I'm kinda a writer but I'm into sketches. Otherwise, with whole fanfics, I burn out within a month, I've checked.
You can call me Min, or Mini. Any pronouns.
Writing about precious, lovely, incredible, one and only Bang Chan.
M.LIST
I think, it's important to mention that English is not my first language, so there definitely will be mistakes in my writing. If they bother you, feel free to contact me.
There might be mentions of smoking, drinking alcohol, suggestive plots (not in every single work, but you got me), so this blog is not exactly mature, ig? Saying it here, so that I don't put it on every sketch description. Graphic content will be marked.
Kindly asking not to repost, translate, and do other steal-y stuff with my works, thanks :]
*°࿐ cw: explicit sexual content, fingering, public/semi-public sexual activity, interruption/almost getting caught. mdni
in which chan can never leave you hanging, even when he's working.
*°࿐ notes: short little drabble because i remembered i promised to post other things while posting Lover of Mine and i have not done that mb. haven't wrote smut in a while so pls go easy on me guys this might suck (⸝⸝ ⚬ _ ⚬⸝⸝)
The thing about Chan is that he will never leave you hanging when you need him.
It’s the middle of the night and you’re craving something sweet? It’s at your door within the half-hour—sometimes him with it if he has the time to spare. Your body is aching and you need it soothed? If he can’t be there to massage it for you, an appointment at the highest rated wellness studio is booked. If you just need the pleasure of his company because you’re just feeling a little bit lonely, he’s cancelling whatever schedule he had that day to be by your side.
And if you’re feeling particularly needy and can’t wait till you get home while he’s busy at the studio and absolutely can’t get away from work?
Well…
“Chann–nnie–” You mewl, flat on your back on the studio couch, your pretty top wrinkled from being shoved up your waist hastily, shorts pulled down your thighs and two of Chan’s thick fingers buried in your quivering cunt.
He glances at the door over his Chrome Hearts glasses—making sure it’s locked for the hundredth time. When he looks back down at you, the corner of his lips turning upward in a little smile.
“You were really wound tight huh, baby?” He curls his fingers slightly inside of you, and your reply is quickly cut off by another strangled whine. “Shoulda told me, I would’ve taken care of you sooner.”
He glances back at the screen in front of him, his fingers—the one not busy at work with you that is—clicking away, adjusting whatever pitch it was he’s working on. Your hips chase his fingers shamelessly when he drags them out of you slowly. They catch in the overhead light of the studio, glistening with your juices before he pushes them back in.
“Didn’t wanna–” Your breath hitches slightly. “Didn’t wanna keep you away from work.”
He huffs out a laugh, headphones that are only over one of his ears falling slightly. “Lucky for you, I’m a great multitasker. Feel good baby? Ready for the third one?”
“Feels so fucking good,” You pant, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “But it’s not enough, Channie. I wann’it. All of it.”
He grins, glancing back at you again. “You can have it when we get home. I’ll fuck you real nice and slow, just how you like it, yeah? Make due for now.” He taps your thigh with his pinky. “Spread, doll.”
You legs spread open instinctively and you feel the stretch of his third finger almost immediately. Your head tips back, shirt falling forward again when your hips buck up to meet it. “Ohh my Go-hnnm—”
“Yeahh,” His eyes are glued to where his fingers pump in and out of your slowly. “See? Good enough for now. Hold up your top f’me pretty, can’t see the view.”
You’re about to do just that, when the jangaling of the doorknob makes both of you jump.
“What the–” Jisung. “Chan, did you lock the door?”
You can’t help the small whine that leaves your lips when Chan withdraws his fingers from you completely. He leans over to tug your shirt down fully and when he moves to help you pull up your shorts, you lift your hips to help, albeit it half-heartedly.
“Sorry baby,” He kisses the corner of your lips soothingly. “Shouldn’t be much longer, I promise.”
