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𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: reader x Mark Tuan (Got7)

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, angst, college sweethearts au

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: R

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cheating, riding, kissing, swearing, hurt feelings, swearing

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1.5k

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:   You just split with your boyfriend of 5 years and you are still feeling the effects of it. You question your life and search for answers on how to get over him. 

Is it normal to feel like this? To feel dead inside after the person you dedicate your life to walks out on you? How do you process that? How do you get over that? How can you breathe again?

You’re sitting outside at a table in front of your favorite coffee shop, forcing yourself to drink the cappuccino you just ordered. The smell makes you nauseous, but you make yourself drink it to give you the energy that you need to get through the day. You take a small bite of your muffin and chew slowly, trying to ignore that bottomless pit in your stomach that makes you want to throw up. You look around and observe your environment, watching the auburn-colored leaves fall to the ground, and the chilly wind kisses your face softly. You should be inside, and you know that this is the fastest way to catch the flu. But you don’t care, and you haven’t cared about much since he’s been gone.

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Your Lover Who Will Never Change - Han Jisung

A soulmate story told in moments.

•

now playing: The Rose - I Don’t Know You

[when the mark burns skin]

[when the words sink in]

[when a day goes by]

[when all is said]

[when all is done]

[when fate won’t lose so easily]

[when reality is made known]

[when again doesn’t feel like again]

[when touches linger]

[when in the dead of morning]

[when whispers the heart]

[when ease is a farce]

[when the truth is etched]

[when silence is louder than storms]

[when it rains…]

[…it pours]

•

note: this is the stray kids version of this tbz Sunwoo fic

part of the Words That Bind Us universe

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mark tuan - heated

Pairing: Mark Tuan x Reader | Genre: suggestive & slight smut | Warnings: mentions of hook ups, teasing, sexual innuendos, foreplay | WC: 1.3k

Request: School teacher mark X student getting a little heated in class

When you had met Mark over your summer break, your summer had heated up almost immediately. There were many nights where you were wrapped up in his sheets, him pleasuring you until your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you were screaming his name. Straddling his waist and having him moan your name out. You had never expected to see him again; it was just a summer fling, a hook up from time to time, yet, it was unexpected. While you hated having to say goodbye as your semester started back up and classes had to be your main priority. You had exchanged contact information, hoping that maybe, just maybe next summer you’d be able to run into one another again.

Of course for you and many others, It was tradition to dress a little nicer on your first day of classes, mainly to make a name for yourself and quite possibly catch the attention of some cute boys. In your mind, you needed to look presentable and appear that you wanted to be there even if you’d rather be anywhere but. Your jeans hugged all your curves, your blouse unbuttoned at the top. It showed your cleavage, but only enough for one to imagine. It was the one time in the semester where you would do your hair and makeup, the winged eyeliner making your hazel eyes pop, the cherry red lipstick standing out. Had you gone a little overboard? Sure. You never knew who was going to walk through the door though.

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What A Tease: Seated Position [M]

Pairing: Mark Tuan x reader

Genre: suggestive smut / university au

Warnings: teasing / making out / implied public sex

Word count: 1163

Series Index: Seated Position | Pulse | Symphony | Helping Hand | Fifteen | Entree | Unprofessional

It was a tight squeeze through and yet you made it, nodding in silent gratitude to Mark before taking the seat beside him. He couldn’t understand why you had just shimmied past him when he could have simply moved over a seat in the lecture hall, although it happened all too fast for him to even register it. One minute you were smiling politely at him, and the next you were all but climbing over him for the spare seat beside him.

And as soon as the lecturer started the lesson, he had even less time to contemplate the move, attempting to keep up with the class notes and not the view he had unexpectedly gained.

You left Mark distracted for the rest of the day.

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blankets and pillows | mark (got7)

↣ info: sultry, suggestive

↣ a/n: part of my musings based on lyrics project

↣ song: listen to “winter” by daughter

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helpp😭

no one would even notice | mark (got7) drabble

↣ info: smut, explicit

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Boxed Chocolates

Pairing: Prince!Mark x Queen!Reader Genre: Royalty AU, Fluff with a little angst Rating: PG Summary: Mark brings you those chocolates you like. Word Count: 0.8k Warnings: Minor character death mentioned.

Since your dad had died, nothing had been the same.

You despised it all. The people, the duties, the crown. The way they all carried on, as if losing a loved one wasn’t a big deal. As if you weren’t all alone now. Left to live a miserable life of politics, misogyny, and outrageous expectations. Heavy is the crown, indeed.

A knock on your door pulled you from your journal. “Come in.”

A maid poked her head inside. “I’ve brought the dresses Miss Ella called for.” Oh, right. The fittings for the coronation.

“Bring them in, please.” You put your pen down and pushed away from the desk. “Thank you, Dosie.”

She bowed and pushed the door open, revealing the large rack with an array of fabric. As she pushed it into the room, she added, “And you have a visitor, the prince.”

Anyone else would take offense to being announced like that, as an afterthought, but Dosie understood your feelings about rushing the ceremony. You rose to your feet. “Then I’ll go deal with him first. Pick out a dress to start with, will you?”

The prince, “Just Mark” as he preferred, was a fairly quiet fellow full of mischief and wisdom. Your father had introduced you two shortly before announcing his illness and formally declaring you his successor. The reason was clear as day: you needed someone to help you rule the kingdom. However, Mark had yet to propose. His focus hovered between making sure you were as happy as someone grieving could be and stirring up trouble.

“There you are.” Mark met you halfway as you entered the room, taking your hand and guiding you right back out. “I have treats!”

“What kind of treats?” You wondered, matching his cover whisper.

“Remember when we first met and my parents brought those fancy chocolates with the soft nougat inside?”

Your face lit up. “Yes! They were so delicious.”

“Guess who found out who made them.” He pulled a box from behind his back.

“Mark, you’re a godsend!” You hugged him, excitement bubbling up inside you for the first time since your father’s death.

“I know.” He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Now come on, let’s go try them out.”

You followed him out of the castle and down to the gardens, where he had set up a small picnic. There were blankets laid out on the grass, and he had brought a basket filled with sandwiches and fruit.

“I thought we could use some fresh air,” he said as he spread out the blanket. “And some good food, of course.”

You smiled gratefully, sitting down next to him. The sun was just starting to set, casting a warm golden glow over everything. It was peaceful here, away from the chaos of the castle.

You took a sandwich and bit into it, the flavors exploding in your mouth. “This is amazing.”

“I know a good sandwich when I taste one.” Mark winked at you. “So, can I be honest with you?”

You groaned, “No. Not you too.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I couldn’t think of a better way to broach the subject.” He picked at the blanket. “They’re pushing me to announce my intentions. I know you’re not ready, and I’ve told them as much, but they won’t shut up about it.”

You took another chocolate. “So, you want me to do something about it?”

He shook his head. “Actually no. I just need your permission to speak for the two of us.” He looked you in the eyes, resolute and firm as he continued speaking, “We’ll marry, but not right away. I want you to have time to heal a little. I intend to relocate here with you and I can assume my duties without you needing to be bothered with anything until you’re ready to.”

“That-that’s actually great.” You swallowed and sat up a little straighter. “I mean, it works for me. Everything���s just so…overwhelming right now. I could use some time to myself.”

He smiled, teeth sparkling in the sunset. “That’s what I was hoping to hear. So,” he dug into his pocket and pulled out a velvet box. “Of course, you’ll need this.” He opened it revealing an elaborate ring. “Will you allow me the pleasure of sneaking you away for chocolates and fighting off those pesky councilmen for the rest of my life?” He leaned in with a mischievous grin. “There’ll be lots of troublemaking, I promise.”

Despite the tears threatening to fall, you found yourself laughing. “Oh, thank God. I wouldn’t have you if you didn’t bring the mischief.” You dabbed at your eyes with a smile. “There’s no one else I’d rather have by my side.”

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Dye with Me

Enter a world where kings and princes find themselves unable to live without you, whether by choice or by force.

♔ Boxed Chocolates [F/A] - 0.8k - Prince Mark brings you those chocolates you like.

♔ This Dance [F] - 0.4k - King Jaebeom finally gets his dance.

♔ On Guard [A] - 0.9k - King Jackson wants to spar with his personal guard and childhood friend.

♔ Stars Collide [A] - 1.3k - King Jinyoung won't let you go so easily.

♔ Dancing with the Moon [F] - 0.6k - You share a dance under the full moon with Prince Youngjae.

♔ Nobody But You [H/T] - 1.8k - You learn your contract to kill King BamBam isn't exclusive, and being the petty merc you are, you make sure no one else gets the money either.

♔ Love You First [F] - 1.6k - Who wants to marry a man they've never met? Prince Yugyeom hopes to convince you he's worth it.

Completed 1.19.25

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Back To You // AIRFORCE7

Summary: When Mark approached you that fateful evening, it was because of a bet. However, the events that followed were because you had changed him.

Pairing: Mark Tuan x reader (ft. AIRFORCE7 aka GOT7)

Genre: 1940s era / pilot au / romance / fluff

Warnings: Due to the era it’s set in, this will contain minor war conflict in some of the stories. I will not be making the war-zone my main focus in this series however. 

A/N: Welcome to the first story in my AIRFORCE7 series! Today we’re starting with Mark and I really hope you like his introduction into this world.

Word count: 4884

This series will continue every Thursday until completed at 10am NZST. 

“You want me to do what?” Mark echoed, his drink not quite reaching his mouth. Placing it down and glancing at the two men sitting around the table with him, he grinned. “Are we only in the air force to exude our status on women?”

“Of course we are, ladies love a man in uniform,” BamBam enthused, nudging Mark beside him playfully. “We don’t come out to these events just to socialise with each other. We can do that during the day.”

“Don’t you want to have the joy of coming home to a waiting wife one day?” Jackson inquired and Mark looked at the fellow comrade, letting a small smile twist up his lips. His friend grinned. “You do! How are you going to find her then if your head is too busy up in the clouds?”

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The Passionate Discourse

Part of the Thirsty Days of September series, a collaboration with @ijustwantacue. Find her version here!

A difference of opinion leads to a healthy debate between you and the sexy Professor Mark Tuan… and just maybe, a little something more.

Word Count: 7k+

Warnings: A little steamy but no smut, also some strong opinions on feminism and other sensitive subjects. The opinions stated by the reader or Mark are not necessarily my own so don’t attack me for them, I just took up two extreme viewpoints. 

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lost boys: threadbare hearts — masterlist

— subtitle | Odes for The Brokenhearted

— premise | A collection of short stories about seven boys who are unfortunate in love, and how they walk down the path of redemption in search of healing, finding new meanings in life and love. 

— series ratings & full warnings | +18 / M for Mature; stories included in this series will involve multiple explicit scenes, with graphic depiction of mature scenes, alcohol consumption, stories mentioning or depicting infidelity and past trauma, mentions of failed relationships; more appropriate warnings will be added in each story once they are released. 

— note: stories may not be posted in chronological order. all fics written by @yoonia

— title: Love Is Banned | pairings: Jaebum/Jay B (GOT7) x female reader | genre: pwp (porn with very little plot), post break-up!au, brother’s best friend!au 

— summary | Heartbroken beyond repair, you escape to your brother’s place hours away from home, desperate to avoid the Valentine’s Day soiree happening around you—only to find yourself trapped in the middle of his love-filled house party. Seeking solitude, you are surprised to find the perfect source of comfort from the last person you had ever expected to meet tonight.

— read here | teaser

— title: If You Let Me | pairings: Mark Tuan (GOT7) x female reader | genre: single parent!Mark, exes to lovers!au, brother’s best friend!au

— summary | Years have passed, and you thought you had moved on. But when he returns with a child, everything you worked so hard to bury resurfaces. Avoiding him was the plan, but that becomes impossible when he makes you an offer you can’t refuse. And as if resisting him wasn’t hard enough, his son quickly wins you over with his charm and innocence. And the boy also seems to be determined to piece his father’s broken heart back together… through you. 

— read here | teaser

— title: We Go Down Together | pairings: Jackson Wang (GOT7) x female reader | genre: pwp (porn with very little plot), friends with benefits!au

— summary | You've shared moments of pleasure—both pure and carnal—always perfectly in sync, even if those moments never last long enough. You've told yourself this is enough, that all you want is a night in his arms, not a place in his heart. But what if he wants more? What if, between the fleeting nights and the spaces between your busy lives, he’s longing for something deeper than just desire? 

— read here | teaser

— title: The Perfect Mistake | pairings: Jinyoung (GOT7) x female reader | genre: best friend’s brother!au, forbidden love!au, rom-com

— summary | One-night stands are nothing new to you—avoiding messy relationships has always been your way of steering clear of trouble. But waking up next to your best friend’s older brother after a drunken night? That’s a complication you never saw coming. One that might be even harder to escape.  

— read here | teaser

— title: You Are | pairings: Youngjae (GOT7) x female reader | genre: best friends to lovers!au, unrequited first love!au, mutual pining

— summary | Youngjae has long given up on love—or at least the hope of having his feelings returned. Being your best friend is enough, even if it means hiding the gaping void in his heart shaped by your presence. But he isn’t the only one keeping secrets. And when the truth finally comes to light, he may have to face the possibility that his dream of being yours was never meant to be.  

— read here | teaser

— title: Crash Into Me | pairings: Bambam (GOT7) x female reader | genre: strangers to lovers!au, runaway bride, rom-com

— summary | Spending his free weekend at his estranged cousin’s wedding was the last thing Bambam wanted to do. He had no real expectations coming to the ceremony—aside from enduring nosy relatives and enjoying a few drinks. But he certainly didn’t expect to be accused of kidnapping the bride while trying to slip away from the disaster that the ceremony had become. 

— read here | teaser

— title: The Way We Lie | pairings: Yugyeom (GOT7) x female reader | genre: roommates to lovers!au, fake dating!au, rom-com

— summary | Moving to a new city feels like a fresh start—especially when you stumble upon an online ad that turns out to be a total jackpot. A spacious yet affordable two-bedroom apartment, a charming roommate who's both a goofball and a great cook—what more could you ask for? But things take a turn when a stalker ex-girlfriend and your conservative parents come into the picture, leaving you with only one way out; a little white lie that blurs the line between pretend and reality.

— read here | teaser

— series tracklist | listen to story playlist here

— masterlist | wip | divider credit | ko-fi | patreon

Note: If you’re interested to be tagged/notified on any of the stories included in this series, please leave your blog username/url in the replies down below! Or you can enter through the taglist form here. Please make sure that your url is searchable and your blog is public so I can tag you. 

— ©Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind, translations, unsanctioned adaptations are not allowed.

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KIWI — [18+!]

“Can you… cuddle me to sleep, please?”

His head snaps up to you, “Y/N… I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m gonna sleep outside, okay?”

You’re the one to wrap their fingers around his wrist now, pulling him towards the van. “Nooo, it’s too cold. You’re gonna get sick. Stay a little longer?”

He sighs, “Okay.”

🥝 SYNOPSIS: After graduating from college, you decide to travel around New Zealand and celebrate your freedom. But when you buy a van for the journey, the salesman scams you, selling the exact same car to both you and another person who’s no other than your childhood best friend you haven’t seen in years—and still have a huge crush on…

This is my entry for @skzwritingcafe 's July/August event “Summertime Confessions”! (I am a little over the deadline but still wanted to post this since the event inspired me to pick up this WIP again)

🌴 CONTENT INFO: chan x afab reader, dj chan, childhood friends to enemies to lovers, travel au, only one bed trope, fluff/angst/smut, mutual pining, based on a dream I had about my childhood best friend whose name happens to be felix but I changed this story to chan lmao, prices for cars might be unrealistic but a) i don’t own a car and b) i don’t know that much about new zealand’s economy (i did research tho!!), warnings and smut tags under the cut

🛻 WORD COUNT: 12.0K

🗺️ CONTENT WARNING: alcohol consumption (also includes excessive consumption once as well as mention of underage drinking in the past), short mention of breakup, scam/fraud, jealousy (both chan and reader), reader once calls chan daddy but sarcastically and non-sexually lmao

🧩 SMUT: dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f receiving), semi-protected sex, choking, spanking, creampie, name calling (doll, dear, slut, good girl)

The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Minors do not interact, this post contains mature topics. By reading you consent to nsfw content and agree that you have read all the warnings above carefully.

