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lambilegs · 8 days

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Lee who takes care of you after she comes home really late from work one night after unexpectedly being asked to stay longer and you’re just absolutely beside yourself because you have anxietyTM and were convinced something terrible had happened when she wasn’t home when she said she would be and wasn’t answering her phone

lee comforting you after she unexpectedly returns late one night (angst + hurt/comfort)

awe :(( this is so sweet and angsty I'm in love (tysm for the request!! I loveee angst and hurt/comfort, so this was so tender to write :''))

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ✩₊˚🧸.⋆☾⋆⁺₊💤✧

when lee enters the elevator in the bureau, bidding a farewell to agent carter, she immediately sags against the wall, her legs nearly aching. she hasn't had such a packed, tight-scheduled day like this in a while. she got in, and immediately, was flooded with photographic evidence and documents that she had to spend hours pouring over and making notes of. she took a short, twenty minute lunch break, which consisted of making coffee, calling you and eating a quick granola bar. after visiting the library and spending hours on even more research, carter then asked her to stay back to visit one of the victims' homes with him. of course, she wanted, and needed, to say yes, curiosity burning in her to discover more about the recently deceased man and provide answers for his family.

but, she's now weary to the bone. the urge to yawn keeps swimming up her throat, mouth wet with the drool from it and eyelids heavy. she forces herself to remain upright, walking cautiously through the parking lot, eyes scanning around. upon entering her car, she leans her forehead on the wheel, sucking in a deep breath, trying to shake herself out of the exhaustion so she can focus on the drive home. after squeezing her eyes open and shut, she finally starts on her way home to you.

upon entering her cottage, an unsettling feeling washes over her. she checks her watch -- it's late, sure, but you're usually up at this time, doing some work of your own or on the couch, watching television. but, her home was eerily silent. she quietly locks the door, slipping her shoes off and neatly placing them on the rack, before venturing further.

she calls out for you, her chest beginning to tickle with nerves when you don't answer. she silently makes her way to her bedroom, door creaking as she pushes it open. "babe?"

her breath hitches when she sees the state of you. you're curled into her blankets, eyes teary, mouth tight with anger. when she steps in, you practically glare at her, and the sharpness of your stare is enough to have her freezing in place. "what is it?" she asks, voice hushed, the teeth of worry beginning to sink into her gut and sending her muscles contracting.

you sniffle, mouth quivering, and she feels herself frown. god, you look so distressed, and at once, both betrayed and immensely sad. the complications of such an expression has her unnerved, and she tenses up, waiting for your answer.

"do you remember what time you said you'd be home, lee?"

immediately, it clicks, the memory of her call with you making its trail through her brain. in the footsteps, she remembers her words, promising to be home by 7:30PM. when she had just checked her watch, it was 10:28PM.

her eyes shift to the ground, shame coursing through her at the broken promise, fingers thrumming on her thigh as she tries to formulate a response -- anything, really, it just had to be the right response. you deserve that much. "I... I'm sorry. carter asked me to stay back, and I couldn't say no."

"well, did he also ask you to not call me?" you ask sarcastically, your words containing a bite that she isn't accustomed to receiving from you.

"no, he didn't," she answers truthfully, though part of her suspects your question was rhetorical. "that was my fault. it slipped my mind, that I had promised to be home early, that I should've called you." her voice lowers, thick with shame at her own irresponsibility. "I'm sorry."

your face softens, eyes drinking up the way she avoids your gaze, the way her voice sounds so small, losing the natural straightforwardness it usually possesses, and the movements of her hands clumsy, folding in on themselves. "I was just so worried, lee. you said that this guy you've been investigating has a violent history, and has made threats to the FBI. and I..." you breathe in shakily, fresh tears beginning to well in your eyes. "I was terrified something had happened. I tried to reassure myself, but I couldn't do it. everything in my head was panicked and was moving a mile a minute. all the possibilities of what could've happened to you felt even worse than just saying them out loud. and, and you didn't pick up."

she nods quietly to your words, wanting you to have the space to express what her actions caused. she knew you dealt with anxiety, and was well-aware of how her being an agent could impact that. yet, still, she managed to screw up. what is wrong with her? guilt latches onto her gut and tightens its grip, and she feels her fingers, slippery and clumsy, continuing to fiddle. "I understand. I'm really sorry, baby. I promise, it won't happen again." when she looks up at you, your lips part at the sight of her eyes sheen with tears, eyebrows scrunched together in determination. "it won't happen again. I'm sorry it did, though. I know the circumstances, and it was messed up for me to forget to call you again. and I'm just -- I'm sorry." she feels a tear slip down her cheek, and her hand flinches to wipe it away before deciding against it, not wanting to draw attention to it in case you missed the sight of it in the dim lighting. "I've just been so caught up in work, and this case, and just got lost in it today. and I was so tired, and carter asking me to help him was just so rushed that I didn't get to even think, and..." she falters, realizing she's rambling, trying desperately to explain herself and make this up to you. but, she knows no amount of excuses will ease your hurt. only her promise to do better will. "I'm sorry."

she swallows down the urge to cry, wanting to remain focused on you. but, you're quiet for so long, and the silence of the room causes anxiety to unfurl in her, the sudden feeling making her shift.

finally, in her peripheral vision, she sees you move, and tentatively looks up to find you sitting up in the bed, arms stretched out.

relief flushes through her, as welcome a feeling as a gust of wind on a humid summer day. she immediately walks towards you, sitting down on the edge of the bed and burying her face in your neck, arms clinging to you, desperate to feel your touch, your forgiveness. "baby, I..." her words catch on a broken breath, the urge to cry choking at her.

