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he in my tummy, bye bye to my ribs —

who knew that watching your best friend get this much bigger would make the "just friends" lie feel so dangerously thin ?

pairing: bang chan x reader, friends to lovers genre: smut; fluff warnings: explicit sexual content (minors do not interact), fingering, unprotected sex (please use contraceptives !), praise kink, size kink word count: 3.55k kysa's note: had this freaky title in my wips and it's finally here, drowning in praise (#lovepraisekink) hopefully it's as good as i had hoped to make it :) leave your thoughts in the comments, hope you enjoy ! xoxo.

you loved hanging out with your boys, you seriously did. you had met chan and jeongin in university three years ago — a tiny, tight-knit circle whose lives had become tangled in a way that could only be fated. out of everyone you’d met during those years, they were the ones who stuck. you loved them.

okay maybe someone a tad bit more.

bang christopher chan.

you had met him through shared music production classes back when you were all just trying to survive your first year. the first proper meeting between you all had happened while you and jeongin were drowning in a final project; chan had simply dropped by with coffee and some words of encouragement. you learned quickly that that was just how chan was — kind, caring and the literal definition of a gentleman.

he had kept that reputation up for years, whether he was picking you up from the library when you were too tired to walk or showing up at your door with food when you were drowning in assignments, detached from the world. before you knew it, he had nestled into a permanent, sweet corner of your heart. your crush on him kept growing but you reminded yourself that it's just chan — being kind and caring and him.

you controlled yourself, or rather, you feigned whatever remnants of control were left in your body. you feigned it so well that apparently jeongin knew, but the man in question remained oblivious. it was easy to hide because you believed that was just chan — the hardworking soul who cared for his two best friends with the same steady, protective warmth.

so all was good. you continued with the act.

because that’s what it was — an act. for years, you had lied, playing the part of the perfect friend, pretending his presence didn't make your pulse skip.

and that lie was currently biting you in the ass.

you were calm.

obviously.

most definitely.

it wasn't like the visuals were currently playing tug-of-war with your heartbeat.

it was your typical movie night, hosted at chan and jeongin’s place. jeongin had asked you to come early to help with snacks since chan was out at the gym. you had arrived with bags of groceries, helping him prep while he chattered away about the horror movie he had picked. while he handled the popcorn, you filled the bowls with crisps. while he stepped away for a call, you placed the bowls on the table and settled on the sofa, mindlessly scrolling through your phone.

then, the door swung open.

chan entered, his body covered in a slight sheen of sweat, gym bag slung over his shoulder. clad in a black chrome hearts hoodie, he looked so devastatingly hot it had your mouth drying, your eyes straying to the sliver of skin visible at his chest and neck.

"hey, sorry i'm late to my own hosting duties," chan spoke, locking the door behind him. his voice was a bit deeper than usual, roughened by his workout, and it sent a localized shiver straight down your spine. "missed my session this morning so i had to squeeze it in now. you been waiting long ?"

"ah, don't worry about it — besides, innie is way more fun to be around anyways." you managed to joke, your voice only slightly higher than usual as you tried to hide your flustered state behind a playful jab.

chan just chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that felt far too intimate for the living room. "is that so ? i'll remember that next time you need a coffee run."

just then, jeongin appeared from the kitchen and plopped down on the floor right in front of you, leaning his back against the sofa near your knees. he was already rambling about the jump-scares in the movie. you reached out instinctively, ruffling his hair as he talked; he was essentially the younger brother you had never had. there was a comfortable, protective warmth between you two — a bond so effortless that he felt like home. he was the only one who could get away with forcing you to watch a horror movie you were terrified of just by giving you those puppy eyes.

"don't listen to him," jeongin chirped, looking up at you with a grin. "i'll protect you from the ghosts. chan hyung is the one who's going to be screaming."

