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hwan-g · 11 months

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pisces sun

p. artist! hyunjin x fem! reader | g. lovers to strangers to more, nightclub setting, angst, smut | w. profanity, smoking, alcohol consumption, mentions of bisexuality, mentions of infidelity, degradation, unprotected sex, straight up filth tbh, flawed characters — read at your own risk | wc. 3.7k | 18+ minors dni!

synopsis. the tone of his voice—don’t trust me, sweetheart. i will lie to you and get away with it—he thinks you ignored it. he thinks that was a mistake. one he doesn’t care to fix.

Hands made of coal, hands raw, unable to draw. Hyunjin stares down at them as if they’re strangers, blue and purple and transparent. The smoke above his head taunts him, throat burning, begging. Hands of an artist, supposedly, hands of a not-quite-all-thereness. All a fancy way of saying he’s useless now, no point in pretending.

But you. You’d kissed him. Perhaps that mattered more than it should. Perhaps he didn’t give a fuck you were taken or that your lips tasted like cherries and your tongue like pineapple. He just wanted the feeling back—life being breathed into him, dainty fingers tugging on his tank top, eyelashes dancing, heart beating. Wanted. With purpose. He was empty of it, desperate to be filled again.

Hyunjin had touched back. He’d stained, tainted, and was now equally as guilty, at fault. He’d warned you wouldn’t like it, the consequences had been there all along; he was always too rough, always pushing, more more more, in the dark, in alleyways, wasted, high off tobacco, stomach growling, hungry, starving, always always always a different hunger, not for food but for this, for skin, for flesh, for the thing between your legs—

He hadn’t been with a girl in a year. There was nothing delicate left in him, nothing soft now. You didn’t look the type to ask for that, not with the way you’re looking at him, stealing cigarettes right out of his mouth. A thief is what you are. Someone that could take and keep taking, shameless, ruthless in your war crime. There’s been a plan he knows nothing about, and cornering a kitten like you won’t help jack shit, that—that he knows, at least.

Too bad.

You’re cold, but he’s fucking colder. That’s what happens to boys that haven’t seen the sun in a while. They freeze all over, their heart falls in deep slumber under ten feet of snow. It’s what a name can do to you, it’s what yellow hair and freckles, a forest in the summer, a hand you just can’t seem to fucking reach—but no more of that now.

This is night. This is cold, middle of February, hard where it should be soft, softer, and it’s looking at him. Straight at him. You. There’s a jacket somewhere in his house that still smells like you or something like you; a naked tree branch, the sharp taste of wind, the first snowfall. You had no one back then, no one had you. You allowed Hyunjin to fuck you over and over and over, fuck you rough, fuck you over, fuck you up, and finally fucking leave you.

Has he ever been anything other than what he’s claimed to be? Not a good person, a miserable artist with no hands, no inspiration, that’s lost the plot, lost the ability to recognize any.bright.color in this world after, and always after, and then what. What possibly? So, you meet again. Punish him. Show him how he deserves to be treated after he manipulated and scorched you with a power of the sun that was never his to begin with. God knows he was burned, too.

You’d bitten the fuck out of his lip. His arms had shot out, had caged in, and you still didn’t look smaller, even as he towered, even as he had the upper hand. If he were to guess, your cunt was soaked. This kind of thing excited you—the chase, the fight. Even from inside the club, his instinct had been right, as if he’d smelled you. You were near, a girl that could never seem to leave him alone, here, somewhere close, and of course he’d get to you, of course he’d try.

How easy you came along, though—that surprised him, painted a smirk on his face that was too fucking hard to wipe off. It meant you still wanted him, that someone did, that that someone was you, his best mistake. His Frankenstein experiment.

“You have nothing to say,” you scoff and shake your head at him. “Even after everything—typical.”

Hyunjin smiles, he swears it’s genuine. You never gave it easy, he always had to work for it. “I’m a creature of habit, I guess.”

You take a drag of his smoke and you make it last. He wants to choke you out; wrap his long fingers around that pretty neck and make it hurt so good. You’d love it, he knows you would.

“Well now, if that were true, I’d be a boy, wouldn’t I?”