Well. That’s a bumpy journey so far. What a start.

A drink spilled all over your shirt, crumbs of crisps in your hair and a bruise on your knee. And if this isn’t already too much for your stressed out and anxious heart—the man you’ve never ever expected to see again stands right in front of you.

But let’s start again from the beginning and how you ended up here. A quick recap, shall we?

Exactly one week and three days ago you finally graduated from college. Hard work pays off—more or less—and since your new full time job will start in a month, you finally have a little bit of vacation in what feels like years. 

So, that’s how you found yourself spontaneously booking a flight to Auckland, ready to spend some time and money traveling through New Zealand’s nature and taking in all the landscapes you’ve dreamt about. You just need this—need to do something different before you will actually start being an adult and drown in boring everyday life.

The flight went quite well but the airport you arrived at was a disaster—due to many delays of other connections you had to wait for your huge backpack for a few hours, totally exhausted and tired from the trip. The hostel you have reserved a bed in for your first night is overbooked and now you have to share the room with ten other people. Well, that is a normal hostel situation but you're just too sleepy to deal with anyone right now.

Which is why it’s ironic that you’re out of all places at a club instead. But no matter how tired you are, it was too noisy in the bedroom so you decided to go out again, hoping to get a little more tired so that you will be able to pass out due to exhaustion and fall into a deep slumber once you’re back.

And then the snowball effect hits you—the people in here are already drunk, too drunk, and possibly on other substances and you arrived sober. Spontaneous ideas aren’t your thing and maybe that's why you underestimated that whole scenario.

The music is quite good though and the drinks aren’t expensive as you would have thought—although they are still ridiculously high in alcohol percentage. So, you stick to sipping on one beer throughout your first hour of being here.

Every man inside here seems to pretend he’s in a zoo, hunting for the next woman that accidentally looks in his direction. It’s disgusting, really.

God. This is a very touristy place. Yes, you are a tourist, too. It doesn’t make any sense but you’re not here to make any sense. You’re here to forget about your exhausting travel to Auckland and you’re here to forget about the past two months or rather your whole life.

It’s a shame he’s still under your skin. That stupid ex boyfriend that decided to break up with you during the last week of you writing your thesis. You still managed to finish on time but you’ve been an emotional wreck ever since.

That was a lie. You’ve always been an emotional wreck but you developed to a whole new level.

However—that’s why you’re here now. Ready for a fresh start. Ready to possibly get a little tipsy and enjoy the music. At least the DJ is doing a good job. You seriously would have expected them to play some shitty cheap produced rap music or whatever young people listen to these days.

All those kids from far away that search for the meaning of life after highschool graduation by exploring either New Zealand or Australia—of course, far away from home, thinking they will come back with a whole new personality.

Well… the longer you think about that harsh thesis, the more you realise the irony layered in your thoughts. This might, partly, apply to you too.

Nevertheless, you didn’t come all the way to New Zealand and crossed the Tasman Sea to worry until your last brain cell melts.

You’re here to forget.

You’re here for a fresh start.

Far away from the troubles. Far away from your past. Far away from Sydney.

And everything that connects with this.

Maybe, the best thing is probably to get another drink—which is more than beer—one or two will be enough. After all, you don’t want to get shitfaced on the first night and the hot temperatures will do the rest anyway. You’ve got an important appointment tomorrow and need to appear at your best.

Heading towards the bar, you ignore the comments of the men that get a little annoyed about you pushing them to the side to get to your destination. Maybe they would react differently, if you gently shoved them aside, placing your hand on their lower back or—accidentally, of course—even a little more south.

After all, that’s what they usually do when the roles are reversed, right?

You manage to get to the bar, a little furious and still way too sober, someone’s drink spilled over your shirt and some crisps in your hair, but you waste no time and order your favourite drink.

You rummage around in your little purse, fishing out your wallet. Opening the pocket in which you stow away your coins, your fingers stumble across a shimmering object.

You’re not surprised. Yes, even after all these years you still have that necklace, carrying it with you wherever you go. You wonder if the magnet still works, if the charm would connect to its opposite one—the one that is owned by someone else. Of course, in case that person hasn’t thrown their necklace away yet. Which you’re convinced they have.

An hour and two drinks in, you’re hovering over the dance floor, still very much enjoying the great choice of music until the unexpected happens.

You take a closer look at the DJ, deeply mesmerised by his skills—when it clicks.

It’s him.

It’s really him.

The one and only Christopher Bang.

He looks so different but he also looks the same. His dimples are visible even in the dim light of the club. He wears his hair curly and black again—he used to straighten it a lot back then and occasionally get it bleached with your help. His face is filled with some piercings, his arms are decorated with tattoos.

His… wow. His arms.

Going to the gym and swimming must pay off.

But the worst part is…

You believe you’re gonna fall for him all over again.

And then his gaze meets yours.

Fuck.

You should have been more careful. Pretending this didn’t happen, you focus on the drink in your hand, watching the ice cubes swirl around when you stir the straw.

Until the unexpected happens once again.

He plays your favourite song.

Kiwi. Yes, you were a Harry Styles girl back then and even though eighteen year old Chan was too cool to admit it, he liked his music too.

What you don’t know is that Kiwi is still number one of his most listened songs on Spotify of all time until this day.

2017. Your last year of highschool. You listened to it all the time.

When Chan and you were cramming for your finals. When that guy from your chemistry class broke your heart. When you realised that you’re in love with your best friend.

You’ve always thought the both of you would end up together. Everyone thought so.

It’s an absolute cliché. You met when you were only one year old in kindergarten. Your mothers were best friends, glad about the fact the two of you could grow up together. Of course, they’ve always made some sort of joke about it—how Chan would marry you once you would be older.

For a long time you thought so, too.

He was your first kiss. Rather an experimental one when you were sixteen and just wanted to get it over with.

You had already had a small crush on him at that time and wondered, if he would return those feelings after making out with you. For a second you were so sure about it. You will never forget about the sparkles in his eyes when he let go of you again, lips even puffier than before from all the kissing.

Then he went on a date with Maya and everything went downhill.

That was in eleventh grade. They dated until your last year of highschool while you throughout that time… well, made zero experiences.

However, in eleventh grade as well, Chan started bringing you to Friday evening parties at the nearby beach. The people with you were other students from your year but they were Chan’s friends and not really yours. Those meetings basically only consisted of getting drunk in the sun and moonlight.

Maya was always there, too. For two years. Jealousy was basically eating you alive at that point but you obviously didn’t want to destroy Chan’s relationship. He seemed so happy. He really was. But you weren’t the one responsible for that.

One night at the beach, one of your classmates—Minho—and you got a little closer than planned. He used to be popular for being the typical high school fuckboy, quite known for changing his girlfriends every other week.

Of course, you fell for it, too. You’ve never regretted it. Although losing your virginity to him a week before graduating, right in the open, in the woods near the beach wasn’t the most romantic experience. But he was gentle. He made you feel wanted and loved although he was far from having any serious feelings for you.

But that was okay. You were still in love with Chan anyway.

This whole thing went on until the start of college and during that summer, your back then still best friend caught Minho and you one night.

Maya and him broke up some weeks after graduation since she was about to start studying in Japan and the relationship was basically doomed. There was another reason that you’ve never known about that also caused their bond to crumble.

Chan’s feelings for you.

But, well, it was too late now anyway. Even if there wasn’t Minho, Chan was still about to go to another country as well, leaving you in Sydney.

You get dragged back into reality when the song ends. However, your former best friend is still looking at you—a huge smirk decorating his beautiful face.

It’s an instinct kicking in. Survival mode, if you will. You turn around, almost bumping into a group of guys.

Downing the rest of your drink, you place the empty glass on some random table before making your way out of the building.

The way back to the hostel is a blur. You realise a little late that your eyes are stained with tears, ready to flood down like a waterfall.

You’ve never expected to see him again.

Well, you probably won’t another time after tonight. There’s no way you’re gonna go back into that club again.

🥝

You’ve underestimated the impact of seeing Chan again for a quick second. Your dreams were wild—partly in a bad way, partly in an embarrassing way that you don’t want to think about.

However, the fact that there’s a superstition that says that whatever you dream about when sleeping in a bed for the first time turns into reality, lets the spiral of worrying wander further.

Fuck. All these years in college you thought you were finally over him.

But Chan was your first love. The older you’ve grown, the more you have realised he has always been more than just a crush. 

But well—you missed that chance.

You’re torn between regretting leaving the club so impulsive and being convinced it was the right decision. You could spend the whole day wondering what would have happened if you stayed.

But well—you missed that chance once again.

After putting all your stuff into your huge backpack, you get ready for the day—taking an unfortunate ice cold shower in the shared bathroom and choosing a comfortable outfit—and leave the hostel once you’re ready.

The next bus brings you to a car dealership you made an appointment with online for today.

Because—you of course can’t start a van tour experience without a van, right?

You usually listen to your gut feeling and in at least nine out of ten cases it’s very dependable. However, with all the overthinking going on, your brain decides to ignore the fact that something about this store and the owner in specific feels… off. Quite oddinary.

The vans all look good, especially the emerald coloured one he is currently showing and presenting to you but you really should have spent at least a minute to look into the Google reviews… because they are either bad or fake. But you’re not aware of that.

You need a car anyway, it’ll be fine.

As long as the car functions and doesn’t cost you your whole year’s income, it’ll be okay.

“What do you say?” the salesman asks you, pointing at another vehicle in a similar shade to the previous one.

“Oh, I love the colour. What a beautiful green,” you tell him.

“It is! And it’s pretty spacious although it doesn’t look like it,” he exclaims.

The man walks around the car and opens it with the keys—he realised you seem to prefer this colour and luckily he’s got a few pieces to offer with it.

“What does it include in the price? It seems pretty cheap,” you ask, realising after speaking how negative your words come off.

But you saw a sign that read $ 2750 and fairly speaking—that is not a lot for a vehicle like that. Not even if you consider that it’s secondhand.

“That’s just because of the vehicle’s age,” the man starts explaining. He opens the door on the side completely, showing off the inside. “It has all the necessities. A mattress, enough storage space, a built-in table that you can let down when you open the trunk and it comes with free camping chairs.”

You take your time to examine all the details, checking if everything works fine.

But there doesn’t seem to be a single issue. He allows you to drive for a few minutes, take a short trip through the parking lot and everything is indeed absolutely fine.

There will probably never be a chance like this. You should definitely purchase it.

Or at least your very sad bank account is whispering that to you.

“I’d like to buy this one.”

The salesman brings you back to his little office which takes you at least a five minute walk but you don’t mind. You get that he wants to sell the car first before handing the keys to you.

“$ 2500 and it’s yours,” he offers once you arrive at the destination, lowering the price a little.

And you’re not here to complain.

Oh, Y/N. You should see all those red flags but apparently you’re a little colour blind. Not a surprise, considering that car you’re about to buy is green.

Or is it?

You pick out your wallet to grab your credit card, when you stumble across the magnet necklace again.

After seeing Chan for a brief moment, you start wondering again, if he still owns that necklace or—possibly—even wears it.

Okay. Slow down, Y/N. It’s getting ridiculous and delusional.

The beeping sound of the payment terminal wakes you up again. The salesman hands you the receipt, before grabbing a metallic object that is hanging on the wall behind him.

“Here. The keys for you.”

“Thanks,” you say, giving him a kind smile.

“I have to thank you,” he replies. “I’m off work now, have a safe trip.”

Oh.

Well, you’re probably gonna find your way back to the car, right?

In a parking lot filled with what feels like thousands of vehicles.

The walk back takes you at least fifteen minutes but there’s no need to hurry anyway.

You’ve got your car. You’ve still got enough money. You’ve got a great journey ahead of you. Everything paid off for this moment. You manifested it and now you’re luck is within reach.

Arriving back at near car, you place your huge backpack on the ground for a second in order to grab a thin jacket—it’s gotten a little chilly and you have to adjust things in the new van first, prepare Google Maps and make a general plan before you’re ready to start the adventure.

You close the bag again, before you walk towards the green vehicle.

You walk closer. And even closer.

Until you spot someone behind the car, hovering a big backpack—that isn’t yours—into the trunk.

You check again if it’s indeed your car but from what you can tell it is the one that the salesman showed and—most importantly—sold to you. It’s the same shade of sage, the little lanterns are hanging inside and the mattress has the washed out grey colour from earlier.

It is your car. The keys fit and you remember all the details from half an hour ago.

You unlock the door on the driver’s side and place down your bottle of water, before you carefully lean the huge backpack against the car. The waist bag stays on, the little keychain with the kiwi dangling around.

“Oh, what a surprise.”

Oh, God.

No.

That is impossible.

The odds are basically zero. Minus one hundred, if you will.

But of all people who could have been here, doing something to the car you just bought, it’s none other than Christopher Bang.

“Hell, no,” you let out.

Your former best friend walks around the corner until he fills your vision completely. It allows you to take in his full figure. He is wearing a black tank top, showing off his ridiculously muscular arms and—of course—fucking grey sweatpants.

“Hell, yes,” he giggles.

But why the fuck did he just put his backpack into the trunk of your car.

How did he even get it in there? How did he open the door?

You keep wondering until two objects cross your gaze.

A key.

And a receipt.

For that exact pastel green vehicle that you just bought.

“He sold that car to the both of us?!”

“Seems like it,” Chan says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Aren’t you… annoyed?! He fucking scammed us!”

Your childhood friend is so different. It’s not just that he looks older, even more tired than he used to in his teenage years but he is behaving so strangely.

Chan used to be the dad of the group, the one who took care of everyone, the one that made sure to pack enough water, tissues, sunscreen and plasters—just in case. He was the first person you came to after a fight with your parents or after getting back a test you failed.

He used to be your anchor. He used to hold you close when the waves hit the shore, clinging onto you.

But from the short conversation you can tell that five years can do a lot to a person. It feels as if there’s someone standing in front of you that looks a little like Chan but isn’t actually him.

“We can go back, if that’s what you want. But I’m not leaving the car to you. I spent four grand on it,” he says.

Your former best friend crosses his arms in front of his chest—just like he used to when you were children. At least this gives you a bit of comfort and familiarity, although it’s pretty stupid.

Then another thing clicks and you giggle.

“What’s so funny, huh?”

Chan’s words come off way more annoyed than he intended. This is not how he imagined to meet you again. He’s dreamt about this day for such a long time now—both wanting to see you and to avoid you for the rest of his life.

After all, you were the one who didn’t show up at the airport when he went to Seoul five years ago. Sure, you weren’t on great terms back then—although you never got into a fight, simply stopped speaking as regularly as you used to—but he expected you, his oldest friend, to at least say goodbye.

He’s still convinced it was because of Minho. Even though it didn’t seem that serious in the beginning, Chan has been wondering throughout all these years if that guy turned into your boyfriend.

But seeing you here alone lets those chances shrink.

Similar to his patience.

Opposite to those feelings that are reborn inside his heart.

“I only paid $ 2500,” you tell him.

Yeah, Chan definitely made a very bad deal here, for sure.

“Then you should leave it to me,” he replies with a smirk.

“Oh, no. Forget that.”

You turn around on your feet, yanking the door open to reach for your water bottle. Downing most of the liquid, you throw it back onto the seat.

Chan is still standing there, watching every move with a smile that turns into a smug whenever your vision crosses his.

“Then we should talk to him,” he offers.

Chan isn’t an asshole. He won’t take the car away from you. Besides that, he got scammed, too.

“He left the lot… said his work day is over,” you share, letting your gaze meet the dirty floor you’re standing on.

“What a coincidence… not.”

Chan lets his head sink down as well, feeling defeated. It could be such a great, almost romantic, reunion but something seems off.

You’re so different.

It feels as if there’s someone standing in front of him that looks a little like you but isn’t actually you.

“What do you want us to do?” he asks, his voice turning a little smaller.

“I’m not gonna be in a car together with you,” you immediately let out.

