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lee-knows-cats · 7 days ago

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kitten in pink | l. minho

pairing: lee minho x hyperfeminine!reader (fem)

genre: suggestive, smut, some fluff

synopsis: you have dated lee minho for three months, and he still hasn’t kissed you or even fucked you. now, you have decided to test him by sending him something special while he’s at dance practice.

cw: MDNI, nudes, brief mention of sexual harassment (not minho), dom!minho/sub!reader, bondage, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex (don’t dew it people), p.i.v, rough sex, degradation (he calls reader a slut and a sex doll), dumbification, inappropriate use of leebit, squirting, dirty talk, minho calls reader kitten and good girl, this is real filthy y’all :p

let me know if i’m missing anything!!

wc: 5021

a/n: hello everyone!! it’s been too long since i’ve written anything for minho, and i felt the need to change that. so here we are with this fic hehe. please leave a like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed it!! <333

masterlist | join my taglist

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You have dated Lee Minho for nearly three months, and he still hasn’t kissed you. Okay, well, he has kissed you before, but not in the way you wanted him to. His kisses were either on your cheek or just briefly on the lips. None of his kisses were raw, passionate, and even…possessive. He hasn’t kissed you like he wanted to fuck you.

At the start, you figured that it was just his personality. Even when you met him at some pudding shop, you knew he was a bit closed off. His expression has often been neutral, his humor was dry, and the most physical touches he’s ever done were hand-holding, small kisses, and hugging you if you hugged first. Even his clothes were heavily contrasting with your hyperfeminine aesthetic. If he wasn’t on stage, he wore mostly black hoodies, sweatpants, T-shirts, strong cologne, and sometimes, a plain regular suit every man ever would wear. Meanwhile, you wore lace, dresses, skirts, bows, flashy jewelry, sugary perfume, showy shoes, and everything pink, fluffy, and ruffled you could get your hands on.

If anyone got only one glance of the two of you, they’d only see a brooding bodyguard and a princess.

That wasn’t to say that Minho had been an awful boyfriend. He took you out on dates to fancy restaurants, the beach, cat cafes, and even his dorm, where he cooked dinner himself. Those dates have been wonderful, and you enjoyed every second of them. He was handsome, he was polite, and he always made sure that you got home safely. You just wondered if he was ever going to give in and be more physically affectionate with you or even tell you that you looked pretty.

You haven’t seen Minho in about a whole week. He said he was busy working on the upcoming Stray Kids comeback, so there was no time to schedule a proper date. You understood, but God, you just wanted that man to fucking touch you. Three months and no proper kiss? Of course, you didn’t want to rush or pressure him, but you still couldn’t help but wonder what was holding him back. Was he a virgin? Was he just shy? Or was he waiting on you? You needed an answer!

Even though he was busy, you wanted to see him at least. Calling him and texting him wasn’t enough. You were now in your bedroom, fishing out the perfect outfit from your incredibly pink closet. A pile of lace and bows was on the floor, and it only got bigger and bigger as you stared at yourself in the mirror to see if it was the right outfit. You were now wearing a baby pink fuzzy tube top with its matching miniskirt. It was cute. You loved this outfit. It was super soft, simple, and even sexy. Your tits and ass looked amazing in it, but Minho has seen you wear it before.

“Ugh! I can’t wear this,” you scolded yourself, “He’s seen it before and barely reacted to it.”

You immediately stripped off the set of clothes, leaving you in only your lacy white underwear. You went back into the closet to see that it was damn near empty. Your eye twitched, you pulled on your hair, and you heaved a groan of frustration as your knees landed on your fuzzy Hello Kitty carpet.

“Fuck! Why is this so damn hard?” you whined, “Does he even think I’m sexy?”

A pout formed on your glossy lips, and you laid on your side on the carpet, basking in the dreamy scent of flowers that you often sprayed on it. You sighed in defeat, thinking that maybe Minho just wasn’t into you as you were into him, and he’s probably just stringing you along like any man ever. But he couldn’t be just like any man ever. Any man ever would try to grab you, spank you, ask to fuck you within seconds of seeing you, and generally act super gross because of the way you dressed. Minho was polite. Minho was modest. He was respectful, and you liked respectful men. And he was actually handsome, unlike most men you saw daily. You just wished that he’d do more than just be polite and modest. You wanted that man to ruin you.

“What outfit could even get him to ruin me?” you sighed, before looking right at yourself in the mirror: you lying on your side, your hair a little messy and slightly covering one side of your face, and you wearing nothing but white lace panties that had little bows on the sides.

Pink dusted your cheeks, and you couldn’t help but stare. What if Minho walked in and saw you like this? A lightbulb turned on in your head. Maybe you didn’t need the perfect outfit. You just needed to test the waters first. Your eyes darted around the floor, looking for your phone. Once you landed on the pink and pearl-studded phone case, you instantly grabbed it and took a quick picture, the flash creating a little star on the mirror. You looked at the picture and smirked. Surely, this would be enough to fluster him. You sat up and got an even better idea.

You tried different poses in front of the mirror. You played with the lighting in your room. You even applied a lot more lip gloss to make your lips look more succulent. You tried adding more or less jewelry. You tried different facial expressions, such as the doe eyes and pouty lip combo or the wink and lip bite combo. You even pointed your camera at different areas of your body, like your bare cleavage or your nearly bare hips, as you pull on your white panties. You even tried no panties. You tried putting on the sexiest lingerie you had, your favorite being the sheer ruffled pink set that had some floral details. They weren’t covering anything, more so decorating your body. You even grabbed the longest pink satin ribbon you had, which you typically tied your hair with, and took a picture of your bare legs tied together with it.

Once you were finally done with taking enough pictures to fill a magazine, you looked back at all the photos. Excitement bubbled up in your stomach, and you couldn’t help but giggle and kick your feet. Surely, they had to work. Surely, they would stir something in Minho at least. They must have. You put your whole heart, soul, and pussy into these pictures. Especially one of them. The picture was of you completely wearing nothing but your lacy white stockings that reached up to your upper thighs and had little bows on the hems, paired with your Leebit headband. In the picture, you were on your knees hugging a giant Leebit teddy bear from behind, making a suggestive pose but giving such an innocent face to the camera: your eyes wide and doe-like, your lips glossy and wet, and your mouth was open as if you were giving a shocked expression.

You opened your messaging app, selected all the pictures, and were ready to click the send button. Your heart pounded, your face was completely red, and sweat was dripping down your body. Come on, Y/N. Just send them. You didn’t do all of this for nothing.

And within the next two seconds of inhaling and exhaling a large breath, you clicked send.

x•x•x•x

Minho typically kept his phone off during practice. He was again putting his all into the new choreography for the comeback. New arm movements. New group synchronization. New leg movements. New footwork. It was tiring. Not that he hated it, but his lungs were begging for air every second, sweat was dripping down his whole body, and by God, was his body ready to collapse. Luckily, it was time for a break. Chan left the practice room to grab the lunch he ordered; meanwhile, Minho and his fellow members were left to their own devices. He only went to the spot in the room where his stuff was lying on the floor. He sat down, and of course, Han sat next to him.

“Finally, a break,” Han sighed, “Like the choreo is good, but damn, my legs are killing me!”

“What food did Chan-hyung order again?” Minho asked, his voice a little gruff and breathless.

“I think tteokbokkie? Are you okay, Minho? You look tired?”

“I’m fine. This dance was just a lot…”

“Well, at least you can rest for now.”

“Yeah…”

Minho inhaled and exhaled once more, and he finally decided to kill whatever time he had by opening his phone. If he were being honest with himself, he wondered how you’ve been doing all week. It was so unusual not seeing you every single day, and it bothered him especially whenever his members would ask about you because he didn’t know. He didn’t want them to know either, because why should they? You’re his girlfriend, not theirs. You were probably doing fine. You always were. You with your cute pink outfits, sugary perfumes, candy lip gloss, and that bubbly aura you always carried everywhere, bringing smiles—oftentimes perverted—to others’ faces. He was so sure that you were incapable of being bored. A girl like you was always excited about something.

He remembered the last time he took you out on a date, you were so entertained by the bees pollinating the pink roses at the park. To him, it was just some bee doing its service in nature, but to you, your eyes widened in awe of that bee. It was the cutest thing ever in the world to you, and you rambled about this one TikTok you saw of someone having a pet bee. And of course, the color pink never fails to catch your attention. You wanted to pick out one of the roses, but Minho warned you about the sharp thorns and spiderwebs that covered a good portion of the flowers. You pouted and whined, but luckily, you were happy again when he gave you a bouquet of similar-looking pink roses. Your smile, giggling, and jump always replayed in his head, and he would do anything to see you that happy once more.

“You’re going to text her?” Han asked, interrupting Minho’s chain of thought.

“Oh…yeah…I am,” Minho said, pursing his lips together. “I’m not sure of what to say…it’s been a whole week without seeing her.”

“Just say ‘I miss you.’”

The tips of Minho’s ears gained a red tint all of a sudden.

“That sounds desperate. I can’t let myself look like that.”

“Hyung, be for real. You like her, and it’s been three months, right?”

“Yes—”

“So, it’s not out of bounds to say that you miss her.”

“I guess so, but…”

“But what?”

Minho stared at the black screen of his phone. His heart was skipping a few beats, his stomach churned a little, and his mind was a little jumbled. Why the Hell am I nervous?

“Okay, I’ll do it…”

He turned on his phone, his lock screen being a picture of you with his three cats. A soft smile formed on Minho’s face. You looked awfully cute playing with the most precious babies in the world. He even remembered you meowing at them, pretending to be a cat to get them to like you. In some ways, you were like a kitten. A kitten in pink.

Right before he was about to swipe up on the screen and enter his passcode, he got a text from you.

kitten =^-^=: [22 attachments]

kitten =^-^=: <333

It’s been a couple of days since you last texted him, so his stomach did a flip. Minho clicked on the notification and immediately dropped his phone, creating a loud thud in the dance practice room.

“What’s wrong, Minho?” Han asked.

Minho immediately picked up his phone to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. A whole week without seeing you, and the one time he decided to send an “I miss you” message, he sees you humping Leebit. Red covered his face, his throat went dry, his heart pounded, and he felt the rush go straight to his pants.

“Minho-hyung?” Han asked again.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be right back,” Minho quickly stood up and rushed outside of the practice room to go to the nearest bathroom. Once he was alone in a stall, he took a deep breath and looked through all the photos you sent him. “Fuck….”

He leaned his back against the stall door, already feeling lightheaded. All the poses, the facial expressions, some of the lingerie you’ve worn, the pink ribbons wrapped around your legs like you were some gift, and the fucking Leebit teddy bear. You looked so damn innocent, as if you didn’t know what you were doing: pulling that giant plushie close to your pretty much naked body, your back arched, and your pussy rubbing up against the plushie’s back. Minho felt like he was on the verge of exploding in his sweatpants.

If only he could just skip practice, but now, Minho’s got to deal with a fucking hard-on for the rest of the day. He ran his hand through his sweaty black hair and stared at your pictures again. His tongue was poking in his cheek, and he reached down to his crotch to ease some of the tension. A deep groan came out of Minho’s mouth the more he palmed himself, and frustration stirred in his stomach when none of the tension would go away. He only got harder.

“Fuck—”

Knock! Knock!

Minho jumped and dropped his phone on the bathroom floor.

“Minho? You okay?” Chan asked from the other side of the stall.

“Yeah!” Minho said it too quickly. He cleared his throat, and sweat was still dripping down his neck. “The practice is just tough.”

“Tough? Since when did dancing get tough for dance master Lee Know?”

The fact that Minho could easily picture Chan’s smirk made him feel more embarrassed.

“I mean the dance is so different from what we’ve done before,” Minho lied. It was a stupid lie, but anything to calm down his chaotic chest. “I’m sorry, I’ll get back to the practice room, just give me a minute.”

“Oh, alright,” Chan said, “Just don’t push yourself too hard. You’re doing amazing so far anyway. We’ll wait for you.”

Chan left the bathroom, leaving Minho alone again. Minho let out a heavy breath of relief. He then looked down to see his phone, which thankfully, landed screen-down. Minho crouched down and grabbed his phone, trying to avoid looking at the picture of you looking so fucking sexy with your plump pink lip gloss, lacy knee socks, and that flimsy nightgown that didn’t bother to cover anything up. Fuck, how am I supposed to finish practice like this?!

x•x•x•x

You haven’t gotten a response from Minho after you sent the nudes. You were lying on your stomach in your pink, floral sheets, wearing your pink lacy nightgown. You were going back and forth between scrolling on TikTok and checking to see if Minho texted back. It’s been a couple of hours since he left you on read, and your heart was pounding from the painful anticipation. You figured that either he was too busy to respond or the pictures gave him the worst hard-on in his life. You were hoping that it was the second option because who just leaves a collection of nudes on read? Especially when you’ve spent so many hours, thought, and horniness into it. Hell, you even used your Leebit teddy bear and headband!

You checked your messages again. Still no response. A pout formed on your lips, and you huffed. Your shoulders slumped, and your body was completely flat against the mattress.

“I’m never gonna do it, am I?” you asked yourself. You then looked at the soft Leebit teddy bear sitting in front of you. Your hands reached for the plushie, and you looked into its eyes while lying on your back in the pink floral blankets. “Is he even attracted to me at all?”

Your hands fiddled with Leebit’s ears, disappointment coming over you the more you stared into the plushie’s eyes. Why was Minho even with you if he wasn’t attracted to you? How could he possibly not be attracted to you? You’re the embodiment of a dream girl. Everyone should be attracted to you. Your head lolled back and groaned into Leebit’s chest, as you pressed the plushie up against your face.

“What is wrong with me?” you lamented.

Knock! Knock!

You bolted up in your bed at the sudden knock on the door. Your heart pounded a little, and you shivered a little. You weren’t expecting anyone tonight, so who could it possibly be? You got off the bed, walked up to the front door of your apartment, and opened the door. Once the door was opened, your heart skipped a beat, your eyes widened, and you felt all the air leave your lungs.

“Minho—”

Suddenly, Minho’s lips were crashing into yours. Your back instantly arched, and Minho pressed you up against the wall. You whined against his lips, and his hands were already grabbing your ass, squeezing some of the flesh tightly.

“You think you’re so fuckin funny, Kitten?” Minho asked, his voice so deep and low and raspy that it sent shivers from your spine to your clit. “Sending those pictures while I was at practice?”

“Minho…” You were already too dizzy, trying to catch your breath. “I—”

“My members could’ve seen them, Kitten, and as if the practice wasn’t exhausting enough, I was doing it with a fucking hard on.”

A high-pitched moan escaped your lips when you felt the large tent through his sweatpants. It sounded so pathetic, but dear God, you were on cloud nine. Your panties were already soaking, and you were sure Minho could see the slick reaching down your thighs.

“I thought it would be cute,” you said, your chest heaving, your face completely red, and your legs feeling weak. “Plus….I wanted to push you….”

You gulped, feeling so pathetic for admitting it to him. Minho’s grip on you tightened, and he leaned into your ear, his hot breath hitting your skin.

“Push me?” Minho asked, “Oh, Kitten…push me to do what exactly?”

He pressed your body further up against the wall, the tent in his sweatpants rubbing up against your clothed clit so good that you wanted to cry. Tears were forming in your eyes, and you’re sure that your baby pink lace panties were now transparent.

“I—” you started before whining again from the slight movements he made.

“Answer me, Kitten.” Minho gripped your chin to make sure that your eyes met his. His eyes were full of hunger that your heart pounded and your pussy was clenching over nothing. “Why did you send those pictures?”

“I wanted you to fuck me….” You said it rather quietly, but Minho was not having it. He gripped your chin harder, and his intense stare gave you goosebumps.

“Say it louder, Kitten…loud and proud.”

“I wanted you to fuck me!”

Silence was between you both. Minho’s eyes widened a little, and they scanned your body from head to toe. He noticed the pink sheer nightgown you were wearing, how it barely covered anything, how your panties were practically glued to your pussy, your lower lips completely visible through the fabric, and even your slick coating some of your thighs, giving your skin a clear shine. He even noticed the way your hips tried to rub against his hardness, the tip of the tent perfectly fitting between the slit.

Minho then looked at your face once more. God, you looked like you walked out of a porn magazine. A fucking sex doll, begging to be played with. Your pink lip gloss all smeared, the bows in your hair almost undone, and the way your breasts were ready to pop out of the cups of the nightgown. A smirk crept up on his face, and he leaned in close.

“That’s it, Kitten?” he asked, “You wanted me to fuck you? Didn’t think you’d be such a slut about it.”

Your eyes widened, and you felt yourself throbbing at the sudden degradation. You didn’t even think Minho was capable of this. It was like all his politeness and respectful behavior were thrown out of the window the moment he stepped into your door. And you were living for it.

“Is that right?” Minho asked again.

“Please…” you whimpered. You sounded so pathetic and whiny, but you didn’t care. If you were going to be a slut for Lee Minho, then you’re going to be just that. “Fuck me, Minho, please…”

You looked up at him, your pupils already blown out wide and glassy.

“Well…since my girl asked so nicely.”

Minho kissed you roughly again, and you immediately closed your eyes and moaned. He kissed you the way you’ve wanted all along: he kissed you like he wanted to fuck you. He squeezed your ass once more, and you fiercely kissed him back, biting on his bottom lip. Minho groaned and immediately picked you up. You wrapped your legs around him, and he carried you to your bedroom.

He tossed you on the bed and started attacking your neck. You whined and melted into his touch immediately. Minho nibbled and sucked on your sensitive skin, leaving a large purple splotch as a mark of ownership. He then reached down to touch your soaked panties, playing with your clothed clit.

“Minho!” you whined.

“God, you sound so cute, Kitten,” Minho said, his finger swirling around and then pinching your sensitive bud, making you moan loudly. His breath hitched, and he could feel his cock swell even more. “Fuck, you’re such a doll….always dressed up so cutely and willing to open your legs for me without question…”

You whimpered, getting wetter from just his words. Minho quickly took off your flimsy nightgown, revealing your tits to him. Then he hooked his fingers on your panties and easily slid them down your legs, revealing your soaking wet pussy to him. He sucked in a breath at the sight.

“Fuck, why did it take me so long to see this?” he said, “My messy Kitten…”

Minho then shoved his two fingers inside, immediately making you gasp and moan loudly.

“Minho!!”

He thrusted his fingers in and out, already at a rough pace. You immediately felt dizzy from the way his fingers were hitting your sweet spot. At that moment, you already knew that the three-month wait was fucking worth it. You moaned loudly and felt all the pleasure build up within your stomach.

“Goddamn it, Kitten. You’re sucking my fingers in,” Minho chuckled. He could cum in his pants just from scissoring you and watching your perky tits bounce with every thrust. “So eager like a damn slut.”

“Minho! I wanna cum!”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

Minho then pulled his fingers out of your pussy, ripping a whine out of you.

“Why, Minho?!—”

“Sorry, Kitten…” he said, almost mockingly. Minho brought his soaked fingers to his lips, tasting your sweet nectar. His eyes rolled back as he moaned. “God, you taste like candy.”

Minho was then going to lean in for another kiss, but his eyes met the Leebit teddy bear that was across you and him. His mind immediately went back to the picture you sent him.

“Is that the Leebit plushie you used?” he asked.

“Huh?” Your eyes widened from the sudden question.

“The damn teddy bear. Did you use it in those pictures you sent?”

Your cheeks glowed pink, and you squirmed from the embarrassment.

“Yes….” you admitted.

Minho smirked and gripped your chin.

“Grab that teddy bear and hold it like you did in that picture,” he demanded.

“But why—”

“Do it.”

He sounded so firm. No room to argue. Your eyes widened, and your heart pounded. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered, and you did as he said. You crawled to the Leebit teddy bear and pulled it close to you. Your arms were wrapped around the plushie’s waist, and your legs were on its sides.

“Good girl,” Minho said, “Now hump it like you did in that picture. Make yourself cum.”

Immediately, you rolled your hips up against the Leebit teddy bear. You whined, feeling the fuzzy fabric rub against your clit, prompting you to move faster against it. But you couldn’t help but feel frustrated. It wasn’t enough. The plushie was too soft for your pussy to clench on. You kept humping the plushie, whimpering, and getting your slick everywhere on Leebit’s cotton tail.

“Minho,” you whined, “I can’t cum! It’s not enough.”

“Oh, come on, Kitten,” he encouraged, getting closer to you. “If you can do it in your nudes, then you can do it again.”

“It was just a picture!”

You groaned and whined and hitched a breath from the frustration.

“Minho, please….just fuck me!”

“Awww, is the Kitten desperate?”

“Yes, please, please, please,” you whined, tears beginning to pour down your cheeks. “I’ll be good, Minho, just fuck me, please, I beg!”

“Alright, alright.”

Minho immediately took off his shirt and then his sweatpants. Your eyes widened, and your mouth watered. Not only were his abs so delectable, but his cock was so fucking huge, fully erect and leaking with need. You squirmed, feeling breathless from just picturing it inside of you. Luckily, Minho was quick to push you down in the bed, Leebit being the only barrier between you and the mattress. Minho’s hair was tugging on your hair, gripping onto it tightly and making you wince. He even played with the pretty ribbons that kept some of it up.

“I’m gonna fuck you, Kitten,” he said, “Fuck you so good like the damn sex doll you are.”

You hitched a breath, and without any other warning, Minho shoved his cock inside you from behind. A moan was forced out of you. He was so fucking big, and you clenched around him like your life depended on it. Minho thrusted into you so roughly, hitting your sweet spot already.

“Minho!—”

“So fucking tight, Kitten,” Minho said roughly, pounding himself into you. “God, how you’ve fuckin ruined me with those pictures.”

You couldn’t even speak. Your mind was so clouded with pleasure, already getting dumb on just how big his cock was and the way the fuzz of Leebit’s cottontail was brushing against your throbbing clit. The only things that could come out of your lips were just gasps, moans, and whines.

“Already gone dumb, Kitten?” Minho teased, “Of course, a fucking slut would. My cute slut who likes to dress up for some dick. Bet you wouldn’t mind if I tied you up in those cute ribbons you always wear.”

He hit your sweet spot again and again, and your brain is already in the sky. Your eyes were rolled back, and you could feel the tightening in your stomach. You moaned and moaned, your body was trembling, and you were seconds away from losing it.

“Minho—” you moaned.

“Gonna cum, Kitten?” Minho asked, also already the tight coil in himself.

Minho thrusted two more times until you moaned and squirted everywhere, and just like that, he finally came too, releasing himself into your quivering walls. His hips stuttered a bit until he finally stopped moving. You were dizzy, but fuck, it still felt good. Minho’s chest rose and fell with every heavy breath; his heart was pounding, and he felt his cock soften a little. He looked at you beneath him, and he gently patted your shoulder.

“Y/N?” he asked.

“Hmm?” you turned your head to look at him. “Minho?”

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

And just like that, Minho’s politeness returned. You blushed and shook your head.

“You were perfect,” you said, “I mean….I’m still dizzy, but I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“Alright,” Minho leaned in to kiss your glossy lips. “You were perfect, too. My sweet Kitten.”

Minho carefully pulled out of you, leaving a complete mess of you and the poor Leebit teddy bear. Thankfully, Minho was already grabbing a towel from the nearest bathroom and cleaned up all the mess. Even on Leebit. He told you not to do anything afterward, letting him take care of everything. Minho helped you slip on a random pink lace nightgown, and he just put his sweatpants back on before cuddling you on the bed. You both just sat in silence for a good few minutes, coming to terms with the fact that you just had sex for the first time in your three-month relationship.

“Why did you hold back so much, Minho?” you asked, breaking the silence. “You weren’t really physically affectionate or even sexual before, so….why were you shy of it? Was I not attractive to you before?”

“Oh, Baby, I’ve always been attracted to you,” Minho said, “It’s just that….I was worried that I’d be too much for your cute ass. I mean you know just how rough I was. I didn’t think you’d like it. And I wasn’t sure if you were ready to take that next step.”

You giggled.

“Well, I’ve been ready, Baby. And, of course, I liked it. Sure, I didn’t think you’d be so rough, but I loved it.”

“Really?” Minho asked.

You kissed his lips sweetly.

“Yes. Really,” you said.

Minho smiled softly and pulled you in to kiss you back. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered, your heart was singing, and your cheeks glowed pink like your nightgown.

“I love you, Minho,” you said.

“I love you, too, Kitten. My kitten in pink.”

Minho kissed your glossy lips once more, tasting the sweet strawberry vanilla. His hands landed on your waist, feeling the smooth pink satin of your nightgown, and you held him tighter than your Leebit teddy bear. It was moments like this when you’ve never felt so accomplished. Finally getting dicked down by Lee Minho was definitely worth the three-month wait.

———————————・❥・———————————

tags: @enhacolor @wonniecutie

465 notes · View notes

lee-knows-cats · 7 days ago

Text

𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 | 𝐥.𝐦𝐡

a night full of confessions leads to your friend telling you his biggest secret—well, his second biggest secret.

pairing: virgin!lee minho x fem!reader genre: smut, mutual pining, friends to lovers, soulmates, hurt/comfort, angst w/ happy ending warnings (18+ mdni) : explicit sexual content, virgin!minho, loss of said virginity lol, soft dom!minho, oral (f receiving), disgustingly romantic sex, body worship, possessive behavior, just minho being completely whipped, minho is kind of a dork, miscommunication, heavy themes of past relationship (not minho x reader), open ending if you squint (but not really) word count: 7.1k playlist: a little death by the neighbourhood・wanna be yours by artic monkeys・ apocalypse by cigarettes after sex・champagne coast by blood orange・willow by taylor swift

♡ i poured my heart and soul into this fic 😭 idk if she'll be very popular but she's my baby! hope you like this one ♡

He finds you at the bus stop on the fifth.

You’re waiting in front of the bench, shivering in the winter air as you try to light one of the cheap Montego cigarettes you found in the convenience store, with that shitty lighter someone left in your bag ages ago. You don’t even smoke. And what a sight you make, cursing under your breath and slumped in a long chiffon skirt that does nothing to protect you against the bitter cold.

That familiar maroon Honda Civic rolls to a stop in front of you, the bright yellow headlights shining onto the blocks of snow framing the sidewalk, engines sputtering into silence. You hear the car door open and then close, the weak crunch of ice under heavy boots. You know it’s him. But you ignore him, keeping your head down as you keep attempting to get the lighter to work.

“It’s late.”

You give up too quickly, pocketing the useless lighter before tossing the unused cigarette into the garbage can next to you. You pull your cardigan tighter around your body, staring out at the glum row of apartments across the street. “What a waste of money.”

“Do you even know where you are right now?”