Pure venom. You were hurt, still, after so long. He almost doesn’t blame you. He’d hate himself, too. In fact, he does. Very much so.

“Ouch,” he fakes, rubbing a hand over his heart. “Hit me again. Hit me for real.”

“You’d fucking love that, Hyunjin.”

There’s the laugh he hadn’t heard in a while. Coming right out of his throat. It sounded strange, like a cough. Maybe he was sick. Maybe he wanted to take you in his car and screw you from behind, show you what he’d really love.

“Guilty as charged I’m afraid, sweetheart.”

You kiss him again. Just grab him by the necklace hanging, the silver chain that’d been a gift and twirled it around your index like a ribbon. He smiled again as your tongue slipped past his teeth, as you corrupted and inhaled him. Nothing was ever worth it if it didn’t feel like this, he decided, then. Complete annihilation of self, and yet so fucking selfish at the same time—you were terrible for each other, the best, the only, sometimes, yes, definitely.

When he buries himself in you it’s going to feel like a nuclear explosion. You’ll scratch at his shoulder, leave marks on his back. He probably won’t even be able to eat you out from how sore his mouth would be from merely kissing you. What a battle every moment, every movement against you, with you.

You hate him just enough to try to love him, and that’s exactly what he needs.

He digs his nails into your scalp and pulls your hair. His knee pushes past your thigh and forces your legs open—when he applies pressure there, you gasp, you exhale. You sigh into him. He sees right fucking through you. You want this as much as he does. You’ll do anything, too, be anything.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t bend you over right now,” he rasps in your ear, as his hand circles your wrist, brings your fingers to pay attention to the wetness he feels on the fabric of his pants. “You’re fucking soaked for me.”

Your lips are dry as you breathe. His tongue instinctively licks over the pink, teeth grazing, cheeks cold but insides burning. You look at him with a finality he doesn’t want to face.

“We’re not fucking,” you say, but you watch closely as he brings those fingers to his mouth and licks them all the way down to the base of your knuckles.

Hyunjin hums, not convinced. You taste incredible, just as he remembers. “You’re throbbing, aren’t you? You’re arching your back to dry hump my knee, angel. Your body can’t lie to me.”

You’re on fire, a fire. You’re everywhere, you’re crackling. “But I can’t lie to you.”

It’s the boyfriend, isn’t it? Bitterness will never taste familiar in his mouth. “You’re right,” he agrees. “That’s my job, isn’t it?”

“Don’t feel too sorry for yourself.”

He moves his knee to match your rhythm. You hiss, and drop your forehead on his chest. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and brings you closer, closer, closer. There’s hair in his eyes, a beating heart right under his. He lingers, and inhales deeply. He won’t regret missing you, just as he won’t regret taking back from you. You will leave with him and you will do it willingly, without any second thoughts.

“Drop the act, sweetheart, will you? Burn me alive.”

He feels you moving your head, feels your need to pull away. He keeps you there, and switches his leg for his fingers. By the way your body pulled like a string, he figures you like that better. So, he brushes, remembers how to paint. A stroke there, here, and then a line downwards…

The moan that escapes you feels like compensation. A mewling thing, almost reminiscent of a cry. There’s tears running down your thighs, he wants to tease you, but he’s sure you can feel them. Your legs are bare, freezing. You were never scared of a little cold.

“Hasn’t he noticed you’re gone?” He taunts you, condescending, suffers with you. “Surely he should’ve come out looking for you by now. Where’s your knight, huh? Why hasn’t he caught me playing with his girlfriend’s little cunt yet?”

Your fist digs into his collarbone. “Shut up, Hyunjin. You’re only doing this to aid your fantasies.”

Touché. “And yet he’s nowhere to be found.”

“What would you do, anyway?” But you’re panting, you’re shaking. His middle finger, the one with the ring—it’s deep inside you now, it’s curling, it’s found you. “Beat him up? Please. He’s better than that, you’re worse than that.”

He feels his lips curve, and stretch. There’s malice running through his veins, barely contained. “How well you know me,” he muses, his voice but a whisper. His hand cups, moves faster. He has you where he wants you now. His arm digs around the small of your back, as he feels you struggle to get more, to find better friction, release.

