Bang Chan Smut - Blog Posts

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD (but guys it’s so good you HAVE to read it IM BEGGING ON MY HANDS AND KNEES CRYING SCREAMING THROWING UP ABOUT IT)

hands-down, undoubtedly, definitely my favorite chan fic ever 🥹 i can’t even begin to explain just how much i absolutely LOVED every single word of it. i loved the message behind this story: it’s okay to lose sometimes, it’s okay to be imperfect, it’s okay to fail. i think these are things that we as a society really struggle to accept especially when it comes to ourselves and there was something so beautiful about him finding himself in the end and coming to terms with the fact that yeah, he’s a loser and what about it?

SPOILER OVER (but again y’all READ THIS MASTERPIECE PLEASE)

and to star, i just wanna praise-bomb you so bad because you so so so deserve it. you’re such a phenomenal writer and i honestly just always enjoy your writing, WELCOME BACK! thank you for sharing your work, and thank you for the comforting advices you’ve offered through this fic, i love you so so much MWAH 🩷

No Guts / No Glory

Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.

Read part 2 here.

Pairing: Bang Chan x fem reader

W/c: 26.2K

Warnings: depictions of bodily harm, descriptions of blood, mentions of drinking, dry-humping, oral sex (male receiving)

Synopsis: Conducting a series of interviews about up-and-coming boxer Bang Chan leading up to his title fight puts you in a complicated situation when you begin to develop feelings for him.

18+. Mdni!

•

“I believe the second most intimate thing you can do with a person is interview them. If I can’t kiss you, I think it’s only fair you indulge me in a story.”

•

Calloused fingers adjust the lavalier microphone a little higher up onto the collar of his button-down shirt- knees bent, legs spread to occupy a generous amount of space, even for a guy as big as he is. A gentle noise emits from the silver chain around his wrist as he interlocks his fingers together, twiddling thumbs and placing them neatly onto his jeans. And then he takes a deep breath, as the door across the room swings open, outlining your intimidating figure.

The room is tense when you finally saunter in, clipboard balanced in the crook of your elbow as you do your best to avoid eye contact with the subject of the video while you assume your position on the chair across from him.

Your hand darts out to greet whom you can only assume to be a manager of some sort, giving him a closed-lip smile and a polite nod before taking your seat again. And when there’s nobody else in the room requiring your attention, you let your gaze fall to him at last, doing a once-over of his intimidating figure.

Warm tan skin complements his lightened brown hair, swept neatly out of his face to reveal his narrowed honey eyes. His sharp eyebrows seem to straighten, pulling down into a stoic expression as he observes you right back. His wide nose flaunts a sharp bridge, much like the masculine jawline that clenches as he remains quiet- and juxtaposed against all of it, soft, plump lips, which form into a smile as he greets you, pulling back to expose a dazzling set of teeth.

“Christopher Bang Chan,” he says to you, reaching a hand out and clasping his fingers around yours. His grasp is firm, but intentional, like he’s making every effort to seem professional. And it’s nothing you haven’t seen several times before- in wrestlers, and swimmers and boxers alike.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions,” you say to him, omitting any form of introduction entirely. “Just answer as honestly as you can.”

“Are we rolling?” Chan asks, gesturing to the camera with a wave of his index finger.

“This is just a test for my use,” you explain to him. “You don’t need to acknowledge the cameras.”

He gives an understanding nod, sitting up a little straighter and clearing his throat. And then, as the little red blinking light indicates that the camera is indeed recording, you begin to speak.

“Could you state your name for the camera? In a full sentence, please.”

“Hi,” he begins with a nervous chuckle. “My name’s Christopher Bang Chan. You guys know me as Bang Chan- or just Chan, really.”

“And you’re a boxer.”

“I am a boxer,” he affirms.

“How long have you been boxing?”

“I’ve been boxing for…” his eyes roll up to the ceiling, hand finding its way to his chin as he remains lost in thought for a moment. “About fourteen years. Started when I was twelve, never looked back. Still have my first pair of boxing gloves hanging in my mom’s house, if you can believe it.”

Amused laughter fills the room, Chan’s eyes forming little crescents as he thinks back to the bright blue Kanpeki sparring mitts that hang on a single nail in his parents’ living room.

“Chan- why boxing?”

“Why not?” He retorts with a cheeky smile. “Nah, I’m just messing with you. Seriously, boxing…boxing is… something that makes me feel alive. When I’m in the ring throwing punches like I’ve been trained my whole life to do, and people are standing behind me who’ve been there the whole way and I can hear them cheering, I’m alive. There’s nothing else that matters in that moment. It’s just pure skill, pure passion for what I do. I don’t feel that way about much else.”

His accent is thicker than you’d anticipated it to be- a sultry, Australian accent accompanies his serious intonations, and he speaks as though he’s telling a story, pulling you in captivating you with his entire being. He sounds smarter than the other athletes you’re used to, as though he could have done a variety of career paths if not for boxing. At least something relating to speaking, you’re sure, as he concludes his response with a gentle nod.

“And you’re just months away from the biggest fight of your career,” you then say, cocking your head slightly.

“Can you tell us about where you’re at with that, mentally?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s really nothing I haven’t trained for before,” Chan replies candidly. “I’m at the gym training every single day, we’re working around the clock to make sure I’m at my best for this event. And at the same time, I’m new to title fights- I really have no expectations going into it. I just want to do my best.”

Chan’s lips purse together as he scans your expression for a reaction to his statement, but all he’s met with is a nod as you gesture to the cameras.

“That’s all we need for now,” you call out to the camera crew. “You can wrap up while we finish discussing.”

Chan’s eyebrows are raised as he glances around the room curiously, staff members conversing amongst themselves as expensive-looking cameras are disassembled and stowed away into leather casing.

“I’ll give you a minute,” his manager says, rising from his spot to rush after another staff member. And just as you’d feared, it’s just Chan and yourself at a painfully close proximity.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Chan chimes in from his spot on the chair, observing the way you shuffle through a stack of papers.

“Y/n,” you say plainly. “The interviews and filming will take place over the next month. Think of it as a sort of docuseries for sports fans- the next hottest thing since last year’s boxing burnout.”

“Hottest thing?” he repeats curiously. “That’s a generous compliment, I wouldn’t call myself the hottest-”

“Up-and-coming,” you correct him. “New, fresh. Fascinating to the masses. They love you now, they’ll be itching to see how you perform. And then you’ll be in the big leagues with all the other athletes. It’s the sort of people I interview.”

Chan purses his lips together again, scratching the back of his head awkwardly and shoving his hands into his pockets.

“How long have you been interviewing?”

“No need to interview the interviewer,” you say sternly. “I don’t expect anything from you. Just show up, give me answers and don’t be late. Anything else I can assist with?”

Chan searches for something to say, wanting so badly to work some of his classic athlete charm on you the way he has for his entire career thus far. But as you pull off your glasses again, tucking them into the pocket of your blouse, he realizes he’ll just have to come to terms with the professional dynamic you’ve so boldly established here with him already.

“That’s all,” Chan says finally. “I’ll see you at the next one, then?”

“Don’t be late,” you say again.

And he can still catch a glimpse of your ponytail as you exit, swaying side-to-side in tandem with purposeful strides as you disappear from his sight.

*

“How’d it go?”

“Standard.”

“Anything notable?”

“He’s a boxer, Lin. Just like anything you’d expect from them- immersed in his sport, rich, not much substance to him.”

“Then I presume the docuseries is going to be smooth sailing from here.”

Lin prods at a particularly thick piece of lettuce in her salad, an obnoxious crunch filling the silent space that falls over you both amidst the otherwise loud cafeteria. Of course it’s natural for her to draw this simple conclusion- one of the lead producers, she’s always heads down in the editing portion of your films, trimming out unnecessary dialogue and uploading B-roll to accompany the complex story behind your subjects. But it’s always the same story- soulless, busy men, far too consumed by their own masculinity and an insatiable appetite to win, no matter the cost.

At first it’s the local media who take a particular liking to them, publishing flashy articles about all their grand endeavors and illustrating the glass shelves of trophies their parents flaunt. And then by some “miracle”, sometimes a “gift from god himself”, they land a title fight- describing the opportunity with stars in their blank eyes, all the while still media trained to project a humble image. That’s where you come in, a journalist with a keen eye to see right through them, still earning the big bucks as you assist in upholding the headache-inducing humble image they’re so set on. And following a series of interviews, once they’re far too gone to even assimilate with normal folk like yourself, they’ll win said respective fight, make it on to the biggest blogs and television publications, and then effectively lose themselves to the new celebrity title. You’ve seen it several times now- in tennis players, wrestlers, swimmers. And boxers- especially boxers.

As you watch Lin poke around at the remainder of her salad, you glance at the room beyond her seated figure, where your colleagues are busy with their own lunches and still heads down in their work, laptops propped open and hands typing away as they chew. It’s always like this when a new series of yours is in its early stages of filming, everybody scrambling to prepare their notes and film work as the schedule is finalized. Not a minute can be wasted on a project like this- the subjects’ time is more valuable than anything right now. Every minute Chan graces the studio, every word he utters is footage, publication- more money.

“Y/n?” Lin questions, snapping you out of your visible trance.

“Hm?”

“I asked if you have everything you need.”

You ponder her words for a moment, thinking back to your itinerary, to the list of printed questions still secured on your clipboard and even Chan, the image of the lavalier mic hanging loosely from the collar on his shirt replaying in your head.

“I think so,” you say finally, shrugging and prodding your index finger at the still-wrapped sandwich that rests upon the table.

“Come on,” she says with a sigh. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. You just have to suck it up for a few weeks, and the pay-off will be worth it. Remember the last one? People are still crazy about that guy, and it’s all thanks to you.”

“Yeah, I remember. I’m just tired, I guess. It’s all so voyeuristic. It’s exhausting trying to learn the details of somebody’s life like this.”

“Voyeurism can be a good thing,” she interjects. “The more intimate this process is, the better. We want the people to know every inch of him.”

“I know,” you reply sheepishly. “You’re right.”

“We have to see right through ‘em,” she responds, securing the lid on her Tupperware and rising from her seat. “Hey, I have to go edit another thing. I’ll see you when the next set of footage is done, though?”

“Yeah,” you say to her, watching as she stuffs her belongings into a canvas bag and hoists it over her shoulder.

“This could totally be another big break,” she states, as she begins in the other direction. “This could be huge for us all over again.”

*

It’s typically recommended to arrive at least 15 minutes early to every studio interview. In some cases, 30 is more favorable. And yet it’s a notion athletes just can’t seem to comprehend most days, sauntering in well past the starting time with a duffel bag slung over their broad shoulders, not so much as an apology uttered as they assume their spot across from you.

And Chan, you learn very quickly, is no different from the rest.

“Sorry,” he says as he finally enters, your gaze fixed on the wall across from you as the floodlights illuminate his muscular figure in your peripheral vision.

You say nothing in return, gently tapping a capped pen on the exposed flesh where your skirt meets your upper thigh. And Chan takes reluctant strides toward you, cocking his head slightly as he glances around the room and gestures to the vacant chair across from you.

“Is this… should I sit down? Or…”

Your figure remains turned away from him, giving a small nod as you remain in your spot, ushering for Chan to take his seat. And he does, slinging his bag onto the floor and leaning back in his chair.

“Wow, it’s bright in here,” Chan remarks, chuckling lightly.

“You’re late.”

He’s quiet for a moment, swallowing nervously as he scans your cold expression. Narrowed eyes meet his, not a hint of a smile present on your pursed lips as you convey your vexation.

“I’m sorry,” Chan says nervously, his eyes softening in attempts to reconcile the tension he’s brought upon you. “My training ran a little longer than I hoped. I tried to leave early, but my coach-”

“Look,” you interrupt, finally letting your gaze meet his and sighing frustratedly. “I interview guys like you on the daily. You show up late, zero regard for my time or my effort, play the game and then win all the prizes that come with it. This is just a stepping stone in your career- I get that. Just please, could you at least try to make this as easy as possible for both of us so that we can be done faster? We’re gonna be stuck with each other for a while, let’s not make this any harder than it needs to be.”

Chan falls silent when you finish speaking, smoothing a loose strand of hair down with his index finger and nodding politely.

“I’m sorry,” he voices for the second time today. “It won’t happen again. This series is really important to me.”

“I would hope so,” you tell him. “Now state your name for the camera. Full sentence, please.”

“This camera?” He inquires, pointing at one straight across from him. “Or that one over there?”

“Just state your name,” you repeat. “I have you at all angles. It doesn’t matter where you look.”

“Can I look at you, then?”

You sigh for what feels like the millionth time today, pinching the bridge of your nose in annoyance and crossing your legs at the ankles. You can’t quite tell if he’s doing this on purpose, or if he genuinely hasn’t conducted a formal interview like this prior to yours.

“Yes, you may look at me. That’s typically how a conversation goes.”

“Right, then. My name is Christopher Bang Chan.”

“And you’re a boxer.”

“I am a boxer,” he affirms with a grin.

“Chan, in just three months you’ll be competing in the biggest fight of your life- the Golden Gloves Championship, against your counterpart Kang-Dae, a competitive boxer who’s been training almost as long as you have. In a recent interview, he told me the two of you are making a deliberate effort not to meet just yet, despite training at some of the same local spots. Can you tell us your reasoning for that, as well as what that’s felt like up until now?”

A short breath escapes Chan’s lips, his eyes rolling to the ceiling as he thinks it over.

“I’ve heard remarkable things about Kang-Dae,” Chan begins. “It was something we made a mutual decision to follow through on. You know, just being mindful of training techniques and respecting each other’s space. It feels a little weird sometimes when I remember while I’m training- it’s like, was he using this bag before I was? I’ve sort of built him up to be this really dedicated player to the game, in my head at least.”

Chan smiles back when you do, taking note of the way your shoulders seem to visibly relax in his presence. He lets his ankles uncross, twiddling his thumbs as his legs spread loosely in front of him.

“So uh… yeah, it’s been… it’s not easy, knowing we’re going head-to-head in just one month. But I’m training really hard, and I know he is, too. I have a lot of respect for him.”

You nod at his words, glancing down at the clipboard of questions and notes on your lap in front of you.

“Chan, you’ve mentioned several times how hard you’ve been training for this. From the gym, to practice with your coach, to mentally preparing for all of this. What are you doing when you’re not training?”

The question marks the first of a series of personal ones, ones that really seek to tear down your subjects’ walls and reveal their true identity to audiences. They love the voyeuristic aspect of gory details- and your subjects love to talk about themselves.

“I’m hardly ever not training,” Chan says with a shrug of his shoulders. “But I guess I just sleep as much as I can. If not maybe… running, doing stretches, all that. I’m at the point where I have to be physically pried away from the gym by my coach. It’s that bad.”

He laughs lightly as he speaks, his eyes forming little crescents the way they always do when his plump lips pull into a grin. And then you mirror his expression, lips pulling into a smile as you pry for more answers.

“Can you tell us how you first got into boxing? What was that like?”

“First time,” he echoes. “Was when I was 12 years old. My dad bought me a pair of gloves after I saw this series about Baik Hyun-Man, an Olympian boxer who swept his category in… 1988? 89? God, he was phenomenal.”

“A docuseries?” You chime in, furrowing your brows together.

“Yeah. Think it was like, 4 episodes where they interviewed him following his sweep at the Olympics that year. I remember him being so well-spoken and fascinating.”

A small smile tugs involuntarily at your lips as Chan speaks, a sort of glint present in his eyes as he recalls the events. He seems so full of passion when he speaks of his source of inspiration, the same way he speaks of his own craft.

“That was made by our network,” you say finally. “That was one of the first series I saw, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you reply, maintaining a keen smile. “It made me want to get into interviewing. He had such a way with telling his story.”

The room falls quiet as a sharp breath escapes Chan’s lips, a look of disbelief painted upon his chiseled features. He begins to say something, and then he’s quiet again, craning his neck at the camera to the right of your seated figure.

“Sorry,” you say with a sheepish shake of your head. “I don’t mean to get off topic here.”

“No, it’s… that’s really fucking cool. I mean, what are the odds, you know?”

It’s really not some miracle that you happened across the same formative media- you’re pretty sure every parent had Baik Hyun-Man’s docuseries playing on television on repeat shortly after it aired. The way he spoke of his achievements, so self-assured in the way he gestured directly into the camera and urged kids to chase their dreams, too. Inspiring journalists and athletes alike- it was the network’s biggest thing the year it aired. And evidently, a boxer’s dream, to put the sport on pedestal for the whole world to admire.

“Anyway,” you say finally, glancing back down at your clipboard. “You were indulging me in the details of your start to boxing.”

“Right,” Chan voices. “I was 12, with these clunky boxing mitts- blue ones, just like I asked for. And one of those inflatable punching bags hanging in our garage. At first, it was just jabs, I wasn’t really interested in classes or anything like that. It wasn’t until I started boxing with my dad, that’s when he pushed me to keep this going. Said I threw punches like a pro- at least the best I could do at age 12. I owe a lot of this to my dad, I don’t think I would’ve pushed myself to do any of this without him. And to chase this dream, of winning a title fight.”

“Well your dream doesn’t sound very far out of reach, by the sound of it,” you say to him, raising a singular eyebrow and cocking your head.

Chan just smiles, an earnest expression washing over him, and you take note of the way his ears flush a deep shade of red. He’s not one to take compliments very well- he falters somewhere between confident, yet flustered, and it’s endearing, like much of his persona is. Though it may be well-crafted, it’s still charming.

“I dunno,” Chan says with a click of his tongue. “Losing is always a possibility.”

“It is,” you affirm. “But I’m sure you’ve faced your share of losses in the past, too. What does losing mean to you?”

Chan furrows his brows together, a little thrown off by the question posed to him. He’s not sure he’s ever carefully dissected the implications of what it means to lose something- to funnel your entire being into what defines you, only for the tangible payoff to slip from your grasp and dissipate into a void of nothingness. And consequently, to familiarize yourself with the suffocating emotions of regret, pain, loss- even shame. It’s never been an option for him- it’s never even been an occurrence.

“I’ve never lost,” he says finally, a soft chuckle emitting from his lips.

“You’ve never lost?”

“I’ve never lost,” he repeats. “I’ve played matches that weren’t as good as others, or just barely scraped by with a win. But I’ve never lost.”

“So losing isn’t something you’ve even considered.”

“No, I’ve definitely considered it,” he contends. “Some matches, you take a good long look at the guy across from you, and it’s sort of like staring your future in the face. Like, this is it, this is the guy I’m going to lose my streak to.”

“Yet it’s never happened?”

Chan clicks his tongue again, crossing his legs at the knees this time and cocking his head, the same overconfident expression painting his chiseled face.

“I don’t lose,” he states simply. “There’s always the chance that I may lose. But I never do.”

A simple nod of your head signifies the end of this portion of the interview, and Chan finally exhales a breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding all this time.

“I think I have all I need for today,” you say to him, avoiding the meticulous eye contact he seeks from his spot across from you. “Could you just leave your mic on that table over there?”

“Did I sound a little cocky there?” Chan queries as he fidgets with the lavalier microphone. “I didn’t mean to, it’s just a stupid fact I like to toss around.”

“Facts are facts,” you respond, toying with your own lavalier microphone, yet not moving from your spot. “You’re permitted to say whatever you want. This is your series, after all.”

“Yeah, but I’m not trying to scare people here. I’m just-”

“Frighteningly competent?” You interrupt. “Well-versed in the art of boxing? Aware of the power you hold?”

He’s quieter now, lips pursed together and eyes scanning your expression for a hint of forgiveness. But you don’t grant him any- in fact, you’re admittedly a little disenchanted by his words, which seem to put him right up against all the other boxers you’ve interviewed. Impetuous words which detract from his character as a whole, emphasizing only his worst traits. Self-righteous, self-centered, disdainful, even.

“I’ve interviewed a lot of people like you,” you explain to him, for what feels like the second time this evening. “If you sound cocky, it’s because you are cocky. You’re allowed to be, though.”

“But that’s not what I want people to get from this series.”

“Then what is it that you want?” You ask Chan, rising from your seat and gathering your papers, his gaze fixed on yours still.

He’s quiet, no adequate wording passing him by that may sum up what he seeks to put out into the world. Perhaps he’s never looked so introspectively like this before- perhaps he hasn’t even considered what he wants the world to make of him.

“I’m telling your story, not writing it,” you continue.

His lips part to say something, but a silence overtakes the room once more, words which seek to defend himself dissipating in the back of his throat much like his thoughts do.

“Just something to think about,” you conclude, the lavalier microphone rolling around between the pads of your fingers as you meet his gaze finally.

His eyebrows arch in an almost pleading manner, as though he hopes you might have a change of heart and take some mercy on a skilled boxer like himself. But you don’t- not when you have the ability to see right through him like this, the same way you do with all the others.

An arrogant athlete, on an exponential and unbroken winning-streak, complete stranger to the concept of losing or being humbled.

“Losing isn’t something you’ve even considered,” your words replay in his head. “What is it that you want?”

He ponders, to no avail, as the floodlights outline your departing figure.

*

“So he’s just never lost a match?”

“Never. And he’s a cocky prick about the fact.”

“That’s unprecedented. I don’t think we’ve ever interviewed somebody with a winning streak like his.”

Lin’s fingers hover over the keyboard of her laptop, slicing footage and importing b-roll as you assume the spot next to her. She moves quickly as she always does, hardly even needing to decipher whether the clips flow into each other adequately- it’s second nature for her to know.

“This looks good,” she voices, pupils rapidly scanning the bright screen which reflects against the lenses of her wireframe glasses. “But the network agrees we need to get a little more personal.”

“What do you mean?”

She pauses her actions, pulling off her glasses and snapping them closed between her teeth before she speaks.

“You guys had a moment somewhere in there. It’s undoubtedly the most interesting bit. There’s a bit of chemistry when you’re relating to him.

“What?” You question, furrowing your brows together as she continues to work.

“Baik Hyun-Man,” she remarks. “I mean, it’s remarkable you found something in common with the guy. Knackered journalist and devoted boxer set aside their differences to agree on one thing- ‘The Iron Gentleman’ really was a sight to marvel at.”

“We didn’t have a moment, Lin. He’s watched a series almost every athlete did when it aired.”

“I’m just saying there’s something… very human, about the whole thing. Try to get to get closer to him. Corner him- find out what makes the guy tick. I need you to read him like a diary and publicize it to the masses. It’s not going to be easy- that’s why you’re doing it.”

Your gaze remains on her computer screen, eyeing the footage you vividly remember having filmed alongside him. It’s paused on a still-shot of you sitting across from him, transfixed on his chiseled features as he explains something indistinguishable to you, playing back at Lin through the chunky black headphones she wears around her neck.

The thought is migraine-inducing, to attempt to get any closer to Bang Chan than you already are. Upon your two interactions, you’ve already taken him to be as arrogant, conceited and obsessed with his sport as you’d assumed him to be. And while it rings true that there may be more to him than meets the eye- a story trying to reveal itself to you, a truth yearning to make itself known among all this superficiality, it’s likely one he’s not keen on making known to you.

“First part airs this Friday,” she states, nodding her head to some electronic background tune as she resumes her editing. “Just promise me you’ll try to get more personal with him. Find out where he trains, scope out the spots he frequents.”

“I’m not stalking the man for the purpose of a series, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“It’s not stalking,” she counters quickly. “It’s familiarizing yourself with the video subject.”

You chuckle lightly at Lin’s request, holding your hands up in surrender and rising from your spot beside her.

“Sure, fine.”

Lin’s hands cup the speakers of her chunky black headphones, finally adjusting them over her ears as she continues working. And she shoots you one last thumbs-up before you retreat from her office.

*

For several days thereafter, the thoughts consume you, to recall Lin’s requests for a more personal relationship to the interview subject. There hasn’t been an instance yet in which you’ve been made to falsify the closeness of a subject to you- in fact, you’re usually encouraged to keep your distance, knowing very well that a story can get compromising when the lines between boundaries are almost blurred.

You think back to her suggestion to scope out the spots he frequents, which seems like an impossible task when you’re already bearing the burden of trying to know him at all. And one evening, as her words replay in your troubled mind for the umpteenth time, the solution finds you first- in the form of said cocky athlete himself.

The streets are eerily dark at the hour, nothing more than the occasional pass of a car along the blackened road as you keep to the sidewalk, hands shoved in the pockets of your coat and your gaze fixed on the towering buildings ahead. It’s not uncommon to depart the office at ungodly hours during the process of filming a docuseries like this one, especially since you usually opt to keep Lin company while she makes final edits. The neighboring buildings are already cleared out for the night, the parking lots are mostly empty, and the world is quiet as you trudge the short walk back to your apartment.

At the corner of the intersection, a small convenience store, dimly lit by the ominous flicker of street lamps, and largely uninviting to the fleeting passerby. But one you’re familiar with, often opting to make a quick stop for a bite to eat before you go home for the night.

The chime of a bell on the door announces your arrival, making your way past shelves of baked goods to where the pre-packaged foods lie. And aside from the slow lull of jazz music over the muffled speakers, it’s quiet in the convenience store, nothing except the faint sounds of shuffling surrounding you as a cashier stocks produce by the register.

“Do you guys have them in yet?” A voice calls loudly as the door swings open, the bell ringing erratically with its movement. It’s piercing- obnoxious, even, to disturb the once much-appreciated peace of the shop like this. And who else present to disturb the peace at this hour, except for an athlete, a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder as he takes long strides toward the fridge.

“Oh, you do!” he emphasizes, pulling open the handle of the fridge in a hasty motion, as he begins to pile armfuls of what appear to be popsicles in the desperate grasp of his toned arms.

“Did you know these are like, three times the price if you purchase them online?”

The cashier says nothing, giving the athlete a small bow as he continues stockpiling and talking his ear off to no one in particular- and then the athlete pivots on one foot, locking his gaze with yours, a soft chuckle emitting from between his plump lips.

“Are you following me?”

“Me?” You counter, scoffing lightly at him. “I was literally in here before you.”

“I always come here after practice. I’ve never seen you around before.”

“I’m always here after work,” you argue, crossing your arms and maintaining your stance. “I could say the same.”

He rolls his eyes, gesturing to the counter with a nod of his head. “Put it down. I’ll pay.”

“What- no, there’s no need to pay for me. I’m just leaving.”

“Come on,” Chan protests. “You’re trailing after me as though I might be in here buying something seedy. It’s clever- I’ll give you that. Let me pay for you.”

Your eyes narrow in response, reluctantly approaching him and setting down your own dessert of choice onto the counter by the register. The cashier begins to scan your items, the rhythmic beep filling the awkward silence that overtakes you two as Chan keeps his gaze fixed on your standing figure. And then he pulls a black leather wallet out from the loose-fitting gym shorts he wears, grasping a card between his middle and index finger and handing it to the cashier.

He says nothing still, maintaining an almost satisfied expression on his face as the cashier bags his horde of popsicles, and then he gestures to the door once again with a nod of his head.

Chan assumes a spot on the curb by his parked car- a fairly humble two-seater. And the plastic convenience store bag sits open between the two of you as he works on his first popsicle of the evening, twirling the wooden stick between his slender fingers as the sticky residue trickles down and houses itself on the concrete below.

“How’s it coming along?” Chan breaks the silence, eyeing you out of the peripherals of his big brown eyes. “The series, I mean.”

“Fine,” you reply, doing your best not to mirror his mess as you work on a small cup of vanilla ice cream. “The first interview is all set to air.”

“I heard. I hope you didn’t have to edit out too much of my awkward conversation.”

A light chuckle escapes your lips, shaking your head as you dip the wooden spoon back into your cup.

“No, you did well. I’m actually surprised at how genuine you come off to the cameras.”

“Surprising that I’m genuine? I’ll do my best to take that as a compliment.”

“It’s hardly one,” you voice back. “All you athletes are the same. But I suppose you are well-versed in the art of boxing and media-training alike.”

You’re quiet for a moment as you observe the quiet streets across from you both.

“I’ve always said the second most intimate thing you can do with a person is interview them. You make an impressive subject.”

“All me, thank you very much.”

Chan chuckles and shakes his head as he practically chews through the remainder of his popsicle, toying with the bare wooden stick as a silence overtakes you both.

He studies the concrete for a moment, the gentle scrape of the wooden popsicle stick on the ground making itself known as he searches for the words to say. And then the soft rustle of the plastic convenience store bag, as he digs through and collects his second popsicle of the evening.

“Are you scared?” You query, your voice a little quieter than before as you prod at your vanilla ice cream with the wooden spoon.

“Scared?”

“Yeah, for the series to air. People are going to start recognizing you when you go out. It always happens.”

Chan cocks his head in response, a satisfied smile pulling onto his lips as he ponders your words. And then his expression seems to drop again, grasping the popsicle stick between his fingers as he observes the way it melts in his touch, the residue trickling gently onto the pads of his fingers and down the bases of his wrists.

“I’m not scared,” Chan says finally. “I get punched by people for a living. There’s so little that actually scares me at this point.”

You think back to Lin’s request to get a little more out of him, pondering his words for a moment as you inhale before speaking once again.

“Then, if I may ask- what does scare you?”

And deep down, you know it’s unlikely you’ll receive a substantial response- it’s like pulling teeth searching for honesty from an athlete, and Chan is evidently no stranger to this phenomenon of insincerity and projection.

The low hum of a car engine is heard as the only other car in the parking lot begins to exit. You take note of the still-flickering street lamps, the vacant roads across the convenience store. And the way Chan’s breath hitches in the back of his throat, as if he’s conjured up an answer far too heavy to relay from between his parted lips, letting it instead dissipate once more as he laps at the sticky popsicle residue on his inner forearms.

“What scares me,” he begins, tongue tracing the outline of sherbet liquid along his veiny arms. “Is the rest of these popsicles melting. Come on, I have a freezer back at the gym.”

“Are you asking me to go with you? I’m going home, not to some sweat-ridden gym with your stash of popsicles.”

“I’m not letting you walk home at this hour, if that’s what you think you’re doing. Come on, it’s just a two minute drive from here and then I’ll take you back to your place.”

“I’m fine, thank you very much.”

Chan waits for you to say something else, silently hoping you’ll just agree without protest. But when you don’t, he gathers the plastic bag by the thinning handles, steadying himself with one hand on the concrete and standing up beside you.

“I’ll meet you in the car,” he says plainly, brushing his shorts off and averting your gaze.

The blinding glow of his car’s headlights reflect off the convenience store windows across him, and Chan watches as you bring a hand up to shield your eyesight while you rise from the curb. You can’t make out his expression in the flood of light that now surrounds you, but Chan’s lips curl into a knowing smile as you approach the passenger’s side, letting yourself in beside him and shifting the bag of popsicles out of your spot.

Of course, he’ll never know that you’re only agreeing to tag along in the unique instance you can gather something of substance for the purpose of your series, the way the network is now pushing you to do.

“Two minutes,” you voice back to him. “And then I want to be dropped off at my place.”

“Seatbelt?”

Your hands find their way to the buckle, pulling it across your torso and fastening it with a frustrated sigh.

“Two minutes,” you emphasize again.

Chan just chuckles lightly, extending an arm behind your headrest as he begins to pull out of the parking lot. And then he begins toward his training gym, in the same direction as your place of work.

*

“Don’t touch anything. I’m just gonna pop these in the freezer.”

Chan takes long strides down the gym with his plastic bag in hand, flipping on a series of light switches as he passes and illuminating the space with harsh white lighting.

At one end of the room lie rows upon rows of heavy weights, scattered carelessly and in no particular order along the rubber carpeted flooring. The other end of the room houses a long line of punching bags, cylindrical black leather masses that hang from metal chains and adhere to the dark gray walls that border the gym. And in the corner of the gym, your eye is drawn to a large boxing ring, elevated onto a black square surface, with tight black ropes that line the perimeter.

Though you’ve interviewed your fair share of athletes, you’re not sure you’ve ever been so intimately close to their place of work like this before, and it’s admittedly fascinating to finally visualize the gym he speaks of when he interviews.

Your hand caresses the rope which lines the boxing ring, looped around and pulled taut around each metal pillar at four of the corners, and you wonder how many times Chan has ducked to traverse beyond these ropes in a practice run or even a match. It’s the same ring which plays a role in his winning streak- and the same ring his opponent, Kang-Dae practices in, making strategic entrances around the clock so as not to accidentally run into each other.

As you admire the boxing ring, you fish a small digital camera out from the purse slung around your shoulder, snapping a generous set of photos and zooming in to all the intricate details.

“It’s been around since the 80’s,” a voice says, startling you amidst the silence. “Home to some of the greats. I practically live here.”

Chan’s hands are stuffed in the pockets of his shorts, the plastic bag now absent as he examines the boxing ring, too.

“The same one Kang-Dae practices in,” you reply.

“Exactly.”

He nods toward the back of the room, the curls of his hair largely concealed by the black beanie he wears on his head falling loosely into his eyes as he glances over at a boxing bag.

“I’m told he’s partial to the ones at the back of the room. I never use those ones- it’s weird using the same equipment he does.”

You nod slowly at his words, imagining what you envision Kang-Dae to look like, throwing punches at the bag in the back of the room. He’s probably similar to that of Chan’s stature- lean, muscular, chiseled features. And maybe even a handsome face to go with all of it.

“Which ones do you use, then?”

Chan chuckles lightly, meeting your gaze as he answers. “Middle of the ring,” he states with a shrug. “Gotta get used to standing in it.”