“The bus was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago,” you sigh unsteadily, screwing your eyes shut tight, knowing that a few tears will probably escape soon. Your phone’s dead, so you can’t even check the transit app, and you’re tired. So, so tired.

You feel something heavy and warm being placed around your shoulders, the scent of spearmint and cherry liqueur replacing the stench of tobacco. You finally open your eyes and let them find him, standing in front of you plainly.

Minho is dressed simple, as always, clad in a thin grey Henley and dark jeans. It hasn’t even been three weeks since you’ve last seen him, and yet, his hair is already much longer, the soft cut curving over his forehead and into his eyes.

The icy wind picks up, blowing harder and making you hunch over in the air like a useless reed, but Minho doesn’t even flinch, arms crossed over his chest as he quietly watches you.

“Minho. Take your jacket back.”

“I’m not cold.”

“Stop lying. It’s below freezing.”

“So let’s go.”

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. “Where, Minho? Where would I go with you? And don’t you have someplace to be right now?”

“Don’t you?” he shoots back pointedly, effectively shutting you up.

It’s the twenty-first of December, the release date of Han Jisung’s sophomore album. You both had still been together when he sat you down in his studio, buzzing with excitement as you let him play the finished record for you. You were the first one ever to hear it, beside Jisung and his production team.

It meant something to him, you know that. Jisung called you a few days ago, drunk and sobbing over his words. The first time you heard from him in five months, and it wasn’t even when he was sober. He had pleaded with you to come to his release party, that every song he had ever written was about you. And—he missed you. You promptly hung up the phone.

You inhale deeply, willing yourself not to cry, but the tears leak out anyway, pathetically trailing down your cheeks. The dampness clings to your skin, mixing with the makeup you had caked on earlier to create a sticky mess. God, you feel terrible. You don’t remember the last time you ate anything.

“Leave me alone, Minho.” You try to be sharp, but your voice trembles, and you’re so obviously wounded that it’s almost embarrassing. “Just go to the party and have fun.”

He doesn’t say anything in response, just moving forward and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. You can’t find it in yourself to complain, pathetically melting into his touch like you were molded to enjoy it. You had wanted so badly to be held, and here he is, obstinately staying put no matter how much you try to push him away.

“You know, I was lying,” Minho whispers into your ear, his breath tickling you. “I am cold.”

“So take your jacket back.”

Minho lets go of you, and you miss him already, but you keep your face stoic as he playfully backs away from you. “Come and give it to me, then.”

You scowl, recognizing the devilish smile dancing on his lips. “Stop it. You’re seriously being annoying, Minho.”

“But you know how I love it,” he replies easily. His laughter cuts into the air like wind chimes—lovely, carefree, and lighter than you could ever be again.

He quickly gets back into his car, knowing you’re going to follow. You rush after him, slapping your palm against the glass of the window just as he locks the door. “Lee Minho! Take your fucking jacket back!”

Minho cracks the window open just enough for him to speak through it. “It’s too cold for me to open the door again. Come through the other side and give it back to me.”

With a groan, you fold to his tricks, stomping over to the passenger door and getting into the car. You try shrugging off the jacket, but Minho doesn’t let you, buckling the belt over your arms before you can.

“I hate you,” you snap, as Minho puts the key into the ignition and gets back onto the road. You lean forward, turning the heat to max even though you’re already sweating under Minho’s puffer. His car always takes forever to warm up, and he’d been standing in the frigid outside for a good seven minutes.

“You don’t,” Minho responds, unfazed. He’s right and he knows it, so you turn away from him petulantly, refusing to look in his direction. “Want to listen to music?”

“Fine.” You switch on the radio, but the moment you hear one of Jisung’s songs crooning through the speakers, you turn it right back off. “The universe really hates me, doesn’t it?”

“Hmm, let’s see.” Minho taps his fingers against the wheel in mock thought. “You’re smart. You’re beautiful. You have a good heart. Yeah, the universe definitely hates you.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at what he says and silently thank the night for concealing how red your face must be. He doesn’t very much often compliment people, always choosing his words very carefully, so you know he must mean it. “Shut up.”

You can discern Minho’s smile in the dark, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of the road, simply passing you his phone. “You can use my Spotify, choose whatever you like.”

You take your time scrolling through his playlists, until you settle on a good song. Soft jazz floods through the speakers and envelopes you like an embrace, but nowhere near as warm as Minho’s.

Minho slows down as the car approaches a red light, until it reaches a complete halt. You brazenly stare at his side profile, sharp and handsome, and take in the way the traffic lights paint him almost like he’s some kind of an ethereal creature.

“How did you find me, anyway?”

“I have my ways.”

“Can you not be so cryptic all the time? It’s not funny.”

Minho doesn’t flinch at your audible irritation. “You forgot to stop sharing your location with me.”

The light changes to green, and the car starts moving again.

You scoff. “And why did you show up?”

Silence. You can see Minho’s shoulders visibly tense, feel how the air instantly becomes heavy with a pressure that you can’t quite place. You should have considered his actual answer to the question more carefully before asking it, especially because you have an idea of what it might be.

“Don’t.” Minho’s voice takes on a real edge, the first time it’s ever been directed towards you. “Don’t ask me that.”

You purse your lips, feeling the pit in your stomach grow deeper. It feels strange, talking about it out loud. Of course you had noticed, the way his eyes linger on you for far too long to be just a casual glance. The way when you enter a crowded room, he always finds you, quietly checking up on you and making sure you’re okay. Little does he know that with him, you seldom feel not okay.

“You have… you have a crush on me.”

“A crush?” Minho lets out a dry laugh. “Is that what you think it is?”

“Well, yes?”

You sit there stupidly, waiting as he wordlessly pulls into the driveway, parking the car before he finally turns to face you, his eyes blazing with an intensity that you’ve never seen in all of the years you’ve known him.

It frightens you a little, to be trapped in this state of limbo with Minho. Before, he had always been this steady, constant presence, kind and funny and so brimming with warmth. The appropriate distance was there, of course, but he was always there in your periphery, smiling and happy to help. You had been with Jisung then, before. And after… you had been emptied, left with nothing else to give.

Every single time, Minho had shown up for you, patiently wiping your tears and listening to you cry for as long as you needed. Minho, your friend, steady and constant. Maybe you hadn’t realized that the world kept turning in the after, that Minho could have changed too; you just never noticed.

“God, you know nothing,” he says softly, slowly reaching his hand out to wipe off the smudge of mascara under your eyes. His fingers are like silky petals on your skin, smooth and shy as they traverse the planes of your face.

“Know what, Min?” You whisper, the sting of bated anticipation in your chest. You’re terrified of what he might say next, but at the same time, you yearn for the truth, for the months of wondering to be sated.

Minho just stares at you for a few more seconds, and you have to keep yourself from squirming under his gaze, wondering if his eyes are deepened with the weight of all the secrets he must be hiding. But he just ends up shaking his head, breaking the moment like it never existed.

“This is pointless.” Minho looks away and exhales sharply, grabbing his keys and unbuckling his seatbelt. “Come on, let’s go inside. I’ll make you hot cocoa.”

“But—”

Minho cuts you off by opening the car door, unabashedly avoiding how you attempt to burn a hole with your eyes through his retreating back. “I’m not doing this. Let’s go warm up.”

“Doing what—”

“Cocoa.”

The door slams behind Minho as he makes his way up the gravel pathway leading to the front door of the house, ignoring your indignant protests—you definitely didn’t miss what a stubborn jerk he can be. Knowing you’ve lost yet another battle against the enigmatic and exceptionally evasive Lee Minho, all you can do is sigh and follow him inside.

You’ve always loved Minho’s place. Tucked away in an unassuming neighborhood, far from the central hustle and bustle of the city; it’s something out of a storybook, a little yellow house surrounded by rose bushes and a white picket fence.

The interior is even prettier, with its tastefully mismatched couches and brightly-colored walls that Minho had painted himself. Every corner is occupied by a potted plant, every surface crammed with books to satisfy Minho’s insatiable need to always be reading something. An antique floor lamp casts a hazy yellow glow throughout the living room, and your personal favorite—the three kittens that quickly abandon Minho to curl around your ankles, purring at you in greeting.

The cozy, lived-in feeling of Minho’s home is a striking contrast with the hard lines and lifeless modernity of Jisung’s high-rise apartment downtown; you had always felt guilty for preferring Minho’s style. It felt comforting in a way that Jisung’s never was.

You don’t come here often, but when you do, it feels like summer—perpetually so, even in the bleak wintertime. Or maybe that’s just what it feels like whenever Minho’s around.

“Ten minutes,” Minho says over his shoulder as he heads into the kitchen.

You unstrap your shoes and settle down into your favorite spot, the fluffy loveseat in front of the bay window strung up with fairy lights. You listen to Minho putter around the kitchen, pulling out a pot and chopping up chocolate like he always insists on doing, instead of just using a hot cocoa mix.

Dori, the youngest of Minho’s cats, flops into your lap and cuddles into you, purring for your attention. Giggling, you indulge him, as you let the peacefulness sink in, feeling calmer than you have in a long time.

Nothing about the house has changed, other than the small cluster of purple crocus flowers that peek through the snow outside the window. You appreciate his attention to detail, like how he’s chosen winter blooms to keep his garden thriving even in the harsh weather. Everything about him is so sweet and lovely that it almost hurts, pricking at your heart like a needle.

You glance over at the fireplace mantle, noting that he’s still kept up that picture of you both from May. You’re standing in the grass and holding onto your diploma like a ghost, amongst the throngs of your giddy fellow graduates. And there’s Minho, sticking bunny ears behind your head with his fingers, trying to make you laugh because he had sensed how sad you were that day, no matter how much you smiled and insisted that you were fine.

Jisung had texted you at the last minute, telling you that he couldn’t make it anymore because he had to meet with his manager. You knew it wasn’t really his fault, and he had apologized to you over and over again, but it didn’t change how unimportant you felt, especially since you had always supported Jisung despite your own commitments. He broke up with you soon after that anyway.

“They missed you,” Minho calls out from where he’s washing his hands at the sink, which faces out into the living room.

“Hm?” You look up, meeting his eyes across the room.

“The cats.” The expression on his face is earnest, soft and open, as he watches you play with Dori. “They really missed you.”

You feel the corners of your lips tilt up slightly. “Did you miss me too?”

You expect him to snort and say no, tease you like he usually does whenever you act bratty, or maybe even just play it off, given how the question could lead into a rather sensitive discussion. But instead, Minho blushes, his face turning a pretty shade of pink as he looks away from you to stare down into the sink like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“I did.”

You rack your head for something to say, but you’re speechless. Minho is by no means a dishonest man, but overtime, you have understood that he rarely ever likes to be so candid with his emotions, afraid of being vulnerable; you know it’s also why he deflected so quickly in the car.

So, as always, Minho just clears his throat with a note of finality, entering the living room with two steaming mugs before you can respond to him. He hands you one while avoiding your eyes, just pausing to pat Dori’s head, before he sits down on the armchair opposite to the loveseat.

You peer down into your mug, at the way Minho has added a generous swirl of whipped cream, and of course, mini marshmallows arranged into a small smiley face on top. So sweet, so lovely.

As carefully as you can to avoid disturbing Minho’s little creation, you take a sip of the drink, the rich, slightly bitter cocoa instantly warming you from head to toe. You can’t help but smile, squinting over at Minho, who hides his own satisfied grin behind his mug.

“How do you always know exactly what I need? You’re amazing, you know that?”

He shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, but you spy the lingering tinge of color on the tips of his ears. “Call it my spidey sense, I guess.”

“You’re such a dork,” you say, draining the last of the hot cocoa. “Lee Minho, you’re probably my life’s greatest paradox.”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “How so?”

“Sometimes, I feel like you’re an open book. The things you cherish are so clear to me. Bad jokes. Gardening. Libraries. And of course, the kids.” You lift Dori’s paw into the air in emphasis, waving it at Minho, who looks at you like you’ve just invented cats entirely. “But other times, I feel like I don’t know you at all. You keep so much to yourself, and I know you’re entitled to your thoughts, but sometimes, it hurts, thinking that you can’t trust me with some of them. It’s confusing.”

Minho ponders over your words, deliberating before he speaks any further, and you wait patiently, nestling your fingers into the kitten’s fur, trying your best to soothe your nerves. This could very well become the third time tonight that he succeeds at averting the subtle confrontation you have been building up in your head for so long. But as predictable as you think he is, he continues to surprise you, opting to answer your musings rather than ricochet into a different subject.

“I know that I’m confusing, that it’s frustrating,” Minho says in a small voice. “But I can’t help it.”

You give him a resigned nod, looking out the window. It has started to snow again, the delicate crystals spiraling down from the inky sky. “It’s fine. You’re not frustrating, Minho.”

“No, it’s not fine. And I know I am. But I don’t want to be. Not to you.” Minho takes a deep breath, setting his mug down on the little coffee table. “Ask me anything, and I’ll try my best to answer truthfully.”

Minho looks you in the eye, pinning you into place. How potent it is, the feeling of his gaze on you, and you drink it in, like it’s the alcohol you were tipping into your mouth three weeks ago, the night you ghosted Minho. You’d never been that intoxicated before, brave enough to pull him deep into the flashing lights of the club, dizzy enough that you forgot to miss someone else, completely enthralled by Minho’s hands on your waist.

The spell never broke, even after you stumbled in your heels and pushed Minho away, rushing out of the club in a panic after remembering yourself. You had thought about Minho the entire taxi ride back, his bewitching eyes and pretty eyes haunting you even in your dreams.

“Okay,” you agree, bracing yourself for the fallout. “What is your biggest secret?”

Minho goes rigid, and that horribly familiar, disconcerting feeling permeates the atmosphere between you both again. It’s like your question has sucked the oxygen out of the room, freezing you and Minho into an uncomfortable mold. His knuckles go white at where they so tightly clutch the side of the armchair, like it’s his only source of support. Immediately, you regret so directly asking him the question, impulsively blurting it out without easing into the topic. And now that you’ve made yourself blatantly obvious, you would probably never hear him say it.

“That’s the one thing I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.” Minho clenches his jaw, turning his head to the side, as if he’s willing himself to keep quiet.

“Yeah, whatever.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, wondering how you’ll ever get him to open up. But he’s not the only one to blame this cat-and-mouse game on—barely an hour ago, you were in the sketchiest part of town, trying to catch the last bus out so you could indefinitely table your problems. “How about we just—”

“But I can tell you my second biggest secret,” Minho offers, and you lean forward, startled. His knee bounces up and down, like whenever he’s nervous, and you so quickly soften.

“Minho, you don’t have to tell me anything. It was a stupid idea.” You let out a small huff. “I know I have a bad habit of running away… but I’m here for you too.”

“You can run as much as you want, I’d still find you anyway,” Minho counters.

Instantly, you go warm, trying to play it off by feigning annoyance. “You’re so…”

“I’m so…?” He smirks, echoing your words.

“I don’t even know.” You roll your eyes, focusing very intently on the eyelet hem of your blouse and trying not to react too excitedly when he moves from the armchair to sit down next to you. “I just want you to know that you can tell me anything.”

Minho smiles. “I know I can. I’ve just never told anyone this before.”

“Alright, let’s hear it.”

All of the possible answers he might give you flip through your head, your mind skimming the pages in a book full of completely absurd ideas that could probably never be true. Minho failed his LSAT. Minho is the neighborhood plug. Minho’s famous tiramisu that he brings to every Friendsgiving is actually store bought. Or maybe—

“I’m a virgin.”

“Oh.” You just blink at him for a moment, unsure of what to say. Out of everything you thought of, you definitely never imagined it would be this. Of course, you aren’t one of those people who believes in losing your virginity as soon as possible; you yourself never slept with someone until a little over a year ago, and it was only ever with one person you were very deeply in love with. You suppose you fell for meaningless stereotypes, when you just assumed that someone as attractive and charismatic as Minho would have already had sex. Watching countless women flirt with Minho during outings also wasn’t much evidence for the truth.

“Sorry,” Minho says, laughing lightly. “I just blurted that out. Was it too much information?”

“No, no, Minho, you’re fine,” you immediately backtrack, realizing how awkward your reaction must have looked. “It’s normal. I completely get it, you know.”

Minho pauses, frowning in confusion. “Wait, so you and Jisung never…?”

If you were a little warm before, you’re positively aflame now. “No, um, we did. I’m just… I guess I get wanting to wait for the right person. I mean, that’s why you haven’t yet, right?”

“Something like that.” Minho’s eyes glitter, completely unreadable. “But I can’t reveal everything at the same time. It’s your turn. What is your biggest secret?”

“I saw this coming,” you mumble, glancing back at the mantle, at that picture of you both. Minho’s bunny ears, your reluctant smile. The blank space in the photo that should have been occupied.

Minho grabs your hand, and you jerk in surprise, but his eyes are full of sincerity. “I was just messing with you. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

You shake your head, running your thumb over the side of his ring finger, the callus he has there because of the strange way he holds pencils. It’s strange, how you have just innately memorized the fine details about him, how you treasure each one like it’s a gift.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, Minho. I’ve just been unable to confront it for so long, you know? If I say it out loud, then it’s final. I’m alone. And I don’t want to be.”

There’s a look of understanding that passes between you both, Minho’s eyes widening by the slightest fraction when he realizes what you’re hinting at. Or rather, who.

“You’re not alone,” he says quietly, his hand tightening around yours, affirming himself. “We can confront it together.”

It feels easy when Minho says it, facing the truth. Everything’s easy when he’s around. You hate the beach, but you’ll go to California and get sand in your hair if he was with you. You’re afraid of cemeteries, but he whistles your favorite song whenever you both pass one, so then it just seems like another sunny park. You’re perpetually stressed about grad school, but Minho always cuts up fruits into star shapes and brings them to you when you’re camping in the library, and suddenly, studying doesn’t seem so scary anymore.

You don’t want to run anymore.

“I don’t love Jisung anymore.” Your voice is soft, maybe a little strained. “I haven’t, for a while. That’s my secret.”

People have been pestering you nonstop for the last few months, whispering behind your back about how hung up you apparently are over your ex. The disdainful looks you shot at the romance section in the bookstore, the hours you spent your free time swaddled in bed, staring at your ceiling. That was enough for people to make their assumptions. But it felt easier that way, rather than acknowledging that you’ve moved on, that you’re afraid of what’s next, the unknown. Wallowing felt better than square one.

“Still feel alone?” Minho questions, letting go of your hand to tuck a loose piece of hair behind your ear. “Because I promise you’re not.”

“No,” you admit, the weight in your heart shifting elsewhere. “I told you I was going to marry him, remember?”

“I do,” he whispers. “I remember.”

“That’s in the past. I don’t love him anymore,” you repeat yourself, pleading with him between the lines. “I’ve been selfish, Minho. I didn’t want to say it, but at the same time, I was praying you understood. I was wrong. But tell me you understand now, Min. Please.”

You don’t know who moves first, and it doesn’t matter. Not when the gap between you and him is so unbearably small, the tension so painfully heavy.

Fireworks don’t go off, an offscreen crowd doesn’t burst into applause. The faint howling of wind can be heard, and the cats mewl from somewhere else in the house. It feels so shockingly normal, so right, with his lips on yours. Minho kisses you, and it feels like coming home.

“No one else,” he murmurs your name over and over again, like it’s a prayer. “There’s been no one else.”

Minho cups your neck with one hand, circling the other around your waist, tugging you closer to him. It’s almost overwhelming, the feeling of him all over you. It fills you with a yearning, even though you have him right here, where he reels you in so deftly. The sleeve of your cardigan slips down, exposing the bare skin of your back, but neither of you moves to fix it back into its place. The kiss deepens with your longing, the urgency in which you crave each other abundant. The sound of your sighs fill the room, your desires bared to each other so completely. This is all you have wanted for so long, but you can’t forget yourself, the uncertainty that tugs in the back of your mind.

With strength to rival the gods, you pull away from his lips and bore your eyes into his, to catch any sign of doubt. You find nothing at all, save for utter devotion. “Minho. I can’t—we can’t. I don’t want to feel like you’re being pressured into this. You should wait for—”

“For you. I’ve been waiting for you.”

You let out a sigh of disbelief, shaking your head slowly. “What if we never had this conversation? What if I left this city, and we went our separate ways? And you never saw me again?”

Minho’s eyes sadden even as he loops his fingers under the straps of your tank top, swiftly pushing the material off your shoulders. “No one else.”

“Lee Minho, you can’t be real…”

“But I am. And so are you, somehow.” He runs the pads of his fingers down your arms, looking down at you in awe, as if he can’t even comprehend that this is truly happening. “Tell me you want this too.”

You reach your arms up, cradling his beautiful face in your hands so you can look him in the eye. “I want you.”

And then Minho’s grasping the backs of your thighs and lifting you off of the couch with ease, moving you to the adjacent room while simultaneously kissing you. You’ve never been inside his bedroom, what has been a vastly forbidden territory to you in your mind, all this time. It smells overwhelmingly of Minho, of mint and of cherries and of a heady je ne sais quoi.

Minho’s soul is made of sunshine, so pure and gentle in every single aspect, but the way he touches you is nothing but electric, like he’s lightning and you’re a midnight sky. You feel like you’re nineteen and having your first kiss again, shy and unsure of yourself, even though you are far from inexperienced. But ironically, it’s Minho who moves confidently, who maneuvers you onto the bed so expertly that his own innocence can very much be doubted.

And then he’s slotted between your legs, kneeling in front of you at the edge of the bed like your hips are his altar. And you really might as well be some deity, with how he carefully, reverently peels off your stockings, worshipping every inch of skin that he frees.

He kisses the spot right above your knees, and then trails his lips even higher, onto your inner thighs, so close yet not nearly enough. Curious fingers skim the thin waistband of your panties, and he looks up at you—questioning, hesitant. “Can I take this off?”

You can barely muster a reply, merely nodding as he slides the panties off, haphazardly throwing them elsewhere. Minho slowly pushes your legs apart, his gaze focusing on your dripping core. You feel your breath hitch as he takes you in, staring at you with his mouth slightly agape, eyes glassed over in astonishment. And then he smirks at you, promptly burying his head in between your thighs in order to finally satiate himself.

Minho’s face scrunches up in a delight that has you blushing, like your pussy is the sweetest meal he’s ever had in his life. “You taste so fucking good. Is this what I’ve been missing out on?”

You can’t find it in yourself to answer, when he dives back in, his enthusiasm manifesting in something hungry and achingly steady. He takes his time, mapping out your cunt with his mouth, memorizing the way you twitch when he alters a specific movement. Minho takes his time eating your pussy, tonguing at you in leisure, learning what exactly makes you tick. Every flick of his tongue is deliberate, measured, like he’s already done this a thousand times before, but with the way his eyes never leave yours, you know this is his love letter to you, written out in the most intimate, intricate way you could imagine.

You gasp as he firmly runs his tongue through your folds, the pressure building into a tight coil of heat in your stomach, an unmatched feeling of ecstasy you can just never seem to achieve on lonely nights. But Minho makes it seem effortless, torturing you by avoiding just the exact place where he knows you need him the most.

“Minho,” you whine, palming at your breasts over the lace of your flimsy bra. “Don’t tease.”

He laughs against your cunt, sending the vibrations of his own filthy enjoyment through your core. “That needy already? Is it that good, beautiful?”

You pout, unable to fathom how controlled he is, how assured he is in something that should be completely uncharted for him. But you know Minho is a learned man, approaching all actions both in and out of work fully prepared, having done his research on every single hypothetical. It’s extremely attractive, and it turns you on even more, thinking of how he undressed you with the focused goal of making you come.

You also know that Minho can never say no to you, so he obliges, suddenly sucking at your clit with an obscene precision that has you seeing stars even on this stormy night. The way he speaks into you is almost enough, the dirty promises he whispers under his breath, how he groans your name when you arch into his mouth. Minho spreads his palm flat on your stomach, keeping you anchored to both his bed and heart, completely greedy over you.

He kisses your pussy like it’s a gift—the best one he’s ever had, with how he moans into you like he’s the one being so relentlessly pleasured. He eats you out like a starved man, drinking in every drop of arousal that you release, revelling in your taste like you’ve blessed him. Somewhere in the middle, he’s discarded his shirt, engrossed in only you.

Minho’s nose bumps against your clit as he delves deeper into you, the tip of his ring finger teasing at your entrance, making you flutter in need. Carefully, he eases his finger inside completely, delicately curling it into you. He gauges your reaction, studying how your brows pull together as you moan, how you tremble when he adds in another finger, steadily building up speed.

Your fingers tangle into his soft, soft hair, holding onto him for support as he brings you to that final wave of euphoria, locking eyes with you. Your legs tremble around his leg, threatening to close and shut him out, but he grips your thighs like a vice, keeping them open as he finishes what he started. Every stroke of his tongue is a hot flash of white on your vision, every thrust of his fingers inside of you coaxing you through the high. You come undone like that, crying out as Minho brings you back down, gently reeling you back in with hot, open-mouthed kisses pressed upon your drenched thighs.

Minho rises to stand up, towering over you as you fall back into the sheets, dazed. His pupils are dilated, his heady gaze is intensified rather than sated, like he just can’t get enough. Neither can you, leaning up to meet his lips in the middle as he unbuckles his belt and kicks off his jeans.

Minho unclasps your bra and tosses it to the side, cupping your tits in his beautiful hands as he kisses over your clavicles, traveling up your neck. You grab at his boxers, trying to get them off, but Minho catches your wrists, halting you as he pulls away.

“Sorry, just give me one second,” Minho says sheepishly, turning to open the bottom drawer of his bedside drawer. He rifles through its contents with an impatient huff, until he slams it closed, finding what he’s been looking for. He tears open the golden packet with his teeth, meeting your eyes. “Never thought I’d have to use this, but a man can never be too prepared, you know?”

You giggle, rolling your eyes. “I know you, Minho.”

He frees himself of the final layer that separates you both, before leaning into you, speaking against your lips in a low tone that sends a cool shiver through your body. “You really do.”

Minho gently pushes you back to rest you comfortably on his pillows, your hair spread out like a fan as he cages you in with his body. Your bare chests are pressed against each other, skin sticking to skin, and you can feel the racing beat of Minho’s heart; he’s nervous, no matter how confident he appears to be.

“Hey,” you murmur, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It’s okay if you want to take a break, Min.”

He blinks cutely, mulling over your words. Minho once told you that blinking slowly means “I love you” in cat language, and the memory of that is enough to have your heart cracking completely open and spilling out all warm and cozy.

“I’m not nervous because it’s my first time.” Minho smooths a loose lock of hair out of your eyes. “I’m worried it isn’t going to be good enough for you.”