Not too far now.

“I know you, too,” he continues, voice rough, on edge. Severe. “I know you hate the other side of me, the one that thought you weren’t enough. Say I fucked up and should’ve stayed with you. Say you hate my guts but love the way I fuck you and come with me. Leave it all behind for me.”

You cum as a hysterical laugh rips from your chest. He rides your high and stays with you till the end. You still don’t look at him, but he can tell by your stance—you’re offended, you hate that he’s right. You hate that this wasn’t enough, either, and that his cock would satiate the thirst in you once and for all if you just gave in. Even if it’s just for tonight. He’s fine with that for right now. He’ll work for more later.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You ask mockingly but he hears none of it.

“Say it.”

“Fuck you.”

His hand forces your head up, cups your jaw and makes you look at him. Your eyes are glossy with unshed tears. He smiles. He thinks it’s mercy.

“Good,” he pets and smooths. “Say it, sweetheart.”

He almost felt you were his, so close he held you. Anyone that passed would’ve mistaken you two as being passionately in love, embracing each other like there was no fucking oxygen on this earth when apart. Hyunjin could pretend that was the case, if he wanted to. He could do many things.

Be inside you was one.

His hold on your face was bruising but your lips looked so plushy, so inviting. He stole a kiss as you were grasping for breath. Being with you, burning his entire collection of paintings and his art studio all together—it equaled the same thing. A madness that can only be found in him. A need for destruction of anything good that ever came of anything—hands unable to do the one thing they were destined to, but they traced your face so prettily, cradled it so carefully and yet so brutally, with all the fucking strength he possessed.

It wasn’t violence, no. It was an alikeness, a recognition from long ago. He did say there was no softness left in him, none to be found in you. What was he supposed to do with hard pavement and a cold so cold it trespassed any sort of warmth, any sort of fever?

Forgive that. He was very drunk. He craved a cigarette.

“You should’ve stayed with me,” you say finally, after a long while of silence and looking through and beyond. “You’d been kind once. A poet. You would drown in anyone. Looks like he drowned you.”

“Icarus falling to his death.” A story told by constellations.

You blink, disagree. “Narcissus petrified in place, staring down the lake. You’re no naivety, Hyunjin, no reaching too far.”

He’d underestimated you, played himself. Your finger passed over his curved lips, feeling the irony there. He pushed it away, replaced it with your wetness. He sucked on his digits, never once looking elsewhere, admitting this, whatever this was, and accepting it at the same time. He had been bettered.

Still, he needed you. Needed this.

“Don’t trust me, sweetheart. I will lie to you and get away with it.”

The tone of his voice— he thinks you ignored it. He thinks that was a mistake. One he doesn’t care to fix. When you grab his hand he pulls immediately.

It’s a short walk to his car but he smokes anyway. You changed this small thing for him now, took it away. That, too. You call him terrible, but you’re just as. It rings between you.

He opens the door but not for you, and gets inside. He leaves you stand for a second while he takes a long drag and lets his gaze roam over you, landing on your face, the smudge under your eyes. He considers it seriously, doing this again with you. You don’t seem self conscious or awkward looking back, just determined and eternally angry with him. That will do. That’s great, actually. Maybe you’ll draw blood, maybe you’ll reach for the gun in his glove department and shoot his brains out.

It’s been a tough year. If you were vain you’d blame it on his bad decision. You don’t because you know better. Hyunjin will put words in your mouth but won’t dare believe them, either. In a sense, he’s a coward, isn’t he? Even now, so close to what he wanted all along, he hesitates. Should he let you in, replace sunshine for winter, cologne for perfume—he’d sit you on his lap and lift your skirt up. He’d fuck you while staring into your judgmental eyes.

Change. What a fucking gamble.

Eh, he’ll take it. He’s nothing to lose.

“Don’t you dare fall in love with me, do you hear me?” And he grabs you by the forearm, brings you in, on top, thumbs touching under your eyes, dragging the liner further, sinking you deeper into the night.