“You said that ages ago,” You mumble, but fix your hair anyway. You’ve never hated Jisung more than you do now but you’d still rather not traumatize him. Especially after the last time he walked in on you two.
Chan walks over and swings the door open, smiling easily at Jisung. “Was the door locked?”
Jisung looks between you two suspiciously, the takeout he had left to get dangling from his fingers. “Obiviously. I know how to open a freaking door. What were you two doing?”
“Nothin’,” Chan makes a show of turning the knob a few times. “Huh. Weird. Must be the new auto-lock they installed yesterday.”
“They installed an auto-lock?” Jisung asks, incredulous as he settles on the chair Chan occupied mere moments ago. You smile at him as innocently as you can when he hands you the food. “That’s the shittest idea I ever heard.”
“Yeah, I told them that too.” Chan shrugs, letting go of the door knob. “I can tell them to change it back if you want.”
You squeeze your legs together slightly. Since when did you find liars this hot?
“Yeah, you do that.” Jisung squints at the screen. “What the fuck have you been doing, hyung? This looks almost exactly the same as when I left!”
Chan leans one hip against the desk, all easy shoulders and calm smile. “Creative process.”
“That is not a creative process,” Jisung says, deadpan. “That is a blank project file.”
You duck your head, pretending to be very interested in the food in your lap so neither of them can see your face. Heat is still crawling up your neck, your whole body thrumming with frustration, and Chan—absolute menace that he is—doesn’t even look remotely sorry.
He just shrugs. “Maybe I needed to think about it.”
Jisung narrows his eyes. “About what?”
Chan glances at you then, quick and sly, and there’s something in his mouth when it curves that makes your stomach flip. “Arrangement.”
Your fingers tighten around the takeout container.
Jisung, thankfully, only rolls his eyes. “You’re impossible. Anyway, they wanted me to tell you the draft from earlier still sounds weird in the bridge.”
“Mhm.” Chan pushes off the desk and steps closer, reaching over you for the drink you haven’t even opened yet. His knuckles brush your thigh in passing. Barely there. Entirely accidental-looking. Completely not accidental. “I’ll look at it.”
You shoot him a look.
He doesn’t react, just pops the straw into your drink and hands it to you like he’s the sweetest boyfriend alive.
You take it with a tight little smile. “Thanks.”
“Anything for you, baby.”
And then, because Jisung isn't looking and because he is absolutely sick, he raises the fingers that had just been buried in your sopping cunt mere moments ago, still soaked and sticky with your arousal and licked a broad strip up them, before shoving them into his mouth and sucking them clean.
Jisung be damned, you were going to jump Chan's bones right now.
He must see the slightly crazed look in your eyes because he grins, eyes crinkling and mouths, Don't worry. I'll take care of it.
You know he means it. Whether it's opening your drink for you or fingering you while he works just because you were feeling needy—Chan really is ready to do absolutely anything for you.
Which is how you know that every corner of your need would be fully explored and satisfied when you got home.
➥ Idiots in Love, Secret (Mutual) Crush, Fluffy Sexy
➥ Contains: Just down bad Bartender!Chris railing you flat on a pool table after hours because my brain is R O T T I N G, a somewhat cute twist on the overused porn trope "I don't have money, how about I suck your dick?"
➥ You challenge the stupid hot bartender to a game of pool to get out of paying the gigantic bill your entourage racked up.
*a/n: Just one of the 971003 fics you will surely see about these pictures. And y'all are bad frens for not telling me about them as soon as they were out.
“Come ON, man! It’s Chae’s birthday, and we’ve been your regulars since THE DAY you opened this place!” you protest vehemently, pointing at your very inebriated group of friends waiting for their Ubers out front.
“And thank you for your continued patronage,” Chris responds flatly. “Was there a point?”
“I may or may not have said I’d pick up the tab as a birthday gift,” you grimace, then bat your eyelashes at him like a cartoon bunny. “Can’t tonight be on you just this once?”