Considerate, even when it shouldn’t be about you.

“Minho, it's going to be perfect because it’s you.” You let out a sigh, quirking an eyebrow at him playfully. “Besides, I honestly would never have thought you’re a virgin, given your performance so far tonight.”

He huffs out a small breath of relief. “Okay, good, because I did do some—”

“—research,” you finish.

You both just smile at each other like idiots, before the hazy wave of arousal sweeps over, and you become aware yourselves again, that you’re finally here, alone and completely bared to each other. Minho looks deep into your eyes, and you just can’t remember the last time you’ve experienced something so romantic, so fervent and utterly consuming. One hand holds your face— tender, like it’s your first time—while Minho uses the other to guide himself inside of you.

The feeling of Minho entering you is an exquisitely tortuous stretch that has you both sighing into each other’s mouths—you definitely aren’t used to how big Minho is, but it’s the months of pining, of inexplicable need, finally being satisfied that you really need to process. The first few thrusts are slow and experimental, with Minho giving you the time to adjust to his size, but then you wrap your legs around his lower back, prompting him to go faster.

You never thought Minho could get any more beautiful than he already is, but now that you have him like this, his sharp features contorted with pleasure, you think otherwise. You meet him in a messy kiss, tugging at the ends of his hair, and you don’t anticipate that simple action to have such a profound consequence, because before you realize it, Minho lets out a choked moan, his hips stuttering against yours.

“Did you just—”

Minho pulls back to look at you, his cheeks flushed with both exertion and a bashfulness that would have you kicking your feet if you could. “I can’t help it, it was hard enough not to when I was going down on you. You’re just so fucking sexy.”

“Okay, now I can believe that you’re a virgin,” you snicker, but you peck him on the cheek, smoothing out any lingering embarrassment. “And now that it’s done, how do you feel?”

He frowns, shaking his head. “Fucking amazing, but I’m not done yet. You haven’t finished.”

“But technically I already did—”

“Are you really arguing with me right now?”

You concede. “I—no.”

Minho smiles in satisfaction, before turning to his side, pulling over an extra pillow and slightly tilting you over so he can slide it under you. You let him do as he pleases, but give him a questioning look.

“I read online that it helps you finish faster,” Minho explains, grinning. “Something about the angle, I suppose.”

Giggling, you trace your fingers along his jawline and then kiss him, lightly biting his lower lip as you do. “Lee Minho, you’re such a dream.”

That clear proclamation is enough for Minho’s eyes to initially widen and then fill with something dark, spurring him to ram into your pussy so suddenly that you jolt in his arms. He picks up his pace with a newfound determination, and as always, he’s right—the angle in which he slams into you is sharp, hitting you in just the right place.

“Baby…”

You whimper at the roughness in his tone, at the desperation in how he groans sin into your ears. It all so starkly contrasts with the achingly sweet way his hand clasps yours, keeping you tethered to him like a promise.

You feel that high approach you even faster than before, and Minho notices too, with how your sighs have taken on an unsteady rhythm. He presses his fingers against your lips, you obey his unsaid command, opening your mouth and letting him wet them, before he begins to rub circles into your clit, urging you to come.

“Minho, Minho,” you gasp out his name over and over again, the multiple sensations clouding over your mind and overwhelming you in the best way, forcibly enticing you to your climax.

“He’s my best friend,” he says against your lips, panting. “But I was never his the way I was yours.”

That’s all you need to be pushed over the edge, the feeling so intense that you teeter in that delicate balance between utter bliss and unconsciousness. You let out a broken moan as you finish, but Minho’s grip stays on you, firm and possessive, before it’s his turn again. It’s addictive, how he shudders so softly, his shoulders slightly shaking against yours.

“And I am yours.”

Minho’s body slumps against yours, and he buries his face into your neck, as you both catch your breath. He then rolls off of you, settling himself against the headboard and encircling you in his arms, kissing you all over your face and hugging you close.

“I think I get it now,” Minho whispers, his breath tickling your ear. “Why they call it a little death.”

“Hm?” you mumble, still caught in a haze. Minho just smiles at you fondly, kissing your forehead.

“People say that when you orgasm, it’s a little death. I used to think it was rather morbid, but I now understand. It feels like I’ve just died and been reborn. It feels like you’ve brought me back to life.”

“Was it that good, beautiful?” You give him a teasing smile, echoing him from earlier.

“Mhm. So good that I’m ready to die again, actually,” Minho says, laughing as you grip his shoulders, letting you push him back onto the pillows. He falls back with a small grunt, a sound so insignificant that it shouldn’t be reigniting you so quickly.

You sling your leg over Minho’s torso, straddling his hips. “So am I.”

The night doesn’t claim you until hours have gone by, when Minho is finally fast asleep, many little deaths later. You can’t help but admire him in the silence, him lying there with his face pressed into the pillow, one arm thrown over your waist, keeping you close even when surrendered to sweet slumber.

His hair flops over his forehead and into his face, where it slightly flutters as he breathes. The moonlight filters through the gap in his gauzy curtains, lighting him up in the most gorgeous way. He is so precious, more than anything you have ever seen.

Gently, you place the smallest kiss on the tip of his nose, on that tiny freckle that enchants you so very much—Minho is enchanting. He stirs slightly, mumbling your name under his breath, but fortunately, he doesn’t wake up. You don’t want to give him any more trouble tonight about his biggest secret, after all.

“I love you too, Lee Minho.”

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AUTHOR'S NOTE it's 1 am and i have a flight in a few hours FML but i just loveeee soft fluffy sexy soulmate!minho. i have a part 2 in mind for this universe bc i adore it smmm but idk??? maybe i'm just delusional because i have a new crush </3 anyway, i now promise to get onto my other wips hehe, just had to get this out of the system🥰🤞

TAGLIST @ajxreads@chizumiyoshi @jetblackbelle @yeahhspider@army-stay-noel@143hyunes @httphans @ave-221 @Chaotic-world-of-the-j @nyasstars @beautifulmusicaddict-blog@imasimplol@xsw-void@queen-klarissa @hyunjinsamdl @heavenhannie @ultimatestayandminoronce @moasworld @chillseo @boomfrogg @hyunzerolv @browniebearr@hanniemylovelyquokka@ardef38@anyhow-everything@sweetpickledjins@insertsomethingaboutanimehere@seukijeuxq@jinniedumpling@extrhotjne@firelordtsuki@mnwrld@missseoulite@oddracha@ladylexis @lenkusubitvh @dessianna1

p.s. ♡ if you liked my work, please consider reblogging! & feel free to leave your thoughts/send in an ask, i love to talk ♡

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lee-knows-cats · 1 month ago

Text

bro i love ur fics so so much😮‍💨✊the amount of times i melted into a puddle while reading this is insane😭😭

ᯓ★ 𝐀 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦

͙͘͡★ Genre: Domestic, fluff, slightly suggestive

͙͘͡★ Warnings: None, other than sickly sweet fluff ...

͙͘͡★ Characters: Chris, Y/N

͙͘͡★ Word Count: 3.4k

͙͘͡★ Synopsis: Chris and Y/N spend a cosy night in together when the weather turns unexpectedly cold

“Ooh,” Chris wiggled a little on the spot, as if a sudden bolt of happy lightning tingled through him. “That was so satisfying.

From where she was perched on a corner of the kitchen counter, Y/N started to giggle. She watched as her husband snapped the two halves of a thin chocolate bar into four, and he groaned with more satisfaction at the crisp sound.

“I think that one was better,” Chris chuckled. He was breaking off each individual cube now, piling them up high in a tiny bowl as a pan of milk gently heated beside him. “Which one? One, or two?”

“What are you, an optician?”

“One, or two, baby girl.”

“The seventh one,” Y/N grinned.

“The seventh?” Chris repeated. “I don't even remember what that sounded like.”

“Me neither.”

Letting out a humorous ‘what?’, Chris turned fully and moved towards his wife. He wiggled a piece of chocolate in front of her face; Y/N obediently opened her mouth like a little fish, and Chris burst into soft chuckles as he slotted the cold cube onto her tongue.

“Mmmf … “ Y/N's eyes half rolled back as she slumped on the counter; the chocolate was rich, and it was dark, and it oozed on her tongue with a burst of serotonin.

“Good?” Chris grinned, thumbs caressing over her hip bones. “My lil’ chocolate monster.”

“No, that's you,” Y/N insisted. “You're the chocolate monster.”

“Yeah, I am,” Chris chuckled. “And I'm gonna bite the other chocolate monster in the house … nom.”

Y/N squealed as Chris's teeth grazed the side of her neck. He was gentle, and his tongue soothed the spot a split second later with a warm caress. He pulled back and grinned devilishly at his wife before suddenly lifting her effortlessly off of the counter; his arms were tucked under Y/N's thighs as Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist with a flurry of giggles escaping her, and Chris grinned widely, energetically nuzzling his head against the softness of her chest.

“You're driving me crazy,” Chris mumbled, kissing over her t-shirt - or rather, his t-shirt. Soft, worn, faded black, it hung off of Y/N's frame in the comfiest drapes; seeing his wife in his clothes was always a one way ticket to making his heart sky rocket and breath falter.

Y/N grinned. She sank her fingers into the shaggy curls at the nape of his neck as she looked down at him, his eyes shooting stars from the pits of his pupils and into hers. “I didn't do anything.”

“Exactly,” Chris hummed. “Not even doing anything and you still manage to make me lose my mind. You're one of a kind, Y/N Bahng.”

Blushing, Y/N brushed her lips against the sweet smile on her husband's face. Then, looking over one of his broad shoulders, Y/N nodded towards the saucepan on the hob. “Milk's gonna boil.”

“No,” Chris sucked in a breath - one arm still holding his wife up to his body, the man quickly turned off the heat under his milk, just as it had begun to simmer around the edges. He sighed lazily, his lips quirking up into an easy smile. “Good eye.”

“Only because you were too distracted,” Y/N giggled as her husband set her down onto the counter beside the saucepan. “You'd have let it boil over.”

“See?” Chris smirked, dropping the chocolate carefully into the milk. “I told you … I'm not in my right mind because of you.”

Just then, a loud crackle outside the window made Chris and Y/N jump; they turned to look at each other in surprise, and a flash of white lit up their dimly lit cosy kitchen for a brief moment before ebbing away.

“Woah,” Chris whistled. “Full on storm out there.”

For the middle of summer, the evening was bitterly cold. The previous day, the couple had been roasting in their clothes; they had ended up stripping and laying directly beneath the air conditioning, sweltering in their own skin. But the temperature had plummeted overnight, bringing with it a downpour of heavy rain, and now … thunder.

In true Chris nature, the first thing he had done when he heard the rhythmic pitter patter on the bedroom windows was splatter his body over his wife's and declare the upcoming day to be one of his favourites - a very slow, very cuddly, ‘do nothing’ day. Which always entailed the following: a lazy morning where the both of them stayed in bed until noon, lounging around and tangled up in one another's warmth, followed by a sweet breakfast of either waffles or pancakes, piled high with berries and whipped cream for Y/N, and all manner of chocolate and caramel in a sticky, messy drizzle for Chris. Then they would take a bath … a long bath, one that often lasted for hours. Once Chris got in and felt the steaming water lap at his skin, he never could get out again. By the time they had finished messing around with vanillary smelling lotion and wrapping each other in fuzzy towels, the end of the afternoon would creep up and Chris and Y/N dressed in the softest, comfiest clothes they owned. Sometimes matching pyjamas, sometimes sharing Chris's clothes; Even Chris, who preferred to wear just his skin and nothing else, found a secret comfort in matching with his wife. With a thick blanket and the barely there material of their clothes almost silky against their bodies, the cuddles they wrapped themselves in for hours on end only got fuzzier.

“I feel bad for the animals,” Y/N pouted, shoulders sagging a little as another crack of thunder rumbled across the skies. “I know they can take care of themselves, but … what if they're all scared?”

Chris's eyes softened. His hands were warm against the sides of Y/N's arms, and he pressed a tender kiss to the centre of her forhead. “They'll be okay, baby. They're made to be out in the wild, hmm? I'm pretty sure the scared little babies have older ones to protect them too.”

Y/N's face lit up. She rather liked the thought of that.

“My soft hearted girl,” Chris hummed, kissing her nose this time. “I love that about you, you know that?”

Holding her arms out to him again as her eyes watered a little, Y/N let herself be pulled into the cradled of Chris's embrace once more. He carried her easily in the crook of one arm while he stirred the milky chocolatey mixture with a whisk with the kther hand, the both of them watching as the streaky drink blended into one uniform colour. It looked thick and velvety, and Y/N's stomach rumbled just a little in a way that made Chris chuckle.

“Am I gonna have to whip some cream now too?” Chris grinned.

“You don't have to. I like squirty cream too.”

“We can't have squirty cream on a day like this,” Chris frowned as he carried her over to the fridge. “We gotta have the full whack. Whipped cream, marshmallows, sprinkles … all of it.”

“Who puts sprinkles on hot chocolate?”

“Me.”

“You're addicted to sugar.”

“I am. I married you.”

Bursting into satisfied laughter at the look Y/N gave him, Chris squeezed her as he reached for the pot of cream. “So … cream?”

Smiling, Y/N nodded against her husband's neck. “Okay. Gimme a kiss first though.”

Only too happy to oblige, Chris moved his face closer to Y/N's. She had already lifted her head and her lips were warm when they melted under his, pliant and sweet and buzzing with a tenderness that made Chris hum into the kiss. It was a tiny sound, but it vibrated through Y/N and her breath hitched, and her arms tightened a fraction around his neck.

“Better?” Chris whispered against her lips when he pulled away half an inch. His nose was still bumping against hers and she shook her head, brows creasing.

“Want more.”

“More?” He chuckled, breath hot. His mouth closed over hers again, cushioning her lips with the plushness of his, hands squeezing her thighs. His teeth grazed her lower lip before he moved this time, biting lightly, and then his lips curved up into the softest of smiles as he peppered butterfly kisses all over her face. “That better?”

Y/N giggled. “More.”

“Baby … the hot chocolate's gonna go all cold,” Chris whined, though he planted another three, slow kisses to his wife's lips. “Let me finish all this up, and then I'll give you lots more kisses on the sofa, okay? I promise.”

Nodding, Y/N kissed his cheek. “Okay.”

Chris kissed her temple before setting her down once more on the counter. Y/N watched Chris pour heavy cream into a small bowl; he added a dash of vanilla and a sprinkle of sugar it before picking up the bowl and beginning to whisk as if his life depended on it.

“There,” Chris exhaled loudly barely two minutes later. He took out the whisk and wordlessly held it out to his wife; she immediately licked a long stripe over the whisk's prongs, collecting the cream on her tongue in a way that made Chris chuckle.

Y/N stuck her tongue out at him before licking the whisk again. Chris meanwhile reached for a small jar, tiny puffs of pink and white bouncing around as he shook it.

“Mallows?”

Y/N nodded. Chris sprinkled a handful of mini marshmallows into their mugs of still steaming hot chocolate; they had already begun to melt just a little, and he took up a spoon before carefully dolloping the whipped cream on top. it immediately began to fizz around the edges, bubbling up from the contact with the hot drink in a way that only looked more appetising.

Chris's stomach rumbled. He pressed a hand over his middle as Y/N giggled. She reached over into one of their snack bowls and retrieved a large crisp before pressing it into his mouth.

“‘M not … mmf … hungry,” Chris garbled around the crisp. He swallowed it and grinned as Y/N gave him a pointed look, hopping off of the counter before picking up her mug. “Well. Maybe a little. Only got room for this stuff though.”

“So much chocolate and cream in this I bet it'll fill you up anyway," Y/N said. She raised the mug to her lips and very slowly tipped it, fishing for the tiniest of sips so as not to burn her tongue; her eyes lit up and she groaned against the rim of the porcelain. “You always manage to make it taste like … like … “

Chris laughed under his breath. “Like what?”

“Like … liquid hugs?” Y/N said slowly. “Like it tastes like what your hugs feel like. Warm and sweet and syrupy and soothing and calming and healing and so so so addicting … “

Chris's face was the colour of berries. He had been about to pick his own mug up - but instead he stepped towards his wife and closed the short distance, plucking her mug out ftom her hands and placing it beside his before he engulfed her in his arms. He looped them around her shoulders, one cupping the back of her head, sinking into her hair, the other rubbing deep circles over the middle of her back.

“You,” Chris said, punctuating his words with kisses to her head. “Are. A. Little. Thesaurus.”

Giggling against his chest, Y/N squeezed his torso. “‘M not.”

“You are. And I love it.”

“Chris. The hot chocolate.”

“Oh, right! ‘S gonna get all cold … “

“No, not that,” Y/N grinned against her husband's arm as she caught sight of their mugs on the counter. “It's bubbling everywhere.”

“Huh?”

Turning around towards the counter again, Chris's furrowed eyebrows shot up his forehead. The hot chocolate must have still been too hot from the stove - the cream had begun to melt, and the bubbly mixture oozed over the rim of both mugs, spilling down the sides and pooling in a joint chocolatey mess on the surface.

“Looks like it's not cold at all,” Y/N laughed as she picked up her mug. Her tongue darted out and she quickly licked up the rivulets around her large mug, just as Chris mopped up the mess with a wad of tissue. “See? The hot chocolate is just like you … can't stay still either.”

At that, Chris chuckled. He did have very fidgety fingers.

“Come on,” Chris kissed Y/N's temple. “Sofa. Blanket.”

Wrapped up in one of the heaviest blankets they owned, Chris and Y/N sat side by side on the large sofa, hands curled their steaming mugs of hot chocolate. The marshmallows had long melted, swirling pink into the cream and coating the inside of the mugs in a squishy, sweat coating. More than once Y/N caught Chris using the very tip of his tongue to scoop out the globs of mallow from the sides, and it made her giggle.

“You look like a lizard,” Y/N commented.

Chris's eyes sparkled mischievously. His tongue darted out of his mouth again, and Y/N barely even registered what was happening before she felt the wet warmth of it swipe against her lower lip.

“Christopher - !”

She was cut off when the whole of her mouth was enveloped in his. It was a hot kiss, one that made her shiver, but no less sweet - both figuratively, and literally.

“Yum,” Chris grinned devilishly. “Definitely tastes better on your lips.”

Beetroot red, Y/N sank back against the sofa cushions. Her hair fell in a dishevelled curtain around her face, and under the blanket, she kicked out at him with her foot.

He was talking now. Chris's arms were cradling Y/N into his sturdy frame as if she was a teddy bear. One of his hands was in her hair, lightly scratching at her scalp, his other hand toying with the hem of her t-shirt. His words were hot puffs of air against her forehead as he kept up a steady stream of commentary for the movie they were watching, his tone of voice becoming more animated by the minute.

“I've seen this a thousand times yet I still can't believe he's gonna do that - “

“Pfft. No one acts like that in real life.”

“Think I could pull off that shirt he's wearing? That neon yellow is insane - ”

“Did you know they had to re-do this scene thirteen times because the main actor couldn't stop choking on his own laughter? I think he nearly died … "

“Are they gonna kiss?”

“Baby … baby I can't look … “

“How'd he fuck up that bad?”

Giggling for the hundredth time already just as the movie surpassed its middle, Chris lovingly peered down at his wife. Y/N had grown quiet in the past fifteen minutes, her bubbly responses to his comments fizzling down into softer hums and gentle giggles. She looked sleepy, eyes drooping against the hard press of his chest, but there was a tender smile on her face that grew the longer he spoke. Chris hadn't noticed it at first - he didn't realise just how much she had been taking comfort in his mindless rambling, how she had been looking up at him more than she had been watching the movie, analysing the softened features of his beautiful face.

“Sleepy?” Chris hummed, brushing his hand over her forehead, sweeping away her hair.

Y/N nodded, legs curling up closer to her chest until she resembled a tiny ball.

“Not bored, are you?” Chris hummed against her hair as he nuzzled his nose into her neck. “Am I talking too much?”

Y/N immediately shook her head. Her hands curled tighter into his hoodie under the blanket. “I loving hearing you yap. Don't stop. Like … ever.”

Chuckling, Chris kissed her temple. “Yeah? You're sure you're not just saying that?”

“Mhm. I love your voice. Could listen to it all day … I like when you get excited and ramble so much that you start stumbling over your words. ‘S cute. You're cute.”

He was beaming now; Chris tugged at Y/N's curled up body, trying to tuck her closer into him. A frugal effort, considering she was already glued to his hip - but the gesture alone brought him comfort, and Chris snuggled his face against the top of her head.

“I love you, y'know that?” Chris murmured.

She giggled. “Huh? Did … did Christopher Bahng actually just say that to me?”

Chris's lips turned downwards, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling as he pulled a gormless expression. “Yeah.”

“Say it again, I wasn't listening.”

“Oh, well now you're just taking advantage … “

Y/N found herself laying across the sofa, her husband's body pressing down into hers like the most comforting weighted blanket. She groaned at impact before limbs automatically curled around him, seeking more of his weight, more of the intense heat he was spilling through their clothes and into her skin.

“I,” Chris kissed her forehead, “love,” then her nose, “you.”

His third kiss landed on her lips, smooth and silky and full of all the love he didn't express as often through his words. He focused on other ways to show her instead - every touch he gave her, every gentle brush of his fingers over her cheek, the hold at the base of her spine, the nudge of his elbow to her side, every twinkle of his eyes and slow curve of his lips as he smiled at her, every task he carried out to make her life easier - they all dripped such care and affection that Y/N couldn't deny the severity of his feelings for her even if she tried.

But still … hearing those three words from him never failed to make her heart erupt into streams of confetti.

Biting her lip mischievously as she traced her fingertips over the constellation of moles over his cheeks, Y/N blinked up at him. “Sorry … what did you say?”

“Y/N,” Chris groaned, forehead dropping against hers. It was burning hot, much like the tip of his nose and the tops of his ears. “Do you like it when I say it that much?”

She just nodded. It made Chris smile, and he closed the fraction of distance between them again.

“I love you so much,” Chris breathed against her lips. “So, so, so much, my love. My darling. My sweetheart. My baby girl.”

Y/N giggled. "Now who's the thesaurus?"

"Me. And you. We're both a thesaurus because ... well ... we're one, aren't we?"

The smile on Y/N's face made Chris's chest ache. He smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks, just as she turned to kiss the inside of his palm.

“I love you more. So, so, so much more.”

Chuckling, Chris dropped his face into the crook of Y/N's neck. He stayed there for a long moment, breathing her in, his fingers tugging at her hair … but then he moved again, hovering over her with a cheeky look in his eyes.

“So … looks like you've got a little mark here,” Chris said innocently as he ran a finger over the side of her neck. He cleared his throat. “Definitely wasn't me.”

She couldn't see the subtle bruising, but Y/N brushed her touch over it anyway. “Really? It had nothing to do with you biting me earlier?”

“Nope.”

“You devious bugger. What is it with you covering me in hickeys?” Y/N whined, squeezing his thigh with her calf under the blanket.

Chris was laughing now, the back end of his laughter followed by tiny squeaks that made Y/N's chest heat up. “I didn't do it on purpose!”

“Liar. You always do it on purpose.”

“Well … yeah. I like the world knowing you're mine. But it was an accident this time!”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him.

“I mean … I think it was?”

The sound that escaped Chris a second later when Y/N pushed him back against the cushions instead was reminiscent somewhat of a surprised animal; his laughter became a muffled buzz against her as Y/N's teeth kissed the hollow of his own throat, his skin warm and sweet and little musky in the way that made her lightheaded. The man groaned under her, hands tightening in her hair before she pulled away, grinning in triumph.

“Oops,” she giggled. “Accident.”

Chris's lips turned up into a crooked grin. “C'mere,” he tugged her down onto him, hand cupping her waist, and she fell into the curve of his arms again. Chris tugged up the blanket from before over them both once more - he rubbed her shoulders and tangled his legs with hers before holding her tight and dropping a loving kiss to the very top of her head.

Tag list ~ @dalamjisung @ateez-babygirl @waverzzzzzzzz @smutdumpskz @hotmesshapa @chanssmiles @leand125 @foivetimesacharm @dprkbyn @super-btstrash-posts @sleepyleeji @ka-ni-ma @straystaychan @mylifesupsidedowm @armystay89 @shut-up256 @hanstan34 @blackfangedreaper @suhomylife @kannaexe @kookie9704 @notastraykid @strayfoxxchan @elizalabs3 @jdopes-recorder @forever-in-the-sky2 @peachygiku @chansducky10 @shakalakaboomboo @jisuperboard @zandra-42 @whyyougottadothatbro @skzcoffeemachine @where-is-innie @miin17 @nappynapnaps @prettymiye0n @lost-leopard-beanie @chnbngs @hann1bee @stayceebs97 @solandiszale @cosmicalily @chanlixart (let me know if you wanna be added or removed)

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lee-knows-cats · 2 months ago

Text

Built For Ruin

Roommate! Leeknow x Reader

Tags: slow burn, thigh kink, filthy smut, roommates to lovers, thigh riding, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, dom minho, work out teasing, overstimulation, accidental voyeurism

Word count: 4.8k

Summary: Living with Lee Know was fine… until his thighs became a problem. Now he’s working out shirtless in the living room, stealing your shampoo, and daring you with every smirk. You try to ignore it—until you walk in on him wet, naked, and waiting. And when he tells you to ride his thigh? Yeah. You don’t say no.

A/N: This fic was requested by @ihrtlix ❤️ Enjoy!

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Living with Lee Know was supposed to be chill. Strict chore schedule, shared Spotify rotation, and an unspoken rule: no feelings, no flirting, and definitely no walking around in nothing but boxers and that godforsaken muscle tee that showed everything.

And yet, there you were — biting into a peach on a lazy Tuesday morning, trying not to stare as he squatted to grab his protein powder from the bottom cabinet. Every flex of his thighs tested your willpower.

You told yourself not to look. You always told yourself. But Minho’s body betrayed every attempt at restraint. Lean everywhere except where it mattered. His arms were carved and precise, his waist trim, but his thighs? Thick like sin. Each step he took, every crouch, every stretch of fabric over hardened muscle taunted your self-control.

And he wasn’t oblivious.

He caught you sometimes — the beat of silence before you answered a question, the way your eyes dropped before darting away, the breath you held when he stretched too close on the couch. You’d swear he smirked once. Maybe twice. But he never said a word.

There were only the silences. Lingering, heavy, and charged. Accidental brushes of skin. The way his leg sometimes pressed against yours during movie nights. Close. Too close.

Still, you told yourself you were safe. That it didn’t mean anything.

Until the moment that shattered everything.

You’d come home late, annoyed, exhausted, half-ready to collapse. The apartment was quiet — lights low, faint music bleeding from behind the bathroom door. You heard the water shut off. Then a towel. A rustle.

