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waldau · 2 months

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giving them the silent treatment when they forget something — seventeen | 2,661 words | hurt/comfort, fluff

first work in this format! comments would be really appreciated :D

gender neutral reader. warnings: none.

seungcheol

cannot stand your silence. he'd rather you scold him, or say anything to him, but he absolutely hates the silence that fills your house when he stops talking. he's thankful you're sitting across him while he's having dinner, but keeps interrupting his eating by asking for your forgiveness over and over. how could he forget your date night tonight? knows you need your personal space and makes you sit at the table while he does the dishes, but he gives in at the end of the day because what's the point of sleeping in the same bed if he can't wrap his arms around you? keeps whispering apologies into your hair and promises not to be this forgetful again. literally lights up when you turn around with a grumble and slot yourself into his arms. is okay with you being upset with him as long as you let him hold you.

jeonghan

thinks it's payback for the time he hid the last of your snacks a week ago. is fine with you rolling your eyes at him when he calls you by your nickname. realizes it's serious when you share your dessert with him, because you never do it without a little playful fight. realizes he's messed up big time when you don't retort back to his teasing about how your hair looks right now, after you've spent some time rolling around in bed. the final straw is when you wish him goodnight without even calling him any form of endearment. suddenly understands why you're being like this — it's because he left for practice without waking you up this morning, even though you asked him to. peppers you with kisses and it's only a matter of time before you stop resisting. tries explaining that your health and your sleep are more important to him than his own, but he's thankful you wake up with him the next morning and prepare breakfast for him while he gets ready.

joshua

is a gentleman. 99.99% of the time. but the 0.01% he's not is today, when he forgot to buy a bouquet of flowers you wanted to take while visiting your mother. he'd assured you he'd do the task because the flower shop lay right in the path he took while jogging, and now you've returned home with no smile on your face. there's a thousand apologies at the tip of his tongue, but none of them are going to be enough. you wish him a good night, but he knows he's messed up pretty bad. hates it when you don't even say anything about it, because he knows it's affected you more than you're letting it show. gets a call from you the next afternoon asking him why there's a bouquet of flowers on your desk and why your mother also had one delivered to her doorstep. picks you up from work and surprises you with a single rose that he tucks behind your ear, brushing away your concerns about it looking silly. loves you, and he'll get you flowers every day if it makes you smile the way you're doing right now.

junhui

is not used to one word answers from you. he watches you a bit closely as you take off your shoes, wash your hands, get a glass from the cupboard and pour yourself some water. feels like you're giving the glass more attention than him. starts feeling nervous. around you. hates it more than anything. but he doesn't know what's wrong, so he ends up doing something that flusters you both — he cages you in his arms, because he'd much rather you tell him off than push him away silently. you try to wriggle out of his grasp, but he pulls out his c-drama moves of seduction and slams his hand against the wall behind your head. you just stare at him before you shake your head and tell him he didn't kiss you goodbye this morning. he feels absolutely shocked. he did! or at least he thought he did. you're always on his mind, regardless of the time of the day. kisses you five times to make up for the one he didn't give you. sticks close to you for the rest of the night, as it's his rightful place.

soonyoung

is oblivious at first. he's the more talkative one between you both, so he doesn't find anything wrong when you come back home, or don't give him the usual kiss you do when you come back home — you're probably just too tired! guides you to the dining table and makes sure you're eating well. talks about practice, talks about this photoshoot that's coming up, talks about this interview he'd given earlier in the day, around afternoon, which made him super hungry because— well, shit. he was supposed to bring your lunch to work because you'd forgotten to take it yourself, and you'd even texted him about it. he promised he would, and now he's left wondering what you had to get for yourself because of his forgetfulness. throws himself to his knees in front of you and grabs your thighs, shaking you like it's going to transfer the sorrow he's feeling into you so that you can forgive him. loves that you crack a smile before you hide it and continue having dinner. promises to wake up early next morning so he can be the one to make you lunch and pack it. loves the sight of the empty box he sees when he calls you during your break.

wonwoo

feels like absolute crap when you get home and all he has to show you for his time spent is the game he's finished and a regrettable lack of food on the table. he'd promised to cook for you, this recipe he'd taken from mingyu just so he could try it himself. he'd even laughed at your surprised face in the morning, but now he thinks you were right to have doubted him. it's not even time for your usual grocery run yet; you're pretty much out of groceries because his friends had come home a couple days back and you'd spent time making a lot of dishes. sits you down and makes you eat a banana as a peace offering, all the while ordering takeout from the closest eatery to your house. sits with you and feeds you bites of your meal, not touching his own till you're done. still feels terrible when he sees you putting away the leftovers, because you're not supposed to be doing that in the first place. comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, murmuring apologies in your ear and asking if you want him to get you anything else. wakes you up to breakfast in bed the next morning. you laugh and tell him you're not willing to have breakfast without brushing your teeth, so he picks you up and carries you to the bathroom. he thinks he should make time on his days off for breakfast in bed if it means you'll cling to him the way you're doing now, adoration in your eyes.

jihoon

is just in his chill™ mode half the time he's home. when he's not working, he's either listening to music or watching your favourite shows together to maximize the time he has with you. for jihoon, and you, actions are more prevalent than words. so it's with a sudden drop of his stomach that he realizes he was supposed to wait for you, till you came back home, to start watching this new anime you'd been keen on seeing. he can't exactly undo the past three episodes from his memory, so he's also silent like you are when you get back home and see what he's been up to. dinner is had in an awkward silence till you push your chair back and take the plate to the sink, letting jihoon know you're turning in for an early night. he knows he's fucked up. he's glad you're not kicking him out on the couch to sleep, and he apologizes by softly humming a song he's been working on for you, in the silence of your bedroom. it's like he's wearing his heart on his sleeve, too easy for anyone to see, but it's worth it when you sigh and pull him down for a kiss, telling him it sounds wonderful and that you can't wait to hear the full thing.

minghao

is disappointed with himself already, and you being disappointed makes it worse. he could blame jet lag for being the reason why he forgot to show up at the cafe to meet your friend you've been him to get to know for a while, but he knows it's a flimsy excuse. you cover up for him with the excuse of a fever, even though he's far from feeling down. doesn't know what he can say to make it better, so he peels an orange for you. only to have his heart hurt when you say you're not hungry. but you end up taking a few slices anyway, because you don't want it to go to waste. tries to pull you into himself but hates it when you don't reciprocate. he knows this friend is important to you, but are they so important that you have to ignore him for the rest of the night? offers to sleep on the couch, and is surprised to find that's what breaks your silence and makes you glare at him. promises to fly you out soon to meet your friend where they live as an apology. wakes up to you combing your fingers through his hair.

mingyu

puppy #1. knows he's done something wrong the moment you step inside the hallway of your house, even if you've said nothing — mainly because you're not rushing to him the way you always do, and you're not excited to see him, the way he is to see you. takes all the stuff from your hands and makes you sit on the couch and offers you a massage and pouts when you decline him gently. tries making conversation with you during dinner, but gets discouraged when you reply in short sentences. you're not...angry, but you're upset, and it's bugging him terribly. offers to help you with your nighttime routine, sitting on the counter and watching you go about it, until you sigh and tell him exactly what he forgot about. your plants in the balcony that he promised to water this morning and forgot about because he had to rush for an early practice. he throws himself to the floor on his knees, hands clasped, and promises never to forget it again. feels relieved when you laugh through a mouth full of toothpaste, pulling him to his feet and ruffling his hair. his alarm now has a label that reads: "plants :)"

seokmin

puppy #2. can feel his smile drop the second you walk through the door of your shared house drenched in water like you fell into a puddle and climbed out. and the worst part is you're not even asking him to help you dry up. he tries to offer you towels and fusses about your hair and you catching a cold but ends up sitting against the door of your shared bedroom when you gently push him out of your way and opt for a nice, warm shower. he's glad he ordered takeout so that you wouldn't have to cook, but he's not happy with the way you're ignoring him. no, you're not ignoring him. you're...disappointed, almost. somehow it's worse than having you be angry with him, because he knows fights can be resolved sooner or later. but you being disappointed in him? makes him feel like the worst person in the world. heats up your blanket in the dryer and gives you his hoodie to sleep in. he's never going to take your umbrella to practice again. drags you out to shop for two distinct umbrellas so he never forgets to send you off with one again.

seungkwan

he's busy. it's not an excuse; it's just how his daily schedule is. yet it sounds like nothing but a pathetic excuse when you get back home, avoiding even looking at him. you look amazing, and he wasted his entire afternoon wondering when you were going to call him, when you were out watching a movie he'd suggested the two of you watch together. hates it when you tell him you've had enough popcorn to make you skip dinner. hates it when you don't even hug him, much less kiss him. hates it when you have a polite conversation with him about the movie, as if you were just his friend telling him you liked his recommendation. you sit with him and watch a volleyball match he'd pre-recorded, but his mind is not interested in the commentary at all. pouts. straight up asks you how long you're going to ignore him. you say you're not, that you just need some time now to get over it. he nods like he understands but wraps himself around you barely twenty minutes later when you're getting ready for bed. will not sleep without coming to any kind of resolution. asks you to spoil the movie for him as a punishment and gets a pinch to his cheek in return. promises never to forget a date again.