You grit your teeth, watch as he makes you into an animal, just for him. You let him only because you’d like to be anything else but yourself right now. Not a girl that betrays and gets in cars with self destructive boys, but a fox, a cat, a wolf, something with teeth and claws that can fight her way back out, can win against Hwang Hyunjin. You’re helpless, he can tell.

He opens your mouth by squeezing your cheeks in his palm and spits in it. He waits for a reaction, a rebellion, a rejection, even, though he doubts it. Your thighs are on either side of him, and his cock is aligned perfectly underneath your warm, wet cunt. Hyunjin wants to be crude with you, wants to challenge and reshape, bring back the girl that would let him fuck her in public restrooms at random biker clubs off the highway, the girl that would snort white powder from his naked body as he was sexting another boy, not a fucking care in the world, not a clue. Sweet oblivion.

He wanted to bring the worst out of you again. He needed you as desperate, as heartbroken, as ashamed as he was.

“Love is the last thing on my mind,” as you kiss him, as you can’t wait to ride him.

What a joke. “Tsk,” he clicks his tongue against his teeth, mocking, a predator smiling at his prey. “You’re lying to me already. Good.”

Your groan against his neck sends shivers down his spine. He wants more. He wants more. He squeezes, gropes, scratches—he’ll have it, one way or another. He’ll have this, damn it all, because he can’t have the other, he can’t have him, and it’s not revenge but it’s not love, either, it’s the madness that surges through him, the temptation of something else, the pain of knowing, the fear.

You’ll understand. You will, because you care. He’ll play it against you if he has to.

“Fuck me already, won’t you?” You complain and unzip, reaching for his hardening cock between you, blinking emptily as you feel the sticky pre-cum on your fingers. “Huh,” he watches as you bring it towards your wetness, rubbing back and forth, testing how it feels against your folds.

He tries to hold back a reaction but fails. You’re as much a thorn on his side as the boy, you’ve as much control, as much influence. Who is he fucking kidding.

“This brings back memories,” you say, mournfully.

Hyunjin doesn’t have time for those. They haunt him day and night as it is. It’s enough. It’s fucking plenty. So, he grabs you by the arms and slams you down on his dick, hard and uncaring. Your back arches, your breasts bop. He thinks he heard his name come from your lips, curses following, but even so, he welcomes it all.

Being like this with you, it feels much like breaking the rules. Like not knowing where he stands in the world. Every time he got lost, you were there for him to run to. This is no different. A star to guide him, a girl that’s much like him. Perhaps only in that way, he deserved you. You deserved each other.

“Missed this?” He asks as he refuses you your own rhythm, instead opting to piston into your hole as maniacally as his mind is racing. “Your pussy is telling me yes, angel.”

You were grasping for breath, a ragged doll reduced to pornstar moans and nonsensical words. Every time his hips met yours halfway, you’d scream and dig your nails into his clothed thighs. It didn’t hurt, though Hyunjin wishes it did. You were always his favorite kitten.

“Lost your words, huh?” His hand swipes up and lands on your tear stained cheek. Your eyes speak of hate and malice as they bore into his. He smirks and spits in your open mouth again. “You used to love this, sweetheart—your cunt can’t lie to me. It’s eating me right up.”

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you—ah!”

He picks up his pace, feeling himself getting close, and pictures shooting his load in you, deep in you; how embarrassed you’d be knowing you’ll be carrying him in there for a while, a reminder of how you fought but ultimately lost. Hyunjin loves getting under your skin, loves fucking you into oblivion even more.

He switches his hold from your arms to your neck, fingers wrapping securely around the sensitive part, just enough, just right, and angles your body in a way that makes his cock hit inside you deeper. You gasp, and try to hold onto something, anything—the door handle and the windshield, while you’ve no control over any of it now, he truly has you trapped. He truly intends to keep you, too.