"in your dreams, kid," chan muttered, heading toward the bathroom.

a few minutes later, you caught a waft of fresh, musk-scented shampoo. before the scent could even reach your lungs, a freshly showered chan sat on the couch right beside you. his fingers carded through his wet ash-blonde hair, the hue shining as if it existed only to be his hair colour. once you moved past that, you froze.

you sat there, way too still for a living, breathing human body.

chan was sitting beside you, clad in a black tank top that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

the fabric barely contained the gym results he had been hiding under heavy hoodies for months. his arms were thick, the skin pulled tight over hard muscle, and every time he moved, his pecs flexed against the thin material of the tank. when he leaned forward to grab his drink, the sight of his back muscles shifting and roping beneath the black fabric was enough to make your brain short-circuit. even his thighs, thick and straining against the hem of his shorts as he settled into the cushions, seemed to take up more space than they used to.

the couch felt smaller. the air felt thinner.

when did he get so big ? his arms, his shoulders, his back — the thought looped in your head, a frantic, rhythmic mantra while you stared at the tv without seeing a single thing.

you could feel the heat radiating off him, a steady pulse of warmth that made your own skin feel too tight. every time he shifted, the scent of his soap mixed with the lingering warmth of his skin hit you, sending your internal monologue spiraling into territory that definitely wasn't 'just friends'. you were so focused on the sheer physical gravity of him that you missed the way his eyes lingered on the side of your face — his expression unreadable, heavy, and far too focused.

"you okay ?" he murmured, the low vibration of his voice closer to your ear than you were prepared for. "you're awfully quiet tonight."

"oh y-yea, it's n-nothing," you mumbled, mentally screaming at yourself for tripping over such simple words. you forced your eyes back to the screen, staring at the flickering shadows with a focus that was borderline painful.

but just as your heartbeat started to settle into a manageable rhythm, the movie decided it was finished being subtle. a sudden, bone-chilling screech echoed through the speakers, paired with a visual so jarring that your body reacted before your brain could catch up.

you flinched violently, your entire frame jolting sideways as you sought out the nearest solid thing to anchor you. your hands scrambled, fingers digging instinctively into the nearest source of heat — chan’s bicep.

you didn't just touch him — you clung to him, your face pressing into the crook of his shoulder as you tried to hide from the screen. his arm was hot beneath your touch, so much wider and stronger than you had imagined when you were just looking at it. the sheer density of his muscle under the thin cotton of the tank top made your breath hitch for an entirely different reason than the ghost on screen.

"shit," you breathed out against his skin, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. "i hate this. i seriously hate you both for making me do this."

jeongin let out a delighted cackle from his spot on the floor, not even looking back as he reached for a handful of popcorn. "don't pass out before the second act !"

chan didn't laugh. if anything, he seemed to go incredibly still. for a second, you worried you had overstepped, that the 'act' was finally broken. you started to pull back, your fingers beginning to loosen their desperate grip on his arm, but before you could retreat, his hand came up.

his large palm covered your own, his fingers curling over yours to lock your hand firmly against his bicep. he didn't let you pull away. instead, he shifted his weight, leaning into you until you were tucked securely against his side, practically swallowed by his bulk. the movement caused his tank top to strain even further, the fabric groaning against the width of his chest.

"it's okay," chan murmured, his voice dropping into a register so low it felt like a physical vibration against your temple. "i've got you. you don't have to let go."

i don't have to let go — the thought was a dizzying loop in your mind. you could feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the scent of his shampoo and warm skin wrapping around you like a cocoon. you felt so small next to him, so fragile, and the way he was looking down at you — gaze heavy and dark — made a tiny, involuntary whimper climb up your throat.

it was a pathetic, needy little sound, and you tried really hard to swallow it, but it was too late.

chan heard it.

he leaned in just an inch closer, his lips nearly brushing the shell of your ear as the movie’s soundtrack swelled to a roar, masking his words from jeongin.

"that's it, such a good girl, staying so still for me," he whispered, the praise hitting you like a physical weight. "just keep holding on, sweetheart. you're doing so well."

oh. fuck.

did he just — ? did he just call you, a good girl ?

your grip tightened on his arm, your knuckles turning white as you felt your act crumbling. the horror movie was still playing, but the only thing you could actually feel was the heat of chan’s body and the way his voice was slowly, deliberately dismantling every bit of control you had left.

the air in the room shifted, turning thick and heavy as the movie’s score reached a frantic, screeching crescendo. jeongin was still glued to the screen, completely oblivious to the silent collapse of your composure just inches away.

every time your heart tried to find its rhythm, chan’s thumb would brush slowly, deliberately, over the back of your hand — a rhythmic, possessive movement that kept you pinned to his side. you were leaning into him so heavily now that you could feel the individual ribs of his tank top pressing against your cheek, the heat of his skin radiating through the thin fabric like a fever.

suddenly, he dropped his hand from your shoulder to your waist, fingers grazing the skin where your shirt had lifted. despite much controlling, another whimper escaped you, a tiny, broken sound that was lost to everyone but him.