Chan wants to be respectful. That’s just how he is or, well, how he used to be. Five years can do a lot to a person, being left without a goodbye can break a heart—even of those who seem to be the strongest.

He won’t let you go. Hit two birds with a stone. He could tease you for two reasons—revenge and regret.

Of course, Chan was the one who used to be in an almost two year long relationship with another girl but that was before his feelings. At least that’s what he’s telling himself, up until this day, secretly knowing it’s not the truth.

It’s not entirely your fault. Even though Chan is convinced that you have never reciprocated those feelings at some point, he still feels awful for kind of ignoring you as his best friend once Maya and him became a couple.

He dragged you to all those bad parties at the beach and then complained that you decided to have your own fun with Minho.

Chan is such an idiot. He knows that.

That’s why he decides to take his chance this time instead of letting it slip.

“It doesn’t seem like you have another option, doll.”

Doll.

That’s new.

Chan used to have many nicknames for you.

Angel. Dear. Honey. Darling.

All platonic—of course.

Something tells you he’s only using it to tease you and you might be right about that.

“Let’s just drive together for the first—I don’t know—few days, we’ll get some money and then we’ll buy a second car, okay?”

His offer is the most rational option.

You don’t have enough money to buy another car and even if you were able to, you wouldn’t. The both of you got scammed and the salesman is nowhere to be found. So, just make the best of it and pray that you’ll get a second vehicle as soon as possible.

Or well—let him get the money for that. This isn't how you envisioned your trip, after all.

“I’m on vacation here. I wasn’t planning on getting a job and even if I was, I doubt I will find something that pays well,” you say.

Chan sighs, getting a little closer to you, mainly out of habit. Your heart skips a beat, nevertheless.

“I’m working as a DJ tonight again. In a club by the coast in Tauranga. I heard they hire for other jobs as well,” he informs you.

Shit. Unfortunately—or fortunately, however you view it—that is your next stop on your route anyway.

“What jobs?” you ask then.

He chuckles, a little embarrassed this time, while he simultaneously scratches the back of his head.

“Uhm… dancers.”

His voice is so quiet, almost inaudible, as if he’s hiding something.

“Dancers?”

“Well, yeah… more like… strippers but not exactly,” he replies with a shy smile.

“Yeah—no. I am not doing that,” you instantly shoot back.

Chan sighs again, looking up to the blue sky until his eyes meet yours.

“Well, either that or you have to spend additional days with me. The choice is yours.”

That fucking smirk.

He is already getting on your last nerve.

How the fuck are you supposed to survive this?

Maybe you should indeed drive a little with him—just for a few kilometres until you stop at a gas station and accidentally leave him there when he goes into the store to pay.

That sounds like a plan.

“Get in the car, then.”

🥝

You haven’t abandoned Chan yet as if he’s some dumb little puppy—although that isn’t far from reality, considering how he follows you everywhere and seems to constantly crave your attention.

The only hour of the day that he didn’t spend annoying the shit out of you was when you made a stop at the Hobbiton Movie Set to participate in a tour that he booked. He paid for your ticket since it was his idea and wish to join the journey but you would have rather had him save the money for the second car you need to buy.

However, it reminded you of your childhood—when Chan and you used to do Lord Of The Rings movie marathons. It had always been a tradition, an annual celebration, if you will. Until your paths separated.

You’ve spent a lot of time suppressing those thoughts, pushing away your guilty conscience that told you it was your fault how things ended. After all, you were the one who didn’t say goodbye. Something tells you this is why Chan has been teasing you since yesterday.

But in your opinion this isn’t the full story. Sure, you were the one to cut things off—or rather ghosted him—but he was the main responsible part of why your friendship started to crumble.

God, you were so dumb back then. Well, you were teenagers and they tend to be a little dense and stupid.

You keep wondering how things would be if the both of you would have been able to communicate.

But then again—you believe a little too much in destiny and it can’t be a coincidence that Chan and you met again. Twice. Just when you’re entering a new stage, when you’re finally at a point in your life that isn’t the most satisfying and happiest but you can say that you’re the truest form of yourself that you have ever been.

Maybe it’s meant to be.

However, you’re not ready yet to fully grasp that idea.

“Kiwi juice?”

Your head snaps towards Chan, who is sitting in the driver’s seat. You switched after the Hobbit adventure, currently on your way to the beach in Tauranga.

“Hm?”

He offers you the paper carton in his hands.

Fuck. Those pretty hands. You could get lost at the sight.

Pull yourself together, it’s getting embarrassing.

“You want some? It’s the brand from… when we were younger,” he says, taking a little pause in between the words.

He’s nostalgic, he can’t deny it.

Chan has been wondering if it can really be a coincidence that the both of you met again.

Twice within twelve hours.

“Oh, sure,” you say, reaching for the juice. Your hand brushes his for a second in the process and your heart skips a beat, synchronising with Chan’s a second later.

When his gaze switches back to the road ahead of him, yours stays fixated on his face. You think he doesn’t notice but he does. However, this time he holds back that teasing comment that is tingling his tongue.

Happiness erupts on your face, when you taste the kiwi juice again for the first time. They’ve always been your favourite fruit—of course—and it would be a lie if you said this didn’t have an impact on you for choosing New Zealand as your travel destination after graduation.

“Is good?”

You nod, smiling at Chan and he gives you the same expression. It feels so natural—you look back into those same beautiful brown eyes from five years ago.

A thin pink layer appears on his cheeks and Chan is fast to bring his attention back to the street.

You can’t hold back the enormous smirk that is decorating your face now.

The journey flies by, until you reach the campsite and search for a nice spot to stop the car. Just when he’s about to turn off the engine, no other song that Harry Styles’ Kiwi is playing again. The both of you chuckle, suddenly feeling some kind of connection again.

Oh, Lord. That is gonna be an interesting evening.

Especially, once you remember the job Chan mentioned.

“Wait–“ you say, when you have gotten dressed and join Chan again who is currently busy preparing some dinner.

“What is it? You don’t like pasta anymore?”

You take a closer look at the dish he is currently cooking, as the delicious scents start entering your nostrils. Nostalgia hits you like a fucking train on highspeed once more.

“I– I do, that’s not what I meant.” Sinking down on the seat next to Chan, you help him place down the plates and cutlery. “I am… I don’t think I can do this… dancing job. I know it’s unfair if only you are working, especially since you spent the most on this car but I just can’t–“

“Woah, slow down,” Chan says. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I don’t know what has gotten into me earlier, I just wanted to… tease you, I guess. The club does hire dancers but you seriously don’t have to do this.”

“Okay,” you let out with a small voice and relief washing down your spine.

The pasta is finally ready and served. Chan’s cooking skills seem to have improved by at least ten levels since high school and you compliment him, causing the blush to come back to his cheeks again.

“Do you still want to come to the club with me, though?” he asks or rather offers.

You’re unsure. If you’re honest, you’re not in the mood right now for partying, you would rather have some introvert time and maybe you can get that once Chan leaves to work.

“I… I think I’m gonna lay down for a bit, I’m still tired from yesterday, the flight to Auckland was kinda exhausting.”

What a pity. He would have loved to have you there. Now that Chan has finally gained some confidence and feels the chemistry between the both of you come back to what it used to be—although so many things are still left unspoken—it would have been a great chance to at least build some trust again.

He kind of regrets annoying you in the beginning, pretending to be some douchebag although you deserved the initial teasing. But he rather wants to get closer to you all naturally and he does still believe that the both of you meeting is a sign. A fucking obvious neon sign.

It is ridiculous that after all these years, his feelings haven’t changed in the slightest for you.

He hopes that he won’t make that much money tonight so that you have to travel around together for a little longer.

“Sure. The club is straight this way, like two hundred meters, in case you change your mind.”

🥝

You did change your mind. A nap later and the clock hitting half past midnight, you decide to at least check out the venue. Getting ready takes you a little longer than expected but this can mainly be blamed on the way you packed your things in the huge bag.

You decide to go for a dark shirt combined with a skirt that has pockets—yes, pockets! Your favourite sneakers complete the look and transport you to the club. You follow the sandy path until you reach your destination.

Considering the night is already in full swing, it doesn’t take the employees long to check your ID and sell you a ticket. The venue is partly in the open—turning this into a party by the coast. A lot of people got rid of their initial outfit, deciding to stay in their swimwear. You’re glad you did the same, choosing a bikini over a bra and panties as if you already expected it.

The atmosphere is phenomenal—you’re glad you came here. You missed being at the beach. It’s where you belong. It’s where you truly feel at home.

A beautiful melody fills your surroundings, immediately pulling you closer to the bar that is located near the stage. You order a drink, before you head back into the crowd of people.

Chan—busy showing off his skills—spotted you right away. Even in a gallery filled with the most beautiful art pieces, he’d still be staring at you.

You catch him observing you, allowing your eyes to connect with his and he gives you a soft smile. It’s when your two drinks into the night, that you notice a shift in the situation.

Of course, you aren’t the only person having alcohol and some fun and it’s a club at a very touristy place after all. So, you shouldn’t be surprised that a lot of people, especially women, are approaching Chan, probably asking for certain songs, complimenting him, flirting with him.

It’s mainly groups that try to start a conversation with him, giggling along whenever he replies to one of their questions. That’s fine. You’re fine.

He's a DJ. He is at work and just doing his job, maybe hoping to get tipped or something.

It’s alright. Really. Until those groups turn into individual women that gather up enough courage to talk to him alone. The conversations—despite the insane noise—become longer and he gets closer to them.

An hour passes and another hour follows, filled with girl after girl flirting with your former best friend.

Another one approaches him. She’s even more beautiful looking than the previous one and your stomach turns when you realise she looks a little like Maya.

It’s not her—without a doubt. But when you see the smile on Chan’s face and how he leans closer to her to catch what song she’s suggesting, you know he must have a type.

That type being quite the opposite of you. 

You try to not read too much into his mimics, concentrating on the sound of the music roaming around and the taste of the alcohol on the tip of your tongue instead. 

Then you see him reach for her phone, definitely typing down his number.

That’s it. You’ve had enough.

Why the fuck did you have to meet him again?

Why the fuck is he flirting with all these women?

Why the fuck is he flirting with you too?

And most importantly—why are you jealous?

You spin around on your feet, storming towards the bar. With your back turned to Chan, you don’t see the enormous smirk he has on his face once again. He’s not oblivious—he noticed you staring at him for literal hours and he would be lying if the very obvious jealousy that you are carrying isn’t the main reason for his flirting in the first place.

He enjoys seeing you like this. Chan would have never believed to be such a tease with someone but you seem to provoke a side of him that has been slumbering inside him, waiting to be woken up.

The women that approach him from now on finally become transparent—it’s not as if he’s seriously been interested in any of them, flirting is sometimes part of his job and you shouldn’t read too much into it. However, Chan will use whatever to his advantage when it comes to getting a reaction out of you.

In the meantime, you order a vodka shot at the bar, downing it in one go before you immediately get another one. And another one. In this angle, Chan can’t tell what and how much you’re drinking but when he sees you come back, dangerously confident, heading towards the dancing stage, he knows it’s more than you’re possibly able to handle.

There are other guests on the stage as well, having some fun, letting out their inner desires, getting loose. The paid dancers are somewhere else but it’s still ironic that you’re becoming the spotlight of the whole club now—after being all shy with dancing.

Chan is a bit worried, if that’s really what you want to do or just the alcohol speaking. But you seem to feel comfortable and you really enjoy what you’re doing, you can’t deny that. He still keeps an eye on you—both for caring but also absolutely selfish reasons.

It’s alluring, how you sway your hips to the melody of the songs he’s playing, how your body moves to the beat so perfectly. Chan knows you’ve always been into dancing and music but unfortunately were too insecure to show it.

You’re having the time of your life, you really are.

Until you feel that last shot kicking in, realising it was one too many.

Leaving the stage, you sit down on some sofa for a bit, feeling your head spin like a carousel. When Chan has chosen the following song and switches his gaze back to the dancers, he can’t find you anymore. Hastily, his eyes roam through the club and he feels his chest tighten in anxiety. Possibly, you just went to the bathroom but you are also extremely intoxicated.

Searching for a nearby colleague, he informs them that there is an emergency that he has to take care of. Not quite pleased, the person tells him that if he leaves now, he will be fired from the job.

But Chan doesn’t care. All he cares about is you and your well-being. 

He knows you enough to know that you tend to underestimate the effect alcohol has on your body, at least it’s been like this when you were teenagers. Leaving his own stage, he starts searching for you.

You’re not sitting on the sofa anymore. A kind girl gave you a bottle of tap water and offered to comfort you, however, your emotions washed over you, making you rush towards the beach. She follows you, wanting to know you’re okay.

That’s where Chan finds you, lying in the sand, absolutely shit-faced. The girl next to you immediately senses him approaching you and enters defending mode.

“Who are you?”

He realises now how weird the situation for her must be. He’s a man she hasn’t seen with you before, so of course, hesitation is the right option.

“I’m her friend, just wanted to make sure she’s okay,” he explains.

Chan feels awful for not grasping it sooner. Sure, it was comforting seeing you have fun but he underestimated it. But then again—how was he supposed to help you while being at work?

He’s here now. That’s what counts.

“You really think I would believe that, hm? Any guy could just say that, you better leave her alone,” the girl says, severely annoyed by Chan and worried about you.

“Yeji… it’s good,” you tell her, “I know him. We are on vacation together, we’re childhood friends.”

She lets out a relieved sigh, giving Chan a small smile and telling him to sit down next to you as well.

Unfortunately, in your drunken state you don’t notice him getting closer because, if you did, you wouldn’t say those following words at such a high volume, when you lean towards Yeji.

“I have a huuuge crush on him but he doesn’t seem to notice.”

Chan’s heart stops beating.

What?

This can’t be. His pulse is running at the speed of light and he feels himself getting dizzy now, despite not having even a single drop of alcohol in his system.

“Okay, so you’re good?” Yeji asks.

You nod and pull her into a hug.

“You’ve got my number, just in case, okay?” she says, before saying goodbye and leaving you alone with your friend.

Chan makes sure you drink the rest of the water until the bottle is empty, as he watches the shimmer of the night sky reflect in your eyes.

“Y/N,” he begins.

“Huh?”

You look at him with big eyes, almost like a deer that stops in the middle of the street when a car approaches the animal.

“Let’s go back,” he says, getting up from the ground. Chan offers you his hand and helps you stand on your feet again. You’re stumbling a little but he makes sure to help you gain back your balance, holding your figure.

“Dancing? Sure, but my head it– spin-spinning and–“

“No, to the van,” he says.

You pout, letting your shoulders sink.

“But I wanna daaance, pleeeaaase…”

Chan seems frustrated.

“Party’s over, come on.”

His fingers wrap around your wrist, dragging you after him, as he guides you towards the campsite.

“You’re so mean!”

Chan sighs, deciding to not pay too much attention to your childish behaviour. After all, you’re pretty drunk and he’s glad you’re fine. Going back to the club is the worst idea.

First, you’re not in the right state of mind to be dancing again. Let alone drink something.

Second, the security will probably tell you to leave anyway, once they notice how intoxicated you are.

And third, it would be embarrassing for Chan to go back there, after he basically got fired.

“We’re gonna get you sober and ready for bed, yeah?”

You pout again, letting a whimper follow, as you obediently walk next to Chan.

“Okay, daddy,” you reply sarcastically.

He ignores your teasing now—and the way this dumb name makes him feel flustered—instead helping you brush your teeth which turns out to be a lot more complicated. You’re so absolutely stubborn and not able anymore to control your body and balance. However, he manages to take off the rest of your makeup and put your hair in a comfortable style for sleeping.

There’s one thing that’s still on the list. You can’t go to sleep with your outside-clothes.

“Pyjamas?” he asks you.

“In the backpack.”

Chan gets up from his seat, making you drink another glass of water, as he walks towards your bag. You’re carrying so much stuff with you that it seems impossible for him to find what he’s looking for. His fingers accidentally brush over a pile of panties, feeling the lace material against his skin. Your childhood friend is glad that the blush on his cheeks isn’t visible in the dim moonlight.

“I can’t find your sleepwear,” he says, giving up.

“Then I’m gonna just stay in my party outfit.”