The bathroom door cracked open before you could escape.

And there he was.

Wet. Bare. Steam curling around him like smoke. His hair stuck to his forehead, water dripping down the sharp lines of his collarbones. A white towel sat slung low on his hips, teasing just above the dangerous. His chest glistened under the hallway light, and his thighs—Jesus, those thighs—were pure destruction. Wide. Solid. Veined. They flexed with every slow, lazy step as he towel-dried his hair, and then… he looked up.

Right at you.

“Hey,” he said, like he didn’t look like every bad decision you’d ever fantasized about. Like his towel wasn’t a single twitch away from wrecking your entire nervous system.

“You good?”

You nodded. Lie. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

His eyes held yours a beat too long. Something shifted in his expression. Calculated. Curious. Knowing.

Then he tilted his head — just slightly — and let the towel dip a little lower on his hips.

“You look like you saw a ghost.”

Your throat tightened. Your pulse throbbed in your ears. You tried to look away, but it was too late.

His gaze dipped down, tracking over your legs, the death grip of your hands at your sides, the way your breath had gone shallow. He looked back up — and smirked.

“Been doing a lot of leg day lately,” he said, voice thick with amusement. “Figured it was time someone noticed.”

You couldn’t move. The hallway felt too small. Too hot. And he stood too close.

That’s when it hit you. He’d known. All this time. Every stolen glance, every bitten lip, every time you pretended not to be affected while memorizing the shape of his body like scripture — he’d known.

And the worst part? He was enjoying it.

Minho stepped past you then, slow and deliberate. His bare shoulder brushed yours, sending sparks down your spine. His mouth passed close to your ear.

“If you like ’em so much… don’t be shy.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you?

You stood frozen. Drenched in heat.

Stunned.

—-

You tried to shake it off. That moment in the hallway — the wet skin, the low towel, the smirk like he’d just cracked your entire code — it replayed in your head on loop. And the worst part? He acted normal afterward. As if he hadn’t just stripped you bare without laying a single finger on you.

For the next few days, he didn’t say a word. But his silence had weight. A hum. A presence.

You felt it when he brushed past you in the kitchen, lingering just a second longer than necessary. You felt it when he reached for the remote, arm grazing yours like it was an accident — it wasn’t. You felt it every time he walked around in those tiny black shorts that clung to his thighs like a second skin, like he wanted to be watched.

He never said it outright. He didn’t have to.

Minho knew. And he was playing with you.

Especially during movie night.

He stretched out across the couch like he owned it — one thigh propped high, the other bent casually, teasing a dangerous view beneath loose fabric. You sat at the opposite end, pretending to care about the screen, pretending not to notice the way he occasionally shifted — slow and deliberate, like a cat stretching in a sunbeam.

“You pressed?” he asked, voice smooth, eyes fixed on the movie.

“No.” You barely breathed the word.

“Then why are your legs crossed like that?”

You choked. “I always sit like this.”

“Mhm.” His lips curved into a smirk, but he didn’t look at you. “Cute.”

You turned back to the screen, ears burning, pulse hammering in places you didn’t want to admit. He didn’t move closer. He didn’t need to. He already had you cornered.

And then came Saturday.

You’d just rolled out your yoga mat, hoping for some peace. A little mind-body disconnect. Something slow, something grounding. You wore leggings and a loose top, hair tied up, trying to focus on your breath. On your stretch. On not spiraling over the fact that your roommate had thighs that could suffocate you and the audacity to look good doing absolutely nothing.

You were two poses in when Minho walked in. Barefoot. Tank top. The same goddamn black shorts.

He didn’t say a word. Just grabbed a towel, tossed it on the floor, and dropped beside you — air shifting with the force of his presence.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Home workout,” he said, already rolling his neck like it was routine. “Leg day.”

Of course it was.

You watched him set up — no mat, no music, no distractions. Just him, kneeling, then rising into his first slow, steady squat.

And God help you.

His muscles flexed with every movement — taut and deliberate, as if he knew you were watching. And of course, you were. You tried not to be. You told yourself to focus on your breath, your pose, anything. But the sound of him exhaling, the tension in his quads, the way his thighs expanded and contracted under smooth skin — it was hypnotic.

At one point, you bent forward into a child’s pose and nearly whined. Not from the stretch — from the view.

“Something wrong?” he asked without turning.

“Nope,” you lied into your mat.

He chuckled low. “You’ve been holding that pose for a while.”

“I’m relaxing.”

“Are you sure?”

You sat up, flushed, glaring. “Why are you doing this here?”

“This is my house too.” He dropped into a deep lunge, one thigh slicing into the air like it knew it was being worshipped. “Besides, I thought you liked watching.”

Your breath caught.

He looked at you then. Full-on. No smirk this time. Just heat. Awareness.

“I mean,” he added, tilting his head, “you do a lot of staring for someone who’s just stretching.”

You opened your mouth. No words came.

Minho stood, grabbed his towel, and wiped his neck, gaze dragging down your body like he owned it.

“Let me know if I’m distracting you,” he said, already walking away. “Or don’t.”

His bedroom door shut.

You stared at the empty space he left behind, legs shaking — not from yoga.

And that was the thing about Minho. He didn’t touch you. Didn’t have to.

He was building you to the edge. Slowly. Mercilessly.

One day at a time.

—-

You’d had it.

The teasing. The stretching. The slow, smug smirks like he knew exactly how to unravel you without ever laying a hand. Minho was a storm in stillness — walking around that apartment like his thighs weren’t destroying your concentration one flex at a time.

But today?

Today he stole your shampoo. The expensive one. The one you rationed like gold.

You noticed it gone right after your lukewarm shower. No bottle on the ledge. Not in the cabinet. Nowhere. And you knew — you knew — he’d taken it. Not because he needed it. Not because he ran out.

But because he wanted you to come find it.

You stepped into the hallway and glared in the direction of his room. Your skin was still damp, towel clutched around your body, hair dripping. You stood there for a beat, chest rising and falling, fury burning low in your gut.

He wanted a reaction?

Fine.

You stomped to his room, still wrapped in your towel, not even bothering to knock. The door wasn’t locked — of course it wasn’t. You shoved it open, ready to yell—And froze.

Minho stood in the middle of the room. Still wet from his own shower. Back turned. Steam clinging to his skin like a second layer. And nothing but a white towel barely clinging to his hips.

As if on cue — perfectly timed, like he waited for your entrance — he turned.

And let the towel drop.

Time stopped.

His body was a punch to the throat. Wet hair clinging to sharp cheekbones. Chest gleaming. Abs carved like marble. And lower—

You swallowed. Hard.

His thighs — God, his thighs — were the first thing your eyes betrayed you for. Taut, thick, glistening. Cut so sharp you could trace the line from hip to knee without ever catching your breath. But it was all of him — the dripping cocky smirk, the full exposure, the quiet daring in his stare — that made your brain stutter.

“Oh,” you breathed.

Minho didn’t flinch. He stood there, bare, relaxed, like he’d just walked out of a dream you hadn’t woken up from. His eyes dragged down your figure — towel, damp skin, flushed face — and he grinned.

“You looking for something?” he asked, voice low, sinful.

You blinked. “My shampoo.”

He stepped closer, slow and predatory. “Oh. Right. That.”

You didn’t back up. Couldn’t. Your feet stayed planted as he crossed the room, stopping just in front of you — close enough that steam radiated off his skin and into your lungs.

“I might’ve borrowed it,” he said, voice a little too innocent.

“You think?” Your voice cracked, betraying you.

He tilted his head. Smirked. “You could’ve waited.”

“You could’ve not stolen my stuff.”

“I was curious,” he murmured. “About what made you smell that good all the time.”

That shut you up. Your breath caught, throat dry.

Minho leaned in, not touching you, just hovering — warm and wet and lethal.

“Gotta say,” he whispered, “I didn’t think you’d walk in this fast. Barely gave me time to dress.”

“Minho…”

His eyes darkened. “Yeah?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.

Because you snapped.

The air cracked between you — the tension finally slicing clean. Your towel loosened around your chest, breath ragged, fingers twitching like they didn’t know whether to slap him or touch everything. And Minho? He just watched you unravel, biting back a laugh, proud of every second it took to break you.

“You gonna stare all day…” he whispered, eyes dropping to your lips, “…or finally show me what you’ve been thinking about when you look at my thighs like that?”

You’d never seen him like that before.

Sure, you’d imagined it. In flashes. In filth. Late at night, hand between your thighs, brain filled with the shape of him under those shorts. But nothing — nothing — prepared you for the real thing.

Minho stood there like a god carved in steam. Skin flushed, droplets running over muscle, thighs thick and flexed, cock hanging heavy between his legs, thick and half-hard — already waking up under your stunned gaze.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t look away.

“Say something,” he said, amused by your wide eyes and gaping mouth.

But words had abandoned you. You were stuck — eyes tracking the lazy twitch of him, how he stood so relaxed in his naked glory, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

And he did.

You took a step forward without meaning to, towel still clutched to your chest. Your fingers were trembling. Knees weak. He didn’t move, just watched you — eyes low, dark, waiting.

Another step.

Your towel slipped.

You felt it loosen, but your hands didn’t stop it. Couldn’t. It hit the floor in a soft thud, pooling around your feet like you’d given up the last of your defenses. You stood there — bare, breathless, burning — and he exhaled.

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes dragging down your body like a slow lick.

Then, he moved.

Minho stepped in close — no warning, no question — and his hands found your waist, firm and sure. He guided you back two paces until the backs of your knees hit the edge of his bed. The room was spinning — or maybe it was just you. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t feel anything but the heat radiating off his skin and the way his eyes never left your face.

“You’ve been dying for this,” he whispered, voice low, rough with want.

You opened your mouth to argue, but then — his thigh slid between your legs.

Thick. Solid. Perfect.

You gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders for balance.

Minho grinned, smug and slow. “Yeah. Just like that.”

Your core pressed against him — bare skin to bare muscle — and it knocked the air from your lungs. The heat of him. The size of him. The position — obscene and grounding at the same time.

He bent slightly, mouth brushing your ear.

“Ride it.”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide.

“What?”

He tilted his hips forward just enough to press his thigh harder against your center, making your legs tremble.

“You heard me,” he murmured, turning you around and pulling you onto his legs to straddle him. “You’ve been eyeing them like a good girl with a filthy secret. So ride it. Let me feel how wet thinking about them made you.”

You whimpered. Actually whimpered.

And when your hips moved — instinctively, needily — his grip on your waist tightened.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Use me.”

You started slow, testing the friction, the give of muscle under your folds. It was too much. Not enough. Perfect. His skin was hot beneath you, slick from the shower, and your clit found pressure that made you jolt.

Minho watched you. Jaw tight, lip caught between teeth, cock now fully hard and pressed against your belly — untouched. He didn’t move. Didn’t thrust. Didn’t beg for more.

He just let you lose yourself.

Let you rub against him like you’d dreamed about.

Let you chase the high with heat building in your thighs and fire curling in your stomach.

“You look so fucking pretty when you’re desperate,” he muttered, hands sliding down to cup your ass, guiding your rhythm. “Wanna see you come just from this.”

Your head fell forward onto his shoulder, moaning into his skin as your hips sped up.

“Been teasing you for weeks,” he whispered, voice thick with pride. “This what you’ve been needing? My thigh between your legs? My voice telling you how fucking good you look dripping on me?”

Your answer was a broken gasp, your whole body trembling as slick coated his leg.

You didn’t mean to let it go this far.

You told yourself you had self control around him — that you’d stop before it got real.

But now you were riding his thigh, naked and soaked, fingers clinging to his shoulders like lifelines while your hips ground down in rhythmless, desperate circles. And Lee Know just watched you fall apart.

His cock pressed against your stomach, rock hard and untouched, but he didn’t move. Didn’t ask for more. He just let you rub yourself raw on the muscle you’d been obsessing over for weeks — strong, slick, made to ruin you.

“Minho,” you breathed, voice shaking. “I—what am I doing?”

He smirked against your cheek, hands gripping your waist like he owned it.

“You’re finally being honest,” he murmured, mouth dragging along your jaw. “You’re doing exactly what you wanted to do every time you stared at my thighs like it’s breakfast”

You whimpered, your hips stuttering forward as your clit hit the perfect spot. Again. And again. And again.

“I-I shouldn’t—fuck, I shouldn’t be—”

“But you are,” he growled, flexing his thigh beneath you, making your entire body jolt. “Look at you. Dripping. Shaking. Moaning on my leg like a filthy little thing. And you’re not even touching yourself.”

You let out a broken sob of pleasure, nails digging into his back. Every word he said made it worse. Or better. You didn’t know anymore. Your mind was a haze of heat and friction and him.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore,” you gasped. “This is—Minho, this is insane—”

“But does it feel good?” His voice was all low thunder now. Fingers sliding up your spine, tracing every arch and tremble.

You nodded before you could stop yourself. “Yes. God. Yes.”

“Then keep going,” he murmured, brushing his lips against your temple. “Don’t stop now. Don’t you fucking dare.”

Your hips moved on instinct, faster, harder — chasing the high building at the edge of your spine. The wet sound of your arousal on his skin filled the room. Your thighs burned, your stomach coiled, your whole body trembling from the friction, the pressure, the filth of it.

Minho tilted your chin up with two fingers, eyes blazing.

“You gonna come for me like this?” he asked, teasing and reverent all at once. “Riding my thigh like it’s the only thing that’ll make you feel better?”

You bit your lip, eyes glazed over. “I-I don’t think I can stop—”

He crushed his mouth to yours.

Hot. Hungry. Claiming.

You moaned into it, lips parting as he licked into you, deep and possessive. His hands roamed down, kneading your ass, guiding your rhythm as your body started to tremble harder.

His mouth broke from yours just enough to whisper against it:

“Then don’t stop. Come for me, baby. Soak me. Show me how badly you’ve wanted this.”

Your head fell back, gasping his name over and over, your climax rushing up like fire — fast, hot, blinding. Your hips stuttered, your thighs locked, and with one last grind, you shattered. Loud. Messy. Unapologetic.

You collapsed against him, trembling, your slick soaking his thigh.

And still, he held you.

Still hard. Still smirking. Still starving.

He dragged his mouth down your neck, voice ragged.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Your body was still trembling — thighs weak, breath shallow, clinging to Minho like you’d drown without him. You’d just come undone, hard and messy, riding his thigh like an addict in heat.

But he hadn’t even started.

His cock still pulsed heavy against your belly. His mouth was wet from kissing you breathless. And his hands?

They moved.

He shifted with a low growl, gripping your waist as he guided you down to the mattress like you were made of glass and sin all at once. The sheets were cool under your back, a cruel contrast to the heat burning between your legs.

You barely had time to blink.

Minho knelt between your thighs — broad shoulders pushing them apart with no effort, gaze locked onto your soaked cunt like it was the prize at the end of a long, hard game he knew he’d win.

“You’re already a mess,” he muttered, voice dark with hunger. “And I haven’t even tasted you yet.”

Your breath hitched. “Minho—”

He dipped his head.

And devoured you.

No warning. No teasing.

Just full contact — lips wrapping around your clit, tongue sliding through your folds like he was starving and you were the only thing on the menu. You cried out, hips jerking, fists twisting in the sheets.

“Fuck—fuck—Minho—!”

He groaned into you, tongue fucking deeper, slower, filthier. The wet sounds of his mouth on your pussy echoed through the room, obscene and devastating. His grip on your thighs tightened, locking you open.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he rasped against your cunt. “And trust me, I’ve imagined it a lot.”

You were unraveling fast — overstimulated from before, nerves on fire, your body no longer yours. You reached down to push at his head, desperate for control, but he growled and slammed your hips back down.

“Don’t run,” he warned, eyes flicking up to yours. “You’re gonna take this.”

Then he flattened his tongue against your clit and sucked.

You sobbed.

Your body bucked, shaking, your thighs closing in on his head — but he didn’t stop. Didn’t care. He groaned low like your struggle turned him on more, mouth locked onto you with ruthless, perfect rhythm.

“Minho— I can’t— I’m gonna—!”

“Do it,” he said, voice muffled and filthy. “Come on my tongue, baby.”

You shattered again — harder, messier, wrecked. You screamed his name like a prayer as your back arched off the mattress, your entire body spasming under his mouth.

But he still didn’t stop.

He kept licking. Kept sucking. Pushing you higher again while you were still falling apart.

“Stop—stop—” you gasped, legs trembling. “I—please—I can’t—”

“Thought you wanted this,” he said, voice mocking but gentle. “Thought this was what you needed.”

“It is, but—fuck, Minho, I can’t take anymore—!”

His mouth left you with one last lick, and he rose over you — mouth shiny, hair wild, cock rock hard and leaking against his abs. He leaned in close, voice rough against your cheek.

“Then beg me for it.”

You blinked up at him — dazed, soaked, dizzy from pleasure.

“Minho, please—”

He smirked, hand sliding down your body, stroking your slick folds with two fingers, slow and teasing.

“Say it right.”

You whimpered, your hips chasing the contact. “Please. Please fuck me. I need it. I need you. I can’t take it anymore, Minho, please—”

He groaned like the sound of your begging was better than coming.

You didn’t even have time to breathe.

Minho lined himself up and pushed in slow — thick, stretching, perfect — and your gasp broke apart into a moan that could’ve shattered glass. He filled you inch by inch like he wanted you to feel everything — the shape of him, the weight, the stretch, the depth.

“Fuck,” he groaned, jaw clenched tight. “You’re so wet. I can feel how bad you wanted this—how long you’ve been holding back.”

You could barely nod. Could barely think.

He bottomed out with a low growl, hips flush against yours, his cock buried so deep it stole the breath from your lungs.

You were already shaking.

Already gone.

And he hadn’t even moved yet.

But then he did.

Minho pulled out halfway and slammed back in — hard enough to knock the air from your throat. You cried out, back arching, and his hand flew to your hip to hold you down.

“Oh my—Minho—”

“That’s it,” he growled, voice low and dangerous. “Take it.”

He set a brutal rhythm, hips snapping forward with precision — deep, fast, punishing. Your body jolted with every thrust, his skin slapping yours, his breath ragged against your ear.

“You begged for this,” he hissed, mouth at your neck. “Begged me to fuck you, to ruin you. So don’t tap out now, baby. You asked for this.”

You were babbling now — every filthy sound ripped from your throat as his cock hit every spot that made your vision blur.

“You’re so fucking deep,” you sobbed. “Minho, you’re—ahh—fuck, I can’t—”

“Yes, you fucking can,” he snarled, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. “You’re taking me so well, squeezing me like your pussy was made for me.”

His words sent heat straight to your core, and your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, locking him in.

He grinned through a moan.

“Just like that. Keep holding me there. Don’t let me leave.”

You didn’t plan to.

Your body refused to let him go.

Minho leaned back just enough to watch you — eyes wild, sweat dripping, abs flexing as he pistoned into you with a force that made the headboard slam against the wall.

“You see this?” he panted. “See how cockdrunk you are already?”

You nodded, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “I’m yours, Minho—fuck—I’m so yours.”

That broke something in him.

He grabbed your face, kissed you hard — messy, teeth clashing, tongues desperate — and drove into you like a man starved. Like he needed to mark every inch of you from the inside out.

Your orgasm built fast — unstoppable. The angle. The stretch. The way he owned your body like it was created for this moment.

“Minho, I—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“Let go,” he growled. “Come all over my cock. I want to feel you lose it.”

And you did.

Your body seized, core clenching around him in hot, wet pulses as you screamed his name into the sheets. Your climax tore through you, wrecking you from the inside out. You shook, legs trembling, sobbing with the release.

Minho kept going — chasing his own edge, fucking you through your high like he couldn’t stop. And when he came, it was with a low, broken groan — hips jerking, cock twitching deep inside you as he spilled himself completely.

He collapsed on top of you, breath ragged, heart pounding against your chest.

The room was silent, save for the sound of your bodies trying to remember how to breathe.

And then, with a smirk pressed against your neck, he whispered:

“Next time… you’re riding both thighs.”

—-

Your body felt like it didn’t belong to you anymore.

Limbs tangled in sheets. Skin slick with sweat. Core still pulsing faintly where he’d broken you open and filled you up. Everything ached in that perfect way — the kind of ache that reminded you who made you fall apart.

Minho didn’t move for a while. His weight rested on you, warm and grounding, like he knew you needed it — or maybe like he did. You felt his breath fan softly against your neck, one hand tracing slow, lazy circles into your thigh that still trembled slightly.

Then he kissed your shoulder.

Slow. Soft. Sweet.

“You alive?” he murmured, voice low and half-laughing.

You huffed a breath, barely managing a reply. “Barely.”

He pulled back just enough to look at your face. You blinked up at him — dazed, flushed, completely undone. His grin was pure mischief, but his eyes? Still dark, still starved, but softer now. Like he’d already started memorizing this version of you.

“Well,” he said, brushing damp hair off your forehead, “remind me to steal your shampoo more often.”

You groaned and buried your face in his neck. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m literally your favorite person right now.”

“You literally just broke me.”

His laugh was low and smug. “Yeah. You’re welcome.”

You slapped his chest weakly. He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles, smugness giving way to something gentler. His fingers interlaced with yours, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then, quietly, you asked, “Was that… okay?”

He looked at you like you’d just asked if water was wet.

“Are you kidding?” he murmured. “I’ve wanted to ruin you like that since the day you moaned over my thighs during that dumb Pilates video.”

Your face flamed. “I did not moan.”

“You made a noise.”

“It was a stretch!”

“It was a whimper. From your soul.”

You tried to pull away. He held you tighter, laughing now, mouth pressed to your cheek.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered.

“And you’re obsessed with my legs.”

“…Maybe.”

Minho kissed you again — slower this time. Deep, with no urgency. Just skin and breath and the slow, sinking warmth of someone who didn’t need to rush anymore.

“You’re staying in my bed tonight,” he whispered against your lips.

“That wasn’t a question.”

“Nope.” He grinned. “You said it yourself, you’re mine now.”

You let out a breath, eyelids fluttering shut as you melted into his arms.

“Next time,” he added with a smirk, voice rough with leftover heat, “I’m making good on that thigh promise.”

Your stomach clenched.

You peeked up at him. “Both?”

He licked his lips, gaze flicking down your body again like he was already planning your undoing.

“Oh, baby…” he purred.

“That was just the beginning.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Heh babes, so my requests have racked up quite a bit and as promised i am gonna try to deliver all as much as possible! But for now, atleast till i clear the backlog; REQUESTS ARE CLOSED. Congratulations to Leeknow on his GUCCI Global Brand Ambassador deal!! This one’s for you baby!

A big thank you to all my readers for getting me to 2.1k followers (thats huge 🥹)

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lee-knows-cats · 2 months ago

Note

heyy could u please write smt where chan is being like kinda pda with reader and the other members kinda find it cringy but also cute yk

drabble | we get it, you're in love

pairing: chan x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: the boys like to bully their leader

word count: ~400

masterlist: A-Side (texts) | B-Side (written)

It's innocent enough.

You’re curled up on the dorm couch, sitting sideways with your legs thrown over Chan’s lap, watching a movie with the boys. He’s got one hand on your knee and the other lazily tracing patterns on your ankle. Harmless.

But then, maybe fifteen minutes in, he shifts. Pulls your hand into his lap and starts playing with your fingers, bringing them up to kiss your knuckles one by one.

Hyunjin makes the first noise. A subtle groan. “Hyung…”

Chan glances over like he absolutely doesn’t know what he’s doing. “What?”

“You just kissed her hand, hyung. You’re not in a drama.”

“I like her hands.” He kisses your wrist this time, slower. “Look how soft they are.”

Minho, deadpan: “Go to your room.”

You laugh, biting your lip as Chan grins smugly and keeps your hand hostage in his. He presses a kiss to your palm next and murmurs, “She smells really nice today too.”

“OKAY,” Jisung groans from the floor, dramatically rolling away. “I’m tapping out. I came here to relax, not third wheel on the couch.”

“You’re not a third wheel,” Chan calls after him. “You’re part of this-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Seungmin mutters.

Jeongin just sips his soda and says quietly, “He’s gonna say ‘you’re part of this relationship too,’ watch.”

Chan shrugs, still all warm and casual as he tugs you closer so your head rests on his shoulder. “You are part of this family, guys. Just ‘cause I’m in love doesn’t mean I can’t love you too.”

“That’s exactly what we're compalinging about,” Minho fires back, but there’s no real venom in it. In fact, you catch the corners of his mouth twitching.

"You're disgusting, hyung," groans Seungmin

Felix, meanwhile, is taking pictures on his phone with the softest smile. “You guys are like a married couple. It’s cute.”

Chan turns and kisses your cheek immediately. “Hear that? The children think we're cute.”

“Cringe,” Seungmin corrects, still not looking away from the TV.

But the moment Chan leans in and pecks your forehead too, you feel the weight of half the room reacting.

Hyunjin physically throws a pillow.

Chan dodges it with a laugh, smug as ever. “What? Just expressing affection. You guys could learn something.”

“Yeah, like boundaries,” Jisung shouts from the hallway.

Still, no one actually leaves. They keep watching the movie. The occasional groan of protest sounds when Chan nuzzles your hair or rubs your thigh too fondly, but no one really tells you to stop.

Jeongin mutters something like, “It’s gross… Mom, stop.”

You don’t say anything, just giggle and snuggle closer.

Chan looks down at you, eyes soft. “They’ll get used to it.”

“They already are,” you whisper back.

Because even if they roll their eyes or toss pillows or fake gag behind their hands, they’re all smiling. Even if they’ll never admit it.

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght @inishij @bangchanspineapple @straykids4lifeee @peskybirdysya @gnabsss

taglist pt2: @zayn-210 @wolfhallows4 @katsukis1wife @sammhisphere

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lee-knows-cats · 2 months ago

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⋆˚✿˖° First Love ⋆˚✿˖°

genre: fluff, humor, cursing, reader is extremely whipped and down bad for chan. chan is kinda clueless ngl

summary: what happens when you tweet yourself ranting about how you fumbled your ex situationship and it goes viral and he sees it?

paring ✩°｡ ⋆: ex situationship! bang chan x reader

texting smau!

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lee-knows-cats · 2 months ago

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soso proud of lee know rn😖🥺🥺

^^so tiny heeheehhe🎀

#gucci ambassador #💕💕#lee know #lee minho #linos #skz #stray kids

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lee-knows-cats · 2 months ago

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broski this is way to cute I’m blushing and its not even me😭😭😭

Sweet Tea

Genre: husband!Chan, fluff

Warnings: none

Request: no

Characters: Chan, Y/N

Word Count: 1.3k

Chan hums under his breath as he slides a washcloth over the kitchen island, carefully mopping away the minimal mess from the breakfast he made earlier. His face is soft looking, his eyes twinkling and his plump lips curved in the smallest of smiles as he busies himself in his task.

