chris?”
His fingers flexed. “Fuck,” he muttered.
Dropping his hands, he used to them to push his chair out from under his desk. Sitting back in his seat, he sprawled his legs in front of him, stretching them out like he’d been stuck in that spot from his first text to his last. Fingers gripping at the black joggers hugging his legs, he tipped his chin back, resting his head on the chair.
He pouted his lips after a once over of your being. “C’mere,” he whispered, tapping his fingers on his lap.
Kicking off your shoes, padding over to him in your socks, long sweatpants dragging on the tiled floor, you tossed your things on his desk and climbed into his lap, slotting your knees around his hips. Strong hands took you by the waist, fingertips pressing into your curves, pulling you closer until your chests were pressed together.
One hand took to your cheek, his thumb brushing under your lashes. “You were asleep,” he whispered.
Eyes flickering to his lips, you whispered, “No I wasn’t.”
His pout deepened, his gaze drawing over your heavy eyes. “Yes, you were. You close your eyes right now and you’re done. I know this face.”
Sliding your arms around his neck, you took a deep breath that triggered him to take one with you. “Okay, I was sleeping.”
He gave you the smallest shake of his head. “Don’t pretend just to make me feel better.”
Brushing your nose over his, watching as his eyes fluttered shut, you whispered, “What’s wrong?”
Both hands around your waist again, he tugged you closer if he could and adjusted in his seat, the slightest friction to your center causing you to flinch ever so slightly. Hooded eyes gazed up at you, the corners of his lips pulled down into the tiniest frown he had ever worn.
“Chris, it’s okay,” you assured him with a head shake and kiss to his cheek that made his eyes shut. “Come home. Leave all of this here, and come back to it when you’ve slept, and eaten something better than…” Glancing over your shoulder, his hold not letting you move very far, you caught a glimpse of the Monster cans and empty bags of snacks littering his work space.
When you faced him he wore the ghost of a smile.
“You’re gonna kill me,” you mumbled, and he let out a quiet laugh. You scoffed, toying with long strands of hair hanging against his neck. “Sure, let my stress over your wellbeing be what amuses you, Christopher.”
Hands smoothing up your back to pull you down on top of him, he cracked a smile and leaned forward to catch your lips in a kiss. “‘M sorry,” he muttered between shared air.
Grasping him by the shoulders, you pressed your forehead to his and sighed. “I could’ve brought you dinner. Your brain works best after a proper meal, or after you’ve sweat it out, maybe you need to go down to the gym. Send some silly messages and thirst traps–”
He cut you off with a kiss. Lips tangling, he held you on top of him and slid his hands down to the curve of your ass, giving you a needy squeeze. Pressing his hips up into your own, his cock half hard, you gasped and he let out a heavy sigh.
“That clears your mind,” you whispered.
He smiled, lips eager to be back on yours. “Also good for my health.”
Taking your hands to his cheeks, tipping his chin backward, you looked down at him and pursed your lips. “It is like… two forty seven in the morning.”
Glancing to his computer screen, his eyes narrowed when they met yours. “How’d you do that?”
You shrugged. “Intuition.”
He blinked. “Naturally.”
Sitting back on his lap, his disappointment evident on his face, you smiled at him and drug your hands down his chest. Taking a deep breath, his chest expanding as your fingers pulled at the waistband of his pants, he pulled his hands off your body and gripped the metal of the armrests your knees rested under.
He grew harder beneath you, you could feel him. A one track mind jumping ship faster than you can say let me have you, and all because he wanted to do anything else but focus on his damn work that likely had been finished weeks ago. He couldn’t leave it alone, ever, not until it’d been released. Pushing himself until the very last second of every deadline to exist in his world– His twenty eight a strong fifty three when he sat at this desk.
Or any desk for that matter.
Admirable, really, but you needed him at twenty eight.
“You know what else she told me?” you asked, and he perked a brow. “My intuition?”
Chan breathed on manual, his gaze fighting to look at your hands, or your eyes, or your hips, or your fingers that toyed with the elastic of his joggers. “She’s scary sometimes.”
You smiled. “Is she ever wrong?”
“Fuck no,” he gasped as you tugged.