“Oh, no,” he says, “you’re not wearing this worn stuff from outside on the mattress.”

You remember now. Chan has always been like this. When you used to visit him as a child, he made you change your “outside clothing” in case you wanted to sit or lie down on any type of furniture in his parents’ house. 

Your pants came in contact with the bus seats, that’s yikes, Y/N, he used to say. As a teenager you didn’t care but the older you got, the more you adapted to this philosophy.

“Fine,” you groan.

Chan decides to just grab something to wear from his backpack, it’ll do. He finds a nice oversized shirt and some boxers that he hands to you.

“I… you want me to wear your underwear?”

He sighs. Once again. “It’s clean, oh my God. Just change your clothes already.”

The curly haired turns around then out of respect, while you slip into the baggy fabrics.

“Done.”

“Good,” he says.

You crawl into the van, sinking down on the bed sheet, as you feel the weight of the mattress shift underneath you.

Chan gets ready for bed, too. In the meantime, you plug your phone to the power bank and send Yeji a quick text.

She answers within a few seconds.

[Yeji 04:57]: Sleep well, darling. Thanks for texting me. Goodnight 💕

It doesn’t take your phone long to receive another message from her.

[Yeji 04:58]: Also, get that man. He seems to like you back ;)

You chuckle, still way too tipsy to fully grasp what she says. How is she supposed to tell? She spent like three minutes with him and doesn’t even know you that well, either. Yeji is just a random but very kind girl you met while waiting in line in the bathroom.

Chan drags you out of your thoughts when he walks around the car, stopping in front of you to place his toothbrush back into his bag. He’s changed into some sweatpants, not bothering to wear a shirt to sleep.

Maybe it’s the alcohol that’s still swimming in your veins.

Maybe it’s the light of the lanterns tinting his naked chest in the prettiest glimmer.

Maybe it’s the pent up feelings and all those unspoken words.

Or it’s all of those things combined that make you speak the following words, “Can you… cuddle me to sleep, please?”

His head snaps up to you.

“Y/N… I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m gonna sleep outside, okay?”

You’re the one to wrap their fingers around his wrist now, pulling him towards the van.

“Nooo, it’s too cold. You’re gonna get sick.” Chan can’t resist that annoying pout on your face. “Stay a little longer?”

He sighs, crawling into the van as well, as he takes the space next to the door.

“Okay.”

It doesn’t take you long to fall into a deep slumber, while Chan holds you close—you being the small spoon and him being the big one. Whereas you are already deeply occupied in your dreams, insomnia seems to take the best of him again.

He can’t believe he’s got you back in his life.

He can’t believe that you’re getting along again, especially compared to eighteen hours ago after buying the van.

He can’t believe you told your new friend that you have a crush on him.

If that’s really the truth that would mean… that would mean you have had that crush for some time, right? Considering you only met one and a half days ago, you must have already had feelings for him before that.

Fuck. Chan is possibly the luckiest guy on this earth. He dearly hopes this isn’t that dream he’s dreamt a thousand times before.

Just when he’s about to finally get some rest, too, you stir around and change positions, before your eyes open and in your half asleep state, you start speaking,  “You left, Channie…”

His own eyes widen, pulling you closer. Maybe you’ve got some of those nightmares again that you used to have when you guys were younger.

“But I’m here, darling,” he reassures you, using that nickname again for the first time.

“No,” you mumble, “you left and went to Seoul five years ago. You left me.”

His heart stops and then breaks into a thousand tiny pieces.

That might be true but you were the one to literally ghost your lifetime best friend.

“And you didn’t say goodbye, Y/N,” Chan spits back.

He can tell you’re not fully awake. Maybe that’s what gives him enough confidence to speak what’s on his mind. It feels so good to finally let that out.

God, he’s such a coward.

Your eyes open a little more, although you’re still not really awake.

“Is that why you’re mad at me? Why you were teasing me?” you ask him.

He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, “Yes.”

You roll onto your back, hiding your eyes behind the palms of your hands.

“Chan…”

He interrupts you, already regretting that he told you about his feelings, “Just forget it–“

“I couldn’t say goodbye…”

“Just… cut it–“

“My heart couldn’t handle it,” you say, “I was, well, I still am too much… too much in love with you to let you go.”

That’s when you doze off back into sleep.

It’s real. You’re real. Your feelings for him are real.

All these years. All the time waiting pays off—just for you to confess in your sleep. Well, better than nothing. Chan will see what the next day holds for you.

He knows you won’t hear him. However, he still speaks his words out loud, when he says, “I love you too, Y/N.”

🥝

You wake up around two in the afternoon the next day, feeling your pulse pumping inside your head.

Chugging down the rest that’s inside your metallic water bottle, you come to the realisation that you have no idea how you made it back to the van last night.

Speaking of—you find yourself alone in here, the space beside you still a little warm but that could also be caused by the sunbeams that are making their way inside the vehicle.

When you push the blanket away, you observe yourself in clothes that aren’t yours. Looking down at the bottoms, you notice you’re wearing boxers, probably Chan’s.

Why are you wearing his clothes? You guys weren’t so drunk that you… no, Chan wouldn’t do something like that.

However, you were indeed drunk. That is a fact. Otherwise you wouldn’t have a mental blackout about yesterday’s night.

“Morning,” Chan says, appearing in front of the van’s door. “I made some tea for you.” He hands you the beverage, painfully obviously trying to avoid your gaze.

What the hell happened?

“How are you?” 

Chan takes a seat beside you, leaving respectful space between the both of you.

“I’ve been better before. I feel very tired and sore. I also don’t remember much… my mind is blank after… getting up that stage– oh God, I probably embarrassed myself and–“

“You didn’t,” he reassures you. “You were the life of the party.”

You roll your eyes, “That sounds even worse.”

He chuckles and you join him. It feels good and so familiar to be with him.

Chan feels like comfort. He feels like home.

“Do you feel good enough to go on a two and a half hour trip to Cathedral Cove?”

Wow. Your plans once again seem to match.

“That was my next stop on my route, too,” you tell him with a smile.

“I know. I saw the little sheet of paper you pinned to your backpack. Sorry, I hope it’s okay I read–“

“Of course,” you say.

“Then, take your time to get ready. I have a job again at a club tonight but only for the first few hours.”

After taking a shower—a cold one again—in the public bathroom of the campsite and changing into some comfortable shorts and a baggy shirt, you head back to the van. Chan hands you a bowl, filled with your comfort breakfast.

“You made porridge?”

He nods, “Yeah. We didn’t have fresh fruits and the little market over there was already closed, so I used canned tangarines. It tastes good, though.”

And it really does. The citrus fruits and sugar give you a lot of energy and fight against your hangover, the oats fill your stomach and awaken you.

“Did you make enough money yesterday?” you ask Chan, once you’re done with eating and washing the dishes, before packing everything.

“About that,” he starts, scratching the back of his head.

“What happened?”

“They kinda fired me… because I took a break to look if you were alright,” he explains.

Shit. That’s all your fault. You feel like a helpless child that he has to look after. The fact you drank so much because of your jealousy, lets your guilty conscience wash all over you.

“Chan, I– fuck, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have drunk that much I am so dumb–“

“Hey, it’s fine,” he says. “I don’t care. I don’t want money from a company like this, anyway.”

He waits until you give him a little nod. Chan hovers your backpacks into the trunk again, before you take the passenger’s seat.

The door to your right opens, as Chan sinks down next to you, starting the engine.

“Shall we?”

🥝

You got a little more sleep while Chan drove the two of you to the new destination. Dinner was on you tonight—your speciality, instant ramen, homemade by you. Maybe not the most nutritious meal, but a good and greasy base for possibly drinking alcohol again.

However, when entering the venue—well, it’s really just four neon lanters creating a makeshift square at the beach—you decide to ditch the drinks tonight, instead going for lemonade and water. Once again, Chan isn’t drinking either, knowing he is more focused on his work when he’s sober.

His talent is insane. He even makes you enjoy songs that you don’t like at all, solely by the remix versions he creates. You’ve always known that he’s a virtuoso. 

You’re feeling freedom rush through your veins, letting go of all the worries, as you dance along to the beautiful music.

Until you take a look at Chan and once again find a group of women surrounding him.

That’s when it clicks.

You got drunk yesterday, after watching the exact same scene that is turning into a déja-vu now. He flirted with them and as immature as you were, you decided to drown your jealousy in vodka.

Yeji, the kind girl from the bathroom, comes back to your mind. How she took care of you until Chan was–

Oh, no. 

You also remember now how he got you ready for bed—which explains the shirt and boxers—and how you begged him to cuddle you to sleep.

There’s another distant memory in the back of your head that you can’t quite grasp yet. You can’t differentiate if it was a dream or not, but something tells you, you poured your heart out to Chan and accused him of leaving.

You don’t remember your exact words. You do remember, though, how you told Yeji about your crush on Chan, while he was literally next to you.

Fuck. You’re so embarrassing. This year’s world wide loser award goes to none other than Y/N Y/L/N.

“Fancy a drink?”

The male voice startles you at first, however, you still turn around to search for its owner. In front of you is standing a beautiful man, a bit taller, his long black hair almost reaches his shoulders.

You said you didn’t want to drink. You want to be mature. But when you catch a glimpse of a girl whispering something into Chan’s ear, you know you’ve had enough. He doesn’t like you back, give up already. You confessed having a crush on him and he doesn’t do anything about it, time to live your life and show Chan what he is missing.

“Hm, one drink won’t do much harm,” you tell the guy.

He pays for the beverage and every water and lemonade you order after. It’s fun spending time with him. He’s without a doubt the best dancer you’ve ever seen, encouraging you in your own moves.

You didn’t get his name when he introduced himself due to the noise inside—you don’t know if he’s called Hyunjin or Hyungmin but it doesn’t really matter anyway. He’ll help you get your mind off all the mess nonetheless.

He’s dancing behind you, his crotch pressed against your ass, only a few layers of fabric separating you from him. His lips land on your neck, destined to draw a pretty pattern on your skin.

The clock hits two. Chan’s shift is over.

And you can be sure he will waste no time to do what he’s wanted to do since that prick laid his hands on your hips.

A minute later, Hyunjin feels someone touching his shoulder, making him pull away a little from you.

“Sorry, but the party’s over.”

Why is Chan always ruining the fun? You aren’t even tipsy. What’s his fucking problem?

“What do you want, dude?” Hyunjin says, clearly annoyed.

You stay in his hold, but your gaze finds Chan’s.

“I want you to let go of my girl and piss off, to be honest,” he answers, clicking his tongue.

What?

Your head starts spinning like yesterday, but this time you’re drunk on emotions.

“Man– I didn’t know–“

Hyunjin doesn’t get to finish his sentence, when Chan is already dragging you out of the club and towards the empty campsite.

The curly haired doesn’t say a word, but the tense atmosphere fills the whole beach even until you get closer and closer to your car.

Chan is furious. Sure, those girls talked to him as well, flirted a little but that’s what all there was. But when he saw Hyunjin’s lips on your neck, that straw broke the camel’s back.

Meanwhile, you feel like you’re in trance. You’re obediently following him just until Chan spins you around and watches your back meet the side of the green car.

He cages you between his firm body and the vehicle. The sight makes your knees go weak, makes you lose even the last molecule of sanity. You know you won’t have to say much, it’s obvious what it is.

Maybe it’s the fact you’re thinking clearly, no alcohol in your system this time.

Maybe it’s the way the moonlight covers Chan’s muscular arms and how the stars reflect in those beautiful brown eyes.

Maybe it’s the pent up feelings and all those unspoken words.

Or it’s all of those things combined that make you speak the following words.

“Just kiss me already.”

Chan may be an idiot from time to time, but he won’t let this chance slip. His lips smash into yours, making time stand still, letting the earth and the whole fucking universe stop for a minute.

Every cell in your body wants him. 

And you show him exactly that, when you invite his tongue in to explore the insides of your mouth. Your heartbeat starts echoing in your ears and a moment later, it synchronises with Chan’s.

His hands find their way to your hips, wandering a little further until they meet your ass. He squeezes the soft flesh through the fabric of your skirt, listening to the beautiful moan you let out.

It’s only now that you get aware that you put on the metallic necklace tonight—your friendship accessory that connects you, literally, with Chan. You wanted to get some reaction out of him. But he doesn’t seem to have noticed yet.

He’s too busy placing one kiss after another on your lips anyway, until he decides to change the course and wanders down with his artwork. Your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, back to your lips, right in that order. He wants to make sure that every centimetre Hyunjin touched, will be drawn over.

He’s driving you insane. You already feel yourself getting absolutely lightheaded. Maybe that’s how you justify that next whimper that spills from your lips, when his hand travels between your legs. He wonders if you put on a skirt on purpose but, nevertheless, this will make his mission a lot easier.

“Chan– stop teasing–“ you let out, knowing you won’t be able to withstand any anticipation.

But Chan isn’t done yet with provoking you. Not after you danced with that guy in the club, not after you let him kiss you like that.

“Don’t complain too much or I’ll fuck you against the van, here outside, for everyone to see.”

Oh, God. In the state you're in, you’d probably even allow him that. However, after falling asleep in his arms on the bed inside the van, you should finish what you’ve started exactly there.

And Chan seems to read your mind, as it seems.

“Get your pretty ass on the mattress, doll.”

But you decide to change plans a little, for the sole reason to tease him now. Beating him with his own weapons sounds like the most entertaining thing you can imagine.

Your lips land on his neck, rough bites leaving an astonishing memory of tonight. Chan’s the one to let out a moan now, as he feels his boxers tighten, his growing erection brushing against the fabric.

But he won’t let you defeat him so easily.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warns you. Chan catches your face, squishing your cheeks together in an attempt to make you look at him, which you immediately do.

“I’ve had enough of your behaviour.”

His other hand is back between your thighs, disappearing under your skirt, wandering up to your very much soaked panties. Of course, he has to chuckle out loud, when the tips of his fingers brush over that embarrassingly wet spot.

“For me, baby?”

But you won’t let him defeat you so easily.

Chan finds it hilarious that you’re getting shy now but your body speaks what your mouth doesn’t want to—especially, once he carefully pushes the laces aside, grazing over your wetness.

“Fuck– please–“ you let out.

Well, it seems as if you let him defeat you easily. But you don’t care.

“Get inside, doll.”

He yanks the door of the car open, making you crawl inside.

And he wouldn’t be Chan if he didn’t tell you to take off the skirt before sitting down on the bed sheets. After all, you’re wearing outside clothes. Or maybe it’s just a cheap trick. However, when he takes off his jeans as well, leaving him in his underwear and the view of the pretty outline of his hard dick, you giggle a little.

When lying down on the soft cushion, the pendant that’s attached to the chain somehow wanders underneath your shirt, hiding it from Chan completely. But you don’t even notice. Not when the man above you is ready to devour you like a five star meal.

“Maybe I should fuck the brat out of you, make you come to your senses again,” he says, making you scoot a little more upwards.

He places your legs over his shoulders, before he starts kissing the inner sides of your thighs, gradually wandering towards your clothed core. A long stripe meets your panties, as you desperately hold back another moan.

“You’re all talk but no doing, Chan,” you let out.

He just chuckles and wastes no time to pull down your underwear, getting right back to his task. 

“Weird way of begging, but if that’s what you’re asking for…”

As if you’re on autopilot, you spread your legs even further, allowing your friend better access. His tongue comes back into play, as his fingers help him push your pussy lips apart.

Then your mind turns off.

“I– Fuck–“

It feels like heaven. The kitten licks. The vibrations his moans send through your whole body. His fingertips that circle around your throbbing hole.

Chan pushes two digits in at once, adoring the little whimper you let out. Your walls immediately clench around him, sucking him in, telling him how much you missed him.

It’s embarrassing how close you already are. But you’ve lost track of time—you can’t tell if it’s been seconds, minutes or hours that Chan’s head has been between your thighs.

You’ve never been with a guy that enjoys eating pussy that much. How you regret not doing this sooner with him…

“Chan– I–“

He just hums against you, enjoying every bit of your helplessness. You should have done this sooner. How he regrets not confessing to you earlier…

Squelching sounds are filling the car and in the back of your head you’re quite glad that Chan remembered to close and lock the door. His fingers already feel so absolutely amazing inside you, you wonder how great his cock is gonna fill you.