hansol

is also oblivious. takes your silence as a sign that you're just tired, so he makes sure you freshen up and don't do any work for a while and have some water or light snacks instead. it's only when he puts on a movie you've both watched many times he realizes you're not talking to him, because you don't lean into him the way you usually do. he takes the initiative this time and tries pulling you on his lap, but you resist. he feels uncomfortable, and it's new. he tries focusing on the movie but his mind is on you, and it's only because of the sheer number of times he's seen the movie that he can remember the dialogues without paying attention. it's only when the main characters get into a car and start driving that he realizes he'd promised to pick you up from your friend's party. immediately switches off the movie because he knows you're not paying attention either, and kneels in front of you and looks into your eyes till you blush and look away. brings your head back in place with his fingers on your chin and asks you to remind him when he forgets so that he doesn't have a chance to let you down again. holds your hand through the night when you sleep. clings to you a bit more whenever you're home.

chan

devastated. at himself, at you for not reminding him that he'd forgotten to pick up your outfit from the dry cleaner's last night, at the fact that you're not even scolding him. hates that you won't even look at him except to give him some space to move around in the kitchen. having twelve older brothers, he's used to being kept in shape by them and remembering a lot of things about all of them, so why couldn't he remember this small thing you'd asked him to do? compliments you on how good you look, and is physically hurt when you just nod at him with a small thanks. asks if there's anything he can help you with. hates that you shake your head and say you're just going to read a book. tries making you laugh but ends up embarrassing himself when he trips on the bathroom mat and ends up diving into the bathroom face first. it's not funny, but it gets a smile out of you, and he thinks he's on the path to getting your forgiveness. won't go to sleep till you run your fingers through his hair, holding him close to you.

taglist: @bookyeom @wootify @strnsvt @cloudycaramel @thepoopdokyeomtouched @minnieminshi @nonononranghaee

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gi4hao · 22 days

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☆ dino x gn!reader — domestic fluff!

☆ from repairing a sink to love confessions on the kitchen floor

9pm is right around the corner, and you know for a fact that your boyfriend is far from being done with repairing the leak under your kitchen sink. but of course he won’t accept defeat, which is why you resorted to having dinner on the floor, sat next to him to keep him company.

“you really should go lie down on the couch” chan tells you from beneath the sink, his voice muffled and punctuated by the clinks of his tools. “this isn’t good for your back.”

he’s not wrong, this position is definitely not the comfiest even though you managed to rest against a piece of furniture. but the view isn’t so bad here, you think to yourself, contently watching his arms flex as he twists and tightens metal pieces here and there.

“but if i leave who’s going to feed you those baby tomatoes?” you ask, looking at the half-eaten bowl in front of you.

putting his tools down, he emerges from under the sink with a contented sigh, stretching his limbs as he sits upright. “you’re such a simp” he chuckles, yet still gladly opens his mouth for you to throw yet another tomato inside.

with an exaggerated scoff, you put a hand over your heart in mock offense: “excuse me? says the biggest simp ever?”

the thing is, you don’t even mind being called a simp; you’re lucid enough to know that it’s only the truth. similarly, chan doesn’t mind it either, but it’s just so much more entertaining to deny and act like it offends him.

“if there’s a simp in this room it’s definitely you. and allow me to tell you why…” you tell him as he returns to the small confined space below your countertop.

you don’t even have to make an effort to gather your thoughts, countless examples just flow naturally into your brain: “first of all, you always carry me on your back when we’re walking back home from a party. you kiss me goodbye every morning even when i’m still asleep. you have a picture of me in your wallet, i’m your phone and ipad wallpaper. also, you keep a secret box on your side of the closet where you put all the receipts from our dates…”

a few seconds of silence follow your words.

when you lean to your side to finally catch a glimpse of your quiet boyfriend, it turns out he’s looking right back at you, a surprised expression painted on his face: “i didn’t know you knew about the box.”

suddenly, he gets the funny sensation that you’re definitely going to win this round.

“i know many things” you affirm, a satisfied smile on your lips as you keep going: “i know that you always keep one of my doodles in your phone case. i know that you bought duplicates of my skincare products to keep in your car as an emergency kit. and i also may or may not have heard you talk to seungkwan about me…”

this time, it’s a loud bang that comes to punctuate your sentence. but before you can even start to worry, chan yells a reassuring “i’m okay!” before getting out of there once again, “just dropped my tool, that’s all. but now let’s circle back to what you just said…”

with a chuckle, you notice a slight embarrassment spreading on his face, his cheeks turning a familiar shade of pink.

your relationship has never been a secret, so it wasn’t a surprise to know that he likely spoke about you to the other members. however, you hadn’t truly considered the nature of those conversations until a few months ago, when you had sort of eavesdropped on a discussion.

“don’t be embarrassed” you reassure him, a playful spark in your eyes: “it was nice to hear you describe us as a “perfect match” and feeling like “a married couple already, but in the best possible way”.

at this point, his surrender is palpable. “okay, you win. maybe i am a simp,” he concedes, a mixture of defeat and self-consciousness coloring his voice. his shoulders sag slightly, but his gaze is still full of affection. “i can’t deny it anymore. just like i can’t deny that I’m not a handyman. i actually have no idea if I’m fixing this thing or just making it worse.”

“i think it’s time to leave the plumbing to the experts,” you tease, taking the screwdriver out of his hands, “let’s bail on this floor and go cuddle on the couch; i’ll order some proper food.”

with just those words, he flashes you a bright smile, one that you know so well you could sketch it from memory. as he rises to his feet, he looks at you earnestly: “i meant what i said to seungkwan, you know,” he confesses, his voice softer than usual.

you take a brief moment to let his words and his sincerity sink in: “i know, baby,” you reply, your own voice matching his softness as you grab his hand to get up. “and that’s exactly how i feel too.”

his smile grows even bigger, relieved to see that you not only understand the depth of his love for you, but reflect it back to him as well. it’s all he’s ever hoped for, really — to find someone he could trust implicitly, someone he could pour all his love into, knowing it would be returned with the same intensity.

“we really are made for each other,” he states, giving you a proud nod as he pulls you close, arms wrapped around your waist.

“yeah, look at us. in love, both clueless about fixing that sink. perfect match.”

with a heartfelt laugh, chan gently rests his hand on your neck, pulling you closer for a kiss; the kind that lingers for a few more seconds than what you expected. just enough time for the both of you to think about how lucky you are to have found each other in this lifetime.

requests are open!

#can’t believe it’s my first time writing for dino i’m so ashamed #but it’s finally here!!!!!#dinonaras rejoice!!!!#seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #dino x reader #dino fluff #dino imagines #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt fluff

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toruro · 7 months

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— ✧ cry for me

i want you to cry, cry for me (twice)

pairing: lee chan x reader

description: in which you're holding back tears in a cute little restaurant because you spilled wine all over your lap, and chan is holding back a raging boner.

a part of the crybaby series (can be read as a standalone)

genre: smut (18+ / mdni), fluff, ft mingyu for a second

tags: tattooist + tattooed chan, crybaby reader, established relationship (they're so cute it's disgusting), dacryphilia, oral (m receiving), wall sex, petnames (baby, crybaby, princess), chan has a chest tattoo and i think that deserves it's own warning

w/c: 5.1k

a/n: i am a woman of my word: i finished it tonight! thank u to @rubyreduj iand @gyuswhore for looking this over for me when i thought i was going crazy. anyways, i hope u guys missed me actually writing. writer toruro is BACK!

Pretty and short satin skirts are saved for nights like these. Under the dim glow of the moonlight and stars, the soft fabric falls loosely over your soft thighs and the beautiful curves of your hip. The cool night breeze pinches at your skin as you shuffle toward your boyfriend, hugging his arm that’s already linked with yours even closer to your chest.

Chan hums when you press your cheek against the cool leather of his jacket, “What is it baby?”

“‘m cold,” you mutter, pressing your legs together in an attempt to preserve what little warmth you have left. In hindsight, wearing this skirt probably wasn’t a good idea knowing that it’d be on the chiller side tonight but still, you couldn’t help but want to doll yourself up.

“Here,” Chan says, and you nearly whine when he pulls his arm away, but the complaints die on your tongue when he takes off his jacket and slips it over your shoulders, leaving him in his short-sleeve shirt.

“But—” you protest, running your fingers over his bare arm and frowning, but Chan cuts you off before you can speak further.

“Wear it baby, it looks nice on you,” he says casually, holding his arm out so you can wrap yourself around it again and hold him close. You feel warm, partly because of the protection that Chan’s jacket provides but mostly because of the way your body flushes with heat at his affectionate words.

The two of you are standing outside of this restaurant that you’ve been aching to try for ages, waiting for your names to be called in. As you settle back into his hold, Chan pulls out his phone holding it at an angle so the both of you can read the messages on the screen when he scrolls through your friends’ group chat.

“You wanna go to Jeonghan’s place tomorrow?” you ask, noticing Jeonghan complaining about being bored since Jihoon never leaves his room. Chan nudges your head with his own affectionately before shrugging.

“I’ll go if you go.”

You frown. “Well do you want to?”

“Baby if you want to, then I want to,” Chan says with a chuckle. “And anyways—”

“Chan! Table for two!” the voice of the hostess from the entrance of the restaurant calls out, and the two of you perk up. Chan raises a hand and nods, gently tugging his arm out of your grasp and instead slotting your hand in his, pulling you to follow after him inside.

