down under | bang chan
pairing: bang chan (skz) x fem!reader
summary: feelings start to grow between you and chan, even though you made a promise to keep it casual - no strings attached.
rating: 18+ (mdni!!)
wc: 3.5k
warnings: smut/rpf!!, fwb dynamics turning feelings, shower sex, first time unprotected piv, fingering, fluff (?), making out, chan dirty talking/talking reader through it (🙂↔️), kinda needy!chan (blink and you’ll miss it), creampie ofc
a/n: girls I found this in my drafts okay 😭
Your hair was still damp with sweat when you collapsed onto Chan’s couch, the bass from the tiny speaker on his counter still buzzing faintly in your ears. He’d been messing around with a beat when you came over, lost in his laptop until you dragged him into a dumb argument about who could hold a plank longer. Twenty minutes later, you were both breathless, sticky, and laughing way too hard for something so stupid.
Now, you lay sprawled with your head tipped back, tank top clinging to your skin, legs spread lazily over the armrest. Chan padded into the living room with two bottles of water, damp curls sticking to his forehead. He tossed one at you with a grin.
“You look like you just ran a marathon,” he teased, voice raspy.
You cracked open the bottle and downed half of it in one go. “I won that plank challenge, don’t forget it.”
He scoffed, leaning a hip against the counter. “On a technicality. You cheated. Who distracts someone by singing off-key like that?”
You smirked. “A winner.”
His eyes narrowed in mock annoyance, but there was no hiding the way they softened when they landed on you. Chan always had that problem — you caught it in the smallest ways. The way his gaze lingered, the way his teasing dipped into something warmer, heavier.
You shouldn’t care. The rules of your arrangement were simple. Keep it casual, keep it fun, no messy emotions. But lately, it had felt less like rules and more like reminders you whispered to yourself when he wasn’t looking.
He stretched his arms over his head with a groan, shirt riding up just enough to reveal toned lines of muscle and damp skin. “I’m showering before I collapse. You should too—you’re literally glistening.”
You shot him a look. “Are you saying I stink?”
Chan grinned, that infuriating dimple flashing. “I’m saying I can see the sweat. Don’t make me drag you in there.”
Your chest tightened in ways you didn’t want to admit, but you shoved it down with a roll of your eyes. “Fine. But only because your couch deserves better.”
He tossed a towel at you, and you caught it against your chest. For a second, the air thickened—just a little too charged for something so simple. His gaze lingered, then flicked away as if he hadn’t been staring.
You padded after him toward the bathroom, towel slung over your shoulder. His apartment was small, everything neat in that way only Chan could manage, but the bathroom always smelled like eucalyptus and clean cotton, steam curling against the mirror before he even turned on the water.
When he peeled his shirt off and dropped it carelessly on the counter, you froze for a heartbeat. His back, his shoulders, the muscles that tensed as he reached for the faucet—all of it was unfair.
“You’re staring,” he murmured without looking at you, twisting the shower knob until the water thundered against the tiles.
You scoffed, heat creeping into your cheeks. “Get over yourself.”
But when he finally glanced back, his smirk told you he didn’t buy it.
Steam filled the space, clinging to your skin, blurring the edges of the mirror. You swallowed, pulse quickening as he stepped closer, chest bare, towel slung dangerously low on his hips.
“You coming in, or are you just here for the view?”
Your throat went dry. It was supposed to be casual—fun, easy, no strings. But the way his voice dropped, the way his eyes held yours, made it feel like something else entirely.
Still, you forced your lips into a smirk, tossing your towel onto the counter beside his shirt. “Don’t flatter yourself, Channie. I just don’t want to waste the hot water.”
He chuckled low, and the sound curled through your stomach. Then his hand brushed your hip as he passed, pulling you gently toward the rising steam.
The shower roared around you, hot mist clinging to every inch of your skin, and when the glass door shut behind you, it felt like the rest of the world had disappeared.
The heat wrapped around you instantly, steam curling against your skin, droplets peppering your arms before you even stepped fully under the spray. Chan’s bathroom wasn’t huge; the shower was built for one, maybe two if they didn’t mind being pressed against each other. Which, judging by the smirk tugging at his lips, he didn’t mind at all.
“Not bad, huh?” he murmured, running a hand through his damp hair as water sluiced down the sharp lines of his chest.
You leaned back against the tiled wall, pretending nonchalance even as your pulse kicked. “I’ve seen better.”