From the window seat, Y/N hugs a mug of tea in her hands with a soft smile. She watches her husband pottering around in the kitchen, her cheeks growing warm; whether it's from the morning sun washing over her through the window or the effect her beloved husband is having on her, she can't tell. She sips her tea, letting its comforting warmth flood through her in calm waves, in the same way that the sight of Chan is. She grins when Chan cheers quietly to himself as he throws a tissue into a bin from afar, the crumpled paper landing in the centre of it. He's completely unaware of his wife watching him with growing love hearts in her eyes, and he turns around to wash his hands, the sun spilling over his bare skin like gold ink.

"Baby?" Chan calls to his wife then, and Y/N smiles as he turns to look at her. He lifts a little teapot, pouring the steaming liquid into a mug of his own. "Do you want some more tea?"

Y/N shakes her head, her heart fluttering in her chest as she watches her husband lean against the counter, taking a large sip of the warm beverage. She pats the space beside her, pushing fat cushions away. "Come sit."

Chan smiles with warm joy at the invite; his bare feet are soundless as he pads over the floor towards her, the faded black of his sweatpants hanging low and exposing the deep grooves of his hip bones. He sits down with a sigh, the taut muscles in his shoulders and back relaxing as he leans back against the window, the curves of his eyelashes looking like a dusting of cocoa against his freckled skin as he shuts his eyes.

Y/N finds herself breathless at the sight of his raw beauty. Despite knowing him for such a large portion of her life, she's still stunned into silence by his looks as though she's seeing him for the first time; the way his dark hair curls across his temples makes her reach out and slip her fingers into his hair, her fingers gliding against the silky grain of it. They're haphazard curls, all different shapes and sizes and directions - far from perfect, but Y/N thinks they're more beautiful this way, with their carefree nature. She smiles as she playfully tugs at his hair.

Chan turns to look at her with a soft smile as he leans into her touch. He kisses her palm before properly sitting up again, picking his mug up from beside him and holding it out to her.

"Cheers?" He smiles.

"Cheers," Y/N smiles and clinks her mug against his.

They quietly drink their tea, the chirping of birds in the garden making the both of them smile to themselves. It's a morning that seems to smell of freshly cut grass and new beginnings, the kind of morning that fills the couple with joy and affection for not only each other, but their surroundings too. Their tea tastes a little sweeter, the sun a little warmer, their home a little brighter; it's the kind of morning that seemed to only exist in the most extravagant of fairy tales, the ones that secretly everybody wished would come true.

"I need to tell you something," Y/N says in her soft voice as she leans her head back against the wall, her eyes hooded as she watches him.

Chan turns his wide eyes gaze on her, suddenly nervous. A smile spreads across his face and he chuckles, his nose red.

"Oh?" He takes another sip of his tea. "What is it?"

Setting her mug down, Y/N leans forward and rests her chin on his shoulder. She looks up at him as she paints her finger over his skin, tracing the faint smattering of freckles under his eyes.

"I," Y/N whispers as she inhales deeply. "Have a really, really big crush on you."

Chan stares at her in bewilderment for a moment. Then the corners of his eyes crinkle as he starts to laugh, the glow from his nose spreading to his cheeks.

"Wait, I need to tell you something too," Chan catches Y/N's hands in her own before leaning his forehead against hers. A huge smile sparkles on his face and he laughs quietly. "I have a really, really big crush on you too."

Gasping, Y/N cups his face in the both of her hands. She plants a fat kiss on his lips and smiles when she catches the floral sweetness of tea on his mouth.

Chan smiles against her as he kisses her back. He leans closer to her, their knees bumping into each other with the movement. They both sit facing each other with their legs crossed like kids, their tea sat beside them.

"So … " Chan breathes as he pulls back a little, his smile a permanent etching into his handsome face. "Since we both have huge crushes on each other, and it's a really nice day today … you wanna go on a date?"

Giggling, Y/N leans back and picks up her tea again as she nods. "Yeah. I think I do."

Chan exhales then, wiping his brow with the back of a hand. "I was worried you might say no."

Y/N laughs quietly at the way her husband is playing along with her.

"Hey, I'm being serious," Chan chuckles, playfully hitting her with a cushion. "It's not guaranteed you say yes every time."

Raising an eyebrow, Y/N cocks her head to the side. "Hey Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"Do I look like I'm out of my mind?" Y/N asks.

Chan giggles. "No."

"Then why on earth," Y/N grabs a cushion of her own and hits the man's legs with it. "Would I ever say no to going on a date with you? Are you maybe out of your mind?"

Chan laughs harder at that, his body shaking against the wall as he rubs his eyes with his hands. "I am. I'm out of my mind in love with you."

"Oh that's it," Y/N wacks him more aggressively with the cushion, trying to get the cheesiness out of him. Chan laughs at the attack, holding his hands out to shield his face before Y/N drops the cushion. She's about to move back into her previous spot when Chan's hands dart out to hold her waist and he pulls her towards him. She loses her balance and topples ontop of him, knocking over both mugs of tea on the floor.

It spills across the wood in a rosy puddle, the mugs rolling away. They come to a halt with a little 'clink' as their handles stop them from going any further.

Y/N and Chan both turn their heads slowly to look at each other. When their eyes lock, they burst into a fit of giggles all over again, their noses bumping from the position Y/N is in on top of her husband.

"Now look what you've done," Chan tuts in a dramatic voice which only makes Y/N laugh even harder. "You've gone and spilled the tea. That tea was precious, you know."

Adoringly grabbing his face, Y/N kisses his mouth. "Not as precious as you."

"Now who's being cheesy?" Chan groans loudly, kicking his legs underneath his wife as she erupts into a fresh bubble of giggles. But he grins happily and pulls her closer to him, tenderly pushing her hair away from her face as he kisses her forehead.

---

Tag list ~ @koos-euphoria @raethethey @hugs4chan @hotmesshapa @manonblackbeak-trash @hendsernoodle @stanskzseungmin @ateez-babygirl @dalamjisung @dinosdawn @cookiemonstermusic258 @strwbrryfroyo @gazelle-des-pres @qtieskz @stigmvta @necromancersupreme @super-btstrash-posts @changlix-mp4 @exonations @changboobies @jeyelleohe @rae-blogging @planetdemon @dani41 @jumbocircus @octalalica @velvetand-roses @foivetimesacharm @anaaam @waverzzzzzzzz @peachy-flxwr @elizabeth11moreno @lenfilms @xhazmania @starshine-moon @justoutfromdead @snow-pegasus @lixiesbabyhands @bbychannie97 @laylasbunbunny @laceheartz @americanokisses @bluechans @bellamuerte1987 @meowmeowisdaname (let me know if you wanna be added or removed)

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lee-knows-cats · 2 months ago

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soo good broskii

Waiting After The Rain

↳ chapter 1

next chapter

Pairing: ot8!stray kids x pregnant omega!reader

Synopsis: An omega pregnant and alone after being kicked out by their alpha stumbles upon a pack willing to take them in and care for both the omega and their pup as if they were their own, because now they are.

Genre: strangers to lovers, angsty but lots of fluff to even it out.

Warnings: a/b/o, past abuse physical and verbal, past sexual abuse(mentions of past non-con), mentions of past violence, trauma, self esteem issues, pregnancy, aftermath of abuse, panic attacks, anxiety, pack dynamics, angst but it will be okay, polyamory

A/N: ah this is my first time writing and posting a multipart fan fiction in years, it feels so nice to be back! I hope you enjoy this, please be kind <3

It’s cold. You need to get warm. It wasn’t this cold last night, It’s only your second night being homeless and you’re already failing. You thought this coat would be enough when you ran out of the house away from the heated alpha, but alas, it was quite chilly this October night.

You continued to walk through the suburban streets as the houses became more and more separated, trying your best to stay in residential areas, the city wasn’t safe and the forests surely weren’t either. You laugh at the thought, nowhere outside is safe for a pregnant omega. A different kind of chill ran through your body when the smell hit your nose, alpha. Placing a protective hand on the curve of your stomach that was barely visible you whipped your head around looking for the alpha, You found him jogging up the street, coming towards you. Your hands began to shake fear flowing through your veins, you knew he would smell it on you. Before you could even decide if you should even try and run, he caught up to you and made a hard stop maybe six feet away from you.

“Are you okay?” his voice made me go still. Find your words. You have to say something, you can’t upset another alpha, lord knows if you’d make it out of this one alive.

“Yes. Just walking.” You nod and keep your head down trying not to make eye contact and offend the alpha.

“Doesn’t smell like it.” fuck, you think, you should of grabbed scent blockers. The alpha pauses for a moment before taking a step forward causing alarm bells to go off in your head and you jolt backwards. He puts his hands up and stops walking.

“I won’t hurt you. Do you have a pack? Can I call someone for you?” You don’t smell any malice on him but his words feel like a punch to the gut.

“N- No. You can go.” you whimper out, hoping the alpha will move on so you can go find a place to sleep tonight, and maybe cry.

“I can smell that you’re pregnant, you don’t have a mate?” the alpha looks genuinely shocked and you look at him pitifully.

“No, and if you’re going to hurt me please don’t, I may not have a mate but I want to keep my pup safe, please leave us alone.” you whimper out again taking a step back. The alpha’s scent which moments ago smelled like a warm fireplace now smelled burned, it was the smell of anger. At you?

“I would never hurt you or your pup. Omegas are meant to be protected. Do you need help? Are you homeless? I can call my pack alpha, I know he’ll let you come stay with us while we figure out how to help you.” Your mouth opens and closes before you shake your head aggressively, This was a trap.

“Well I can’t leave you alone out here.” he alpha pulls out his phone and makes a phone call, You hear him talking to a male voice before he hands the phone to you, In an effort not to upset him further you take it.

“Hi there, I’m Chan, I’m the pack alpha. Can you tell me your name?” a sweet voice spoke over the phone and it almost made you feel safe, but you quickly remembered how alphas can’t be trusted and that thought disappeared.

“Y/N.” If you all weren’t wolves nobody would have heard you, that's how quiet you spoke, afraid that any noise you made would trigger the alphas.

“Okay Y/N, Changbin was telling me about how you’re an omega carrying a pup all alone out there, that’s not safe yeah? I have a big pack house with some extra rooms, Can Changbin take you here? It’s right up the street from where you are right now. We have four alphas, two betas, and two omegas, everyone would be more than willing to welcome you even just temporarily.” Chan’s voice remained leveled and sweet, you thought deeply for a moment, a protective hand remained on your stomach, if the alphas were going to hurt you they were going to do it regardless if you went to their pack house or not, but if they didn’t want to hurt you, getting out of the cold would be good for your baby. You had to do this for your pup.

“Okay,” you mumbled weakly, handing the phone back to who you now know as Changbin. He spoke into the phone with a gentle smile before hanging up.

“Just follow me, it’s right up the block.”

You did as you were told and that’s how you found yourself walking behind Changbin into what you presumed was their pack house. You were immediately hit by so many smells but only saw two new faces.

“Hi Y/N, I’m Chan. We spoke on the phone, and this.” he gestured towards the blonde omega standing next to him. “is Felix.”

“It’s nice to meet you Y/N, I’m here so you can have an omega around for comfort, if you want the alphas to leave say the word” the omega spoke and gave the brightest smile you had ever seen but you shook your head no, omegas aren’t allowed to tell alphas what to do.

“You can meet the rest of the pack tomorrow, Why don’t we take you up to where you’ll be sleeping tonight?” Felix smiled and led you upstairs to a room, which was well decorated but basic. A guest room. Felix gestured for you to take a seat on the bed, taking a seat next to you.

“Do you want to talk about what happened? You don’t have to but it would help us know how we can help you.” Felix placed a gentle hand on your leg and for once you didn’t flinch at someone’s touch, Instinctively you knew you were safe with Felix at least. So you nod, willing to speak not only for Felix but also to not upset his alphas and get him in trouble.

“I come from a family that is very, uh how do I say this? Primal? We didn’t come from money or anything but they were very conservative. All of the subgenders have their place and you don’t stray from that. When I presented, they sent me off with their friend’s alpha son, It was fine at first but I think he was just trying to butter me up.” You took a deep breath, the scent in the room was sour and it wasn’t just your own scent either. “I would upset him and he’d toss me around, some slaps here and there to put me in my place. He- he got me pregnant about two and a half months ago. Yesterday he found out because he saw me looking in the mirror caressing my stomach when I thought he was asleep. He obviously wants kids because that’s what we are made for but he didn’t want kids this young so he was angry at me for conceiving. After a few hits he- he kicked me out. I haven’t tried to go back yet but I’m sure if I can just talk to him I can fix this.”

You didn’t even realize tears were streaming down your face until Felix gently took his thumb and wiped them away. You looked up and saw tears in his own eyes as he pulled you into his chest.

“You’re not going back.” You pulled your head from Felix’s chest and whipped your head around to see two furious alphas, spiking fear in your chest.

“Guys calm down, you’re scaring her.” Felix took your hand gently, squeezing it.

“I’m sorry. Fuck- I just can’t believe an alpha would treat an omega like that, especially one carrying his pup! I can’t let you go back there.” Chan ran a hand through his hair.

“I- I can’t stay with you guys. You’re a pack! I’m already pregnant with another alpha’s baby. You don’t want me, I’m used goods. I can’t get rid of my baby.” you spoke with panic laced in your voice.

“Woah, woah, woah, who said anything about getting rid of the baby?” Changbin spoke up, confused by your words.

“Alphas don’t take care of another alpha’s babies, especially not ones that aren’t in their pack. If I joined you guys I would have to get rid of my pup!” You cried as Felix gasped and rubbed your back for comfort.

“No. Absolutely not. That’s bullshit. I don’t know what kind of alphas you’ve known but me the alphas in my pack aren’t like that. You don’t have to join my pack, we will never force you to do anything you don’t want to, but if you choose to, we will take care of you and your pup, all of us, your pup will automatically be family as well.” Chan spoke assertively and it almost convinced you but you knew the effects an alpha voice had on omegas, that was simply biology making you think that way. You know how you grew up, it’s all you know actually.

“I can’t, I have to go, I have to go back home, oh he’s going to be so pissed I didn’t come back last night, he’s probably looking for me right? I’m his, I have his baby.” Fresh tears roll down your face while you panic again. You run a hand through your hair before trying to get up to leave before the most intoxicating scent hits your nostrils making you sit back down.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted you to calm down a bit. Your panicking isn’t good for the baby, yeah?” Felix speaks softly while taking your hand into his once again continuing to push out his calming omega scent.

You take a deep breath, the room suddenly too hot making you remember you still have your coat on. You keep your head down and fidget with the hem of the coat, unsure how to proceed with all this.

“Why don’t you take your coat off and get comfy? Do you want a change of clothes? Changbin hyung, go grab something from my dresser!” Upon Felix’s request Changbin leaves no questions asked, You look up at the door and then back at Felix shocked, You’d never been able to ask your alpha for anything like that, The scene broke your heart just a little. Before you could overthink it Felix helped you take off the coat only to gasp once he saw your arms littered with bruises, something you rarely even thought about was causing him enough distress to sour his smell again.

“Yeah no you’re definitely not going back there.” Chan huffed. “Is there more?” He asked with urgency, making you flinch.

“Not a lot, I promise. Most of these are from last night when he found out about the baby.” You lower your head thoroughly embarrassed that this alpha now knew how bad of an omega you were. Before anyone could speak again Changbin returned, For a moment his eyes lingered on your arms before silently handing the clothes to Chan and leaving the room, taking his burnt firewood scent with him.

“Okay, may I stay here and help you get changed? I’d like to check your other bruises and potential injuries.” Felix gave you a big smile before speaking again. “I believe Chan would like to stay as well, but of course you can always say no, never forget that.” Felix took your hands and looked into your eyes waiting for an answer, You tried to give a nod in response but Chan’s voice cut through the heavy silence.

“We need words, please. We don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to. We won’t do anything without your explicit consent okay?” For the first time, you looked Chan in the eyes, and for a moment you felt a tug in your heart. Shaking it off you answered. “Yes, you can both stay.” You speak firmly, almost trying to convince yourself as well. Chan stays in place while Felix begins to help you take the clothes off. A gasp escapes his pink lips once more, he runs a hand over your delicate skin like you’d break even under his soft omega touch. His hand travels over a particularly fresh bruise on your upper arm causing you to flinch and whine, this in turn causes him to start crying.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I am so sorry this happened to you. Nobody deserves this okay? Please let us prove that to you.” Felix whimpered as he looked over your bruises checking for anything that may need extra care. You were at a loss for words, you can’t trust this pack. Everything in your body is screaming at you to go back to your house and try and fix things with your alpha, you can’t keep his baby from him, can you? Was he even looking for you? A small voice cuts through your rapid thoughts, your omega. Pack. No. No no no. This is not your pack, this will never be your pack, don’t get your hopes up like that, think about your baby, you have to protect your baby. Your thoughts are once again cut off by Felix’s trembling voice again now that you are fully dressed in Felix’s clothes.

“So, your bruises seem to be as okay as they can be, I can’t see any other injuries so that’s good! Have you been to a doctor yet?” You put your head down in shame, you were a horrible parent already.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. He was in charge of all of my health stuff and he kept strict tabs on me. I haven't been able to go to a doctor.” you cried out in what felt like a plea with yourself to be better.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t cry. We will get you set up with a doctor’s appointment this week. When we said we would take care of you both we meant that okay? No more crying, it’s not your fault.” Felix rubbed a gentle hand against your back and led you into bed.

“I think that’s enough for tonight, Chan is going to go to bed now right Chan hyung? Would you like me to stay with you? I’ll keep all the alphas away.” Felix ran his finger through your hair as he shooed Chan out of the room.

“Goodnight Y/N. We will figure this out tomorrow.” Chan leaves with a gentle nod leaving you to answer Felix.

“Can you stay?” you look up at Felix with wet puffy eyes, a look in your eyes that Felix could only describe as broken and pleading.

“Of course sweetheart. Anything for you.” Felix shuts off the light and makes his way under the covers next to you. His instincts are telling him to hold you close and scent you, make sure you know you are safe here with him, but he doesn’t push, no he would never. You both lay in bed separately, Felix trying his best to keep a watchful eye on you without you noticing, waiting for the signs of your sleeping form before retreating to his own dreamland.

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lee-knows-cats · 2 months ago

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── spring into summer, bangchan

♡ 󠀬󠀬dad!bangchan x actress!reader: just a lot of drama & angst for this one.

♡ synopsis ― You left him behind to chase your dreams, your best friend, your first love. Now you're back, and everything's changed. He's a father. You're a star. But some flames never die. Maybe it waits.

♡ [4,1k] & notes ― This will be a series, and I haven't decided yet how many chapters it will have. If you want, I can make a playlist with all the songs that inspired me, just like I did with Gameboy! I hope you enjoy this new story. Know that I wrote it with an open heart and with Bangchan's essence in mind. Don't confuse it with his real personality, as this is fiction. Anyway, enjoy the read!

CHAPTER ONE

Eight years. That’s how long it took you to come back.

Not because you didn’t miss it. You did. More than you let yourself admit. But every time you thought about setting foot here again, something tightened in your chest. Maybe it was fear. Maybe shame. Or maybe just the quiet knowing that nothing would feel quite the same anymore.

Life across the ocean had been loud and golden, premieres, lights, your name in places you once only dreamed of. But the further you went, the more you realized that nothing, not even the high of success, could really replace the comfort of home. You only learned that when it was already too late to say it out loud.

The cab rolled away, leaving behind the faint scent of cheap leather and air freshener. You dragged your suitcase down the cracked sidewalk, wheels bumping until one caught hard on a groove. You tugged harder, and the suitcase lurched free, nearly toppling you along with it.

And then there it was. The house.

Creamy-white walls, the garden neatly trimmed, like someone had tried to keep the years at bay. You paused. Let it wash over you. The stillness, the ache, the sense that your teenage ghost might step out from the porch at any second.

Before your knuckles could reach the door, a curtain shifted. Your father’s face peeked through the window. Then the door swung open like it had been waiting all this time.

“My girl,” he breathed, already stepping forward with open arms. “Look at you.”

You were pulled into a hug before you could say anything. His arms were warm, a little stronger than you remembered. He held you like he meant to make up for all the missed years in one go. Then your mother.

“Oh, my baby!” she gasped, cupping your cheeks with both hands like you were still ten years old. “You’ve grown into such a stunning woman, but you’ll always be my little girl.”

“Mom, ouch,” you laughed, wriggling as she pinched your face. “You’re going to rip my cheeks off.”

“Let me hold you,” she whispered, and then you were wrapped in her again. Her perfume, the feel of home in her arms, the sound of her heartbeat thudding against your ear.

Inside, the house smelled faintly of bamboo and garlic, your mother must’ve started lunch. The air was warm, a little too still, but familiar. You blinked slowly, taking it in.

The living room was both different and exactly the same. Softer tones. New furniture. But the walls were crowded with photos: Ara at her graduation, your parents on a boat somewhere, a few baby pictures of you tucked between them. And then there were the posters.

Every film you’d ever done. Framed. Glossy. Hung up like some kind of shrine.

They’d sent you a picture when they first put them up. You remembered smiling at the time, flattered, touched. But standing here, in person, it felt strange. Like some version of you had moved in while you were gone. A version who smiled on cue, said lines written by strangers, and lived a life that no longer fit in this house. You didn’t say anything about the posters. You just looked at them, your heart caught somewhere between pride and discomfort.

“How was your flight? Bet you’re tired.” Your dad grabbed your suitcase before you could protest and started up the stairs with it.

“Smooth, actually. But I’m starving.”

“Then you’re in luck. Your mom’s cooking at least five different dishes.” You both laughed. She always went overboard in the kitchen when she had the chance and she never forgot your favorite meals or Ara’s. “We missed you, kiddo.”

He dropped your suitcase at the bedroom door and pulled your head in for a kiss on top.

“I missed you too, dad.”

“Ara switched rooms with you, but we left everything just the way you liked it. Just in case you ever come back.”

That simple gesture… it hit you right in the chest. After almost a decade, they had kept your space untouched. You turned the knob slowly, and opening that door felt like unlocking a time capsule.

Your bed was still there, same light-colored sheets, fairy lights still hanging by the window, a little crooked now. The shelves were a mix of old things and a few newer ones. Everything looked smaller. And yet, exactly the same.

Your dad gave you space to unpack. You pulled the zipper open carefully, but the scent of the room, a mix of lavender and something that was just you, caught you off guard. You couldn’t explain how, but the smell had survived the years.

And then the memories came flooding in. This was the room where you spent countless late nights on the phone with Chan, laughing until you passed out. The same bed where you had your first time after prom. The air in here was thick with memories, and you didn’t know what to do with them.

“Unnie?” Ara’s voice pulled you back. You turned around, letting a shirt fall onto the bed. Her eyes widened and, before you could say anything, she ran across the room and hugged you tight. “I can’t believe you’re really here!”

You wrapped your arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Your little sister. The one you held in your arms when she was just a newborn. She is so grown up now.

“I wanted to surprise you.” You smiled, brushing her hair out of her face. Ara was beautiful, nearly an adult now. “And I wouldn’t miss your birthday for anything.”

Ara squealed when you pulled a big, heavy box out of your suitcase. Inside, she found brand-new headphones, a set of Korean skincare, and some makeup, all carefully picked out just for her.

“Unnie! Thank you so much!” Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Make good use of it. When I was your age, Mom gave me a padded bra. I figured you deserve something better.”

You both burst out laughing, and Ara hugged you again, whispering her thanks. She ran out of the room with her arms full, leaving you alone with your luxury clothes sprawled across the bed, so out of place in a room frozen in time.

Dressed in something more comfortable now, you pulled your phone out of your pocket and noticed a missed call from your team. You already knew what it was about. In a month, the first table read would begin for your next big project. A romance series. A new co-star everyone was excited about.

You called them back. They picked up almost immediately.

They asked you to return early. There were prep meetings and chemistry tests, and the timeline was getting tighter than expected.

“I understand, but I can’t come back right now. I’m in town for family business.”

Your words trailed off with a sigh. Before you could say anything else, a small figure came sprinting toward you. A little girl, no older than five or six, was running like the wind, laughing with a kind of joy that made the air feel lighter. Her tiny feet hit the sidewalk hard and fast, and just as she caught her toe on one of the cracks, she stumbled.

You dropped your phone without thinking and caught her before she hit the ground.

“Hey, hey. Careful there,” you said gently, crouching down and steadying her by the arms.

The little girl stopped giggling for a second but kept smiling. Her eyes sparkled. “I’m okay,” she said, brushing her hand across her face.

You looked her over just to be sure, then smiled back. Her dark hair was tied in two ponytails, each held up with colorful flower clips. She looked like something out of a storybook. Then she tilted her head, squinting at you as if trying to place you. You laughed under your breath.

“You’re really pretty,” she said, eyes wide. “I saw you on TV.” Her hands flew to her cheeks like she had just spotted a princess.

“Guilty,” you replied with a soft smile. Only then did you notice the pink stuffed bunny tucked in her arms, worn but well-loved. “Where are your parents, sweetheart?”

“I was chasing a kitten. Daddy was behind me. He’s a little slow.”

“Is it okay if I wait here with you until he gets here?”

She nodded, completely trusting, completely at ease beside you.

Of course, you couldn’t just leave her. She was alone, and no matter how confident she seemed, you wouldn’t trust a child to wait on a sidewalk by herself. She looked like she was about to say something, but then you heard footsteps. Fast ones.

Your eyes lifted. And just like that, the air disappeared from your lungs.

You weren’t ready to see him. Not now. Not like this. Maybe not ever.

But there he was, rushing toward you, real and impossibly close. Taller than you remembered. Broader. Time had carved him into someone new, but the boy you loved was still there, hidden under years and distance. Buried beneath everything left unsaid.

Your breath caught before the words could form, heart pounding in a rhythm that felt all wrong. Too fast. Too loud.

“Yuna. Come here, baby.” His voice. That voice. Soft and familiar in a way that makes your whole body tense. You felt it everywhere.

Yuna. She ran into his arms without hesitation. He scooped her up, holding her like the world might try to take her away. Whispering to her, his hand cradling the back of her head like he’d done it a thousand times.

“...Hi.” You stood up slowly, trying to straighten yourself out. To steady the shaking.

It was barely more than a whisper. Just one word, but it was all you could manage without falling apart. Chan looked at you. He didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. He just stared. Like he wasn’t sure if you were real.