The hostess greets you kindly, and you’re thankful that indoors is much less cold and much more inviting as she takes you to your table where you and Chan sit across from each other.

“What were you saying?” you ask as you settle into the seats, slipping off Chan’s jacket and handing it to him.

He only holds his hand out, palm facing you, and shakes head with a smile. “Keep it. Anyways, I was saying that I’ve been meaning to talk to Jeonghan for a while since he said he wanted to get a tattoo done.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head at that as you carefully drape his jacket over the back of your chair, scooting forward. “No way! Jeonghan always told me he’d never get a tattoo ‘cause he’s scared of needles.”

Chan laughs and his eyes light up. “Didn’t you say you were scared of needles? Look at where you are now …” he murmurs, eyes glossing over the little crescent moon on your arm, and then the small star that he had the privilege of pressing into your wrist just a few weeks earlier.

You shift in your seat and shyly nod. “Yeah but … that’s different. I think I might’ve chickened out of the last part if—” Your breath hitches in your throat and you stop yourself from finishing what you were about to say. If he hadn’t fucked you in that tattoo parlor right there and then, is what you both are thinking.

Chan grins at the way you grow flustered at his words before changing the topic. “I like this top, is it new?” he asks, eyes glossing over the blue, knit shirt that you put on for him just an hour earlier.

“Yeah! I got it to match the skirt—I’ve had this one for a while though, but it didn’t look nice with any of my tops I had until now, so I was really excited to finally get to wear it,” you tell him with a grin, hands smoothing over the satin and brushing over the plush of your thighs. Your stomach fills with a wave of giddiness when Chan smiles at you and nods.

“I’m glad. You look really pretty,” he says, reaching over and grabbing your hand. His gaze doesn’t falter, eyes on you as you continue to tell him about how you thought the shirt was sold out when you found it online you cried (Chan remembers; you called him with choked sniffles at midnight and almost hung up right away out embarrassment but he assured you that it was okay), rubbing a thumb over your skin as you speak.

You two fall into conversation naturally after that, waiting for your food to come as your fingers intertwine and sit in the middle of the table comfortably. The waiter starts off with your drinks—a wine for you each—before bringing out the appetizers.

Things go smoothly as they always do: the food is amazing and the setting is perfect, Chan’s hand grazes over yours ever so often and his eyes are on you in a loving gaze—everything’s going great, actually.

So maybe that’s why you let it get a little to your head when you hear the clanking of glass against glass.

It happens so quickly—the sound reverberates through the room and you blink once and then twice, looking down to find the growing wet spot on your cute little skirt. The feeling of wine against your skin hits you next, and when you look to your right and see the apologetic look of the waiter as he scrambles for the glass on the ground, it sinks in.

Fuck, and there it is again—that ugly feeling that clogs your throat and the furious blinking of your eyes as you try your best (you really, really do try your best). Chan knows it all too well, the way you press your lips together and try not to quiver as you reach down and try to help the waiter.

“What the hell man?” Chan exclaims, standing up from his seat in an instant to walk over to you, his eyes set as a hard glare on the waiter as he observes the growing stain on your precious little skirt.

The waiter stutters for a moment, reaching forward to dab a napkin over your lap, but your boyfriend stops him midway, swatting his hand away. “Watch it—” Chan peers closer at his name tag as he snatches the napkin from the waiter’s hand, “—Mingyu. You’ve done enough.”

“I-I’m sorry,” the waiter, Mingyu stutters out, holding the dropped wine glass behind his back as he shuffles away.

Chan glares at him hard as he presses a hand against your back, and if your vision wasn’t already so blurry you might have been intimidated by how intense the gaze was. Instinctively, you turn your face towards his figure as you feel other customers’ eyes over the little scene unfolding at your table. “C-can we go?” you ask him quietly.

It doesn’t take him more than a second for Chan to turn to Mingyu and mutter, “Just get us the check. We’re leaving.”

Mingyu nods bashfully and scurries away, but you don’t really notice because you’re chewing down on your lip as your boyfriend pats your back and leans down to watch you apologetically. Fuck, you feel so pathetic for crying over this but you can’t help it! You really can’t!

You’ve been looking forward to this night for so long and have been planning this outfit for even longer, and now that both your night and your pretty little skirt are ruined, you swear you can’t stop the tears from falling.

Chan hates it when you cry. Well, that’s a lie. It’s a fickle thing, really—the anger that bubbles up inside of him whenever he sees your eyes red and brimming with tears isn’t directed at you—fuck no—but rather whatever (in this case, whoever) caused it in the first place.

So yeah, you could say Chan hates it when you cry, but then again, he finds it cute when you call him, sniffling over your favorite croissant being sold out at that cafe down the street you always go to. He hates when you waste tears over things like this, but he also knows you can’t help it, and there’s something oddly endearing about the way you always lean in to his touch for comfort. After all, you’re his sweet girl, and he loves all of you; the parts of you that cry over seeing a kitten struggle to cross the street and the parts of you that sob when he’s shoving his cock into your warm cunt.

All of it, he loves all of it.

So maybe that’s why Chan can’t help but get a little bit lost in your puffy, glossy eyes when you look up at him and silently beg for some comfort. He knows it’s an innocent gesture, and when he runs a hand down the side of your cheek and you nuzzle into his palm, he almost feels guilty for the way his cock begins to strain against his pants.

You’re just so cute, and Chan swears he can’t control himself. He can’t ever control himself when it comes to you.

Using the napkin he snagged from Mingyu just moments earlier, Chan leans down and swipes over the wetness on your thighs, soaking up as much of the red liquid that he can. It’s kind of hard to think, honestly. He watches your tears mix with the wine on your lap, and while his fingers brush over the plush of your thighs, he starts to lose himself entirely.

Stop! Stop! Stop! Chan tries to tell himself because really, he should be focusing on taking care of his sweet, sweet girl and wiping away her tears but here he is trying to not think about the massive hard-on he’s got going on beneath his pants.

Mingyu stops by with the check, frantic with more wipes as he cleans up the ground as Chan pays the bill. You quietly slip on the same leather jacket Chan gave to you just half an hour earlier as he helps you get up from the seat, cringing at the way your wet and stained skirt feels against your legs.

With his hand closed around your wrist, your boyfriend leads you to the exit but you keep your head down bashfully. You feel the gazes of other customers on your back as you two make your way out of the restaurant, and the cold night air is a stark contrast to the way your body burns with embarrassment.

Once finally outside and standing by the parking lot, Chan takes a moment to look at you. You’re still biting down on your lip like it’s the only thing you know how to do, eyes trained to the ground as you tighten your fingers around him instinctively. He senses something is bothering you—something other than the fact that your meticulously planned outfit was ruined on such a whim.

Nightly zephyrs pulse against his skin and Chan glances down at your slightly shaking legs, realizing that they are now wet and exposed and probably feel colder than ever. “C’mon baby,” he urges, tugging you towards his car, “Let’s sit inside.” Silently, you comply and follow behind him, slipping into the passenger seat and sighing contently as you escape the chilliness of the night.

He watches you as you click your seatbelt on, sinking into the seat when that familiar clenching of your jaw and furious blinking of your eyes takes over your features. “Oh baby,” Chan coos, shuffling closer to you so he can plant a hand on the back of your neck. “Baby, what’s wrong?” he asks as you bury your hands in your face in a fruitless attempt to muffle your sniffles.

“I—” You stop because your voice comes out all ugly and distorted. “—I was s-so excited for tonight,” you admit honestly, calming down a little as Chan’s hand runs up and down your spine soothingly. “And then I just—I ruined it.”

“Baby, what are you talking about?” your boyfriend asks, tapping your cheek so you finally look up at him. Your cheeks are a little puffy and your bottom lip juts out in a pretty pout, and Chan brushes a thumb over the wet skin. “You didn’t ruin anything—it’s all that prick Mingyu’s fault. We can go to my place and still have fun,” he suggests, and although he means it to be a thoughtful gesture—something like takeout and ice cream—he can’t help but fantasize about some other definitions of fun.

“But—”

“No buts baby. Except, maybe yours,” Chan tells you with a playful wink, his heart swelling when you manage out a giggle between your harsh breaths. He starts to pull himself away from you when he senses a lightening of your mood, and so slowly, he starts the engine.

You settle into a comfortable silence as he starts the drive back to his place, and even though he’s mainly focused on keeping a smile on your face, Chan really can’t ignore the relentless ache in his pants.

After all, how could he when you insisted on keeping his hand on your thigh? “Wanna feel you,” is what you said when you guided his fingers to settle over the soft flesh, and Chan has half a mind to think it’s in an innocent gesture—his sweet girl just wants to keep him close—but he also knows you.

Chan knows that beneath all the soft whimpers and hot tears is a girl far more observant than you let on, and he’d be stupid to think you didn’t notice the tent in his pants earlier.

Maybe he’ll make you pay for that, he thinks as he parks in front of his apartment building, but when you shyly slip out of his car and keep your head hanging low as your eyes glaze over the big red stain on your skirt, Chan thinks otherwise.

Again, he can’t ever control himself when it comes to you.