You observe the way Chan glances back at the boxing bag hanging in the center of the boxing ring, the chain fastened along a metal track so that it can be moved in and out of the vast space. And then you toy with the camera in your grasp once more, your fingers delicately grazing over the shutter release as you eye the space ahead.

“Could I…record you in it?” You ask him hesitantly, averting his curious gaze when he turns to look back at you.

“For the series?” He asks, a growing smile making itself known as he gestures to the ring.

“Yes, for the series. I’m not really looking to have a personal collection of photos of you, if that’s what you think is happening.”

Chan tosses his head back in amused laughter, and then he gestures to the ring with a wave of his hand, bowing a little and instructing you to lead the way.

The ring is considerably more intimidating from the center of the elevated platform. A glance around the room feels like you’re in the middle of an active match, and you can’t possibly comprehend how Chan does this with hundreds of eyes on him, analyzing his every move and holding him to the standard of a consistent winner. In fact, you can’t imagine how anybody could muster up the courage to be stood here on their own accord.

“This is where the magic happens,” Chan says, his hands on his hips as he cranes his neck to examine the top of the punching bag.

You bring the camera up as he speaks, shutting one eye and snapping a photo of Chan next to the punching bag, adjusting the zoom a little to more closely capture the scene as you snap a few more photos. When you’ve gathered an adequate amount, you then transition to record the scene, holding the camera in front of your chest as you watch Chan position himself in front of the punching bag.

“Can you show us a few tricks?”

Chan’s eyes form little crinkles as he smiles, cocking his head and stretching his arms up above him in preparation. His black tank top rides up a little as he does, exposing the toned strip of flesh between his waistline and the hem of his shirt, and you shake your head a little when you take notice, forcing your attention back on his upper body.

“Anything?” Chan asks, glancing at the camera.

“Yeah,” you shrug in reply. “Just show us a few moves.”

His hands form fists in front of him, knees bent slightly and his legs angled toward the punching bag. And then he pulls back, chin tucked against his upper body, swiftly pushing his fist forward and hitting the bag with an echoing thump.

“That’s a cross,” Chan explains, glancing back toward the camera. “Just a straight punch.”

He pulls back once more, delivering another harsh punch to the bag, and then his right arm bends out at the elbow, striking at an entirely new angle.

“That one’s a hook,” he says a little louder this time. “Sort of how you get in from the side.”

“Show us your hardest,” you call out to Chan, adjusting the lens to capture his full stance. “Imagine it was somebody you hated.”

Chan cocks his head slightly, an overconfident smile on his chiseled face as he positions his arms in front of him. And then he retracts again, throwing a much stronger punch this time, his hand shooting upward from waist-level, a harsh thud echoing around the ring as his fist makes impact. He throws another one with the other hand now, and then another, and then several more, teeth gritting as sharp breaths escaping his lips while he throws punch after punch, the bag swaying with every firm strike.

Your camera lens adjusts as he moves, capturing the entirety of his swift movements, zooming into his skilled hands and then panning up to his face, where his nostrils flare and his eyebrows seem to slant into a frown.

He looks passionate as he moves, his whole being seeming as though it’s being overcome with intense emotion, namely some form of resentment, you think, as he strikes the bag over and over again. You watch through the viewfinder of the camera as he keeps his angry gaze on the bag, growing irate when it sways back toward him, where he proceeds to hit back ten times harder. You study his face through the grainy film, at an expression you’ve never studied on him before this. He looks different- almost scary.

“That’s good,” you call out, to no avail, as Chan delivers another robust hit to the bag.

“I got it,” you call out a little louder, and after one last strike from the angle of the exposed flesh on his stomach upward to the bag, he finally stops, catching the bag when it sways back toward him and grasping it firmly in both hands.

Chan keeps his head down, looking a little ashamed as he catches his breath. You can hear the heavy pants that escape his lips when he turns to meet your gaze at last,

his eyebrows narrowed sternly as he looks at you. And then he brings a bruised knuckle up to his forehead, wiping off beads of sweat that trickle down his temple and flicking them off to the side with a wave of his hand.

“Uppercut,” he says hoarsely.

“Hm?”

“The move,” Chan continues. “Good for opponents.”

And then he hangs his head once more, flipping up his shirt to wipe off the remainder of sweat that accumulates on his tanned skin. You force your gaze onto his concealed face, not daring to examine the toned set of abs visible to you at this proximity.

“Best for people you hate,” he then speaks into the fabric of his shirt. And you simply nod meekly in response, stuffing the camera back into the pocket of your coat.

*

“Say it again, but to the camera this time” You say to Chan between laughter, as he brings another wooden stick up to his lips, working his tongue around the base with a harsh sucking noise.

Two minutes at Chan’s training gym have quickly turned to two hours, and in all his persuasive athlete ways, he’d somehow convinced you that he required another popsicle before drawing a close to the evening.

“These are the best popsicles in the city,” Chan states, holding the half-melted treat up by his face as though he’s advertising it.

“It’s just the right amount of sherbet. Not too much, but just enough to satisfy a sweet tooth. I’m genuinely convinced there’s not a single thing that couldn’t be cured with one of these things.”

“Got fired at work,” you challenge.

“Easily cured by a popsicle.”

“Fight with your spouse.”

“Popsicle.”

“Lost a boxing match,” you voice to him, almost doubling over in laughter when he sucks in a sharp breath and cocks his head.

“It’s a tough one. But with the right amount of sherbet, I promise you’ll make it out unscathed.”

Shared laughter fills the room as he laps up the remainder of his dessert, and then he tosses yet another popsicle stick aside, swinging his legs off the ledge of the raised boxing platform and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. As you set aside the camera once more, he hoists himself up a little further as he grasps the taut strings that surround the ring, and then he lies back entirely on the smooth surface, shutting his eyes briefly as a silence washes over you both.

Chan’s hands fold over his chest, atop the thin fabric tank top that rides up again to expose the band of his boxers, and when he feels you staring, one eye opens to meet your gaze again, a curious smile on his face.

“What?” He asks.

“Nothing,” you reply quickly, shaking your head to avert his stare. Your fingers loop around the taut rope, too, plucking at the wired material and watching it vibrate with the recoil.

Chan maintains the smug smile for a moment, a little amused at your evident shyness. And then he pats the spot behind you, beckoning you to join him in assuming a spot on the floor of the boxing ring. You begin to tell him that you should really be heading home, well aware of how long you’ve already occupied the gym, likely committing some form of trespassing by staying here. But as your eyes scan his lying figure, you think back to the interviews- it’s a miracle you’ve gotten him to loosen up even this much around you. Maybe if you stay, you can coax some form of truth out of him; a story worth telling.

So with a gentle sigh, your fingers loosen their grasp around the rope, lying flat against the smooth surface of the ring, at a close proximity alongside Chan’s languid body. It’s probably prohibited somewhere within the unspoken rules of being an earnest journalist, to lie down beside an interview subject like this. But when your hands finally fold over your own chest, the only feeling present is that of calmness, of unwavering stillness, as the low buzz of the overhead lights emits from above you.

Chan keeps his eyes shut for a while, and amidst the deafening silence, it’s almost too loud when he finally swallows a knot in his throat and speaks in a voice just above a whisper.

“Sometimes I wish I could just turn my brain off,” Chan admits quietly. “I feel like I can still hear the commotion all around me.”

Echoes of training ring through his ears as though they’re lullabies engrained deep into his memory- the strikes to hanging leather bags, the heavy grunts that escape parted lips as men lift weights three times their size, the hot showers that run around the clock as athletes relish in their wins and dwell all their losses. Even with eyes shut tightly, Chan swears he can still see pairs of eyes observing him carefully, analyzing his every move and holding him to the standards of a consistent winner.

Angle your fist upward. Quicker on the footwork. Harder. Faster.

Atta boy. Be a man. Be a winner.

It’s only when his coach has gone home for the evening, when the other athletes file out of the training gym one by one, towels slung over their broad shoulders and duffel bags packed with spare gloves and changes of clothes. It’s when he’s the last shower of the night, letting scorching water roll off his toned body, steam fogging the mirrors until his own reflection is indistinguishable to him once more. And it’s when he’s concluded throwing practice punches in the now-empty ring, his muscular back parallel to the floor of the ring just like this, and his eyes fixed on the gray industrial ceilings and recess lights. It’s only then that he isn’t so easily defined by a winning streak.

In fact, his wins mean nothing in the absence of other athletes, who are also defined by the numerical realities of trophies gained and matches lost. The world feels much clearer to him like this, no longer clouded by the gym chatter and bruised knuckles that seek permanent shelter in his conscience. He’s just Bang Chan- not a winner, not even a boxer. Just Chan.

And though he allows it to consume him entirely, often replacing his curiosity for the world around him and a lingering loneliness with the insatiable appetite to fight, win, conquer- he knows deep down that it’s still not all of him. There remains a sort of fragility tucked somewhere beyond all this rigidness- there’s still a heavy humanness underneath these conjectures that he’s the ‘perfect boxer’.

What is a winning streak relative to an empty boxing ring? What is a spectator relative to a participant? What are concealed identities relative to a lifetime of falsifying new ones?

“What does it feel like?” You ask Chan, and he opens his eyes to examine the gray pipes that run along the ceilings once more.

For a fleeting moment, the dual identity he keeps tucked away makes its way to the forefront, silently admonishing how this all really feels to him- how the sounds that ring throughout his ears are far too loud at times, among a myriad of other admissions.

“It’s a bit much,” Chan responds with a deep sigh. And then he sits up once more, gesturing to the wall of photos across you, neat rows of famous boxers who once inhabited this ring so triumphantly assuming a spot within these gym walls permanently.

“See that?” Chan queries. You sit up, too, following his gaze to the largest photo in the middle, a confident smile painted on the monochrome subject’s face.

“Baik Hyun-Man,” you voice from beside him. “The boxer.”

He’s a little impressed when he turns to face you again, perhaps not having taken you very seriously the first time you dubbed yourself a fan of his, too.

“I want to be like him,” Chan confesses, his voice just above a whisper. “I want to be a winner. I want people to view me like that- always.”

Your words don’t make it past your tongue, which you bite impassively, instead nodding your head and letting a silence fall over you both. You don’t grant him the encouragement he seeks- in fact, you don’t even grant him a proper response.

You simply hum- and whether the verbalization serves as a form of agreement, or as utter dismay for concealing anything beyond the most predictable version of him he brings to you- that is for him to decipher.

*

Part one of Chan’s docuseries is aired that same week, just after five, on your network’s channel.

You watch on your television, completely immersed, as the familiar tune of your intro starts up, your phone already flooded with texts from colleagues who also tune in to the event.

“He’s so charming,” one texts you, as Chan appears on the screen, recalling stories of his early boxing days and verbally admiring the efforts of his opponent, Kang-Dae.

“Great start to the series,” your boss relays in her message to you, as Chan details his impressive his winning streak, a cocky smile plastered on his handsome face.

“I feel like you bring out something special in him,” Lin’s text reads- one which you read over several times, while your shared moment with Chan plays in the background, both of you reeling over the old documentary which preceded your careers. The very same clip you requested Lin cut out of the docu series- a clip that wasn't planned.

Your attention falls entirely on the way his face lights up as he speaks of the Iron Gentleman, contrary to the rest of the interview, where he delivers otherwise predictable responses and maintains a polite disposition. There’s a lighter tone to his voice when he’s made aware that you’ve also seen the series- and a visible sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you, impressed by the niche similarity you both share. Although unplanned, Lin is right- it’s undoubtedly the highlight of the interview, to watch him break down his walls and give the audience a glimpse into something beyond his boxing career. Part one of his series is certainly not a complete story- but it alludes to the notion that he does harbor a much more complex version of it, somewhere deep down inside of him.

And when the first reviews begin to roll in , Lin is the first to greet you, a piece of paper grasped firmly in her hands as she rushes up to meet you before you’ve even made it to your desk.

“The people love him,” she says enthusiastically, trailing beside you as you shuffle past to your desk.

“Listen to this,” she continues. “The network follows up-and-coming boxer Christopher Bang Chan as he prepares for the biggest fight of his life- in what just may be the biggest docuseries since that which preceded Hyun Man’s championship ring fight.”

“What?” You exclaim, halting your motion of digging through your purse to lock eyes with her ecstatic expression.

“I know!” she replies, practically shoving the paper toward you and directing your gaze upon the printed words. “Read the rest of it!”

Your eyes scan the dark black ink printed along the top of the newspaper, Lin’s finger directing you to where the paragraph continues with the gesture or her manicured finger.

“We were immediately captivated not only by Bang Chan’s remarkable looks, which seem to give models a run for their money, but by the essence in which he speaks of his craft- educational, yet alluring. It’s hard to ignore the chemistry in which interviewer y/n maintains as she tells his story, and we’re equally as satisfied with both subjects’ visible passion for the athletes which once dominated the network’s airtime. The series, which will air until Bang Chan’s Golden Gloves Championship fight, will follow his tale to stardom- and the underlying story he seeks to share with the world in the process.”

Lin lets out an excited squeal when you conclude speaking, patting your hand as she retrieves the paper once more and scans the bold text for the nth time this morning.

“People are seriously into him,” she emphasizes, raising her eyebrows in a knowing manner. “All these intimate looks at his life have people talking like crazy. I mean, we haven’t seen ratings this high since I can’t even remember when.”

You chuckle lightly, fishing around again for your phone in your purse and shrugging in her direction.

“Sure, he’s a little charming, I’ll give him that. People are just sorta drawn to people like him, I suppose.”

“Sorta?” Lin questions. “There’s other networks calling us to request they take over the series from here. They’re dying to know everything about him. Especially because of his winning streak.”

With your phone in hand, you pause again, meeting her gaze and furrowing your brows.

“Really? Why’s it so special to everybody?”

“Because,” she begins. “There hasn’t been an athlete competing in the Golden Gloves Championship with a winning streak like his in maybe 20 years. It makes his title fight appealing to everybody that way, not just to sports fanatics. He’s a handsome boxer and who never loses- and our network’s about to capture the biggest win of his life.”

You finally assume your spot on the swivel chair by your desk as she hovers over you, trying your best to make sense of the words as they leave her lips.

All around you, the office seems particularly busy today, colleagues chatting amongst themselves, sauntering quickly by your desk with video equipment and manila envelopes in hand. The sounds seem to crescendo as you take note of the phone lines that ring nonstop, filling the space with a constant shrill sound as colleagues rush to take messages. Amidst the overlapping voices, you can hear them conversing about ratings, requests for interviews and plans for the remainder of the series. And as you turn back to Lin, you also take note of the big smile plastered across her face- an expression you don’t typically see on an otherwise aloof producer like herself.

“You took my advice, and look where it’s gotten us already,” she says to you. “If you can manage to pull more out of him, I think we’ll have something really good here. Get closer- dig deeper.”

“I’m really trying here, but I don’t know how much closer I’ll be able to get,” you tell her.

Lin shrugs as she watches you glance at your phone, your eyes widening at the sight of several missed calls and texts.

“Took a message for you,” she says with a subtle purse of her lips. “He asked you to swing by the gym. Get out there- and bring every camera you have. He doesn’t take a breath before the camera shoots it.”

You glance past Lin’s standing figure at the giant glass windows of the office, the sun largely obscured by the cloudy weather and the towering buildings that surround it. It’s suffocating at this hour, just a little too busy for your liking, the atmosphere looming with talks of Chan and Chan and more Chan.

You know stopping by the gym will likely just irritate you more, and yet when Lin’s eager expression scans the paper in her hands once more, pupils dancing over written accounts of Chan’s passion for boxing and an underlying story the general public is somehow convinced you’ll unveil to them, you let out a frustrated sigh, gathering your purse once again and pushing your chair back in against your desk.

And Lin shoots you a small, yet knowing smile, as she observes you make your way back to the office entrance.

*

“Harder. No hooks this time.”

Hit.

“There you go! Now let’s see it all together.”

Chan ducks as his trainer throws a hit, and then his left fist darts out to deliver a harsh jab as he maintains his quick-paced footwork around the ring.

You watch from the entrance of the gym as he circles around the ring, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration and beads of sweat trickling down his clenched jaw. His punches echo thunderously around the gym, his sneakers squeaking along the floor as he ducks again to evade another hit. And then he delivers one more hard punch to the palm of his trainer’s mitt, pulling away when his trainer gives a simple nod in response.

“Very good. Take five.”

Chan lets his head hang loosely as he catches his breath, his trainer undoing the velcro mitt straps around his wrists and making his way to the equipment room with them. You approach cautiously, one hand clutching the strap of your purse over your shoulder, as the other fiddles nervously with the hem of your shirt.

Chan takes note when you approach, his head snapping in your direction from where he remains standing. And then he approaches, too, a smile on his lips as he struts toward you and adjusts the black bandages around his knuckles.

“You actually showed!” Chan remarks with a chuckle.

“You asked me to stop by,” you say in response, observing the way he pulls the wires border apart to duck and hoist himself off the platform, now standing in front of you as he leans casually against the ring.

“I know. I just didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have much of a choice. What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” Chan chuckles lightly. “I just like your company.”

“That’s it? You know I’m supposed to be working, right?”

“Relax,” Chan assures you. “I called your office this morning. Told them we needed you here to collect some boxing paraphernalia of the sort. Didn’t get any protest from the big boss.”

Your eyes narrow as Chan reaches behind him and brings forth a plastic water bottle, bringing it to his lips and taking a generous swig. You observe the way he downs half of the bottle in one guttural swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing twice as he now finishes off the water, and then pulls it away from him once more with a gentle pop as the suction from between his lips is broken. A single drop of water trickles down beside his plump lips, and he brings one veiny arm out in front of him to wipe it with his inner wrist, careful to avoid making contact with his bandages.

When Chan notices you staring, he gestures to his bandaged hand with a nod of his head as he speaks. “They get all gross when I wet them,” he explains simply. “Ever had athlete’s foot on your hands?”

“Ew, no,” you say with a small laugh.

He holds your gaze for a moment, as though he wants to ask something, and then he rejects the idea entirely, standing up a little straighter when his coach returns from the equipment room at the back.

“Who’s this?” The man asks, a stern expression on his face as he approaches.

“Oh, uh… sorry, I’m-”

“This is y/n,” Chan interjects. “She’s the interviewer we’ve been talking about.”

“It’s you!” His coach exclaims, scoffing as does a once-over of your timid figure. He’s much broader than Chan is, his buff arms folding over themselves as he leans back against the ring beside Chan. You quickly recognize him as the gentleman who accompanied Chan during your first introduction to him.

“I watched the first part when it aired,” he states. “You somehow make him seem interesting. Didn’t know that was possible.”

Chan laughs and shakes his head, a pink blush creeping upon his cheeks as you laugh, too.

“You can call me Mr. Seo,” his coach says finally, extending a calloused hand to you, his fingers grasping firmly around yours as you shake. “I’ve been training the guy since he was just a little shorter than he is now.”

“Alllll right,” Chan interrupts with a chuckle. “You’re free to go.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mr. Seo retorts sarcastically. And then turns to face you once more, furrowing his brows as he points a finger in your direction and cocks his head slightly.

“You’ll be at the fight, correct?” He inquires.

“We’re televising it,” you respond with a nod. “I’ll be there to watch.”

Chan’s eyes flicker over your gaze momentarily, and then over Mr. Seo’s expression as he nods.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Mr. Seo says with a chuckle. “I think there’s still a person somewhere deep inside there.”

Chan shakes his head sheepishly and then averts your gaze when you turn to look at him again.

“We’re done for the day, yeah?” He asks in a low voice, practically begging Mr. Seo to make his departure from the gym.

“Yeah,” Mr. Seo responds, his eyebrows raising in your direction as he cocks his head again. “I’m on my way out. It was great meeting you!”

You nod at Mr. Seo, watching as he gathers a black bag off the floor and hoists it over his shoulder.

Chan keeps his head hung as Mr. Seo gets further away from both of your still-standing figures, and then he glances up only when he hears the heavy door push open to indicate his exit.

For a moment, neither of you say anything, a heavy tension making itself known between you. You wonder briefly what could have offended Chan about Mr. Seo’s remark- and then you make a mental note to badger Chan about it later, when he’s properly on camera.

“I need to make a little day trip,” Chan finally says with a click of his tongue. “So you’re coming with.”

“Depends where we’re going.”

“About an hour up north. I left some boxing equipment, and I need it back.”

You hold back a smile as Chan leans back against the ring once more, his eyebrows raised at the same time his lips pull back into a smirk. He maintains a knowing grin as he holds your gaze, as though he already knows you can’t decline the offer. And he’s right- despite fulfilling the role of a work subject, and being forced to spend time with him at practically all hours of the day, there’s something about him you just can’t bring yourself to say no to.

You also can’t help but wonder what’s in this for him- sure, he maintains the fact that you need video footage. And you do, still finding yourself eager to capture all the intimate moments of his life which you already know contribute to his charming persona, one which audiences have been captivated by after just one episode of his series. But you can’t help but feel as though he may possess more motives for keeping you around this closely. Maybe it’s a product of the series’ early success- and maybe it has something to do with the truths he can’t seem to utter.

*

True to the way he lives his life at full-speed, Chan drives fast. He keeps one hand on the steering wheel, making smooth turns with the palm of his hand as he sits slouched comfortably in the driver’s seat, his vacant hand resting over the center console between you.

The conversation flows with ease, as though you’ve always known him, and Chan details all the mundane intricacies that come with being a boxer for the entirety of the car ride. He doesn’t speak of anything more personal than his start to boxing, yet he upholds his privacy with such dexterity, making cautious attempts to reroute the conversation when it steers any closer to him than he intends it to. And though he makes himself out to be one of two things at any given moment, chuckling lightly as he defines himself somewhere between “perfervid and steadfast”, there’s an underlying tenderness to him, the kind you can observe only in the transient moments in which he doesn’t speak of his work.

You catch a glimpse of it when he laughs at his own jokes, eyes forming little creases under his temples when he fills the space with the melodic sound of “ha ha’s” at tales of his childhood. You notice it in the way he speaks of the people he holds close to him, dubbing Mr. Seo a “lifesaver”, a “best friend” and a “hero” in the same breath. And it’s present every time he asks you a question, his eyes full of concentration as he waits for you to detail your work to him in return, usually met with the gentle reminder that he need not interview the interviewer. Yet he remains the first athlete to try and do so in your presence- a fact you’re undoubtedly charmed by.

When Chan announces your arrival at the undisclosed location, you do a double-take, furrowing your brows in confusion when he comes around to open the passenger’s car door for you.

“Where are we?” You query, stepping out and glancing at the scenery which surrounds you both.

You’re knee deep in the suburbs and well on the outskirts of city life, the clean-paved roads lined with modest-sized homes and yellowing lawns. The overcast skies are much clearer without the obstruction of skyscrapers and billboards, and in the far distance, you can make out the euphonious hum of a mourning dove’s coo.

“I told you,” Chan replies. “Here for some equipment.”

He gestures for you to follow up the cement steps that lead to a single painted door at the front, and once you’re both positioned at the entrance, he rings the doorbell confidently, glancing down at the coir doormat and prodding at it with the sole of his shoe.

“Mom bought new ones,” he says simply, and your head snaps in his direction.

“Mom?”

Before he can properly answer, the door is swung open with the heavy creak of the latch, and you’re met with who you can only presume to be Chan’s mother, a warm smile on her face as her arms extend out to him for an embrace.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming!” She exclaims, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders and laughing lightly. Her eyes form little crinkles the same way his do, and her features robustly resemble all of his.

“And you,” she now says as she pulls away. “Must be the movie-maker.”

You smile politely at her, eyes flickering over Chan momentarily before you nod in response.

“I’m just the interviewer,” you say in response. “I do get a few pieces of footage here and there, too. It’s nice to meet you.”

Your invitation for a handshake is interrupted by her arms embracing you, too, which you reciprocate in a warm hug.

“I left my training gloves,” Chan voices to her. “Did you see them anywhere?”

“I left them on the console table. You’re always forgetting something.”

Chan smiles in response, and then he kicks off his shoes when she gestures for him to come inside. You mirror the action, following his lead into their house, and then you trail after Chan to the console table where a pair of black boxing gloves lie.

As he collects them, you take in the atmosphere, eyeing the decor curiously as his mom assumes a spot on the couch.

It’s a humble little household, no bigger than any of the other houses on the street, but there’s clear indication that it’s lived-in, from the framed photos that line the walls, to the cabinets of trophies that accompany the furniture. You thumb over the strap of your camera as you walk in strides, knowing the network will be elated you managed to get this close to your interview subject. From the photos in frames atop the glass coffee tables, to the collection of medals that decorate the space by the cabinets, every reward and heirloom is more footage, more praise, higher ratings.

And above the couch, a pair of bright blue boxing gloves hung on a single nail, exactly like Chan previously mentioned.

“Are those your first boxing gloves?” You ask suddenly, drawing attention from Mrs. Bang as she cranes her neck to look at them. Chan gives a half-smile as he turns to look at them, too, and then he nods before speaking.

“Yeah, that’s them. They were a little too big for me when I bought them.”

“I was so proud of him,” Mrs. Bang chimes in. “I had to buy a second pair just to display his first.”

You smile in her direction as she folds her hands in her lap, and then your hands run over the bag you wear slung over your shoulder.

“Could I possibly film you answering a couple questions?” You ask Mrs. Bang suddenly, fishing around for the digital camera you brought along with you. “Just a few basic ones about Chan. I promise it won’t take long.”

Your gaze turns to Chan to gauge his reaction, and you’re met with an encouraging nod as he gestures to his mother.

“Of course!” his mom says, smoothing down her dress as she beckons you over. “I’m an open book.”

You take the seat across from her, running your index finger over the release shutter as you fidget with the settings. And then you catch Chan’s gaze once more, your eyes flickering at his anticipatory expression and then beyond his figure into the hallway.

“Chan, do you mind if I interview her… alone?” You request, heartbeat quickening in your chest. “These are really basic questions. I just find that people are a little more detailed when the film subject isn’t directly present.”

Chan shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants awkwardly, chewing nervously on the inside of his lip as he glances at his mother. A silent few seconds go by, and you conclude that his lack of response indicates disapproval of the request.

“I can also just not conduct the interview if that’s better for you-”

“No, that’s fine,” Chan says finally. “I’ll wait out in the garage.”

He gives a small nod in the direction of his mother, as if to request that she uphold the self-contained image he projects, and then he pivots on his heel, disappearing past the hallway toward the direction of his once makeshift gym.

“I wanted to ask you about what Chan was like growing up,” you begin as you turn toward her again, positioning the camera on a side table and adjusting to fix on her face. “Was he always so set on being a boxer?”

“Oh, precisely,” she says, folding her hands over her crossed knees. “I couldn’t get him to do nearly anything outside of going to the gym. At age 12, he was lifting weights twice his own. And by 14, he was training with Mr. Seo. Did you know he missed his own graduation ceremony to participate in some fight?”

“I didn’t know that,” you say with a chuckle.

“He did. He’d also box himself inside that little garage every summer, just practicing. I had to drag him inside for dinner most days.”

“So he’s always had this sort of tunnel vision.”

“Yes, I think so. He was never outside with the other kids, never really had many friends. It wasn’t for a lack of making them- he just found more joy in training with Mr. Seo than doing anything else a typical kid his age would do.”

You nod as she speaks, and then you watch as her lips curl into a small smile.

“In the summer, he would practice all day long in our dingy little garage. It was always scorching hot, so I’d bring him his favorite ice cream to cool down. I think watching his excitement for those ice cream bars is the last time I can recall him feeling like a little kid. He grew up so fast.”

“Sherbet ones,” you voice to her, and she points to you with a cheerful smile on her face.

“Yes, those ones!”

You chuckle as you think of the ones she speaks of, not having guessed they were a staple which preceded his career, and not just some random fixation of his.

Mrs. Bang shakes her head as she recalls memories, and then she cranes her neck to eye the hanging boxing gloves again.

“Sometimes I worry about him,” she confesses in a low voice.

You observe the way her eyebrows furrow into an expression of concern, and you tilt your head when she hangs hers, trying your best to make sense of the shift in tone.

“What do you mean?” You ask, knowing very well these aren’t in fact, the basic questions you promised Chan you would be aiming at her.

“He gets so wrapped up in it- especially when he has a fight around the corner. It’s all he does, all he thinks about.”

Mrs. Bang shakes her head for a moment, and then she meets your gaze again, speaking in a rushed tone.

“He didn’t sleep for three days once,” she announces. “Do you know how hard it was to see him like that?”

You don’t reply immediately, taking note of the visible tears that brim her eyes, which she wipes away with the gentle stroke of a manicured finger.

“He’s so down on himself all the time,” Mrs. Bang continues. “He’s so preoccupied with being the best at what he does. And I can’t help but think there’s something keeping him down.”

“Like what?”

She sniffles loudly once, shrugging her shoulders and flickering her gaze over the camera, as though suddenly remembering she’s being recorded.

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Bang admits. “Maybe you’ll figure it out for us.”

She purses her lips sheepishly when she concludes speaking, resuming the action of wiping off her runny mascara, and then you turn to the camera quickly, shutting off the recording and collecting it in your grasp once more.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it so depressing,” she says in a frail voice.”I think a lot of us are just worried about what this fight could mean for him. For his future.”

“No, please don’t apologize,” you say to her quickly. “It’s admirable that you’re so preoccupied with his career. I can just cut out that last part.”

Mrs. Bang just folds her hands neatly in her lap, but she says nothing to you, no verbal request to omit the footage or steer clear of publicizing the concern she houses for her own son. The thought passes you by, momentarily, to ask her if she’s okay being this vulnerable on camera- but when Mrs. Bang clears her throat and speaks again, you swallow your words, straightening your posture and turning your attention onto her seated figure once more.

“He’s a born winner,” she finishes. “I guess that comes at a cost.”

And the cost isn’t so easily visible to you at such proximity to Chan, who spends the duration of lunch shoving food around his plate with the tip of his fork, uttering a simple “yes” when asked if he’s been sleeping, and “maybe” when asked about his interest in a family trip after the big match. And then he turns the attention back to you, with a nod of his head in your direction, urging you to detail your career back to Mrs. Bang, the same way he does.

“I’m a journalist,” you tell her, politely dabbing at the corners of your mouth with a napkin. “I interview a lot of athletes. Your son’s just one of many.”

“How riveting,” she says back, resting her chin atop her folded hands. “So I assume you’ve grown rather close in the process, then?”

You chuckle lightly, biting back from divulging her in the fact that you’ve only agreed to be here because your network is keen on the confidentialities of Chan’s personal life.

“You could say that. I always joke that the second most intimate thing you can do with a person is interview them.”

Chan keeps his chin tucked, eyes glued to his plate as you glance over at him as Mrs. Bang lets out a laugh.

“He’s very talented, though,” you continue. “It’s an honor to know him like this before his biggest win.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Mrs. Bang chimes in. “And so the purpose of this is to capture his life before the title match?”

Chan’s head lifts a little to look at you, knowing very well that he’s the defining factor in all of this, and yet he doesn’t take the liberty of making it known to his mother.

“The purpose is whatever he chooses it to be,” you explain to her. “It’s a story- more like a message of sorts. Really anything that defines him as a person, not just an athlete.”

Mrs. Bang nods once more, and then her eyes flicker over Chan as he evades her eye contact.

“I’m excited for part two,” she finishes. “I think you’re doing a fine job at knowing him."

*

“He took you to meet his mom?”

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” you reply quickly, as you gesture to the camera Lin grasps between her hands. “He needed to get some equipment. It just happened to be at his mom’s place.”

She scoffs as she thumbs over the camera buttons, her lips pulling into a smile as she observes the thumbnails of your various clips.

“It’s a fucking gold mine,” she emphasizes. “This is exactly what we’re looking for.”

Lin watches curiously as one of the clips begins to play, an indistinguishable dialogue emitting from the camera as a close-up shot of his mom is shown.

“What’s the gist of them?” She inquires, toying with the camera strap.

“His mom seems worried for him,” you remark, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over the palms of your hands as you speak in a reluctant tone. “She alludes to something he’s hiding- maybe some sort of double life he leads. Of course I don’t think he’s that interesting, but he’s definitely a little closed-off when he wants to be.”

“She couldn’t say more?”

“She doesn’t know more. He’s a mystery to his own family, it seems.”

Lin lets out a singular breathy chuckle before ejecting the memory card and grasping it carefully between her fingers.

“Nice work,” she voices. “Part two is finally going to get personal.”

You think over her words momentarily, envisioning the way Chan so confidently brought you along with him that evening, allowing you to photograph the cherished corners of his childhood home, from the blue boxing mitts his mother held onto all those years, down to the sacred conversations of his mother in clear distress. And although you weren’t explicitly ordered not to publicize the footage, it feels wrong- just a little too… voyeuristic, to pass along to the network like this.

“Wait,” you say to Lin, uncovering the palms of your hands and gesturing to the memory card. “There’s a few clips on there I meant to delete.”

“Like what?”

“Just some extra footage we didn’t need. I’ll delete it and give it right back-”

“We can sort it out later,” Lin says, with a shake of her head. “I’ll give you a once-over before we publish the next part. Don’t worry about it.”

You meet her gaze as she finishes speaking, and she shoots you a small smile before setting the memory aside on her desk.

“Tell me,” Lin begins, leaning back in her desk chair. “What’s he like?”