You get a taste of the idea, when he once again swirls his tongue around your clit and changes the angle of his fingers a little. He’s knuckles deep inside your aching hole, now hitting that certain spot just right.

Just a little later, your mind goes completely blank, the sight of the darkness inside Chan’s eyes hidden, when the white sparkles fill your vision instead. The feeling takes over your whole body, legs shaking, when you reach that sweet relief. You cry out his name, forgetting any other syllable you’ve ever known. Almost struggling to catch your breath, Chan helps you ride out your high.

Painfully slowly, he pulls his fingers out of you, watching you squirm at the loss of contact. He licks his fingers clean, making sure to let his eyes stay on your own.

You feel hypnotised.

You feel drunk.

“Hmm, still so confident that you don’t like me back, huh?” he teases you.

Like him back?

Well, you aren’t surprised he must at least find you attractive. Otherwise, Chan probably wouldn’t have eaten you out like a starving man. But you weren’t aware that there are feelings that are thrown into the mix.

“Like you back?”

“Don’t you remember what you said last night?”

Is this about the confession while Yeji was with you or did you…

Oh, the memories are slowly coming back now. You said something to him after accusing him of leaving, after pouring your heart out to him.

Did you, perhaps, tell him more?

“W-What?”

“Right before you fell asleep you confessed that you have romantic feelings for me, honey,” he says, shamelessly clicking his tongue.

“I…” 

You don’t know what to say, so the logical solution is to catch his lips in a heated kiss instead. You pull him closer, tasting yourself on his tongue but you don’t mind. He gives in for a solid minute, until he stops, knowing he has to speak further first.

“I told you before—well, you were asleep—but I return the feelings.”

You gasp. It’s now or never. There’s no reason to hold back anymore.

“Channie… I’m in love with you, have been all this time.”

There appears the brightest smile his face has ever experienced.

“I’m in love with you… have been even before that first kiss together,” he admits.

“You… what?”

Even in the weak light of the LED lanterns, you can still make out that cute pink curtain on his cheeks.

“I was scared… so I decided to hide my feelings but I’m done with hiding now.”

He kisses you then and you give in completely.

Fuck. You can’t believe this is happening.

He loves you back? He’s loved you all this time? You’re so happy that you don’t even care that it took you seven years to realise. 

Your childhood friend turned lover stops the kiss for a second, as he gets back in a seating position. Chan suddenly takes off his tank top, revealing his stunning chest to you.

As well as something else.

The necklace.

He’s wearing it.

That’s what makes you take off your shirt and your bra, too, revealing the metallic chain and pendant to him.

“You’re wearing the necklace?”

“I thought you would have noticed sooner.”

And he kisses you again, enjoying how beautiful you look underneath him, until a clicking sound startles you.

The magnets inside the pendants make the necklaces connect. You’ve expected them to not work anymore after storing the chain wherever for over five years.

“Fuck, I love you so much. I’m gonna show you, baby.”

And, oh God, that’s exactly what he does. His fingers are right between your legs again, playing sensually with your clit, as his tongue is attached to your tits, making out with one of the hardened buds.

But you need more and you need it now.

“Channie?”

He looks up for a second, “Yeah?”

“I need you… need you inside me.”

Chan wastes no time and takes off his remaining clothes, as you watch his length spring free. He’s pretty—maybe a bit above average but the girth is what basically makes you drool at the sight. The tip is already covered in precum, telling you to not wait any longer.

You ask him to come closer, but Chan still has something on his mind.

“I– I don’t have a condom with me right now… it’s in the trunk in my backpack but I can–“

“I have an IUD. If that’s okay with you,” you offer.

“Of course, dear.”

He’s positioning himself between your legs again, reaching for his length and stroking it a few times. Chan could get lost in the look you have on your face—desperately waiting for him to bury his cock inside you. Your fingers wander down to your heat, playing a little with your clit and that’s when he knows he won’t have you wait any longer.

The tip circles around your wet entrance, before he pushes only a few centimetres in first, watching you get used to the feeling. When you nod, he enters further, until he bottoms you out completely. You’re more than glad that he prepared you so well earlier.

After a quick kiss on your lips, he starts thrusting into you, observing every move and noise you make. You’re getting completely lost in the sensation, allowing him to take care of your body.

It doesn’t take long for the windows inside the car to gain a foggy layer from all the panting. Chan positions your legs over shoulders, similar to how he did earlier, as his hand wanders towards your chest.

He squeezes one of your breasts for a little, before his fingers travel further, circling around your throat, adding pressure to the sides. What a beautiful view—he’s dreamt about this so many times. Having you underneath him. Having full control over you and your body.

“Channie– fuck–“ you let out.

His cock is brushing that spot inside you again, it’s as if he’s fucked you a thousand times before.

And you feel so deliciously warm and tight around him, Chan for sure can’t get enough of your cunt.

He has to make sure you remember this. Even now that you’re finally his, he wants to hear those words coming from you.

“Who do you belong to, hm?” 

Fuck. That possessive side is something you sure can’t get enough of.

“I– fuck–“

Chan’s initial idea was to make pure love to you, although he sensed you enjoy him being less gentle, as well. So, the roughness takes over him then. Passion and desire are marking his words.

“Say it, baby. Whose good little slut are you?”

Slap. His hand collides with your ass, when you don’t answer within a second.

“Y-Yours, Channie– yours,” you then immediately let out. You could get used to this side of him.

“Good girl.”

It happens in the blink of an eye, it was inevitable. Waves of pleasure are traveling through your body, conquering your whole existence. Chan holds you close, helping you through the overstimulating sensation of your second orgasm.

After you’ve begged him to cum inside, he then paints your walls, all with the prettiest whimper spilling from his plump lips. 

The necklaces stay connected throughout the entire unholy scene, reminding you that this was indeed meant to be.

Once you’ve both come down from your high, Chan pulls out of you. He watches the mixture of his liquids spill out of your hole, before he brings two fingers right there, scooping up some of the droplets and guiding them towards your mouth.

You obediently lick them clean, before he places a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

He takes a deep breath, “I’ve always wanted to be your first, to be honest.”

“Yeah… me, too,” you confess.

“But that doesn’t matter.” Another kiss on your forehead. “‘Cause I’ll be your last.”

💚AUTHOR'S NOTE: *taps on mic* is this thing on? yeah, hi I'm back. This fic had been chilling in my drafts half-chilling for the past few months and I am a dramatic libra so that's the first thing I post. I hope you guys have been well and enjoying your summer (or winter for my beloveds who live on the southern hemisphere and yes I know it's ironic I post a New Zealand summer story in August pls don't cancel me). I hope you enjoyed this one, I feel a bit insecure this time, if I'm completely honest with you. Please consider reblogging and/or commenting, if you want to give something back to the author! Messages via asks are fine, too. Lots of love and take care!

© j-0ne25 2023 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

[cb97zone]

pillow princess

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bang chan x afb.reader

after a stressful day at work your boyfriend knows the perfect remedy to help you relax.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): established relationship, romance, fluff, smut

𝐚𝐮(𝐬): slice of life

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fluffy sleepy vanilla smut, unprotected p in v (mc is on birth control), fingering, creampie, cockwarming

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ nsfw

𝐚𝐧: this isn’t edited, sorry if there are errors.

🎧: shrike- hoizer

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

It’s been a long day to say the least. Somehow an eight hour shift has felt like a twelve hour shift. At this point you would give anything to finally be off. You stood behind the counter quickly making coffee orders as they were being sent through. Saturday morning shifts are always the hardest. It had been an insane morning and you felt like you haven’t stopped moving since the sun started to rise. Your bottom lip was captured between your teeth as you tried to focus. You were nearing the end of your shift. Honestly, you just needed a nap desperately at this point. You couldn’t wait to finally be free from this coffee shop.

You sat two drinks down on the counter and glanced down at your watch to see that you had two minutes until you were off. You quickly made an ice coffee and sat it on the counter. You turned to your boss who was working the register and said a quick goodbye. Rushing to the back you threw off your apron and clocked out.

Rushing out of the coffee shop you walked the short distance down to your apartment you shared with your boyfriend. You couldn’t wait to see him. Hopefully he’s home and didn’t decide to go to the gym with any of his friends.

Opening the front door, you found your boyfriend and his best friend Changbin sitting in the living room. They were laughing and joking around about something. You can’t say you’re shocked that Changbin is over. Most weekends your boyfriend spends Saturdays hanging out with his best friend.

“How did work go?” Changbin asked. Changbin isn’t just your boyfriend's best friend, he’s also yours. You met back in college and he’s the one who actually introduced you to a very shy Chan. Nobody wanted you and Chan together more then Changbin. He went out of his way to push you both together.

“I made a bunch of coffee,” you smiled as you walked over to Chan who had stood up and started walking over towards you. He wasted no time wrapping his arms around your soft body and pulled you into his chest. His strong hands roam your back as you cling to him.

You rested your head against his strong chest and murmured, “I need a nap desperately.”

He pulled away and pressed his lips to the top of your head, “why don’t you go take a nap?”

“Okay.” You smiled pulling away from him.

You headed off to your room. You feel like you could fall asleep the moment your head hits the pillow. Pulling off your sweater you toss it in the hamper near the closet. Quickly you push your jeans down your thighs. You walked towards the bed in nothing but your undies and a baggy shirt. This is your preferred form of pajamas. Crawling under the covers you curled up into a ball, and closed your eyes and it wasn’t long before you were sound asleep.

The feeling of the bed dipping down next to you caused you to stir. Looking up you find your boyfriend dressed only in a pair of boxers. He’s crawling into bed. You can’t wait to curl up close to him.

“Where did Changbin go?” You rasped still half asleep. Part of you isn’t even sure if this is real or if you’re dreaming.

“He headed home, and I was dying to cuddle with you.” Chan has always been a fan of cuddling. It’s rare you fall asleep without him holding you close.

You moved over and rested your head on his strong chest and pressed your body closely against him. Her soft thigh was moved so rested across his groining. You nuzzled your face into his chest. You weren’t sure if you could get physically closer to him. You would lay on top of him if you weren’t worried about squishing him. His hand rested on your round butt holding you close to him. He always jokes around that he can't sleep unless his hand is in your butt.

“You’re so comfortable,” you wiggled your body a little, getting as close as possible.

He let out a little groan as your soft thigh brushed against his groining. He loves when you get to cuddle like this but it kills him sometimes. You somehow managed to always get him all worked up without even trying. From the very beginning Chan had been addicted to your body, just like you were to his.

“If you nap with me for a half hour we can have lazy sex after,” you rasped against his chest. Lazy sex with Chan is always nice. You love when he takes you from behind while spooning you. You could get wet just thinking about it.

He leaned his head down and pressed his lips to the top of your head, “I like that idea.”

“I thought you would.” You sigh. “All you have to do is pull my thong to the side and slide right into me.”

“How am I supposed to sleep when you’re making me hard, talking about me pulling your cute little thong to the side?” He groans.

“I’m so sleepy-“ you moan rubbing your body against him.

“Is my sleepy princess horny?” His hand grips your butt pulling you closer to him.

“I’m already wet.”

His hand moves down your butt and dips between your legs. Pushing your thong to the side he groans at the feeling of how wet you are.

“Fuck-“

“I told you.”

“Baby can I fuck you?” He’s running his fingers through your folds.

“I’m too tired to do anything.” You might be sleepy but you’re aware you’re playing a game with him now. You’re tired but you definitely aren’t too tired to have sex with him. You just want to be a bit of a pillow princess right now. You want him to do all the work. You’re luckily your boyfriend is a saint and has no problem letting you be a pillow princess.

“Baby you don’t have to do anything. Let me do all the work.”

“Okay-“ You sigh.

Rolling off him you roll until you’re laying on your side with your back to him. You feel the bed move behind you letting you know he’s removing his boxers. The sound of the nightstand drawer opening signals he’s grabbing lube. Pulling your panties to the side you push your leg forward on the bed giving him more access to you. The bottle clicks open and moments later you feel him massage the cool liquid between your folds.

Slowly he runs his length through your folds. He takes his time pushing into you. His hand grips your hip. He keeps a slow and deep pace. This is your favorite kind of sex. You feel incredibly close and intimate when you’re together like this. Closing your eyes you moan. He feels so deep inside you. He’s always been a fan of any position he can take you from behind.

“Fuck-“ you whine. “You’re so deep.”

“You’re taking me so well baby.”

You know at this rate with how deep he is you won’t last long. You have no problem with cumming so quickly. With his stamina he’ll probably make you cum a second time before he finishes inside you.

“Channie-“ you fall apart almost instantly. Your walls contract around him.

He continues his slow and deep pace. “So good-“ He groans.

“Oh god-“ You’re moaning like a whore in heat.

“Can you cum again?”

“Yes-“ Your first orgasm isn’t even finished and he’s trying to get a second out of you.

His pace picks up slightly. His hand reaches between your legs and starts playing with your clit. You’re on the verge of overstimulation. Gasping he pulls another orgasm out of you. Crying his name out as you feel him paint your walls with his salty release. He moans your name in your ear as he rides out his own high.

His hips slowly stop moving and he shows no sign of pulling out. You both love cock warming after slowly sleepy sex.

“Let’s get some sleep babygirl.” He smiled before pressing his lips to your shoulder.

“I like that idea,” you whispered, closing your eyes.

If you have asked to be tagged I request that you please reblog. If you could leave comments and or tags that would be greatly appreciated.

[cb97zone]

⎯ caught in the webs. ⟡ featuring han jisung

🕷️ : Spider-Man! Han Jisung x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. Spider-Man! au, nerd Jisung! au, high school! au, pining, confessions (somewhat), slight self-doubt, a little angst, nervous sungie :(

WORD COUNT. 7.4k words ⭑ 35min read

WARNINGS. cursing, mentions of an existential crisis, (not actually) ghosting, insecurity, slight anxiety/degradation of oneself, dubcon(??) kiss

AUG'S NOTES. although i initially planned for this to be a mere 4-5k word fic… yeah. got a little carried away, oops. funny enough i’ve been seeing so much spider-man merch everywhere—got me thinking this fic was meant to be :) please enjoy and feel free to leave your thoughts in a reblog!! have a lovely day everyone <3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. To everyone else in high school, Han Jisung is just a nervous, somehow ingenious chemistry nerd. And yet, beneath the glasses and long hours studying, a secret lies. Because Han Jisung isn’t just a nerd, but Seoul’s one and only, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. But what happens when he finds himself head over heels for no one but you? No less scrambling for the courage to ask you out before the Valentine’s Dance? Between the fine-line of his secret identity and the more he falls for you each day, he finds himself hoping you feel the same way.

or alternatively :

In which the tangle of webs makes for complications, and love.

“And- I mean, it’s not like she knows I’m Spider-Man so,” Han rationalizes, hands flailing about in an awkward manner of both panic and hope, currently spilling his worries out to a luckily, ever patient Chan.

That is, opposed to Minho (Han’s official roommate) whom the two both know would nod his head and eventually (bluntly) tell Han he’s thinking far too hard before going back to studying. 

And yet, at this very moment, Minho might be the sole reprieve in calming said boy’s nerves with his no-nonsense attitude.

Because in less than three weeks their high school’s annual Valentine’s dance will be here, and if anyone knows something about Han Jisung, it’s the borderline pitiful way he pines over you like some neglected puppy, a factor it seems only you don’t notice.

As for the thing nobody knows of apart from some greatly trusted compadre’s, Han Jisung isn’t simply a dorky high schooler, but Seoul’s one and only, (trying-to-be) friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. 

Who.. is having a heart attack merely thinking of your face, your laughter, your smile, your— ugh.

Three weeks to gain as much style and confidence as he can muster and, first and foremost, the balls to even ask you out when the time comes. 

To put it simply, he’s fucked.

Completely, utterly, fucked.

Biochemistry with Mr. Jang is the pits when it comes down to his hour-long lectures, but it isn’t the boredom itself grasping his attention so deliberately, it’s you.

Two seats ahead, one seat to the right. 