"you’re so sensitive, aren't you?" chan’s voice vibrated against the shell of your ear. "making those needy little noises just because i'm holding you."

jesus fucking christ —

"stop — please stop" your mind pleaded, but your body was betraying you, arching almost imperceptibly toward the source of the praise. your internal monologue was a chaotic mess of two years of pining finally crashing into the reality of his massive, solid frame.

you felt small. you felt seen. and for the first time, you felt like he was done pretending.

he leaned in, his nose brushing against your temple as he inhaled the scent of your hair.

"i think the movie is getting to be too much for you," he murmured, though his eyes weren't on the screen. "how about we go to my room ? i'll help you calm down."

the promise — the promise of help was what finally made you stop pretending. you couldn't even find your voice to answer. you just nodded — a jerky, frantic movement that had his lips curling into a shadow of a smirk.

chan stood up, his massive frame towering over you for a second before he reached down, his hand wrapping around yours and pulling you upward. the sheer strength in his grip was effortless, reminding you of his strength that had been distracting you all night.

"innie, we're gonna head in. she's a bit too spooked," chan called out, his voice perfectly casual, slipping back into that normal tone so easily it made your head spin.

jeongin didn't even look up from the screen, waving a dismissive hand. "yeah, yeah. go protect your person, hyung. don't let the ghosts get 'em."

the moment the bedroom door clicked shut behind you. the silence of the room was deafening, broken only by the sound of your own jagged breathing. chan didn't move toward the bed. instead, he turned, his bulk immediately crowding you back against the solid wood of the door.

he didn't touch you yet, but he didn't have to. he just stood there, his shoulders blocking out the light, the black tank top clinging to his chest as it rose and fell with a sudden, heavy intensity.

"now," he whispered, his voice dropping into that commanding register that made your knees go weak. "tell me why you were making those sounds on the couch ? why did those pretty whimpers escape your throat, baby ?

your mouth went dry, mind reeling as the words fell into your ears — he found your whimper pretty ? and the nickname — good god.

you looked up at him, the height difference feeling more pronounced than ever in the quiet of his room.

"i... i don't know," you breathed, another sound escaping as he stepped even closer, his thick thighs brushing against yours.

"liar," he coaxed, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, his thumb dragging across your lower lip. "you were being such a good girl out there, acting so sweet for me. do you want to keep being good ?"

your soul agreed before you could.

"b-big — y-you're so b-big, channie" you whispered, throat bobbing as you waited for his reaction with bated breath.

chan chuckled as his fingers slid back to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back until you had no choice but to take all of him in.

"is that what's distracting you, sweetheart ?" he murmured, stepping even deeper into your space until you were pinned flat against the door.

up close, the sheer scale of him was terrifying in the best way possible. his chest was a broad wall of solid muscle, the thin fabric of his tank top damp and clinging to every ridge of his torso.

"i've been working so hard for you," he whispered, his voice dropping an octave, becoming that chesty, gravelly tone that made your knees buckle. "waiting for the day you’d finally stop pretending and just tell me how much you liked it."

he worked out for you ?

the realisation hit you with a force, making your knees buckle.

his free hand came down, his large palm splaying over your stomach, his fingers spanning nearly the entire width of your waist. he pressed in just enough to make you gasp, his thumb grazing the bottom of your ribs.

"made my shoulders broad for you to lay on, made my biceps bigger for you to hold, made myself stronger so i can — " he continued, his voice trailing off into a low, dark growl as he pressed his hips firmly into yours.

the sentence didn't need to be finished. you could feel exactly what he meant as his eyes darkened, tracking the way your breath hitched the moment you felt the hard length of him through his shorts, pressing firmly against your thighs.

you could only let out a broken, high-pitched whimper, your hands coming up to rest uselessly against his massive biceps. they felt like iron beneath your palms, so thick that your fingers couldn't even dream of meeting on the other side. the realization of just how much bigger he was than you sent a fresh wave of heat straight to your core.