You chuckle softly, leaning back in your own chair, as you shrug in response.

“I don’t know. He’s a perfectionist, that’s for sure. And he’s a little hesitant to be honest about himself.”

And then you sigh, locking eyes with the ceiling as you avert her gaze. A small smile creeps upon your face, as you think of Bang Chan, and the charming way he recounts stories of his career, always keen on asking about yourself in turn and maintaining his polite composure.

“He’s not as bad as I thought,” you then admit to her, after a brief moment of silence. “Of course he’s still an unbroken winner, at the end of the day. And that has its own implications. But I suppose he’s not all bad.”

Lin smirks a little at your confession, nodding as she folds her hands in her lap and raises her eyebrows.

“He seems to have taken a liking to you,” she teases. “He requests for you an awful lot these days.”

And you shake your head in response, your gaze falling to the memory card still placed on the desk in front of her.

“He just wants company,” you say to her, thinking back to the footage of him that exists on the little plastic card. “He just likes good company.”

*

And perhaps “good company” really is all which Chan seeks, you grow to realize, as the occurrences in which he’s dragging you along to some mundane task grow tenfold during part two of his series’ filming sessions. You familiarize yourself with his gym, his childhood home, even the leather interior of his two-seater when he’s speeding down the highway and indulging you in stories of his days spent training. Always a camera aimed at him, always a frame-by-frame analysis of how much he’s grown to love heavy lifting days the most, or how he’s partial to darker clothing because it offsets the paleness he flaunts when he’s been inside training all day. The monotonous setting of your office is quickly transitioned to that of Chan’s training gym, where you’ll typically occupy a bench by the gallery wall while he throws punches with Mr. Seo in the ring.

Chan is well aware of your tendency to film him during training sessions, earning the new title of a “show-off” by Mr. Seo’s standards, when he’s perfecting all his jabs in front of you, keen on his footwork and lifting weights three times his normal. And from behind the lens, you often hold his gaze a little too long, cocking your head to observe the way his brown tresses cling to his chiseled face with sweat. Or perhaps the way his thin athletic t-shirts seem to ride up his body with every punch, exposing the thin strip of flesh where his toned obliques grace your presence.

And the high ratings mean the network is eager to get more out of him, encouraging you to stay a little longer where you can, or to ask questions that scrape below the surface of who Chan really is.

Be intentional with your questions. Get him vulnerable.

And you certainly make attempts to, especially persistent at following all of his intimate moments with a camera in and hand a series of follow-up questions.

Of course Chan certainly won’t admit it, far too caught up in the pressure to maintain the image of a “perfect boxer” to let his guard down around you, but he is comfortably vulnerable in your presence, fascinated with the prospects of the series as it pertains to his winning streak, and often immersed in thoughts that don’t only involve himself.

As a memory card remains plugged into your laptop, importing clips of Chan’s conversations of carefree footage for Lin- laughing, smiling, your eyes scan the still frame of him, beaming, one popsicle in hand and a hand outstretched to the camera. He looks lighter this way- in fact, you’re not sure you would take him to be a boxer at all if not for the knowledge you possess.

When Chan concludes his round of punches, he makes his way toward you in purposeful strides, hoisting himself off of the ring and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

“What are you thinking about?” He queries, assuming a spot on the bench beside you and slouching back comfortably.

“You don’t need to interview the interviewer,” you remind him, fingers hovering over the mousepad of your keyboard. He shoots you a knowing smile, the flesh by his lips creasing as he holds it there momentarily.

When you look up to meet his gaze, he holds it- a little too long to feel appropriate, but not in a way that begs you to cease your actions. He’s still just as charming as you’d concluded him to be following your first interaction- but he’s also real, tantalizing. The look is almost dizzying when a soft hum emits from the back of his throat, as though he’s laughing at you, as though he knows he drives you mad in more ways than just one.

And his intense brown eyes seem to soften as he flickers his gaze over your contented expression.

“Let’s do something tonight,” Chan says in a mellow tone. It’s hardly a question, and more of a command, as he drums on his knees with the pads of his fingers.

“Why, you need another grocery run?” You retort with a smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as he holds your gaze.

“I like your company,” Chan confesses. “This gym wears me out.”

You turn your attention back to your computer as a blush creeps on your cheeks- Chan knows very well that your camera is now well saturated with footage- in fact, you could probably go several days in his absence and still have enough footage to pull together the next part.

“And by ‘do something’ you mean what, exactly?”

“There’s a bar down the street.”

“I don’t like bars.”

“Me either,” Chan says quickly, followed by a soft chuckle.

You turn to hold his gaze once more, narrowing your eyes a little as though you’re challenging him.

“Bad practice for athletes,” he states simply.

“Then I guess we’ll have to forfeit.”

Chan pauses for a moment, and then his lips pull into another smile, a small blush making its way on the tips of his ears before he speaks again.

“Come to my place,” he says plainly. It’s a request perhaps too bold for somebody who’s meant to serve the sole purpose of a video subject, and yet the offer is nothing short of tempting- for video purposes, and possibly for your own interest, too.

He thinks it over a moment, not having devised any form of a plan for the evening, but holding onto his hopes that you’ll agree, nonetheless.

“Just… indulge me in your presence, yeah?” he finishes.

You begin to tell him that you can’t, that this is probably going too far as it stands, to be spending every waking hour with him the way you now do. But the reminder lingers, that you’re meant to be breaking down his walls, gathering all of his private affairs for the purposes of this series. And perhaps, also, because he’s still hard to say no to.

“Can I bring my camera?” You ask him, and Chan nods, amused.

“You can bring your camera,” he affirms. “Film whatever you want.”

He keeps his gaze on yours again, his brown eyes flickering over your pursed lips as you observe him at this painfully close proximity. A single bead of sweat trickles from his temple down to his cheek, and as your hand instinctively reaches out to wipe it off of him, the echoing sound of footsteps interrupts you, your head snapping in the direction of a voice as it calls out to you both.

“Popsicles are out,” Mr. Seo says when he appears, boxing mitts grasped firmly in his grip. “I’m out of here for the evening, but you’re free to go restock if you feel so inclined.”

Your bodies almost force themselves away from each other, and you rise from the bench to give Mr. Seo a small bow when he’s stood in front of you.

“Hi Mr. Seo,” you say nervously. “I can make a quick trip-”

“We’ll go together,” Chan interrupts.

Your gaze snaps in his direction, where he’s now standing, too, and he nods again to affirm his answer.

Mr. Seo glances at you briefly, perhaps at just enough of an angle to presume that he knows your emotions are a little elevated. But then he simply shrugs, nodding affirmatively in your direction.

“Yeah,” he says plainly. “I’ll see you for tomorrow’s session.”

That same evening marks the first instance in which Bang Chan is reminded that he’s now perceivable to the masses- in the form of sold out popsicles. You watch as he cluelessly questions the cashier, furrowing his brows and recalling how they had restocked just days prior.

“Why would popsicles be sold out so quickly?” Chan voices, staring down the freezers against the wall as though his favorite dessert might somehow materialize from nothing.

And as your eyes remain fixed on the A4 paper that hangs loosely from the glass door, detailing “no popsicles” in scribbled handwriting and adhered by a single strip of masking tape, you make sense of it before you can even verbalize it.

“Because of you,” you voice with a chuckle.

“Me? That’s a stretch, I bought, like, three the last time I was here. That’s hardly enough-”

“Your series,” you interrupt, approaching the fridge and giving it a once-over. “You mentioned them in the first part. I think your fans have taken a liking to them.”

Your gaze meets Chan again, waiting for him to say something along the lines of what the athletes typically do when they’ve had their first brush with newfound fame. And yet Chan doesn’t smile back- in fact, the expression he wears on his face is anything but content, his lips pulling into a frown you can only describe as somber.

The chime of the door indicates the arrival of more people, and suddenly Chan can feel pairs of eyes boring into his soul from every corner of the convenience store, the undivided attention of customers analyzing his every move and holding him to the same impossible standard he’s become so accustomed to.

He’s aware that they’re picking apart his appearance, his mannerisms, translating his pixelated figure into the real-life tangibility of his broad stature. The girls seem to laugh into their sleeves as they traverse the store, and the men shoot him envious looks, as though any one of them might be Bang Chan’s opponent in the flesh. He thinks back to his opponent, who he knows trains in the same gym near this very convenience store. And then his eyes scan the room nervously, calculating the chances that one of these men may indeed be Kang-Dae. The men he rules out are paired against the likelihood that they’re either for him, or entirely against him, like they might actively be rooting for his downfall. Like they may eagerly be awaiting a broken winning streak.

And if the sight of an empty freezer isn’t soul-crushing enough, he may very well mistake this to be a boxing match, by the way his heartbeat quickens in his chest, eyes on him eagerly awaiting his next move and silently commentating as though they control him. The thoughts race through his mind once more, as he ponders the relativity of a winning streak to an empty boxing ring, a spectator relative to a participant. A city-wide obsession with popsicles for fleeting, superficial fame- and a voyeuristic fascination with the sacred intricacies of his personal life.

What are you so afraid of?

Your voice rings in his mind, and he cringes when he takes several steps away from your looming figure, averting the gaze of every customer in the store as his own heartbeat echoes loudly through his ears.

“Let’s go,” he says, beginning toward the door again.

“Already?” You question, glancing at the full shelves of alternative dessert options. “You don’t want to grab something else?”

“I want to go home,” Chan emphasizes through gritted teeth.

And when he’s exited the store before you, the blank stares shared amongst you, and the store clerk, and the customers who most definitely recognize him, seem to only affirm the discomfort he feels.

*

Home to Bang Chan isn’t always the one he grew up in- it’s also his humble apartment on the east side, up three stories high, the walls heavily resembling that of a bachelor pad’s. It’s not very hospitable, you quickly notice, as the room is only incrementally brightened by the on switch of a floor lamp in the corner. And as he gestures to a black leather couch across a luxurious flatscreen television, you can’t help but wonder how many girls he’s charmed into this exact position, comfortably sat on his couch as he makes his way over with two glasses of white wine.

“I’m impressed,” you say quickly, giving the living room another once-over.

“How so?”

“You have good taste in furniture. And your hosting qualities aren’t too shabby. Is white wine your go-to for journalists?”

“Very funny,” Chan says with a grin. “You’re the first to have made it this far.”

“Then can I ask what the occasion is?” You inquire, as he assumes the spot beside you. “Aside from indulging you with my company.”

Chan sets his glass down on the coffee table in front of you both, exchanging it for a remote control and switching on the television.

“Something I wanted to watch with you,” he says simply. You observe as he starts up what you think to be a movie at first, his arm sprawling over the back of the sofa as he sits back comfortably. And then, when the familiar sound of an introduction fills the room, you don’t have to wait long to know what it is.

“I should’ve guessed,” you say quietly from your spot next to him, as you bring the glass of wine up to your lips. Chan nods, a smile upon his face as renowned boxer Baik Hyun-Man assumes a seat in a studio much like yours, and then begins to speak.

“I’ve been boxing for ten years,” he says, following a brief introduction. “It’s my passion. My life’s dream.”

The peripherals of your eyes shift to Chan’s seated figure, where he’s watching intently, a sort of shimmer in his eyes as he indulges in the film for what may be the hundredth time now. It’s one you remember well, too, always having memorized his graceful responses to questions and his aversion to engage in any form of slandering his opponents.

And as Chan watches, you make careful movements to retrieve your camera from your bag, starting up a fresh recording and angling it toward him.

“God, isn’t he the coolest?” Chan remarks, and you chuckle lightly.

“Yeah, he’s pretty cool.”

He gestures to the television with his index finger, sitting up a little when Hyun-Man is filmed pulling on a pair of blue boxing gloves.

“Those are the ones!” Chan says excitedly. “That’s why I picked blue ones for my first pair.”

You chuckle at Chan’s enthusiastic reaction, and then you adjust the camera so that it’s zoomed into his face a little more.

“Chan,” you voice to him, and he turns a little to face you, humming in response. “What exactly is it about him you’re so fascinated with?”

He thinks it over momentarily, and before he can answer, you’re speaking again.

“He was only a championship boxer for a whole two years, you know. He holds one of the shortest-spanning careers in your field.”

Chan purses his lips, hanging his head as he thinks over your words.

“I know,” he responds.

And he’s very knowledgeable of the fact that although Baik Hyun-Man was the first heavyweight boxer of his kind to make it to the Olympics, he was retired and gone just two years after his biggest fight. Not a product of fading relevancy, but rather a personal choice of his, to step away from the spotlight, step down from his career and live a life beyond just the sport in which he excelled at.

“You will face your share of losses,” he had said in his final speech to the masses. “And you can’t let it retract from the rest of life you have to live. It’s been an honorable two years, I’m going to live the rest of it now.”

Chan looks at the television, and then at you once more, an indistinguishable expression painted across his face.

“He didn’t want all of this,” Chan says finally. “And sometimes I don’t, either.”

He reaches forward again, grasping the stem of his wine glass between his fingers and downing a generous mouthful.

“What do you mean?”

“All the fame,” he says, pulling the glass away from his lips again. “And pairs of eyes constantly watching your every move. It gets exhausting.”

He then slouches back a little further into the cushions, shutting his eyes momentarily.

“Made worse when you’ve never lost,” he finishes, opening his eyes again to meet your gaze.

His eyes flicker briefly over your lips, and then back up to your eyes, which carefully examine the state of him. You’re hardly ever at such intimate proximity to a video subject like this, but you can tell again that he looks tired, his eyes outlined by deep, purple bags and a sorrowful expression. You wonder when the last time is that he got a full night of rest, or even consumed something that wasn’t just a snack in between training sessions and interviews.

“Is that what you want for yourself?” You ask him boldly, the tips of your fingers tracing the shutter release on the camera.

He gets quiet, a little reluctant to answer the question- and rightfully so, never having seriously thought about letting go of all of this.

“I don’t know what I want,” Chan admits after a moment of silence. He turns to face you again, shrugging his shoulders and positioning himself to face you fully now. And then he cocks his head, furrowing his brows as you continue to toy with the shutter release.

“Are you recording?” He asks with a breathy chuckle, gesturing to the camera with the point of his index finger.

You chuckle in response, too.

“It’s just for my personal use,” you assure him. “It won’t make it past this memory card. I’m just picking your brain a little.”

He seems satisfied with the response, knowing too that he’s most transparent when he has a camera aimed somewhere at him. Chan sighs, exhaling once before folding his hands in his lap.

“Everyone wants me to tell my story,” Chan says in a shaky voice. “I feel so suffocated these days.”

“Rightfully so,” You echo back at him. “There is a lot of pressure on you leading up to the fight.”

“Something like that. The worship feels… well, it feels suffocating.”

He gets quiet again, eyebrows arched as he meets your gaze, in hopes you’ll make sense of his nervous conciseness.

“Like the popsicles,” you remark, nodding your head once.

You recall Chan growing strangely quiet at the knowledge that he had not only cultivated a loyal fan base after just one episode of airtime, but that just like the audiences at his matches, they were keeping careful watch of his every move, imitating him and placing him on a pedestal like he’s bound to experience for the remainder of his career.

“Yeah,” Chan affirms. “Like the popsicles. It’s like nothing is sacred anymore.”

The popsicles, you remember, have been a childhood staple of his since he still wore the blue mitts to matches that his mother now boasts so proudly. They’re out of reach now; unattainable. Much like a life not tainted by the pressure to win is.

You nod once at his words, and then you reach out to pat his knee encouragingly, smiling when you speak again.

“You said it yourself,” you say to him. “Not much scares you these days. Maybe this is just the product of the anticipation leading up to the fight. I mean, do you really think Baik Hyun-Man wasn’t scared when he was the first boxer to-”

“Losing scares me,” Chan interjects, the pupils of his eyes trembling when he speaks. A deafening silence falls over the room, and you can make out the sound of when he swallows nervously at his own state of vulnerability.

“Losing scares the shit out of me,” Chan repeats, and it’s when you meet his gaze once more that you take notice of the tears which brim his eyes, his lower lip trembling nervously as he struggles to speak.

The only other time you’ve seen him display any emotion besides than the charming, mesmerizing persona he flaunts, is when he’s boxing- and right now, juxtapositioned against his otherwise calm demeanor, he seems almost stricken with sorrow, tears beginning to cascade down his reddened cheeks and find purchase on the sleeves of his shirt.

“Sorry,” Chan breathes out amidst the silence, hiccuping when more tears stream down his face.

For a moment, you can’t find the words to say, simply observing his state and trying to understand where he’s coming from with all of this. Yet it doesn’t require a considerable amount of thought- perhaps somewhere deep down, you already know this of him, well aware of his tendency to pull away and shut himself off from the heavy emotions he harbors. It’s made clear when he diverts from the topic of fear, directing the conversation back to Mr. Seo, or his mom or even yourself. It’s evident in the way he seems to be bothered by his own solitude, dragging you along under the guise of “good company”. And it’s made painfully obvious in the way he’s so frightened at the notion of losing all things sacred to him- remnants of his innocence, the people around him and especially a commendable winning streak.

“What if I lose this match?” Chan ponders out loud, his eyebrows arching as he shrugs sheepishly. “What’s going to become of me? Of all this?”

Your hands are the first ones to beckon for his, palms outstretched as he reciprocates with the gentle placement of his fingers in yours. And then your thumb caresses his knuckles tenderly, cocking your head as you feel the smooth metal of his silver rings in your touch.

“So what if you lose?” You question back boldly.

“Then I’m a loser,” Chan says quickly. “And I don’t want to be a loser. I know I was born to win this thing- I’ve been training for this my whole life.”

“You’ve been training your whole life,” you echo. “But this is only a fraction of it. You’re still going to do remarkable things, whether you win or lose this. Everybody loves you.”

“I don’t,” he says quickly, a breathy chuckle involuntarily escaping his lips. He holds your gaze a moment, and then his expression grows serious again.

“I hate who this has turned me into,” he continues. “I’m a… I’m a coward. I shut people out, I can’t even be honest with them about how terrified I am of being a loser. And the only time I’m honest with myself is when I imagine it’s me I’m punching in that ring. Just a shell of who they think I am. A fucking loser.”

You think back to the way Chan delivers hits to the bag in that raised platform of the gym, teeth gritting and beads of sweat collecting along his brow, as he hits harder, and harder and harder, until the bandages around his knuckles can do nothing to shield the pain of self-inflicted wounds. One hit and a black eye, two hits and a cracked rib, a myriad of strikes and uppercuts and hopefully the numbness of all the self-loathing thoughts that follow.

“I’m so tired,” Chan then confesses quietly. “Can you tell I haven’t slept in days?”

And you say nothing back to him, your eyes flickering over the apples of his cheeks all glossed with tears, the bags under his eyes appearing an even darker shade of deep gray as his eyebrows slouch down into a sorrowful expression. He looks more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him, almost miserable, as he waits for you to say something. And when you don’t, he quickly regrets the stream of consciousness, shaking his head as he pulls back his calloused hands from your grasp.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “You’re a journalist, not a therapist. I shouldn’t have been so honest-”

“None of that makes you a loser,” you interject with the shake of your head, and then a small smile. “All your fears, and your hangups and your reservations. They’re little burdens you carry with you- but they’re all human. You don’t have to apologize for any of it. They’re simply part of the story you’re telling.”

It’s Chan’s turn to get silent, his lips parted ever so slightly as he studies the way you gauge his reaction back. It’s unclear what he thinks, and you fear momentarily that you may have somehow offended him with your response.

Nothing is spoken for a passing moment as you exchange curious glances with each other. When the camera shifts a little in your lap, you shut off the recording, pushing down on the shutter release with the dip of your index finger and letting it rest atop the crack of the couch cushions.

And then before you can utter some form of apology to him for actions unbeknownst to you, he’s leaning in a bit closer, eyes nervously darting over your lips and back up to your trembling eyes.

Chan’s heartbeat quickens in his chest as he searches for the right words to say- perhaps some thanks for the reassurance, another apology, or even a confession of emotions he’s not fully come to terms with yet. An attractive athlete like himself is no stranger to the process utilizing his eloquent flirting skills, and yet the words escape him, as he understands finally that you don’t feel like a stranger to him at all.

Not when you’re accompanying him to the convenience store by the gym for late night popsicles, or observing the way he trains from behind the lens of your camera. Not when you’re in the intimate setting of his mother's house, graciously conversing with her as he stews in thoughts of self-deprecation. Or when you’re in the passenger’s seat of his car, laughing at tales of his summer days spent confined to that dingy little makeshift gym in his garage. Perhaps the words are lost to his own doubts when he begins to confess that you’re more than just “good company”- that his world doesn’t feel so centered around a sport when he’s in your presence. That for a fleeting moment, he feels like there is a life beyond that of an athlete on a rampant winning-streak, and that the thought of losing doesn’t feel half as scary when he’s sitting beside you.

You’re no stranger to Chan- a fact that rings true when he finally presses his lips to yours, his hand rising to caress your cheek gently as you kiss him back, eager and full of a soft yearning for him.

You remain like that for a moment, aware that it’s entirely wrong and you shouldn’t even be in a subject’s house at this proximity. The flavor of his salty tears mixed with white wine upon his lips is less noticeable as you work to kiss it off him entirely. And when you pull away once more, it’s not for a lack of enjoying it, more so than your guilty conscience weighing on you.

Chan observes your expression, worried he’s crossed a boundary when you pull back gently and give him a sheepish smile.

“What is it?” He asks, one hand coming down to rest on your knee, his thumb rubbing in comforting back and forth motions over the denim of your pants.

“You taste like wine,” is all you utter in response, and Chan chuckles, not moving his gaze off yours.

“I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he remarks.

“I know you’re not,” you say simply. “But… what exactly are we doing?”

“You tell me,” he says, expression unchanging. “We don’t do anything if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s wrong,” you voice quickly, posturing yourself a little further from him now. “This is strictly a professional relationship. We’re not supposed to be wrapped up in this.”

Chan nods just once, making no effort to try and change your mind. He knows this is a possible outcome, having replayed it in his head several times since the moment he understood that his desire to kiss you was only worsening by the day. So true to the gentleman he is, Chan pulls away, too, sprawling the palms of his hands over his knee caps and pursing his lips.

“Yeah,” he says simply. “Okay.”

“I want to,” you interject, the sleeves of your sweater swallowing your own hands as you fidget nervously. He meets your gaze again, blinking just once as he waits for you to speak.

“I think you’re amazing,” you continue. “And I think in any other context, things might be different between us. But I can’t risk your career, my career- this whole series, and whatever’s waiting for you after all of this. You’re going to do great things after your big win. I’m just a stepping stone in it.”

And there’s an ounce of truth in your words- you do find yourself drawn to Chan, thoroughly enjoying the late night escapades alongside him and getting to know his character beyond that of just a boxer. But the truth stands, that this level of intimacy only exists to uncover his story, not because you’re destined for any sort of relationship to him. In due time, he’ll be in the big leagues with all the other famous athletes, and you’ll still be a journalist. You’re just the storyteller- not a part of the story.

Chan furrows his brows, shaking his head as he replays your words in his head. He begins to piece together the admission that he’s regretful these are the circumstances, and that reducing you to the role of a stepping stone feels like an injustice for the sheer honesty you’ve managed to coax out of him.

“You’re more than that,” is all Chan can utter, with the gentle shake of his head. He’s quiet for a moment when he locks his eyes with yours, letting out a sharp breath before speaking again.

“You’re the only person I haven’t felt inclined to shut out in years. I know it’s probably just this series, and I’m supposed to be telling a story. But having you here, being honest with you and having somebody who listens to me instead of praising me for all these fleeting brushes with fame- it feels so right. It feels so right here with you.”

His words are simultaneously like a pierce to your beating heart, and the catalyst for you to kiss him just once more, your hands finding purchase on the leather beside him as you waste no time pressing your lips to his, a small gasp escaping his lips into your mouth as he shuts his eyes and kisses you back. His hands find the small of your back, assisting you toward him and onto his clothed thigh, where your legs now straddle the denim fabric of his jeans as your fingers tangle in his hair.

Chan’s breaths are heavy against your mouth as he feels you rock your hips gently toward him, practically rutting against his toned muscle as his kisses move to the column of your neck. And as his calloused hands grip your waist tenaciously, moving your parted thighs back and forth along him, allowing the rough fabric to satisfy the rhythmic ache between your legs with every slight movement, you press two hands to his chest once more, pushing him away from you gently and watching as he halts his movements.

“What is it?” Chan asks again in a low, breathy voice. You can feel his quickening heartbeat as your fingers graze the thin fabric of his t-shirt, your gaze unmoving as you position yourself off his lap and onto your knees. His entire disposition is overtaken by nerves, afraid of losing two things now, as he waits for you to speak. You take note of the visible worry on his face, the way his eyes are still glossy from crying and outlined by a clear lack of sleep. His hair is tousled from the tangle of your fingers in it, his lips remain parted nervously as he observes the way you sit up a little straighter and scan his eager frame.

He’s already pitched a tent under the fabric of his jeans, his cock visibly straining against the confines of the denim fabric, cringing to himself when he sees you eye his crotch curiously from where you’re sat. His eyes then widen when you slot yourself between his legs, his expression appearing animated for the first time in weeks, as the gray bags under his eyes seem to deepen with his confusion.

“Just relax for me, okay?” you reply in a low voice.

Chan watches as you pull a hair tie from around your wrist between your teeth, simultaneously gathering your hair into a ponytail, and then securing it back tightly, looping it skillfully around just twice, until it’s pulled taut and effectively out of your face.

He begins to say that there’s no obligation to finish the job he initiated, and that he’s in no position to contradict the truth that he’s just a video subject to you, in what’s meant to be a strictly professional relationship. But when you shoot him a saccharine smile from between his muscular thighs, hands traveling to the waistband of his jeans and unfastening his belt buckle, he can do nothing except remain fixed on the sight of your manicured fingers undressing him. Chan sits up momentarily to allow his jeans to pool around his ankles, his belt hanging open at his sides, as the gentle clink of the buckle falls upon the leather sofa beside him. And then your hand finds his still-clothed erection, cupping a hand around him and meeting his gaze once more when he lets out a little gasp.

“Is this okay?” You whisper up at him, your hand distancing itself from his cock as you await his reply.

Chan nods before he speaks, swallowing nervously as he comprehends what’s about to occur. He’ll never tell you that he’s dreamt of this for so long- that he’s fantasized about circumstances in which you’re so much more than just a journalist to him. Circumstances in which he’s permitted to kiss you in front of all the watchful eyes, or make love to you right there on the floor of the boxing ring when the gym’s already empty for the night. Ones in which you’re a lover he’s brought home to meet his mother, not just an interviewer or a stepping stone in his career. And where you’re a part of his story, not just fulfilling the mundane task of telling it.

A journalist relative to its subject- the relativity of one storyteller to another. But your relativity to Bang Chan’s- the relativity of one lover to the next, of sweet nothings left unsaid and learning to embrace the intricacies of his own vulnerability.

“Yeah- yes,” Chan vocalizes back in a shaky manner, earning a small chuckle from you, as you loop your fingers in the waistband of his boxers and rid him of those, too.

He’s bigger than you’d anticipated, and harder, the tip of his cock flushed a bright shade of red as you observe it grow against his abdomen once he’s fully exposed. Chan takes a sharp breath when the cool air grazes his bare flesh, wincing, as he watches you sit up on your knees a little straighter. Your hand reaches out to grasp the base of his cock between your fingers, not yet moving, as you gather a generous wad of saliva between your pursed lips. And then Chan’s eyebrows arch in anticipation when you near him, a small dribble of spit already finding purchase on your lower lip.

“Close your eyes,” you tell him. Chan nods eagerly in response, shutting his eyes and leaning back a little further into the couch cushions. He takes a sharp breath when he feels you stroke his length just once, maintaining a light hold of him as you bring your lips to his tip. And then he gasps involuntarily, when he feels you press your drooly mouth against his flesh, pressing a single kiss to his cock and smiling against him while you feel him writhe in your touch.

His chest rises and falls with anticipatory breaths as he waits for you to do more- and in mere seconds, you’re taking him in your mouth, his girth stretching the corners of your lips as you work yourself down halfway and back up again.

“Fuck,” Chan breathes, his eyes trembling as he struggles to keep them closed, his thighs tensing when he feels you work your mouth down his length once more, this time a little bit further down.

His hands grasp desperately at his sides, searching for something, anything, to hold, practically clawing at the taut leather as he lets out another fervent moan. And with nothing within reach, he lets his hands fold behind his neck, throwing his head back in a state of pure bliss as you continue to work him so skillfully.

Your lips grow wetter as you do, a mix of his precum and your saliva glazing the length of his cock as you move down, and up, and down once more, picking up the pace when you hear him let out a heavy grunt at the sensation. He’s tense beneath you, but still in a blissful state of pleasure, breathing cuss words into the air above him and letting his mind stray far from the burdening thoughts that typically plague him. None of it matters when your mouth is working him to his finish, your hands gliding along his shaft in tandem with the rhythmic bobbing of your head along his hard cock, gulping desperately for air when you pull away from him momentarily. He can’t possibly lose when he’s shivering in your touch and letting little moans escape his plump lips- he’s nothing but a winner like this in your presence.

Strings of saliva connect you to him still, glistening under the dim lights the same way your runny makeup now does. He exhales little pleas for a release when you attach your lips to him once more, swirling your tongue around the base before trailing little kisses down his length. And then he feels his hips jerk forward just once, squeezing his eyes shut a little tighter when you hum around his shaft.

You smile with him in your mouth, still, knowing he’s on the cusp of release, his eyebrows knitting together as he makes every effort to stave off his orgasm. You take note of the way his fists clench, intertwined with each other behind the beads of sweat that graze his neck, and then his moans seem to heighten in pitch when you swirl your tongue around his base once more.

You glance up at him from between his legs, his adam’s apple bobbing with every slight noise emitting from the back of his jutted throat.

“Fuck, that’s so good,” he gasps in response to your quick movements. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna finish.”

And it’s already evident by his facial expressions, which contort into a desperate, silent plea for a finish, as his head jerks forward in a sudden motion.

His eyes squeeze tighter, heartbeat ringing throughout his ears in combination with the erotic, squelching noises of your lips gliding along his shaft. And then you pause for a brief second with his tip between your mouth, still.

“Chan,” you say to him tenderly. “Open your eyes.”

He obeys, eyes fluttering open to marvel at the sight of your hands with his length in their grasp, your pink lips continuing to work needy kisses down his dampened flesh. He exhales sharply at the sight of your mascara, now pooling beneath the apples of your cheeks as you stare up at him through hooded eyelids.

And when you take him in your mouth again, working your throat down to the base of his cock, his hips buck up toward the back of your tongue, earning a drooly gag as you struggle to keep him there.

He practically melts into the couch while your throat adjusts to the new position, his cock twitching upon your flattened tongue as you attempt to lick a stripe up his length. And then his heartbeat quickens when you begin a rhythmic bobbing action again, his mind dizzying at the erotic sight of you like this.

The room fills again with the sound of your tongue working his flesh. And he’s strangely brought back to the memory of popsicles, on a hot day- working his tongue around the base and gathering every last drop of sherbet between his wetted lips. Ridding himself of the sticky residue that finds purchase along the veins of his forearms, tracing his tongue along his skin, the same way you do along his shaft. When his hands come down to grasp his knees momentarily, his gaze falls to your face, and he admires the way you taste him with such desperation, as though he may be the one sacred thing left for you, too. There’s such a juxtaposition between the innocence he’s brought back to- carefree days spent collecting popsicle sticks along the pavement as the consumption of his favorite dessert was made with equal desperation. And the lewd sounds of you humming around his cock, the vibration of your throat sending delicious reverberations along his flesh and causing him to let out a breathy gasp at the sensation.

“I’m gonna cum,” Chan says, for the second time this evening.

“Yeah, cum for me,” you coo tenderly back at him, pulling away from him briefly to hover over his tip with your mouth. “Want you to feel good. Just relax for me.”

Chan’s hardly ever known relaxation- not in the sleepless nights he spends thinking about his career, or when he’s standing in the ring with copious amounts of eyes on him. Not when he’s filming a series for the whole world to scrutinize, or when he’s made aware of the publicity somewhere as unsuspecting as a convenience store.

But he knows it now when he’s with you, lying parallel to you in the same boxing ring after hours, his mind completely void of any self-loathing. He knows it when he’s imagining circumstances in which your careers don’t dictate the inevitable outcome of your relationship to each other.

And he knows it when he finally cums for you, his eyes not leaving the sight of your lips wrapped around his cock as he finds his release, shooting a thick, generous amount of his milky white load onto the flat of your tongue. At first he feels almost guilty, when you finally pull away from around his girth with a gentle pop. And then he muses curiously as he watches you swallow his arousal entirely, wiping the corners of your mouth with the backs of your hands and cleaning the remainder off your fingers with the lap of your tongue.

He almost grows hard all over again watching you devour him entirely, not letting a single drop go to waste, the same way he does with his popsicles. The gentle sounds of your tongue working along the pads of your fingers, swirling around the patterns of your fingertips like they’re just stained orange popsicle sticks. His mind at ease once more, nothing but a stillness in the air and the fleeting presence of another sacred moment to him- this time in the form of yourself.

His body drapes languidly over the couch, too exhausted to speak, simply getting clothed once more as you undo the hair tie and let your hair fall loosely over your shoulders again. Chan extends his hands, helping you off the floor again, and your sore knees straddle him once more, hoisting yourself onto his lap and letting your hands find the back of his neck.