Working the stretchy fabric to his knees, exposing him and his need for you to touch him, throbbing, leaking, you reached for the waist of your own sweats and pulled them down.
Whispering, “I knew what you needed,” in his ear as you settled yourself on top of him, his whimper as your slit kissed his tip ignited a fire in your belly, one that pulsed through your veins as you suck down onto his cock, the stretch too much without him prepping you first.
Too full, too big, too much, too much… To the hilt, you stilled.
You would not allow your brain to turn off.
As much as it fought with you, dizziness second nature when he pressed so deeply within you, you sucked in a trembling breath and released it all at once, sliding your arms over his shoulders, locking them behind his neck.
His full, pink parted lips, he breathed through them, brows cinched in the middle, jaw slack, breath ragged. Blinking up at you, deep brown eyes glazed over and heavy, his own fatigue taunted him.
“Baby,” he whispered as his hands took their time sliding over your thighs and up your bare hips, sitting perfectly in the curve they made. Spreading his fingers, he grabbed handfuls of you and moaned unabashed, shifting you on his cock just a bit.
You both winced, but he whimpered.
Pressing kisses to his jaw as his head thrashed to the side, you grazed your tongue beneath his ear and gently caught his lobe between your teeth. Parting your lips to fan hot air over his neck, content as goosebumps erupted over his skin and he trembled, you flattened your tongue and danced it from his jaw to his collar bone.
Hands gripping you tighter, sure to leave marks there for you to find tomorrow, he gasped through a whine and pushed up into you, acquiring the exact sound he yearned for.
“Baby, please.”
His tone. Never a beggar, a brat maybe, mastermind ragebaiter with a shit eating grin, but never one to beg.
Letting your lips trail up his jaw and pass over his lips with an obscene smack, you breathed him in and danced your fingers through his hair, combing it backward away from his face, letting your fingers graze his scalp, soothing him.
“How do you want it?”
He gulped, looking at you like he could swallow you whole, but at the same time, he put his conscience in your pocket. “Just like th-this,” he whispered, tensing his fingers, moving them further back to grip your ass. “Don’t… Don’t fuck me.”
Tucking more hair behind his ears, you kissed the tip of his nose and brushed your cheek over his, laying your weight on top of him fully, one final little push to get him and keep him all the way in.
“Don’t fuck you,” you repeated his words in case his muddled brain didn’t piece them together correctly.
He grew hotter, his body heat having spiked since you sat on his lap, and you could feel him inside of you, pulsing, a need to move, to fuck. If you were at home he’d have you a sobbing mess by now. If you were anywhere else for that matter, or if he were in any other circumstance other than burn out.
Chan grasped control, he wanted it, he pursued it, stared it in the face, made it his bitch, but not tonight.
For once in his life he needed to release it.
Your fingers brushed his skin delicately while your gaze watched him suck down mismatched breaths. Laying your head down on his shoulder, kissing his cheek one more time, you smoothed a hand over his chest and thundering heart threatening to rip through the black tee he wore.
“I’m so proud of you,” you whispered, fingers swirling in a circle in the valley of his chest. His brow furrowed. “I always am, Chris.”
His eyes fluttered open. “You say my name so pretty.”
Nudging his jaw with your nose, you sat up to meet him eye to eye. “Chris,” you whispered, kissing him once. He groaned deep within his chest, a rumbling that sent a shock to your core. “My Chris who works himself too hard. Chris who needs a break. A month-long vacation with his girlfriend who loves him, who’s proud of him, who needs him.”
He hummed, kissing you with fervor. “Where’re we going?” A heady sigh caught you both off guard, one that fell from his lips as he glanced between your bodies. “So wet, baby, fucking christ.”
You clenched around him without meaning to, and you both whined. He adjusted in his seat again, and your vision went blurry.
“Chris,” you whimpered, grabbing onto him.
“Kinda like torture,” he released his hold on you and gently smacked your ass with both hands before gripping back onto you, “But it’s too hot knowing your cunt’ll soak my cock no matter what.”
Lips parting to speak, no noise came out. You had mere seconds until the thoughts in your head watered down to his name and his cum. Chan smiled, his spark returning tenfold.
“Answer my question, baby,” he cooed, hands massaging into your thighs, your hips. “Where are we going?”