“That’s it, sweetheart, clamp around me, drown me, just like that, let me see it—” he unwraps one of your hands, making you fall back, as he uses your fingers to rub circles on your clit, and it truly has no beginning and no end, your limbs are all tangled, his hips are on fire, his dick is moments from exploding, and you look so fucking good pleasuring yourself while he buries himself deep in your soaking folds—

“Please, please…” you’re sobbing now, you’re in pain, he can see, but he won’t do anything about it. “Hyun—Hyunjin, I can’t, I can’t—”

“You will,” he growls, and he stills as he spurts, as your walls clench around him, as he paints them white. He withdraws his hold, and pulls you close, your skin sweaty against his feverish face. He wraps around your waist, and his forehead falls against your shoulder, hair wet, wrapping tighter, tighter, until your heartbeats are one, until his release is yours and yours his, until your breathing calms down.

You’re hyperventilating. His mind swarms with a thousand bees.

“You will,” he repeats, and pats your hair down. “And it’s gonna happen again and again, until nothing matters… until I’m punished.”

You’re shaking uncontrollably. He holds you. He thinks you might be crying.

“I don’t want to punish you,” you whisper in the quiet of a car that reminds him nothing of you, everything of someone else. “I want you to take me home for once. I want you to hug me and know you’re here, whole. Present.”

It’s what’s always holding him back. The deal breaker. The one thing—his invisibility being questioned. But that’s long been gone now, hasn’t it? A sunny boy banged against that glass case and broke everything inside. There’s not much of that illusion left.

“It’s not going to happen, angel,” he soothes, reassures. “Not anytime soon.”

You don’t look at him and you’re right to do so. He doesn’t want to look at you, either. Once, he’d loved you. When love blooms it never truly dies. It withers. It’s reborn again. But permanent death?

You’re sitting in remnants of a relationship, connected as only limbs can be. He can’t quite fool himself now.

“But it will,” you sound sure. Tired. Guilty. “Like you said.”

Hyunjin laughs at that. Poison ivy, wrapping around his fucking neck—his words. He’s lost worse, but a loss is a loss just the same. He has to give it to you.

“You might be better at this than I am, sweetheart.”

A huff of breath against his skin. His lip curves.

“Lies,” you say.

“See?”

He’ll usher you in the backseat, he’ll take you from behind. You won’t say another word to each other, but later you’ll call your boyfriend and ask where he is. He’ll lie, too, and you’ll know, but you’ll go back to him anyway. Hyunjin will let you, only because now he’s wrapped a string around your throat.

He can pull at it anytime.

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @j-0ne25, @danyxthirstae01, @streetlight-s, @amnmich, @imtoooyoungforthisshit.

#stray kids scenarios #hyunjin scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids smut #skz smut #hyunjin smut #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin x reader #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #skz fanfic #stray kids #hyunjin #stray kids fanfic #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfiction #—mine.

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hwan-g · 2 years

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route 66. BANG CHAN — 방찬

pair. dom!chan x f. reader | warnings. language, filthy talk, degradation, rough sexual intercourse, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, slight daddy kink, angst, anger issues, manipulation, mentions of violence, mentions of cheating | word count. 2.8k | for @skzseasons !S week

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @hyuneater, @lix-ables, @byskzfilms, @danyxthirstae01, @enluc <3

synopsis. you should’ve known, the moment you’d enter route 66, you’d be his. chan isn’t a generous man—he doesn’t share well.

He spots you across the room.

Chan would find you with his eyes closed, amongst a hundred people. Your body called out to him like nothing else. Many times, he’s had you underneath him, begging—for him, for what he can give you. For what he does give you, without a second thought, all you want, if you behave.

And you do. You’re such a good girl for him, every time. But you’re not his.

He can feel his anger burning in ripples through him—that motherfucker is with you, his hands on you like he has a goddamn claim on you. Chan was sure—if it came down to it, you’d drop that fucking prick in a heartbeat. What Chan also knows—he’s not good for you. He’d never let you ruin your life to be with someone like him.

He averts his gaze, the thought of you being in his club, his blood, sweat and tears, with another man driving him fucking insane with need—to fucking ruin you. Show you who the fuck you’re disrespecting.

Minho was working the bar, making drinks silently, studying his boss, but most importantly—his friend. You’d gone earlier to greet him and pay for two Long Island’s. He knew you brought your boy toy on purpose, had witnessed the fight between you and Chan two weeks ago.