And maybe, for a second, you weren’t. Maybe you were the ghost. The one who left. The one who broke his heart.

“Daddy look, a real princess!” Yuna pointed at you, her eyes sparkling as her smile stretched wide, revealing tiny, crooked teeth.

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard her right. A real princess? You? Your gaze shifted back to Chan. A child. He had a child. A beautiful little girl.

“I didn’t know you were in town,” he said. His tone was flat, like he was just stating a fact, not speaking to someone who once knew his heart.

“It’s Ara’s birthday.” You wished you could say something more. Ask how he’d been or tell him how surreal this was. But what right did you have? After what you did, after how you left?

“Is she yours?”

Chan glanced at Yuna. The smile he gave her was quiet and fleeting, as if it wasn’t meant for you to see. He nodded once.

“She’s beautiful,” you said. Your voice barely made it out. It felt like your lungs had forgotten how to work. But you meant it. She really was.

He adjusted her in his arms and replied, “She gets that from her mom.”

The words hung in the air. They were simple, maybe even kind, but they carried something heavier. Something that settled in your chest like a stone.

“It was good to see you... I guess.” You tried to smile, hoping it didn’t look as uncertain as it felt. A part of you had dreamed about this moment for so long. But nothing about it felt like a dream.

Chan didn’t answer. He just turned with Yuna held close to him. She looped her arms around his neck and looked back at you, beaming.

“Bye-bye, princess!”

You raised your hand slowly, your fingers trembling just a little. You weren’t even sure who you were waving to anymore.

Then it hit you. All at once. Not the career, the fame, the city, what it cost. The things you left behind weren't just things. They were people.

When you got home, your hands were still shaking.

You walked past the leftover decorations, past the sound of conversation and plates clinking in the kitchen, and disappeared into the guest room without a word. Your mother called your name softly from the hallway, but you didn’t respond. What would you even say?

No one knew what really happened between you and Chan. No one knew what it cost you to leave. What it cost him.

So you cried alone. Quiet at first, like you didn’t deserve to cry out loud. And then it broke loose, sobs you couldn’t hold back, curling into the pillow like it could swallow you whole. You cried until the ache in your chest dulled into exhaustion and sleep found you in pieces.

When you woke up, the house was dead silent. You assumed everyone was asleep. On your phone, it read almost 11 p.m. You slid out of bed and took a shower, putting on a comfortable hoodie.

Outside, there was a cool, almost icy breeze. You stepped into the night, hoping the quiet would help settle your mind. All you could think about was Yuna and Christopher. The way he looked at you as if you were something that could physically hurt him. The way he treated you, so distant and cold. And deep down, you were sure you deserved it. You deserved for him to despise you.

But seeing him again was like flipping your entire world upside down. What did you expect, anyway? That he'd be waiting for you after eight years? That kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life. Of course he moved on. Of course he met someone. Of course he started the family he always dreamed of. And even knowing that, even preparing yourself for that reality, it still hurt in a place you couldn’t reach.

Your feet wandered on their own, taking you to the old park where the two of you had once shared so many memories. The swing still creaked the same way. The slide stood there, rusted and forgotten. Everything looked just as it did back then, except for you. You felt like a stranger in the place you used to call home.

The stars above watched silently, flickering in the sky like distant witnesses. They didn’t comfort you. They mocked you. As if they were whispering that you had been warned. That they told you so.

The swing creaked beneath you as you sat, shifting slowly side to side like it could collapse at any second. You curled your fingers around the cold chains, the metal biting into your palms as you took a deep breath and looked around.

The tree near the edge of the park was still there, tall and steady, roots digging deep into the earth like nothing had changed. It was under that tree that Chan kissed you for the first time. Right there, where he held your face with both hands and told you he loved you. You had told him you felt the same. And you had meant it.

He had held your face with such affection. You were so young, just kids playing at love. When he kissed you, it was as if you had a glimpse of the future, realizing that he, that both of you, were meant to be forever.

Now there was a knot tightening in your throat, like your body was resisting the memories, resisting the weight of it all. You blinked fast, willing the tears away, but even when your eyes shut, all you could see was him.

Then the swing next to you creaked. You told yourself it was probably the wind. But something in you stirred, something deeper. That same part of you that used to feel him before he walked into a room. You straightened your spine before you even looked.

He was there.

Chan sat beside you, hands clasped between his knees, his head lowered. His profile looked exactly like you remembered, only sharper, like the years had carved him out of stone. His jaw was stronger now, shoulders broader beneath his black shirt. His hair, once a lighter brown you used to run your fingers through, was darker now, almost black, onyx.

And there it was. That tug in your chest. The one you had spent years trying to silence.

“You shouldn't be here.” His voice, earnest and icy, hit you hard.

“I thought it was a public park,” you answered with the ghost of a smile, trying stupidly to chip away at the cold between you. But he didn’t even flinch. He kept his eyes down, shoulders tense. “It’s my sister’s birthday,” you added, softer now.

He let out a quiet scoff, barely audible over the breeze. “Right. Convenient.”

The words struck harder than they should have. Maybe because they weren’t just words. They were the truth, or at least the version of the truth he lived with. And you had no right to take that from him.

“I’m not here to cause anything, Chan.”

“I mean you don’t belong here.” That broke something. Something small, but loud. Not with the crack of glass but with the quiet ache of something that was already halfway gone.

He was right. This place meant everything to him. It was sacred ground, the kind of place that held echoes of promises made in the quiet naivety of youth. Here, beneath the trees and rusted metal, he had once sworn his heart to you. Promised a life built with roots that would never leave this town. And you had been part of that plan. Until you weren’t.

“I won't be staying long, don't worry.” You rested your chin in the palm of your hand, pretending it hadn't hit you straight in the heart. Pretending that his words didn't matter.

“That's what I thought.”

Silence settled between you again, except for the low groan of the swings swaying gently in the night air. It was easier not to speak, easier not to ruin whatever was left of this ghost of a moment.

“I know you probably won’t believe me…” you started, voice small.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he cut in, bitter and sharp, not even looking at you. “It’s not like lying ever came naturally to you.”

You inhaled slowly, trying to steady the heat behind your eyes, the sting in your throat. You didn’t want to fight. You didn’t even know what you wanted anymore.

“I’m happy for you,” you said quietly. “Yuna… she’s beautiful. She’s full of life. Just like you.”

You watched as he swallowed hard, his jaw tight, throat bobbing with the effort to keep it all in. There was so much he could say. So many things he’d rehearsed in his head over the years, words full of rage, grief, heartbreak. But they stayed there, buried beneath the version of himself he was now. Older. Wiser. Angrier in quieter ways.

And still, God, you made his chest ache. You hadn’t just grown more beautiful. You glowed. Like something untouchable. Like the kind of dream that only shows up when it’s too late.

“She’s my world,” he said, voice low but steady.

As it should be. You couldn’t imagine what it felt like to be a parent, but you never doubted he’d be a good one. He had always been made for that kind of love, fierce, unconditional, protective. It didn’t surprise you that Yuna reflected back. That she had his warmth, his spark, his heart.

“You got everything you wished for…” The words left you before you could filter them, soft and reverent. But he heard. Of course he did. Chan turned to you, his eyes narrowing, not in anger, but in disbelief. And maybe pain. “That’s really good,” you added, quieter still.

He let out a short, dry laugh, humorless and cold. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

Your eyes widened, breath catching. What was he saying?

“Do you really think... that I’m lying? Chan, I mean it. I’m genuinely happy that you got the life you wanted and—”

He cut you off before you could even finish. The words collapsed in your throat, swallowed by the look on his face.

“I think you’ve always known how to make yourself the priority.” His voice was sharp, hollowed out by something deeper than anger. “Just look at you. Untouchable. A name in lights. A face on magazine covers. You’re exactly where you want to be, aren’t you?”

“Why are you saying this?” The words barely made it past your lips. Your head shook slowly, disbelieving. “Everything I did… I did it to protect you.”

“That doesn’t make you noble,” he snapped, his voice cracking from the weight it carried. “Don’t paint yourself as some kind of martyr. You don’t get to play that role after everything.”

You opened your mouth, searching for something, anything to make it right. To explain what you’d never had the courage to say before.

But Chan stood abruptly, the swing creaking in protest beneath him. He didn’t look back. He didn’t have to. The silence he left behind said more than any words could. You stayed there, alone with the imprint of his absence and the ache of everything left unsaid.

You woke to the scent of breakfast lingering through the house. After getting ready, putting on a dress over a long-sleeved blouse, you headed downstairs to join your family.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” your father greeted you softly, his hand brushing your arm.

“Sit down, the coffee’s getting cold,” your mother said, motioning toward the chair across from her.

Being home really did feel good. The table was filled with homemade dishes, familiar and warm. You’d missed this, not just the food, but the comfort of it all. No fancy restaurant could compare to the smell of your mother’s bacon and her strong black coffee.

As you spread strawberry jam on your toast, your father asked, “Have you been able to catch up with your friends yet? Felix? Chan?”

The sound of his name was enough to erase whatever appetite you had left. It settled like a weight in your stomach, dragging everything else down with it.

“I’ll try today, Dad. And… I saw Chan yesterday.”

A hush fell over the table. Your parents exchanged a glance you knew too well. You rolled your eyes and let your knife fall onto the plate, the clatter louder than necessary.

“Please. You can talk about my ex-boyfriend. I’m not made of glass, you know?”

“Sorry, sweetheart. We just didn’t know how you’d feel,” your mother said carefully. “How was it, seeing him again?”

You let out a breath, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Not how I pictured it. I found out he has a daughter. She’s adorable, actually.”

“Oh, that little girl,” your mother said, her voice softening. “Such a sweet thing. She has his eyes, but I think her smile comes from her mother.”

The toast grew cold on your plate, untouched. You didn't have the courage to look up, afraid of what your parents might find.

“He brings her by sometimes, when he can,” your father added casually. “Helps me around the yard, fixes things. He’s a good man. Always has been.”

Your mother nodded, her tone almost wistful. “It’s a shame things didn’t work out between you two, darling.”

You let out a quiet laugh, one without humor.

“Well, he hates me now, so I guess it doesn’t matter.” You finally bit into the toast. It was cold, dry, and left a bitter aftertaste you couldn’t ignore.

“Why would you say that? That’s nonsense!” your mother asked, frowning. “That boy doesn’t hate you.”

“I don’t think he does either, kiddo” your father chimed in. “Every time he was here, he asked about you.”

You nearly choked. The toast stuck to your throat and you reached for your glass of orange juice, taking a long sip to clear the lump forming there.

“He… asked about me?”

“Of course,” your mother replied, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “We even gave him your address once. Didn’t we, love?”

“Yes, we did,” your father confirmed. “We thought you were still keeping in touch.”

Your thoughts spun. Chan had asked about you. He had cared enough to ask where you lived. That single detail opened a flood of questions you weren’t prepared for. Had he planned to see you? Did he change his mind? Did he still care, or had that care turned to quiet resentment?

You didn’t say anything after that. You just finished breakfast in silence, the fog in your chest thickening with each bite. When the last of the meal was cleared away, your mother spoke again.

“Honey, I don’t want to bother you, but could you pick up a few things we still need for the party?”

“Sure, Mom.”

She handed you a list. It was longer than you expected, enough to keep you busy in town for a while and maybe that was exactly what you needed.

♡ taglist: @strsforjsb @robinnotgood24 @kannaexe @idiotmaterial @iovecb97 @inejghafawifesblog @hash2013 @skzfangirl143 @gncbnahc @stay3096 @starjely @alisonyus @mangalovesanime-blog @hanniebunch @nikatsuuu @downingmorphine @woopdeedoopdeedoop @tsunderelino

if you want to be tagged, just le me know :)

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lee-knows-cats · 2 months ago

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TEASER|Call Me When You Get Lost

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Bangchan x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Suicide, Death, Grief, Slight Cursing, A HELL of a lot of angst, Slow burn, brother's bsf, slight age gap, love after tragedy.

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In the wake of her older brother's tragic passing, Y/N is left grappling with the overwhelming void he's left behind. As she sifts through the remnants of his life, she stumbles upon a mysterious box filled with envelopes, each labeled with words meant to guide her through the toughest moments. But it's the photograph tucked beneath the letters that truly catches her eye—a picture of her brother with a stranger, and on the back, a message scrawled in unfamiliar handwriting: "Call me when you get lost."

Below it, in her brother's unmistakable script, a simple but compelling instruction.

Compelled by grief and a deep sense of curiosity, Y/N dials the number, unknowingly stepping into the life of Christopher Bang—the man her brother once called his best friend. As their worlds collide, what begins as a tentative exchange of memories and texts gradually blossoms into something neither of them expected. With each envelope Y/N opens, her brother's final gift to her unfolds, leading her toward the love story he always believed she deserved.

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Special thanks to @soaplickerrr for inadvertently causing this idea to spring (almost as sprung as me 😏) !! I don't even really know how it made me think of this, but originally I had a novel manuscript I was writing with a somewhat similar synopsis so I decided why not just turn it into a SKZ fic haha! Anyways I'm wicked excited to get started on this so again thank you @soaplickerr for your so far amazing texting fic because without it I wouldn't be releasing this!! <3

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lee-knows-cats · 3 months ago

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DEVOTION |

Pairing: Bf! Chan x gf afab reader C.W: Established Relationship, Soft Dom Chan, Fingering, Mild Daddy Kink, Penetrative Sex, Overstimulation, Brief Mention of Bite Marks, Some good aftercare (i hope)….. A.N: Just was in the mood for something soft (?). M so bad at writing soft things lmao. Again, don't have high expectations!

"...that's it," Chan breathes, the words a rough prayer against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His voice is low, guttural, thick with the reverence he only shows when he has you like this – utterly vulnerable, utterly his to care for, to pleasure, to break down. You're sprawled back against a mountain of pillows on the bed, legs spread wide for him, hips slightly elevated by the cushion he meticulously placed beneath you moments ago. Every nerve ending is alive, singing under the anticipation, under the weight of his intense, worshipful gaze.

He kneels between your legs, not touching you yet, just looking. His eyes, usually warm and crinkled with laughter, are dark now, almost black, pupils blown wide with focused adoration and simmering control. He takes his time, deliberately cataloging every detail – the flush high on your thighs, the way your breath hitches in your chest, the glistening dew already beading at your entrance, offered up just for him. This slow, visual consumption is part of the ritual, part of his service, making you hyper-aware, making you ache.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, finally reaching out. Not with his hands, not yet. He leans forward, his hair brushing against your inner thigh as he presses a soft, reverent kiss high up, near the juncture of your leg and hip. Then another, slightly lower. He works his way down, slow, deliberate kisses punctuating his progress, leaving trails of tingling heat in their wake. He noses at the damp curls protecting your mound, inhaling deeply, possessively. "Smell so fucking good," he groans, the sound vibrating against your skin. "So sweet. "

His tongue darts out, finally, tracing the outer lips with painstaking slowness, mapping your folds, tasting your readiness. You gasp, fingers fisting in the sheets beside you, already starting to tremble. He ignores your reaction for a moment, continuing his worshipful exploration, lapping gently, deliberately avoiding the most sensitive spot, drawing out the torture and building the need.

"Open for me, baby," he whispers against your slick flesh. "Show me how wet you are. Show me how much you want this." It’s a command disguised as a plea, and you obey instantly, letting your legs fall wider, offering yourself up completely to his ministrations.

He rewards you with a low hum of approval before finally focusing his attention where you ache for it most. His tongue flicks out, finding your clit. Not hard, not demanding, but with an exquisite, almost unbearable precision. He swirls around it, laves it gently, uses the flat of his tongue to apply broad, wet strokes that make your hips lift instinctively off the pillow.

"Mmmm, yeah," he breathes, pressing his face closer, deeper between your thighs. "Taste so good. Like mine." He flicks harder now, faster, finding a rhythm that syncs perfectly with the frantic pounding of your heart. He uses his lips too, creating a gentle suction around the swollen nub, pulling, tugging, sending shockwaves of intense pleasure radiating through your entire body.

You're panting now, incoherent little whimpers falling from your lips. Your hands reach down, tangling in his soft hair, not to push him away, but to hold him there, closer, needing more. He allows it, leaning into your touch, but his hands come up, gently but firmly capturing your wrists, pinning them to the pillows beside your head.

"Uh-uh, baby girl," he murmurs against your clit, his voice thick with control now, the earlier reverence giving way to delicious dominance. "Hands stay right here. Can't have you distracting me from my work, can I?" He punctuates the words by sucking harder, pulling your entire clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue relentlessly around the ultra-sensitive peak.

A sharp cry rips from your throat. It’s too much, unbearably good. Your vision whites out for a second. He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows precisely how to push you right to the edge with just his mouth, his tongue, his meticulous, worshipful attention that somehow feels more controlling than any rough demand.

He feels you starting to build towards release, feels the subtle clenching of your inner muscles and the way your breath hitches and quickens. He pulls back slightly, just enough to break the intense suction, leaving you whining, suspended in agonizing anticipation.

“Not yet,” he whispers, licking a slow, deliberate path from your clit down towards your entrance. He noses at your slick folds, inhaling deeply again. “Haven’t even tasted how deep you get for me.”

Before you even can protest, his tongue plunges inside you. Thick, strong and surprisingly long. He explores your inner walls with shocking intimacy, tasting your slickness, learning the tight channel that usually only his cock gets to know. He swirls, presses upwards against your G-spot drawing lazy circles. You gasp, hips bucking wildly now, straining against the phantom pressure, utterly helpless.

He moves back to your clit, tongue flicking rapidly, expertly, while simultaneously—fuck—he slides two fingers deep inside you. Stretching you, filling you, pumping in a steady rhythm that perfectly complements the frantic work his tongue is doing. The dual stimulation is insane. Overload. You feel the orgasm rushing towards you like a freight train, unstoppable.

“That’s it,” Chan breathes against your skin, his voice rough with his own barely contained arousal. He can feel you trembling violently, feel the way your cunt is clenching desperately around his fingers. “Let go for me, baby. Cum all over my face. Show me how good I make you feel.”

His fingers pump faster, harder inside you, while his tongue becomes a merciless blur against your clit. You scream, a raw, broken sound this time, as the orgasm finally crashes over you, hot and shattering. Your body convulses uncontrollably, inner walls milking his fingers, hot slickness flooding out, coating his chin and his cheeks. You feel utterly undone, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, lost in the consuming intensity of the release he so expertly orchestrated.

He doesn’t stop immediately. He keeps his fingers moving inside you, keeps his tongue pressed firmly against your still-pulsing clit, riding out the aftershocks with you, ensuring you feel every last tremor. Only when your frantic whimpers subside into soft, exhausted sighs does he finally withdraw, pulling his fingers out with a wet, sucking sound.

He lifts his head, pushing his damp hair back from his forehead. His face is flushed, lips slightly swollen, eyes dark and hooded with sated desire. Your slickness glistens on his chin, maybe even a smear near his temple. He looks utterly debauched. Utterly beautiful.

He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your quivering inner thigh, right beside the evidence of your release. Then he looks up at you, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face.

“See?” he whispers, his voice thick with possessive tenderness. “Told you I’d take care of you.” He reaches up, gently wiping a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Always taste best when you’re completely falling apart for me.” He pauses, letting his gaze drift down to his own lap, where his cock strains visibly against the fabric of his sweatpants, thick and undeniably hard. “Ready for me to return the favor?”

You're still trembling in the aftermath, muscles quivering, skin hypersensitive, cunt throbbing with a residual ache that’s more pleasure than pain. You stare up at him through hazy, blissed-out eyes, watching the blatant evidence of his arousal tenting the front of his grey sweatpants. The sight sends another wave of heat, less frantic now, more of a deep, pooling warmth, through your belly. You can only manage a weak, shaky nod in response to his question. Ready? You feel like you might liquefy if he touches you again, but god, yes. You're ready. You need it.

He smiles that slow, knowing smile again, the one that makes your insides melt. "Good girl," he murmurs. He doesn't rush. He reaches over to the nightstand, retrieving a small bottle of lube – not because you need it, fuck no, you're practically dripping for him – but because he likes the ritual, likes the feel of the cool slickness on his fingers before he touches you again.

He pumps a generous amount onto his hand, rubbing his palms together, warming it slightly. Then, those warm, slick fingers return to you. He spreads your folds gently, deliberately exposing your swollen, pink entrance, still glistening from your earlier orgasm. He circles the opening with one slick finger, teasingly, making you squirm and whine softly beneath his touch.

"So wet," he praises quietly, his voice thick with appreciation. "Always so ready for me." He slides one finger inside, easily finding the slick channel his previous ministrations prepared. Then a second, stretching you slightly, moving slowly, deliberately reacquainting himself with your inner contours. "Feels so fucking good, baby. So tight."

He adds a third finger, pushing deeper now, knuckles pressing firmly against your clit with each inward stroke. You gasp, hips lifting off the pillows again, chasing the sensation. He curls his fingers inside you, finding that sensitive spot high on your front wall, and applies steady, rhythmic pressure.

"Right there?" he asks, already knowing the answer from the way your breath hitches and the way your inner muscles clench around his invading digits. "You like it when Daddy presses right there?"

This time the title doesn't feel cringy. It feels... right. Earned. Acknowledging the power dynamic, the absolute control he has over your pleasure right now. "Yes," you choke out, voice trembling. "Please... Chan... Daddy... yes..."

Hearing you say it, hearing the desperation, the surrender in your voice, makes his own cock give a hard jump beneath his sweatpants. A low groan escapes him. He works his fingers faster now, pumping in and out, using his thumb to mercilessly rub your clit in frantic circles. He brings you up quickly, efficiently, building the pressure again until you're writhing beneath him, whimpering his name, begging.

"Almost there again, aren't you?" he whispers, leaning down, his forehead pressing against yours. Sweat beads on his upper lip. "So easy for me to make you come apart." He slows his fingers slightly, dragging out the torture. "But you want my cock now, don't you? Want to feel me stretching you open? Filling you up completely?"

"Yes! Please, yes!" you sob, utterly desperate now.

"Good," he breathes against your lips. He pulls his slick fingers out, leaving you aching and empty for only a heartbeat. He quickly shucks off his sweatpants and briefs, revealing his cock fully. Thick, long, vein-ridden, head glistening pink and weeping pre-cum. It’s beautiful. Intimidating. Perfect.

He positions himself between your spread thighs again, the head of his cock nudging against your slick entrance. He doesn't thrust in immediately. He pushes just the tip inside, stretching you slightly, letting you feel the blunt pressure. He watches your face intently, watches your eyes flutter shut, watches your lips part on a shaky sigh.

"Take me," he murmurs, his voice rough with need. He places his hands flat on your stomach, pressing down slightly, holding you in place. Then, slowly, deliberately, inch by agonizing inch, he pushes himself inside you.

It's an incredible feeling. Stretching, filling, a satisfying pressure that borders on pain but tips entirely into overwhelming pleasure. You gasp, eyes flying open, fingers digging into the sheets as he sinks deeper, and deeper, until he's buried completely to the hilt, stretching you fuller than his fingers ever could. He holds himself there, perfectly still for a long moment, letting you adjust, letting you both savor the feeling of absolute connection, of him completely possessing you.

"Fuck," he groans, dropping his head back, eyes closed now, a look of pure bliss mixed with intense concentration on his face. "Feels... incredible, baby. Always."

Then, he starts to move. Slow, deep, deliberate thrusts. Pulling out almost completely, feeling the drag of your inner walls clinging to him, before sinking back in with exquisite slowness, ensuring you feel every inch, every ridge, every vein. It’s not rushed. It's sensual. Controlled. Each movement is precise, aimed at maximizing the friction, the deep pressure against your cervix and the stimulation of your G-spot.

He whispers praises constantly now against your ear. "That's it... take my cock... feel how deep I am inside you... such a good girl... gripping me so tight... fuck, you feel perfect..." His words, combined with the slow, deep fucking, are driving you insane. The pleasure builds again, slower this time, deeper, coiling heavily in your core.

He senses it. He always does. He quickens his pace slightly, thrusts becoming deeper, harder, hitting that perfect spot again and again. His hands find your hips, gripping tight, tilting you just right, angling himself for maximum impact. His breath comes in harsh pants now, the control slipping slightly as his own pleasure builds.

"Chan... Daddy... I'm..." you gasp, feeling the familiar signs, the tightening low in your belly, the trembling in your thighs.

"Yeah, baby, F-uckkk, I know," he pants back, his forehead slick with sweat, pressing against yours again. "Cum for me again. Let me feel you break around my cock." He pounds into you, faster now, harder, abandoning the slow control for raw, driving need. He watches your face crumple, hears your breath shatter into ragged cries as the orgasm rips through you, even more intense this time, fueled by the sheer fullness of him inside you, milking him shamelessly.

Your climax triggers his. And with a final, guttural roar, he drives deep one last time, burying himself as far as he can possibly go, and floods you with his release. Hot, thick spurts pump inside you, coating your inner walls, filling you completely. He groans your name, shuddering violently, collapsing onto you, pinning you beneath his spent weight, his heart hammering against yours.

He stays buried inside you for long, languid moments, letting the echoes of both your orgasms fade, feeling the gentle pulse of your cunt settling around him. His breathing slowly evens out, the harsh pants softening into deep, steady breaths against your ear. He doesn't pull out immediately; there’s a possessive comfort in just being there, connected, filling you.

Finally, with exquisite slowness that makes your muscles clench weakly one last time, he withdraws, leaving you feeling hollowed out but strangely complete. He doesn't just roll away. No, Chan’s aftercare is as meticulous and focused as his fucking.

He props himself up on one elbow, his other hand immediately coming up to gently cup your cheek. His thumb strokes softly across your damp skin, wiping away a lingering tear track you hadn’t even realized was there. His eyes, still dark but no longer holding that fierce intensity, are incredibly soft now, filled with a profound tenderness that makes your heart ache in a completely different way.

"Hey," he whispers, his voice low and gentle, still slightly rough from exertion but stripped of all command. "You with me, baby girl?"

You manage a weak nod, blinking up at him through heavy lids, feeling utterly boneless, utterly cared for.

He smiles, a soft, genuine curve of his lips. "Good," he murmurs leaning down, and pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your eye where the tear was. Each touch is impossibly gentle, worshipful. "You were incredible," he whispers against your skin. "Absolutely perfect for me. Took everything I gave you like a fucking dream."

The praise, so different in tone from the filthy demands earlier, still sends a warm flutter through you. He pulls back slightly, his gaze drifting down your body, taking in the flushed skin, the faint bite mark already purpling on your shoulder from before, and the slickness still glistening on your inner thighs. There's no judgment in his eyes, only appreciation. Adoration, even.