For a minute, he says nothing, completely fascinated with this side of you, as his hands find your waist again.

“Let me return the favor?” Chan inquires just above a whisper, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. And you shoot him a small smile, shaking your head in response as he cocks his head to look at you.

“I… shouldn’t” is all you breathe back, hanging your head as he tries to meet your gaze.

He begins to ask why, but he stops himself, knowing that your previous statement still stands. This is wrong- you’re a journalist and he’s just a video subject. Not to mention, he’s just weeks away from the biggest fight of his life- and neither of you intend on ruining any of that for him. He knows all of this as much as you do- but he’s still disappointed that the circumstances appear to be unchanging.

Chan nods as you hoist yourself off his lap and back onto the leather of the couch, and then he reaches for his glass of wine again, scanning your expression in his peripheral vision as you fix your tousled hair. From beside him, your gaze meets his again, giving him a small shrug.

“I’m sorry,” you say to him, toying with the stitching on the leather of the couch. “You probably have tons of girls practically throwing themselves at you as it stands. I don’t need to be another.”

Chan chuckles, shaking his head and setting down his glass of wine. He fidgets with the lobe of his ear as he admires the blush upon your cheeks when you look at him once more.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he admits shyly. “But I’m sure you have your fair share of athletes trying to score a chance.”

It’s your turn to shake your head, chuckling softly as you avert his gaze.

“Not exactly,” you voice back at him. And then your gaze lingers on him, observing the way his lips appear to be smudged with your lipstick.

“Just one,” you conclude, hands finding purchase on your own knees as you maintain a comfortable distance from him.

Chan begins to say something, but then he’s silent again, awkwardly crossing his legs once more and forcing his attention on the television. Though the docuseries continues to play faintly in front of you, it’s painfully quiet between your breathless bodies, and Chan can’t seem to stop himself from catching glimpses of your seated figure while you try not to engage in eye contact with him. You know that if you do, it’ll only result in you practically throwing yourself at him all over again, so you remain facing the television, saying nothing in efforts to not warrant anything more between the two of you. It’s Chan who breaks the silence first, clearing his throat before grasping the remote between his fingers and lowering the volume to just above a muted speech.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, not meeting your gaze as you sit comfortably beside each other.

“No need to interview the interviewer,” you say back to him, doing your best to evoke a nonchalant disposition. You bite back a smile, as does Chan, while he observes the interview that plays on the television.

“I beg to differ,” he then chimes in. “I believe the second most intimate thing you can do is interview somebody. If I can’t kiss you, I think it’s only fair you indulge me in a story.”

The docuseries fills the silence that overtakes the room with hushed chatter as Chan awaits a response from you, and he watches as you lean forward to grasp your glass of wine between your fingers before speaking again.

“I’m just a boring journalist,” you say to him, keeping your gaze on the television. “I collect stories the same way you do medals. There’s not much else to say.”

And the statement is only half true- there’s certainly more you can indulge him in pertaining to your career as a journalist. Details of past athletes you’ve interviewed, moments you’ve shared that permanently altered your life, for better or for worse. Restless nights spent gathering footage, following orders from the crew to get closer, be intentional with your actions. You’re as enthralled in your own career as Chan is- perhaps not at the same level, but devoted, nonetheless.

“Do you like all of this?” Chan inquires a little quietly.

You’re silent for a passing moment, and then you take another sip of wine before answering.

“It’s complicated. I like telling stories. Not always the process it takes to uncover one. Sometimes it’s a little…” you ponder the words briefly, and Chan takes a sip from his glass, too, his eyes darting in your direction as he interjects.

“Voyeuristic?”

You meet his gaze again, not having taken him as someone who could read you so carefully.

“Yeah,” you respond. “That’s exactly how it feels.”

Chan slouches back into the sofa, downing the rest of his wine, and then he sighs deeply, a level of contentedness present in his tone.

“I can’t believe you got me crying on camera,” he says with a chuckle.

You chuckle, too, mirroring his relaxed posture.

“Trust me, the footage isn’t going anywhere,” you say to him. And then you pause, before speaking once more.

“Thank you,” you continue. “For being so honest with me. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a loser.”

Chan turns his head in your direction, shooting you a small smile and a nod. He looks much more relaxed now, his once teary eyes now replaced by the glazed appearance of his blissful state. He looks comfortable like this- happy, even.

“Thank you,” he echoes. “For letting me be so honest. And for what it’s worth, I think you do a pretty damn good job at collecting stories.”

He turns back to the television, folding his arms over his chest now, as do you. And then he raises the volume on the television again, letting Baik Hyun-Man’s words echo in the otherwise quiet space between you.

“Sometimes we win, and sometimes we lose,” the familiar words play from the television.

“And knowing that, maybe through tales like mine, of guts and glory, we find our footing in the knowledge that we tried.”

*

Sherbet popsicles remain out for the foreseeable future. Convenience stores are cleared of theme entirely, every freezer in the city decorated with an impromptu sign detailing the status of them.

The environment of the gym seems to grow heavy with anticipation as every passing day brings you closer to Chan’s title fight.

And perhaps the only thing harder than unveiling the very real fears Chan harbors toward his title fight, is resisting the urge to kiss him again.

At first you’re not sure it ever happened, when Chan greets you at the gym with a casual salute, as though he’s greeting his trainer.

“My partner in crime!” He’d exclaimed, like you hadn’t been practically pleasuring yourself on his lap just days ago, mouths breathing hot gasps into each other and hands grasping desperately at his toned muscles. As though you hadn’t devoured him entirely on the sticky leather of his sofa, the flavor of his salty release still familiar to you when you graze your fingertips along your lips.

And with the passing days, he assumes the role of a video subject painfully well, detailing all of his best techniques behind the lens and keeping a comfortable distance from your camera. Part of you is relieved, of course, as you witness Chan do exactly what he’s promised- after all, mixing business and pleasure comes at a cost to the entirety of the project. But when he intentionally averts your gaze while he trains with Mr. Seo now, or refrains from speaking of anything more personal than the mundanes of his daily routine, you can’t help but miss the Chan that was only just beginning to grace you with the details of how all of this really feels to him.

How the sounds that ring throughout his ears are far too loud at times, or that he can’t stand the way his tangible memories seem to slip from his grasp when they’re no longer sacred to him. And a myriad of other admissions, including the painful truth that he’s taken a remarkable liking to you, and yet he’s forced to pretend it’s nothing more than his erratic emotions leading up to the fight when he’s intentionally ignoring you like this.

At just a little over two weeks left until his title fight, Chan is visibly distressed, though he makes his best efforts to mask the fact, growing quiet when you’re not asking him questions, and evading any talk of his fears. It’s worrying to see him like this, and you think back to when his mother previously detailed his tendency to shut himself off from the world in response to his heightened emotions.

“He gets so wrapped up in it,” she had explained somberly. “especially when he has a fight around the corner. It’s all he does- all he thinks about.”

It’s made clear to you now when Chan trails off from his sentences, staring off into the distance as though he’s being overcome with disdain for himself. You can see what he means about thinking of himself when he boxes, as he throws particularly harsh uppercuts at the bag in the ring, his face glazed with a sheen layer of sweat as he avoids your concerned gaze from across the room. And when you find yourself alone with him again, he doesn’t so much as crack a smile from beside you, simply lying parallel to the floor as his eyes scan the now dark ceilings of the gym at nighttime.

The photographs on the gallery wall are too shadowy to make out at this hour, except for the one in the middle, the pearly white grin of renowned boxer Baik Hyun-Man beaming down upon your languid bodies as you remain there, in complete silence. Chan thinks back to his schedule for what feels like the millionth time now- a training session tomorrow in the morning, a tour of the title fight ring in the afternoon, a series of smaller interviews to fill the week and a meeting with some of the sports directors leading up to his match. And following the eventful few days, part two of the docuseries’ broadcast. It’s one of the first times he’ll spend a few days without you in a while, and it feels admittedly unnerving to him, he realizes, as he chews on the inside of his cheek.

“What are you thinking about?” You break the silence, not breaking your eye contact from the pendant lamps that line the ceiling. He’s quiet for a moment, and then he shrugs casually.

“Not much,” Chan fibs.

Fulfilling the demanding traits of a perfect boxer. The fact that he hasn't slept properly in well over three days. Winning. Losing. Especially losing.

“Getting nervous for part two?” You query, and Chan’s eyes dart to your figure briefly.

He thinks back to the docuseries and all the interviews thus far, and then he shakes his head, furrowing his eyebrows as he speaks again.

“Nothing to be nervous about,” he lies again. “You’ll make me look like a winner.”

Chan’s chest rises and falls as he grows quiet once more. He thinks back to the success of part one, where he gained more respect than perhaps ever before, thousands of fans eagerly anticipating how he’ll perform on the evening of the title fight. And then he lets out a deep sigh, shutting his eyes momentarily.

“I miss popsicles,” Chan confesses.

You don’t find the words to reply for a passing moment, thinking back to the bright orange dessert he speaks of, perhaps not having realized he hasn’t consumed one in several weeks now. Chan sighs again, and then he repeats himself, his gaze now finding the wall, at Baik Hyun-Man’s beaming smile.

“I really fucking miss popsicles,” he says a little quieter this time around, and by the way he delivers the confession, you become aware that perhaps it’s not popsicles at all he speaks of.

Rather, Chan misses his innocence, his youthful days when none of this mattered so much to him. He misses training with Mr. Seo in his garage, a bright blue pair of kanpeki mitts around his bruised knuckles as he delivered much softer hits to the punching bag. He misses days spent at his mom’s house without these heavy burdens he bears- a lifelong promise to himself to make her proud, and simultaneously pushing her away, because he knows his obsession with boxing only brings out the very worst in him. He misses the summer days he lost to training sessions, he misses the life he knew before a winning streak was ever uttered in reference to him.

And he misses you, although you remain at this comfortable proximity to him- no camera in sight and a yearning to know him as intimately as he longs to know you. But the truth remains, that you’re just here to tell his story, not be a part of it. The relativity of a journalist to an athlete- new burdens he bears, new fears he harbors.

“I have an interview with Mr. Seo,” you voice from beside him. “Anything in particular I should ask about?”

Chan chuckles at your ability to ground him once again, and then his eyes scan the ceiling as he thinks it over.

“Anything you want,” he says simply. “He probably knows me better than anybody else.”

The cogs turn as you think over the seemingly endless possibility of questions for Mr. Seo- a voyeuristic journalist’s dream.

“I’ll see you after part two airs,” you say to him, sitting up from your spot on the ring. “And then we just have your final interview, following the match.”

Chan is quiet for a moment as he sits up, too, leaning back on the palms of his hands and observing the way you gather your bag from beside you. He thinks back to the start of this series, when you’d scolded him for being late, and when he first detailed to you his start to boxing. It feels like a lifetime ago that you were first stating your introductions to each other, and now you’ve quickly become just as important to Chan as boxing is.

“Everything’s going to be different,” Chan says, as you hoist yourself off the platform and sling your bag over your shoulder. You meet his gaze with furrowed brows, humming in response, as he brings his hands forward and toys with the taut bordering wire.

“Hm?”

“Things are just going to be different after this airs,” he concludes. “It happened the first time. It’s going to happen again. I can feel it.”

Whether he speaks of his upward trajectory to fame, the likeability of him to the masses, or his relationship to you, you’re unsure. But you entangle your fingers in the bordering wire across from him, too, letting your fingers caress the stringy metal as you meet his gaze.

The vibrating sound of the wire’s recoil fills the space between your bodies, so close to each other and yet worlds apart, as you let the pads of your fingers brush against his, and then you allow his fingers to intertwine with yours, the bruised knuckles of a boxer’s embracing the silky smooth flesh of a knackered journalist.

He brings your hand up as though he’s going to seal the action with a kiss, yet he doesn’t, simply letting your fingers graze along his lips as he waits for you to say something.

“Are you scared?” You ask him again, not yet moving your gaze from his tired eyes.

He doesn’t blink, or even let his racing heart produce another beat before he’s answering you truthfully this time, his breath tickling your knuckles as he exhales a breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding in all this time.

“I’m terrified,” Chan confesses. And from the gray bags under his eyes, to the somber expression painted across his face, you catch a glimpse of the vulnerable state only you’ve had the pleasure of becoming so acquainted with.

*

The evening of Friday is the fourth day spent in the absence of Chan.

As he busies himself with smaller interviews, meetings with sports directors and preparations for his title fight, you occupy the office space with members of the network, the common area transformed into a makeshift theater as they project part two of Chan’s series on a large screen.

“A toast,” Lin says, grasping a glass of wine between her fingers as she holds it up to clink against yours. “To y/n, who managed to piece together a hell of a story from our stubborn boxer.”

Your colleagues fill the room with laughter and praise, and you shoot them a sheepish smile, shaking your head as they start up the series.

You think back to the reserved fears Chan carries with him, and the way he’d only uncovered the rest of his story to you- all of his worries, the reality of his exhaustion with boxing and how he’d taken a liking to the one person who made all of this feel a little less important in the grand scheme of things. And it’s a story that will never exist fully in its publication, per your promise to Chan to maintain its secrecy. It’s the one thing still sacred to him- the one thing that still belongs to him.

Lin mutters quietly as Chan’s interview plays in the background, leaning in to not disturb the careful focus that falls upon the employees as they watch him speak.

“Sometimes you have hundreds of eyes on you,” he voices on screen. “You have to be intentional with your actions. You have to know what to show people.”

As he recalls one of his early matches, Lin sets her glass of wine down on a table, folding her arms over her chest and leaning into the shell of your ear.

“Listen,” she says reluctantly. “You did a fantastic job getting all this out of him.”

“Thanks,” you say with a chuckle. “Wasn’t easy, but I think it’s sufficient.”

“We did manage to go in a… different direction, than what was originally passed along.”

You pause your actions of taking another sip of wine, turning to face her as she continues to face the projection screen.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing personal,” Lin explains. “It just wasn’t the same without it. Of course we tried different angles, but the footage on those memory cards- it was a lot to work with.”

As she speaks, your gaze falls back to the projection screen, where Mrs. Bang appears, hands folded nearly in her lap as she details all of Chan’s tendencies to shut himself off from the world.

“He’s so preoccupied with being the best at what he does. And I can’t help but think there’s something keeping him down.”

And then just as you’d feared, and although you specifically requested the footage be omitted from the film, Mrs. Bang begins to cry, expressing her worry for Chan and his future.

“You kept that footage in?” You say out loud, earning a few glances from your colleagues around you.

Lin gestures for you to lower your voice, taking a sharp breath before explaining.

“It wasn’t me,” she voices in a whisper, fidgeting with a ring on her finger. “The network wanted it personal. It was still on the card when it was imported, and I was told to leave it in.”

“I can’t believe it,” you say, in disbelief as the footage continues to indulge a painful amount of personal information- albeit filmed, not intended for the docu series.

“What else did you keep in?” You say to her, heartbeat quickening in your chest when you remember your conversation with Chan. She scratches the back of her head awkwardly, failing to give an answer, and then without missing a beat, you lunge forward to collect the remote control, fiddling nervously with the buttons as you fast forward through the footage.

The room grows quiet as the footage scrolls rapidly through part two- candid shots of Chan in his car, more interviews, his blue boxing mitts, his training sessions in front of Mr. Seo.

And then before you can begin to ask her about it, your heart sinks in your chest when you’re met with the scene on-screen; one of Chan crying, his head hung in defeat as he sits on the familiar leather couch in his apartment.

“Losing scares the shit out of me,” he says between sniffles, as your camera captures him at a painfully close proximity.

All eyes are on you now, a heavy tension falling over the room as Chan continues to speak on the projection screen. He begins to detail the burdens of valuing his winning streak so much, and you can hardly make out his sentences as you practically toss the remote at Lin and gather your purse once more.

“I can’t believe this,” you say to her, scoffing as you meet her blank gaze. “That was supposed to be for my use. Not for the series. I mean, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“It wasn’t my decision,” she explains, trailing after you as you begin out of the common area. “They loved how personal it got. I’m just here to translate it into the series-”

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t listen to me. God, I should’ve checked the fucking memory card.”

“We wouldn’t have had the ratings we did for part one without this level of closeness,” Lin explains. She follows as you saunter to your desk, gathering a stack of papers and shoving them into your bag.

“I never should have listened to you,” you explain, as a stream of tears finally makes its way onto your reddened cheeks. “All this push to get closer to him, and for what? So you can get your stupid ratings? Well congrats, I hope you got what you were looking for.”

Lin pauses for a moment, and then she scowls in response. For a fleeting moment, you assume she’s going to apologize, or maybe offer to take the fall for you. But when she speaks once more, you’re disenchanted to find it’s the complete opposite.

“I hadn’t taken you to be one to put pleasure before business,” she begins. “He’s just a video subject. Unless there’s more we’re not seeing?”

“He’s a human being, first,” you interject. “His lows aren’t some sick form of entertainment for you to cash out on.”

“Then why were they filmed?” She wonders out loud, and you grow quiet at the question.

You want to argue back, and yet you can’t, not possessing a clear answer to the very fair question she poses to you.

She’s right, to some degree- perhaps in your desire to know Chan so intimately, you’d also begun to house a fascination for the way he opens up to you, recounting stories of his childhood and confessing to a long list of fears he harbors deeps down under the facade of a “perfect boxer”. The lines between business and pleasure had been blurred long ago- as were your intentions when you filmed him every chance you got. Perhaps in navigating the painful reality that you will never be more than a keen journalist relative to a charming boxer like himself, you’d put him on a pedestal the same way many now do. And now you’re no better than the voyeuristic tendencies your network pushed you to possess.

Bang Chan is not some “perfect athlete”, nor can he be reduced to the numerical value of trophies and medals. He doesn’t fit within the binary of a “winner” or a “loser”, and he certainly isn’t some cocky sports fanatic like you’d once taken him for.

He’s a human being- with tangible fears, and hopes for the future, and a profound love for the people who shaped him to be the person he is today. And though the fact remains, that he’s on an unbroken winning streak and about to participate in the biggest fight of his life, it’s just a fraction of who he really is.

“Did you really think this was going to end differently?” She voices. “You really don’t think that you played a role in his exploitation, either?”

“Stop,” you practically beg, glancing past her figure at the caravan of colleagues who’ve now exited the common room, too. They eye you curiously, whispering amongst themselves and awaiting your next move. For a moment, you’re reminded of the boxing ring in Chan’s gym- it’s as though you’re there on that raised platform, pairs of eyes eagerly anticipating your next strike from across your opponent. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears, glancing around the room with such desperation as her words play in your head over and over again.

“If I recall correctly, the second most intimate thing you can do is interview somebody,” Lin states, using your own words against you.

Her voice is like an uppercut to the jaw, leaving you breathless and full of disdain, as she gives you a small shrug. And then before you can strike back, she pivots on her heel, joining your colleagues once more as she departs from your trembling figure.

In the context of this docuseries, you’re entirely complicit in the unjustified publication of Chan’s vulnerability to the whole world.

And in the context of a boxing match- perhaps nothing more than a loser.

Part 2.

hi green, how are you doing ?? i hope everything’s alright<33

i hope you dont mind but i wanted to request something again >< i was wondering if you could write a smut with chan, but focus more on the aftercare ??

lets say he had a stressful week and during sex he decided to reselase his anger and stress on the reader, but they had a hard week themselves and just couldnt take it, so they decided to use their safeword and channie would be all like oh ?? and maybe the reader would even cry a little and be apologetic, because “i’m so sorry, i know you had a hard time, i just can’t do it today” saying that while clinging to him and seeking comfort >:((

and then chan would focus on making them feel safe, he would clean the up and reassure them that if completely fine and he's proud of them and just the whole aftercare part ><

if its too much then its completely fine !! please dont feel pressured to write it if its not your cup of tea<33

anyway, please take care !!😽

use of the safe word.

💭 GUIDELINES ‣ LIBRARY ‣ TAGLIST & ANONS ‣ IN PROGRESS ‣ REQUEST LIST ‣ PINNED

pairing: chan x female reader

content warnings: hurt/comfort, rough and overwhelming sex, crying, bloody lip, aftercare, not proofread

rating: 18+

summary: chan had always been the sweetest human ever, but after you’d both had a rough week, you both find out that you had different ways of decompressing.

His fingers found their way to your throat while he groaned in your ear, squeezing in a way you usually adored as Chan thrusted in and out of you at a brutal pace. He was completely lost in his own world, moaning about how tight you felt around him and how he’d been thinking about having you like this all day after the stress he’s had to deal with over the course of several days. It was difficult to breathe for you, though, all of your senses seemingly going haywire as you attempted to ground yourself by gripping the sheets below you and trying to focus on his babbles of pleasure. However, instead of enjoying this moment with your lover like you normally would, your mind was a storm of frustration and stress that only increased with Chan’s speed.

It was too much for you — everything about this was overwhelming, including the guilt that followed your distressed thoughts. Chan had arrived home and immediately pulled you in for a rough kiss, and you had followed along because you were well aware of how rough it’s been for him recently and you figured you’d let him release it all on you before talking. Although nothing could’ve prepared you for the complete disconnect that plagued you — you didn’t feel seen or loved, he barely managed to remember some of the things he knew you liked while he chased his own orgasm. It wasn’t to say that he was doing it purposely, you knew that Chan loved you to insanity because this was strange for him.

Unwanted tears rolled down your cheeks, and you bit your lip harshly so as to not let him know of your state since his face was buried into the nape of your neck. His breath felt hot on your skin, and sharp pangs of pain shot up your body with each time Chan bottomed out. Your eyes were squeezed shut so as to prevent any more tears from spilling, and a whimper escaped your lips as your teeth broke skin.

Too much. Too much. I don’t like this!

Chan’s movements became slightly more erratic, which signifies that he was close to achieving his orgasm. But the room was spinning and you didn’t think you could take this roughness any longer.

“Channie, stop, stop, red light!”

All movements halted, dizzying you slightly. Chan pulled back immediately as his grip on your throat loosened and his eyes scanned your face with concern. The sobs were pushing their way out of you and the tears rolled down your cheeks freely and stained the pillow below your head. “I’m so sorry, Channie!”

“Oh— Wait, no, no don’t apologize,” Chan quickly responded, slowly pulling out of you so as to not overwhelm you further. His brows were furrowed, catching sight of your bloody bottom lip and your anguished expression. “What happened baby? Did I hurt you?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you continued to cry, your entire body shaking violently as you reached for your boyfriend. “I know you’ve been having a hard time, I just can’t take it today.”

He wrapped his muscled arms around your trembling body, kissing the top of your head as the beat of his heart seemed to ground you despite how erratic it was, bringing you back to reality. It was clear that he was still confused, and you were grateful that he wasn’t pushing for an explanation right away. Instead he shifted slightly so that he could place his calloused hand on your chest, applying a bit of pressure while inhaling and exhaling deeply. You followed his breathing pattern, slowly noticing that he’d pulled you into his lap at some point, cradling your body as though it was made of porcelain.

When your cries had slowed to a near stop, he moved his gaze onto your face — guilty eyes searching for any remaining distress. His thumb caressed your cheeks, drying your tears in the process as he attempted a soft smile.

“Baby?”

A shaky breath made its way past your lips, eyes glued to the crumpled sheets while you twiddle your thumbs in your lap. “I’m sorry.”

“No, angel, don’t apologize.” Chan spoke softly, yet his tone was stern. “Please don’t apologize, I’m proud of you for stopping me, okay?”

You could only nod meekly.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Nothing was said, but the shame arose in the form of choked sobs and Chan pulled you back onto his chest while rocking from side to side. His fingers carded through your hair gently as he hummed a nearly inaudible tune to calm you. This time, you were able to pull yourself quicker.

“I’m going to get you some water, okay?” He didn’t wait for a response before he was lifting you up slightly and laying you on his side of your shared bed. The sound of his speedy footsteps that made their way to the kitchen were the only thing heard aside from your own ragged breathing.

You sat up when he returned with a cold glass of water in one hand and what looked like a warm, wet towel in the other. He handed you the water first, watching you intently as you hissed a bit as soon as your cut lip made contact with the coldness of your drink. You downed your drink in one go, your throat screeching in relief from how dry it had been until a moment ago.

“I’m going to clean you up a little bit, and then you should pee.”

His rough hands touched your shoulder lightly, nudging you so that you would lay back and spread your lips. The jolt that occurred as soon as you felt the warmth of the towel touch your core had your ears turning red in shame, you knew he wouldn’t purposely hurt you so there was no reason to act like this. You didn’t miss the hurt that flashed across his face.

As you peed, Chan was quietly filling up the bathtub and adding a lavender scented bath bomb to soothe your anxiety. You watched him work from the toilet in silence, lips set into a deep frown.

“It’s done baby,” Chan announced, turning to face you with a benign smile. “We should take care of your lip first though.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled again as you pulled your knees up to your chest. “I haven’t done anything but add to your stress, and it shouldn’t have been like this. I could’ve lasted until you–”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Y/N.” Chan sounded so grave you couldn’t help but inhale sharply, eyes widening slightly. “Please don’t ever do that, we have a safe word for a reason. Always, always use it whenever you’re not having a good time. There’s really no hard feelings for me, what’s important for me is that you’re okay and that I don’t end up hurting you.”

You sniffed, bracing yourself as he neared you with a small cloth that had been dipped in antiseptics that made you hiss at the burn as soon as he dabbed it to your wound. He gently blew on your lip as an effort to lessen the pain.

“You’re so sweet to me.”

Chan pressed his lips against your forehead, lingering for a moment as if to make you feel his love through the simple action – and you did. A small smile made its way onto your face at last as his hands guided you to the bathtub, helping you get in before he knelt beside you.

The warmth of the deliciously scented water instantly relaxed your sore muscles, you sighed in relief. The light swishing sound of the water following your movements seemed to add to your newfound serenity, your eyes falling closed for only a second before the sense of something being missing began gnawing at your mind. You turned to find Chan sitting on the bathroom floor, eyes sparkling as he watched you while resting his chin on the edge of the bathtub. The corners of your mouth quirked up slightly at the sight, heart soaring.

“Join me.”

He shook his head, returning your smile.

“Channie,” you pouted. “You don’t have to feel guilty about what happened, I promised.”

He shook his head again, his smile remaining as he blinked rapidly as if to keep unshed tears at bay.

“Baby, please don’t feel guilty…you didn’t know.”

“No,” his voice cracked a bit. “I should’ve known, you bit your lip so hard you started bleeding. You were crying, you weren’t even able to tell me what happened. I should’ve noticed.”

Your hand touched the side of his face, droplets of water rolling down his smooth skin. “I should have told you I wasn’t okay as soon as I realized, baby. But we can still relax together, please, join me.”

Chan seemed hesitant for a few beats before sighing. He was already naked, so all he needed to do was take his place behind you. It was a tight fit, but you liked this kind of closeness as his arms wrapped themselves tightly around your torso and he rested his chin on your shoulder. Neither of you speak for a bit, basking in the tranquility of it all.

“I’m sorry.”

Not a word needed to be said, so you lifted his hand and kissed it once, twice, three times until he chuckled lightly. He pressed his own lips on your shoulder, and you felt a few tears grace the skin near his lips, so you reached up to his hair and scratched his head as a form of comfort.

“I knew that you were frustrated, stressed and all of that when you brought me to our room and I really thought I would be fine,” you finally explained, Chan had yet to remove his lips from you as he listened. “But I guess I didn’t take into consideration the shitty week I’ve been having too and it was just– a lot of it was just the new boss that arrived last Monday micromanaging every single breath I took, my workload was humongous compared to what I used to have before. He was so condescending, too, just doubting everything I said and asking my male coworkers to double check all the information I provided. I didn’t have a good time. And then we were having sex, and we barely exchanged a few words to each other before that, and it was just very overwhelming. I should’ve said something, so part of it was on me. I will make sure to be better next time, be more vocal about my needs and such.”

Chan lifted his head from your shoulder, cupping his hands to spill some of it onto your hair, massaging your scalp. “I’m sorry your new boss has been such an uptight dick all week…and I’m sorry I was so rough with you– especially without at least talking with you for a bit before, I’ll be sure to check in on you more often when we make love, especially if negative emotions are affecting either of us.”

“I really appreciate you, Channie.” You take his hands in yours, massaging them lightly and playing with his pretty fingers absentmindedly. “What about you, baby, what had you so worked up when you got here?”

Chan’s voice was soothing as he talked, the vibrations of his voice could be felt on his chest and it served as some kind of comforting sensation as you pressed yourself even more to him and closed your eyes.

word count: 1.9k 🛁 posted: 12 • 17 • 2023

💬 a note from green;

Thank you so much for this request, Merin. This was such an unexpectedly healing experience for me, and I thank you for it. You’ve only made two requests, but I can tell you that I’ve grown to love when you do since you always ask for such touching topics that aren’t mentioned or discussed enough. So please, request however many times as you’d like!

I hope you’re doing well, and I hope that you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

( 🏷️ ) taglist: @grandpafelixx , @agi-ppangx

Brb screaming into my pillow cuz Chan’s pretty lips drive me crazy 😔💕

@moonjxsung I luv your brain MWAH🥹

hii! could i request a idol!chan and makeup artist!reader smut where she was doing his lip makeup and made a mistake and then she goes to wipe it off but the sexual tension?? also could chan be the dom pls?? thanks in advance!!

Warning: smut below! mdni.

Chan is probably the most obedient client you’ve had to date. He doesn’t move when you’re applying concealer to his nonexistent flaws, he doesn’t twitch when you curl his eyelashes and he often gives his own input on what makeup he likes wearing on stage. He’s partial to darker, more sultry looks, especially keen on smoky eyeshadows and smudged eyeliner. And he sits perfectly still this evening, as you test a new look for his upcoming performance in a few days.

“Does that feel okay?” You inquire, dabbing his under eyes with a silicone blending tool to even out his concealer.

“Yeah,” Chan responds, keeping his gaze on the ceiling above him. “It feels fine.”

“That’s good,” you reply, bringing some of the product down to his cheeks. “This one’s a new blending tool, I know some people aren’t into the ones that aren’t sponges.”

“No, no, this one’s fine, I promise,” he says with a smile.

You smile back at him, finishing the application of his concealer, and then you tuck the tube back away into your makeup bag.

“The only thing left is lipstick,” you voice to him, digging around your bag of lipsticks for a color that will match the dark eye makeup he sports. “Do you have a preference?”

“Hm…” Chan hums, thinking for a moment. “Not really, you’re better at picking the lip stuff. Just not something too dark, I guess.”

You dig around a little more, the clattering sounds of lipsticks filling the silence between you as he waits, and then you select a tube of amaranth lipstick from your collection.

“Let’s try this one,” you say, twisting off the cap and balancing the tube between your fingers, as your other hand brings the tip of it to his lips.

He sits perfectly still, like he always does, as you begin to paint his plump lips with the product and spread it evenly. You can feel Chan’s eyes on you while you work, the blue contacts in his eyes moving with his pupils as your hand paints his lips in slow movements. And then you pull back again, instructing him to press his lips together to distribute the product while you stuff the little tube back in your pocket.

Chan complies, his plump lips pressing together to coat both sides in the sticky lipstick, and then he pulls his lips back again, a generous amount now coating the fake lip piercing he sports in his bottom lip.

“Oops, I should’ve taken the piercing out,” you say with a nervous smile. “Hold on, let me clean it.”

And you pull a tissue out from the box beside you, folding it into a neat square and bringing it to his bottom lip. You can feel his eyes boring into you again, a little more intense now, as you dab at his lip piercing and try to get the sticky residue off the silver metal.

Chan’s breath hitches in his throat a little as you clean him, his mind running rampant with thoughts about giving into the urges that plague his mind when you’re at this proximity to him. He knows you’re just his makeup artist, and you’ve been working with him for a good while now. It would be completely inappropriate to say anything suggestive to you, or to kiss you, or to initiate something more physical in the privacy of his dressing room like this…

“I like your makeup,” Chan says suddenly, his eyes scanning the dark lipstick you flaunt.

“Thanks,” you respond with a soft chuckle. “It’s nothing special today.”

“Well it certainly caught my attention,” he retorts. “I think you look very pretty.”

“Thank you,” you say again, your heartbeat quickening at his words that make you beyond flustered.

“You’re welcome,” Chan replies, still keeping his gaze on yours.

He’s making it painfully obvious that he’s staring at you, his eyes scanning over every tiny movement you make and his lips parting to say something again, before closing once more and pulling into a small smile.

“What?” You ask with a small chuckle, taking notice of the way he keeps trying to say something.

“Nothing,” he replies. “I just…”

You wait for his answer, his voice trailing off as you pull away to look directly into his eyes without your hand hovering over his lips.

“I just kinda want to kiss you right now,” Chan finishes boldly, still staring intensely to gauge your reaction. And your lips pull into a smile, too, as you lean a little closer to him.

“What’s stopping you?” You ask, your eyes darting down to his now glossy lips and back up to his eyes.

“The fear that you don’t feel the same,” he says, leaning forward in his chair to get nearer to you. Your eyes remain locked on each other, urging the other to close the gap between you two and end this months-long game of feigning sexual tension.

“I kinda want to kiss you, too,” you reply nervously, your eyes moving to his lips, where his fake lip piercing shifts a little as he grins.

“Well what’s stopping you?” He queries.

“You’re my client,” you say, your voice sounding shaky as you hesitate to get any closer.