Any thoughts Chan might have had about teasing you until the world’s demise wash away when he closes the door behind him as you both walk into his apartment. He knows you get a bit needy when you’re upset but still, he wasn’t really expecting you to turn around and sink into his arms the second the lock clicks shut.

Your cheek is pressed into his chest as your arms circle his firm torso, and from above, Chan can see that your eyes are pressed shut. The base of your stomach is pressing into his crotch and fuck, he can’t tell if you intentionally shift against him because your face looks so sad but then again, there’s no way you’re doing this without thinking.

Still, Chan shoves away the filthy thoughts that he really doesn’t think he should be having and wraps his arms around your shoulders, placing a hand on the back of your head. You’re not sure how long you guys stay like that, and despite the ache that burns between both of your legs, it’s a comforting few moments—his fingers in your hair as you pull him closer to you.

You need a distraction, you’ve realized. Something to really cry about.

Being with Chan over the past few months has taught you that, in the best way possible, your tears really mean nothing unless they’re falling because of him. Maybe it’s the thought that prompts you to finally pull away and pout up at him.

“Channie,” you whimper and fuck, Chan knows those eyes. You know he does.

“What is it baby?” he asks, gazing down at you so intensely that you know he isn’t even bothering to hide his lust anymore. He holds your cheek with a hand, thumb stroking over your soft skin for a moment before crashing his lips onto yours.

Chan kisses your breath away. Teeth nipping and sucking against yours as your tongues melt in a hot mess when he presses you into the wall. Looming into you from above, his grip on your face remains tight as he guides you deeper into his mouth, crotch pressing into your lower stomach.

It’s dizzying, almost. Kissing Chan always is.

It isn’t long before you’re pawing at his chest as you struggle to keep up with his intensity. Your palms ache for his skin, and having your fingers run up and down his firm arms just isn’t enough. When Chan pulls his lips away, your eyebrows furrow and your bottom lip juts out into a pout.

“Off,” you mumble, weakly tugging at the hem of his shirt, and usually Chan would play with you a little longer, make you beg a little harder, make you really work for it, but he feels that you’ve already suffered enough.

Swiftly, he pulls the tight shirt over his head, revealing the firmness that lay beneath the fabrics, and fuck, you think you might just pass out on the spot—you’ll never get sick of seeing him like this.

“Like what you see baby?” Chan chuckles, but he already knows the answer from the way your eyes zone in on the symmetrical pattern that adorns his upper chest.

“Always …” you mutter, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your body close against his as you start to place kisses all over his skin. Shy and sweet is what your lips feel like, skitting over his chest as Chan watches you in admiration; your tongue traces over the dark curves, eyes fluttering shut as if you’ve already got it memorized by heart (you probably do).

His hands start to thread in your hair, pressing against your scalp until he’s fisting the strands and tugging your head back. Chan’s mouth meets yours in a hot mess—your own saliva’s already smeared all over your chin and cheeks, and the mix of tongue against tongue and teeth against teeth is only adding to the sloppy kiss as he backs you into the wall.

“Baby,” he whispers into your mouth before beginning to trail rough kisses down your jawline and over your collarbone. He sucks blotchy, red marks into your soft skin, fingers kneading at the flesh of your waist when you start to press your lower half into his. “Baby, you drive me fucking crazy.”

You wanna scream and say ‘ditto’ but the only sound that escapes your lips is a choked moan when he shoves a thigh between your legs and presses against your core. The ache is like a fire, burning through your veins and blooming all up inside of you, making your tummy tumble and your eyes roll to the back of your head as you clamp your bottom lip between your teeth.

Grinding against him, your skirt rides up your thighs revealing the pretty white, lace panties hidden beneath, and Chan’s breath hitches in his throat. Something buzzes in his head and it’s like a rush in his ears—his hands shoot out and are all over your tits.

Gripping the soft flesh over your pretty little shirt and matching lace bra underneath, and soon you’re scrambling to get all this fabric off of you. “So pretty baby, so pretty,” Chan breaths out when he steps away from you a little, dropping his knee as you toss your shirt and bra to the side. He grabs your chin and uses his fingers to squish your cheeks together as you look up at him dreamily. “You’ll suck Channie off, right baby?” he coos, and you feel your legs grow weak at the sickly sweet touch to his tone.

“Yeah-huh,” you pant, inching closer to him as you start to drop to your knees, hands immediately making their way to the waistband of his dark jeans. Chan doesn’t help you with the belt—he enjoys watching you fumble with the leather, pouting when it doesn’t come out as easy as you’d like.

Once you finally work your way around it, you’re unbuttoning his jeans and yanking them down to reveal the bulge that strains against his boxers. Without a second thought, you lick his cock over the fabric, eyes lazily looking up at Chan who watches you expectantly.

“You know what to do baby,” he tells you, and so you comply, hooking your fingers under the elastic band and tugging his boxers down. When his cock springs out, it lightly slaps against your cheek, precum smearing all over your already wet cheeks.

Chan thinks you look so beautiful like this, shiny cheeks marked by his heavy cock that starts to make its way between your lips with the guidance of your hands. Soft fingers play with the base of his length as you swipe over the tip your shy tongue and fuck—you look so hot when you stare up at him like that, like you don’t know all the depraved things Chan wants to do with you.

You start off with kitten licks—lapping at the precum that’s dribbled all over the pretty, prominent veins that adorn his cock, and pressing your tongue flat against his bulbous tip. Chan runs a hand over your hair, resting his palm against the crown of your head at the end and gently pushing you forward.

You whimper as you start to take more of his length into your mouth, the underside dragging against your tongue, and you move one hand up to wrap around the base of where your mouth can’t reach, using the other hand to cup his balls.

“Jus’ like that,” Chan mumbles, watching you struggle to take him deeper, shoving his fat tip to the back of your throat as far as you can, tears pricking in your eyes, before pulling back to take in a heaving breath. “Good job baby,” he urges you on, when you open your mouth again, taking him down your throat again.

Your jaw aches as you repeat the motion, tears dripping down your cheeks, over your chin, and onto your soft thighs. Every time his cock pushes to the back of your throat, a few more drops fall, and soon Chan starts to take the lead, directing the movement of your head with his grip on your head.

And it feels so fucking good, the way he’s a got a firm grip on you, the way his cock stretches your mouth open so nicely—so you can taste all of him—the way he’s muttering curses amidst the murmurs of praise; “Yeah baby, feel’s so fuckin’ good.”

It’s got even you rolling your eyes to the back of your head and all you can think is Chan, Chan, Chan, and he can think about is you, you, you—and suddenly, he’s pulling his length out of your mouth so quickly it has your vision going white.

“Gotta cum w’me, princess,” Chan instructs over the rush in your ears, grabbing your wrist and gently tugging you to your feet. You’re slightly light-headed, stumbling forward from all the movement, but Chan catches you gently with a soft chuckle. “Easy baby, easy,” he murmurs, smoothing one hand over your head and kissing your aching lips softly as he once again presses you into the wall.

You make out sloppily for a few moments, your arms wrapping around his neck, tongues melting into each other as Chan tastes himself on you. His hands are playing with the zipper of your skirt, and with a soft gasp into his mouth, he pushes them down to pool at your ankles. “Leg up baby,” he tells you, tapping your hip with one hand so you get the message.

Hastily, you lift your thigh, involuntarily groaning against Chan’s lips when his big, rough hand plants itself on the underside of your thigh, helping you wrap your leg around his torso. His cock’s prodding right against your leg now, and you swear you can feel how painfully hard he is, swear you can feel him straight up throbbing against you.

“‘m so wet Channie,” you sigh helplessly, slotting one hand between your parted legs and swiping your fingers over the slick that drenches your thin panties. With slippery hands, you mindlessly reach for Chan’s cock, gently nestling the thick length against your clothed core.

“Oh fuck,” Chan groans at the contact, jutting his hips further into yours to increase the friction. His pelvis is flush against yours, and the stimulation of his skin against your clothed clit along with his cock sliding right by your folds is dizzying. “Makin’ a mess already, huh?” he says, shoving the fabric of your panties to one side to reveal your dripping cunt.

Quickly, his fingers are all over you, sliding between your slickness and thumb rubbing circles into your clit until you’re whining and fuck—Chan hardly gets to stick one finger into your tight cunt before you’re almost on the verge of tears again—

“Channie, need your cock now,” you cry out, hands pawing at the tattoo over his chest. “Can’t wait—need it no—oh.” The last words die on your tongue when Chan shoves his fat tip inside you. “Oh Channie—feels s’full,” you moan, your head falling back and hitting against the wall as he continues to slide his full length against your walls.

“Yeah princess?” he mutters, leaning forward and kissing your shoulder blade after he fully bottoms out inside of you. Your cute little cunt is screaming from pleasure, erupting flames all over your skin as you struggle to adjust to his size. Chan can see it, the way you’re already trembling, standing leg quivering as you try your best to not crumble into him, try your best to not give in right away.

You always look so cute trying when you know you’re gonna fail anyways.

Without warning, Chan drags his cock out slowly, and when you look at him with those glossy eyes and flushed cheeks, he can’t help but slam right back into you with a force that throttles you against the wall.

“Fuck,” you whimper, running one hand up Chan’s arm, tracing the curves of his biceps before finally gripping onto his shoulder tightly.

“You feel it princess?” Chan asks you softly when he drags out of you again before pressing you into the wall with another harsh thrust.