He cocked a brow, stepping into your space with a lazy kind of confidence. The water streamed down his shoulders, trailing over muscle and scars, dripping from the edge of his jaw. He was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body.
“Yeah?” His voice was softer now, almost lost beneath the hiss of the shower. “Show me.”
It wasn’t unusual for him to challenge you like that—half teasing, half daring. Still, the way his eyes dragged over your face, then down lower, made your breath catch. He reached for the shampoo without breaking eye contact, pumping some into his palm before rubbing it between his hands.
“Turn around.”
You hesitated, though not for lack of wanting. The tile was cool against your palms when you braced yourself, head tilting forward as his hands slid into your hair. His fingers were strong yet careful, massaging your scalp in slow circles that sent shivers down your spine.
“God, you’re tense,” he muttered, thumbs pressing just behind your ears.
“I wonder why,” you shot back, but the words were weaker than you intended, dissolving into a low hum when his nails grazed lightly against your scalp.
His chuckle was deep, vibrating against your back as he leaned in. The faintest brush of his chest touched your shoulder blades. “Relax. I’ve got you.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d touched you, not even close, but somehow this felt different. Intimate. Careful in a way that tightened something deep in your chest.
When he rinsed your hair, his fingers skimmed down your neck, slipping beneath the curtain of water. You shivered, and he noticed—of course he noticed.
“Cold?” he asked, though the smirk in his voice said he knew better.
You turned your head just enough to catch his eye over your shoulder. “Hardly.”
For a moment, neither of you moved. Steam coiled between you, water pelting the tile, and then he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“Good,” he whispered.
The word sank into you, heavy and electric. His hand slid lower, over your shoulder, across the slick curve of your arm until his fingers laced briefly with yours. He squeezed—gentle, grounding—before tugging your wrist to turn you back around.
You faced him fully now, chest brushing his, heat radiating between your bodies. Droplets ran down his face, tracing his jaw, clinging to his lashes. His eyes lingered on your mouth, then flicked back up, waiting.
It wasn’t the first time you’d kissed, but somehow it felt brand new. His mouth was warm and slow against yours, more coaxing than demanding. He kissed like he was trying to memorize you, lips moving in a rhythm that pulled you under.
Your fingers found his shoulders, nails dragging lightly across slick skin, and he groaned low against your mouth. The sound made your knees weak.
“Chan…” you whispered, though you weren’t even sure what you were asking for.
“Mm?” He nipped at your bottom lip, then soothed it with his tongue, hands settling at your waist. “Say it.”
You swallowed, chest heaving. “Touch me.”
The smirk that curved his lips was devastating. His hands slipped lower, gliding over your hips, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left to hide in. The water cascaded around you, steam thick, the world narrowed to the press of his body against yours.
“Like this?” he murmured, rocking his hips just enough to make your breath hitch.
Your answer came in the form of a moan that slipped out before you could bite it back. His grin widened against your mouth, and then he kissed you again—hungrier this time, deeper, the slow tenderness giving way to something sharper.
The shift was subtle but undeniable: the softness of the moment had burned into heat, and you could feel the change in the way his hands gripped your waist, in the way his mouth claimed yours like he couldn’t get enough.
And you weren’t about to stop him.
The kiss deepened until the water hammering against your skin was just noise in the background. Every nerve in your body tuned itself to him—the press of his lips, the weight of his hands, the low sounds vibrating in his throat.
When his mouth finally broke from yours, it wasn’t to pull away. It was to trail down—over your jaw, the line of your throat—each kiss slower, wetter, dragging heat lower through your stomach.
“Chan…” It slipped out like a warning, though your fingers curled against his shoulders, nails biting into slick muscle.
He hummed, almost smug, and pressed one last kiss to your collarbone. Then his hands shifted, sliding down your sides until they rested heavy on your hips. His thumbs stroked lazy circles there, teasing, grounding.
“You want more?” His voice was low, husky with steam and want.
You nodded before you could stop yourself. He smirked. “Then say it.”
You swallowed, heat rising up your chest. “Touch me.”
That earned you a low groan, rough in your ear. “Good girl.”
One hand slid lower, over your thigh, guiding your leg up until it hooked around his hip. The movement pressed you flush against him, his body solid and hot under the spray. His other hand drifted between your thighs, the first teasing brush of his fingers making you gasp.
“Fuck, you’re already—” His words cut off into a hiss as his fingertips slicked through your folds. “—wet for me.”