“You want me to gift you a night for thirty people?” he snorts. “You guys dried out my entire inventory!”
“It’s good manners, and you haven’t even wished her a happy birthday,” you fake a pout.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHAEEE~!” Chris yells towards the entrance with a big smile, and she waves back at him with childlike joy, making hearts with her hands. He then looks back at you with murderous intent, sliding the bill across the counter like he wants gambling debts to be paid off. “Manners went out the window when you decided to trash my bar. In addition to your friends’ sailor drinking, you’ll be paying for the damages.”
“IT SAYS I OWE YOU LIKE TWO GRAND HERE, WHAT THE FUCK?!” you scream when you see the grand total of four digits.
“The pinball machine is broken, the toilet is overflowing, the wall needs to be plastered and repainted because your frat-ass himbos poked holes all over it with the missed darts, the darts weren’t the only things they couldn’t aim, AND they emptied the entire condom machine in the restroom,” he cites all the charges against you. “You’re lucky I’m not getting your house foreclosed.”
“Ugh, FINE, can I at least split it into four cards?”
“Can’t. The POS terminal doesn’t work.”
“I’ll pay you tomorrow then.”
“Oh, you’re not fucking going anywhere without paying me,” he sternly denies your motion.
“Where am I gonna find this much cash at this hour?!”
You look outside and watch your dear, dear friends wave you goodbye with dumb smiles as they get into their Ubers. As Chris wholesomely smiles at them all, the pool table at the back of the now-empty bar steals your attention.
“I’ll play you for it,” you propose.
“‘Scuse me?”
“I’ll play you for the damages,” you lean into the counter. “One hand. If I win, you clear the tab.”
“And when I win, you’ll still owe me money,” he scoffs. “What do I get out of this?”
“I don’t know, figure something out!” you raise your voice. “Just make it doable.”
You make it too easy for him sometimes. Chris bites his smile to keep the mask intact and declares his bet.
“Fine,” he crosses his arms against his chest. “You lose, you flash me.”
“Flash y— What?”
“You flash me,” he repeats. “Doable enough, yeah?”
“You can’t be serious,” you look at him blankly.
“I didn’t ask to fondle your tits. I just wanna look,” he says seriously, but is clearly trying to suppress a smirk. “All your friends saw it when you were playing truth or dare. Why shouldn’t the guy who served you the entire night?”
“Fine,” you grit your teeth as you extend your hand, shaking his like you want to break it rather than make an agreement.
Ultra content with your end of the bargain, Chris locks the front door and turns the sign on it to ‘Closed’ while you rack up the table. Ever the gentleman, he lets you go first and only lasts two turns before he starts dissing your skills.
“There is no way you’re gonna win like this, just saying,” he reaches for the chalk. “You’re making a few crucial mistakes.”
“Yeah, Cue-ristopher? ENLIGHTEN me, please,” you deride.
Chris takes that to mean ‘Legit give me a tutorial on how to properly play pool’. He gets behind you and practically hugs you, moving your arms like a puppeteer.
Meanwhile, you’re trying to think of ways to not die.
Not only is this the first time you’re alone together with the unofficial Chrome Hearts ambassador, but you have never stood in a proximity from each other that’s not at least a bar counter’s length apart. Now add the fact that you would suck this man’s soul out of him if you ever got him alone. Which is… right now… kinda sorta…
Fucking crazy he still hasn’t figured out why you’re forcing your entourage to hang out at that bar every goddamn night.
“See how the ball is too close to the pocket?” he points at your target. “If your bridge is this short, you’ll hit with too much force and send the cue ball right into the pocket. Longer bridge, slower speed, more control, yeah?” He then checks your grip and adjusts your posture. “Relax your wrist. Arm 90 degrees to the table. Don’t hold the very end of the cue.”
He holds your hand and slowly slides it a few inches up. You know you’re reading too much into this, but the way he moves is too reminiscent of… something else.