“I won’t tell,” Chan says, just barely grazing his lips over yours now. “We’re all alone right now.”

And you both close the gap finally, pressing your lips against each other and working eager, hungry kisses as you grab desperately at the fabric of his t-shirt. His lips feel exactly like you’d imagined them all this time, plump and luscious against yours, his tongue darting over yours briefly as he hums gently into the kiss and lets his hands snake down to your waist. If you weren’t so focused on kissing him like your life depended on it, you’d probably get nervous and pull away at the fact that he’s the best kisser you’ve ever experienced. The cold metal of his fake piercing grazes your bottom lip, and he smiles into the kiss when he can feel you gasp slightly at the sensation.

“Can we take this to the couch?” Chan asks between kisses as you fist desperately at his t-shirt.

You nod eagerly at his question, moving with him as he gets up from his chair and guides you back to the black leather couch in the middle of his dressing room. For a moment, you feel dizzy with anticipation, confused at how you’ve gotten here after dreaming of it for so long. You know you shouldn’t be thinking about your clients like this, but Chan feels different, his sweet actions coupled with his undeniably attractive looks making it hard to stop thinking about him this way. You’ve thought of him so many times like this, and when you’re finally lying back on the cold leather of the sofa, you have to double check the door across you is locked so that you won’t get caught here like this, engaging in something so forbidden.

“It’s locked, Chan says, as he steadies himself over you with one hand on the couch and another grazing your waist. “And everyone’s gone home for the night. It’s just us, I promise.”

You nod reluctantly, your eyes fixated on his toned frame that towers over you on the couch and makes you feel so small.

“Do you trust me?” Chan asks, his lips grazing over yours again.”

“Yeah,” you respond with a nervous smile after a brief silent pause. “I do.”

“Then just relax,” he finishes, leaning in to kiss you again. “I promise I’ll make you feel good, yeah? Nobody’s getting fired.”

And his words instill a sense of comfort in you, as he finally resumes his eager kisses against yours and snakes two hands up your shirt. His big palms sprawl out over the flesh of your stomach, caressing with gentle movements that mirror his personality. You arch desperately into his touch, hands wrapping around his neck to pull him closer and guide his lips down your neck. It almost tickles, the way his plump lips feather kisses down your flesh, and you can’t help but let out little moans of pleasure at the sensation, your underwear already pooling with wetness as he works you.

Chan is well-paced with his actions, but when he pulls away to undress, you feel a pit form in your stomach at the sight. His toned six-pack is so much more defined at this proximity, every concave of his flesh and muscle-toned line etched so perfectly into the broad chest he sports. His toned stomach forms a perfect v just above just crotch, where his boxers still remain, and you’re too nervous to even glance at the tent pitched underneath.

“Staring?” Chan inquires with a knowing smirk, as he guides his hands up your shirt and pulls it over your head.

“No,” you reply quickly. “Nothing I haven’t already seen.”

“Is that right?” He says in a cocky tone. “I think I have an idea of something you haven’t seen before, hm?”

As he speaks, he reaches one hand around your back to unclasp your black bra, your nipples hardening as the cool air grazes your bare flesh now completely exposed to him. Chan wastes no time peppering them in kisses, leaving a trail of needy drool over your nipples and sucking small bruises on the mound of your skin.

“Are you okay with this?” He asks, true to the respectful attributes he’s always shown in front of you.

“Yes,” you’re quick to say, staring down at him as he continues to work kisses around your breasts. “More than okay, actually.”

“Good,” Chan responds, sitting up to tug down his boxers finally. “I’m just really fucking turned on seeing you like this.”

And then his boxers are pooled at his thighs, exposing his hard-on for you as he brings a hand to wrap around the base of his cock. He’s much bigger than the guys you’ve been with, a thick, veiny girth blushed red with his arousal for you. You swallow nervously as he pumps himself lightly just two times, cocking his head at your still-clothed core with a small smirk.

“Your turn.”

Although you’re undeniably nervous to bare yourself in front of him like this, you comply, tugging your jeans and your panties down over your thighs and discarding them on the floor. Chan’s eyes are hooded with lust almost instantly when you do, a serious expression overtaking his face as he leans in to kiss you again.

“Fuck, baby,” he says between breathless kisses against your lips.

“I would’ve done this a whole lot sooner if I knew it’d look like this.”

And you smile against him, tangling your hands in his hair as he works your flesh with little nibbles. When his hands come around to caress your inner thighs, he frees his erection from his grasp, and it slowly hangs to graze your flesh with every movement of his. It even feels massive just resting against you, and you can feel your soaked cunt contracting around nothing, eager to feel him inside you.

“Chan,” you whimper, as his hands massage gentle back and forth motions over your thighs.

“Yes, baby,” he asks, pressing a series of chaste kisses to your lips.

“I’m already wet. Could you put it in?”

And he lets out a chuckle against you, his lips pulling into a smirk as he lets the tip of cock drag lazily against your entrance.

“Yeah? I’ve barely touched you and you’re already begging me to fuck you?”

“Mhm,” you voice back, parting your legs for him. “Just want to feel it inside me already.”

“Whatever you want,” he replies, wrapping his hand around his cock once more and pumping lightly as he taps your entrance. Your clit pulsates in anticipation as he guides in just the tip, already stretching you out a generous amount and causing you to moan from beneath him.

“You’re so tight,” Chan breathes down at you, squeezing his eyes shut as you struggle to take him. “So tight but so wet. You drive me crazy.”

And then he pulls back to shove in the rest, ramming into you with more force and bringing his lips to yours once he’s buried to the hilt in order to pacify your moans. You feel so full of him, completely penetrated by his thick girth and his pulsating flesh, and he keeps his mouth against yours as he speaks in a low voice.

“You can take it, baby. Fuck, your little pussy is clenching around me. I know it’s big, you’re doing so well for me. Keep taking it and I’ll fuck you like you asked so politely.”

And you nod eagerly, your eyes pricking with tears as he begins to move in and out of you, his cock reaching your cervix with no issue as he finds a steady rhythm and fucks you like he’s going to breed you. In contrast to his harsh movements, he’s gentle with his kisses, making sure to kiss you when you let out a particularly harsh moan or whimper, smiling down at you as he takes in the sight of you taking him so wholly and obediently.

As he moves a little faster now, he takes note of the way your makeup is ruined on your pretty face, your lips smeared with the lip gloss you applied to him earlier, along with your own lipstick that’s now migrated to your cheeks and below your chin. Your mascara is pooled around your eyes from squeezing them in pleasure, and your eyeliner is smudged around your eyelids, giving you a completely fucked-out and messy appearance. And Chan loves every inch of it, finding himself more turned on at the sight of you all disheveled like this because of him.

“Your pretty makeup’s all ruined,” Chan says tenderly, as he continues to rut into you with force.

As he thrusts into you, he brings a single hand up to your face, pinching the little tub of lipstick you applied on him earlier between his fingers and uncapping it with his thumb. He must have retrieved it from your jeans where you’d originally tucked it away after using it on him.

“Open,” Chan orders plainly, and you obey as he pauses briefly, patting your lips a little and letting Chan bring the tube of color to your lips.

His slender fingers navigate the tube around your lips in gentle movements, filling in the spots now void of color and painting your lips a dark shade of pink once again. And then he pulls back, capping the tube once more and discarding it beside you.

“Look at you,” Chan says with a smirk, as he resumes his harsh movements and begins to fuck you again.

And instantly you’re letting out a string of moans and cuss words, your mouth agape as he buries his cock inside of you and lets it pulse at your cervix. You’re so full, so satisfied, and you’re desperate to hold on to something, to press your lips against his and steady yourself as he works you. And then like he can read your mind, he brings his lips to yours again, indulging you in a drooly, open-mouthed kiss. You realize this was all part of his elaborate plan to make a mess between the two of you, as the lipstick is promptly transferred to his own plump lips and imprinted on his flesh to mark the forbidden deed like a scarlet letter. But he looks even more erotic like this, covered in your smeared lipstick and letting you trail your kisses all over his neck and his jawline as he continues to rail you.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Chan interrupts your thoughts, and his lips trail down to take one of your breasts in his mouth, covering the mound in lipstick and mirroring the sloppy looks on your faces.

“Gonna fill you up with my load, yeah?” Chan says as more of a statement than a question. “Be good and take it for me.”

And he’s fucking you much harder now, loud moans and gasps filling the room at every thrust while you pray he’s right about the company being empty for the night. You're torn between wanting his load deep inside you, and being preoccupied with the prospect that you could very well lose your job for this. But it doesn’t matter just a few thrusts more, because Chan’s cock is twitching inside of you as his eyes squeeze shut in pleasure. He lets his lipstick-stained mouth graze over yours as he finally cums inside of you, the warm feeling completely filling you up as he slows his pace and gauges your reaction.

“I’m still a little hard,” Chan says with a soft chuckle. “Gonna keep fucking you until you finish.”

His words make you dizzy with pleasure, so aroused at this confession that he’s willing to overstimulate himself until you’ve found your release. He increases his pace just a tad, until you’re nearing your release, too.

“I’m gonna cum,” you say breathlessly, as he brings you in for a much gentler kiss.

“Yeah, cum for me,” Chan responds. “I’m not pulling out until you do.”

And with just a few more thrusts, you finally reach your release, too, dribbling your own juices down the length of his shaft and feeling him begin to soften inside of you. When you’re trembling beneath him, he finally pulls out, sitting up on the couch to allow you to catch your breath for a moment.

You sit up, too, breathless and sighing in pleasure as you pull your clothes back on and try to come to terms with what just happened. As you do, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, quickly startled by your disheveled appearance and scrambling to wipe your mouth clean of the lipstick.

“Hey,” Chan says, leaning in to wipe your mouth with the tip of his thumb. “Like I said, no one’s gonna know, yeah? It’s just us. It’s just me.”

And you smile at him as he pulls on his boxers, too, lipstick also smeared along his face and a flushed look to his skin. He seems relaxed, even content that it happened, and you can’t help but mirror his calm demeanor as he brings you in for a tender embrace.

“We didn’t even decide on a final makeup look,” you say to him suddenly, realizing this whole thing was supposed to be to finalize his look for this week’s stage.

He chuckles lightly, still unfazed by the event and shrugging in response.

“I guess we’ll have to stay after hours again tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you reply, meeting his knowing gaze. “Tomorrow again.”

“Tomorrow again,” he repeats.

[ ᴛᴀɢs: @drhsthl , @straykeedz-recs , @caitlyn98s , @moonlinos , @cottonsthings , @jaykyo , @write143 , @pinkcinnamon444 , @maximumkillshot , @auraleeknow , @skzms @coastalmaine , @luneskies , @lmhcats , @felinows , @maexc , @kang-min-joo , @liinoracha , @sealovesbts , @hanniessleepyeyes , @hyunjinsamdl , @chans1aptop , @yomomma104 , @sheraall , @kbbok , @silentreadersthings ]

add yourself to the taglist here.

Love it 😮‍💨❤️

LEVANTER MASTERLIST— [18+!]

It is really the infamous Han Jisung.

It’s him. Without a doubt.

He’s got a lot more tattoos than back then. Around his wrists. On his neck. He’s also wearing more rings around his fingers than he used to.

Those pretty fingers.

God, the hours you’ve wasted by daydreaming about him…

⛓️ SYNOPSIS: It seems as if everyone around you is living life to the fullest—except for you. While you recently got fired and on top of that broke up with your on-off boyfriend again, your best friend Chan is there for you while simultaneously preparing everything for his wedding. But things get a little more hopeful when you meet an old friend on a night out.

💊 CONTENT INFO: jisung x afab reader, chan x afab reader, minho x afab reader, gang/mafia au, angst/smut/fluff, dark romance, gang leader jisung, doctor chan, gang member minho, pharmacist reader, best friend chan, jisung and chan are enemies, jisung and minho are best friends, reader has adhd, they are flawed characters and you should keep that in mind, chan, jisung and reader used to be roommates during their college days, warnings under the cut

💵 WORD COUNT: [ONE] 75K + [TWO] 27.0K/? + [EXTRA] 12.7K

CHAPTERS:

[PART ONE]

[I] — MEDICINE

[II] — CAN YOU FEEL MY HEART?

[III] — TRUE FRIENDS

[IV] — JOIN THE CLUB

[V] — DOOMED [LIVE AT DISTRICT 9]

[PART TWO]

[VI] — TEARDROPS

[VII] — IN THE DARK

[VIII] — AVALANCHE

more to be added…

[EXTRAS]

SUGAR HONEY ICE & TEA

🔪 CONTENT WARNING: lots of illegal stuff (obviously), topics of heavy drug dealing and mention of using, mention of robbery, threats and violence (nothing explicit), mention of unrequited love, mental health topics such as depression, anxiety, addiction, PTSD, mommy issues, borderline personality disorder, narcissistic personality disorder and adhd, mention of bullying in the past, alcohol consumption and cigarette smoking, mention of murder, mention and slight use of guns, abuse of power, mention of abusive parent (verbally and physically), topics revolving around cheating, jealousy, open relationships and polyamory/polygamy, gaslighting, smut will be specified for each chapter (it is possible that I will add more warnings throughout the writing process)

🧨 SPOTIFY PLAYLIST

❤️ AUTHOR’S NOTE: let me know in case you would like to be added to the taglist!

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

Brb…need to go touch some grass now

That was amazing thank you so much 😮‍💨🥹

It’s me again :D

I had this thought where pretty told Chris to sit on the bed and close his eyes and then she shows him the new lingerie she bought. Like if she got more than one set and told Chris to wait to touch her because there is more… I think he would either be like sure pretty show me or he would just ask her for a kiss before she goes put on the next set but he holds pretty when she is about to pull back from the kiss and tells her that he can’t wait longer to touch her :((

I think it would be funny for pretty when she just walks around in underwear and a oversized shirt of Chris and a pair of black thighs to tease Chris :)

the mental image this gave me was too good not to write a little drabble for it.... so here it is! it might not be exactly as you had imagined, but i think it's good enough ehehhe

Pairing: Werewolf!Chan x Human!F.Reader (one of the main pairings of my WereRoomies series. you don’t really need to read any other instalment to understand/enjoy this piece). | Word Count: ~1k | Themes & Warnings: fantasy/supernatural AU · smut · established relationship · oral [M.Rec] · this was barely proof-read please bear with me lol 

minors do not interact.

“Mmm… Yeah. This one’s definitely the prettiest one”.

“Chris”, the pout on your lips made him smile, you just looked so cute. Cute… What a good balance to what you were wearing, a combination that looked nothing short of absolutely delicious to him. “You’ve said that about every single one! That barely helps”.

“Pretty, baby… Look at me. Any set you put on right now will be the prettiest one”, Chris leaned back on his hands, spreading his legs further apart where he sat on the edge of the bed. He wanted you to focus on the movement, he needed you to see the effects your little fashion show had on him.

Earlier, as soon as he’d come out of the shower, without even waiting for him to put anything on, you’d taken a hold of his arm and dragged him to your shared bedroom. Repeating ‘Come, come, come’, finishing with an excited ‘Got something to show you!’

And something to show him you had…

As soon as he had sat down on the bed, you’d asked him to ‘Close your eyes, baby, okay? No peeking!’ and he just giggled and complied. Why wouldn’t he? You sounded just so excited, and he was incredibly weak to your smile, so of course he complied, no questions asked.

Honestly, he’d have to remind you to give him heads-ups for these things, because every time you surprised him with lingerie, he almost fainted with how quickly his insides set on fire. He almost stood up from the bed as soon as he saw you, but he was sure you were just able to see his intentions perfectly in his eyes, which was why you stopped him.

‘Nuh-uh. No touching. I need you to help me decide which one looks best so I can take it with me for our trip this weekend. I just know that if you touch me, I won’t get to show you the other ones’. Chris figured there’d be no harm in humouring you. After all, seeing you try on different garments would be far from a displeasing activity, so he remained seated as you twirled and turned in all sorts of directions so he could see you in every single angle possible.

As usual, Chris underestimated how horny his inner wolf could be–how horny he could be… He should know better by now, but, clearly, he wasn’t thinking with the right head when he agreed to this.

Babydolls… Four of them–each with their matching panties underneath, of course. You’d tried on four different babydolls in the span of twenty minutes, and Chris was honestly close to snapping.

You’d started off strong, with a red set, next came a black one, then a lilac one, and now this one, white. They all had their own distinct shapes and textures, but this last one was the one that looked the most comfortable. With no underwires in the chest area, lacy, pretty much transparent, doing nothing but accentuating all those areas of your body he just wanted to sink his teeth into…

He had reached his limit, and it was more than obvious with the raging hard-on he’d been sporting for what he figured had been probably eighteen minutes. He couldn’t sit still anymore, it was almost like his mind was screaming at him, he just had to openly show you just how aroused he was.

The pout was gone from your lips, it disappeared the moment you focused on his leaking cock resting against his lower abdomen, when your tongue had come out of your mouth to lick your bottom lip. Now he was sure you were close to snapping yourself, it was just clear as day to him in the shift in your scent.

“You look gorgeous in all of them. Take them all, and I promise that if you let me, I’ll fuck you in all of them, on all surfaces of the house”, it was a very serious offer. One that you seemed to be genuinely considering, especially when you started walking towards him, until you stood between his parted legs and placed your hands on his shoulders.

“But it’s extra baggage. We gotta take all the other stuff with us…”

Chris could always trust you to be worried about these things. Of course you’d be worried about your practically weightless babydolls somehow taking enough space that you’d have to sacrifice all the other supplies you were both taking to his house in the woods. As if that could somehow ruin the preparations for the full moon next week…

It honestly made it much worse for him and his will to stay put, because not only did you look finger-licking good in your little outfit, but you were once again showing your commitment to your pack. Both were equally as effective in riling him up.

“Pretty”, Chris brought both hands to your chest to push your breasts together, creating the perfect space for him to bury his face into. He pressed a few kisses on the soft flesh, right before he started mumbling against your skin. “It’ll be fine. Everything will fit just fine. I’d even put these in the car’s glove box, my pockets, anywhere if necessary, as long as I can see you wearing them there”.

His mouth easily found one of your nipples, he teased it with his tongue over the fabric before sucking it into his mouth. It had been almost automatic, when he registered what he was doing he briefly worried he was, as usual, getting carried away.

That worry was very short-lived. One of your hands moved from his shoulder to his head, where you buried your fingers in his hair with a satisfied hum. Meanwhile, his hands found the back of your thighs, so he could gently knead the luscious flesh.

“You want just to see me in them?”

The suggestive lilt in your words made him smile, enough that he let your breast fall out of his mouth so he could smile brightly at you. “Oh, don’t worry, love. I stand by what I said. I’ll fuck you in every single one of them, in ever single room of the house, over every single surface. Multiple times, too. Anything you let me do, and anything you want, I’ll do it”.

You leaned down to finally give him a kiss. He’d been dying to kiss you since you showed him the very first babydoll, but it seemed like you had no plans to let him kiss you as much as he would’ve liked. At least not for now. Instead, you dropped to your knees, right there between his legs, before your hands found his thighs.

Your nails sunk on his skin, and the way you were looking at him, coupled with the almost teasing caresses on his thighs, were bringing him even closer to his snapping point.

Pretty mate… Pretty mate in her pretty gown… Take her. Must take her now…

Chris was trying very hard to ignore his instincts, to keep his logical human side at the forefront of his mind, but it was just so hard when you were looking him right in the eyes, with that look of yours that just made his head spin. It was almost like you knew he was close to his limit, because you finally leaned in further, until your lips found the base of his length, where you pressed a kiss with a hum.

“That doesn’t sound too bad…”

He leaned back on his hands as you kept leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses on his skin, until you reached the very tip of his cock and licked the frenulum on the underside. 

As Chris took a deep breath and closed his eyes, as he got hit with the smell of your scent and the feel of your mouth around him, he wasn’t sure if this specific babydoll you were wearing would make it to his house…

© therhythmafterthesummer 2023. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my stories.

tagging everyone that wants to be tagged in my wereroomies instalments. if you don’t want to be tagged in little ask responses like these let me know ! If you want to be added to the tag list, you can fill in this form. be aware that you must have an indication that you’re an adult in your blog if you want me to tag you in my works

@comet-falls · @princelingperfect · @notastraykid · @iadorethemskz @kileidoscope · @maknae00 · @dundullresident · @vitrealisbunny · @yeetfellx · @minnysproutgriffinteddy · @oiminho · @binchangf · @leedunno · @luxsonny · @mamieishere · @straylightdream · @bintificreads · @seo--changbin · @abcdefgiwsmcty · @ppiri-bahng · @letsbangchanblog · @fun-fanfics · @armystay89 · @iightsung · @cutiespaghetti · @noellllslut · @100layersofdaddyissues · @toplinehyunjin · @tartshearts · @biribarabiribbaem · @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad · @stayconnecteed · @floatingcoffecup · @5starlee · @ven-fic-recs

Full credit to @seungisms 🤍

( skz reaction ) condom or no condom .ᐟ 

📂🖇️ who in skz likes to fuck with or without a condom

genre: smut, minors dni, warnings: unprotected sex, public sex, slight breeding kink with chan cause grrrr, humiliation kink, overstimulation, small size kink with seungmin (his dick is too big for you cause i said so) creampies 🗣️🗣️🗣️ note: got super carried away and this is kinda dog but let’s gooooo

방찬. BANG CHAN

condom. he already has seven other kids he doesn’t need one more. mainly uses them cause he can’t be trusted when he swears he’ll pull out and cum on your stomach or tits instead. the faster his orgasm is to approaching the less he’s able to think about what he’s actually doing, every single coherent voice inside of him screaming for him to pull out is ignored as his cock fucks into you deep and sloppy - the promise of finally filling you up until his cum is spilling out past your little hole just makes it far too appealing to stay buried inside of your tight pussy, determined to leave you a sticky used mess once he’s done. hates himself for it but his breeding kink is dangerous, this man has to battle himself everyday to not fuck you until you’re full and pregnant, so convincing him to ditch the condoms will take some work. beg cutely enough and he’ll give in. swears he’s only doing it to shut you up but the second he sinks his bare cock into you he’s losing every lousy ounce of self-control he might’ve had, mouth drying up and eyes trained on the way your cunt struggles to take him. and he can feel every single nook and cranny of your plush cunt in ways the condom just doesn’t allow and he just can’t find it in himself to rid himself of the pleasure of finally filling you up the way you so desperately crave.  he can normally hold his orgasm out for a few good rounds, ensuring you’re completely fucked out when he finally does cum - but the first time you go without protection he’s busting inside of you within minutes. always buys you the morning after pill though and apologises for cumming inside of you, trying to ignore how good it felt to fuck your pretty pussy with no barrier.

리노. LEE MINHO 

no condom. when he cums, he cums hard. so wearing a condom just makes no sense to him and he’ll just end up ripping it off mid fuck, filling you up over and over until it’s leaking out of you, cussing under his breath that he should’ve fucked that stupid thought out of you for even suggesting to wear one in the first place. prefers having you on some type of brith control instead cause with the amount of cum this guys feeds into your pussy a condom isn’t gonna do shit. he’ll wear them when you first start dating just cause he wants to make sure you feel safe and comfortable with him but the second he catches wind you like it RAW?? he’s taking a lighter to every single condom he’s ever owned, in the trash, never to be seen again. and anytime you try to suggest using them again he’ll act so fucking offended, knowing fine rightly how much you love receiving the loads of cum he gives your greedy little pussy to even humour the idea. far too addicted to the feeling of filling you up over and over until your pussy is left all creamy and sticky and you’re crying that you can’t take anymore to ever think about going back, especially not when he’s felt the addicting press of your cunt smothering his dick and milking him for all he’s got, he couldn’t even fathom the thought of wearing them again.

창빈. SEO CHANGBIN

both. he’ll always try to remember one but gets such a bad case of pussy tunnel vision that most of the time he’ll forget about the stash he keeps in his bedside drawer. tries to keep one on him cause the amount of times you’ve found yourself getting fucked in some random empty supply cupboard or bent over his studio desk have been too many to count cause this man can’t keep his dick in his pants for the life of him, only realising he doesn’t have one when it’s far too late and he’s already painted your pretty pussy sticky with his cum. he’s far too impatient and just can’t ignore the feeling of needing to get his dick wet no matter how hard he tries, somehow always manages to convince you to let him fuck you raw when he doesn’t have a condom, swearing he’ll pull out but he wasn’t prepared for how much he’d love filling your little cunt up again and again until you just can’t take anymore of him. hates the part of him that gets off on seeing you stained and dripping in cum, and might even start telling you he ‘forgot’ to buy more while he was at the store - just to have the sight of your cute cunt all used and spilling over marked into his brain. 

현진. HWANG HYUNJIN

no condom. nothing gets him off like fucking you with no condom. he loves the risk of it all and the fact that he can turn you into a pretty mess with just a few pumps of his dick. loves fucking you raw so much that he’ll have videos saved on his phone of his cock stretching you out - soft praises of, ‘taking me so well angel,’ hardly audible over the sloppy sounds of his cock pumping into your pussy. needs to be as close to you as humanly possible so wrapping a piece of rubber around his dick to devoid himself of the heavenly feeling of your cunt suffocating around him just makes no sense. completely loses himself in the heat of your pussy, locks his jaw and rests his forehead on your shoulder when he’s fucking into you - just so he doesn’t lose all sense of sanity just from the mere feeling of your cunt milking him for all he’s got, and he’s prepared to give you it all. in the early stages of your relationship he’ll try to at least pull out for your sake, but the more he did the more he noticed your thighs locking around his hips to keep his dick firmly planted inside of you, forcing him to empty his loads into your greedy cunt and he just has to thank whatever god there is out there for blessing him with a girl that’s as eager for his cum much as you are. 

한. HAN JISUNG

condom but he forgets half the time. jisung gets so pussy drunk so quickly that protection will be the last thing on his mind, especially when he gets the chance to finally bury himself deep into his favourite place - your pussy. he likes the idea of being safe and protected but his hunger for your pretty little cunt to be wrapped around his cock any chance he can get just stands in the way of actually doing so. it’ll get to the point where you’ll have to carry them instead cause this man is prepared to fuck you nearly everywhere you go, doesn’t matter if you’re in public or not, he’s gonna beg to have your sweet walls wrapping around him near daily. if you actually do make him wear them it won’t last for long, he’ll whine and beg and near damn cry cause it’s just not the same :( and you have him so pussy spoiled that he might actually get blue balled all thanks to the rubber separating you both, might even pull out and take it off just when he’s fucked you dumb enough that you won’t notice, slipping back in and near sobbing the second your pussy swallows him up again, every raw twitch and spasm making his dick swell up even more. likes making a mess of you far too much to commit to condoms so they’ll become an increasingly rare occurrence in your relationship. 

필릭스. LEE FELIX 

condom. as much as he wants to he’s just far too paranoid about accidentally knocking you up to actually fuck you raw. also likes knowing you feel comfortable during sex and as appealing as thought of making your pussy all creamy with his cum is, he’d be a worried mess afterwards. makes sure he always has one in his wallet, cause with the amount you beg this man for his dick he’d rather be safe than sorry. even when you’re being all needy and he’s teased you to a state of being completely fucked out, whining about how much you need him to fuck you when the heavy weight of his cock bumping against your clit just isn’t enough - he’ll still find the will to ignore the painful swell of his dick to pull away and go grab a condom, chuckling and kissing away the cute pout of disappointment that sits on your lips when your hope of having him fuck you raw was once again shattered. tells you to stop being so goddamn ungrateful and take what he gives you :( with or without a condom this man KNOWS how to work his dick so he’ll fuck you stupid no matter what. the further you get into your relationship the more willing he’d be to finally ditch the condoms, but the second he slips into you with no rubber for the first time is the second he loses every ounce of control - fucking into you like an animal and suddenly your sweet, doting felix is gone and is now fucking you deeper and harder than he ever has before, wondering how he’s went all this time without the feeling of fucking you raw. 

승민. KIM SEUNGMIN 

no condom. this man will laugh straight in your face if you ever try to make him wear one. he knows fine rightly how greedy you are for his cum so he won’t take you seriously at all, fully arguing that a pussy as cute as yours shouldn’t be left all empty and sad without a cock in it and would look much, much prettier if it was dripping in cum. and he’s more than happy to be the one covering your little cunt in it. anytime you try to suggest using a condom he’ll make sure you regret it, forcing you to sit on his dick and fuck yourself over and over until that stupid thought was completely rid out of your pretty little head - pumping load after load into your pussy until it’s left all messy and sticky and begging for a break. loves reminding you how much you’d miss the feeling of his cock filling you up if he actually used one and deep down you hate that he’s right. sometimes he gets a little carried away cause the sight of you covered in his cum just goes straight to his dick, likes fucking you in public and making you walk around after with his cum dribbling down your thighs, knowing if you bent over just a little everyone around would get an eyeful of your cute ass painted in it peaking out from under your tiny skirt. and he’ll just have to fuck another load into you later that night from the thought alone. his cock is too big for you, and he gets such a nasty kick out of this fact, watching the way his cum from earlier that day trickles out of your pussy when he’s fucking you - only for him to push it back in with his cock and force you to take even more of it. loves seeing his cum drip to of your used cunt when he’s done and no amount of condoms is gonna take that away from him. 

아이엔. YANG JEONGIN

condom, but he’s easily persuaded to ditch it. jeongin is just there for a good time and as long as he gets his dick wet he doesn’t really care. he’ll always have one in his wallet just in case but the second he gets a taste of your pretty pussy he’s only able to think with his cock and completely forgets the concept of protection. this man needs you almost every hour of the day and most of the of the time wrapping a condom on his dick is the last thing on his mind, he’d much rather it be your pussy instead. can’t think straight when he’s turned on and the only fix is you. you’ll literally have to pry him off you when he’s this eager, lips chasing after you with a small whine of protest when you pull away from him in the backseat of the company car he’s somehow managed to squeeze you into after the rest of the boys and managers were busy setting up for rehearsal, trying to get him to focus long enough to grab a condom but he’s just too busy rubbing the fat head of his cock into your cunt. he’ll be so pouty when you stop him again, ‘forgetting something jeongin?’ and he’s just like, ‘uhhh, no? i remembered to turn my computer off this time,’ and just gets right back into trying to stick his dick into you finally. only realises he forgot a condom when he’s already fucked a load into you, letting out a small sigh of relief once he pulls his softening cock from your used pussy, watching the way his cum follows and dribbles out past your folds. but he can’t find it in himself to care cause you’ve never looked prettier. always helps you clean up after though :( 

© seungisms - all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated. 

[🐺] Chan Masterlist

[🩸=Smut] [💋=Fluff] [⛓️=Angst]

[🐺] Drabble |🩸

[🐺] To be continued…

Go give this post the love it deserves holy shit 😦

🖇️📁 𝐒𝐊𝐙 … 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐔𝐌

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, do not interact if you’re under 18

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, oral (male and female receiving), fingering, degradation, semi-public sex, car sex, somnophilia, overstimulation, sub!hyunjin

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this was completely self indulgent btw, just wanted an excuse to write about how big changbin and jisung have gotten lately 😮‍💨 also it’s 4k words so if this flops i’ll probably rope it. reblog for a kiss, feedback much appreciated! 