“Yeah-huh,” you nod dumbly, using your free hand to run your palm over your lower stomach. “Feel you all the way here Channie,” you moan when he shifts inside of you so his cock is hitting you even deeper. “Fuck!” you cry out when his pace starts to speed up, the tears that lingered in your lash line already starting to drip down your face.

“My pretty baby’s crying already …” Chan coos with a mocking pout, grip on your waist tightening so much you feel you’ll have bruises the next morning. “That’s it princess … cry it out—I know you wanna,” he eggs you on once he leans in, fingers ghosting by your earlobe.

“Can’t help it,” you choke out, finally letting the soft sobs pleasure erupt from your throat, head falling against Chan’s shoulders. “Feel so good Channie—can’t help it—’m sorry, I—”

“Shh,” Chan hushes you with a particularly harsh trust, pressing so close to you that his pelvis is once again bumping against your clit. “Don’t apologize … you look so pretty … pretty crybaby. That’s what you are, aren’t you? My crybaby?”

“Ye-yes!” you mewl when your legs start to shake more rapidly.

“Yeah … yeah—fuck,” Chan huffs when you clench down on him, and your walls are so tight around his length that you’re starting to wonder just how much longer you can hold out for.

“Can’t have anyone seeing you like—fuck—like this,” he moans, gripping your thigh tighter and tighter as he starts ramming into you so fast it’s punching the air straight out of your lungs. You’re wailing into his skin now, teething at his neck as your whole face is covered in a hot and sticky mess, fingers running all up and down his chest.

“Only thing you should be crying over is me, okay baby? You got that?”

“Uh-huh,” you whimper, fingers sinking into his skin as you feel that familiar wave of pleasure well up in your stomach. “Only yo—oh fuck, Channie ‘m gonna cum s—fuck!” you gasp out, hiccuping over your own tears as the waves crash down.

Your legs go limp as Chan’s cock drills into your warm cunt, the combined arousal dripping down your thighs and onto the floor (you’ll have to clean the ground later). His fat cock is battering against your tight walls roughly, fluttering walls pressing down on every vein, every curve of the length.

“There you go princess, cum f’me,” he grunts as he secures one arm around your waist, digging your back deeper into the wall so you don’t fall over as he starts to ride out his own orgasm against your pulsing walls.

Watching your blown out eyes and swollen lips, tear kissed cheeks and disheveled hair, Chan feels his own eyes rolling to the back of his head when your overstimulated pussy clamps down on him, squeezing out every last drop of cum. Painting your walls white, the sensation of Chan’s cum filling you up has you whimpering and mewling into his neck as he starts to loosen his grip.

“Fuck princess … made such a mess,” he mutters, looking down at the sticky mixture that rests where his softening cock meets your cute cunt.

“Hmm,” you hum, letting your wobbly legs drop to the floor once his cock flops out of your slippery, cunt, nuzzling into his tattooed chest. Giggling softly, you wrap your arms around his torso and look up at him with a lazy grin, “I forgot why I was crying earlier.”

Chan smiles, holding your cheeks with both his hands to press a chaste kiss on your lips. “That’s my girl.”

crybaby series masterlist

a/n: thank u for reading, i hope u enjoyed >_< pls feel free 2 leave comments / rbs if u did! i know i took horrendously long 2 pop pt2 of crybaby :[ I'M SORRY guys not 2 ramble but i have been in a writing slump recently and this is the only thing of decent length and decent quality that i have produced in the span of two months so c: i am happy w how this turned out! i'll try my best to get the 3rd and final part of the series a little bit quicker, but no promises :3

taglist pt1: @synthetickitsune @ixayjun @leejihoonownsmyheart @dahliatopia @gyuswhore @hoeforcheol @5xiang @hajimelvr @miriamxsworld @lixiel0ver @josefines-things @mimisxs @kawennote09 @bbyjjunie @rubyreduji @todorokiskitten @98-0603 @hipsdofangirl @minnie-mouser22 @minhui896 @whippedforjihoon @seokchannieworld @nishloves @woozarts @ellesmoon @blurryriki @maknae00 @hanniebanggi @peachyaeger @shoulietaro @1004luvangel @dnylwoo @dollyhaes @gyulune @wonranghaeee @tsukkisboo @cheolism (strike through could not be tagged)

#lee chan x reader #lee chan imagines #lee chan smut #dino x reader #dino smut #dino scenarios #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt fanfic #📝 writing

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princessleechan · 8 months

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choi seungcheol must die masterlist

📌synopsis: Mingyu wasn't the one with his heart broken. It was his little sister. And Seokmin's older sister. And Chan's best friend. Choi Seungcheol is a menace to society and needs to be put down. Immediately. The sure fire way to do it is to give him a taste of his own medicine: break his heart. 📌pairing: fem!reader x ??? (seungcheol, mingyu, seokmin, chan) 📌genre: slight angst, romance, humor, eventual smut 📌series tags: 18+ only, SMAU, inspired by “John tucker must die”, John tucker!seungcheol, college au, revenge fic, tags will vary from chapter 📌status: COMPLETED WITH BONUSES TO COME 📌started: oct 6th, 2023 - feb 18, 2024 📌Tag list: please reply to this post, send an ask, or dm to get updated

Profiles #1, #2, #3

Act I :

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Act II :

11 | 12 | 13+bonus written scene | 14+bonus written scene | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25

Act III

26 | 27 | 28 | 29 written scene | 30+bonus written scene(18+) | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37

Epilogue

Bonus:

#seventeen smau #svt #seventeen #seventeen x you #seventeen x reader #seventeen x y/n #choi seungcheol #kim mingyu #lee seokmin #lee chan #scoups #dokyeom #lee dokyeom #seventeen dino #seventeen scoups #seventeen mingyu #seventeen scenarios #plc.smaus💕#nana writes

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sluttywoozi · 7 months

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Kinktober Day 6: Dumbification + Dino

For 🦦

Rating: M | WC: 619

Pairing: Lee Chan x Reader | Genre: smut

Warnings: implied consent, dumbification, degradation, jealousy, possessiveness, affectionate use of slut, piv sex, cocky!chan, rough sex

Reader Notes: has a vagina

Chan hustles you into the bedroom, his blood fever hot in his veins and his cock rock hard in his jeans. He’s had enough, enough of watching the guys touch you and make you giggle and, worse, make you smile. He knows he should be happy you get along so well with his friends, but, being the youngest, he’s always made to share and he doesn’t want them thinking you’re something he’s willing to give up.

Why he’s taking it out on you, he doesn’t know, but it just feels right. Right to push you onto the bed, yank your pants down, and get you wet and ready with his mouth. To pull his aching cock out and feed it inside of you as slowly as he can manage, which is still double his normal speed. To snap his hips against yours as soon as you open up for him, a weak call of his name escaping you when he pulls back and sinks in again.

“Shhhh, baby, shhh, just take it,” Chan whispers, one hand pressed in between your shoulders to hold you down and the other clutching your hip to hold you up as he pounds into you. His thrusts are brutal, his thick cock spearing you open, and all you can do is lay there and, well, take it.

Which is exactly what Chan wants. He wants to fuck all the thoughts from your pretty little head, fuck you so dumb you can’t speak, fuck you so hard that he’s all you want, all you know. Then, you won’t have the mind to laugh at Seokmin’s jokes, or giggle at Jeonghan’s tricks, or play along with Mingyu’s fake flirting.

All you’ll care about is Chan, and his cock, and the way he fills you up, because you’re his.

“You’re mine, right? Just mine. My dumb little slut,” he says lovingly, smoothing his hand up your back to hold the nape of your neck, loosening his grip just enough for you to turn your head and whine, “Yours, Channie.”

He wouldn’t have minded hearing you call yourself his dumb little slut but he’ll take what he can get, knows he feels so big inside you it’s like he’s in your throat, knows it was hard enough just to get those two words out while he’s driving into you like this, knows that at this point, you can barely find two brain cells to rub together as he stuffs you to the brim.

“You fucking love this. Don’t you, baby? You love when I fuck you stupid, when I make you my dumb little slut, when I fill you up so good, you forget what it’s like to be empty.”

You squeeze down on his dick so hard, he can feel his veins dragging against your walls on the way out, moaning, “Love it, I love it, Channie.”

“Yeah, you do, sweetheart. I can fucking hear it, you’re so wet, shit,” he grunts, your arousal painting his thighs as his balls slap against your ass. All you can do is whimper in response, he’s going too hard for you to push back or form sentences or lift your head, and when he sneaks a hand between your legs to rub circles into your clit, your whimper becomes a keen.

He wants to feel you break around him, wants to feel you shatter, needs to know he’s fucked you as close to brainless as your brilliant mind can get. That’s when he’ll give in, give you the cum he knows you want, and give you a break before starting all over again.