"I know," you whisper, hands combing through her hair. "I was just so scared. I tried to call, but you didn't pick up."

"I'm sorry," she says, voice muffled against your skin. "I was out with carter, but I should've told you." her arms tighten around you, and through that motion, you feel the guilt whirling inside her, the love threatening to spill from her lips.

"yeah, you should've," you say, pausing as a small sob bubbles up in your throat, tears beginning to leak as you remember the anxiety that had plagued you just minutes ago.

she hears it, immediately pulling away to watch you, mouth clamping shut, worry creasing her temple, as you start crying again. for a moment, she just watches you, devastation gnawing at her from seeing how pained you are. she should've done better, she knows that now, but the guilt is ceaseless. she never wants to cause you such worry, such hurt.

her arms wrap around your waist, long fingers drawing gentle circles into your back, as you weep into her chest, soaking through her dress shirt. she silently lets some of her own tears fall, paying no mind to them as she strokes your hair and quietly listens to your broken words and croaking hiccups, murmuring apologies into your hair, which still smells fresh from your shower.

"I-I'm sorry, too, for snapping," you gasp out through your sobs. "I was just scared and anxious, and it made me antsy and upset with you, but I know it was an accident. I shouldn't have snapped, I'm sorry."

something inside her softens at your apology, the earnestness of your words enough to comfort her. you taking a harsh tone with her always feels unfamiliar and unsettling, and to hear you take it back helps her more than she'd like to admit.

after you calm down, the hiccups slowly beginning to subside, she combs your hair back from your sweaty forehead and damp cheeks. her eyes, wide and earnest, explore yours and you nearly shrink under the intensity of the gaze. the feeling is moulded into a sweet longing when she presses her lips to your cheeks, softly kissing away your hot tears. "what can I do?" she whispers against your skin, her touch so light and delicate.

you shrug, voice still raspy from your cries. "just, stay with me. and, I don't know, can we hang out?"

her eyebrows draw together, face firm as she gives you a hard nod. "of course. I want to." she pauses, eyes glancing to your lap as she swallows. "you know that, right? I want to be here with you."

you nod, not trusting your voice. everyday, she eagerly greets you upon her arrival at home, and even on days when she's weary and drained, her head immediately lays in your lap, face nuzzling into your thigh. you know she wants time with you. despite her quietness, her actions show that. the way she almost always keeps her promises as to when she'll return, her consistent calls when at work, your long talks before bed. you know it.

she holds you for the rest of the night, turning on one of your comfort shows when you admit still feeling uneasy in spite of her return home. she makes each of you a cup of tea, bringing it to bed, and carefully placing it in your hands. she rubs your back, whispering gently, "I'm here, I'm home," (the words ease her as much as they do you, the comfort and safety of having someone to return home to making her overcome with emotion and gratitude) pressing kisses to your brow. but, she doesn't rush you, she never does. she just stays near you, ready to wait however long needed, so long as it meant you could breathe easily.

when you both fall asleep that night, you immediately sink into a slumber, the exhaustion of the anxious night wearing you down. she watches you for a while, brushing her knuckles against your cheek, a protective urge surging through her to stay up in case you woke up, for she knows how difficult it can be for you to rest easy on such nights. but, as her eyes get heavy, she curls closer to you, her knees lifting in her usual fetal position of sleeping. your hand lays next to yours, and she cups them, quietly kissing your fingertips. when your eyes briefly flutter open, heavy-lidded and bleary, she smiles, her stomach feeling like it will burst at the sight. "wake me if you need anything, okay?"

you lazily grin, nodding into the pillow. "okay."

she pauses, eyes searching yours. "I love you, okay?"

"I love you too, lee."

with the quiet confession whispered and lost into the night, you both sleep, minds, at least momentarily, at ease from the assurance.

#scheduled #I love angst and hurt/comfort omg you guys could totallyyyy request more if you want hehe #me “hehe”-ing after writing something so emotional LMFAO #s.writing #lee harker x reader #lee harker #lee harker fanfiction #longlegs fanfiction #longlegs 2024 #longlegs #request

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nxtt2-u · 2 months

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⏤ peaches and cream ࣪ ⤹

after a solo mission goes awry, bang chan finds you and patches you up. you offer him to stay the night under the guise of poor weather, but when things escalate you can’t help but admit you’ve wanted him an unhealthy amount.

꒰ bang chan + fem!reader ⏤ 6.7k words ꒱ oneshot

༄ content info & warnings !! coworkers/friends to lovers. secret agent au. nsfw ; light angst, smut, & fluff ⋆ profanity. mentions of suicide & depictions of suicide ideation. depictions of a stab wound and blood. explicit sexual content [unprotected sex ; oral (f rec.) ; multiple orgasms ; overstimulation ; squirting ; rough sex ; breeding kink ; creampie]. aftercare & cuddles.

✉️𓂃 ࣪˖ this fic contains sensitive topics; please take care of yourselves! unedited as of 8/5. first time writing proper smut so be kind 😓! i also overused commas and probably italics in this one 😭 but anyways, bonus points if anyone can guess what kdrama i reference in the story :3 enjoy!