Blinking emptily, locked in on his darkened eyes, his olive complexion, the obvious fact that he filled you entirely shocking the nerve endings of every compatible system, you whispered, “Anywhere… but here.”
“Hm,” he hummed, pushing his chair away from the desk. Holding you in his arms, he spun the chair around and carried you with him, smile growing as your legs wrapped around his waist. Splaying you backward on the black leather sofa, ensuring your head laid comfortably over the arm rest, he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, and pulled your sweatpants off of you entirely– without ever slipping out of your heat. “How’s this?”
Wrapping your arms around his back, pulling him down onto you, you breathed, “Perfect,” and caught his lips in a messy kiss as he pulled out of you, only to push back in with a moan. Closing your eyes, your body on fire, your thoughts a matter of nothing, you whispered, “Use me.”
His hand gripped your jaw. “No,” he grumbled, pressing his fingers into your cheeks. “Stay with me. Open.”
Your lips parted, your tongue poking out, and he breathed through his amused pride.
“Your eyes, baby, but good girl.” Meeting his gaze, you sighed, and he pouted. “You’re so sleepy,” he said softly, dancing his thumb against your skin, his hips in a steady motion, slow pulls of in, and out. And in, and out.
Your quiet, gentle whines, your tiny, unintelligible moans, like this, meant everything to him. Every hitch of his breath, every involuntary sound that melted from his lips, like this, meant it was real.
Bodies moving in sync, heavy sighs keeping time, sweat adorning your skin and his, parted lips brushing with every rock of his hips, drinking up every breath, every sound that slipped into the heat of the erotically charged air surrounding you– You’ve never been pushed over the edge so intensely, so powerfully, and Chan liked to toy with you.
But, this was different.
Eyes rolling back, toes curling, your body wrapped around him, clamping down on him everywhere. Mouth falling open, Chan kissed at the corners as you shook, body convulsing, euphoria washing through you, every limb, every vein. His name, on your lips like a prayer, a pathetic whimper to stagger his hips, his composure coming to a close as you squeezed him tight.
“Oh, fuck, good girl,” he moaned, nose pressed to your cheek as his thrusts grew sloppy riding you through your high.
Grasping handfuls of his shirt, you gasped, “Chris,” turning your head to kiss him rough.
Just as his tongue dipped out to meet yours, he groaned and grabbed onto you. Eyes screwing shut, he clenched his jaw and let out a broken moan as he spilled into you, tiny thrusts of his hips emptying himself entirely.
He curled up on top of you. Arms sliding around your back, head burrowing into your neck, your chest, he held onto you and eased his breath in time with yours, nirvana induced heartbeats pounding like no other.
Palms flat on his back, feeling each breath he took with the rise and fall of his ribs, the moment you felt as though you could move them, you drew small circles, and he picked up his head.
“Feel better?” you asked within a whisper.
Smiling, sleepier than ever, he hit you with a slow blink. “Come with me to work everyday.”
Breathing through a laugh, you drug a hand through his tousled hair, smiling as his eyes grew heavier. “Then you’ll get nothing done.” You grasped his cheek and brushed his lashes with your thumb.
He smirked. “That’s your dream.”
Pinching his cheek, you whispered, “This room isn’t soundproof during the day.”
“They’ve heard you before,” he teased, wiggling his brow, each blink growing longer and longer.
Scoffing, you brushed back his hair and said, “Jisung did, and that was one time, and it was an accident.”
Chan shrugged, shifting himself around you. Sitting up for all but three seconds, he grabbed ahold of your sweatpants and helped you back into them, situating his own. Settling beside you, cradling you in the nook of his body you curved perfectly within, he slid an arm under your head for you to lay on and wrapped the other around your middle.
“What time is it?” you whispered through a yawn, knowing you’d both fall asleep here, then wake up to get a coffee from the corner cafe before he holed himself up in here for another twenty four hours.
“You tell me,” he said, voice deep, full of tired.
Closing your eyes, sinking against him, you whispered, “Three twenty nine.”
He picked up his head and squinted in the glow of his computer screen. He took a quick breath and scoffed, thoroughly amused. “Unbelievable.”