Kinktober Masterlist

Taglist: @aaniag @shuabby1994 @gyuwoncheol @aestheticsluut @bahng-chrizz @princessjazzyjazz @8queenc8 @soonhoonietrash @carat-deobi-writes @chans-wife @scuzmunkie @hipsdofangirl @onlyoneofdeeznutz @charmante-mp3 @honestlydopetree @hyneyedfiz @ngengngeng @plskillme22 @5xiang @onedumbho3 @tigerhoshi25 @ener-energy @heavenly-mobo @kingleysworld @iammisstora @jadeblackwoll @gyuhanniescarat @horanghater @shuadotcom @crookedwolfruins @pegdenki @burningupp-replies @flickhurstyles @yearnoclock @yoonguurt @itza-meee @riiley @xxtingz @wonuqrtz @dkswife @onlyyjeonghan @northerngalxy @ikooca @replay-by-shinee @weebotakuboy @ellesmoon @tomodachiii @kyeominara @lissiesykes @thepoopdokyeomtouched @mixling-blog @jadeblackwoll @luvkpopp @tunaasan @sliceofwoozi @valentxi @bangantokchy @jacixbliss @98-0603 @jeanjacketjesus @leechanswhore @s00buwu @porridgesblog @taesungx @yunjinified @booshui @brattybunfornct @exo-saranghajaaa @euphoriaeli @bratty-tingz @mcarebearsstuff @freshdetectivenight @lexix001 @hoe4wooyoung @certifiedmoa @universefactory96 @i4kt

#dino smut #lee chan smut #lee chan fanfic #svthub #kvanity #lee chan x reader #lee chan imagines #lee chan x you #dino x reader #seventeen fic #seventeen smut #svt fanfic #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt smut #kpop smut #✨em's kinktober✨#✨emily writes✨

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miraclewoozi · 5 months

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DRIVE. - l.c

DRIVE -- or, the night you realise it's actually very hard to stay mad at the guy who shows up at your house, throwing stones at your window on a Thursday night, to try and fix something that was your mistake in the first place.

pairing : chan x fem reader. content : fwb > lovers. angst, smut (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT), fluff. more or less in that order. they’re both dumb as hell. not explicitly put in any detail but this was written with a more 70s vibe in mind so feel free to bear that in mind when thinking of the car/tech/styles etc if u like. w/c : 7.8k warnings : lots of swearing. it’s all a big fuckin misunderstanding because i am a whore for that. weed & alcohol mentioned (neither party is drunk or high at the time of this taking place). mentions of past cheating (neither mc or chan are the cheater). some pov switching because i said so. let me know if i've forgotten anything. proofread exactly once so if there's a typo, no there isn't. SMUT TAGS UTC. notes : dino. get the fuck off my ass. i’m so serious i am not strong enough to handle the very real feelings i have for you. go away. notes 2.0 : i listened to halsey’s drive for some inspo for this & took that as the title, so feel free to give it a listen if you want!

SMUT TAGS : dom!chan. car fuckin', making out, hair pulling, grinding/dry humping, fingering, finger sucking, dick riding, marking/scratching, unprotected sex (make good choices), overstimulation, multiple orgasms. praise. chan calls reader ‘baby’ & ‘sweetheart’. he’s a BIG talker during sex (sorry).

You’re not stupid. You heard his car pull up outside your house almost an hour ago.

Since then, at random intervals ranging anywhere between thirty seconds and five minutes, there have been clinks of a thrown stone at your bedroom window, a piece of the gravel that lines your driveway. Each time, it makes your jaw tense, makes your fingers tighten in the bedsheets you pulled all the way up to your chin in a foul mood at 8pm. It’s been the same now for almost two weeks — you’ve been getting home from work, showering the day away, eating your dinner and retiring to your room as early as you possibly can. Your roommate tried to find out what was wrong around day three but you very promptly shut her down — she’s since learned that the best she’s getting out of you currently is a dismissive wave of your hand or some kind of a grunt. She joked one evening that it was like she’d adopted a teenager; you scowled so violently that she went to her room.

Hardly any of your other friends have seen anything of you, either, despite the fact that several have come knocking to check if you’re all right.

You’re very much not all right, as it happens. This is perhaps the most upset you’ve ever felt, and that’s going quite some way. The angriest, too. It’s worse than when that middle aged woman threw her entire bucket of popcorn at your head when you gave her salty instead of sweet, and you were picking kernels out of your hair for the rest of your six hour shift. It’s worse than when your nasty supervisor ‘forgot’ you were in the bathroom and ended up locking you inside the cinema overnight, because you didn’t have your own set of keys to get out and the people whose numbers you remembered weren’t answering their phones.

It’s somehow even worse than when a summer crush from a few years ago broke things off by telling you that he already had a girlfriend back home and that you were basically just a means to pass the time and get his dick wet. God, and you thought that was the lowest you could possibly be.

Here you are, though, so far beyond all those things it would be comical, if it didn’t hurt. Chan has really done a number on you, and you’re not sure how you ended up getting so emotionally involved in your situationship with him that this is what you’ve been reduced to. For days now, you’ve been swallowing back tears of frustration (both with yourself and with Chan), rolling around in your bed night on night, unable to get to sleep because all you can think about is him.

Him, and the way he sounded genuinely horrified when his friends asked about the ‘movie girl’, and he laughed, ‘God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen’. It was impressive, how quickly your face fell, in no way aided by the squealing giggles that rang through the house as a very, very drunk girl came running out of the living room and shut herself in the toilet, drowning out a chunk of the conversation you were listening in on. Somehow, it hurt even more when he went on to say ‘besides, there’s… someone else’.

And when you have managed to drift off after hours of staring at the walls and the ceiling, hearing those words on a loop on your fed up brain? Of course he’s been in your fucking dreams, too.

In your defence, all you were trying to do was use the mirror in the hallway outside the kitchen he and his friends were standing in, readjusting your top to cover the hickey that he had so kindly left on your collarbone just the night before. It wasn’t as though you sought him out to listen in; it was a coincidence. And okay, fine, maybe you should have walked away when the conversation turned to the topic of Chan’s love life. Maybe you should have not crept closer and held your breath to be able to hear them all better. Maybe, even, you should have stayed around long enough to ask what he meant by it then and there instead of hopping in a taxi and going home without saying goodbye to anyone.

Hindsight really is a beautiful thing.

Never gonna happen. Well, Chan seemed quite happy to ignore the fact that it already had happened. Several times. At least four of those being in the very car currently on the street outside your home. The car he’s used on countless occasions to drive you up to lovers’ lookouts in the dead of night, letting one of his many mixtapes play through the tinny speakers, where he’d kiss you breathless and cradle your face between his palms, as his fingers would delicately explore beneath your clothes, as his broad shoulders would slot between your thighs, as his hips rol–

And maybe you aren’t stupid, but Chan seems determined to prove that he sure as hell is. He came to pick you up from work the day after the party like nothing had happened, and couldn’t figure out why you said you would rather walk home in the rain than get in with him and stormed away without any further explanation. Then, he showed up on your doorstep on the morning of your day off with your favourite coffee and a breakfast bagel, asking if you could talk. He still didn’t realise what he’d done to upset you, so you slammed the door in his face. Finally, just earlier today, he ran after you in the mall, persistent as you’ve ever known him to be, and laid a hand on your shoulder when you didn’t turn around to just the sound of his voice calling your name.

You pushed him off so hard he almost fell over.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” You had barked, shrugging your shoulders to try and realign your jacket. “I don’t want to talk to you. What’s not clicking?”

His face resembled that of a scolded pet when he took a step back and frowned at you. “I just wanted to–”

“I don’t care what you want, Chan,” you spat. “Give it up. I’m done.”

You could see the desperation swimming in his eyes as he scrambled for what to say and your heart felt like it was being weighed down all the way into your stomach. You supposed that was the part of you that was causing all this ache in the first place, and further that it was to blame for your current state of misery. But you steeled yourself and stood your ground nonetheless. He wasn’t going to win you over with puppy eyes and a pout. Not this time.

In his silence, you only then noticed how hard your breaths were coming, each slow and long but still dangerously unsteady. You lowered your voice, top lip curling at him as you muttered, “You’re embarrassed of me enough to lie to your friends? Fine. I don’t give a–… but shit, next time, tell a girl that to her face instead of behind her fucking back.”

It’s been seven hours, and you keep replaying the last thing he said to you as you stormed away (how his voice got quieter when he realised you weren’t turning back; how he sounded so hoarse, so sorry).

‘I’m sorry if I hurt you - I— I never meant to.’

If. If. If. Were you not making it completely fucking obvious that he had, most definitely, hurt you? Part of your brain is even now starting to go down the route that he’s doing this on purpose, that it’s some twisted sort of damage control, that he hopes maybe if he plays dumb for long enough, you’ll forget what you were mad about or maybe start to second guess what you heard. But if that’s what he thinks, he obviously doesn’t know you very well at all. That’s never going to happen.

Hell, for someone you were being so careful to keep in the appropriate lane in your head, Chan really has you thinking yourself in circles. You’re sick to your back teeth of him, and his stupid voice and his stupid smile and his stupid –

Clink.

Stupid. Fucking. Stones.

A groan loud enough to definitely catch the attention of your roommate sounds from deep within your chest at this interruption to your spiral and you finally, finally concede. Whatever argument he’s so clearly longing to have at 11 o’clock on a Thursday night? Fine. He can have it. If it means he backs off for good, you’ll give him his one last ruck.