Labored breaths fill the cramped space of your personal bathroom. You grimace at the small blade that’s firmly lodged into your side, and you plant your palms on the cold countertop to help ground yourself. Your head is throbbing with a migraine and every breath you take blossoms unbearable pain now that your adrenaline has worn off. Fuck, today did not go as planned.

You’d been abruptly called up for a solo recon mission — the higher-ups sent you to a hole-in-the-wall jazz bar with the simple task of observing your target from afar. No contact, just listen and watch. Kim Hongjoong, the leader of the mafia group ATEEZ, wasn’t supposed to know about you being there tonight. But somehow, your position was leaked and his right hand man — Seonghwa, if you remember correctly — ambushed the little booth you were seated at in the corner of the cozy establishment and tried to kill you.

He’d manage to stab the right side of your stomach, thankfully missing any major organs, before you clocked him in the face with the back of your gun and shot his chest. You unfortunately missed his heart, but it allowed you just enough time to flee the bar and scamper back to HQ. You’d rushed to the medical bay, ignoring the frazzled looks of your fellow agents as you rushed past them, but when you got to the bay you belatedly recalled all of the medics were in Venice for the infiltration mission that was going down.

Fuck, why don’t they just keep one professional doctor around? Just one would be fucking sufficient. Granted, nobody is supposed to be going in the field when this huge infiltration mission is happening, but the company should always be prepared for emergencies. This is bullshit.

You had irritably limped back to your dorm, doing your best to stifle the pained noises that threatened to slip from your lips as you rode the elevator up. Every step you took down the hallway sent excruciating sparks of pain shooting up your side and it was torture to walk what seemed so fucking far when in reality was only twelve feet at most.

When you finally made it back to your room, you immediately locked the door and slumped against it, taking a moment to regain your breath as hot tears clouded your vision. It felt like hell ever since the adrenaline worn off, but you had to stay composed in public.

Which leads you to where you are now: frowning in your uncomfortably monotone bathroom at the wound in your torso as you contemplate on how to take it out. You’re inclined to just rip it out and quickly applying pressure to quell the bleeding, but it’ll hurt like a bitch and you don’t quite trust yourself enough to follow through. What if, in your moment of weakness, misery tightens its grip on you and you decide don’t want to do this anymore, and let yourself bleed out?

It’s been years since you’ve truly contemplated suicide. Nowadays, you don’t find the urge to actively die, though if death found you again you’d certainly welcome it warmly with open arms. You aren’t compelled to make an effort to live, not really — this lifestyle is merciless on both the body and the mind, and you find your days riddled with exhaustion and anguish more often than not.

You feel alone. Alone and tormented with the pulsing pain from the stab wound, the bruising on your arms, the lack of human companionship. You miss the few friends you had before you were roped into this job, miss the bustling streets of your hometown.

You’re abruptly dragged from your internal wallowing when you hear your front door click open then shut, and the new person fiddles with the lock for a moment before that clicks too. Fuck, did you make plans for tonight with someone? You try to think back, but your mind is too clouded with weariness to properly remember.

“Who is it?” you call out, pushing off the counter to turn and crack open your bathroom door. The faint crinkling of a plastic bag reaches your ears as you use the dark wood as a shield, only peeking your head out to try and see who it is. Only a few people know the code to your quarters, and you were close with them, so you weren’t too worried.

You were more worried about flashing them with an unsolicited view of your body. The moment you’d gotten to your bathroom, you’d stripped down to just your company-regulated black undergarments in hopes of preventing more blood staining your already limited selection of clothes.

Although you’ve changed in front of your coworkers during past missions, it was purely out of necessity. You don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable off-field, even if it is your home and they’re just visitors within it. You glance down at the rumpled clothes that litter your otherwise pristine tiled flooring, and sigh. It’s gonna be a pain to scrub the bloodstains out later.

You hear footsteps trodding through your kitchen and the wrinkling of the bag comes to a stop. It’s silent for a moment before you clear your throat and call out again as you helplessly look into your living room. The angle doesn’t allow you to see much further without walking out the bathroom. “Um, hello? Who is it?”

“Oh! Sorry — it’s Chan. I was just about to call you, didn’t realize you were home,” he tacks on a nervous chuckle, and you can perfectly envision how he’s probably tugging at his earlobes with a sheepish grin as he speaks. “Did you forget we were having takeout tonight?”

You blink. Fuck, now it’s coming back you. This morning, he had called you with a smile in his voice and you both agreed on eating takeout at your place for dinner — and you were looking forward to it, truly! But then the impromptu recon mission came up, and your mind, now laced with fatigue from this afternoon’s events, completely forgot about your plans. You barely resist the urge to slam your head against the wall in self-reproach.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Chan. The higher-ups gave me a surprise solo mission today and it slipped my mind.” You quickly turn and bend to grab your clothes off the floor so you can dress and meet him in the living room, but the sudden movement enables the knife to lodge itself deeper in your stomach and a yelp tears itself from your throat against your will at the fresh wave of pain. Your knees shake as you slam a palm on the wall to stop yourself from completely crumpling right on your bathroom floor. God, how could you fucking forget?

You hear Chan’s worried voice floating through the air, but you can’t focus on it when your vision narrows to the droplets of blood pooling onto the freezing tiles below you. You wince and move to sit against the wall when you realize Chan’s gently guiding you by your shoulders, calloused hands careful over your bruises. “—you okay? Talk to me, what happened?”