"channie, p-please — " you whispered, arching into him as you moved your hands to his chest, slightly digging in order to ground yourself.

the friction of your palms against his chest only made him growl, a low sound that vibrated through your own ribcage. he couldn't wait for you to finish your plea. with a single, effortless motion, he hooked his hands under your thighs and hiked you up, your back hitting the door with a soft thud as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist.

the sheer bulk of him was even more overwhelming now that you were flush against him. just then he pressed his lips against yours, groaning as you moaned into the kiss. a shiver ran down your spine as chan sucked on your lower lip, swallowing your tiny gasps. a slight nip on your lips had you moaning his name and all his restraints snapped.

chan laid you on the bed, the mattress divotting deeply under his weight as he crawled over you, caging you in with those massive shoulders. as the last of your clothes were discarded, the reality of him hit you like a physical blow.

god, he was big everywhere. your eyes blown wide, you tracked the lines of his body — the roped muscle of his thighs, the sheer width of his chest, and then, the sight of him fully hardened and twitching against his stomach. he was thick, heavy, and looked utterly impossible.

chan didn't give you time to overthink it. he was over you in a second, his large hand sliding down to find you already sopping wet, your body betraying how long you had craved this. he pushed two thick fingers inside you, stretching you open as he watched your face go slack, eyes rolling back.

"fuck, you’re so wet for me, sweetheart," he rasped, his voice a gravelly vibration. "did you get like this just thinking about me ? thinking about how much of me you could take ? fuck, you're so ready."

you arched off the bed, your fingers digging into the iron-hard muscle of his biceps. "please, c-chan — put it in. oh fuck — please, i need it so bad."

"you want it?" he growled, "show me how much you want it. tell me, princess."

"want you so fucking bad, i'm aching — please, channie — " you whimpered, spreading your legs wider giving him a perfect view of your sopping cunt stuffed full of his fingers. that was all the invitation he needed.

he repositioned himself, the broad head of his length probing at your entrance. he moved slowly, testing the tension, but as your own juices acted as a slick invitation, he could'nt help but slide in one heavy thrust.

the friction was staggering. you felt your breath leave your body in a silent scream as he slid in all at once, his sheer girth stretching you to the absolute limit. he didn't stop until his pelvis crashed against yours, buried to the hilt.

"oh god — fuuuuuuuck," he groaned, his forehead dropping against yours as he took a ragged breath. "you're so tight — nghhhh, you're wrapping around me like you were fucking made for me. such a good girl, taking all of me so perfectly. fuck — you feel heavenly, baby."

it felt like he was everywhere. the sensation was so deep it was visceral — you could swear you felt him pressing against your very ribs, filling the entirety of your core until there was no room left for air — breathing nothing but him. as you looked down, a visible, terrifyingly hot bulge appeared in the soft skin of your lower stomach, marking exactly where he was stretched inside you.

"look at that," he whispered, his eyes following yours to where his size was distorting your form, his thumb stroking your hip. "look at what you're holding for me. it's right in your tummy, isn't it ?

he didn't wait for a response before he started snapping his hips, his pace sudden and much fucking needed. every thrust was a heavy, wet thud, his balls slapping against you as he drove himself into you with the strength he’d spent years building.

"fuck — yea yea yea — just like that," you sobbed out, your head tossing back as he hit your sweet spot. "nghhhh, channie, right there — oh god, fuck !"

"yeah ? you like that ?" he growled, his hands sliding under your hips to tilt you up, making the penetration even deeper, even more ruinous. "fuck, you're taking every inch beautifully. you were always mine, hm ? you just had to be brave enough to let me in. so brave for me, sweetheart. good fucking girl — fuck, you're so tight."

you were a mess of whimpers and shattered breaths, your body shaking under the weight of his broad shoulders and the relentless stretch of him. the sound of wet friction and his heavy grunts filled the room, a filthy symphony of the three years of pining finally exploding.

"that’s it, give it all to me," he choked out, his voice breaking as he felt you begin to climax. "fuckfuckfuck — stay right there. let me fill you up until you can't feel anything but me. you did so well for me, sweetheart. oh god, fuck —"

he delivered one final, soul-crushing thrust, burying himself as deep as possible as he spilled into you as you both unravelled simultaneously. wrapped in his arms, swallowed by his bulk, you finally understood. the gentleman was gone, but the man who remained was exactly what you had always needed to be whole.

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