You both were extremely possessive, hotheaded, and would probably never be a complete match. But, fuck, if you two weren’t entirely crazy about each other. The fact you’d come to tease Chan like this, knowing exactly how he’d react, was proof enough.

His boss neared the counter, keeping an eye on the customers. If the customers were you and no one else. Still, Minho couldn’t fault him. This game had been going on for way too long—one of you was bound to crack. He just wishes he doesn’t have to involuntarily witness the inevitable explosion.

“Make sure she doesn’t get too drunk,” Chan growls over the music to the purple haired man.

Minho nods, mixing a Cosmo. “Cool it, yeah? We don’t need a repeat. You got a full house tonight.”

Chan glares at him but says nothing. His eyes say it all—just do as you’re fucking told. Minho chuckles, amused.

“I hope she breaks your fucking heart, Bang Chan,” he mutters, staring straight at him. His friend could fool everyone else around him, but Minho knew him the best of all.

You’d destroyed him for any other girl. He’d never get over you, no matter how many times you screwed his heart over. Because he didn’t even have to admit to it—Chan had it fucking bad. Before you, he couldn’t seem to give a single fuck about any of these other women. As soon as you stepped foot on Route, he was done for. Absolutely. It was written all over him.

Chan was scheming. How to get that leech off you? He’d have to get Changbin involved, probably say some shit to get him all riled up. All he needed was to get you alone. Bury his cock in you and have you scream his name. He’d been aching—to hear it from your mouth, the way your lips wrapped around the sound of it. The thought of it alone, got him rock hard. Fuck, he needed a drink. He needed a taste of your cunt; he craved his arms wrapped tightly around your thighs as he fucked you with his tongue.

But you deserved none of that tonight. What you did deserve—a rough fuck against a goddamn wall. Perhaps that would pacify you, make you stop messing with his goddamn mind. His palms were itching for a fight.

A devilish grin spread across his face. Maybe if he beat that little boyfriend of yours to a pulp—maybe then you’d learn not to fuck with him. How fucking dare you come to his club dragging along that scum with you?

Chan wasn’t an unreasonable man. He didn’t just hate him because he warmed your bed every night. No, him and that asshole go way back. His face alone made Chan’s blood boil.

And the fucking way you danced on him. He hadn’t realized how tight his grip on the bar stool was, until the tips of his fingers went numb. Your ass was rubbing all over him, the black tiny fucking dress barely covering anything. You might as well be naked for everyone to see—and you knew it, gave everyone a good fucking show with your wining hips and head thrown back on another man’s chest.

No, Chan may be worth shit all, but he’d never let you get away with something like this. His girl, flashing her panties for strangers? Plump breasts spilling over a microscopic piece of cloth? He’d bruise your fucking ass for that, teach you who’s supposed to be seeing that slutty body of yours.

“Say, Bang Chan, ain’t that your girl?” Changbin nodded over at you. He’d barely switched from door duty—Seungmin was to take over after midnight.

“Does that fucking whore look like she’s anything to me?” He was absolutely seething, barely containing himself from pouncing on you, and dragging you away.

Then, he could kill that son of a bitch on the spot, something he should’ve done the first time he crossed him.

Changbin sensed the murderous intent. “Do you want me to start some shit, man? Just say the word, boss.”

Chan put his fist over his mouth, weighing his options. He’s a calculating man first and foremost, but safe to say, all reason goes out the window with you. And what was he risking, anyway? Nothing. He owns this fucking place—whatever he says goes. He can do whatever the fuck he wants. Isn’t that why he refused to work for others?

“Fuck it,” he grunted, lunging forward. Changbin followed, lifting his sleeves up, and cracking his knuckles.

They hadn’t fought like this in a while.

Chan was first to throw the punch, his friend holding your boyfriend down as Chan shot his hand out, forcing you behind him. You screamed, hitting his back, pulling on his shirt, scratching the sides of his face.

“Let him go, Chan! What the fuck?”

All the motherfucker did was fall on the floor, moaning like a little bitch. What could you possibly see in him? He’s a weak, pathetic excuse of a man—a good for nothing piece of shit, that needs to be taught a fucking lesson.