You pull the window open none too gently and lean enough through it that Chan comes into view. He isn’t even looking up, you realise, too busy sifting through the driveway trying to find his next little projectile, and you hiss his name to get his attention. It startles him so much that he drops the indiscernible bundle in his right hand. He blindly scrambles to pick it up, those big, earnest eyes gazing at you as if you’re floating in midair before him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask him, trying not to raise your voice too loud but at the same time, needing to generate enough volume for him to hear. He holds the bundle in both hands, now, and they catch the light of the lamp by your front door. Flowers, you register, squinting to try and make them out, your brows furrowing so much that your forehead hurts.

Black dahlias.

You choke back a laugh. Ah, the joys of fooling around with the son of a florist. Are they all so damn dramatic? (Or does he just know that they’re your favourites?)

Whichever it is, you tell yourself that’s not going to work. You won’t let it. Through gritted teeth, you say, “go away. I’m serious. I’ll call the cops on you.”

He shakes his head, begging as he steps just a little closer so his face is more visible in the amber light too. “Please–” he hurries, biting his bottom lip. “Please, don’t– just… tell me what I did. I want to make it right. Please.”

He never begs like this. In all the time you’ve known him, you swear Chan has said ‘please’ to you fewer times than you could count on your fingers. Which is by no means a bad thing — that’s just always been the very comfortable nature of your friendship, and later, the -with-benefits tag that you ended up sticking on the end.

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose and fighting not to shiver in the cold nighttime air. Note to self: don’t do a Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the fucking winter without layering up, first. “What does it even matter?”

“What do you mean, what does it matter?” He asks, looking down at the bunch of flowers in his hands, then back at you. “I-... you know I’d never hurt you. Not on purpose. Please, just… if I did something–”

“There’s someone else,” you echo, fed up with his pretending. He’s a fair actor, you’ll give him that – he might even have been able to convince you, if you hadn’t already heard the other half of this tale he’s doing his best to spin in his favour.

His face screws up, thinking he’s misheard. It’s his turn not to understand now. If you’re telling him you’ve met someone else, he’s got questions, because you’d promised to be open and honest with each other if that ever happened, so that you could call things off and go back to being just friends without it becoming a big deal. That was always supposed to be a calm conversation, not… whatever this is. You talked about it, right at the start. But… those are the words you’re saying, aren’t they? And why would you be mad at him if you were the one whose circumstances had changed?

“What?” he asks, finally. “What do you mean?”

“God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen. Besides, there’s… someone else!” You raise your voice without really meaning to, before swallowing hard and glancing back inside your room. “You said that, Chan. Don’t piss me off by coming here and pretending like you didn’t.”

Chan starts to look like he’s trying to figure out an algebraic equation in his head while only having half the required information; his eyes fall down to the gravel, his lips move without any sound coming out of them, his features tighten until there are definite lines between his eyebrows. Then, it clicks. The lightbulb moment. He slaps one hand to his face and shakes his head furiously, and you just know he’s going to wake up with an ache in his neck tomorrow because of it.

“Oh fuck,” he curses. “No, no, no, no, no – that’s not–”

“What did I just say?” You spit down at him. “Don’t piss me off–”

“Listen!” He shouts, and you gesture with your hand for him to lower his voice, interrupting his flow of thought and rendering him silent for a moment. “Fuck, please. Come down here and talk to me. That’s not what you think it is.”

You’re in every mind to slam your window shut and leave him out there in the cold. It would work if you got out your headphones to drown out the sounds of him trying to get your attention, which you have absolutely no doubt in your mind that he would do. And maybe then he’d get the hint; maybe then he would understand that you’re not just some pushover who he can just pick up and play with when it suits him.

But he’s still holding those fucking flowers like they’re a lifeline, still looking up at you without a single lick of anger on his face. Not stress at having been discovered, which you would have expected him to be swimming in right about now. He looks… kind of beside himself, as if nothing could possibly be worse than what you’re threatening to do.

All this, for you? It just doesn’t make sense.

“Please,” he says again, quieter, weaker. For the first time, you pick up on the hint of a shiver in his voice, and you swallow. Whether you’re gulping back your pride, or your resolve, or the last remnants of your sensibility, you don’t know.

Does he deserve for you to hear him out? You’re not sure.

But does he deserve to be stuck out in the cold in just his stupid leather jacket and a pair of jeans?

With regret, you think, no. He doesn’t.

All you give him is a scowl before you disappear from view entirely, pulling the window closed and drawing your curtains again. Faster than you think you ever have before, you throw on a sweatshirt over your pyjamas, grab your keys, and hurry down the stairs as silently as you possibly can.

He’s stood in exactly the same place when you edge outside and pull the door closed behind you. Up-close, you can see the tiredness on his face: this is a man who has exhausted himself in worry, you think, and yet he still smiles a little when he sees you in full. He still holds the flowers out for you to take. He still purses his lips and blows out a stuttered cloud of air. Nervous, and not in the way you think he ought to be. So when you walk straight past him and don’t take the dahlias out of his hands, instead standing by his car and waiting for him to unlock it for you, you start to feel overwhelmingly guilty.

Chan is many, many… many things. But he really isn’t this good of a performer, no matter what you’ve been telling yourself all week. For God’s sake, why is it so much easier to be angry at him when he’s not standing right in front you?

You slip into his passenger side as he fumbles to set the flowers down on his backseat again, and he joins you up front just a few moments later. His hands are shaking when he sets the keys into the ignition. His whole body is. When you cast a real look over at him, the tips of his fingers are pale and his lips are lacking their usual rosy, pink hue. Your own teeth are chattering despite only having been truly exposed to the cold air for a matter of seconds; you dread to think how frozen he must be.

“Are we driving?” You ask to break the silence. Since he got into the car and fiddled with the heating settings to try and warm things up a little, he hasn’t said a word. It’s awkward. It’s horrible. You already miss the comfortable way you’ve been able to sit for hours together, barely talking, just watching the lights of the city and the cars travelling through it.

You already miss him. Which is a strange thought, seeing as he’s only about ten inches away.

“If– if you want,” he says, stuttering through the frost in his lungs. “We can go—...”

“Drive, Chan,” you say. It’s not just because you want him to stop falling over his words – which, to be fair, you do. Chan has always been very confident, carrying himself with the air of someone who knows exactly their worth. It’s one of the things you treasure about him. So this? Is fucking weird. But a big part of it is that you know his car will heat up faster if it’s in motion, and right now, you think maybe he’s at risk of losing a finger or two if he doesn’t get some circulation back.

He steps on the gas and the car pulls away from your home. It’s the first time you’ve ever been in his car without there being some sort of music playing, whether that’s historically just been the radio or a tape he put together with the help of one of his older friends. (The tapes that always had your first initial on them. The tapes that he never failed to ask your opinions on when he dropped you home – as if he’d compiled them with only you in mind.) The silence feels jarring and you can hear every rumble of the engine, every squeal of the brakes he definitely needs to get serviced.

But the car does warm through, and you sigh out relief as the bones in your hands move a little easier, as your fingers curl and uncurl to less resistance from your taut muscles. Chan feels it, too; his body relaxes, his breaths stop coming out in fractions, his face gets some colour back. The timing feels a little less awful when you finally say, “go on, then.”

Chan glances over at you as he drives down an unlit street. Only for a second, like he’s checking you’re still there, before his eyes train back on the road. He’s going to one of your favourite spots. It isn’t a lookout – it’s somewhere completely shut off from the rest of town, hidden by the trees near the railway tracks, somewhere you’ve never had to worry about being seen or heard. Maybe he’s anticipating a screaming match. Maybe he’s expecting something else. Maybe, even, he just cares about how much you love it there.

“I didn’t know you heard that conversation,” he starts, sheepishly. You want to roll your eyes, reach over and thump him, ask if that makes what he said okay, but you don’t. You stay looking out the front windscreen too. Waiting. “I… all right. I was out of my ass drunk.”

You click your tongue, pressing it afterwards against the inside of your cheek, but again, you stay quiet.

“I don’t think you heard what you thought you heard, though,” he goes on to say. “‘Cause– ‘cause it wasn’t…”

But you can only be quiet for so long in the face of this mess. Especially when he’s apparently working towards a doctorate in beating around the fucking bush. “I heard you tell your friends that it was never gonna happen with ‘movie girl’.”

Chan’s face brightens, and you can’t help but wonder what on Earth is wrong with this man. Why does he find that funny? Why is his chest moving like he’s trying not to laugh?

“And you… thought you were movie girl,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Okay – shit. I’m sorry.”

You look at him properly, now, as he indicates to the right and takes the turn that leads him down the lane to your spot. “What are you talking about?”

“I get it,” he says. “You work at the–... but you’re not movie girl. Not that movie girl.”

“Stop talking in riddles before I get out of this car, Chan. It’s too late for this shit.”

He holds a hand up as if to apologise and settles back against the head cushion, suddenly looking far more comfortable than he did thirty seconds ago. He clears his throat, running his tongue over his lips, before sucking in a breath and letting himself go on.

“You’re not movie girl,” he says again, successfully clarifying nothing. “There’s this chick I used to dance with — years back, before… God, when we were in school, like, forever ago. She moved away when we were sixteen.” As he talks, he reaches your destination and sets the car into park, before he unfastens his seatbelt and turns to face you. You do the same, shifting your weight to tuck one leg up beneath you, and with your undivided attention, he goes on. “I ran into her recently. She’s back in town now, I guess. It was like, two weeks—?”