Your head fell back against the tile, water streaming down your face as his fingers worked you, slow at first, sliding up and down just to watch you squirm.
“Chan—”
“What?” His mouth brushed your jaw as he pressed two fingers lightly at your entrance without pushing in. “Tell me what you want.”
“You know,” you breathed, hips shifting against his hand.
He smirked against your skin. “I want to hear it.”
Your teeth dug into your lip, frustration twisting with want until the words tumbled out. “Inside me.”
That was all he needed. His fingers pressed in—one first, then another—stretching you around the slow drag of his hand. The slick slide made your knees wobble, but his grip on your thigh held you steady.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered, forehead resting against yours for a moment as he pushed deeper. “Always take me so well.”
The praise made your stomach flip, heat coiling low. You clenched around his fingers, drawing a hiss from him.
“Careful,” he warned, voice rough. “You keep doing that, I’ll lose it before we even get there.”
His thumb brushed over your clit then, gentle but deliberate, and you gasped, hips jerking. The combination—the slow stretch of his fingers inside you, the teasing circles against your clit—had your body arching against the wall.
“Chan, please—”
“Shh,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth as his pace picked up. “I’ve got you.”
The water thundered around you, steam curling, but all you could focus on was the rhythm of his hand, the way he worked you open with deliberate care. His fingers curled just right, pressing that spot that made your legs shake, and your moan spilled out helpless.
“That’s it,” he groaned, lips dragging against your neck. “So responsive. I could spend all night just making you come like this.”
You shuddered at the thought, heat climbing too fast, too hard. Your nails dug into his back, dragging down as your body trembled.
“Close,” you gasped, the word tearing out of you.
His thumb pressed harder, faster, matching the curl of his fingers. “Then come for me.”
It didn’t take much more. The pressure snapped, your body clenching around his fingers as your moan echoed off the shower tiles. Your leg trembled against his hip, and he held you steady through it, kissing you through the rush of it all.
When you finally sagged back against the wall, chest heaving, he pulled his hand away slowly, deliberately. His fingers glistened even under the spray, and the look in his eyes made your stomach flip all over again.
“Perfectly prepped,” he murmured, voice low and dark as his hand slid up to grip your hip again. His mouth curved into that devastating smirk. “Now I’m going to ruin you.“
The smirk on his lips didn’t fade as he kissed you again, hard and hungry. Your mouth opened to him easily, tongues tangling, breaths ragged as the steam curled around you both. His hand gripped your hip so tight it bordered on bruising, the other braced against the tile by your head, caging you in.
“God, I need you,” he groaned against your mouth, grinding his hips forward. You felt the hard press of him, hot and insistent, and your body reacted instantly, clenching in anticipation.
“You have—” you started, breathless, the words tangling as his lips skimmed down your throat. “—a condom?”
Usually, that was the rule. Always. No exceptions. But Chan’s groan was rough, broken, as if the thought of stopping now physically pained him. He dragged his mouth back up to yours, kissing you like he was starving.
“Not this time,” he rasped, forehead pressing against yours. His eyes were dark, desperate, and you’d never seen him look so undone. “I can’t. Not tonight. I need to feel you.”
Your heart hammered. The rational part of you flickered weakly, reminding you of boundaries, of rules. But the look in his eyes, the way his voice cracked with want, shattered them all. You nodded, barely breathing.
“Fuck,” he groaned, relief flooding his tone. He kissed you again, deep and dizzying, before dragging your leg higher around his waist. “You’re perfect. Always so perfect for me.”
The blunt head of him pressed against your entrance, and even with how thoroughly he’d prepped you, the stretch made you gasp. His grip on your hip tightened as he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, filling you deeper than his fingers ever could.
“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, head dropping to your shoulder. “So fucking tight. Taking me so good, baby.”
The praise melted through you, igniting every nerve. You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into slick muscle as he bottomed out with a deep, shuddering groan.
“Chan—” Your voice was high, needy, already trembling.
“Yeah, that’s it.” He pulled back only to slam in again, harder this time, and your cry echoed off the shower walls. His rhythm built fast, desperate, the sound of skin against skin mingling with the rush of water. “You feel so good. You’re all mine right now.”
Your back hit the cool tile with every thrust, the contrast of hot water and cold surface making your body twitch. His mouth found yours again, sloppy, urgent, like he couldn’t get close enough.
“Say it,” he demanded against your lips. “Tell me who makes you feel this good.”
“You—fuck—Chan, it’s you,” you gasped, head tipping back as pleasure sparked low and deep.