"So beautiful," he breathes. "All messy and mine." He reaches for the rumpled duvet, pulling it gently over your lower body, tucking it around your hips with careful hands, cocooning you in warmth.

He slips off the bed, padding quietly towards the ensuite. You hear the sound of water running. He returns moments later with a warm, damp washcloth, smelling faintly of the gentle soap he uses. He kneels beside the bed again, his movements unhurried, focused entirely on you.

"Lift up a little for me, sweetheart," he murmurs. He helps you shift slightly, then begins to gently clean you. His touch is reverent as he wipes away the mingled fluids from your inner thighs, the slickness from your stomach, the drying come from his own body that might have transferred onto you. He's careful around your still-sensitive clit, his touch light, respectful, a silent apology for the earlier intensity. There's no shame in his actions, only care. It feels incredibly intimate, profoundly soothing.

Once he's finished, he tosses the cloth aside and retrieves a soft towel, drying you with the same gentle care. His fingers linger on the angry red bite mark on your shoulder. Before he leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss right onto the mark. "Mine," he whispers again, the word now purely possessive tenderness.

He pulls a clean, oversized t-shirt – his t-shirt – from his drawer and helps you sit up, sliding it carefully over your head. It smells like him, clean and comforting, engulfing you in his scent, before he guides your arms through the sleeves, his fingers brushing softly against your skin.

He disappears again, returning with a glass of water. "Drink," he urges softly, holding it to your lips, helping you take small sips, and watches you intently, making sure you're okay, his brow furrowed slightly with concern now, the dominant edge completely replaced by gentle solicitude.

Finally, he slides back into bed beside you, pulling you carefully against his side. He wraps his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin, his body still warm and solid against yours. He doesn't initiate anything more, just holds you, his hand stroking slowly, rhythmically, up and down your back.

"Just rest now, baby," he murmurs into your hair. "You earned it." He presses a final kiss to the top of your head. "Did so good for me. Always do."

And wrapped in his arms, surrounded by his scent, lulled by the steady beat of his heart against your ear and the soft cadence of his quiet praise, you finally drift off, feeling utterly cherished, utterly safe, utterly his.

A.N: This was unexpectedly long, sorry. M not 100% satisfied by how this turned out (i told u m so bad at writing soft things bye i wanna cry), but yeah posting it is better than letting it rot in my drafts. Anyways, plz be nice in the comments 🥹🥹

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lee-knows-cats · 3 months ago

Text

good a lot?

PT 6 of as much or as little!! this isn't the final part but... there is a lot that happens.

series masterlist

bang chan x gn! reader wc: 2.7k warnings: kissing, heavy makeout session, very suggestive, they talk a lot at the end, reader has a little breakdown and heals a bit UNDER 16 DO NOT INTERACT PLEASE a/n: i didn't cry whilst making this idk what you mean. also... are y'all wanting smut at the end of this? bc i think i might be down

“Are you sure about this?” Chris asks, his voice gentle.

The two of you are sitting on the couch, your legs pressed tightly against his.

“Yeah.” You murmur, tentative but also excited.

You lean in, your heart racing as your eyes gently fell to his lips.

“Wait.” You pause, leaning back. His eyes flash with concern.

“What do I do with my hands?” You ask and he lets out an exasperated laugh.

He maintains eye contact with you, gently lacing his fingers with yours.

You feel as though your heart is going to leap out of your chest.

“How about, you leave this one here, and if you need to stop just squeeze my hand twice.” He murmurs and you hum, nodding in response.

“You can like uh… hold my face…? With the other one. Or play with my hair? I don’t mind.” He whispers, suddenly slightly shy.

You nod, trying to ignore how you heat up at how cute he is.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks gently, his eyes inquisitive but soft.

“Yes. Are you?” You ask, trying to take deep breaths.

“Yes.” He says, offering a small smile.

You nod, blinking rapidly as you try to calm down.

“Hey, just look at me.” He whispers, prompting you to look into his gorgeous brown eyes.

“I’ve got you, it's going to be okay. If you need to stop at any point we can, it’s no big deal.”

You hum as he gently strokes the back of your hand.

“Now, just trust me. I’ll lead you.” He whispers and you nod, breathing out slowly.

“Good job, baby.” He says as you lean in.

Before you can short circuit, his lips are on yours- soft, gentle and steady.

Somehow, it isn’t awkward. There’s no bumping of noses or clashing of teeth, just his lips on yours and a gentle, pleasant sensation in your chest.

His lips move with a quiet certainty and his breath is warm on your skin as the rest of the world slowly fades away.

You hum into the kiss, shocked at how good it feels and you feel him smile against your lips in response.

You shock yourself by kissing him back, not perfectly, but your lips move against his as you feel fireworks explode in your stomach.

He leans back and you almost try to follow him, the feeling of his lips on your lingering.

“Everything okay?” He asks gently as you both regulate your breathing.

Your eyes are fixed on his lips as you nod, spacing out slightly.

“Lovebug?” He asks gently, squeezing your hand.

“Can we please do that again?” You ask, the words escaping before you can stop them as your eyes flicker up to his before going back down to his lips.

He chuckles at your honesty but you see a light pink dusting his cheeks.

He nods and before either of you can register it your lips are pressed firmly against his again.

The kiss is tender at first, tentative. But as he begins to kiss you back you begin to gain confidence. You reach up, entangling your fingers in his soft, curly hair, making him groan into the kiss.

You feel yourself smile against his mouth as his hand gently rests on your hip, somehow pulling you closer towards him.

The feeling of his lips on yours is oddly grounding- it makes you feel whole and real. It makes you feel safe.

You completely lose track of time, wholly unaware of how much time has passed.

He pulls away again and you're suddenly aware of how out of breath you feel and how fast your heart is beating.

He looks at you fondly and you recognise the soft dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“Slow down, love.” He murmurs, rubbing soft circles where his hand still rests on your hip.

“M’ not going anywhere.” He whispers as he gently nuzzles his nose against yours.

If your head were any less fuzzy right now, you would be internally screaming.

But all you can think about is how good kissing him feels.

“How are you feeling, lovebug?” He asks gently as he squeezes your hand, his touch beginning to pull you out of your kiss-induced daze.

“I-” You hesitate, still reeling from the kiss.

“Want more…” You whisper quietly and Chris is so grateful you can’t feel how much he’s freaking out inside.

“Yeah?” He asks softly. “Like what, love?”

You feel as though your face is on fire. You hadn’t thought about what more might entail, but you felt an overwhelming and desperate desire for it.

The question lingers between you and you feel yourself hesitating and starting to overthink.

“Hey love. Don’t overthink it, I won’t judge you or anything. Just need to know how to help you.” Chris mumbles as he continues to trace circles on your hip.

“I think I want to keep kissing you…” You pause as your eyes flicker nervously between him and the wall. “But like… more?”

“Like making out?” He asks gently as he smiles and leans closer, making your breath catch in your throat.

“Y-yeah.” You mumble, your voice quiet as you feel yourself somehow blushing even harder. “But I don’t know how…”

Chris smiles softly, it’s the kind of smile that would make you melt if you were less anxious and overwhelmed- soft and reassuring but slightly shy, almost like he’s nervous too.

“Want me to show you?” He asks, his voice soft but playful.

You nod, subconsciously squeezing his hand a little harder.

“So, it’s like kissing but slower and more intimate.” He explains, his voice steady and reassuring. “It’s not about being perfect or anything, it’s about paying attention to your partner and how they react.”

“You can tilt your head, part your lips slightly, whatever feels right. You don’t have to do anything fancy, just do what you were doing before and I’ll lead you.” He continues, his voice calm, but you notice a soft blush on his cheeks.

“Do people actually use tongue when making out?” You interrupt, blinking owlishly as the question slips out before you can stop it.

Chris chuckles, hesitating slightly at your directness. “Uh, yeah. But we don’t have to.”

“Does it actually feel good?” You ask, your voice laced with uncertainty.

His face flushes a deep pink at your question. “Uh- in my experience yeah… But we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I think I want to at least know what it feels like…” You murmur, your voice soft as your heart races at the thought.

“We can go slow.” He murmurs, gently squeezing your hand.

You nod, still slightly uncertain.

“But what do I do? Like…what do I do with my tongue? And how do I know when to do it?” You ask, feeling that soft, safe and comfortable feeling, despite the fact that you were certain your face was on fire and that your heart was beating at a record pace.

“Uh-” He pauses, trying to work out how to explain.

“Well… it’s when it feels right, like just when you feel like it, you can try gently brushing your tongue against mine.” He explains gently, continuing to rub gentle circles on the back of your hand.

You nod, processing the information.

“You promise you’ll be honest with me if I mess up?” You ask, trying to breathe evenly.

“You won’t, but I promise.” He murmurs, squeezing your hand reassuringly as you nod.

Chris leans in slowly, giving you a moment to pull away if you need it. His lips brush yours, gently, and you feel the warm feeling in your chest again. You kiss him back, shyly, as the two of you begin to find a rhythm again.

You instinctively reach up, entangling your fingers in his hair, somehow pulling him even closer.

His hand stays entwined with yours, holding you gently and grounding you. His other hand gently trails along your jaw, guiding your face closer to his.

He opens his mouth slightly against yours, and you feel yourself unconsciously mirror him. You feel the slightest touch of his tongue against yours and you feel a new sensation flicker in your stomach.

It’s not overwhelming, he isn’t demanding anything, he isn’t even asking. He’s patient, letting you find yourself and set the pace.

In a burst of confidence, you try it, you gently brush your tongue against his, hesitant but eager. He hums softly in response, a sound of quiet encouragement that further sparks the sensation in your stomach.

The two of you fall into a soft rhythm, a slow and unhurried give and take of lips. His lips gently part again, and this time you take the opportunity without thinking too much. It’s easier now, less scary. You still feel a little shaky, but he’s right there, holding you, soft but firm.

When the two of you eventually need to breathe, he leans back, smiling at you gently as you regain your breathing.

“You okay?” Chris asks quietly.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Just… a lot.”

“Good a lot?” He asks, a quiet hope evident in his eyes.

“Good a lot.” You reply, still trying to regain your breathing.

He looks at you, almost like he wants to say something but is stopping himself. Instead gently squeezing your hand, there’s a soft invitation in his eyes, a quiet inquiry.

There’s no more thinking, no more second guessing. You’re not sure you’re even thinking anymore, you just do.

All of a sudden your lips are on his again, it’s still soft, still gentle, but there is an apparent need in the way you touch and hold each other.

One hand still stays intertwined with yours, but the other wraps around your waist, pulling you closer, until you're almost sitting in his lap.

Your confidence grows, you wrap your arms around his neck, threading your hands into his hair as lips move against his.

This time, you open your mouth first and when he mirrors you, gently brushing his tongue against yours, you follow him. It still feels new, and slightly strange, but slowly a quiet confidence overtakes your initial hesitation, and the feeling melts away into something warm and sweet.

Your fingers curl tighter in his hair, drawing a soft sound from him that causes that sensation to flicker in your stomach again.

His grip on your waist tightens slightly, holding you close, anchoring you to him and this moment.

There aren’t any real thoughts in your head, just a sensation and a quiet, desperate need for more.

Slowly, your kisses turn from gentle brushes of the tongue to something more intimate and warmer, something wanting.

When your tongue slides deeper and your touch turns more deliberate, he groans, soft and needy in a way that makes that sensation in your stomach curl into red-hot.

Your lips part wider, your tongues lathing against each other in a slow deliberate rhythm. As his tongue presses against yours, you begin to understand the appeal of this. The sensation of his tongue gliding against yours, the taste of him, the warmth of him, the way you’re pulling each other closer like you can’t quite get enough.

You tilt your head a little more, chasing him and this feeling, a soft moan escapes you, quiet and desperate.

Chris pauses, just for a moment, his lips hovering against yours.

His eyes flicker open, finding yours, concern evident in his gaze. Worry that he had gone too far.

“I’m okay.” You murmur, your voice hushed and breathless as you gently squeeze his hand.

“I just… liked it.” You whisper, feeling yourself flush as you try to breathe evenly.

“Yeah?” He asks, a playful smirk gracing his lips as his concern fades away.

You nod, flustered by his confidence.

“D’you wanna keep going?” He asks, softly squeezing your hip.

“Please.” You whisper, your lips already gravitating towards him.

There’s no hesitation this time, your lips crash into his and your tongues slide together like they were made for this.

You drag your nails along his scalp, making him groan into the kiss.

His free hand slips just under the hem of your shirt, not in a way that asks for more, but in a way that tethers the two of you to this moment.

You shift closer, you’re sitting in his lap now, you wrap your arm tighter around his neck, pulling him even closer.

He gently drags his teeth along your lip, making you whine.

You feel his lips curve upwards slightly into this kiss, and your noise only seems to spur him on.

The kiss somehow turns deeper, the drags of your tongues grow more deliberate, more slow and intimate as you pant into each other's mouths.

Your fingers twist slightly in his hair, pulling his body flush against yours. He responds almost instinctively, parting your lips even further with his tongue, drawing a ruined, almost desperate moan from your chest.

He continues kissing you, like he’s trying to memorise every part of you with just his mouth, like he’s starving and this moment is enough to keep him going forever.

Slowly, your kisses slow down, turning into gentle presses of his lips against yours.

Finally, he slowly pulls away, smiling when he notices you instinctively following him.

“Hey.” He murmurs, his eyes soft as he looks at you. “How are you feeling?”

You blink at him, dazed from the life-changing sensations you just experienced.

“Good.” You murmur, flushing as you start to process all that happened.

“Yeah?” He asks tentatively, his eyes searching yours- just in case.

“Yeah.” You murmur, gently smiling at him.

“Was I okay?” You ask a moment later, the spiral of overthinking slowly kicking in.

“You were perfect.” He responds, earnesty evident in his eyes.

“Why’d you stop?” You ask, quietly, as if you’re afraid of the answer.

He takes a deep breath.

“Because I don’t want to turn this into something you’ll regret. Into something you’ll look back on and feel like you weren’t ready for.” He murmurs, gently rubbing soft circles where his hand sat on your hip.

You feel that now-familiar sensation glowing in your chest, safety and comfort.

“I could never regret you.” You whisper, your voice almost silent as you sniffle slightly.

“Wait, why are you crying? Are you okay?” He asks, slightly panicked.

You nod, emotions piling up and beginning to spill out.

“I’m fine. It’s just- it felt nice. And I was beginning to convince myself it never could. Thank you.” You say, your voice barely above a whisper as tears begin to fall down your cheeks.

His eyes soften and he gently wipes away your tears, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You don’t have to thank me.” He whispers as he pulls you close. “I love you more than anything and I’m always here for you and whatever you need.”

Upon hearing his words, you break- years of anxiety, of shame, of feeling broken and wrong crumble and you sob.

You sob for all the nights you sat there pondering if you’d ever feel whole, the years of relationships that didn’t work out because they just didn’t understand, for all the times you’ve ever cried about being broken and for all the times he’s been there to reassure you you’re not.

You sob for all of the night you laid there, tears in your eyes as you wondered if you’d ever feel whole. You sob for all the relationships that didn’t work out because they just couldn’t understand. You sob for everything you felt like a horrible person for flinching from peoples touch. You sob for every time you desperately craved to be held, despite knowing it would hurt. You sobbed for every night you cried, curled up in a ball and feeling like you were broken. And you sobbed for every night he told you you’re not.

“I’m glad I could make it good for you.” Chris murmurs, pressing soft kisses to your hair as he holds you close, tethering you.

You bury yourself in his chest, like being close to him is the only thing keeping you safe and connected to this world.

And honestly, right now, it feels like it is.

This is a work of fiction, based entirely on my personal perception of him, and does not reflect his actual character or actions.

Taglist: ʚ✩ɞ

@jennibahng @itzkingbo @velvetmoonlght

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lee-knows-cats · 3 months ago

Text

𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙃𝙪𝙧𝙩 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝘼𝙧𝙚 𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝘽𝙖𝙣𝙜 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙭 𝙁𝙚𝙢!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

Genre: Angst, Comfort, Fluff, Slow Burn Warning: Mentions of emotional pain/heartbreak, Past toxic relationship, Crying scenes, Heavy emotional comfort, Slow healing process, Best friends to lovers trope, Extremely soft Bang Chan (Husband Material™), Domestic fluff & rainy day vibes, One (1) very patient and loving Aussie man, no proofread, etc...

---

It was one of those days where everything felt a little too loud, even in the silence.

The rain outside had been falling since morning, steady and persistent, like the sky had decided to cry on her behalf. Y/N had shown up at Chan’s apartment without warning, soaked through, hair sticking to her cheeks, eyes red and swollen from crying. And Chan… well, he didn’t ask questions.

He just opened the door, pulled her into his arms, and whispered, “I’ve got you.”

That had been hours ago.

Now she sat curled up on his couch, wrapped in his hoodie, the sleeves too long for her hands. His blanket soft and worn from years of use was tucked around her shoulders like a shield. The TV was playing something neither of them were really watching, its colors flickering faintly against the walls. The scent of vanilla and rain filled the air, the kind of quiet that made you feel like time was standing still.

Chan moved around in the kitchen behind her, the clink of a mug and the low hum of the kettle the only indication that he was still close.

She blinked slowly, fighting back another wave of tears.

How did love manage to feel so beautiful and so cruel at the same time?

When he came back, he didn’t say anything at first. He just placed a cup of tea on the table beside her, sat down on the floor in front of the couch, and looked up at her like she was the most fragile thing in the world.

His voice was gentle, the way it always was when he sensed she was barely holding it together.

“Talk to me?”

She bit her lip, shaking her head. “I can’t.”

“Okay.” He nodded, reaching out to lightly rest his hand on her knee. “Then don’t. I’m still here.”

Y/N stared at him, that familiar ache pressing against her ribs. Chan had always been her safe space. Ever since their uni days, when she first met the Aussie with the easy smile and kind eyes, he had been her anchor. But she never thought she’d be here again completely undone in front of him, heart shattered, feeling stupid for believing in someone who treated her like she was replaceable.

“I thought they loved me,” she whispered finally. “I really did.”

Chan’s jaw clenched slightly, but his voice remained soft. “They should’ve. You love with your whole heart. Anyone would be lucky to have that.”

“They said I was too much. Too sensitive. Too emotional. I cared too deeply.” She swallowed hard. “Like it was a flaw.”

Chan shifted slightly so he was fully facing her, resting his arms on the edge of the couch. “It’s not a flaw. It’s a strength. You feel everything so deeply, Y/N. That’s what makes you you.”

Her eyes welled up again, and she blinked fast, looking up at the ceiling to keep the tears from falling.

“I don’t get it, Chan. I gave them everything. And they just… walked away. Like I was easy to leave.”

Chan exhaled, voice cracking just slightly. “Some people don’t recognize love even when it’s handed to them. That’s not your fault.”

“But it still hurts,” she said brokenly. “It hurts so bad I can’t breathe sometimes.”

Chan reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with the softest touch. “I know,” he murmured. “I’d do anything to take it away.”

The tears fell then quiet, unrelenting. And Chan didn’t hesitate. He stood, gently easing her up so he could slide onto the couch beside her. She folded into him like she belonged there, head resting against his chest, his arms wrapping around her like a promise.

“You’re not too much,” he whispered into her hair. “You’re not too emotional. You’re not unlovable. You’re human. And you deserve someone who sees all of that and chooses you anyway.”

She let herself cry then not just for the heartbreak, but for the relief of finally being seen.

Minutes passed in silence. Her breathing evened out. His heartbeat was steady beneath her ear, grounding her.

“Why are you always here for me?” she asked quietly.

“Because I love you,” he said. No hesitation. No dramatics. Just the truth.

She froze.

“Not just as a friend?” she whispered.

Chan held her a little tighter, like he was afraid to let her slip through his fingers now that the words were out.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” he admitted. “But I never said anything because I didn’t want to rush you, or lose you. And then you fell for someone else… and I just wanted you to be happy, even if it wasn’t with me.”

Y/N pulled back slightly to look at him, her heart thudding painfully loud.

“I’m not ready for anything new,” she said honestly. “Not yet.”

“I know,” Chan said, his smile soft and sad but genuine. “I’m not here to ask for anything. Just… don’t push me away. Let me stay. Let me be your comfort, even if I never get to be more.”

She stared at him, really looked at him, and felt something in her chest loosen like a part of her that had been tightly wound had finally exhaled.

“You already are more,” she said softly. “You’re the reason I’m still holding it together.”

Chan’s hand found hers, fingers intertwining. No rush. No pressure. Just presence.

Love had hurt her deeply.

But Chan was here.

And somehow, that made everything feel a little less painful.

---

Healing didn’t happen all at once.

There wasn’t a magical moment when everything stopped hurting, when she suddenly stopped thinking about what went wrong, when her heart stopped aching. No, it happened in pieces quiet, gentle moments stitched together like a patchwork quilt of becoming okay again.

And Chan was in every single piece of it.

He never asked for anything.

Never once brought up his confession again.

He just… stayed.

Stayed when she had nightmares and called him at 2AM. Stayed when she had a panic attack in the middle of a grocery store and couldn’t catch her breath. Stayed when she cried during a movie that wasn’t even sad because her emotions were just too much again.

He’d rub her back, make her tea, wrap her in his hoodie, and sit beside her until she found her way back to herself.

It was a Thursday evening when she realized her feelings had shifted.

Chan was in the kitchen, humming softly while making dinner. She sat on the counter, watching him stir pasta sauce, his hair messy from running his hands through it, his sleeves rolled up just enough to show his forearms (which were a problem, let’s be honest). He turned to ask if she wanted more basil, and she found herself smiling.

Not just the small, polite kind.

The kind that tugged at her chest. The kind that whispered, Oh. It’s you. It’s always been you.

That realization scared her more than she expected. Because falling for someone again? After what she’d been through?

But the thing about Chan was… loving him didn’t feel scary. It didn’t feel like a cliff she had to jump off.

It felt like a warm blanket. Like coming home.

It took her months to get the courage to say anything.

She waited until another rainy day, the kind they always seemed to fall into comfort with. They were on his couch, watching the sky drip quietly outside the window. He was beside her, legs stretched out, his head tilted toward hers, sleepy and soft.

“Chan,” she said, barely above a whisper.

He blinked, turning toward her instantly. “Yeah?”

Her hands trembled slightly, but she didn’t back down. Not this time.

“Do you still love me?”

He froze. His brows drew together just a little, concern flickering in his expression. “Yeah. I never stopped. Why?”

She looked at him, really looked at him, the way she always should have.

“Because I think I’m falling in love with you too.”

He didn’t move for a second just stared, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.

Then a slow smile bloomed across his face, filled with so much softness she felt her eyes sting.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked quietly, like he didn’t want to scare her.

She nodded.

His kiss was tender, patient, full of all the things he’d been holding back for months. He didn’t rush. He never did. And she kissed him like someone who was finally choosing to believe in love again.

Because with Chan, love didn’t hurt.

It healed.

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lee-knows-cats · 3 months ago

Text

dream a little dream of me...

...the one where chan arrives home just in time to kiss you to sleep.

this one is for @knowbites <333

chan and his big feet try hard, but they're never really quiet. you hear him before the door clicks like it’s trying not to wake the house. considering the house has you and a little black cat inside, it's already up.

you roll over, one eye barely open, the other still dreaming.

there's a rustle, a sigh, the sound of a jacket hitting the back of the chair, a whispered swear under his breath when he hits his toe against a piece of furniture. classic chan.

he enters the space where you lie and immediately steps into the bathroom, fresh clothes tucked under his arm. the shower starts with a soft spray, steam curling under the door like it's saying hi. like it's chan's way of saying he missed you.

you let your arm flop across the empty side of the bed.

warm now, because you always leave the blanket turned down for him.

like a note.

like: come home soon, okay?

he does. eventually. because home means you.

he pads into the room with damp hair and tired bones and that goofy boyish smile that shows up just for you because he knows you're awake.

“hello, mysterious lump in my bed,” he whispers with a giggle.

“are you accepting snuggles or are you strictly here to haunt me?”

you stretch one arm out without opening your eyes.

“bring offerings first.”

“what kind?”

“compliments. forehead kisses. percy.”

the black cat, as if summoned, meows sleepily from the foot of the bed. the kind of meow that says he's disappointed by chan's attempt at keeping it down when he entered the house.

chan gasps.

“betrayed by my own son.”

you giggle, and that’s all it takes for him to crawl under the covers, a little cold and a whole lot adorable, wrapping himself around you like a sloth that missed you all day.

“why do your toes feel like icicles?” you mumble, letting him settle into you.

“because i walked through the tundra to get to you.”

“baby, you parked in the garage.”

“emotionally, it was a tundra.”

you let him press his face into your neck and inhale dramatically.

“you smell like the lavender detergent," you mumble without having to sniff him closely.

“you smell like sleep and the leftover scent of your conditioner. and love. and also possibly… cat fur?”

“he sheds when he’s proud,” you yawn before kissing chan lazily. “you should’ve told him he was handsome.”

“i did. he blinked at me slowly. i think i’m forgiven for the tuna thing from monday," he mumbles against your lips, very dedicated to the kiss and telling you about percy's recent behaviour towards him.

chan shifts closer, lips now brushing the shell of your ear.

“did you miss me or just the foot warmer function?”

“mostly the foot warmer. but also your stupid jokes. and your arms. and that thing where you kiss my shoulder like it’s the most interesting place in the world.”

he kisses your shoulder now, slow.

“it is the most interesting place in the world. all the best dreams start there.”

you giggle again, sleepy and full of that dumb, glowing joy that makes your chest feel fizzy.

he rubs your back lazily, half a circle, then stops before kissing the corner of your mouth.

“i told hyunjin i missed your laugh and he told me to write a poem about it and sell it on etsy.”

“i would buy that. do you think it comes with a scented candle?”, you ask against his lips.

“probably in the scent of ‘emotional stability and forehead kisses.’”

“i love you all silly and tired like this.” you whisper, sinking into him as your words start to slur with sleep.

he smiles into your hair, kissing your hairline now. god, this man and his kisses will be the death of you.

“same. now go to sleep before i start reciting sonnets in my worst australian accent.”

you snort, already half gone.

outside, the city hums like background music.

inside, he holds you like a pillow he never wants to give back.

and just before you drift completely, you hear him say, quiet and grinning:

“goodnight, lovebug. dream a little dream of me. featuring lots of making out. and percy.”

you fall asleep with a smile. like you always do when you're in his arms.