You swallow, throat dry as you try to gather your wits. “Went to a bar for the mission. I had to observe Kim Hongjoong, for… intel or something, they didn’t say much. Another mafia member discovered me there and tried to take me out. He stabbed me, I fucked up his face and shot him, then came back here and went to the med bay but nobody was there. Now I’m here. Dunno how I should take it out.” Chan waits patiently for you to get the words out, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the flesh of your shoulders as he rests on both knees before you.

“Okay. It’ll be alright, just let me help you, yeah? It’s easier to have someone take care of it.”

You nod, eyes suddenly stinging as you think back to your mother cradling you against her chest when you fell as a little kid. You miss her, miss the comfort of her arms and beating heart so badly it aches more than your physical wounds. Your emotional ones are still scabbing.

Oblivious to your dismal reminiscing, Chan brings you back down to reality when he delicately lifts you from the floor and plops you down on the toilet seat, moving to grab your med kit from the counter. He kicks away your dirty clothes to make room for where he kneels before you, assessing the severity of the injury with a tight-lipped frown.

“It looks kinda deep. When I pull it out, apply as much pressure as possible and then I’ll quickly wrap it. We can clean it later; our priority is to prevent blood loss. You with me?” He taps your knee and you give a firm nod. “Yeah,” you exhale, already preparing for the pain. “Can you talk to me? Just say anything, I need a distraction.”

He smiles, though it looks the farthest thing from happy. His eyes don’t crinkle with glee the way they usually do, but he complies. “Sure. Did you know kangaroos are the most active at night? Baby kangaroos are called joeys. They can be the size of a jellybean when they’re born…” he flits about the small bathroom, gathering different things as he lists off various facts about kangaroos, and your heart squeezes a bit at how endearing he is.

You shove down the strong urge to lean up and kiss this man on his plush lips as he goes to kneel before you again with gauze in his hand, still yammering away about kangaroos. This is absolutely not the time to be thirsting over your unrequited little workplace crush.

“…they can’t hop backwards, which is so silly if you ask me. You know? Like–” you try to listen to the rest of his sentence, you really do, but everything goes a bit fuzzy around the edges when the knife is abruptly dislodged from your gut. You double over with a groan, vision momentarily blurring, but you blearily remember to apply pressure as blood spurts around your fingers and dribbles hot and gross down the lower half of your body.

Chan wastes no time in scooting closer to thoroughly wrap your waist with gauze and wipe away the spilled blood coating your skin. By the time he’s done, your breathing is labored again and deep red is already blooming a considerable amount through the fabric. Your body feels grimy from the residue of the now-erased blood, but at least you can focus on what’s happening around you now.

He sits back on his haunches and nods solemnly at his handiwork. “Great, you did so well. I know you probably feel disgusting and grimy right now, but you need to eat before anything else. I’ll grab you some clothes, wait here.”

And then he’s gone, padding out the bathroom and down the hall to your bedroom to grab you a change of clothes. You gingerly rise from your seat on the toilet lid and step over to the sink to wash your hands and splash your face. Chan returns a moment later, passing a handful of neatly folded clothes into your hands, before stepping out and shutting the door behind him.

You carefully slip into the new clothes before regarding yourself in the mirror once more. You’ve donned one of your old black shirts that drapes a bit loosely over your frame, some worn black sweatpants, and black socks to match. Of course he’d pick an all-black outfit, you think with an affectionate eye roll. He really is himself, through and through.

You fix your hair a bit then pad out of the bathroom to find Chan already seated comfortably in his usual spot on your couch, cradling a warm oyster pail of lo mein close to his chest as he stuffs his face and watches a K-drama on your TV. You settle onto the cushion beside him and rifle through the plastic bag on your coffee table to pull out your own box of lo mein and dig in.

You watch the drama together in a comfortable silence, and from what you’ve gathered of the plot so far, a K-pop fan in her 30s has gone back in time through a wristwatch to try and change the trajectory of her favorite idol’s future, and in turn, save him from his suicide of societal pressures. It’s interesting, actually — but the love triangle is driving you crazy.

“This is why I never watch romance shows!” You point indignantly at the TV, like the actors portraying the high school characters could hear you if you projected your voice loud enough. Chan observes you with an amused smile playing at his lips, though he says nothing as you launch into a heated rant about the dynamics of love triangles and how the second lead was always a good guy but left for the wolves. You even get up to pace and rub your temple, ignoring the stitch in your side as you walk back and forth behind the couch.

Chan ignores the drama in favor of twisting his body to lean back and watch you stress over this silly little show. You cut yourself off before your rambling goes on all night, and rub the bridge of your nose with a deep sigh. “I’ll be back,” you murmur, stomping off to the kitchen to grab something for dessert.

You slink back onto the couch a few minutes later with a half-empty tub of peach-flavored ice cream. You hand Chan a spoon and he quirks a brow at the flavor as you place the tub between the two of you. He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it with a playful head shake. “A friend got me this, I didn’t pick it.” He just giggles in response and you both take turns scooping bites as you both refocus on the show.

You’re not sure how much time passes when you see Chan lick his spoon clean and set it on the coffee table, leaning back into the cushions after and yawning. You blink and turn to look at the time on your stove: 12 a.m?!