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍 / 방찬 ★ 

gets such a huge kick out of making you cum while simultaneously refusing to give you his dick - you can beg, plead, throw all the tantrums you want, he won’t give in. he just wants to see you get all cute and desperate and greedy for his cock before he gives you it :( absolutely loves how easy it is to get you off when you’re in this state and will have you drooling on him like a bitch in heat in no time with simply just his fingers and pretty praises, curling deep against your snug walls while cooing down at you, “you’re already so fucked out honey, haven’t even given you a taste of cock yet. think you can handle it?” all you can manage is a stupid little nod and whimper, hips grinding down to meet the thrusts of his fingers, cunt hungrily sucking them in and he just wishes it was his dick instead. chan truly loves to take his sweet time with you and can’t help but think you look soso pretty after he’s fucked you dumb on his fingers, pussy all sticky and stretched and just begging for him to bully his fat cock in. but he can be a tad cruel sometimes and honestly thinks its the funniest thing ever to ignore your gasped begs, a mean grin on his otherwise gentle face as his digits continue to spread you open, hardly giving his neglected dick a second thought. 

calls you all the pretty names in the book - angel, sweetheart, honey - and they all sound a little too sweet falling from his lips when he’s abusing your little nub. really enjoys watching you work for your orgasm too, its no fun if he’s just gonna hand it to you!! lays between your legs and rubs his fat cockhead up and down your folds, drenching it in your warmth before accidentally fucking it in just an inch then pulling back again, eating up all the frustrated whines you let slip. but god, when he finally does push in and rips one last orgasm out of you its so worth it, and you can barely find it in yourself to care about the way he tormented your poor pussy earlier when he’s stretching you out real good, cock pumping into you so deep it has you slack jawed and teary eyed. fucks you through your orgasm, the familiar heat in your body traveling down in warm spurts of slick cum coating his dick. and he just can’t stop running his mouth when you’re clamping down on him, “that’s it baby, cum on my cock…god, this tight little pussy will be the death of me,” and, “pretty girl, you did so well for me.” he’s so pussy whipped. might even get nasty with it and bury his face between your thighs after, lapping up the mess of cum and sweat pooling onto your thighs. good luck prying him away <333

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐎 / 리노 ★

a true menace at heart. his favourite way to make you cum is when you’re not even aware that it’s happening - you’ll be knocked out cold and you still won’t be safe from this sick, sick man. you couldn’t even count the amount of times you’ve woken up to him pumping into your cunt in the dead of night, shushing you back to sleep cause, “you’re okay sweetheart, just couldn’t stop thinking about your pretty pussy all night. just go back to sleep.” just can’t help himself. especially when he wakes up before you and you’re beside him looking all vulnerable and cute wrapped up in his sheets, legs looking so empty without his head between them and what’s a man to do? doesn’t even give it a second thought before he’s working his mouth against your cunt, testing how many orgasms he can pull from you before you catch on and finally wake up. can only bury his face further into the messy heaven that is your pussy when your sleepy whimpers perk his ears, brows furrowing in pleasure and pretty face all screwed up, mind toting on the line between sleep and the slick tongue working you up. such a tease and will pull away just to watch in amusement as your back arches slightly off the bed, hips subconsciously rutting up to chase after his mouth, missing the warmth and practically begging him to fuck his tongue deeper into your inviting pussy. and he’s so fucking mean to you that he’ll fucking laugh to himself, mumbling something about how much of a cock whore you are even when you’re deep asleep. 

minho is a messy eater, spit and drool mixed with your arousal dripping from his chin - not letting up his abuse until your nub is raw and pulsing against his tongue. he’s quick to rest a hand on your tummy when you start to come around, legs closing in around his head and eyes blinking sleepily down at him and he would’ve thought you were so cute if he wasn’t so busy making out with your pussy. doesn’t even give you a second to figure out what tf is going on before he’s trying to coax more of those adorable gasps out of you, teeth tugging on your folds and fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, keeping them spread wide open for him until you’re complaining that your muscles are sore and tired, but he still won’t let up - continuing to eat you out like a starved animal. likes when you just can’t help yourself from tangling your fingers in his hair, tugging his face even closer to your dripping cunt to the point all he can see, feel, taste is you. and you’re grinding down on him like a desperate little pup, nose bumping against your clit in the most delicious obscene way, all sloppy and messy with your cum and you’re just left wondering why your boyfriend is so mean to you at 8 in the goddamn morning. he won’t stop until you’re begging him to either, pussy left raw and swollen before he’s leaving one last spit fuelled kiss against it. forces you to kiss him after too, shoving his tongue down your throat so you can taste how sweet you really are.

“morning sweetheart.”

𝐒𝐄𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐈𝐍 / 창빈 ★

likes showing off his strength to you, especially in public when you can do nothing but drool over him - his eyes going straight to the way you press your pretty thighs together when he wears a tight fitting shirt or has his arms on show and he can practically smell the arousal dripping off you. pretends to be surprised when he finally corners you into an empty dressing room, flipping up your skirt and getting a good look at your damp panties and you can hardly stand the embarrassed flush that takes over when he swipes a fat finger over the drenched fabric. makes some sarcastic quip like, “jesus baby, did watching me work out make you this wet? i haven’t even done anything yet.” and nearly loses his goddamn mind when he feels you gush even more at his words, wetness starting to drip past the seams and he can almost taste it. but you don’t even have time to apologise for being the cock hungry whore he always likes to tease you are before he’s nudging your stupid frilly underwear to the side and bumping his digits past your folds, pumping and stretching them so deep inside you it has your toes curling and nails breaking the skin of his biceps, looking for something, anything, to hold onto. and he’ll have you creaming on his cock in a matter of minutes, muscles tensing in his back and jaw straining as he fucks you full. 

you best believe he’s gonna put those muscles to good use, he’s big and strong, strong enough to put you into any position he wants. loves seeing that dumb look on your cute little face the second he gets his hands on you. with the strength comes the stamina, he can go until you’ve completely milked him dry - having fucked you until you were empty headed hours ago but he’s still determined to force just one more out of you. as soon as he feels you go limp on him he’s all over you, tangling a hand in your hair to tug your head back, sweaty chest pressed tightly against your back as he pumps into you from behind, buried so deeply it’s no wonder he has you cumming on his dick again and again. loves the way you lazily clench around him despite tapping out long ago, his strong arms holding you to fuck up into you like you’re nothing more than a hole to him. istg one of the main factors this man works out so much is to see you lose your absolute mind the bigger he gets. 

𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍 / 현진 ★

despite being such a brat, he knows how much you get off on having him sub for you. so he might just let you take control now and then if you’re being extra good for him. and he expects you to take full advantage of the opportunity cause he can go back to being a brat in a matter of seconds if you’re not careful. nothing quite gets you going like reducing this man to a blubbering mess of cute tears and whimpers, cock all swollen and neglected and just itching to finally sink into your inviting pussy. he sometimes hates how nasty you can get when he’s in such a state, edging him towards orgasm again and again and he can’t miss the way your pussy dampens at the sounds of his whiney groans. tries to hold himself back a lot for your sake, veins in his neck almost popping while his fingers twist and curl into the bedsheets, resisting the urge to fuck his hips up when you’re smothering his dick with your glossy lips. nearly loses all sense of control when you take his fat tip between them, tongue pressing down around him and he can hardly focus on anything but the mess of drool and precum slipping down your chin, it’s such a pretty sight. he’s so fucked out that he almost misses the way your fingers dip into your pussy, fucking your fingers into your hot cunt in time with the bobs of your head and he has half a mind to force you off him and replace them with his cock.

hyunjin swears he wants to be good for you, he really does, but he’s so greedy and soso close to cumming that he can’t help but think with his dick and buck his hips up slightly to force himself further down your throat, the lewd sounds of your choked gasps only spiralling him closer. he can only let out a series of pathetic apologies that don’t really mean anything cause he’s still humping your mouth like a dog. post nut regret is real cause as soon as he empties himself down your throat he’s letting out a series of excuses, “but baby, you just feel so good!! how am i meant to help myself 🥺” and nearly crashes tf out when you don’t buy it for a single second - he can only beg, hope, pray you’ll go easy on him. but then you’re grabbing his jaw in your hand, spitting something vile about how much of a selfish bastard he is, sinking your slippery pussy down onto his softening cock and sitting all pretty. making him watch as you get yourself off over and over without offering him the slightest bit of relief - he almost believes your biting words that he’s good for nothing but a dick for you to pleasure yourself with, trying to ignore the fact that deep, deep down he loves when you use him like this. 

𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐉𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆 / 한 ★ 

sometimes he likes not giving you what you want. he’s normally all over you to the point it was pathetic, not able to keep his hands to himself for even a second and you just love teasing him about how well trained and pussy-whipped you have him. he hates it. so now and again he likes to remind you how much you relay on him to keep you sane by dicking you down almost daily. makes you suffer for a few days just to see you slowly lose your mind, and he thrives on how desperate you are to have him buried inside you. he knows you’re apprehensive, especially when he starts making up some excuse you clearly don’t buy when you reach for his underwear, or when he pushes you away and whispers “later baby” when you grind down onto his cock but later never comes, and whenever you finally do coax him to fuck you he’ll pull out just as you’re about to cum, claiming he was just too tired. he’ll have to keep himself busy, late nights in the studio so he doesn’t have time to think about how much he’d rather be buried balls deep in your warm pussy, canceling your plans to spend it at the dorms just begging to some god, whatever god, that you’ll finally break and just force him to fuck you. and when you finally do, it’ll almost be worth blue balling himself the whole week. 

jisung just knows you’re planning something when you so sweetly offer him a ride when he’s running late to practice, your doe eyes hiding a mean glint and the obnoxiously tiny skirt you’re donning not fooling him in the slightest. doesn’t even question it when five minutes into the ride you take a wrong turn into an empty street, stalling the engine and clambering into his lap from where he sat in the passenger seat - so desperate that you don’t waste any time, nudging your flimsy panties to the side to sink down onto his fat dick, he has to hold everything inside of himself back from busting a load just from the feeling alone. and he’s been so pussy depraved the past week that he can do nothing but give in, letting you ride him like he was nothing more than a cock for you to use. he just HAS to keep his mouth busy when he’s fucking up into you, anything to keep him from losing himself in the hold your cunt has on him. “you’re so needy, you know that baby? almost worse than me. what? you don’t like being told the truth? you were losing your mind without my dick inside you, it was cute.” and he just can’t ignore the way you seem to wrap even tighter around him, he didn’t even know it was possible with how you were suffocating his cock already. he gets you there in seconds, the stench of sex and sweat fogging up the windows and he swears your cum has never tasted sweeter than when he has you reduced to the mess you are now. 

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗 / 필릭스 ★

felix is usually so sweet and gentle with you during sex, spoiling you with pretty praises and the stretch of his cock fucking you so lovingly it’d make you feel embarrassed sometimes. but he just can’t stand it when you take advantage of that and act like a brat, it makes him want to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you in front of everyone whenever you give him the slightest bit of lip in public, forcing you to apologise on his dick for being such a little bitch. he won’t go that far though. no, he’ll just sit back and watch as you get yourself off, every passing second making your need for his cock even more obvious - might not be your favourite way to get off, but its definitely his. ignores your meek apologies when you know you’ve went too far, deep voice cutting you off and telling you to strip as he sits comfortably against your headboard, hands undoing his belt and you’re practically dripping in arousal - foolishly thinking he’s gonna give in and fuck the attitude out of you. but he can be so nasty when he wants to be, cock leaking and red and you suddenly feel so empty looking at it. fucking laughs at how eager you are when you rush to sit on his lap and just when you’re about to sink down onto him he’s stopping you, a mean glint in his pretty eyes. “grind on it.” loves wiping that hopeful look on your face and if you even think for a second about complaining he’ll just make you sit in the corner and watch as he gets himself off over and over again. 

he likes to see you work for it, leaning his head back and gazing at your through bored eyes, acting like the warmth of your pussy dragging against the length of his cock wasn’t driving him absolutely insane. he’ll try his hardest to not give in, at least until he sees those cute tears line your lashes. and you never thought your sweet little boyfriend could be so mean with how he just refuses to fuck you. normally he’s wrapped around you pretty little finger, and god do you know it. deliberately bumping your pussy against his tip with every rut of your hips, hands clawing at his chest just begging for even an ounce of pity. but he wants to watch you make a mess out of yourself for just a bit longer, your whines going straight to his cock as spurts of warm precum spill out of his swollen tip, nudging it just an inch past your pussy to rub his stickiness against you. probably cums along with you when you finally do, and it’s so unsatisfying that you’re sobbing and sniffling into his chest, gasping out how much you need him inside you and he’s so proud you’ve finally let go of that bratty attitude of yours.

“that’s it pretty girl, let it all out.”

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 / 승민 ★

when he’s so pussy whipped that he’s completely consumed by you. the only thing he can think, taste, feel is you. to the point that nothing else matters and his only goal is to make you cum. nothing quite gets you off like it. he notices it first when he’s fucking you like he usually does, like he hates your guts, the stretch of his cock almost painful with how deep he was pumping into you, sweat dripping from his hairline and his pretty lips tainted with vile words. but the moment you hear a little pathetic whine leaving them instead you’re clamping down around him so snugly it has him letting a few more out without even thinking. he’ll try to ignore it, tells you to shut the fuck up or he’ll stop. but he won’t be able to shake the feeling of you spilling onto him in floods the second you registered the noise and the slight stutter of his hips, his usual harsh demeanour slipping for just a second. he’ll lose himself in the feeling of your warm cunt just see how you’d react, being a little pathetic in the way he talks you through it, mean words turning to pretty begs and he loves the way you gush around him from the complete 180. sometimes, only when you’ve been extra good for him, he’ll let you use his cock until you’ve completely milked him dry, just to coax more of those pretty whimpers out of him but he’ll genuinely break up with you if you dare bring it up to anyone :( LOVES eating you out when he’s in this space, stuffing his face so far between your thighs he’s almost being suffocated with your pussy, letting out the greediest little moans just from the taste alone, making you cum again and again until he’s covered and dripping in your cum. 

seungmin eats you out like a man starved, spit lubing up your cunt and your sore nub relentlessly abused by his tongue - nose nudging your clit a few times, only adding to the sloppy way he was kissing your pussy. but you just don’t have the heart to tell him to back off when he’s subtly humping the bed for some kind of release and his eyes are rolling into the back of his head, wet groans of, “tell me how good i’m making you feel, please,” being breathed out against your cunt everytime he reluctantly pulls away for a gulp of air, almost as if he’d be happier dying with his mouth on your cunt right then and there instead of pulling away. he’ll make himself cum just from eating you out, his name falling off your lips like it’s a prayer and back arching to fuck your pussy up into his mouth has his heavy cock twitching, warm spurts of cum leaking past his tip and leaving a sticky, wet patch on the bedsheets. has to overcompensate when the post-nut regret hits him though and will probably push your head into it, telling you to clean it up or some shit. gets soso cocky when you can’t get enough and start feeling up his softened cock, tutting something about, “just made you cum, you really are a greedy girl.” acting as if he hasn’t just spent the last hour eating you out like a animal. 

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍 / 아이엔 ★

likes to get you off by riling you up. he just thinks it’s so funny - especially when he’s performing. he’ll play into it  when he knows you’re backstage watching on one of the monitors, just itching to get your hands on him and fuck the tease out of him. loves the thought of you drenching through your panties while watching him work the crowd, sweat dripping down his body and smiling all cocky when the audience goes wild for him, just knowing you’re right there along with them. he’ll make you wait a bit when he finally meets you in his dressing room, claiming he’s too tired but really he just wants to see you beg a little. and as soon as everyone clears out and it’s just you and him, you’re on him in instant - wanting so desperately to slap that smug grin on his face when your hands reach for his belt but also needing nothing more than to feel his thick cock breaking you open. and before you know it he has you bent over the armrest of the little shitty sofa he shares with the members, nails breaking the skin of your hips and ass as he loses himself in the snug walls of your fluttering pussy.

jeongin loves being needed, and he especially loves when you tell him how much you need him. but he doesn’t necessarily appreciate when you’re moaning like a whore with his members standing right outside the door. constantly hisses through clenched teeth for you to be quiet, slowing the grind of his cock down until he’s completely still inside you, hips snug against your ass and chest pressed tightly against your back to whisper in your ear, “you better shut the fuck up baby, what are you gonna do if chan hyung walks in and sees you getting railed like the little slut you are?” and he really can’t bring himself to ignore the way you clench around him at the thought, almost laughing at how much of cock whore you really are if he wasn’t so focused on filling you up with his cum until you could practically taste it. he’ll settle for a hand muffling your sounds, cause you just seem to get even louder the second he slams his dick back inside you, muffling your slutty whimpers when he hears faint voices carry through the thin walls. and he’s so desperate to make you cum before someone walks in, telling you to take it like a good girl when he’s filling you up and before you know you’re making a mess of the sofa and his cock. he’s so mean to you that he’ll make you explain to his hyungs what the weird stain left on the couch was just to embarrass you even more.

© 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐦𝐬 — 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.

|Ink| 02

Tattoo artist!Bang Chan x Fem!Reader

Genre(s): Strangers to lovers, One night stand, Unexpected relationship

Smut Warnings: Intoxication, unprotected sex, Soft!Dom Chan, Switch!Reader, Degrading, Creampies, Breeding kink

Synopsis: You needed to get a tattoo covered up, one you got for your ex. You’re in a new city and go to the closest tattoo parlor by your apartment. The main tattoo artist and owner just so happens to live across the hall from you. Drunken actions turn into a spiral of emotions and your first healthy relationship.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Part 3- ࿐ྂ

The tattoo was healed relatively quick, as quick as most tattoos.

Chan kept his promise to see you too, a few days after the tattoo you hear a knock at your door.

It’s not too late, around half an hour his shop closes. You know this because it’s written on the card Felix handed you before you left.

“Who knew I could charm someone enough to make them want to see me so soon.”

The older laughed in response, shaking his head as he held up a plastic bag with snacks inside. “What can I say, drunk girls who look like they’re about to throw up are my type.”

It was your turn to laugh, tongue pressed to the inside of your cheek out of mock annoyance.

You stepped aside to let him walk in, watching as he kicked off his shoes next to yours already there.

He was wearing another one of his black tank tops, maybe he knew to wear it, saw when it caught your eyes during the session.

“K, show me the wrist.” He turned around as soon as his shoes were off, effectively pulling you away from your trance or staring mindlessly at his back.

“Oh? Really going to use that excuse for real?” Chan grinned in response, tilting his head to the side while taking a careful step forward.

“What else am I here for?”

He turned back around before you could answer, taking your flushed face as a good enough response and deciding to change topics.

“I brought beer too, where’s your fridge?” He held up the bag again to enunciate his question and you nodded before showing him the way to your kitchen.

It wasn’t like he needed you to show him, your apartments had the same layout, but it was the polite thing to do. You didn't care for beer so much, it was bitter and sometimes tastes too much like wheat, especially if cheap. It did the job though, and gets less bad through out the night longer you drink it.

After he put the beverage into your fridge and took out the snacks from the bag he turned back to you again. He bought some salty and sweet stuff, what caught your eye was a chocolate bar, your favorite brand of chocolate.

"I know what I'm calling dibs on." You grinned, snatching the sweet treat from the counter as he tried to grab it before you. You raised an eyebrow as his arm drops with a dramatic pout. "That's my favorite."

He mockingly whined and went to grab it again, but you hid it behind your back. "And I called dibs!" Your voice wavered as he continued trying to get the candy. Even going as far as to try and reach behind you, stopping you from stepping away by wrapping his other arm around your lower back.

It made you nervously laugh, trying to shift your shoulders and wiggle free from his surprisingly firm grip. When seeing no way out, you made a fake hissing sound.

His arms pulled back in a flash and concern immediately filled his eyes. It made you feel guilty for a moment as his eyes darted to your wrist. "Did I squeeze it?" He asked while obviously gesturing to your healing tattoo.

You grinned in response, making him immediately groan in annoyance at being fooled, but also sighing in relief. "You're sly." He shook his head while pointing an accusatory finger.

He seemed to forget about the chocolate, or gave up and let you eat it in victory.

You two settled on a movie, not hungry enough for anything past snacks so dinner was out the way but you needed something to do to squash the lingering awkwardness when you're not too familiar with a person.

"Favorite movie genre." He started, watching you as you picked up your remote to scroll through the movie options. You hummed in though as if you didn't already know. "Depends on my mood, you?"

He copied your hum, leaning back until the back of his head lit the back of the couch. "Action Sci-fi. I love Marvel." You smiled in response, you enjoyed a superhero movie too.

"Favorite movie theater snack." You threw back at him, eyes darting to actually pay attention to what movie you wanted to watch.

"The classic, a big bucket of popcorn with extra butter."

Questions flew back and forth between you two, steering off topic of movies to things like dog breeds to hobbies. Conversation seemed to flow easier than you'd expect, and any awkwardness seemed to fade quickly.

The movie long forgotten and your first cans of beer already cracked open. "Why'd you move out here, just because?" He asked, taking a long swing after.

You looked down at the small opening in your can to drink out of, sloshing the liquid side to side. "Same reason I got the cover up."

His eyebrows raised a little with a thoughtful hum. "So it was a recent break up? I thought it was a while ago." You shook your head with a tightlipped smile, tracing the rim around the can with your index finger.

"I needed a fresh start, it was one of those relationships that should have ended months before it did. I have a habit of talking myself through tough things think it'd get better, but running as soon as I see something good happening for myself. Unintentional self-sabotage you could say."

Chan knew what that was like, to some extent. He'd convinced himself he wasn't worthy of certain things, ultimately ruining a lot of things in his life from overthinking.

"Those relationships suck. I've had my fair share of bad ones before, especially a few long ones."

You'd be lying if you said his words didn't pique your interest, curious to know more. "What was your longest one?"

His eyes flickered down to the bear can just as yours had done, biting down on the two lip rings pierced into his skin. "3 years.." His tone seems reluctant, but you're more surprised by the time he gave you.

"That's a... serious amount of time." You nodded with a little bit of shock obvious in your voice. "Can I ask why it ended or is that too personal?"

He laughed almost bitterly, quickly looking back up to you while resting his free arm over the top of the couch. "We were at different stages of our lives, and it wasn't something we properly discussed."

It was vague, but told a lot at the same time. Some relationships were just that, confusing but natural. Easy but stressful. It made your chest tighten with annoyance at how much you could relate.

"In short I wanted to settle down together and she still wanted to keep her options open."

You sucked in a sudden breath, shocked again. "That'll end a relationship." You nodded with a curt nod. He chuckled again, less bitter and more in amusement at your obvious words.

"Was your last one your longest?" He asked while taking another sip. You took one too before sighing deeply. "Yeah, a year, that's why I got the tattoo. Thought I'd be in it for the long run."

"Thought it was bad, so why stick around?" It didn't mean to sound judgmental, but Chan felt like it did and quickly added. "Was it just, easier?"

You hummed with a nod. "Part of it, yeah. It was mostly because I felt like I was losing out, running out of time. Wasn't the shittiest of past partners I've had, you could say I settled for less than I deserved and didn't realize until I was too far in."

Silence hung in the air as you took another large swig, looking up to see his expression, maybe try and guess what he was thinking despite not knowing much about him as a person and body language.

His eyes were directed at your black screen T.V, still nibbling on his bottom lip in thought. His eyes are darker than usual, but not out of annoyance. The soften when they lock with yours, seemingly snapping out of whatever trance he put himself in.

"I'm guessing you're going to take a break from dating?" He cocked an eyebrow before immediately breaking eye contact with you again.

"I always say that but end up talking to someone again, I think I'm more in a... drifting with the current phase. Whatever I bump into and wants to stick around I'll see if it's worth it."

"But, if it's too good you'll peel them off you?" He guessed, making you sigh at how accurately he can read you. "It's not like I think I don't deserve something good, but you could say I psyche myself out. Get so attached it's scary, I don't like being needy to something that can easily be taken away."

Your fingers trailed up and down the side of your almost empty can, sipping the last of it back before setting it down on your coffee table and getting up from your couch. "Another?" You asked and he nodded.

You handed him the chilled can when sitting back down, simultaneously cracking it open. Yours foamed over a bit and you quickly had to slurp it up before dripping down your hand and arm.

"Have you moved on since your ex?" You asked to resume your conversation, and you got a sigh in return. "Yeah, mentally. Haven't really gone on a date or anything. The night we met was me trying to try my luck but nobody really stuck out to me."

That night was still foggy in your mind, you hope he hadn't seen you do any embarrassing faces or said anything uncomfortable. "What made you stop to help me?" You knew it was probably going to be some bullshit answer about how he just wanted to help, because that's how considerate he seems to annoyingly be.

He's a lot of things actually, stuff you've been able to gather through the back and forth questioning and this conversation alone. It's annoying how he's effortlessly able to keep the flow going, it feel natural to keep on talking. He seems thoughtful in a way that is entirely selfless, and mature enough to not need any parenting.

That's more than most of your exes can account for.

"You were the only one that caught my eye at that point into the night, well, in the night in general. Had no idea I'd get the honor of meeting you again so soon. Much less becoming your neighbor."

There's an obvious teasing tone to his voice and it makes you roll your eyes. He's able to make you want to throw a pillow at him and kiss him at the same time, a dangerous feeling for someone who's already becoming something more than just a neighbor.

"Wow, so flattered, so should I count this as both of our first dates since our shitty breakups?"

He laughs in response, jokingly raising his can to yours to softly clank them together. "Technically, but if I were to take you on a first date I would have hoped it'd be nicer than this."

"My apartment is very nice." You teased with a fake annoyed expression, Chan easily able to see past it with another laugh. "It is, but that's probably because you stuffed all you mess in your room probably."

Your foot gave his thigh an annoyed nudge, shaking your head before taking a long swig of your beer. "I'm not some kid that shoves their toys underneath their bed."

"Sureee." He drags out, jokingly acting like he wasn't convinced. Your eyes narrowed before grinning to match his. "I'd invite you to go check but I'm afraid you might get other ideas, and I'd hate to bump into my new tattoo."

He let out a dramatic scoff, face flushed at your implications, though if asked he'd blame it on the alcohol. "I have self control, might not seem like it with how eagerly I was to show up tonight but that's only because I had to check said tattoo."

You rolled your eyes again, him back at using your tattoo as the excuse to see you. "Guess I'll just have to invite you back when it's healed so we can stop using it was a get out of jail free card."

His eyes darted to you, surprised at how casually you practically invited him to "check your room out" with him. "Because, Y'know, gotta test to see if I put my bedframe together right."

He choked on the sip of beer he just took, topic seemingly escalating far more quicker than he anticipated. Sure, his goal was to flirt here and there, test the waters to see if you were open to something. After all, he was the one to cover your tattoo that was for an ex.

You grinned at being able to get a reaction out of him, also taking another sip. That is until he propped his head with his free hand and leaned a bit closer after recovering from initial shock at your smug look.

"A little bump or two to it won't harm it's healing process much, just gotta make sure your arm stay's above your head."

It was your turn to freeze, having thought you had the upper hand of teasing for a second. His head tilted to the side with a hint of mockery to the action, almost challenging you to say something back.

And you did, challenge him I mean, just not with words.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

You'd have to apologize to your neighbors next to you, your headboard positioned on a wall connected to their apartment. The good thing however was that now you knew your bed frame was stable.

The buzzed feeling wasn't just in your head, and it wasn't there just because of the few cans of beer you two both downed. It was the adrenaline of doing something you knew probably shouldn't be done, I mean, come on, fucking your tattoo artist after just two days of knowing each other was crazy work.

What was worse than fucking your tattoo artist, someone you could avoid if shit hits the fan, is fucking your neighbor. Who knows how often you'd inevitably run into each other to take the same elevator or throw your trash in the dumpster on trash day at the same time.

The awkwardness of running into someone who've you've seen naked and know they've seen you naked is something hard to avoid no matter how hard you try to without talking about it.

You hope it wouldn't end up like that between you two; not when his tongue felt so good pressed against your own. It made you moan when feeling something cool hit the roof of your mouth when he lazily flicked the pink muscle up.

"How did I not see your tongue piercing until now?" You panted against his lips already beginning to look redder with how aggressively you two pulled on each other's bottom lips. You could feel the smirk growing on his lips as he pressed them back against yours.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure you become well acquainted with it."

And that he did, right after sliding off your soaked underwear down your legs and throwing it somewhere on your floor. Your nightshirt and bra didn't last long after, Chan getting hungry to taste more of your skin.

You shivered as you felt the ball of his tongue piercing drag across your collarbone, it retracting as his lips sucked on your skin right under that part of your skeleton.

He groaned as your legs shifted, brushing against the hard on in his basketball shorts. "So desperate for me already." You practically purred with amusement, earning yourself a glare from the man above you. "Princess has a cocky mouth, doesn't she?"

"Only speaking facts baby. Maybe pretend to be a little less eager if you don't want me to call you out on it."

You knew you were a hypocrite, heat pooling at your core that ached for some sort of relief. Chan knew it to, knew it even before reaching a hand down to lazily drag through your folds, earning a surprised gasp from the sudden but appreciated friction.

He brought his two fingers up to suck on and grin back at you. "I'm the eager one?"

You huffed, going to reach a hand down to flick at his forehead when you were reminded of his free hand pinning them above your head. "Oh, forgot about that, did you Princess? I'm only making sure you don't bump your wrist on accident."

His hand held onto yours by lacing together with your fingers, making sure not to touch the plastic around your healing tattoo. Your tongue clicked in subtle but half-hearted annoyance, distracted as soon as his lips started pressing kisses down your exposed chest.

Your eyes glanced down to watch with bated breath, his hot breathing fanning over your skin as he continued going lower and lower. He paused at your lower stomach, making to presses multiple kisses around there while switching occasionally to both your hips and hip bones.

He trailed back up before giving you exactly what you wanted, saving your heat as an indulgence for afterwards.

"Gonna be a good girl and keep your hands up for a second?" He presses his lips to your ear, enunciating his question by squeezing your hands. An embarrassingly desperate whine fell past your lips, effected by the careful movement of his lips earlier down your torso.

"Such a good girl." You mumbled with a nod of your head, Chan satisfied with your promise as he momentarily let go. Your hands laid limp, making no attempt to move from their spot on the upper part of your mattress.

His hands left your body to quickly strip off his tank top, making drool pool in your mouth like wetness did in your cunt. What really made you moan was seeing the entirety of his tattoo when he twisted to throw his tank top in the same pile of your clothes.

He looked back at you with a grin, biting his lower lip to suppress a laugh. No matter how many people complimented or flirted with him based on his body alone never made it any less flustering when someone who's opinion he truly cared about also complimented it.

Next was his shorts, the bulge already noticeable despite the loose material. What you didn’t expect us to see an Ampallang piercing right as his hard length was freed from his boxers.

“How did your ex not lock you down?” You groaned, hips shifting to adjust as you felt your wetness almost trickle down your inner thigh. Chan this time really laughed, throwing his head back with a hand to his chest.

He bent down soon after getting himself to stop laughing, a pleased smile still stretched across his lips as he leaned closer to your downstairs ones. “You gonna make the same mistake?” He hummed before pressing a light kiss on your upper inner thigh.

The action was more affectionate than anything, a total contrast to how he later becomes aggressive with his tongue pressed to your clit.

The barbell of his piercing provided an extra stimulation you didn’t know you needed until now, especially with his mouth was doing an amazing job by itself.

You had to stifle most of your moans with the back of your hand, still being mindful of your neighbors who could not even be home at the moment for all you know.

“What’d I say about your hands?” Chan asked, lips departing from your puffy clit that pulsed with want and need from the sudden lack of touch. You whined in slight annoyance and desperation but moved your hand to rest next to your other wrist.

“Don’t want to be deprived of those pretty little moans.” He grunted before diving back in to seemingly swallow you up whole.

The sound of your panting, little ah’s and whines every time he pressed practically good against your clit sent heat straight down to his dick that already ached painfully so. He’d hold out though, wanting to taste your release on his tongue before anything else.

The knot in your lower stomach tightened as you felt yourself nearing your end, breath hitching. Chan immediately began speeding up, hands gripping your thighs to stop them as the threatened to close.

“Close princess?” He grinned, pressing sloppy kiss through your folds as you moans in response. “Is that all it takes to make you cum? That desperate for a man you just met?”

Your eyes widened as you felt yourself clench around nothing, his tongue immediately sliding in with a quiet almost nonexistent groan falling from his lips. You tasted better than he could ever imagine.

“Fuck, more of that.” You mumbled with a shaky breath, hands lacing together as your fingers twitched to grab onto something. He chuckled against you, eyes trained on the feast he was devouring.

He knew what you meant, and he’d make sure to give you all of the demeaning words and insults he can when fucking it into you, for now he just needs to coax this first orgasm out of you and onto his tongue.

He made sure to flick his tongue up, pressing the medal if his piercings on the roof of you gummy walls. “Shit!” You gasped, stomach tightening.

Chan groaned again, thumbs rubbing circles into your hips as he pressed himself closer, your legs resting over his shoulders. You would have worried about if he was able to breath or not if it wasn’t for him grunting and groaning with every movement he made with his tongue.

And then it hit you, a flash flood wave as the knot in your stomach snapped and heat spread throughout your cunt. “Chan!” You gasped, hips bucking up before you could control them.

He moaned against your folds with pride, not tearing away until you were shaking and trembling and he was able to drink up all of you.

“Such a good girl, took it so well.” He instantly praised, propping himself up to lean his face into your neck.

He pressed sloppy kisses to your skin before wiping your release from his mouth to kiss you. “Think you can handle being in top?”

You nodded pathetically into the kiss, moaning at the taste of yourself on his tongue.

He’d have to make sure to do that again, maybe even wake you up by burying his tongue deep inside you, only if it was something you gave him permission to.

“Hands don’t leave my chest.” He grunted before flipping you two over, easily maneuvering you to straddle his lap.

You shuddered as you felt yourself pressed against his cock, eyes staring back down at the surprise piercing through his tip.

He hummed while watching you gaze hungrily, hands back to rest in your hips before gathering your hands to pull you forward slightly and rest them on his chest.

“Right here.” He enunciated with a tap to your knuckle, making you nod again. “Can’t even talk? Too needy for me to fill you up? Such a desperate girl.” He clicked his tongue as you moaned in response.

Sure you’ve been domed before, possibly the only good reason you stayed with a few exes in your past, but the mix between praise and undeniable affection with degrading words did something to stir need in your chest and pussy.

“You should be prepped enough from my tongue, or are you about to ask me for your fingers too?”

You but your bottom lip in thought, already knowing your answer as you shook your head.

His fingers tapped against your thighs before squeezing the flesh there. “Words slut.”

You shuddered before letting out a moan. “I’m ready.”

He hummed in seemingly approval before lifting you up by the bottom of the ass, making you look back as he moved his tip to align with you.

Gathering some of your wetness by smearing precum into your folds, he finally lowered you to sink down onto him.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to just flip you back over and ram into you, but he was able to stay still to let yourself adjust.

You weren’t doing much better yourself, feeling like you could feel him and his piercing in your guts. It was a feeling of being full nonetheless and it made you even more needy.

“What, can’t handle me” he moved one of his hands to grab onto your chin and make sure your gaze locked with his. “Need to pull out?”

You whined instantly in protest, grinding down harder to prove your point. “Don’t you dare.” You gasped as he let out a chuckle.

“Might get the wrong idea if I don’t see you drooling for me to move.” He teased right before you raised your hips up to slam back down.

His own moan cut off any words he wanted to add, making you grin. “Baby can’t believe that a pussy can feel this good.” You mockingly cooed, Chan grunting in response to your tease.