2K notes · View notes

lee-knows-cats · 7 months ago

Text

방찬 x 한 x you ─── needy

♡ ― 󠀬󠀬[ minors do not interact! ] dom!bangchan x sub!han x sub afab!reader . hard dom!chan, brief sub x sub , praise kink , degradation kink , degrading praise , dirty talk , name calling , teasing , oral (m. & f. rec) , face fucking , hair pulling , overstimulation , cunt slapping , use of sex toy , aftercare at the end ♡ ♡ synopsis ― bored and horny, you decide to play with jisung while you wait for chan. however, it doesn't go as planned. [ 5.6k words ] ♡ ― this took me so long because i got caught up with work n had motivation problems.. im so sorry if this is bad jfdklsjgkflf semi proofread. ♡ masterlist

smut below the cut - minors gtfo.

you lay sprawled on your bed, fresh from a warm shower. the soft scent of lilies clung to your skin, and your pretty nightgown flowed loosely around you, paired with fuzzy socks that added to your cozy look. it was a quiet, almost too quiet, night. jisung was in his room across the hall, unusually silent, and chan was still at the studio, leaving the house with an air of emptiness that made you feel a bit lonely.

as if sensing your mood, han peeked into your room. his soft footsteps barely made a sound, but when his gaze landed on you, lying on your stomach with your phone in hand, his expression melted. you looked up at him, your face lighting up with a warmth that made his heart flutter.

“hi, sungie!” you chirped, sitting up on your knees and smiling brightly.

“hi,” he replied softly, stepping inside and taking a seat on the edge of your bed. his hands fidgeted slightly as he glanced at you. “what are you doing?”

“just scrolling,” you said, holding up your phone. without hesitation, you shifted closer, curling up beside him as you opened the app you’d been browsing. “look at these shoes! aren’t they cute?” your eyes sparkled as you showed him a pair of pastel pink platform mary janes, your excitement contagious.

han’s lips curved into a small, fond smile. “you’d look adorable in them,” he murmured, his hand drifting to rest gently on your thigh. his fingers brushed the hem of your nightgown as he spoke, the tender gesture warming you further. “i’ll tell chan to get them for you when he finally gets home—if he ever does.”

you huffed, a playful pout forming on your lips as you set your phone on the nightstand. “he’s been working late too much lately,” you grumbled, leaning back into the pillows dramatically.

han laid down beside you, propping his head on his hand as he watched you. “at least he warned us this time instead of waking us up at 3 a.m. banging around the kitchen,” he teased, his tone lighthearted.

you giggled at the memory, your pout giving way to a smile. “true. that was the worst. i almost threw a pillow at him.”

han chuckled, his face softening as he rested his cheek against the pillow. his fingers absentmindedly spun the silver ring on his finger while his eyes lingered on your face, admiring your playful demeanor.

“still, he’s so mean for making me wait!” you whined, your fingers absentmindedly toying with the hem of han’s shirt. the soft fabric twisted between your fingertips as your pout deepened. “especially when i’m so…” you trailed off, your cheeks warming as the words caught in your throat.

han tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his gaze as he waited for you to continue. a sly idea sparked in your mind, and you bit your lip before finishing your thought with a quiet, mischievous tone. “…horny.”

han’s face flushed instantly, his eyes widening as if your words had jolted life into him. he blinked, struggling to process, his gaze flickering over you before landing back on your face. “you’re… but channie isn’t…” he began to stammer, his voice soft and unsure.

you placed a finger to his lips to shush him, your grin widening with playful mischief. “what if,” you suggested, crawling closer to him, “we played a little? just while we wait for channie to come home.” you knelt beside him on the bed, your eyes glinting with anticipation as you watched him wrestle with your proposal.

han’s face was a shade of pink that rivaled the shoes you’d shown him earlier. his gaze traveled down your form, hesitant and thoughtful, before he looked back up to meet your eyes. “but what if he gets mad?” he whispered, as if chan could somehow overhear your scheming.

your grin turned into a smirk, a spark of daring lighting up your features. “that’s what makes it more fun, hannie!” you teased, your voice bubbling with excitement.

han’s lips parted as if to protest, but he quickly closed them, his blush deepening as he fidgeted with the hem of his own shirt. “um… okay,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “but i’m not really feeling, uh, dominant right now…”

you nodded, leaning down so your face was close to his, your voice soft and coaxing. “me neither. but we can make it work, right?” you tilted your head, your expression hopeful as you sought his approval.

han swallowed hard, his fidgeting slowing as he considered your words. finally, he nodded, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “mhm. yeah, w-we can.”

without another word, you leaned down, running your soft hands along his chest, and giving him tender kisses on his lips. he let out a soft moan in response, leaning into you immediately.

you felt a spark of exhilaration coursing through you, a mixture of excitement and mischief that left your heart racing. the thought alone—breaking from your usual routine, giving in to this shared craving without waiting for chan—was equal parts thrilling and nerve-wracking.

usually, the three of you would play together. it was a dynamic you were used to, one that felt safe and familiar. you and han would put on a playful show for chan when he got home, teasing and coaxing him into joining. but now, this was different. you weren’t waiting.

the idea was so naughty, so completely against the unspoken rules you’d all naturally fallen into. it sent a shiver through you, equal parts apprehension and desire. the risk made it even hotter—knowing that chan might come home at any moment, that he might catch you in the act, might see how you and han had caved to your shared need before he could take control of the situation.

han seemed to be feeling the same rush, his nervous fidgeting giving way to a subtle shift in his expression. he wasn’t bold by nature, but there was something in his eyes now—a flicker of curiosity, of shared rebellion—that matched the spark in your own.

this wasn’t your first time playing with jisung, not by a long shot. the two of you had shared plenty of intimate moments before, exploring each other’s desires under chan’s guidance or as part of your playful trio. you were no strangers to each other’s touches, no strangers to the way your chemistry crackled when the mood struck.

but this? this was different. you’d never done this together when both of you were feeling like this—soft, shy, hesitant, both naturally leaning toward the same submissive energy. there was no one to take the lead, no steady hand or commanding voice to guide you.

in a frenzy of passion, you and jisung were already intertwined and touching each other. your movements were needy and hurried, driven by an insatiable desire for each other. you clung to him, wrapping your body around his as you straddled him. whimpers escaped your lips as you ground against him through his sweatpants.

jisung was already achingly hard, unable to resist the urge to touch and be touched by you. "y/n," he whispered desperately, his fingertips digging into your thighs as he guided your movements. "sungie," you moaned in response, leaning forward and clinging onto the pillows in an attempt to steady yourself.

his hands roamed upwards, pushing up your nightgown to reveal your light pink panties that were now rubbing against his hardened member with fervent urgency.

his voice was laced with sweetness as he asked, "can i see you, y/n?" you nodded eagerly, a giddy excitement bubbling in your chest. his hands clenched the bottom of your nightgown, pulling it up and over your head in one swift motion.

now clad only in fuzzy socks and panties, you resumed grinding against him, feeling his warmth through the fabric of his clothes. with each movement, he grew more flushed and his hands became bolder and more eager, exploring every inch of your skin with an intoxicating fervor. his fingertips dug into your breasts, pinching and teasing your nipples, while his palms kneaded and caressed your flesh.

lost in your heated touches and kisses, both you and jisung missed the text from chan, announcing that he’d be leaving a couple hours early. “lemme taste you,” han said shyly, slight pleading laced in his voice. he tugged a little on your panties and you whined at his words. “mmh, okay, hannie.” you giggled, rolling off him for a moment and pushing your panties off.

he laid back against the bed, head by the foot-end, waiting eagerly for you to sit on his face. you crawled up, your soft, velvety thighs on either side of his head as you hesitantly hovered above his waiting mouth.

he wrapped his arms around your thighs and impatiently yanked you down, immediately latching his mouth to your sopping cunt. his mouth worked urgently, his tongue swiped over your wet folds quickly, drinking you in.

you let out a shocked moan, watching him bury his face in your mound. he flicked his tongue on your clit, the lewd noises making you both blush. “oh-oh, hannie, right there!” you cried, reaching down and gripping his hair in an attempt to hold his head still.

lost in pleasure, you began to desperately ride his face, grinding your clit onto his tongue, your hips rolling quickly. you didn’t even notice that one of han’s hands left your thigh to pull his leaking cock out and stroke it. he whimpered against your cunt, his hand pumping furiously around his length as he ate you up like he was starving.

“sungie, i’m s-so close,” you panted, tugging on his hair with both strands as you chased your orgasm. he let out a choked moan in response, too consumed by you to respond coherently. he cried against your flesh, only adding vibrations and heightening your pleasure.

with a cry, you came, falling forward and gripping onto the footboard until your knuckles turned white, your overstimulated cunt still grinding up against han’s swollen lips. he made out with your sex, too pussydrunk to pull away on his own. you let out a weak whine, finally looking up from the floor to see chan standing in the doorway.

your breath hitched, and you pulled yourself off han’s mouth, making him whine from the loss of you. “y/n,” he pouted, before following your gaze. he blushed and tried to cover himself up.

chan stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze fixed on the scene before him. his expression was unreadable, a mixture of disappointment, frustration, and something darker simmering beneath the surface. the intensity of his presence was enough to make you freeze, your hands faltering on the footboard as the weight of the situation settled over you.

“what,” chan’s voice was calm, low, and dangerously controlled, “do you two think you’re doing?”

jisung shifted uncomfortably, still flushed and disheveled. you squeaked, grabbing the nearest blanket to cover yourself as you avoided chan’s piercing gaze.

“channie, i—” you began, your voice trembling, but he held up a hand to silence you.

“i don’t remember giving either of you permission to start without me,” he said, his tone sharp but measured. he stepped into the room, his movements deliberate, his presence filling the space. “is that how we do things now? you just… indulge yourselves while i’m gone?”

jisung whimpered, sitting up on the bed with his head bowed, propped up on his elbow. “we didn’t mean to—”

“didn’t mean to?” chan cut him off, his voice rising slightly, though still calm. “because it looks to me like you knew exactly what you were doing. both of you.”

he turned his gaze to you, and the weight of his stare made you squirm. “look at me,” he commanded, his voice firm. slowly, you lifted your eyes to meet his, your cheeks burning with shame.

“do you know how disappointed i am?” he continued, his tone softer now but no less commanding. “i expect better from both of you. you know the rules, don’t you?”

“yes, channie,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

“then why did you break them?” his question hung in the air, and the silence that followed felt oppressive.

“we were just…” jisung tried to explain, but the words faltered on his tongue.

chan let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair as he took a few more steps into the room, his commanding presence never wavering. “you’re both going to make this up to me,” he said finally, his tone leaving no room for argument. “but first, you’re going to tell me exactly why you thought this was a good idea.”

his eyes flicked between you and jisung, his gaze expectant. neither of you dared to speak at first, the tension thick in the room.

“well?” he prompted, crossing his arms again. “i’m waiting.”

“i was just so.. worked up, and.. you weren’t gonna be home for a few hours..” you trailed off, a blush of embarrassment painting your cheeks.

chan was well aware that you were the instigator. han would never have dared to break the rules on his own; he was easily swayed into mischief, especially if it meant indulging in moments with you. chan knew exactly who the true brat between the two of you was.

his eyes roamed over you and jisung, and a playful twinkle sparked in his eye, as if he noticed something.

he walked over to you both, tsking. “you two made quiet the mess, didn’t you?” he said lowly, eyes flicking from you to han, who was tugging his shirt down over his tummy for the life of him. “what? no..” you objected, straightening up. chan reached you both, pulling han’s shirt up to reveal his cum-covered stomach.

“are you sure?” he asked, a brow raised. you bit your tongue, your heart thumping. han must of came while you were sitting on his face. you looked from the mess on his stomach to look at han. han blushed, avoiding eye contact with both of you.

“clean him up,” chan said firmly, his eyes not leaving yours. “wh-what?” you stuttered, clutching the blanket to your chest. “you heard me,” he took the blanket from around your body, tossing it on the other side of the bed, before petting the back of your head. “clean him up.”

you swallowed hard, crawling back towards jisung on trembling hands and knees. both of your faces were flushed a deep shade of red, feeling exposed and caught in this intimate moment. but you trusted chan, knowing he would never make you do something you didn't want to do. and you all had established a safeword to use if things ever got too intense.

seeing chan worked up and angry only added to the heat pooling between your thighs. jisung bit his lip, watching as you leaned forward and stuck your tongue out, licking up the droplets of his release that had landed on his stomach. you took your time, savoring the taste and the sensation of your tongue against his skin.

as you bent down to clean up the mess, a hand glided over your inner thigh, causing you to shiver with anticipation. chan was teasingly prodding at your swollen pussy, gauging just how aroused you were. his touch sent sparks of pleasure through your body.

suddenly, you felt a sharp sting on your sex, causing you to yelp and jolt. "such a dirty girl, playing without me.." chan almost growled, rubbing your clit with agonizing slowness. you couldn't help but whimper quietly, peeking back at him with pleading eyes. he met your gaze, his own dark with lust and something else that made your heart race even faster. "quiet," he ordered firmly before giving your cunt another stinging slap.

you bit back a moan, squeezing your eyes shut. han squirmed, the scene in front of him daring to make him hard once again. “play with han while i play with your little cunt,” he instructed, dipping behind you on the bed. you looked up at han, who was still a shy, fidgety mess.

as you leaned forward, your heart raced at the intensity of the situation. you were hyper aware of every sound in the room—the rustle of fabric, the low hum of chan’s steady breathing behind you, and the soft, stifled noises jisung made as you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock.

jisung shuddered beneath you, his fingers gripping the sheets tightly as he tried to keep still. his lips parted as a quiet whimper escaped, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at the reaction you drew from him.

behind you, chan’s hands gripped your hips firmly, pulling you closer to him as his other hand explored the wetness between your thighs. his touch was calculated, purposeful, and every slow stroke sent sparks shooting through your body.

“look at you,” chan murmured, his voice dripping with dominance. “so eager to please now that you’ve been caught. where was all this obedience earlier?”

you moaned softly against jisung, the vibrations making him squirm under your touch. chan’s hand gripped your hair, tugging your head up slightly to make you pause. “i asked you a question,” he said, his tone sharper now.

“s-sorry, channie,” you stammered, your voice breathless.

“sorry isn’t going to cut it,” he said, letting go of your hair and giving your ass a sharp slap that made you yelp. “you’re going to show me you’re sorry.”

he spread you open further, his fingers sliding into you effortlessly as he worked you with precision. you gasped, struggling to focus on jisung, whose flushed face and trembling hands showed he was on the verge of losing himself.

“eyes on him,” chan ordered, his fingers curling inside you just right. “he’s your responsibility now. make him feel good while i remind you who you belong to.”

you nodded quickly, returning your attention to jisung as your hand wrapped around his base, your lips sliding down his length with practiced ease. he whined, his cock becoming fully hard now due to your ministrations. he bucked his hips slightly, unable to control his reactions, his shy demeanor melting away as pleasure overtook him.

chan’s rhythm behind you was relentless, his free hand gripping your waist tightly to hold you in place. he leaned forward, his breath warm against your skin. “that’s it,” he purred, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “such a good little whore, aren’t you?”

your body was alight with sensation, torn between the overwhelming pleasure chan was giving you and the thrill of hearing jisung’s soft, broken cries as he teetered on the edge.

the room was suffused with heat, every motion and sound building the intensity between the three of you. jisung's broken whimpers filled the air as he trembled beneath you, his body straining against the pleasure you were giving him.

behind you, you heard the clinking of metal and the shuffle of fabric, you could only assume he was freeing himself from his pants. chan’s grip on your hips tightened, and you could feel the heat of his body pressing closer to yours.

you gasped softly, feeling his cock brush against your slick lips, and he ground himself against them, lubricating himself. before you could respond, chan leaned over you, his breath warm against your back as his fingers dug into your waist. “keep your focus on hannie, baby.” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

you nodded obediently, your lips wrapping around jisung’s cock again, savoring the way he moaned your name in soft, desperate breaths. his hips bucked slightly, and you held him steady, your hand stroking him in tandem with your mouth.

chan shifted behind you as he guided himself to your entrance. the blunt, thick head of his cock pressed against your soaked folds, and you tensed in anticipation, your body already aching to feel him fill you.

“relax,” chan whispered, his hand stroking your back in a fleeting moment of gentleness. then, with one smooth thrust, he entered you, filling you completely. a sharp cry escaped your lips, muffled around jisung as the sudden fullness sent a wave of pleasure crashing through you.

chan groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping your hips as he stilled for a moment, letting you adjust to the stretch. “you’re squeezing me, baby,” he rasped, his voice rough with need. “mm.. f-fuck.”

you whimpered against jisung, your body trembling as chan began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, each one drawing a broken moan from your lips. jisung was a writhing mess beneath you, his hands clutching at the sheets as his own pleasure built.

“don’t stop,” chan growled, his pace quickening, his voice sending a thrill through you. “make him come for me. show him how good you are.”

driven by his command, you redoubled your efforts on jisung, your lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to bring him closer to the edge. the sounds of his moans and chan’s deep, guttural groans blended into a symphony of raw, unrestrained desire.

every thrust from chan sent you spiraling further into bliss, your body caught between the overwhelming pleasure of being filled by him and the intoxicating power of watching jisung fall apart under your touch.

“such a perfect little thing,” chan murmured, his voice strained as his movements grew rougher. jisung sat up, little whimpers leaving his lips as he neared release. he propped himself up on his elbow with one arm, the other hand leaving the sheets to grip your hair. “a-ah, g-gonna cum,” he whined, his brows knitting together.

chan leaned forward, pushing your head slightly. “take all of him, or i pull out right now,” he ordered, his voice low and intimidating. you whimpered in response, but you obeyed, leaning down and deepthroating jisung.

his eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell back against the bed once again, both hands gripping your hair as he thrusted up into your throat. “c-coming!” he cried, holding your head down, your nose touching his base as he erupted in your throat. chan’s pace was unrelenting, he kept ramming into you as you throated han.

you gagged and coughed, your eyes watering as you looked up at jisung. chan growled, slapping your ass harshly, making the sound almost echo in the room. he dug his nails into your stinging skin, making you yelp around jisung’s overstimulated cock. “swallow it all..” chan demanded, his voice hoarse.

you obeyed and swallowed all you could, then licked any remainders off han’s length. han panted, nearly boneless underneath you and chan, his eyes glazed over.

chan pulled out momentarily, his hands still on your hips. “sung, come here.” he said firmly as han tucked himself back into his sweatpants shyly. chan whispered in han’s ear for a few seconds, before turning his attention back to you as han left the room. he helped flip you onto your back, using his hands to part your pretty thighs.

“there’s my dirty little girl,” he ran his hands up your sides, before groping and kneading your tits. “sungie’s getting you a surprise,” he grinned, squeezing your mounds roughly. your heart raced in anticipation, and as if on cue, han returned, a wand vibrator in hand.

you whined, knowing what was coming. “no, channie, please, i-”

chan interrupted you with a sharp slap to your cunt, making you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure. “you don’t get a say.” he growled, gripping your thighs and tugging you closer to him. “you lost that when you decided to be a bad girl and play without me.” you whimpered, biting your lip as he caught his dick with his thumb and pushed it back inside you.

jisung looked down at you with a sympathetic look as he sat next to you on the bed. he felt bad that you were getting the punishment, even though technically you did start it. chan’s strokes were slow, deliberate, and teasing. his strong, veiny hands pushed your thighs down against your torso, practically folding you in half.

“do it, han.” chan said, making sure to give han access to between your legs. han turned on the massager, putting it on the highest setting. he dragged it against your pubic bone before pressing it to your clit right away. you cried out, whimpering. your cunt fluttered around chan, earning a quiet groan of satisfaction from him.

chan leaned back, giving han room to press it firmer against your skin. you clawed at the bedding under you, your thighs shaking violently. “n-no, too much!” you gasped, looking up at chan with pleading eyes. he just smirked, speeding up his pace, short pants and breathless moans occasionally leaving his lips. “you say no,” he started, he fingertips digging into your inner thighs. “but your little cunt is saying the opposite, babygirl. gripping me so good, fuck,”

han pressed the vibrator firmer on your clit, making you squirm and cry out. your legs couldn’t stop shaking, and you were sure you were starting to see stars.

your body trembled as the relentless sensations built, overwhelming you completely. the combination of chan’s unyielding thrusts and the intense vibrations against your clit sent you hurtling over the edge. a choked scream tore from your lips as your orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping and clutching desperately at the sheets.

your walls clenched tightly around chan, drawing a low, guttural moan from him as he fought to maintain control. “that’s it, good girl,” he growled, his pace never faltering. “come for me—show me how much you can take.”

but even as your body spasmed and your release soaked his cock, neither of them stopped. the vibrator pressed insistently against your oversensitive clit, and chan’s movements only seemed to grow rougher, pushing you past the threshold of pleasure into the realm of overstimulation.

“p-please, channie,” you whimpered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as your body writhed beneath them. “i can’t—it’s too much!”

chan’s eyes darkened with lust as he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “you can, and you will,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dominance. “i’ll decide when you’ve had enough.”

han, emboldened by chan’s control, kept the vibrator pressed firmly to your swollen clit, his own breath hitching as he watched your every reaction. “she looks so pretty like this,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushed with heat.

chan smirked, his hand trailing up your trembling thigh to grip your waist. “she loves it,” he said, his tone firm and confident. “don’t you, baby? you love being pushed past your limits.”

a strangled moan escaped your lips as another wave of pleasure threatened to crest, your overstimulated body betraying you. your hips bucked uncontrollably, chasing the sensations even as they overwhelmed you.

“look at her,” chan continued, his voice laced with pride as he pistoned in and out of you. “she’s taking it so well—my perfect little slut.”

the praise sent shivers down your spine, and before you could protest again, the coil in your tummy snapped once more, a second orgasm crashing into you with devastating force. your cries filled the room as your body convulsed, tears streaming down your cheeks.

still, chan didn��t stop, his cock driving into you with relentless precision, and the vibrator continued to torment your overstimulated clit. the intensity was unbearable, your mind teetering on the edge of blissful oblivion.

“that’s it, sweetheart,” chan murmured, his tone softening just enough to make you feel both cared for and completely under his control. “you can take it. i know you can.”

your body was trembling uncontrollably, every nerve alight with sensation as chan and han worked you mercilessly. the overwhelming combination of chan's deep, unrelenting thrusts and the vibrator against your throbbing clit had you sobbing with pleasure. you had lost track of how many times you’d come, your body wrung out and still teetering on the edge of another release.

“p-please,” you sobbed, your voice cracking with desperation. “it’s too much… i can’t—”

“can’t?” chan repeated mockingly, his smirk dark and unyielding. he leaned down, capturing your tear-streaked face with his intense gaze. “you’ve been saying that for a while now, sweetheart, but look at you.” he punctuated his words with a sharp thrust that made your back arch and another broken cry spill from your lips. “you’re still taking it so well. you were made for this.”

“come on, baby,” chan said, his voice low and laced with hunger. his thrusts grew rougher, each one pushing you closer to the breaking point.

your body arched off the bed as the pressure in your core became unbearable. your moans turned into cries, your legs trembling uncontrollably as another orgasm ripped through you. but even as you came, chan didn’t stop. the overstimulation sent shockwaves through your entire body, making you sob as the vibrator continued to torment your oversensitive clit.

“channie, i—” you tried to form words, but they dissolved into a choked scream as the pressure in your core shifted. the sensation was overwhelming, a heat spreading through you as your body teetered on the brink of something even more intense.

“let go,” chan growled, his pace unrelenting. “come on, sweetheart, one more big one. that’s it.”

han’s expression was full of anticipation as he watched you, his hand caressing the inside of your thigh.

before he could say something, the dam broke. a gush of liquid escaped you, soaking chan’s thighs and the sheets beneath you as your body convulsed in release. a strangled moan tore from your lips as you completely unraveled, your mind blank and your body overwhelmed by the force of your climax.

“fuck, that’s it,” chan groaned, his hips stuttering as he watched you squirt, his grip on your thighs firm but steadying. “that’s my good girl.”

“are you okay, jagi?” han asked, his voice filled with awe and concern. he reached out hesitantly, running his fingers gently along your trembling thighs. as chan slowed down, giving you time to recuperate.

you gave him a slow, tiny nod as you lay there, utterly spent, your chest heaving as your body twitched from the aftershocks. chan resumed, gradually speeding back up and giving you the option to tap out if need be.

chan's thrusts resumed at a steady rhythm, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched your every reaction. his grip on your thighs was firm but gentle, ensuring you stayed grounded even as the intensity built once more. your body trembled under him, every nerve still raw and sensitive, but the way he looked at you—equal parts adoration and desire—kept you anchored.

“just a little more, sweetheart,” chan murmured, his voice low and soothing. “you can take it. almost done.”

han stayed close by, his hand still stroking your thigh in comforting circles, his expression soft with concern and admiration. “you’re doing so well, jagiya,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

the pace of chan’s hips quickened as his breathing became heavier. his hands slid up to hold your hips, pulling you closer with each thrust. you whimpered softly, your body instinctively responding despite the overwhelming sensations coursing through you.

“i’m close,” chan groaned, his voice strained. he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “just stay with me, baby. almost there.”

with a few more deep, powerful thrusts, chan buried himself fully inside you, a guttural moan escaping his lips as he reached his peak. his hips stilled as he released, warmth spreading through you as he held you close, his face buried in the crook of your neck. he littered soft kisses on your jawline and cheeks, then ending them on your lips.

for a moment, the room was quiet except for the sound of your combined heavy breathing. chan stayed still, letting you both come down from the intensity. then he carefully pulled out, making sure not to cause you any discomfort. han immediately went to go get a warm, damp towel, then he returned, gently pressing it against your thighs and stomach to clean you up.

chan helped you change into something comfortable, and han changed the bedding for you since you ended up making a mess of them just moments prior.

“you did so well,” chan murmured as you both lay back down, his tone full of pride and affection. he helped you shift into a more comfortable position, pulling the covers over your trembling body. “so proud of you, baby.”

han slid into the bed with you, his fingers brushing your hair back as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your temple. “you were amazing,” he said softly. “so beautiful.”

the two of them worked together seamlessly, their movements tender as they made sure you were warm and comfortable. chan lifted you gently into his arms, cradling you against his chest as han brought you a glass of water and held it to your lips.

“drink, baby,” han coaxed, his voice sweet and soothing. “you need to stay hydrated.”

you sipped the water gratefully, your body still trembling slightly as the aftereffects of everything began to fade. chan stroked your back in slow, calming motions, his lips brushing against your forehead as he whispered words of reassurance.

“you’re safe,” he murmured. “we’ve got you. always.”

the three of you settled into the bed together, chan holding you close while han cuddled up on your other side, his fingers intertwined with yours. the warmth of their bodies and the gentle rhythm of their breathing lulled you into a peaceful state, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you drifted off, feeling cherished and loved.

tags: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek @babigriin

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