And oh, if Han isn’t smitten.

You’re smart, stupidly smart. With your pretty hair and pretty face and crinkling eyes when you smile, where your lips curl in delight. You seem to glow, as if an ethereal fae he’d learn of in childish folklore, come alive amid his wildest daydreams.

So it’s the shrill ring of the dismissal bell that has him jumping from his seat, palms slapping against the wood of his desk with a stinging force effectively gaining the attention of most everyone in the class.

And the harrowing silence.

Trust, his face goes beet red, and Jisung had never choked on an apology faster in his life beneath Mr. Jang’s scrutinizing stare.

Though, from the corner of his eye, he can see it: that breathtaking smile of yours hidden behind a hand as you laugh. 

Jackpot.

Han Jisung has just hit the lottery.

Even if it was his scolding earning your laughter. But he’d brush off the matter a thousand times over to see that smile again. And again and again, like a selfish itch incapable of being satiated.

He really is hopeless.

.

.

.

“No you don’t get it! She smiled at me and—“

The rest is a series of groans and oddly unintelligible sounds, ones the partner of his decides not to inquire about.

Now squirming around the hallways, Jisung buries his face into his hands, whining loudly. Third period leads both him and Minho to Physics together, the decently spaced walk across campus to the classroom allowing leeway for (currently-kept-secret) Spider-Man’s groveling. 

Funny story, actually.

The way Minho found out, that is.

Having grown used to his webs over the few months of adjusting, he’d been ignorant in forgetting his roommate would be home as well.

Which.. ensued the piece of bread he used his webs to beckon over—while making the glorious concoction donned as a grilled cheese—met with Minho’s furrowed, evidently confused brows and an equally, albeit slow, acceptance whilst continuing on to the fridge.

A predictable reaction, Jisung would’ve supposed.

If not for the fact he downright begged the boy to not tell, dread forming in his stomach merely watching that sly, mischief-filled sneer curl at his roommate’s lips. 

Laundry and dish-duty for a week.

Thanks, Minho.

As for Chan’s introduction to Seoul’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, the two had been approaching each other after Chan’s football practice when the older of the two tossed a football at the younger counterpart, under the (accurate) impression Jisung couldn’t catch to save his life.

That was correct.

The unable-to-catch part, yeah.

But of course, per his luck, if Han couldn’t catch it, that damned radioactive spider would help him catch it.

And he did. Both hands, firm and fast.

Quick enough to freak the quarterback out and, given a few weeks time, unveil his secret after one too many tests on his reflexes and a downright scary amount of footballs thrown at his head.

“So you’re diseased.”

“I am not, we’ve been over this.”

“You’re walking on the ceiling.”

Fair enough, he’d admit if not for the cereal (that he currently figures out how to hold upside down- or right side up? It’s hard to tell) stuffed in his cheeks, feigning a glare matching Minho’s where his roommate pokes his nose indignantly prior to beginning off towards the bathroom.

Nearly 8am, and he’s aiming to keep comfy pajamas on as long as possible before having to exchange for school clothes.

Curious, observant umber irises waste time peering at the expanse of his torso visible where he hangs upside down, lips forming into an ‘o’ of awe seeing the defined lines descending down his belly flex with every move.

Those are new.

Perks of a spider bite, huh. 

Of the few.

Eventually resorting to doing forgotten dishes, he patiently waits for the grumpy roommate of his to finish in the bathroom, rumbling echo of the hairdryer synthesizing with the morning news’ daily report.

Weather, local updates. But the portion gathering his attention comes in the form of the headline: Creeping villain, Lizard, once again detained by Seoul’s mysterious vigilante, Spider-Man.

And simultaneously, listening in on the story, he finds a glow of pride settling in his chest.

He did that. With a few bruises and scrapes sufficing as evidence but, overall, his doing.

Nevertheless, with the rising pride comes the rising stupidity.

Apparently. 

Resulting in, while lost in the throes of his inflating ego, the reckless unleash of webs upon random surfaces as fast as he can manage, failing to notice the risky positioning of a web by his foot until—as if from a cartoon—he trips over it. 

“Ow! My foot- and my coffee..”

The shatter of his mug and Minho’s exasperated sigh seem to speak for themselves.

Most days it’s simply him and his thoughts in classes, and he enjoys that. Sometimes. 

The serenity, the ability to focus with ease, his headphones as his only companion—in which he tries pinpointing a suitable theme song for himself with. 

Embarrassing, he knows, but the aspect is exciting, having his own theme song.

He is a hero, after all.

Or.. one in training, after all.

A thumb and index tap along the surface of his desk, scribbling into his notebook. 

Web Fluid, consists of the topic at hand, scrawled on the top of the page.

A matter he knows he can create easily per his spider-like abilities, but finds himself pouring over regardless, curiosity gnawing at him with each formula jotted down on the lined paper.

Until you come along, and every sensible ounce of brain power goes aloof.

“Hey, what would you think about tutoring— web fluid?”

Your initial offer, from what he could tell, is swift to change, and Jisung feels his ears burn.

“Oh, yeah- I was just- web fluid, y’know? ‘Cause I, like everyone else, hate spiders (sorry radioactive spider) so I just-“

“That’s interesting, actually. You’ve got a real good grasp on chemistry.. huh.”

Lips puckered into a puff of contemplation, you’re slow to nod, gaze scanning over the wild bullet points, numbers too overwhelming to even consider.

So easy, he makes it all: the calculations, the math.

So easy, you make it all: the interactions, the conversation. 

Envy strikes him like a lightning bolt.

Why can’t he just calm down? Behave as he would if he were Spider-Man? 

Capable, assured.

“Think you could tutor me? I can pay you?”

This was not what he expected. 

“Tutor?” Han repeats, as if to clarify whether he’s hearing things. Not a belittling sort of echo, but one to console his inner panic, hope, bewilderment.

Emphasis on the bewilderment.

The nod of your head affirms all he needs to know, and, while suppressing the urge to shout with joy, he offers a small smile, waving a hand synonymously.

“Sure, yeah. Tutoring would be great. I think I’d have time between my internship with Stark Industries- not that I’m like- bragging or anything- just Mr. Stark can be kinda pushy and—“

He takes a moment to calm down before continuing to ramble on.

“We can work in your dorm? Or- if that makes you uncomfortable I totally get it-“

A big breath, flushing further beneath you patient smile.

“And you don’t have to pay me,” These words are quieter, his eyes flitting over the web fluid formulas below. “I don’t mind.”

“Thank you, Jisung.”

Jisung.

He has to cough into his hand to keep from choking, screaming, leaping like a rabbit and shrieking with accomplishment. Mainly because you called him Jisung, and secondly due to the number in his phone, your number in his phone a few minutes afterward.

This is Jisung, hi. Comes out as the most suitable first text after around twenty minutes of hesitation.

Yet, despite his exhaustion that following morning from swinging around the majority of the night in some way of expressing his happiness, he still glows.

And.. freaks out Minho in the process. 

That isn’t new. 

“Ugh…”

The ring of his alarm earns a low moan of irritation, slinging an arm over his face in feeble avoidance. His muscles ache, head thrumming frustratingly hard. 

Then again, he still gets up, still makes breakfast and dresses—however long that took between trudging steps and obnoxiously long yawns.

Though, there’s a minuscule facet of motivation keeping his eyes bright, his actions swift and steady.

You. 

Tonight, you’ll tutor at the library. Chemical equations, something he luckily excels at.

Together.

Cupid’s bow had long-since struck, leaving Han Jisung to drift away into a love-stricken labyrinth he had no chance of escaping from. 

And gosh are you pretty, the boy swearing he ends up lost gazing at you too many times to count.

There are days he can tell you’re tired, days you drag yourself to tutoring amid a likely hectic schedule where he simply wants to give you the biggest hug possible.

He can’t say his schedule looks any better, but will admit making time to both tutor and hang out sits at the top of an endlessly accumulating list.

In which beckons small notes scribbled between the margins of your textbook, sticky-notes attached to your folder for the next day.

A little extra motivation within the: “You can do it!!” or the silly messages like: “Imagine Mr. Jang as a giraffe!” that he pumps his fist seeing you laugh at that following day.

From then, a routine starts. 

Someone bringing coffee one week, the next the other’s job. Studying that turns into conversation, turns into him relaxing around you, able to communicate without slipping over his words, where you pitch in and he does too. 

Jokes, idiotic ones, he adds in just to watch you smile. Silly remarks you both laugh over until your stomachs hurt.

Even if this labyrinth isn’t one he can escape from, he finds himself not minding.

“And it’s not like she knows I’m Spider-Man.”

“Are you Spider-Man?”

Those words echo in his head, practically a wicked enchantment on replay.

Fu—ck.

Of plenty tutoring sessions, it had to be now that things suddenly went to shit, huh?

With his head running a mile a minute and the sensible words leaving every ounce of headspace, the genius of a boy manages one sentence.

One. Stupid. Sentence.

“Spider-Man? Who’s that?”

Great going, jackass.

Your awkward chuckle makes him want to crawl into his own skin, makes him wish so terribly the library would eat him up, that he could dissipate out of sight.   

“I’m kidding, you know that, right?”

Oh. He’s saved. 

“I mean,” A pause, and for a split second Jisung’s heart plummets once more, feeling as if he’s trapped on a nonstop roller coaster and not a decrepit library chair instead.

Do you know? Did his roomie snitch?

No. Remember the dishes-for-a-week deal, he mentally reassures.

“Everybody wants to know, yeah? I think he’s pretty cool, actually,” Eyes flickering back to your book, his face pales.

A good kind of pale, if that exists.

Ah. 

A light at the end of the tunnel.

It must be some sort of miracle, because Han Jisung hasn’t felt this elated since being presented with a new bicycle for his birthday when he was seven.  

“Thank y— Oh! Yeah. He’s.. yep, cool. Really cool.”

Stammering. Han Jisung, the boy who made a pact to end each night with beer pong come his college days (something that likely won’t happen), who makes dirty jokes bad enough Minho snorts at them, stammering. 

It’s beyond embarrassing, but he’s never felt so alive. 

Nonetheless, his tutoring voyage continues (although almost painful with how often he savors watching your face light up upon getting a question right), compiled in chatter he somehow gets through and small jokes here and there you exchange as if you’d known each other forever. 

And somewhere in between the lines of Stats and multiple-choice-answer hell, he thinks about it. About asking you out, about the dance, about spilling it all right here and there—with your two coffee cups steaming warm tendrils and the quietness of surrounding bookshelves making everything feel safe, comfortable.

“Hey, would you,” He finds himself hesitating, finds your kind gaze flickering to him from the review paper in clutch.

Baby steps. 

“Would you want to do this again? Tomorrow? Like, maybe at a café? The one by campus? Or not, if you’re busy or, don’t want to or whatever-“

“Sure.”

Sure.

He wants to resent you for the relaxed nature you adjust to an atmosphere with, your natural ability to pull him closer and closer, to make his heart thump hard enough in his chest he fears it might burst.

Because you’re far too much for his heart, and he’s giving you a run for your money with those wide globes for eyes and round cheeks bunching up in focus when explaining a concept.

But that’s a secret that’ll remain untold.

For the most part.

“Okay.”

He tried replying with the same fashion of nonchalance, but the words come out shaky and nervous and he nearly winces.

Although, come the finale of this almost-disaster, you still said yes. And to his knowledge—however meager when it came to the matter of love—tomorrow you’d be going on a date. Technically a study-date. Even still, a date.

So predictably, as the semi-idiot he is, he spends his night swinging through Seoul once more and swimming in consequential drowsiness the following day.

Worth it.

Under-eye bags be damned, it seems the way Jisung nearly radiates energy so early in the morning unsettles more than motivates for a second time these past few weeks, understood in the grunted: “turn it down!” received from Minho in response to his music.

..In which he currently serenades an invisible audience using a spoon as a microphone in the kitchen.

A date a date a date a date. 

He keeps the anxiety from settling in for the time being, knowing his kryptonite would take domain the moment he allowed himself in his mind.

What should he wear? Should he style his hair differently? It’s Saturday, maybe he should wear something less school-oriented?

No. 

Enough. 

More serenading, more bad-singing mutes the chaos bouncing around his skull.

He’ll take what he can get.

.

.

.

Each passing minute edges closer to noon, his bag hauled over a shoulder and a mumbled pep-talk recited where he paces his room—the fretful introductions he goes over in the mirror falling short upon his overthinking becoming all too much, prompting him from the dorms for fresh air.

Just be natural.

He scoffs at the thought.

Yeah right. 

The flutter of birds soaring from overhanging trees captures his attention, then the rustle of leaves, then the distant shout of children squabbling over a ball. Peaceful, if only temporarily. 

Eventually, the quiet provokes a hand to reach for his phone, clicking on your number with a ruminative hum, head bobbing to the melody in his eardrums.

The Cure plays, Friday I’m in Love’s familiar beat soothing his indecisiveness while walking.

Tongue pressing to his cheek does the feeling grasp him almost instantly. Tight and inexorable, noise in his eardrum numbing to a buzz. 

The Jisung Tingle.

Chan’s words, not his. 

Too far for a regular person to hear, he discerns the shout of a woman, and Han’s already finding his trusty alley to both dump his bag and simultaneously change into his suit in before scaling the wall.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot!” Comes his hurried babbling, technologically adept sensors in the costume’s eye-divots adjusting to better locate the source of commotion, danger.

A bank robber about a hundred feet away catches his attention first, the idiot scrambling for as much cash as he can muster into an already pitifully minuscule bag.

This guy’s gonna ruin my date!

Ah yes Jisung, ever the optimist.

Skillful deployment of his webs sends him straight to the problem, checking his phone for half a second.

Eleven fifty-two, and eight minutes doesn’t sound like nearly enough time right about now to both apprehend a criminal and turn into an unsuspecting Jisung attending his first date with the girl he really, really likes.

“Y’know,” He shouts, a sharp kick to the back of the leg forcing the perpetrator on ground so harshly he even winces at it, muttering a “sorry!” he scolds himself over after restraining the man.

Reminder: don’t apologize to criminals.

“I’d give you the credit for trying this in broad daylight, but this bag man.. it’s tiny!” He can’t help but chuckle, placing his hands on his hips matter-of-a-fact-ly.

“Lemme guess, it’s your mom’s bag,” Leaning forward, he grants some leeway to crack funny comments.

Deadpool’s funny, right? Can’t he be like Deadpool? That’s okay, yeah? People like funny Superheroes.

The unimpressed scowl from the robber earns a sheepish, squeaky giggle, waving his hands frantically.

Gotcha. No funny Superheroes.

“Not that your mom’s bag’s ugly! I mean it’s just, kinda small. Wouldn’t you wanna use a big bag, like in the movies?”

Alright. No humor, period. Got it.

“Yeah Spider-Man!” Suddenly, a person’s voice resounds from the onlookers, eliciting following cheers he can’t help but preen at, mouth agape beneath his mask.

“I have fans! Oh my gosh I fa—“

Han Jisung has one minute until his perfect, amazing date.

The memorandum is abruptly voiced from his suit’s inner audio system, and he both thanks Mr. Stark for the high-tech features and curses his ability to get distracted. 

Additionally cursing the beyond-cheesy way he typed in that reminder, by the way.

What’s up with the “perfect, amazing date” part?

Moving on.

Unfortunately, the time crunch calls for his equally time-crunched behavior, calling out a: “call the police please!” to the amassing crowd and using his webs to keep the robber’s hands behind his back moments after propelling himself upwards.

You.

He can’t afford to be late, witness your disappointed face.

Han would rather take off the suit for good than have you think he stood you up.

Unbeknownst to the awkwardly redressing hero in his beloved alley, you’re also running late, a factor he remains oblivious to.

Until he doesn’t. 

It’s true, time and time again, that a person’s instinctively compelled in locating the person they favor in a crowd. That even when hundreds of bodies surround, one’s eyes travel solely to their special person.

His special person, whom he involuntarily lands in front of without a single thought in mind. 

Great job, dude.

“Hey, um-“

No wait, he can’t just start a conversation like this. You don’t know he’s Spider-Man.

Right.