“Hey, Chan, when did you come over?” You inquire, capping the tub of ice cream and licking your spoon clean as well. You rise off the couch and pad back into the kitchen to put it away again — really, how was there still ice cream left? These tubs seem like they last forever…

“Hm? Oh, like… around seven, I think? Why?” His voice rumbles through the air, nearly getting drowned out by the drama still playing. “It’s late. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you for so long,” you sigh, cocking your hip and resting it against the counter of your kitchen island as you stare at the back of his curls.

He whips around, and his expression looks so adorably bewildered you want to bite the apples of his cheeks and crush him in a warm embrace. “What? No, I enjoy being here! Don’t apologize,” he scoffs, looking mildly offended at the prospect of you thinking he didn’t enjoy one second of his time with you. “I stayed because I wanted to. Besides, you’re injured and nobody likes to be alone after bad missions.” You snort at his eagerness and opt to grab your phone off the kitchen table in lieu of replying, pulling open the weather app.

“Oh,” you frown at the screen. “It’s raining right now? Hold on, pause the show.”

His head tips a bit in question but heeds your request regardless. Sure enough, the telltale pitter-patter of rain can be heard when a gust of wind blows and slams the droplets against the side of your building, hard. Well damn, how did you not notice the torrential downpour outside?

You bite your lower lip, contemplating. Neither of you have an umbrella on hand and cab services certainly aren’t running at this hour, especially in such bad weather conditions. “It’s raining hard, dude. I don’t want you to walk back to your district in the rain — you’ll get sick. Are you alright with spending the night?”

A hesitant smile tugs at Chan’s lip and one of his large palms move to awkwardly rub at the back of his neck. “Of course, but only if it’s fine with you. I don’t want to impose, and I’ll be alright if I have to brave some rain,” he says, already rising from the couch to meet you in the kitchen.

You shake your head, moving to grab the remote from the couch and turn off the TV. “Don’t be stupid. It’s no problem: I wouldn’t make you leave, especially after you helped me earlier.”

He hums in quiet agreement and you suddenly feel a wave of exhaustion crash over your mind. You yawn, rubbing your eyes as they start to burn with sleepiness. “I don’t have a spare room. You good with sharing a bed? I won’t try anything, promise.”

He blinks. “Oh, I can just take the couch.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. This man always has to be so damn respectful. “No, your neck will be fucked up in the morning. You can’t fit comfortably on it, dumbass. Just sleep with me it’ll be fi— wait, not like that.”

Chan giggles at you but gives in and you wander down the hallway with him on your heels. You flick on the light of your bedroom and pause near your bed, eyeing him up and down. “No outside clothes on the bed. You want something to wear? I can’t stand denim on my sheets.”

Without waiting for a response, you slide over to your dresser and rifle for something large enough to comfortably fit your friend. He’s awkwardly glancing around your room when you turn back with fresh clothes in hand, and you bite back a giggle at how he dazedly admires the little trinkets you’ve collected over the years.

“Sweatpants and a shirt are gonna have to work, sorry.”

He takes it from your hands carefully and shakes his head. “Thank you, you really didn’t have to do this—”

“God, just shut up and go get changed.”

He obligingly heads out to the bathroom and in his absence you also change into gray sleep shorts and a black tank, foregoing your bra because you always find it horribly difficult to sleep with it on. You just have to pray Chan doesn’t notice and get uncomfortable with you.

You slink onto your bed, crawling over the duvet to wiggle under the covers. Your bed is placed before the center of your wall, so you choose to lay on the left side of your bed. This will allow you to keep your back to him and not jostle your wound, which is on the right side of your body.

You’re tucked under the covers, lying on your back and mindlessly scrolling through your Instagram feed, when Chan steps through the door, old clothes in hand.

You look up and nearly start drooling. He looks so unbelievably good in your clothes that your eye threatens to twitch. The gray sweatpants you lent fit him perfectly, deliciously outlining his print and giving you an even better view of his ass. You discover just how wonderfully the fabric stretches over the curve of his absolute dumptruck when he turns to set his clothes on an empty portion of your desk, patting it twice in a reassuring way.

And don’t even get you started on the way your ratty black shirt is a bit tight on his upper body, gloriously framing his pecs and huge biceps. It’s definitely going to be stretched out by the time he’s done with it. You hope your gulp isn’t too audible in the quiet of your room.

He doesn’t seem to notice your inner horny turmoil when he flips off the light in silence, tugs off his socks and adds it to the pile, then moves to slip under the covers beside you. His movements are definitely a bit tentative, almost like he doesn’t want you two to brush skin, but you don’t mind.

The rain is still relentless in its assault against your building: there is absolutely no chance it’ll clear up enough before morning for him to safely get back to his quarters. You turn off your phone and plug it up to your charger, setting it on your nightstand with an alarm hopefully set for tomorrow morning. If it isn’t, then that’s a problem for your future-self.

When Chan finally finishes settling a moment after you and the room is overall dark — save for your little standing lamp in the corner that casts a cozy dim glow over the space — you realize just how much warmth Chan radiates.

Your bed isn’t even small: it’s a queen. There’s a comfortable amount of space between the two of you, a silent agreement to stay as far apart as your situation allows, yet he’s still so warm beside you. The covers quickly become toasty with combined body heat and you flip onto your side, back towards Chan, as you tug your arms out from under your comforter in an attempt to dispel the warmth and cool yourself down.