Felix is in a fucking wheelchair because of him, and his piss poor driving skills. He didn’t even have the decency to fucking stop. A hit and run. When he got identified, all Chan could see was red.

And now he gets to have you? What if he hurts you too? That. That he couldn’t possibly risk.

A crowd had gathered around them, phones out, shouting encouraging exclaims, eating the whole thing up. Chan spit on the bloody man’s face, leaving Changbin to finish him off.

Turning to look at you, your blood froze. His eyes had gone completely black, the red neon lights hitting him sharply, giving the illusion of the Devil. Handsome, deadly.

“Is this who you want?” he raised his voice at you, gripping your arm tightly. “Do you even know what kind of a man he is?”

Your brows furrowed, anger flashing through you like lightning. “He can’t be worse than you! Let me fucking go,” you snapped, trying to pry your arm off his fingers.

Was it… hurt? Something passed in his eyes, before he chuckled— a dry, humorless thing, and dragged you away from the crowd, turning left to the hall where the bathrooms are located.

Your back hit the wall, as he slammed you on it. Chan towered over you, his broad shoulders menacing in a way that made you press your thighs together. His gaze swept your entire body, checking for any injuries. Slowly, his fingers lifted the strap of your dress back to its place, his eyes slowly locking with yours.

His breathing was hard, and labored, sweat coating his forehead, light brown hair sticking to it. A vision that crawled its way up from Hell. You smiled up at it, hand lifting to rest on his cheek. He saw it, then.

The intent. Your plan had worked.

“You fucking slut,” he leered.

“I have to say, Bang Chan—you’re quite predictable.”

A warning, then. His entire body alert, closing around you, fingers stripping the necklace from your neck, his hand replacing it, squeezing exactly right. His gaze was intoxicating, piercing through you with lethal need. He was looking to hurt.

“Take that shit off,” he snickered. “It’s fucking fake. If you were my girl…” his jaw tightened.

His hands left your skin for a moment, unclasping the chain around his neck, before passing it over and around your neck, letting it fall just above your breasts. Real silver, crystals adorning parts of it.

“Wear it for me, will you? Fifteen thousand, right there. Let me see you.”

Your arms hooped around his thick neck, bringing him closer. His hands fell to your waist, groping, eyes undressing. For a moment, you thought he’d turn all soft for you, lean in for a kiss. Instead, he smirked. And turned you around, pressing your face against the wall, fingers buried in your hair.

“Ask me,” he growled in your ear. “Ask me to fuck you, baby girl. I know you like it rough. How about I take you over his fucking corpse, let him hear the way your scream for my fucking cock? Huh?”

You laughed manically, immobile and loving it. His hands bared your ass to him, dainty panties ripped off your body in an instant. You moaned at his manhandling, wanting more of it, feeling your pussy getting wet for him. Chan could have you in the palm of his hand if he wanted to. The fact that he was allowing you the freedom to mock him, must play into the little fantasy he has of you being a fucking whore, and him the victim that fell prey to your witch ways.

You were terrible, you never denied it. You were a cheater, and a manipulator. You’d also never felt so strongly about anyone else before in your life. The way you feel about Chan—its gasoline. It’s a lit matchstick in a gas station.

“Fucking answer me, you goddamn bitch.” He landed a slap, and then another, relentless, each touch stinging. But welcome—so very welcome.

“You hate me, don’t you? How I make you feel? Show me, daddy,” your tone was innocent, but your intention was anything but. You clenched around nothing, your cunt feeling entirely too empty.

“Oh, keep fucking testing me, baby girl, I will rip you open.” His mouth ghosted over your ear, his breath sending goosebumps down your arms.

You knew the name would send him over the edge. It’s what you wanted.

The music drowned out everything again. Chan looked over at the main floor, mood lights turning purple, the hall then, by default, getting darker as he grabbed his leaking cock, pumping himself to the shadow of your semi naked body. His hand kept you in place, thoughts rushing in a jumbled mess. He wanted to tear you apart, make you feel the pain you’ve put him through, make you understand—that you belong to him, that your cunt was made for him, that he needs to be between your legs like he needs oxygen to breathe. But also—

That you should stop this, now. That he meant every word he said. That chain is yours now, if you take him, if you’re up for the challenge as he thinks you are. You’re a wildcat, wanting nothing more than to play. He could give that to you. He could give you a lot of things.