Deepening his voice (rather horribly), he waves a hand about, summoning this painfully fake, certainly-not-teenage impression. 

“You seem lost, ma’am. I could, y’know, give you a ride? I’m a very classical gentleman-“

Yikes, the voice crack. 

“..Alright?”

The way you tilt your head, the way your hair cascades around your face like a perfect frame.

Oh my gosh you’re pretty.

How many times has he thought that now? 

Heck, not just Jisung, but Spider-Man has to take a deep breath, more so when you loop an arm around his shoulders and he both struggles (and excels) at avoiding touching your bum, simultaneously pretending to be oblivious about your destination in mind.

As if he wasn’t just rushing there moments prior. 

Although it’s easy grinning at the mixture of screams and laughter bubbling from your lips with each practiced extension of his webs, savoring the manner you cling close while he bounds overtop Seoul’s cityscape, expression transforming into that of excitement after the first few nerve-wracking seconds. 

Alive.

He knows the feeling, the freedom coming with being above the crowd. 

The other thing he’s come to know the feeling of? The panic upon arriving at the café, followed by another bout of panic trying to subtly change in the tiny bathroom without making a racket.

Slightly sweaty, but durable. 

No less, crazily enough, the date goes well. You continue to look darling from your spot across from him, he rushes to behave the most manly he can, and the both of you merely.. talk.

About anything, everything. Plans for tomorrow, for next year. Family, friends, pets. Bbama (his dog) and how much he misses him, and quips he prides himself in earning your laugh at, progressively mellowing out.

Understandably, you’ve both long since abandoned the aim of “studying” in this excused study-date.

Then again, there are the moments. The brief notions where you're both out of breath, whether it be from laughter or hurried conversation altogether that he swears if he asked that perilous question you’d say yes. 

Want to go to the dance with me?

Or maybe that’s too laxed.

Gone just as fast as the chance arrives, he’s alternatively left trying to play off spacing out, flushing in response to bemused laughter.

Easy.

You’ve always made it easy.

This time, it’s his turn to level out the playing ground.

And while you’re effectively charmed by his antics, a little boy a few tables over wonders why he’s catching glimpses of Spider-Man’s suit beneath a high-school boy’s pants leg.

In all the years of Han Jisung’s life, he never pictured himself as a taxi service.

And no, not working for a taxi service, but being a taxi service.

You heard that right, yes.

So it’s a “new kind of whipped” (according to Chan) that more often than not he’s slinging himself over to your dorm after some not-so “coincidences” in which he ran into you on the street, eventually pretending to learn the whereabouts of your dorm.

“Sour gummy worms orrr— Sour Patch Kids?” 

Which leads to very intelligent conversations.

Obviously.

The Jisung less than a month ago would’ve screamed himself silly if he saw him now, currently combing his fingers through your hair where you sit leant against the side of the bed, popping a gummy worm in your mouth before lifting the bag to share.

Recently, most of his nights have been spent lingering around here after tutoring, the matter ignorant to you that the same boy in his glasses and flannel shirt minutes earlier now stood as Spider-Man.

Expectedly, you talk. And talk and talk and talk until he knows a curfew officer would knock him out cold if he was found sneaking from your dorm, till you forget about time altogether.

Of your many conversations, the ones where you end up crying are his least favorite. 

To say it broke his heart the first time he watched you break down in front of him was a severe understatement, thanking the courage his hero-identity provided him with to usher you into a hug he never wished to let go of.

And he didn’t, not until those sniffles subsided, those glossy eyes lost their heart-wrenching factor.

A week from the dance, you fell asleep in his arms for the first time since these meet-ups, the boy barely sneaking through the window before you came barreling him over in a hug.

He had an inkling you weren’t feeling up to tutoring that night from the start, the failure to focus not going unnoticed.

Of course, with being able to provide you security as Spider-Man, so came the insecurity as Han Jisung.

Was it this version of him you wanted? The strong, capable soon-to-be-eighteen-year-old known as Seoul’s helpful vigilante? A hero?

Was Han Jisung not enough?

However much the doubt struck him electrified, for now he’d savor being able to be your consolation, your confidant. To hold you close when you needed to feel something, someone, for his head to rest in your lap when his own day sucked.

Someone to rely on, so this world wouldn’t seem so lonely. If only for a little while.

.

.

.

Still, the downsides had to persevere.

That night’s headline was definitely a downside, more humiliating than anything.

Spider-Man’s clumsy apprehension of Chang-dong bank robber.

The knowing snicker he can practically hear from Minho’s dorm followed by an assumed-to-be equally smug text from Chan lighting up his phone is returned by a childish whine.

Yeah. Not proud of that.

“I’m going to file a stalker report, y’know.”

Four days from the dance, he decides his nightly escapades could use a bump up, lowering himself upside down with his webs where you passed by a crevice of two buildings.

A little scare wouldn’t hurt, right?

…Right?

Number one? Don’t do that, he learned. Number two? Your smacks really hurt.

“Jerk!” Irritated in manner, it’s the small grin tugging at the corner of your lips giving away your true feelings, a matter Han can’t help but giggle cheerily at despite the stinging of his cheek.

Ouch.

It has his head going for a loop both hanging upside down generally and acknowledging the fact you still look good from this odd angle altogether, head tilting quizzically.

“Actually, I think I deserve a thank you,” His haughty reply, channeling your earlier accusatory energy, beckons a laugh.

“Don’t you know it’s dangerous out late? Gotta have Spidey here to keep the creeps away.”

“My hero,” Comes your own haughty reply, placing a dramatic hand to your chest before dissolving into shared smiles.

A pause interrupting the flow of speech, he fills in the blanks searching your face for any indication of the thoughts swirling in that head of yours to no avail.

“Well I’ve got to reward you in some way, yeah? You’ve given me free rides,” Arrives your too-sweet of a response, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

That perfect knit between your brows.

Cute.

“Say, ‘been thinking you sound similar to somebody I know. We study together.”

Oh. 

Whoops.

If his eyes were visible, you’d watch them grow the size of saucers, his mouth gaping.

“Ah, just a thought.” 

And with a wave of your hand do you dismiss an upcoming heart attack, only to stir up yet another upon reaching for his mask, earning what meager observation would conclude as a squeal.

“Wait- wait! Wait!” 

Thankfully, you do in fact wait, and Han Jisung, with only his mouth bared, breathes a sigh of relief.

“Please don’t take it off.”

For a moment, the man sounds remarkably like Han Jisung, but you shake the thought as soon as it passes. 

“Okay,” It’s a whisper, but heard nonetheless, the appearance of storm clouds bathing the alleyway an even darker shade, clouding your vision to the mere white of his teeth, the parting of soft lips when he speaks, breathes. 

“I dunno I just- I thought between you in my dorm and the way we- I thought it’d be-“

This time you’re stammering, something he’d initially be starstruck regarding if not for the guilt gnawing at his chest. 

Understandable.

Friends don’t just cuddle at night, visit each other just to be held.

Not the way you two do.

“Would a kiss work? For a ‘thank you’, I mean.”

Somewhere in between, you saw Han Jisung in this stranger, this hero.

Whether it turned out as him or not, a part of you wished when you closed your eyes, that sweet, studious boy would be there when you opened them. 

A little inkling in your gut tells you more than you catch onto.

The bob of his throat beckons a small snort of sheepish, pained laugh on your end, the boy fearing he may suffer a head rush the longer he dangles upside down.

“I’m sorry— that was too forward, right?”

A beat of silence ensues. More stifling than ever.

Though it’s the precious manner your lips wind tight, expression filling with hesitation compared to a previous playfulness that has him speaking before you say something along the lines of “forget it” and leave the seemingly invincible Spider-Man to cry in this horrific-smelling alleyway like a child.

“No! No. That’s- yeah. That would be okay.”

Again, he scolds the wobbliness of his tone, schooling it into that playful cadence his identity as a hero calls for instead.

Because he’d be a liar first off saying he didn’t ache for more, and an ever bigger liar denying himself from your kiss after such arduous pining. 

“Just one though, can’t have too many, alright?”

Liar, for a second time. 

You could kiss him till he passed out and he’d wake up grateful. 

But the ego’s got to be kept up, right?

Yet, before another sly quip can fall from his tongue he’s nearly spellbound, your lips finding his shutting off both all brainpower and erasing the retort he’d planned to fill the quietness. 

And oh if Jisung doesn’t just melt, chasing after your lips instinctively, savoring the silly bump of your nose against his chin from upside down. The laughter between too-short of contact, the warm touch of your fingers against his cheeks as cold rain pelts the city from above, droplets tickling his skin.

Pulling away, he finds his hands instinctively reaching out, tenderly smoothing away strands of hair stubbornly sticking to your forehead just like what he’d do to soothe when you’d cry—giggling at the messy mascara tracks scoring your cheeks upon detaching his webs, suit-clad feet thumping on the sidewalk below.

Alas, right side up.

“Hey, don’t make the people think I made you cry, hm?” He cracks a smile, adjusting his mask back over his face. 

Well, that’s seconds from coming to understand the price of the rain, the effect of the rain in drenching your t-shirt see-through.

Oh how fast that smug facade vanishes, Han’s palm jutting out to shield both you and his eyes. 

“Your- I’ll be right back- I’m not looking!”

Because beneath the hero-suit, he’s only a teenager. 

And a gentleman, he prides himself in believing himself to be.

Luckily, this just so happened to be the alley he’d ditched his initial clothing in, exchanging for his suit moments prior. 

Gotta love his trusty alley.

Thanking whomever above, an extra “Stark Industries” t-shirt of his suffices in calming the situation at hand.

Trust, Jisung wants to groan with the sight of you in his t-shirt, one he assures you can keep for as long as you need on the ride back.

Ride, as in, web-slinging, an occasion definitely not as fun beneath the downpour of thunder and rain.

Ensuring you get back safely, he practically catapults himself into his own dorm, running to the shower like a wet rat seeking shelter.

Yep. It’s a great look.

But gosh does that shower feel like a slice of heaven.

Though not as heavenly as your kiss.

From inside the shower, a loud scream of realization rings out, previous events raining down on him like the warm water sifting through his hair.

Seems it sunk in.

.

.

.

“So.. what should I do if I see a girl's bra?”

Fairly normal conversation between him and Minho, per usual.

“..Did you sleep with someone?”

“Wha- no! It was an accident!”

“An accident that you slept with someone?”

This is going nowhere.

“No! An accident where I saw her b-“

“Then congrats.”

Congrats.

“What am I supposed to do, celebrate?” Han demands incredulously, giving his roommate a nonsensical stare.

“.. Butter chicken?”

Unfortunately, his stomach argues against any more squabbling, voice like that of a mouse.

“Yes, please.”

And the two enjoy their butter chicken in relatively harmless terms, The Bachelor playing on the TV, Minho taking the floor with his sparkling cider while Jisung occupies the couch above, notebook in hand.

In less than three day, I went on my first date and kissed the girl I’m in love with. Except, she doesn’t know who I am, he writes, hand stopping after that final period before closing the forbidden contents away with a loud exhale, head tipping back to rest against the couch.

One thought failed to be written down? A little extra something, bouncing around in his skull.

I want to tell her the truth.

This is met with another sigh.

What a day.

“Who knew I’d be hanging around thee Spider-Man. Or that he kissed me.”

The last sentence is barely audible, but Jisung catches it all the same, a lopsided grin nudging at his cheeks. 

From your view on the rooftop, the sunset illuminates her waning rays, painting the sky an effortless canvas of crimson and amber hues. Your feet dangle aimlessly from the edge, an action you would be horrified of if not for the man’s presence beside you.

Han’s presence, though you didn’t know that just yet.

All you’ve gathered of his identity were the momentary occasions he’d roll up his mask, like now, where the superhero gnaws at a granola bar, seated beside you. 

“I’m pretty normal though,” Comes his reply, a lilt in the last word hinting at his confusion. 

“Pfft- normal? You’re Spider-Man! Everyone in a quarter radius of Seoul City wants to know your identity. Either that or they run some secret fan account for you.”

A pause before his masked-face slowly swivels to you.

“..Do you run a fan acco—“

Jisung’s pondering was quick to be choked upon (literally) when you smack his back, provoking a chaste gagging fit on his granola bar. 

Yeesh your smacks hurt.

“No! I was just giving an example!”

He finds himself laughing anyway despite the dull throb of his shoulder, feigning a pout whilst rubbing over the skin in feigned hurt. 

It’s nice, he thinks. To be sharing this little corner of the world with you. Away from the hustle and bustle of life. 

Most days he’d swing his way here for a late dinner, peeling layers of tin-foil from his wrapped burrito, legs swinging over the edge, headphones blaring some slow tune while watching the moon make its entrance past a setting sun.

For once, his world as Spider-Man isn’t so.. isolated. 

Dangerous, risky with the prospect of you discovering his identity, but for now he’ll embrace the possibility, embrace your presence beside him.

He doesn’t care if it’s momentary, fleeting. 

Being a Spider-Man, having these abilities, this random probability in a billion of becoming a hero, has taught him to hold onto each opportunity with both hands.

Without a chance of letting go.

And somewhere during those consistent weeks of tutoring, you join each other on the dorms’ rooftop on random occasions when he can’t slip into your dorm undetected. 

Him under the ecstatic impression he gets to see you again outside of the library, you believing the boy from tutoring had gone back to his dorm, now meeting a totally-separate, definitely-not-Han-Jisung Spider-Man.

Or so he thought.

Frequency, predictably, beckons familiarity. Opening leeway to deeper, more meaningful conversations within those nights more than ever before, the uncovering of sensitive, intimate layers that almost provoke Han to speak, to reveal himself.

Guilt, ever so slightly, in regards to your obliviousness to the truth.

A guilt unnecessary, he had yet to know of. Because you’ve come to notice that, when rolling his mask up just enough whenever eating, a chocolate-chip looking mole rests on his cheek, one oh so signature to yet another person.

Two strangers, turned friends, turned kiss-don’t-tell, turned foolish secret-keepers chasing each other’s tails after a love requited all along.

As for tonight, his hands brace himself upon rigid brick, the month and a half span of adapting to your companionship enabling him to not freak out (unlike the first time it happened) when you rest your head against his shoulder. 

One earbud in his ear, the other in yours.

DEAN plays, the title “Half Moon” quite befitting for that same moon rising above two high schoolers. One hopelessly having fallen first, the other finding themself falling harder.

“Can this be our song?” His whisper’s barely divisible against a gust of wind, but you hear it anyway.

“Mhm.”

The nod against his shoulder is enough.

.

.

.

“Alright, it’s about time I head out, hm? Got homework to do.”

It’s a small peck, one placed chaste and tidy against his cheek. However, no matter the size, Han transforms into a tomato beneath his mask, ever so grateful for the coverage provided.

“Just one, you said. Wouldn’t want it to be too much.”

Cruel, he thinks, watching you go, watching that teasing smile on your face.

Using my words against me.

“If a weird guy shows up, tell them Spider-Man will hunt them down!”

Per a greater confidence beneath the mask, he felt obligated in getting the last laugh, chuckling at the dismissive wave of your hand before you disappear down the stairs, the roof’s access hatch clunking closed behind you.

Following your absence, a glance at the sky and its brilliant stars elicit a weighted breath in response. 

Two days from the dance, proposals having started up left and right in the halls, the classrooms.

Ah, this is getting bad.

Who knew love could be so troublesome?

But then again, the intervention of hesitation snakes its way between the lines, and Han Jisung finds himself cast-away to a deserted island within his head during the one class he’s usually most attentive in, Biophysics. Too busy thinking of you, of the “something more”.

Because what if who you kissed that night, Spider-Man, was who you were into? What if the Han Jisung beneath the suit wasn’t what you wanted, but the hero, with his brave facade and unbreakable spirit?

And Han Jisung was just a nerdy high schooler. 

A hard shake of his head futilely tries discarding the gray clouds of worry, appearing incessantly come this past week. 

Foot tapping against the tile floor, he jams the endlessly clicking tip of his pen against an unfitting, empty notebook.

You deserve the hero.

The thought, somehow, makes his heart break a bit. Sends his mind into a frenzy of existential questioning.