You hear the light shuffling of fabric behind you and assume Chan does the same. You start to wonder if maybe you are the one overstepping in this situation, as he kind of did seem uncomfortable when you kept insisting it’s okay for him to be here, for him to share a bed with you.

Your brain is about to start overthinking when you feel the gentle lull of sleep calling your name, tugging your weary mind down into the comfortable nothingness labeled as rest. Before you even realize it, you’re out like a light and breathing steadily into the mellow embrace of your bed as your mind carefully coaxes you into your dreams.

⟢

When you wake, the first thing you register is the searing heat.

Your body is absolutely boiling with warmth. Which you find odd, because your room usually stays cold and you hate the heat.

You’ve never been one to favor summertime over the winter: you always welcome the crisp wind of winter with a grin behind your scarf, hands tucked happily into your pockets as you cherish the cold. The stench of other people becomes less apparent during the wintertime. Bugs crawl back to their origins in Hell to hide from the frigid temperatures. It’s so pleasant.

Whereas during summer, you always end up glaring bitterly at the squiggly heatwaves that seem to taunt you from afar. Beads of sweat run down your face every time you dare to step outside and mosquitos ravish your exposed limbs, leaving you an itchy mess when you finally retreat back to the cover of a building. Your occupation doesn’t allow much time off, either, so you rarely find a day to visit the beach or relax at a pool. Who would enjoy such a torturous season?

You blearily crack your eyes open and lift your head, trying to discern with fuzzy vision the cause of your absurd body temperature. That’s when you register your covers are kicked down to the crease of your knees, and another body is pressed intimately against yours from behind. A solid arm is strewn over your hip and, to your horror, something of notable size and firmness is also pressing into your backside. You bite your lip to stifle a gasp as you come to the very evident conclusion Chan is spooning you from behind. While sporting a boner. Fuck.

Instead of slamming your head back down on your pillow at the shock of this predicament, you delicately lower your cheek against it and resist the urge to scream as to not wake the man behind you. His hips are comfortably cradling your ass, and you gulp. It’s fine, this is so fine! People move around in their sleep. Boners are just a normal bodily function. Happens to the best of us, even. If you just ignore it and go back to sleep, you can wake up in the morning and pretend it never even happened. All will be swell.

But of course, just as you’re about to close your eyes and try to drift off again, the hand tightens its grip around your waist ever so slightly and kneads once at the soft flesh of your hip. The universe sure does hate you and loves to see you suffer, huh.

Chan mumbles something sleepily against the dip between your shoulder blades before his hips softly grind into your rear once. A whimper spills out your lips against your will and the body plastered against your back suddenly goes stiff as a board. Your eyes snap open and your joints instinctively lock up in response, too.

There’s a beat of silence, sans the sound of your quiet shared breaths puffing in and out, before Chan swiftly detaches himself and rolls back to his side of the bed with a pained groan. “Fuck— I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

He sits up, still stuttering out an apology as he moves to swing his legs over the side of your bed. You spring up from your spot with so much fervency you half expect your spine to pop. Without a second thought, you grab his bicep and squeeze, urging him to turn back to you. His head whips around and he ogles you with wide eyes when he hears you mumble something he never once expected to hear. You miss his shocked expression as your eyes are downturned to study the sheets. Wow, were they always this shade of white? How pretty.

“Say that again,” he murmurs, somehow sounding breathless though he hasn’t moved an inch from his spot on the edge of your mattress as far as you can tell. You don’t know if it’s the sleepy haze blanketing your brain that gives you the confidence to repeat yourself, but if this is your only chance to get with the man of your dreams then you’re going to fucking take it, heedless of the possible humiliation and consequences this could cause.

You swallow, still refusing to meet his eyes. Your hand releases its deathgrip on his arm, dropping down to play with your sheets. You clear your throat, somehow managing to say the sentence that would make or break your relationship with Chan again in a stable voice. “I said, can I kiss you?”

It’s like something snaps between the two of you. He tugs your body toward his with a groan, wasting no time in crashing his plump lips against yours. You gasp and he bites down on your bottom lip, and you begin to kiss back with equal, if not more, passion. He gently guides you to lay back so your head is situated comfortably on your pillow, mindful of your fresh injury as he does, and you practically turn into putty in his hands as you let him move you like second nature.

He pulls away from your mouth, a string of spit connecting the two of you as you both pant and stare at each other. His pupils are blown, and a glance down confirms your suspicions that he’s still rock hard beneath his sweats. If Chan feels big against you when he’s just half hard, then you’re honestly a bit concerned for your pussy when you think about the full package. You drag your eyes back to his face when you realize you’re staring, only to be met with a cocky smirk and a knowing glint in his dark eyes. “You like the view, baby?”

A heat different from the physical kind sparks in the pit of your stomach, and the casual utterance of the pet name quickly kindles the sparks into a low flame. Your cunt begins to pulse with its own heartbeat and you nod eagerly. He chuckles and leans back down to pepper kisses beneath your ear, your jaw, any sliver of skin he can reach. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he mumbles into the divots of your collarbone. “Wanted you.”

Chan punctuates his words with a light nip to your trapezius and you squeak. He shifts his weight onto one arm and lifts a hand to toy with the strap of your tank top, knobby fingers absently plucking at the thin band while he hungrily eyes your expression instead. “Can I take this off? Wanna see all of you.”