“I had you falling apart on my tongue.”

“Well let’s hope your dick can achieve the same goal.”

Chan decided he liked it better when you were on your back. You gasped as he flipped you toe over again, able to not have to disconnect himself.

“What’s that? Princess gone quiet?”

You shivered as he slowly dragged himself out maybe only half a centimeter, making a point for you to feel the silver barbell rub against your walls.

You moaned as he pressed back in, pulling out a bit more with every thrust until he was setting a pace. “Not so quiet now.” He groaned, eyes trained as he watched himself disappear into you over and over again.

Your hands still laid over your head, one of his hands laced back together with them again.

It was intoxicating, making your mind foggy with bliss. How long had it been since you got a good fuck? Along with the insanity inducing head he gave you; you weren't sure how this man could possibly still be single.

"Spacing out?" His breath hit's the shell of your ear, earning a whine in response. His chest pressed down into yours with his hands between your bodies to grip harshly at your hips and keep them in place. Your head would be smashed into the headboard if he didn't hold you down against his thrusts.

"Can't believe I already got my princess dumb on my cock. What was it you said? Let's see if your dick can do the same? Tell me, is it?"

Your breath hitched as he arms looped underneath your lower back, making your back arch off the bed and he continued ramming into you. Your hands, now free, carded into his hair.

He groaned at the faint burn of his hair getting pulled, same cocky grin on his lips. It made you want to make them red all over again, bite and swap spit like you had done desperately as soon as he pressed you into your mattress.

"Please, please-! Don't stop, don't slow down!" You moaned, knowing your face was flushed impossibly red and eyes glossed over in a haze of bliss and need. "That's not a yes or no." He hummed, moving one of his hands to hike up your thigh to wrap over his hip.

You yelped in response, overwhelmed with the change of position as he drilled at more of an upwards angle. "Yes! yes- just-" Your chest heaved, a shaky moan leaving your lips at the intense familiar feeling of your abdomen tightening.

Chan moaned back, eyes squeezing shut once he felt you clench around him. He knew what it meant, having felt it when his tongue was buried deep inside.

He felt his own impending release start to build up, sighing out. "Tell me, in or out?"

Your mouth dropped open, not quite registering his words fully when he was fucking into you like a god. "Princess, need to know." He urged, dropping the hand on your thigh to tap your cheek.

Your eyes snapped up to look at him as soon as you felt his finger touch the side of your face, still panting with every moan he was able to coax out of you. "In."

Chan could feel his eyes almost roll back, that was the response he was secretly hoping for. Just the idea of getting to see his seed spill out of you when he pulled out. Maybe he'd be able to push it back in with his fingers and fuck more of it into you, if you'd allow him.

There's a lot of stuff he'd gladly do to you if you gave him the ok, and just the image of your cunt, dripping and creaming from your mix releases made him almost cum on the spot.

That mixed with how tightly you were clenching around him, mind and body both wanting to milk him for every single drop he could give you. You hadn't realized how hot it made you feel to know someone was about to cum in you before Chan, maybe it had more to do with the person than the action.

"Really? Eager to carry my kids?"

Like a switch in your mind, your eyes screw shut and something akin to the loudest moan in existence left you, along with the knot in your stomach undoing for the second time that night.

Chan wasn't far after you, breath hitching as you gushed around his length with no warning.

That wasn't a problem for him, never. He gladly fucked into you needily, knowing he looked like a desperate puppy as his hips snapped against yours quickly.

You could have cum again from just the feeling of his seed shooting into you. Hot ropes of cum stuck to your walls, kissing your cervix along with his tip. You best believe Chan had to capture your lips in a kiss if he didn't want to scream like you did.

The bedframe was able to handle more than you could imagine, maybe Ikea furniture wasn't so bad.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Taglist: @sarastayy @estella-novella @danceonmyheyday @iweirdthingsblog

|Ink| Masterlist

Part 1

Part 2

|Ink| 01

Tattoo artist!Bang Chan x Fem!Reader

Genre(s): Strangers to lovers, One night stand, Unexpected relationship

Smut Warnings: Intoxication, unprotected sex, Soft!Dom Chan, Switch!Reader, Degrading, Creampies, Breeding kink

Synopsis: You needed to get a tattoo covered up, one you got for your ex. You’re in a new city and go to the closest tattoo parlor by your apartment. The main tattoo artist and owner just so happens to live across the hall from you. Drunken actions turn into a spiral of emotions and your first healthy relationship.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Part 2 ࿐ྂ

The black ink of a slightly faded tattoo stared back at you, right on the inner part of your left wrist.

It’s been almost a year since you broke up with your last boyfriend, the relationship lasting far longer than it should have. The toxicity and constant insecurity while being with him took a toll on you until you finally broke.

Moving to Seoul was an abrupt decision. Your main goal was to just get as much distance as you could from him, in hopes he’d fade with your memories.

This tattoo on your wrist fails to help you forget about him though.

You had gotten it as a matching couples tattoo. Despite all the warnings from people and the internet to never get matching tattoos with someone, you had made yet another impulsive decision.

Your old tattoo artist, who’s worked on majority of your tattoos, is now too far away. You’d have to take time off work to see her, and with the recent dent in your bank account due to the move, you couldn’t afford missing a day.

You turned to face your nightstand and grab your phone off the wooden furniture.

A quick google search leads you to: Stray Kids Studio. It’s not a common name for a tattoo parlor, but the prices are in your range. Ratings say they’re good and when you’re able to find their Instagram account you see countless amazing pieces.

Still, with another glance at the tattoo, you don’t know if you’re able to cover it up well enough to forget the original design.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

“The 16th?” A smooth voice confirms, the subtle sound of clicking on a keyboard could be heard over the phone.

After a week of consideration you finally decided to make an appointment at the tattoo parlor.

“Yeah, any time after… 3 pm? It’s a small tattoo, fine line.” Another hum is followed after you answer. “We have an appointment for 3:30 pm, two of our artists. Are you looking for color or traditional?”

“Traditional.”

“That works! Our artist Chan will be the one to cover your tattoo up. Just make sure to bring in some sort of identification and payment, we’ll get you to the back as soon as we verify everything.”

You had already given them your name, so the appointment was finalized after you gave them your number and email so they could contact you in case you forget.

You still weren’t sure how the tattoo will end up, it’s almost worst to have a shitty scribble on your wrist than an old couples tattoo.

Luckily it isn’t his initials, only a small outline of a hummingbird from an intimate inside joke between you two. It’s totally not as if it makes your chest burn hot with rage and jaw clench at just how fucked up that relationship was.

Maybe a blacked out wrist wasn’t so bad after all.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

“You sure you’re up for going out tonight?”

One of your friends sit behind you, sitting on the edge of your bed as she watches you get ready in your mirror.

You glance at her through the mirror with a beauty blender in hand. “It’s been a while since I went out, I need to make the most of my twenties.”

She sighs with a small smile and shake of her head. “Your impulsive decisions are going to get you in serious trouble. Not just shitty tattoos or moving to a whole new city. We’ve made it this far without my phone ringing from the county jail.”

You roll your eyes at the hint of sarcasm in her last sentence, shoulders slumping. “I’m not going to hop in someone’s backseat of their car or anything. I’ll stay close.”

“Sure.” She chuckles before pushing off the bed to help you with your hair.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

It’s been what feels like years since you last were at a club. The hot air from a crowd of people and the nauseating bumping of loud music.

Some places could be really chill, not so cramped. This place, the White Rabbit, is extremely busy on Saturday night.

Knowing this however, you’ve taken some precautions.

A group of your friends already have a booth claimed, a tray of clear liquor shots.

“Tito’s, Everclear and Absolute Vodka.” One of your friends, a small and usually energetic blonde, pointed at each round of shots.

“I can alreayd feel the vomit in my throat.” You mumble, grimacing but picking up one of them readily. With a chaser in hand you shoot back the first one.

Then the second, third, onto your fourth.

Throughout the night, past 3 hours, the shots kept coming. You tried your best to pace yourself, not wanting to get alcohol poisoning.

It was hard when you wanted to get that fuzzy warm feeling fast in your chest. Fast, ended up with it all crashing at once like a train wreck.

“Where are you going?” One of your friends slurred, trying her best to yell over the music and conversations all at once. “Bathroom!” You lied, purse around your shoulder and phone in hand.

You can’t remember if you still had your wallet, but you left your credit and or debit cards at home beforehand. You could afford to get another ID if you did happen to leave it.

What you instead did was go outside, taking in the biggest breath of your life to calm down the spinning feeling in your head.

A groan slipped past your lips, squatting down to the ground to clutch your head between your hands.

You took deep breaths to stop your chest from heaving and trying to throw up the poison in your system.

Your ankles felt weak, vision going spotty. It had been so long since you last partied that you didn’t realize your tolerance was so shit. It made you want to take the longest sleep of your life.

Something cool touched your temple, leaving a wet spot on your flushed skin.

To your right was a man, all black outfit and bottle of water in hand. The streetlight did a poor job of providing enough lighting to see his face but you could make out the slight smile of amusement.

“Where’s your friend? Friends? Need me to call a taxi?” His voice is slightly deep, a little more raspy than anything but what catches your half lidded eyes is the silver jewelry on his lips.

You point to your own lips, head tilting to the side absentmindedly.

“Did that hurt?” You mumble, eyes widening at just how slurred your speech sounded.

He chuckle, squatting down to mimick you and press the water to your free hand. “Did them myself, always hurts more.”

That’s when you notice two other guys, seemingly hanging back and waiting for him with the open door of a taxi.

He follows your gaze and points at the yellow car with his thumb. “Wanna ride with us? Or we can call a different one for us and you take that one.”

The answer is obvious in your drunken mind, a car ride with an attractive sounding man makes your face flush more.

“Friend.” You mumbled back instead, your mind not letting you forget about your friend you drove with you. Your car should be nearby, she said she’d be the designated driver but you lost each other in the crowd after your something odd shot.

He nods with a hum and stands back up, the water still in your hands. He looks back at his waiting friends who almost instantly sigh and close the door.

It makes you raise an eyebrow as the two walk over and the stranger pulls you up abruptly.

You would have screamed in fear, the situation suddenly feeling like a kidnapping, but he set you back down immediately as soon as you regained proper footing.

“Do you have your phone with you? Try calling her.”

Your purse suddenly felt heavier, the reminder of the cellular device in there making you blink your eyes rapidly and look down at it.

Luckily muscle memory helped you type in your password without much thought, but you held the screen up to him with squinted eyes.

“Her name is Haeji.” You slurred, feeling too nauseous suddenly to stare at the bright light for too long.

The stranger looked down at the phone screen and let out another small laugh. He hesitated at first, but clicked on the contact app nonetheless and scrolled till he found Haeji’s name and number.

She was panicked at first, hearing a male voice after picking up the call, but he was able to explain before she drew conclusions.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t run off!” Haeji sighed in relief, crouching down to your drunken form as you hummed back. “Nooo, I said I wouldn’t get in someone’s car.” You replied with a slurred giggle.

Haeji looked up to thank the three men, but found them already waving down another taxi and preparing to leave.

“C’mon, let’s get you home.” She mumbled, looping an arm under your left arm with your right arm over her neck.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Getting a tattoo post hangover is not ideal. You hoped they couldn’t tell how exhausted you were, with sunglasses and hood up.

You hadn’t bothered applying anything more than mascara and lip balm, not in the mood to try and look presentable.

The person at the counter you spoke with truly didn’t match his voice, it was only did he address you by confirming you’re who you are, did you realize it was the same guy.

“I’m Felix, if you decide to book another appointment with us; I’ll be the one you’re most likely talking to.”

He smiled a sweet smile, pearly white teeth and slightly scrunched nose. You couldn’t help but internally oogle at how attractive he is.

Next, he gestured to a curtain, pulling it back for you to see a short and well lit hallway. “It’s the one in the far right.” He pointed to it, the door with a big silver 4 on it.

“He’s just coming off lunch break so you won’t be waiting for long.”

You nodded and stepped into the room, the decor minimal but sleek at the same time. It didn’t feel cold like a standard office would but the lack of colors and mostly blacks with dark grays provided a layer of mystery to whoever your tattooer is.

Hopefully he’s not the opposite of Felix, zero smiles and a deadpanned voice. At the same time you didn’t care, just wanting to cover this tattoo up as fast as you can.

“I’m sorry- usually I like introducing myself in the lobby but I ended up a few minutes behind.”

The rushed words and opening of the room’s door made you break out of your thoughts.

Familiarity struck you, silver lip piercings and protective atmosphere.

He seemed to recognize you too, a smile breaking out on his face. “You sure you shouldn’t be at home right now? You looked pretty shit faced the other night.”

Your tongue clicked and shoulders sagged at his easy teasing. “I was just a little rusty, should I be concerned about you though? Don’t want my tattooer to be hungover.”

He mimicked the noise you made earlier with a slightly more sarcastic click of his own. “I’m guessing you made it home fine?”

His coat was hung up on the door, making your eyes trace his bare arms. In the middle of August it’s to be expected people wear tank tops but you weren’t prepared for the gains this guy had.

Not the mention the think black lines of a tattoo of his own swirling from his elbow up.

“Who did that peice?” You hummed absentmindedly, head tilting to follow the curves. He glanced down at his own arm and tapped it twice.

“My good friend, he works here too. Changbin. If this is your style I recommend coming back for something similar.”

He grinned at being able to promote one of his friends, and bringing back another customer at the same time.

“Maybe, I’m more into meanings behind tattoos.”

“What meaning is the one I’m covering up then?”

As he asked this question he’s pulling out a drawer to gather his things and snap on black rubber gloves.

You laid back onto the tattoo chair, left arm already stretching out to rest on one of the arm rests.

“Something to do with my ex.” You mumbled back, shoulders slumping.

“I know- cliche, and not a good idea.”

He chuckled in agreement, eyebrows raising at he looked at the poor quality humming bird.

He grabbed a tablet from one of the cupboard tables off to the side along with his Apple Pencil, drawing app already pulled up and ready to do.

“So what style are we going for, any inspos?”

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Making a design went smoother than you thought, he was able to draw a sketch pretty fast with help of your input.

When he put the stencil on your wrist, it looked promising as it did well to blend in with the muddled lines of your old tattoo.

The finish work as way better however.

“You can’t even see it…” You mumbled in shock, moving your wrist side to side as if trying your best to pick out the old tattoo.

“That’s the point.” He replied with a small chuckle, always prideful when a client compliments his work. Even more when said client is gorgeous.

He did a last wipe before applying the protective layer over it. “You know how to care for it as I’m assuming, and if you ever want to add something more or schedule for another I’m sure any of us will be more than happy to.”

He lead you back out to where Felix was still stationed, the blonde giving his usual friendly smile.

“Everything go well?” He asked as he pulled up your name. “Definitely, glad I was able to find such a good parlor. I was nervous since it’s obviously not my usual.”

“What place do you usually go to?” Chan asked, right hip leaning on the counter as he took off his gloves to throw away.

“It was called 8-Teez, it’s far away and I just moved.”

Felix turned around the monitor as he finally was able to pull up the payment screen.

You grabbed your card along with cash, knowing to always tip your tattoo artist.

“There’s a really good Pho place over at 7th Street, if you ever need a good food suggestion.”

You grinned at the hidden implications of his words, or, what could be there at least unless he really was just being nice.

“Yeah? I live right by there. Those new high rise apartments.”

Chan’s eyebrows seemed to raise at what you said before pointing a finger at himself.

“Me too, Apartment 143.”

You gasped as you grab your Apartment key and show him your number. “146!”

"Only 3 rooms apart." He said with obvious shock in his voice, Felix leaning over the desk to look at the key too. "Wow, what a coincidence!" He laughed while tilting his head to the side to make sure he was reading it correctly.

"Guess I'll have to drop by one of these days, Y'know, see if you're taking care of my work right."

You shook your head with an amused smile. "Totally; and I'll make sure to order takeout for two, Y'know, because starving artists and all."

My loves 😩

A little help and more

pairing: virgin!felix x virgin!afab!reader x experienced!chan

genre: smut, fluff

word count: 5.7k

description: felix and you need a little guidance and chris is more than happy to assist.

warnings: threesome(obviously), sub!felix, switch!reader, dom!chan, oral (f and m receiving), handjobs, cumshots, squirting, nipple play, fingering, unprotected sex (p in v), little bit of ass play, dirty talk, lots of pet names (lmk if i missed something)

a/n: chan is called chris in this fic, established relationship, this turned out a little more fluffier than i thought it would be ehehe, hope y'all enjoy this one too🤭🩷

~check out my: Masterlist

Dating Felix was one of the best things you've ever decided to do and you knew that, even if it's barely been half a year since he first asked you to be his girlfriend.

You were always a little shy when it came to relationships but Felix was even more shy than you and it took him a long time just to ask you out on a date or to hold your hand.

You found it endearing really, it made him seem more sweet and genuine, like he wasn't coming onto you too strongly and you liked that.

But in certain situations you wished he was a little more assertive even if you didn't mind taking the lead, you had a bit more experience than he did and you wanted to take your physical relationship to the next level, share that intimate moment with him.

But Felix would always back out before anything too risky happened, and you worried he didn't find you attractive so you decided to confront him about it.

He got so embarassed when you pointed it out, his cheeks blushing instantly as he avoided your eyes and played with his fingers.

He reassured you that it's not your fault, and confessed that you were actually his first girlfriend, that he never even kissed anyone before. You were shocked, thinking that there's no way that someone as beautiful and sweet as him was single until now.

Felix never told you that before, thinking you weren't gonna date him if you thought he was clueless and inexperienced, he felt so bad for withholding the truth from you that you could see his eyes become watery.

You were quick to comfort him, telling him that you understand and that it's okay, you don't mind him being a virgin, you actually found it kind of adorable. You weren't that much more experienced than him anyways, you only ever went to second base with a guy you dated briefly before Felix and he seemed relieved to hear that, you were going to get into it for the first time together and that made it even more special.

After that talk, you were sure your boyfriend was going to relax and maybe try not to always be so respectful with his hands and lips.

But, the next time you initiated a makeout session, as soon as your hand slid up his thigh, he jerked away from you, apologizing profusely after doing so.

"Felix, what's wrong?"- you asked, frustration building up inside you but he looked so panicked that you tried to be as gentle as you could with him.

"I'm- I'm sorry love, it's just- I don't know what to do and I'm scared that I'll do something wrong or that it won't feel good to you. I know it seems like I don't want it, but I really do. I really want you. I just don't want to disappoint you."- he rambles, fidgeting with his hands.

"Lixie, you could never disappoint me. I don't know what I'm doing either but we can learn together."- you try to reassure him, placing your hand on his.

"I wish we had some help."- he says and you chuckle as his ears become red. "I- I didn't mean it like that. Maybe we could- um... watch some porn together?"- he asks quietly and you giggle, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

"You're really cute, you know that?"- you ask, kissing his nose and he laughs. "We can try that."

And you tried it but Felix got even more embarassed when you found a video to watch, covering his growing erection with a pillow and avoiding your gaze.

The arousal you felt was once again replaced by the frustration, the only reason you were so patient with him is because you really cared for him and didn't want to do anything that would make him feel uncomfortable or unsafe with you.

But then, a little light bulb turned on above your head as you accidentally came across a threesome video, and the knowledge of Felix being the type of person to learn things best when they're hands on, you decided to ask him what if you actually had someone there to help you?

And Felix admitted he had the same exact thought before, but was afraid to suggest it in case you thought it was gross.

Both of you laughed at your predicament and together you brainstormed on how to approach this and who to ask for help.

Your best option was Chris, your mutual friend who both of you always went to for advice and comfort. You trusted him completely and you knew he had experience and could help you out without judging you.

He was surprised at your proposition but he wasn't opposed to it, Chris just needed some time to process what you were suggesting to him.

And when he accepted, the three of you sat down and discussed your boundaries, and came to the conclusion that it's best to start out with something vanilla. You were both kinda excited to see how this would go, but neither of you knew just how much you would get.

-

That Saturday evening, the three of you sit in your room and even though you tried to make the atmosphere as chill as you could with scented candles and dim lights, Felix was still vibrating with nervousness.

You were nervous too, more so excited and Chris chuckled at the both of you, finding you so adorable in that moment.

"Why don't you start with some kissing? Maybe it'll help you relax if you start like you normally do and act like I'm not here."- Chris suggests.

"Okay, sounds good."- you nod, cupping your boyfriend's face and pressing your lips into his. You can feel Felix slightly relax against you and kissing you back gently, one of his arms curling around your waist timidly.

Chris watches the innocent kiss shared between you and something stirs inside him, his eyes narrowing and tongue darting out to wet his lips.

You're just kissing slowly with your lips, no tongue yet and both of you are already getting hot and bothered. Chris observes the way you keep pressing your lips harder into your boyfriend's while he squirms, his hand grabbing at your shirt.

You run your tongue on Felix's bottom lip and he parts his lips, letting you in. The wet sounds of your tongues dancing together make Chris grow in his pants.

He doesn't want to just watch anymore, he wants to taste the both of you. You part for air and notice that Chris is now sitting closer to you, your heart skips a beat in anticipation.

His big hand rests on your cheek, and you can hear Felix breathing hard next to you. Your big eyes stare up at Chris as he leans in and captures your lips in his.

He's different than Felix, more dominant and sure of himself and you melt into him, letting him take control. The different dynamic makes arousal drip on your panties as your hands come up to grab at Chris's biceps.

Chris bites on your lip a little and you gasp, opening your mouth for him to push his tongue in. The way he swirls it around yours has you dizzy and you hold onto him, pressing your thighs together and moaning into his mouth.

Felix should be jelaous that another man is making you feel like that when he never did, but all he feels is arousal as his cock strains and twitches in his pants. He wants to touch himself so badly, but he's still embarassed and doesn't want to seem too eager.

When the two of you part, Chris turns to Felix who looks up at him with glassy innocent eyes and Chris smirks.

"You want some too?"- he asks and Felix nods fervently making you giggle at his cuteness.

Your boyfriend's face is flushed, the redness spreading to his neck as Chris cradles his head and starts kissing him. You notice the way Felix jolts and kisses back sloppily as Chris presses his lips into his roughly. Felix whimpers and Chris pushes his tongue in, tasting your boyfriend and making his eyes roll back.

The way Chris is leaning over your boyfriend, his head thrown back as he grabs at your friend's shirt make you feel extremely hot and your hand wanders between your legs as you gently press on your clit.

Your fingers move in circles as your eyes get hazy looking at the sight before you. Chris leans away from Felix who looks absolutely disheveled, his hair messy, eyelids droopy and a dribble of drool sliding from the corner of his lips.

"Baby, are you feeling neglected?"- Chris chuckles, beckoning you to come closer and you crawl closer to them, joining them in a kiss.

It's a mess of tongue, teeth and moans as the three of you kiss and touch each other.

"So, you never went any further than this?"- Chris asks.

"Well, after neck kisses is usually when we stop."- you say, and Felix looks down at his lap, feeling embarassed. You gently place your hand on his and squeeze and he looks up at you, giving you a sweet smile.

"Okay, show me."- Chris smirks and you lean in closer to Felix. He throws his head back as soon as your lips touch him, eyes shut tight as you leave wet kisses on his soft skin. Chris decides to join in and he kneels behind Felix, moving his hair out of the way as he starts kissing the back of his neck.

"Ah!"- Felix whimpers, his hands instantly grabbing at yours, it's too much stimulation for him already. Both of you are giving him all the attention right now as you place his hands on your waist, crawling even closer to him where you're almost sitting in his lap. Your hands are roaming on his chest and abs, and Chris places his hands on Felix's hips, pressing himself closer to your boyfriend, his teeth nipping at his sensitive skin.

Felix mewls between you, his head resting on Chris's shoulder as you sink your teeth in and start sucking on his skin, your hand sliding under his shirt, fingertips brushing at him.

"Mm- too much..."- Felix whines as Chris licks a stripe on his neck, then leaves little bites, his big hands gripping at Felix's thighs.

You lean back and look at your boyfriend and Chris smirks behind him.

"Why don't we give your beautiful girlfriend the same treatment?"- Chris asks lowly and you shiver, biting on your lip. Felix nods in a daze and you get comfortable as he leans in. His lips are gentle on your skin and he leaves sweet little kisses as Chris joins him, kissing the other side of your neck a bit more strongly.

The difference between their kisses and the stimulation you're receiving make you hot again and Chris notices you squirming around. His hand gently comes up to cup your breast, before he leans back and looks at Felix. Your boyfriend nips at your skin, like he's afraid to bite into it harder but you don't mind in this moment, you're already so turned on that even the smallest touch makes you crumble.

"Have you ever touched her breasts?"- Chris asks Felix and you feel your face burning as he gently squeezes you.

"N-no."- Felix whimpers, looking at Chris's hand.

"Do you want to?"- he smirks.

"Yes, yes, I want to!"- Felix nods fast and Chris takes his hand, placing it on your breast. You moan a little as Felix gasps and squeezes you.

"You can do it like this."- Chris says as he grabs your other boob, massaging it and running his thumb on your nipple that's now becoming perky and visible under your shirt since you didn't wear a bra.

Felix looks at Chris's hand like he's mesmerized and he repeats everything exactly as Chris is showing him.

You moan, arching into their touch, becoming desperate for more friction and more action.

"Do you play with your boobs when you touch yourself, y/n?"- Chris asks, leaving little kisses on your jaw.

"Y-yes."- you whimper.

"Show us."- Chris leans back, and Felix follows him.

You oblige, taking your shirt off and tossing it aside. Felix practically drools at the sight of your breasts and you don't waste any time as you start playing with your nipples, running your fingers on them and pinching them.

Chris can see how desperate Felix is to touch them, his eyes bulging out of his skull as he traces every movement you make with your fingers.

You moan quietly, eyes closed as you get into it.

"P-please..."- Felix says suddenly and you open your eyes.

"What do you want, baby?"- you ask.

"Your- your- i wanna touch-" - Felix mutters, clearly still embarassed.

Chris chuckles on the side, his hand coming up to touch Felix's cheek.

"Tell her what you want, Lix. Use your words."- Chris commands him and your boyfriend whimpers.

"Your titties- I want them in my mouth."- Felix whines, his eyes glassy and you smirk, arching towards him.

"Come here, baby."- you say and Chris presses the back of his head, gently pushing him towards your breast. Felix eagerly wraps his lips around your nipple and starts sucking.

"Mm."- you moan, staring at him as he looks up at you sweetly. Chris is getting incredibly hard in his pants and he accidentally grips Felix's hair.

Felix moans around you, sucking more harshly as his cock twitches in his pants.

"You like this, Lix?"- Chris asks curiously, pulling on your boyfriend's hair again.

He whimpers around you again, hands now gripping at your thighs as he trembles.

"I-I didn't know you liked it rough, Lixie."- you smirk at your boyfriend.

Felix closes his eyes, the attention is on him again and Chris can sense that he's getting embarassed again so he turns back to you, his hand on your other breast as he starts playing with it.

"You can use your tongue Lix, like this."- Chris leans in and starts flicking your nipple with his tongue. You mewl, gripping at the blanket under you and Felix follows suit, flicking his tongue just like Chris.

You almost fall apart at the double stimulation, more arousal gushing on your panties and you just want to be fucked, even if it's just fingers, you need someone to touch your dripping cunt.

You reach your hand towards Felix, tugging at his shirt and he leans back.

"Take it off."- you say and Felix becomes more red as he slowly takes off his shirt.

You've seen him shirtless already but in this moment of arousal it's like you're seeing him for the first time ever and the sight makes you drool.

"What about you?"- you ask Chris and he smirks.

"How about we all strip completely? I can see you're both so desperate to be touched."- he says and you nod, getting to it immediately.

"I- Can I stay in my boxers just for a little while more?"- Felix asks timidly.

"Sure."- you say and the three of you strip, Felix still in his boxers and his eyes are glued to your glistening cunt.

On the other hand, you gasp as Chris takes off his underwear, his cock springing out for the two of you to see.

"Oh... it's so big."- Felix gulps, almost mesmerized and Chris chuckles deeply.

"Yeah? Like what you see?"- he asks your boyfriend and you giggle, your hand on Felix's thigh, gently grabbing it and massaging it.

"I mean- yeah..."- Felix nods, looking at his lap again.

"Are you still feeling shy, baby?"- you ask.

"I'm sorry, it's just... I'm not as big as Chris."- he says quietly.

"That really doesn't matter, darling."- you say sincerely, your hands lifting up to cradle his face, making him look at you.

"Yeah, don't worry about it, Lix. This is a safe space, okay?"- Chris says and your boyfriend nods before taking a deep breath in as he hooks his fingers in his boxers.

He slides them down and his cock springs out, the tip pink and glistening with precum, it's smaller than Chris's but chubby and you instantly find yourself yearning to touch him.

"So pretty."- you say and Felix chuckles quietly.

"You think my dick is pretty?"- he asks.

"Very."- you nod and he laughs again, his cheeks becoming profusely red.

"I agree."- Chris comes closer to Felix, his hand resting on his thigh as he squeezes it and slowly slides it up. You can see his cock twitch the closer Chris gets to it.

"Is it okay if I touch you?"- he asks and Felix looks at you.

"If it's okay, I'd like y/n to touch me first."- Felix says timidly and Chris nods understandingly.

"Ofcourse, I'm just here to help out."- he smiles sweetly and you gulp, your hand lifting up as you scoot closer to your boyfriend.

You've never touched a dick before but you weren't scared, you were just nervous, wanting to make your boyfriend feel good. Your fingers wrap around him and Felix falls apart immediately.

Chris kneels behind him, his hands around Felix, fingertips brushing his skin as he tries to help him relax.

You slowly start moving your hand, only ever seeing how to do it in porn videos and you have no idea if you're doing it right but your boyfriend seems to be enjoying. He's arching into your touch, his head resting on Chris's shoulder again, eyes shut tight as sweet moans leave his lips.

Chris's hands come up to his nipples and he starts pinching them which makes Felix moan louder, his hips fucking his cock into your hand.

You're in awe at seeing your boyfriend a mumbling mess like this and his cock looks inviting to you, you want to taste him but you don't want to rush too much in case Felix gets embarassed again.

Chris notices the way you stare at Felix's cock hungrily and he smirks, his hands sliding down and grabbing a handful of Felix's ass.

"Oh my-"- your boyfriend whimpers, hips jerking forwards.

You're beyond turned on and you lean down.

"I wanna taste you, Lixie."- you say.

"Mm, yes please... Please..."- Felix whines and gasps as he looks down at you, desperation evident in his voice.

You lean in close, your tongue darting out experimentally to lick at his tip, licking off the salty precum. You would be embarassed to admit this but you researched how to give good head because you wanted to give your boyfriend the best blowjob you could.

You wrap your lips around him and start sucking as Felix mewls and grabs at your shoulders.

"Wow, babygirl knows what she's doing."- Chris smirks behind Felix and you smirk back at him with your mouth full of your boyfriends cock.

Chris finds you so pretty like that as you keep taking more of Felix's cock in your mouth and he needs some friction, so he presses his dick on your boyfriend's asscheek, one of his hands tangling in his hair and pulling his head back.

"Fuck-" - Felix jolts, accidentally pushing his hips into your face a little and making you gag from the sudden movement.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry love!"- he apologizes instantly.

"Lixie, it's okay, I don't mind."- you slide off of him to reassure him that he did nothing wrong.

"Relax, baby."- Chris whispers into Felix's ear, gripping his hair and kissing his neck as you take him in your mouth again.

Felix keeps whimpering and mumbling both of your names, falling apart between the two of you. Chris gently ruts against your boyfriend as you almost swallow him whole, quickly adjusting your mouth to his length and girth. You speed up, wetting his cock with your spit as Chris sucks a love bite into his skin.

"So much..."- Felix whines.

"Is it too much babyboy?"- Chris asks.

"Mhm."- Felix mutters.

"You love being sandwiched like this, don't you?"

"Yes, yes I do!"- Felix whines as Chris's hand curls around him to play with his balls. He jolts again and you take it sucking on him harder and Felix looks down at you and almost busts right then and there.

The sight of his sweet, beautiful girlfriend in a position like that with mouth full of his cock drives him insane.

"P-please... I'm close, I can't hold it in."- Felix whimpers, his hand gentle on your head as he tries to make you stop.

You moan around him as you keep going, your hands gripping at his thighs and Chris starts pinching Felix's nipples fast and hard and Felix can't hold himself together anymore. His moans get louder and louder, his hips timidly fucking into you, afraid that if he goes faster he might hurt you.

"Let go, baby."- Chris coos at him as he keeps playing with him and Felix shakes as his cock twitches, his cum shooting into your mouth and you swallow everything he gives you, savoring his taste and milking him dry as he whimpers, eyes teary and face red.

"Good boy."- Chris smirks and Felix shivers as you finally release him and sit back, licking your lips.

"Both of you did so well. How about you return the favor, Lix?"- Chris asks and you bite your lip.

"I want to!"- Felix nods eagerly.

"Lay down, sweetheart."- Chris coos at you, seeing how turned on you are from everything, aching to be touched, your eyes glassy and desperate.

You oblige, your legs falling open immediately and Felix moans just at the sight of your sweet cunt.

"Mm, please, wanna taste."- he whines as he leans in closer. "But I don't know what to do."- he adds, embarassed again.