“Move up…” he softly instructs into your ear, “right here.”
HOW ABOUT HE MOVES UP RIGHT INSIDE YOUR PUSSY, THOUGH?!
“Now your front hand,” he leans forward and places his hand on yours. “Hook your index finger over the shaft.”
Is he picking these words on purpose, like…?! Since when is pool filled with innuendo for terminology? And more importantly, why is his body a million degrees behind you? Why is he taking deep breaths?
Is this a preview of what it would feel like to feel his body weight on you?
“That’s right,” he approves and gives you your final order. “Now hit that.”
You hit with remarkable accuracy, sending the cue ball to the very edge of the pocket, but it doesn’t fall into it. You can’t care less. You’re trying to brainstorm more ways to feel Chris closer. It’s going to look super tacky if you just said, “Fine, I quit,” right now and flash him, especially right after he’s shown you how to hit like a sniper. Will he think you’re just trying to get out of paying if you made a move on him right now? Will it make you look easy? Does he even find you attractive, or is the “Try this cocktail I’m experimenting with” thing something he does for a lot of people?
In the middle of your spiral, you feel a whisper in your ear, and it’s so soft that it makes you shudder. Nevertheless, you can swear you felt a little throb on your hips just now as he quietly speaks the words with a huge grin.
“Good girl.”
AAAND you snap.
You slowly turn around, resting the butt of the cue on the floor, and lean against the table. Your eyes narrow as if to scan him because something doesn’t make sense here.
“All the things you could ask from me, yet you asked me to flash you,” you recount the terms of your bet. “Why?”
“Can’t a man just want to enjoy a good view?” he retorts.
“He can,” you acknowledge, “but you’re an ass man.”
“How would you know?”
“When I’m by the bar, you never slip no matter how much of a low cut I wear, but you always check me out when I leave the stool,” you touché the crap out of him. “So spill.”
He feels so busted, breaking into a big smile as he averts his eyes from you. Now that it’s out in the open, he sees no harm in being more direct. He rests his hands on the table on either side of you and cages you under him.
“Maybe I was building up to something else,” he responds.
“Why not just go ahead and ask to fuck me then?”
“And you would agree?”
“If you can persuade me.”
He looks down at your chest and lightly brushes the back of his fingers from your exposed collarbone down to your cleavage. You gasp when you suddenly find yourself in the air in his arms, and he makes you sit on the table. He hooks his fingers into the belt hoops of your jeans and pulls you a bit closer, slowly undoing the button.
“So if I just… got on my knees for you right now,” he drags the zipper down, “gave you a nice, sloppy head…”
He slips a hand inside, gently caressing your soaked folds with two fingers. Then he removes them and spreads his fingers apart, licking his lips at the sight of the slick between them. You can’t help how thickly you gulp when he looks right into your soul as he licks them clean.
“...would that be persuasive enough to let me fuck you on this table?”
“What a freak,” you chuckle. “First time getting physical, and you want a threesome with the table?”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he tsks. “It’ll be awkward between me and the table tomorrow since we work together.”
You burst into laughter, and he joins you. You feel like you can breathe again, but it’s short-lived. When the laughter dies down, the air immediately starts thickening again.
“You know,” you pull him closer from his collar, “your experimental cocktails have too much pineapple juice in them.”
“If you don’t like it, then stop drinking them,” he counters.
“Then stop feeding them to me.”
“Then stop accepting it.”
“Then stop acting like you’re not trying to get me to taste better,” you hold up his damp fingers. “Did it work, at least?”
“That’s a myth. I figured if you bought into it, you would start associating me with cum,” he replies with a smirk. “You taste so fucking delicious as it is, I should make a cocktail out of you.”
Yeah, you throb between your legs a little bit, and what about it?
“So if I just… paid a one-off service fee instead,” you slide your hands down his chest, “can we just call it even?”