Was Han Jisung Spider-Man? Or simply the man behind the suit? Two lives, completely different and yet all the same coming down to the person responsible.  

Is he that hero? 

That night, he lets people down.

He doesn’t respond to his call from Mr. Stark (and the following one from Happy), disappears from his dorm, and fails to show up for tutoring and his daily drop-in to your dorm.

Han Jisung can’t be perfect, can’t live up to every expectation, every stereotype a hero is portrayed as.

There are lives that’re going to be lost with or without his interference, people he can’t save, circumstances he can’t change no matter how hard he tries.

But today is now. Nothing will change unless he changes it.

Spider-Man can’t be without Jisung, yet, Jisung needs to be able to be without Spider-Man. 

There is no sacrifice if it all relies on the suit, no heroics. 

Just a scared little boy hiding behind fancy technology, behind a confident facade unable to be replicated without a media-ridden title attached to it, a suit to cover himself with.

The boy that kissed you? That was Jisung. Jisung’s voice, lips, laugh. His nervousness, his cockiness. 

It’s always been him.

Just Han Jisung.

And he’s okay with that.

Because if he can’t be without the suit, what is there to be?

Texts left unread, it’s one pebble knocking, then another against your window at 6am the day of the dance that alerts you from your sleep, cursing under your breath as you make for the window—left without a trace of the sender other than a sticky note smack-dab in the middle of the panel.

No other could’ve left that than him.

The reasoning earns your sigh of disbelief.

Climb to the rooftop, please.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he prays you’ll comply.

It’d make plenty of sense, your pensiveness. He let you down, held you to a predictable standard left unpredictable after oh so long.

However, feelings always have a way of choosing things before the mind can, and even your spitefulness works futile against the two feet guiding you up the stairwell.

What awaits you leaves every ounce of anger simmering into nothingness, because the familiar sight of Mapo Bridge miles off says something.

A sharp inhale.

Intertwined across the arch and guardrails, webs spell out such a peculiar assortment of words.

I love you.

A smaller writing off to the side.

I’m sorry.

Oh he makes you angry.

Angry thanks to this boy throwing your life for a loop, angry thanks to the foolishness this love seems to have infected the both of you with.

The ignorance, the insecurity, the childishness. All so messy.

What a fool you were to stay quiet about the truth, to pretend these feelings weren’t to be acted upon.

And from his place seated atop the bridge’s arc, the shout of yours faintly reaches his ears, the words sounding remarkably like “I love you.”

He doesn’t return until later that night, watching parents drop off their kids, couples gliding up the stairs in throes of laughter, hand in hand.

Suit-adorned legs dangle from the streetlight a block or so away, chewing at his lip in thought.

Until his thought is abruptly interrupted by the clearing of a throat, your throat, he verifies upon turning around to look, significantly paling.

“Fess up, loser.”

Oh you’re mad.

Dressed up all pretty for the dance and yet fuming.

…Why is it hot?

Quit that, he internally berates, slow to hop down to ground level.

“Look, I can-“

“No you can’t! You- you what, randomly decide “oh I’m just gonna go off the grid for two days, let’s not notify anybody and everything will be alright”? Huh? You don’t respond to anyone’s texts, calls, the school couldn’t even find you!”

Furious steps stomp forward, feebly pounding your fists against his chest.

Shaky hands find your wrists to hold, his breathing nearly painful to listen to within his mask. Stifled, shuddering. 

And he can tell, oh he can tell. You’re going to cry.

He’s just made you cry.

There’s never been a moment Jisung hated himself more.

“Hey hey hey- no no don’t- don’t cry-“

Another scream of yours makes him wince, makes his hands originally reaching for your face to cradle flinch back.

“I hate- I hate this! I hate that I’ve let you worm your way into my heart and- and that you tell me you loved me and-“

A sputtering breath before his mask is not-so gently hoisted up to catch onto the hook of his nose and he’s dragged into your kiss by the collar, dissolving into mumbled “I’m sorry”’s repeated into your lips before you pull away, out of breath.

“You scared me half to death,” Scolding, one hand comes to brush off your clothing after letting go, impressively calmed after such a whirlwind of emotions, or maybe he’s simply reading it wrong.

“I forgive you.”

This mumble is much softer, muttered beneath your breath. 

Sometimes you truly do behave like a child.

A tiny quirk of his lips betrays his fondness.

“Just.. don’t ever do that again, okay? Or I’m breaking up with you.”

The threat is feeble and certainly not sounding sure enough to believe, your brows furrowed in conviction the only remnant of insistence he’d chuckle at if not for the lingering fear of being yelled at again.

A fair yelling, he’d admit.

“Wait.”

On his part, a delay.

“We were dating? I thought we..”

“I mean we kissed but would you count that as…?”

High schoolers, to the core.

Sort of funny, actually, trying to uncover a label.

For a moment your attention flickers to the dance-attending students, retreating back to Jisung in response to his heavy sigh, the seriousness returning.

Merciless, it is.

The truth.

“I can’t be there for you how I want to be, you know that. My life.. as Spider-Man, I mean, it’s too unpredictable. Risky. I can’t make promises. A life at risk isn’t scheduled, arranged. I’d put you in danger and let you down and—“

“I know what I’m getting myself into, okay?”

Easy, you always make it.

This time, he’s grateful.

“I love you, and I think you heard it.”

Synonymously, he scorns the gradual wobbliness of his lip, the tremble in his hands returning full-force, breaking any earlier pretense of strength put up.

No barriers, you both know this.

Not anymore.

“I’ll um,” His voice cracks, but he doesn’t wince, turning his back to you as if to slip away. “I’ll come by your dorm tonight. Dance your heart out, okay?”

He nods to the auditorium, flashing lights and blaring music echoing from the closed doors.

Shifting from foot to foot, it takes every ounce of willpower to speak, to keep him from drifting off once more.

“Well if Spider-Man can’t go to the dance.. Can Jisung?”

To say his jaw dropped would be an understatement, each muscle in his body turning into stone, as if having gazed at Medusa herself.

“I knew you were.. you for a while now.”

Your voice, awkwardly explaining, aids in the wild gesturing of hands, admiring his messy hair where the mask is pulled off the entire way, unveiling a rather shell-shocked Han Jisung underneath. 

“It’s your mole um, right here?” Pointing to his left cheek, a small smile tugs at your lips. “I saw it one time when you were eating that granola bar on the roof. Kinda just.. put two and two together-“

“Why didn’t you say something!”

Now it’s Han’s turn to sound like a petulant child, causing you to bite back with the same kind of vigor.

“I was nervous, idiot!”

Hurried gasps for air fill the empty street, catching your breath after screaming at each other from mere feet apart.

Couldn’t get more mature than that. 

Observing his face, you find it only a matter of time before whatever frothing idea brewing past curly hair becomes audible.

“C’mon.”

“Wha- WHAT?!”

Swept off your feet where Han runs to scoop you up, it’s oddly difficult in whacking his shoulder from so much laughing, whisked away to somewhere you couldn’t name.

Fools.

And now, having understood this idea of his to be on your ordinated rooftop, you simply take to watching from afar as he flits around, having disappeared for a few minutes before returning back with what eerily appeared to be a speaker hidden behind an arm.

Before you can inquire, the melody of a song begins to strum.

Your song, together.

Half Moon, by DEAN.

Han pretends to know how to dance and you pretend to take him seriously, extending a hand your way where he waltzes over with clumsy steps.

The silliness earns a giggle, hand reaching for his hand anyway.

And beneath the stars, your own Valentines dance comes alive.

This stage is made for two.

Fools.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[cb97zone]

pillow princess

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bang chan x afb.reader

after a stressful day at work your boyfriend knows the perfect remedy to help you relax.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): established relationship, romance, fluff, smut

𝐚𝐮(𝐬): slice of life

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fluffy sleepy vanilla smut, unprotected p in v (mc is on birth control), fingering, creampie, cockwarming

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ nsfw

𝐚𝐧: this isn’t edited, sorry if there are errors.

🎧: shrike- hoizer

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

It’s been a long day to say the least. Somehow an eight hour shift has felt like a twelve hour shift. At this point you would give anything to finally be off. You stood behind the counter quickly making coffee orders as they were being sent through. Saturday morning shifts are always the hardest. It had been an insane morning and you felt like you haven’t stopped moving since the sun started to rise. Your bottom lip was captured between your teeth as you tried to focus. You were nearing the end of your shift. Honestly, you just needed a nap desperately at this point. You couldn’t wait to finally be free from this coffee shop.

You sat two drinks down on the counter and glanced down at your watch to see that you had two minutes until you were off. You quickly made an ice coffee and sat it on the counter. You turned to your boss who was working the register and said a quick goodbye. Rushing to the back you threw off your apron and clocked out.

Rushing out of the coffee shop you walked the short distance down to your apartment you shared with your boyfriend. You couldn’t wait to see him. Hopefully he’s home and didn’t decide to go to the gym with any of his friends.

Opening the front door, you found your boyfriend and his best friend Changbin sitting in the living room. They were laughing and joking around about something. You can’t say you’re shocked that Changbin is over. Most weekends your boyfriend spends Saturdays hanging out with his best friend.

“How did work go?” Changbin asked. Changbin isn’t just your boyfriend's best friend, he’s also yours. You met back in college and he’s the one who actually introduced you to a very shy Chan. Nobody wanted you and Chan together more then Changbin. He went out of his way to push you both together.

“I made a bunch of coffee,” you smiled as you walked over to Chan who had stood up and started walking over towards you. He wasted no time wrapping his arms around your soft body and pulled you into his chest. His strong hands roam your back as you cling to him.

You rested your head against his strong chest and murmured, “I need a nap desperately.”

He pulled away and pressed his lips to the top of your head, “why don’t you go take a nap?”

“Okay.” You smiled pulling away from him.

You headed off to your room. You feel like you could fall asleep the moment your head hits the pillow. Pulling off your sweater you toss it in the hamper near the closet. Quickly you push your jeans down your thighs. You walked towards the bed in nothing but your undies and a baggy shirt. This is your preferred form of pajamas. Crawling under the covers you curled up into a ball, and closed your eyes and it wasn’t long before you were sound asleep.

The feeling of the bed dipping down next to you caused you to stir. Looking up you find your boyfriend dressed only in a pair of boxers. He’s crawling into bed. You can’t wait to curl up close to him.

“Where did Changbin go?” You rasped still half asleep. Part of you isn’t even sure if this is real or if you’re dreaming.

“He headed home, and I was dying to cuddle with you.” Chan has always been a fan of cuddling. It’s rare you fall asleep without him holding you close.

You moved over and rested your head on his strong chest and pressed your body closely against him. Her soft thigh was moved so rested across his groining. You nuzzled your face into his chest. You weren’t sure if you could get physically closer to him. You would lay on top of him if you weren’t worried about squishing him. His hand rested on your round butt holding you close to him. He always jokes around that he can't sleep unless his hand is in your butt.

“You’re so comfortable,” you wiggled your body a little, getting as close as possible.

He let out a little groan as your soft thigh brushed against his groining. He loves when you get to cuddle like this but it kills him sometimes. You somehow managed to always get him all worked up without even trying. From the very beginning Chan had been addicted to your body, just like you were to his.

“If you nap with me for a half hour we can have lazy sex after,” you rasped against his chest. Lazy sex with Chan is always nice. You love when he takes you from behind while spooning you. You could get wet just thinking about it.

He leaned his head down and pressed his lips to the top of your head, “I like that idea.”

“I thought you would.” You sigh. “All you have to do is pull my thong to the side and slide right into me.”

“How am I supposed to sleep when you’re making me hard, talking about me pulling your cute little thong to the side?” He groans.

“I’m so sleepy-“ you moan rubbing your body against him.

“Is my sleepy princess horny?” His hand grips your butt pulling you closer to him.

“I’m already wet.”

His hand moves down your butt and dips between your legs. Pushing your thong to the side he groans at the feeling of how wet you are.

“Fuck-“

“I told you.”

“Baby can I fuck you?” He’s running his fingers through your folds.

“I’m too tired to do anything.” You might be sleepy but you’re aware you’re playing a game with him now. You’re tired but you definitely aren’t too tired to have sex with him. You just want to be a bit of a pillow princess right now. You want him to do all the work. You’re luckily your boyfriend is a saint and has no problem letting you be a pillow princess.

“Baby you don’t have to do anything. Let me do all the work.”

“Okay-“ You sigh.

Rolling off him you roll until you’re laying on your side with your back to him. You feel the bed move behind you letting you know he’s removing his boxers. The sound of the nightstand drawer opening signals he’s grabbing lube. Pulling your panties to the side you push your leg forward on the bed giving him more access to you. The bottle clicks open and moments later you feel him massage the cool liquid between your folds.

Slowly he runs his length through your folds. He takes his time pushing into you. His hand grips your hip. He keeps a slow and deep pace. This is your favorite kind of sex. You feel incredibly close and intimate when you’re together like this. Closing your eyes you moan. He feels so deep inside you. He’s always been a fan of any position he can take you from behind.

“Fuck-“ you whine. “You’re so deep.”

“You’re taking me so well baby.”

You know at this rate with how deep he is you won’t last long. You have no problem with cumming so quickly. With his stamina he’ll probably make you cum a second time before he finishes inside you.

“Channie-“ you fall apart almost instantly. Your walls contract around him.

He continues his slow and deep pace. “So good-“ He groans.

“Oh god-“ You’re moaning like a whore in heat.

“Can you cum again?”

“Yes-“ Your first orgasm isn’t even finished and he’s trying to get a second out of you.

His pace picks up slightly. His hand reaches between your legs and starts playing with your clit. You’re on the verge of overstimulation. Gasping he pulls another orgasm out of you. Crying his name out as you feel him paint your walls with his salty release. He moans your name in your ear as he rides out his own high.

His hips slowly stop moving and he shows no sign of pulling out. You both love cock warming after slowly sleepy sex.

“Let’s get some sleep babygirl.” He smiled before pressing his lips to your shoulder.

“I like that idea,” you whispered, closing your eyes.

If you have asked to be tagged I request that you please reblog. If you could leave comments and or tags that would be greatly appreciated.

[cb97zone]

all the Deli Fives: *trying to figure out how to fix the timeline and stop the apocalypse*

Brisket Five in the kitchen:

[cb97zone]

the chance of love | bang chan

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒!𝐀𝐔

✑ Red pen, empty classrooms, and an overheard phone call:

The one where you’re determined to find one flaw about your seemingly picture-perfect class president, and he’s determined to make sure you pass the class—no matter how hard you’re trying to fail.

✑ PAIRING: student council president!bang chan x troublemaker!reader

✑ GENRE: high society/private school!au, retro!high school au, slow burn, slice-of-life romance, enemies-to-lovers, angst 

✑ WORD COUNT: 13.8k

✖︎ TAGS/WARNINGS: fem!reader, mild language, bullying & family conflict themes, mentions of drugs/illicit activity. endless petty shenanigans (mostly from mc). y/n also has a bad relationship with her parents and a hard time facing her feelings in general (don’t we all). fortunately, chan’s patience—and tendency to use bad math pickup lines—could help with that.

disclaimer: levanter high is a private school only in this au. all the characters’ roles have stayed the same.

“F. Again.”

Snickers erupted around the classroom as your teacher flipped the mock exam paper onto your desk, shaking her head. Sure enough, scrawled across the front page in ruthless red ink, was your latest score—a solid 29/100. Shrugging, you rolled up the test papers before stuffing them into your backpack like a dejected morning newspaper.

“See me after class, Miss L/n.” Your teacher clicked her tongue in disappointment. Whispers from the back of the class began pricking at your ears.

“Isn’t she the eldest daughter of the Yuhan family? The first in line to inherit a multimillion dollar business.”

“The spring exams are right around the corner. If she flunks those, she won’t even graduate—let alone inherit a whole company!”

Their giggles died down the moment you turned around, the huddle of kids scrambling back to their seats and burying their noses in their books. One girl even flashed you an innocent smile.

If she flunks, she won’t even graduate—let alone inherit the company! 

Despite their scornful tone, the words made you smile. Clasping your hands behind your head lazily, you leaned back in your chair and let your eyes fall shut.

Well. That’s the plan.  

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