You hesitate, a wave of insecurity washing over you at the idea you may not be pretty enough for him, but you quell the negative voice in your head and just pray he’ll appreciate your body. You nod wordlessly, lifting your arms enough for him to tug it over your head and toss it aside.

He sits back, tongue poking at his cheek as he stares at your chest, ears reddening into a pretty shade. You feel embarrassment flush through your skin and move to cover yourself, but he immediately grabs your wrists and pins them above your head. Your cunt flutters around nothing and you feel a drop of wetness pool in your panties. Oh God, how are you going to survive this?

“Don’t hide,” Chan murmurs, voice an octave lower than his usual timbre. He leans down to graze his teeth against a nipple and you jump, arching your chest up with a gasp as you writhe slightly in his hold. “You’re so beautiful, fuck, I can’t believe I get to have this.”

All that falls from your lips are whines when he takes a sensitive bud into his mouth, alternating between suckling and swirling his tongue. He pops off after a moment to give the other side the same attention, his hands tugging at the nipple that’s freshly exposed to the cool air of your room.

He suckles a mark onto the soft skin above your nipple and pulls away to loom over you with heated eyes. You shy away from his gaze and instead tug at the hem of his shirt. “Off, get it off. Not fair how I’m the only one undressed,” you pout.

He chuckles and quickly pulls it over his head before sending it flying across your room. You absently run a hand over his defined abs, a wave of arousal washing over you so roughly that your eyes threaten to roll. “Pants,” you rasp out, almost nonsensically, but he seems to understand.

You both share a moment tugging off the last of your clothes before you’re on each other again like moths to a flame. His hands are careful when they roam your torso, wary of your wound, but his fingers quickly turn merciless again when they find the heat of your core. You cry out when he begins to circle your swollen clit, hole fluttering as it weeps for his attention.

His fingers momentarily dip lower and he groans at the copious amount of slick that greets him. Your cunt makes a lewd squelch when he dips a testing finger inside and you moan as it ventures deeper. “You’re so wet, baby, shit.”

“All for you,” you whine out, twitching with a gasp as he crooks his finger at a certain angle. He grins as he massages that gooey spot deep inside you, looking overly content as he turns you into a babbling mess beneath him.

“Yeah, baby, this cunt’s mine.”

Almost as if proving a point, he leans down a bit to let a fat glob of spit roll off his tongue and land on your clit. Your fingers shoot out to thread through his hair when he promptly leans down and latches his mouth to your pussy, slurping obscenely as he works his tongue over your most sensitive area. He mumbles sloppily into your folds, eyes half-lidded. “God, you taste divine. C’ld stay here and eat this pussy forever…”

He draws two orgasms from you like that, wrenching your thighs back open when they clamp around his head from the first orgasm. He pulls back momentarily to give you a breather, leaning up to kiss you filthily. You moan at the taste of yourself, but just as you reach down to grab his cock he’s already between your legs again and resuming his ministrations.

You kick out at how oversensitive you are, pawing desperately at his forehead to try and halfheartedly push him away. The pain hurts so deliciously good — you don’t want this moment to end.

“‘S too much, Ch’nnie!” You realize tears are streaming down your face when your cunt eagerly clenches around the digits he’s stuffed inside you, thighs quivering on either side of his head, but he knows not to stop despite your broken pleas.

He pulls you over the edge again with swift, hungry licks to your clit and two fingers prodding at your gummy walls, groaning into your dripping heat. Your second orgasm doesn’t simmer in your stomach the way the other did: this time it takes you by surprise and makes you genuinely wail.

Even Chan’s firm grip on your thighs can’t stop the way they cage his head in and squeeze while you cry out, hips bucking off the bed and eyes squeezing shut as you yank on his scalp. Your orgasm seems to last forever, sending you floating in a warm space while stars blooming in the dark of your eyelids. You eventually come down from the high, unlike anything you’ve felt before, with watery eyes and shaky limbs when you realize the absolute that’s mess between your legs and the puddle drenching your sheets. It isn’t rocket science to piece the two together.

Fuck, you just squirted on his face.

You throw an arm over your face in belated embarrassment as you hear the shuffling of sheets. It’s gently pulled away not even a second later and your face burns when you see the wetness glistening on the entire lower half of Chan’s face. He doesn’t bother wiping it before he’s kissing you, and the locking of your lips is rough and full of desire.

He pulls back to knock his forehead against yours, both of you breathing into the close proximity. “Can I put it in, baby? I don’t have a condom, but I can pull out, promise.”

You weakly glare like it’s even a question, body still jittering with an occasional aftershock. Despite coming twice with barely any reprieve, you still feel keyed-up as ever with a dull ache settling between your legs. Yet, you feel so empty. His fingers aren’t enough to satisfy you for the night.

“You just made me come twice from your mouth alone and now you’re asking?” You scoff, your snarky words contrary to how your legs are impatiently spreading further to accommodate him. “I’m on birth control, by the way. So… you, um, don’t have to pull out.”

Something predatory flashes in his eyes, but you blink and it’s gone. A knowing feeling rises in your gut and you suppress a grin. So he has a breeding kink… perfect.

He exhales sharply, but nods as he slips back a bit to wrap your legs around his hips. He scoots forward again and lines himself up, tip prodding at your entrance and you sigh at the pressure. He glances up once more just to double check, and only when you give an aggrieved nod does he finally push in.