“Just so you know, gratuity is not included,” he informs you before he leans in for a kiss.
His lips are impossibly soft, moving within yours with such a memorized rhythm as if you’ve already been kissing each other for years. His hands move to peel your pants off of you, and he drags them down to your ankles, spreading your legs while kneeling before you. You don’t get a heads-up before he dives right in, hands wrapped around your thighs as he drags his tongue all over your slick folds.
You can’t believe you have actually manifested your most frequented wank session material into existence.
“There is no way you’re gonna make me cum like this, just saying,” you lie your ass off for the sake of snark. “You’re making a few crucial mistakes.”
“Enlighten me, please,” he slurps into your entrance.
“Get your fingers wet,” you instruct him as you spread your lips. “Then wrap your lips around my clit.”
He follows your orders to perfection, and you move his hand towards your entrance.
“Now hit that,” you urge him.
And man, does he hit.
It has nothing to do with pace. Chris doesn’t rush. He sticks his tongue out, relaxes it, and presses it against your clit, moving his head in a circular motion and occasionally closing his mouth on your pussy. His middle and ring fingers keep working you as he eats, stimulating a delicious spot inside you in an almost languid rhythm. Yet it works so well that the slick you’re oozing is dripping down his wrist.
“Don’t–Don’t stop…” you moan, your eyes rolling back. You need something to grab onto and squeeze, but there’s nothing around you other than him. “So wet, god, Chris, you’re fucking killing me…”
He chuckles into your pussy so softly that something shoots up from your crotch and hits the ceiling of your head. When he notices how your legs shake, he starts moaning into you more, quiet but deep, and it sounds so lewd as if you’re the one satisfying him. You hold his head in place and ride his tongue, trying your hardest not to go insane while listening to his sounds of pleasure, and when he starts slurping on your clit, you snap.
Chris doesn’t remember ever witnessing something so obscene and so beautiful in the same breath.
He gets back up on his feet, and you almost lose your mind seeing half his face covered with you. He seems proud of it. He seems like he wants a reward for it. A kiss, a compliment, a flash of your tits…
He unbuckles his belt and takes his cock out, his tip flushed dark pink with how hard he is. It’s so mouthwatering that your hands move on instinct to feel him, tracing the bulging veins with your thumb.
“Any mistakes here I need to be aware of?” he asks, aligning himself with your entrance.
“Just hit that,” you hold onto his shoulders with a fucked out smile.
A deep groan rips from his throat as he disappears into you. You lick your palm, reaching under to cup his balls, and he starts smiling to himself with his eyes closed like he’s getting high. His girth makes you feel so full, and your mind goes more blank with every thrust, unable to form a single thought. Before it becomes a full white space inside your head, your end of the bargain knocks on the door of your consciousness, and you peel your top off, pressing your breasts together while pinching your nipples a little bit. His face contorts at the sight, and he leans in to suck on them, his pace suddenly turning erratic.
“Lie down for me, beautiful, I’m gonna cum on them,” he requests. “Play with those for me, yeah?”
You lie on your back and get your fingers wet, looking right into his eyes as you rub your nipples. He feels incredible being buried deep inside you, all swollen and wet for him, but the way he makes your tits bounce just makes him wanna hit that harder.
“Oh, fuck, you’re so hot. Yeah, like that. Like that. Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum. I’m gonna cum so hard for you, baby, clench. Clench harder. Harder, yes. Yes. FUCK!”
The warm, thick strings of his seed land on your breasts, and it feels so strangely satisfying. You smear it all over your skin like your bespoke moisturizer, and even though he’s just cum, Chris loses it a little bit. You hold onto his hands and pull yourself up, kissing him through his faded euphoria.
“For your information, I was just trying to be a gentleman,” he holds your face, “I’m also a tits man.”
“You don’t say,” you narrow your eyes, joining his silly giggles, and as you put your clothes back on, your phone goes off with a notification.