"Do what feels natural to you. Kiss, lick, suck. I'll be here to guide you if you need it."- Chris tells him. "And y/n will tell you what she likes, right?"- he looks at you and you nod, anticipation making goosebumps rise on your skin.

Felix leans in, he's not that clueless, he knows what a clit is and how good it feels to touch, well at least from what he saw in porn so he tries, his tongue giving you little kitten licks.

Your legs jolt as he presses it into your clit and watches your reaction.

Chris lays on his side next to you, his hand running on your inner thigh as he leans in and kisses your collarbone and breast.

Felix is getting drunk on the taste of you, how you're getting more wet just from his tongue playing with your clit and he gently pulls open your folds before he pushes his tongue in, his eyes rolling back at the feeling. He loved you on your knees and sucking him in but he knows he loves this even more. Being between your legs, his tongue buried inside you as you look down at him, your body shivering, pretty moans coming out of your lips.

Chris's hand is on your breast, kneading and playing with your nipple, his other hand in Felix's hair as he pushes his head into you.

Felix moans into your cunt as Chris holds him down and your legs shake as Felix fucks you desperately with his tongue, lapping at you like your pussy is the tastiest treat he ever had.

You moan loudly, losing yourself in the pleasure, already close to the edge as your hands grip at the blanket below you.

Felix ruts his semi hard cock on the sheets below almost unconsciously and Chris thinks he looks so cute when he's desperate like that.

Chris leans in and starts sucking on your breast, his hand playing with the other one, his focus now on you, wanting to help bring you closer to your sweet release.

You're shaking under them, the stimulation is so much stronger than when you played with yourself and you can't take anymore, fireworks exploding inside you before you cum, your sweet juices covering Felix's tongue and lips.

He whines and laps at you, savoring your taste as his eyes close.

"Did so well, baby."- Chris praises you and leans in to kiss you as your boyfriend still makes out with your wet pussy. You're sensitive and your legs close around Felix's head making him groan into you.

"T-too much."- you whimper and Felix leans back, the look on his face completely fucked out as he stares at you. You know you probably look the same, your legs still slightly shivering from your orgasm.

Both you and Chris can see that Felix is fully hard again, but you turn to Chris, your hand finding his.

"Can we do something for you before we go further?"- you ask and Felix nods.

"Yeah, we wanna make you feel good too."- he licks his lips.

"Don't worry about me. This is about the two of you."- Chris waves his hand but you can see that he's painfully hard.

You sit up and push him down so his back leans on the headboard of the bed.

"Let us make you feel good."- you say, hands on his thighs as you lean down and start kissing his cock.

Chris grunts lowly at your cute innocent face as you wrap your lips around the head. Felix comes up next to you and Chris spreads his legs more to give you both more space. Felix gathers your hair in a makeshift ponytail, helping you as you slowly take more of Chris in your mouth, his cock too big for you but you're determined to try your best.

It's the least you can do when he indulged the two of you and accepted to help you in an intimate situation like this. You bob your head up and down, your hand working the rest of his cock and Felix watches closely as he holds your hair, drooling at the thought of tasting Chris's cock after you've sucked on it.

"Please, let me."- he begs and Chris chuckles at his eagerness as you pop off of him.

Felix wastes no time, engulfing him as much as he could, making himself gag immediately.

"Slow down, baby."- you chuckle and Felix whines around Chris, the vibrations making him shiver.

Tears gather in his eyes as Felix sucks on Chris fast, taking more and more in, his spit mixed with yours making everything slippery.

You don't think you've ever seen anything as hot as your pretty innocent boyfriend doing such dirty things, his eyes rolling back every time Chris's cock hits the back of his throat.

"Fuck- I won't last long!"- Chris moans, his thighs flexing under Felix's hands.

You're the one holding your boyfriend's hair now and a wicked thought runs through your mind as Chris's hips jerk up. You grip Felix's hair and push him down more making him gag and squirm as Chris explodes with a loud moan, shooting his cum into your boyfriend's mouth.

Felix gags but swallows as he has no choice but to do that, you're still holding him down and you notice how he ruts into the bed, obviously turned on by your ministrations.

You let him lift off only when he's done milking Chris's cock and then you grab his face making him gasp as you crash your lips into his.

Chris breathes hard, watching the two of you make out messily, the taste of him pouring into your mouth from Felix's lips.

"Lixie, I want you."- you mumble against his lips, your hand wrapping around his cock.

"Mm, I want you too love."- he moans.

He looks at Chris who's coming to his senses and Chris chuckles.

"W-will you help me out a little?"- your boyfriend asks timidly and you giggle as Chris nods and sits up.

You lay down against the pillows, your hands on the back of your thighs as you lift up and open your legs so your cunt is on full display.

Felix groans watching it clench around nothing.

"She feels empty, don't you baby?"- Chris asks and you nod fervently. His finger is on your clit as he slowly circles it and you moan pushing up into him.

"You have to prep her first."- he tells Felix and he nods, his fingertips on your folds as Chris keeps massaging your clit.

"P-please..."- you whine and Felix sinks two of his fingers slowly inside you, careful to be gentle as he grabs your breast and massages it.

Your eyes roll in the back of your head as the two men play with your pussy, Felix pushing in as deep as he can and moving slowly as Chris helps guide his wrist while he plays with your clit, flicking it and pinching it.

You're moaning loudly, letting go of everything as your slick drips down onto their hands and the sheets beneath you, making a mess. You've never been this wet or turned on and you start moving your hips up into their touch and Felix speeds up, fucking your pussy open for his cock.

"Oh my god, ah!"- you practically scream as you explode, squirting on their hands as Felix pulls his fingers out and gasps.

"Oh..."- you chuckle embarassingly at the sight, trying to catch your breath.

"That was so hot."- Felix whines, licking off his fingers. Before you or Chris can react he grabs Chris's wrist and puts his lips around two of his fingers, sucking on them and looking at Chris hazily.

"Lix loves his mouth stuffed, hm?"- Chris smirks as you lift up on your elbows and look at them.

Felix moans around his fingers before he pops off, tongue darting out to lick at his lips.

He turns to you and Chris kneels behind him as you grab your boyfriend's hands and bring him closer to you.

"Fuck me, Lixie, please! I can't wait anymore!"- you whimper.

Felix groans as Chris gently pushes him closer to you. He reaches around your boyfriend's body and gently grabs his cock. Felix mewls as he melts between both of you and Chris pushes him down, massaging your wet pussy with Felix's cock.

"Mm feels so good..."- he whines and Chris smirks, his cock is getting hard again and he can't help himself as it slides between Felix's asscheeks.

Felix gasps and almost jolts away but Chris holds him.

"It's okay, I won't do anything you don't want, Lix."- Chris reassures him and Felix nods.

"Is this okay?"- he asks as his cock slides against him.

"Mmm it's good, so good!"- Felix whines as his tip catches on your folds.

"Put it in, Lixie, give me your cock!"- you whine, impatient and craving to be stuffed full of your boyfriend's cute chubby cock.

He moans and slowly pushes in, Chris holding his hips and rutting into him slowly.

You groan at the stretch, your little cunt opening up to take him fully. Felix lets out a deep growl as he bottoms out, hands gripping at your body. Your hands end up around his shoulders and you look into his eyes.

"Move, baby."- you moan and Felix starts fucking you slowly to let you adjust, Chris following his pace and rutting into his ass.

You fall into a rhythm, the three of you rocking together, moaning and praising each other, hands grabbing everywhere.

"Feels good babygirl?"- Chris asks you and you moan in response.

"See, she's going a little dumb on your cock, Lix."- Chris smirks.

"Mm fuck..."- Felix whines. "So warm and tight."- he keeps whimpering as he pushes his cock into you as deep as he can.

Chris is close as he rubs against Felix, his hand coming around to play with your clit once again as Felix fucks into you harder. You see stars as your eyes shut tightly, head falling back.

Felix is a mumbling mess, hips jerking harshly as he drools and Chris speeds up, jerking his cock so his head is massaging Felix's hole.

"Ah, ah, ah!"- Felix moans constantly, stimulated on both ends and Chris chuckles darkly, his head pushing against his tight hole, teasing his entrance.

"You want me to stretch your tight ass while you fuck your girlfriend's sweet pussy, hm?"- Chris growls into his ear as he pulls his head back harshly.

"Mm, fuck yes, daddy!"- Felix whimpers loudly and then freezes when he realizes what he said. Your eyes snap open and Felix panicks.

"I'm sorry, I-I don't know why I said that."- his lips tremble, eyes watering.

"Hey, hey, don't cry."- Chris soothes him. "You can call me whatever you want, it's completely fine and I don't mind."

Felix looks at you and you bite on your lip, your eyes hazy as you were close to your release.

"It was hot, love. I don't mind either."- you say and Felix melts, hips moving slowly into yours again.

It doesn't take long for the three of you to get back into your rhythm and your orgasm builds up once more, as does Chris's. You cum first, exploding all over Felix's cock, clenching around him as Chris spills his seed on your boyfriend's ass and the back of his thighs. Your pussy holding onto his cock and Chris's cum painting him makes him lose his mind and he pulls out, jerking his cock and exploding all over your stomach and pulsating cunt.

The three of you have to take a few moments to calm down and clean up, Chris helping you change the sheets you made a mess off.

As you and Felix get ready to cuddle up, you notice Chris picking up his clothes.

"Where are you going?"- you ask, lifting your head up.

"Well, I helped you out. I mean, I don't want to overstay my welcome. I'm sure the two of you would like some time alone now."- he says, scratching the back of his neck shyly, his demeanor completely different than moments before.

"Stay with us."- Felix says, and Chris's eyes soften.

"Yeah, come here."- you beckon him with your finger and he chuckles, coming closer to the bed and getting comfortable behind Felix, who was curled up in you, his arm and leg wrapped around you.

You press a gentle kiss on your boyfriend's forehead as he mumbles, already half asleep.

"I love you both..."- he mutters into your neck.

You and Chris lock eyes and smile at each other.

"We love you too."

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @bookobsessedfreak

Oct.1-Sun-2:30 am

Wrote this while super tired and delirious 😎

TW: Pet names, Omega Fem!reader, human/civilian Bang Chan, slight breeding kink?, P.I.V, intentional un-protected sex, slight blindfold kink, scent kink

☆

I can just imagine his dick inside you, pressing against the soft ridges of your gummy walls feverishly.

His hips not stopping for a moment as he snaps them against your ass like an animal. He’s a little peeved by your moans being muffled by the pillow that your face is currently stuffed into, your tears soaking the fabric that covered your eyes.

“What’s that baby?” He grunts, teasing you with a grin as you moaned loudly again. “Huh? Speak princess.” He mocked as his hand left one of your hips and gathered your hair into a low ponytail.

Swiftly, he tugged on your hair which forcefully lifted your head from the pillow. It was like you were a dog, being pulled by your hair as if it was a leash.

His thrusts didn’t falter one bit as he pounded into you relentlessly. “Come on baby, tell me how good you feel.” He cooed, an obvious smirk in his tone you could imagine even though you couldn’t see him.

“S-so… mh-hm…” you could barely get the words out, whimpering and moaning at the sheer impact of his thrusts meeting your core. You swore you would feel his tip bruising the entrance of your cervix.

He hummed again, feigning annoyance at your lack of words. “Speak.” He commanded, playing into the fantasy of you just being a needy omega. A damn mutt for him to play with.

Your mind was clouded, the omega in you bursting with happiness and pleasure as she felt her needs be met by the mer human that had saved you all those years ago.

You were also grateful for Chan, of course you were. Saving you from that illegal omega breeding ring was the best day of your life, but the day he finally helped you with your heat quickly topped it.

And that day was today. After 3 hopeless years of begging every time your heat came he finally caved in and decided to help you. Now you could stop that pathetic act of humping his pillows, of surrounding yourself of his scent despite him not even being an alpha.

All humans had scents, and thanks to your heightened senses during heats you could smell it more clearly.

Usually only an alpha’s scent could satisfy the need of an omega, atleast enough to not make him/her/them crazy. But for some reason Chans was enough, it was always more than enough but also almost not enough if that made sense.

It was enough to stop her from clawing her way out the house and looking for someone to fuck her like an actual dog in heat, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy the ache in her core.

Again, usually only an alpha’s or beta’s cock could satisfy her hungry need of being filled up and used.

Chan somehow, did even more than that. It made her stupid, it made her so stupid she was drunk off of the feeling of him inside her.

With each delicious thrust she was only growing nearer to her release.

“C-Channie..” she moaned, chest heaving as she felt a bead of sweat trickle down her face. He knew she wanted something, she had a question but he wasn’t going to go easy on her.

“Spit it out puppy.” I whispered, kissing the shell of her ear while continuing his merciless pounding into her.

She whined and moaned, breath faltering a bit as she babbled on her words. “B-back, on my back!” She pleaded, wanted to face him before she had her first ever orgasm with him.

He graciously gave her what she wanted and pulled out slowly to flip her on her back. “Is that all baby?” He asked, a loving tone replacing the teasing one he was using just a few minutes ago.

“See you, I want to see you!” She begged, asking him if her blindfold could come off.

He chuckled a little bit before uttering the word ‘cute’ and slowly untying the fabric that was covering her eyes.

She stared up at him with glossy eyes that were a bit red from the tears of pleasure that was rippling through her a few moments ago.

He gave her a few cheek and temple kisses as she adjusted to the red LED’s lighting up the room.

Her nose instinctively buried into his neck where his scent was the strongest and she let out a groan at the smell she grew to love oh so much.

“Ready darling?” Chan whispered softly, his hands sliding down to grip onto her hips. She nodded slowly and with that he began pushing in.

His mushroom top of a dick provided an amazing stretch to her core and she let out a few pants at the feeling she wished she could have every day.

She could hear his soft chuckles of delight as he looked down at her flushed and fuck-out expression on her face.

Inch by inch, he slowly eased in despite not having to because she was dripping with slick and she was already stretched out by his delicious fat cock.

“M-move.” She squeaked, her hands already making a move to grip onto his shoulders and nails into his shoulder blades. “Shit baby, do I make you feel good? Huh? Omega’s happy?” He grunted, nose scrunching at the feeling of her tight walls squeezing his length and nails digging into his skin.

“Yes! Yes!” She squealed, head thrown back to the pillow as he finally bottomed out again. “What do you want sweetheart? Rough or sweet?” He questioned with a grin, knowing the fact he wasn’t moving at all was irking her a tiny bit.

She whined a little at the question, her brain not being able to pick and just wanting him to move. “R-rough, I don’t care!” She whimpered, one hand cupping the back of his neck as the other reached farther down his back to claw at the soft, smooth, skin.

He grunted again before chuckling darkly at the feeling of her lips colliding with his when she pulled him down.

“You asked for it~” He whispered against the soft, pillowy, pink lips of his precious omega.

Without a second to waste he leaned back a bit to slowly pull out. It made your eyes open wide at the alarming thought of his filling pulling out. “Chan-!” You’re cut off before you get the chance to beg him to not pull out when he slams back in.

Your eyes rolled back into your head as he picks up the speed from before, effortlessly pounding into you over and over again.

The familiar feeling of his tip pushing against your cervix made you clench around him in awe. He was just so big and long to be able to do that.

Your little whimpers and moans mixed with his groans and grunt filled the room along with the sound of skin on skin compact and the smell of sex.

The atmosphere was just right, it was perfect in fact. This was your 6th heat since living with Chan, you get 2 annual heats per year. One at the beginning and one at the end. Only now were you able to properly get through one of your heats.

You had imagined it to be sweeter, all cozy and soft, maybe not even during the night but afternoon, an hour before the sun even sets.

You imagined the soft golden glow encapsulating you and your alpha as he spoiled you rotten with his love.

That was what you imagined before you met Chan, before you were kidnapped at the age of 17 and shipped country to country for the idea of using you as a breeding omega. It was the same year you had discovered your secondary gender.

You had only told your close family and a few ‘trusted friends’. It was during the time when omegas were getting kidnapped left and right so you had a good reason to not want to tell many people.

Obviously someone let it slip and that’s when you were ambushed on your way home from school, beaten half to death and dragged to a van.

They made sure to cut your hair short, dying it and giving you a tattoo in the symbol of a star, trying their best to make you like the exact opposite of what you looked like so you weren’t recognizable if someone were to see you.

You were chained every day and fed sloppy seconds as they tried to beat you into submission.

They tried to brainwash you, make you think this was all good. They were only making your job easier for you, you wouldn’t have to look anymore to find someone to ease your omega’s desires.

You had fought back at every guy that had bought you, clawing and not letting them get anywhere near your panties.

They often gave up quickly, not wanting to deal with a hardheaded omega and returning you back to the illegal omega breeding ring.

Right when you turned 24 was when cops found out about the ring, finding the hideout quickly and catch everyone that was involved. Every omega got transferred to their family’s, to any family they could find at least.

But yours? Somehow the guys that kidnapped you were able to wipe you off of the face of the earth.

No family, no medical records, No high school or middle school registration, not even elementary school!

You were nothing, you had nothing.

But than Chan found you, he had heard the news of the illegal omega breeding ring being busted and founded out and went down to the police station where they were asking for volunteers to help house any omegas that didn’t have any family to go back to.

The idea was to help them until they had a stable job to have their own life.

There were other people in that day, majority of them being A/O/B, all but Chan.

He was the only human that cared enough to help, and maybe that’s why you walked over and tried your best to catch his scent.

It had shocked him really, you were so tiny, visibly shaking as you tried your best to walk.

Your eyes were wide and as soon as you made eye contact with his brown eyes you melted.

It was like any other omega meeting a kind alpha. Expect, Chan wasn’t an Alpha and he didn’t even think about anything romantic towards you for a while.

It was only during this last year did he start to see you in a different light.

At first when you begged him to help with your heat he was so shocked and horrified that he panicked and freaked out.

That wasn’t ethical at all, I mean, what kind of person would he be to sleep with an omega who just came out of a breeding ring?

Obviously it was just her omega talking, she didn’t know what was happening and she was completely controlled by the wolf inside her.

He would never take advantage of her. The second year was far worse, that was the year he suggested he stayed out of the house during her heats so she wouldn’t be tempted to try and sleep with him.

She was too embarrassed to disagree with him and instead just nodded, letting him do as he pleased. During the first annual heat he stayed over at a friend’s house like he said and it completely ruined her.

Yes, it was hard having his constant scent around her, almost teasing her and mocking the fact she couldn’t be railed by him.

But the lack of scent drove her absolutely insane. Only the faint scent of him on his sheets and clothes were able to ground her even though she felt like ripping the whole house to shreds.

She was going absolutely feral without him and she made sure to express that when he got home after her heat.

“Please don’t leave ever again! It was torture.” She pouted the second he walked through their door.

He was confused and surprised by it before she jumped into his arms, face nuzzling into his neck.

Thankfully he stayed during her second annual heat of that year and she did much better.

Now it’s the 3rd year, it’s currently her first annual heat and she’s in utter bliss.

She only explained her feelings for him after he made another suggestion.

“What if I find you an alpha to help you through your heats? I have a few friends that could help, obviously it would be consensual but maybe that would help you?” He asked, they were on the topic of her heat since it was scheduled to start in a week.

If it was any other situation, if he was any other person, she would probably agree with him. Tell him to ask around, reassure him they would be using the alpha’s house so he wouldn’t have to hear this animalistic breeding sounds.

But this was Chan, this was the human the single handily made her hot and slicked up without it even being her heat. Without even knowing and trying to arouse her.

She felt so loved and protected by him, his sweet side making her want to see him in a different light.

Wanting to see just how rough he could be, how commanding he would be in the bedroom. The fantasy of having a soft and loving first time changed into an erotic and dirty first time with the one and only Bang Christoper Chan.

“No.” She pouted, leaning against the kitchen island as he was on the opposite side with a mug of tea in hand.

“What?” He questioned, a bit surprised by her curt and serious tone as she answered. “I don’t want my want my heat with someone else, I want you.” She lightly whined, continuing to pout as his cheeks flared up.

She wasn’t under the influence of her omega right now, she was still in a stable mind so he couldn’t make an excuse of saying it was only her omega talking.

“Chan.” She started, walking around the kitchen island to stand in front of him, resting both her hands over the top of his. “I need you. My omega doesn’t crave just anybody to scratch her desires, she craves the man that has mine and her’s full trust. Our full heart.

She tried her best to explained, she wasn’t attracted to him because he was the closets male to her, that reason wasn’t even on the list.

He was shocked at first, breath hitched at the confession.

Is that why she was more brazen lately? Only wearing one of his shirts and those thin navy blue panties around the house.

Or a pair of super-short athletic shorts and matching white sports bra.

She no longer locked the door when taking a bath, even barging in to use the toilet whenever he was using taking a shower.

She was getting more comfortable around him and he noticed it quickly, thinking it was her way of playing the long run and getting him to finally fuck her through her heat.

“But- I-I’m no alpha..” he said, stuttering a bit as she grew closer to him. “I know, it’s weird and confusing to me too. But your scent.”

She paused, her mouth watering and she had to suppress a groan once catching a whiff of his scent. “Your scent drives me crazy, it makes my omega scream to be bred, to have you pump me full of pups.”

He could hear the whine on her voice, the utter thirst she has for him and he felt slightly dizzy.

He would be straight up lying to say he didn’t find her attractive, she was the definition of beauty in his eyes. Her hair was at the perfect length that frames her face, eyes always doe like whenever in heat, pupils blown up 3x their regular size.

She was so tempting, and he felt so bad about it. He felt like he was taking advantage of her, or her primal instincts whenever she was in heat. Maybe this was her preheat, yeah, that had to be it.

It was unheard of an omega wanting a human. That wasn’t possible, it wasn’t in her nature.

“Chan.” She said again, more timely as she gazed up at him with a pleasing look in her eyes.

“Please Chan, trust my words. I’m telling the truth.” She whispered, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt into little balled up fists.

Her insides churned with nervousness, it would absolutely break her if he rejected her again, she would probably cry and hide away in the nest she already built on her bed.

The same nest she wanted him in, to cuddle and cradle her to sleep, she wished the nest was on his bed instead.

“Ok..” his soft voice drew her out of her thought, her head snapping back up to meet his slightly less guilty looking eyes. “Ok darling, I’ll help. But this is totally consensual right? I will never do this again if you regret it in the slightest.”

She nodded her head vigorously, a huge smile gracing her feature. “Thank you Channie!” She squealed, wrapping her arms around his neck and using the position to sneakily catch a whiff of his scent.

“Can we move my nest then?” She asked, smiling a bit more shyly with redden cheeks.

“To where?” His eyebrows furrowed, he hadn’t even seen it yet, making sure to stay clear of her room because he had read that omegas are very strict about who gets to enter their nest. He just didn’t expect to be the lucky one to be accepted into it.

“Your bed, please.” She slightly whined despite Chan not doing anything to detest to her question. “Ok, I guess… if that’ll help with your heat. Do you need help moving it?”

She nodded her head again and dragged him to her room, opening the door as his eyes widened at the sight.

He felt crazy every day because it seemed like his clothes were slowly going missing, he was sure the washing machine was eating them up.

Instead it was his omega, his omega who needed his scent more than anything.

The nest was huge, seemingly too big for even his bed that was a California king.

Still, they moved it slowly but surely into his room, the omega rearranging it many times until it felt good enough for her likings. Despite Chan not having the same instincts as her he still tried his best to help her out and rearrange anything that she told him to.

His pillows created support to her head as she laid in the middle of the nest, softly panting.

She was growing dizzy at how much of his scent she was able to have on her, her brain short-circuiting.

“C-Chan.” She whined, eyes shooting up before sitting up. “Help.” she whined, alreayd rubbing her thighs together as she felt a throbbing ache in her core.

“But, but- your heat isn’t for another week.” He said, shocked that she was already begging for him. “Early.” She simply answered, her chest heaving as she crawled over to him and clutched onto his shirt like in the kitchen. “Early Chan, it came early.” She further explained and he silently cursed.

He felt like she needed more time, more time to think it over but now she was clouded by her needs. “Are you sure? 100%-“

She cut him off with a long whine, pulling him into her while falling back and into the bed. “Please Chan! I need you to mate me, I need you to fill me up and make me go dumb. I want to cry on your cock and arch my back off the bed, I want to be so lost in the feeling that I shake like crazy!!”

She begged and begged and he couldn’t let it go for any longer. He finally caved in, and he finally decided to strip his and hers clothes off so he could satisfy all her needs and desires.

Now they were on round 3, with each round growing more brave with the positions, with the kisses and pet names.

Each time Chan edged her, not quite letting her cum and even pulling out to spill himself on her tummy. Each time she whined and begged for him to let her cum, or to at least not pull out when he finishes.

“Eyes on me gorgeous.” His rough voice said, her eyes immediately snapping toward him as they grew foggy with tears. “Awh, poor baby.”

He cooed, grinning while leaning down lightly to kiss her cheeks while simultaneously wiping away the few tears that fell.

His hips never faltered, almost like a pistol that fires off every second. Her mind was incredibly clouded with lust, moans erupting from her at every slight shift he made.

“Close! S-so close~” she whined, her nails digging into his back which created shallow scratch marks that burned his skin. Maybe he was a bit of a masochist? Because he absolutely loved the feeling.

“Close? Gonna cum? Am I going to let my princess cum?” He mocked, a sob emitting from her as she cries out in pleasure. “Please Chan!!” She begged, nails digging in harder and her eyes widened as he only went faster.

He was silently giving into her cries, this time he was going to let her cum, finally.

She babbled out, chanting his name over and over again that only fueled him more. He dipped his head, biting into her shoulder as a means to ground himself which only made her moan louder.

Her legs shook, and her back arched off the mattress as the white hot coil in her lower abdomen snapped and she came all of him. His hips faltered a bit before also cumming, his semen shooting into her like a rocket and painting her wall white.

She huffed and whined at the feeling of finally being filled up, her core sore and felt like it was bruised from the powerful thrusts of him inside.

“Thank you Channie.” You whispered softly, finally feeling your omega within calm down.

Chan only grunted in reply, his muscles relaxing as he slowly laid on top of you, his hands sliding up from your hips and around your waist. “Did such a good job baby, took me so well.” He praised, whispering softly into her ear which only made her smile brighter.

She couldn’t help but purr in satisfaction, wrapping her arms around his neck and scent him once again.

“Round 4?”

Roommate: Chan x Reader

Roommate Chan who wants to help you destress with a massage after a long day... Content: Just straight-up smut Warnings: Fingering, praise, degradation, a little humiliation WC: 1100

You were laying on the couch with Chan. 

Chan has been your roommate for some time and your friend for longer than you could remember, so to be sprawled across the couch, limbs somewhat intertwined and a movie to be played in the background was nothing unfamiliar. Especially after a long day at work, taking the time to unwind together was nothing new. 

But today you were just so tense. Stiff all over, muscles tense and sore, you were unable to find relief. You suppose that your gym workout from yesterday had been a little intense, and you were certainly feeling it now. 

Subconsciously as you watched, you started to punch your legs a little bit, trying to get the tightened muscles to relax. 

Chan’s hands shot out and grabbed your own, making you freeze. 

“What are you doing, babygirl?” He sounded concerned but the nickname made sparks fly through your body. 

“Nothing,” you say, trying to explain it away. Of course, Chan would never let that happen. 

He doesn’t let go of his grasp on your hand. “You call punching your legs ‘nothing?’” He inquires. 

“My legs are just a little sore,” you sigh. “It was leg day yesterday.” 

“Ahhh,” he says, as if that explains everything. Maybe it did. His eyes are back on the screen, but his hands are grabbing your legs to place them over his lap, pulling you even closer to him.  

“What are you–” 

“Shhh, helping,” he says. His big, strong hands are on your legs now, his dexterous fingers working into your muscles. You let out a sigh of relief as you feel him working away the tension, his thumbs moving over your thighs to rub deep yet gentle circles into your skin.  You’re aware of every movement, however, and you hate how flustered his actions have you. Chan never shied away from physical touch, and he’s even given you a brief platonic shoulder massage before. As your roommate, of course he’s seen you in more vulnerable scenarios, seeing into the more casual or intimate aspects of your life, but this… you couldn’t help but stare at the man who seemed so unfazed. 

As he rubs into a particularly sore area, you let out a tiny groan. 

“Feels good?” he asks, a small smirk splaying across his features but his eyes glued to the screen. 

You nod your head. The tone of his voice has arousal running through your entire body and your breath hitches as he moves higher, still only mid-thigh. You hope he doesn’t catch your reaction–surely he won’t, he’s not even watching you.  

Lightly he slaps the inside of your thigh, causing you to gasp. “Use your words,” he scolds. 

“Yes,” you answer, too fast. “Feels good, Chan.” 

“Good girl,” he praises, though the way he coos the words makes it feel less like a compliment. Your eyes stay glued to him and the way he stays unaffected; his words make you squeeze your thighs together lightly, searching for a little relief. What you weren’t expecting was for him to grab the flesh of your thigh hard between his fingers, causing you to let out a moan. 

“Such a filthy girl,” he says. “Here I am trying to give you a massage and make you feel good but you’re over here having dirty thoughts, aren’t you?” His hand stays between your legs, rubbing your inner thigh but not making its way higher. You squeeze your legs harder, trapping his hand between your legs. 

“Need you, Chan. Touch me, please?” You decide to just say it, just needing to get past the hurdle knowing it will be worth it. He doesn’t let up as easily as you think though. 

“Oh? But I am touching you, sweet girl,” he says, pinching your inner thigh and causing you to spread them open for him. “Or are you talking about your needy pussy?” He trails his hand up, resting it against your clothed core. You nod your head unabashedly and he laughs at your excitement. His eyes are on you now, finally, and you burn under his gaze. You watch as he pushes the fabric to the side and dips his fingers shallowly into your entrance, gathering your arousal on his fingers. He pulls out to show you how soaked his fingers are. 

“Look how wet you are for me, baby,” he praises. “My sweet, dirty girl is so needy for me, all from a little touching.” 

“Just for you,” you confirm, and you watch him take a deep breath, affected by your words. Sliding his hands back down to your center, he gathers more of your arousal and spreads it around your clit, circling slowly around the area with his fingers. It’s obvious from his stare that he is more than alright with taking his time with you, relishing in the way that you fall apart on his fingers. He hisses when you spread your legs open wide for him, giving him full access. He moves fast, grabbing your shorts and ripping them off of your body. When you close your legs again he tuts, grabbing them and forcing them wide open for him, slotting his body in between your legs. 

“Such a pretty pussy,” he says. He slides two fingers into your entrance now, shallowly fucking his fingers in and out of you. “Such a slutty pussy, for me.” You relinquish control and let him take over, submitting to the urge to arch your back and let out a loud moan. He continues to babble about how he can’t believe he’s waited for so long to have you like this, how he’s been thinking of touching your pussy for so long, and you start to tremble beneath him. 

“Chan,” you say, trying to warn the man, but he shushes you. 

“I got you,” he says. He shoves his fingers into you deeper but doesn’t change his pace, curling his fingers. “Let go for me.” That’s all you need to find your release, completely coming apart for him on his fingers. He sweet talks you right through your orgasm, slowing his movements. 

You watch as he pulls his fingers out of you, looking deep into your eyes as he puts his fingers into his mouth and sucks. “So sweet,” he says, more to himself than to you. He reaches over your body for the remote, clicking the power button and turning off the device. The action makes you laugh. 

“What?” he laughs with you. “Don’t act like you were actually watching that, I definitely wasn’t.” You scoff at his words and screech as he picks you up, cradling you into his chest. 

“Your room or mine?”  ***

Author's note: Sorry not sorry for the double Chan post, he is my bias though so don't be surprised...

Masterlist Recs

10XL |BangChan (WIP)

𝐀/𝐍: This is just a wip idea in my notes it will probably take forever to get out ┻━┻ミ＼(≧ﾛ≦＼)

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You feel like blowing money and buy a 10xl hoodie for you and Chan to try and wear together for a cute Instagram couple video. You get all tangled with chan in the sweater and have to communicate slowly and move slowly to get untangled but you just let yourselves fall onto the floor and fuck in the huge ass sweater instead. No way are you putting this video on Instagram.. 😮‍💨

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If you like my content and would like to support me you can tip me! Or just give me feedback! That works too.<3

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Could do a Chan twt link, maybe some breeding 😏 thanks

-🌷

Chan links!

Chan would definitely fuck you like this (this link does not work anymore due to the Twitter account being suspended) after work, when he's been thinking about you all day. He's so worked up that when he finally finally gets to fuck you he doesn't even take his boxers off, instead opting to pull his cock out of them and pound you into your shared mattress raw <3

Chan loves cars. Well chan loves driving. Particularly though, he loves driving with you in the passenger seat, your thighs pressed together awaiting your destination. You practically moan in relief when your best friend pulls in the dimly lit parking lot (your usual spot). As soon as chan puts his black Rolls-Royce Wraith in park you're scrambling over to straddle him. Chocolate eyes scan down your body, and back up to meet your eyes. Chan squeezes your thigh and scoffs at your neediness, already grinding your hips down onto his. "Someone's needy today yeah, baby?" He raises his hips up so you can shimmey his jeans down. You only moan in response, making chan knot his fist in your hair and yanks the shell of your ear towards his lips. "Then get to work and maybe I'll cum inside you eh?"(link does not work anymore due to the Twitter account being suspended) And that you can definitely do.

WAHHH thank you for suggesting this! I definitely went wild here<3

If you like my content and would like to support me you can tip me! Or just like my post! That works too<3