You both moan in tandem and Chan scrunches his eyes shut when he bottoms out, leaning forward to softly press the hard planes of his stomach against your bandaged one. “Just one second, baby,” He pants into the crook of your neck. “Too.. too close.”

You giggle and bring a hand to the back of his neck, lazily scratching at the curly wisps that form there while he works to staves off a premature orgasm.

You lay in silence for a moment, your shared sweat starting to cool, before he pushes himself up again and sits back on his knees to push your thighs up to your chest. “You’re so pretty like this, all spread out for me,” Chan sighs, looking down at where the two of you meet. “Let me fuck you properly now, yeah?”

His pace is languid at first, but with every choked out whine that escapes you his thrusts start to come faster, harder. It’s not long before he’s fucking you into the mattress, the bed frame squeaking pathetically.

Your hands desperately clutch your pillow as you lose all ability to think when the front of his thighs slap so harshly into the backs of your own, over and over. With the little coherency you’re able to maintain, you doubt you’ll be able to walk tomorrow.

“Babygirl,” you hear Chan grunt as he somehow manages to thrust even harder. You barely hear him over the lewd squelching of your pussy filling the room. “Look at how well you’re creamin’ over my cock, shit!”

It takes you a moment to register his words. When you do, you crane your neck to stare at where his dick, flushed an angry red, is pistoning relentlessly into your poor, abused pussy.

True to his words, your cum forms a pretty white ring around the base of his cock and you distantly feel drool dribbling out the corners of your mouth when he angles himself to hit that spongy spot inside you.

You cry out, hips bucking until he pins them down with large hands that span soothingly over your hips. The demeanor of that gesture is such a stark difference to how roughly he’s fucking you up the bed and it makes you whimper as you realize he’s fucking you like a toy.

The closer Chan gets, the looser his lips become. He starts babbling nonsense and his words are tailed by an occasional soft whine that makes you clench. It only serves to rile him up further.

You have half the mind to realize you’re the one driving him out of his mind with pleasure, and it’d bring a smile to your face if you weren’t so incoherent at the moment. Nobody else can have him the way you can. Chan’s thrust start to turn from a steady pattern into more erratic movements and he presses your bodies together in a flat line once more, returning to hide in your neck.

“…gonna fuck a baby into you,” you hear him murmur with a groan as his hips snap jerkily. You logistically know this is unlikely, as you’re on birth control and it probably won’t take anyway, but you wrap your arms around his neck and cry out into his ear, “Yes, Chan! Please, please,” you slur. “Need your cum so bad. Need to have your babies, gon’ make you a daddy.”

He fully whines at that. “You want it, huh? Want me to pump you full and breed this fucking cunt?” His hips aren’t even properly thrusting anymore: he’s more or less just frantically humping against you, addicted to the warm and wet heat that envelops him.

“You’ll be such a pretty mama, walkin’ round all glowy with my baby. My fucking baby, yeah—” Then his hips pump deep, once, twice, thrice and his eyes roll back. “Fuck, fuck, take it all, take this dick.”

You gasp brokenly when you feel something warm flood your insides as he pulses within you, and a genuine sob wracks itself from your body when he presses a thumb to your clit, rubbing in quick strokes. You topple over the edge as soon as his hand is on your sensitive nub, and you bite your lip so hard to muffle your scream that you draw blood.

Chan collapses beside you, and the movement pulls his dick free from your cunt with a loud noise that sounds so awkward in the newfound quiet. There’s silence for a second before you lock eyes at the same time and break into euphoric giggles, coming down from the simultaneous high. He tugs you into his arms and you bask in the warm afterglow, sweat cooling on your skin as you both catch your breath.

You eventually find the stickiness between your legs uncomfortable once it all dries. With an apologetic smile, Chan carries you to the shower while you two chat quietly about random topics. He takes off the old gauze from earlier, herds you into the shower to clean you properly, then towel dries you when you two step out.

The mirror is foggy with steam from the water as you fall into another comfortable silence and he reapplies the bandages. It’s so much better than earlier since your wound is properly cleaned now and you’re no longer covered in grime and sweat from a fight.

After you’re both dry and dressed, he deposits you back into the bed with clean sheets and pads off to the kitchen to get a few things. You’re feebly fighting off sleep in the middle of the bed when he returns, and he smiles dopily when he sees your struggle to stay awake.

He climbs into bed and passes you a water bottle, urging you to sit up and drink. With a grumble, you do as told before shimmying back under the comforter and patting the space beside you. “Relax, I’m coming, I’m coming,” he chuckles.

Chan pulls his new shirt off with his sweats, leaving him in just a pair of black boxers when he clambers in next to you. He presses a kiss to your forehead and you sidle into his arms, easily dozing off now that you’re in his comforting embrace.

Your body feels so sated after how he deliciously worked you up and took you apart that it takes you absolutely no time to fall asleep for real. But just before you slip out of consciousness, you feel him press another kiss to your forehead and he sighs into your hair. “I’m so happy, baby. Thank you.”

Before you can reply, your mind is gently tugged under to that familiar realm of nothingness. Though, if he sees the minuscule smile that appears on your lips as an indication you heard him, he doesn’t comment on it when you wake and instead greets you with a loving kiss, morning breath and all.

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