With no warning, he put his hand over your stomach, bending you so that your ass was flash against his shaft. Then, in one swift move, he bottomed out in your cunt, hand getting lost in your hair again. And you felt like you always felt—pure fucking paradise, your pussy enveloping him, your hands scrambling to hold onto the wall, knees shaking. He could feel everything; your wetness dripping down your thighs, the way you screamed as his cock teared through your entrance. His movements grew quicker, sharper, drilling into you, fingers digging into the sides of your hips, fucking you dumb, the stretch feeling amazing, for him, for him, for him—

“Say my fucking name,” he demanded leaning on you, lips on your shoulder blade. “Look at you—a fucking mess. My fucking mess.”

“Make me cum, please, please make me cum, fuck—please.”

He tells himself—it’s because you said please, it’s because you asked nicely, it’s because you can cheat, and patronize, and ruin every inch of him, but the trust you have on him for this one thing, the way he could always bring you release, the way he’d carved in you—he couldn’t betray that. But your brat behavior wouldn’t just pass over his head, he had to show you he wasn’t to be messed with. Especially by you, especially because it’s you.

“Say—my— name, (Y/N),” he paused all movement, hovering over your body. “Say it, or I’m walking away.”

You huffed, your limbs shaking, and backed your hips. One hand came down hard on your ass, the other gripping the nape of your neck. You stilled, heart leaping out of your chest. You were trapped. Completely.

“Chan—please.”

“Please what?”

“You’re going to make me spell it out?” You half turned your head, glancing behind you in desperation. Tears stained your cheeks, already missing the friction of his cock.

“If I have to, baby. I got all night.” His tip teased you, slowly slipping in and out of you in an excruciating pace, that was so unlike him.

“Fuck you,” you spat, fighting his hold.

“Your boyfriend might be looking for you, sweetheart. Should I call him over, hm? Show him how to fuck a whore like you?”

“Do whatever the fuck you want. Just move,” you screamed, stomping your heel, crying out.

He did. He did, because he, himself, could not stand it anymore. He resumed his speed like he’d never stopped pounding into you. And it was bliss, it was mercy, it was fucking in its truest form, filthy and sweaty, bodies smacking together, taking and taking, pulling and pushing, begging and pleading and goddamn your body, you fucking bitch, you have me by the balls. He wanted to kill you for the way you made him feel, his mind lost, half of him gone, digging, digging, deeper, faster, harder. Chan acted on pure animal instinct, his own release so close he could taste it, so he pushed, and by that point you were crying, sobbing, an incoherent string of words escaping your mouth, give it to me, you have to cum, Chan, please, I can’t, I fucking can’t, I’m fucking done—

“(Y/N).”

Both of you turned to the voice, as you came, lights blurring your vision, ears deaf, faces bewildered. A bloody, bruised version of your boyfriend stood there, shocked, horrified.

Chan pulled out of you, tucking himself back in his pants, as a guttural laugh tore itself through his throat. You, on the other hand, stared at the pathetic man looking over at the two of you, and where there should’ve been shame, and guilt—there was none. Instead, your gaze fell back on Chan, the way his hand brushed his hair back, nonchalant, completely calm.

You laughed, then, as well.

“Take that as a last warning, yeah?” Chan neared your, what could only now be assumed to be, ex-boyfriend. He cowered in fear, but there was still clear anger. Understandable, but not enough. Not next to Chan.

Not everyone witnesses their girlfriend being fucked raw after they’ve been beaten to near death.

You and him would be toxic; you’d be terrible for each other. There’d be a lot of fights, and neither of you would back down from them. Your friends will hate him, and his friends—well, they’ve seen worse. But in that way, you work. In between the cracks, in dark rooms. You’re shadows, recognizing the worst in each other, and accept it as is.

Chris couldn’t wait to figure you out. Not your body, but you, as you speak to him. What makes you, beyond sex. He was fucking screwed, and he couldn’t care less.

“Don’t fucking dare mess with what’s mine again. You hear me?”

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