“That’s right,” he growled, teeth grazing your throat. “Only me. Look at you, falling apart on my cock. My perfect girl.”
The words wrecked you. Your moans grew louder, sharper, matching the relentless pace of his hips. He angled his thrusts just right, hitting that spot that made you sob his name, and his grin was feral even through the steam.
“That’s it, baby, take it. Taking me so well.” His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, circling hard and fast. “Come for me. I want to feel you clench around me.”
The double sensation—his cock driving into you rough and deep, his fingers ruthless against your clit—was too much. Your body tightened, breath caught, and then you shattered with a cry, nails raking down his back.
“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, hips stuttering as you pulsed around him. “So good. You’re so good for me.”
Your vision blurred, legs trembling, and still he drove into you, desperate, undone. His head dropped to your shoulder, teeth sinking lightly into your skin as he groaned your name like a prayer.
“I’m not—fuck, I’m not gonna last.” His thrusts grew rougher, sloppier, the desperation in his voice making your chest ache in ways you didn’t want to name. “Where do you want me?”
You pulled his face up, kissed him hard, and whispered against his mouth: “Inside.”
His groan was guttural, broken. He slammed into you once, twice more before spilling hot and deep, hips jerking as your walls clenched around him. His forehead pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut, moaning your name like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.
The sound of water filled the silence as the two of you clung to each other, breath ragged, bodies trembling. His hand stroked up your side, soothing, grounding, and then he whispered, voice raw and low:
“Fuck… I’ve never needed anyone like I need you.”
The water pounded against the tile, hot mist still clinging to every inch of skin. For a moment, neither of you moved, bodies plastered together, catching your breath. Chan’s forehead rested on your shoulder, his chest heaving against yours, and the only sound between you was the uneven rhythm of your breathing.
Finally, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His curls stuck to his damp forehead, eyes glazed but already softening with amusement. He chuckled low, almost disbelieving, and dropped his head back against your shoulder.
“Holy shit,” he muttered, voice still hoarse.
Your laugh bubbled out before you could stop it. “You sound wrecked.”
“I am wrecked.” He leaned back again, grinning even as his breath came uneven. “Do you have any idea what you just did to me?”
You arched a brow. “Pretty sure you were the one doing things to me, Channie.”
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, but the sheepish grin stayed. “Yeah, well… fuck. We didn’t—” He broke off, laughter spilling out as he gestured vaguely between your bodies. “We never do it without a condom.”
The reality hit you then, a rush of heat that wasn’t entirely from the steam. Your eyes widened, and then you started laughing too, the sound echoing awkwardly off the tile. “Oh my god. We actually—” You covered your face with your hands. “Chan!”
He laughed harder, pressing his head against your shoulder again. His shoulders shook, and you felt the rumble of it through your body. “Don’t look at me like that, you were the one who told me inside.”
“You were begging,” you shot back, trying—and failing—to smother your own grin.
“I was not begging.” His tone was indignant, but the sparkle in his eyes gave him away. “Okay, maybe a little desperate.”
“A little?” You laughed, smacking his chest lightly.
He caught your wrist easily, tugging you back against him with a lazy grin. “Don’t act like you didn’t love it.”
Your lips curved into a smirk, even as your pulse still hadn’t steadied. “Maybe I did.”
For a beat, you just stood there, water sluicing over both of you, laughter still trembling on your lips. The air between you was light, ridiculous, as though the two of you had just gotten away with something forbidden.
Chan tilted his head back under the spray, letting the water cascade down his face and chest. When he looked back at you, the grin softened into something mischievous. “Guess we’ll have to call this an… exception.”
“Uh-huh,” you said, rolling your eyes even as a smile tugged at your mouth. “An exception you’re probably going to bring up every time you want to skip the condom from now on.”
He smirked, leaning in just enough that his lips brushed yours. “Only because you feel unreal like this.”
The compliment sent another wave of heat crawling up your neck, but you shoved at his chest lightly, laughing again. “Shut up.”
His laugh joined yours, easy and bright, filling the cramped shower space. For a second, it almost felt normal—two friends messing around, teasing like always. Except you were both naked, dripping wet, still recovering from the best kind of mistake.
“Come on,” he said finally, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before reaching for the soap. “Let’s actually get clean before we use up all the hot water.”
You snorted, grabbing the bottle from his hand. “You first, Mr. Exception.”
He grinned, eyes crinkling, and you couldn’t help but laugh all over again.