Chaerry Blossom
say thank you to chris again for the gift <3 he’s the best
also hit that already before someone else does smh
“Um… Efren Reyes, yes, hello,” you snap your fingers in front of Chris’ face. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”
“About what?”
“What does Chae mean with ‘gift’?” you show him the screen.
Chris reads the text, then fashions a response template for you. “Tell her I said, ‘Anytime, and happy birthday’.” He buttons his pants back on and fixes your hair. “The mention of hitting that is up to you, but if you do, a five-star review of my performance would be appreciated.”
“What are you saying?” you furrow your brows.
“Oh, come on, it was her birthday today. Wouldn’t be good manners to take money,” he explains with the most vexing smile. “Consider it a gift from me.”
“So… we didn’t have to do this shit at all,” you purse your lips, brows knit so tightly with the realization of being hustled that a valley forms between them. “In very camp porn fashion, you were already planning to fuck me for the tab.”
“I never opened a tab for you guys tonight.”
Your mouth parts open, and all that comes out for a while is ceaseless stammering. What does he mean he didn’t open a tab? What does he mean consider it a gift from him?
“What the heck was that whole production then?!” you eventually yell at his face.
“Wanted to shoot my shot. I was prepared for you to cuss me out, and if that happened, I was just gonna say I was messing with you,” Chris shrugs. “Which, I technically was.”
“You freaked me out just for the LOLs?”
“I freaked you out for a chance to finally get you alone so I can ask you out,” he confesses.
Your flabbers are gasted, your dumbs are founded, and your thunders are struck. You don’t know what to say to him for a while, much less when you realize some things you’ve been carrying around for the longest time might not have been one-sided at all.
“We’re… literally here every night,” you state the obvious.
“Yet every night you come in together with your friends, too busy chatting it up at your booth, then leave together,” he gives an executive summary of your nightly routine. “Even when you guys go to the restroom, you move in flocks, like what’s up with that?”
“We’re not rampant alcoholics, dumbo. Why would we hang out here every night?” you emphasize once again.
Chris takes a moment to process your words, then his dimples start to deepen. It’s like a yawn effect—every time you see him smile, you inadvertently smile, too.
“Well, at least we were able to test how sturdy the pool table is,” you caress the green surface, then look at him with a smirk that’s up to no good. “Wanna go test how sturdy my bed is?”
“I can tell you the results up front; it’s so failing the test,” he melts into your lips again.
❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to make Chris hit that.
husband!chan who's a gentleman, really, but could never stop his pervy habits even when married.
proof being the panties that disappear from your drawer when he travels for work, the way he'd love to duck his head beneath your skirt and bury his face into your clothed cunt just to take a deep inhale through his nose, or how he thinks hes being subtle when he sneaks his hand up your thigh when you're outside, swiping a finger on your clothed core. it is nothing compared to chans’s favorite thing to do whenever you’re intimate, though
the thing he loves to do the most is fuck the nth orgasm of the night out of you, pushing load after load inside you before eating you out for hours on end. chan would die for it—lapping up your mixture of juices, tasting the product of your lovemaking and pushing the left-over sticky semen back inside you with his tongue.
chan literally cannot stop once he starts. he gets so lost in the taste of your sweet cunt after he gave it a passionate and rough fucking. youd have to physically yank him by his hair away from your puffy folds once you get too overstimulated after your nth orgasm, or he just won’t snap out of his pussy-drunk daze.
and when you do pull your husband away, the lower half of his face is soaked and his breaths are ragged, half-lidded eyes still hyperfixated on your soaked cunt like a man addicted, his head stubbornly pushing back against your hands to try and dive between your thighs once more to get one last taste.
and if you cave into his whining and let him latch onto you one more time, you will not be able to pull him off—or try to run away—for another hour.
taglist (comment to be added): @yourqueenlady @kloversung
a/n: based off of like 3 perv chan requests in my inbox, yall are desperate (guilty..)