“I’m gonna be all-over grey by the time you finish telling this story,” you interrupt, raising an eyebrow. “Can you please give me the short version?”

“Not if you want it to make sense,” Chan shrugs. Begrudgingly, you let him keep talking. “She said it would be cool to hang out, maybe catch a movie or do lunch or something — and look, I didn’t know she was asking me on a date, I thought she was just being nice, y’know? Trying to be friends, but… you weren’t working that day, it was when you had that… that stomach thing going on? And I brought you the soup my mom made, remember?”

You nod; of course you remember. At the time, you wondered why on Earth this grown man’s mother was making you food — you asked yourself whether he’d told her about you, or if she thought it was for someone else. In the end you decided he must have just been bringing you leftovers. But you’d been too worn out to start asking questions; instead, after you’d eaten, you let yourself fall asleep with your head in his lap as he patted your hair and hummed his favourite songs. You hadn’t let yourself think too deeply about it since.

“Anyway. We were sat watching the movie and she, uh,” he glances down at his lap, tips of his ears burning pink. “She put her hand, sorta, on my thigh? And then I was like, shit, I didn’t read this right, like… at all. So I moved it off and she took the hint — and after it ended I said to her, you know, I was flattered, right? But I wasn’t interested. And then I went home and got that soup and—… yeah.”

He came straight to see you. To look after you. Hell, you didn’t even fool around that night; in retrospect, it was all uncharacteristically domestic. And slowly, the pieces you’ve spent days struggling to fit together start to fall into place. It makes sense. The only question that remains is do you believe him?

Well, tell a lie.

There is one more.

“You said there was someone else,” you add quietly.

You’ll die before you admit it, but this is secretly the part that was hurting you the most.

You can’t even look him in the eye, right now; your cheeks are burning with the embarrassment of even caring. As much as you want to tell yourself that the only reason you’re pissed is just because of the dishonesty, you can only stare at yourself in the mirror and point-blank lie so many times. Someone else. You hate it.

Just the thought of him seeing somebody else, taking them out on dates, smiling at them, laughing with them, kissing them the way he kisses you, touching —

A shiver runs the length of you and you cross your arms, thrusting your sleeve-covered hands under your armpits.

Chan takes a deep breath in and exhales it slowly, like he’s blowing smoke out of his lungs. “There is,” he admits, nodding slowly, avoiding your eyes, too. “There is someone else.”

“When were you going to tell me?” You ask.

Chan doesn’t respond straight away. You don’t notice, but eventually his eyes do land back at you; it’s only when he clears his throat to get your attention that you look at him long enough to realise he’s quite deliberately staring. His lips are lifted on the right in a lopsided smile, his eyes soft as he reaches across the seats towards you. You stare blankly down at his hand until he wiggles his fingers, and you think briefly that this is the most fucked up ending to a situationship you’ve ever been through.

You drop one of your hands down and let him hold it, though, staring at his face as his thumb brushes over your knuckles and you wait for him to finally say it out loud. For him to announce that he’s fallen for somebody and that he can’t see you anymore. To put the nail in the coffin. Don’t tell me their name, you think. I don’t want to know anything about them. Please, just don’t.

“For someone so frustratingly smart, you’re really fucking dumb,” Chan says, finally, swallowing around his words and squeezing your fingers. Whatever stoic expression you had forced onto your face at the start of this conversation dissolves into irritation and you snatch your hand away from him again, letting his own fall and collide with a thunk against the handbrake.

“Oh, sorry that I didn’t realise you were sneaking around behind my back when that’s the one thing we promised we wouldn’t do,” you snap. “God. The only stupid thing I’ve done here is get involved with you in the f—”

“You’re the someone else.”

Oh.

“I’m—?”

“You.”

The admission hangs heavily between you, as does your nonsense, unfinished insult. Neither of you really know what to do with yourselves except sit perfectly still and try to somehow deal with your increasingly dry throats. When Chan moves, it’s only to turn down the heating dial when his cheeks burn a bit too hot; you appreciate it, in part due to the bead of sweat currently running down your back, but you don’t say so.

“You could have started with that,” you say weakly, wrestling with all your strength to keep even some of your cards close to your chest. It’s not working though. Your attempt to conceal your elation is a bit like throwing a single leaf on top of a bison and calling it camouflage.

Chan commits to laughing, finally, your sentiment breaking him too. Now, you do crack that smile, albeit mostly just at the sound that comes from him. It’s bright and airy, lighting his whole face up as he drops all the way back and leans against his car door, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I was trying to build to a moment! It’s not my fault you hit every branch of the anti-romantic tree on your way down.”

“I am not anti-romantic,” you scoff in protest.

“Yes — you are.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“No, you’re just an idiot.”

“Says she who didn’t realise her fuck-buddy had feelings for about six months, Jesus.”

“Chan—” You start, your voice laced with a playful warning.

“Here I was thinking I was making it completely obvious,” he rambles on.

“— oh my God, just shut up and kiss me.”

“Dropping hints left and r—” … “Huh?”

He stops short a fraction of a second after you finish, stumped and silent, frozen with everything but a little buffering symbol above his forehead. Kiss me, you said. Chan, […] just shut up and kiss me. All right, you’ve asked him to do that before, but not like this. Not as if you’ll wither away should you not get a taste of his lips this instant. It takes him some time to process it, but he does move in first, eventually. The way he always does, closing the distance between you like he’s been shot out of a cannon, one hand either side of your face, crashing feverishly against your mouth.

Every now and again, he’ll be happy to let you take charge and set the pace: mostly just if he’s feeling lazy or especially generous. Tonight isn’t one of those times, however. He holds you and kisses you possessively, like you’re his, like this is how he finally gets to lay claim on you, licking between your gasp-parted lips after he moans straight into your mouth. He’s spearmint sweet, edged with that one cherry flavoured chapstick he stockpiles as he grins up against you, rolling his body fluidly with every separation for air, every changing angle.

He pulls your sweatshirt up over your head and throws it down into the footwell on the passenger side, straight away hurrying to kiss you hungrily again, hands cupping your neck. His tongue is in your mouth once more, there’s no way you could possibly differentiate your breaths from his: you’re one, in every way you can be with your clothes still on, but it’s not enough.

“Want you,” you whimper as he nips at your bottom lip and pleasure rushes through you from head to toe.

“You’ve got me,” he groans with his eyes still closed. “I’m all yours.”

“No,” you insist, whimpering when his cute little nose drags across your cheek until he’s pressing hot kisses to your jawline. “I— fuck—” He suckles on the sweet spot below your ear and your spine tingles, head tilting to give him better access. “Chan, I want you.”

Chan settles back from you, his usually bright, sparkling eyes now darkened with desire. All he gives you is a singular glance sideways, but you know exactly what he’s suggesting. You nod, breathing deep, biting the inside of your cheek; he turns off the headlights and it’s all systems go.

There’s a rush to scramble into the back of the car. Chan takes the keys out the ignition and climbs through the gap in the seats; you opt for the less hazardous approach of getting out of the vehicle entirely and re-entering it instead. Not that it bothers him — no sooner is the door closed behind you, Chan’s hands are on your hips and he pulls you on top of him, your leg knocking the dahlias off the leather and onto the floor in the process. You gasp and glance down but he averts your attention with two fingers under your chin, guiding you to look back at him.

“What? You think this is the last time I’ll bring you flowers?” He asks, capturing your lips as he leans up to you; at the same time, his hands drop low and he starts to slide open the buttons down the front of your pyjama shirt. “Baby, m’gonna get you so many more.”

You sigh at the affectionate name, at the change in its use; until now, Chan has only called you baby while he’s buried inside you, bruising you inside and out with sharp thrusts and rough-gripping fingers. But as much as you can feel him growing hard against the inside of your thigh while you try to get comfortable, one knee planted either side of his hips, you can’t help but feel as if this time, it means something different.

(He’s had feelings for six months: it always meant what it does, now. You know that, deep down.)

Somewhere in amongst the never-ending sloppy kisses and constantly travelling hands, you manage to strip both his jacket and T-shirt off him and you’re pressed bare-chest-to-bare-chest with Chan, feeling every little hitch of his breath in his lungs, every thump of his heartbeat, every tiny increase in the temperature of his skin. Your desperate search for friction between your legs has you rolling your hips down against his hard-on, drawing grunts and making him squeeze at your tits when you rock against him the right way. His head eventually drops to your chest and he replaces one hand with his mouth, freeing his fingers to slide down the front of your pyjama bottoms.

It’s honestly rarer for Chan to get straight to the point than it is for him to tease you a little first, so when he flattens his palm against you and brushes his fingertips over your already aching clit, you let out a squeak of surprise. He shivers, releasing your nipple from between his teeth for a moment; once he’s collected a little more arousal to ease the friction, he continues to rub at the bud, slowly building the pressure inside you.

“No panties?” He asks, struggle clear in the roughness of his voice.

“I was in bed,” you gasp, eyes rolling back. It’s for the best that it happens out of pleasure, really, because you’re not sure you’d be able to stop yourself rolling them in exasperation at his remark otherwise. You shuffle a little, lifting yourself up on your knees more, breath hitching when he uses the newly granted space to dip his hand lower and press a finger against your hole. “Please, Chan — this can’t be comfy— just…”

“S’fine” he argues, shaking his head, despite the fact that the angle of his wrist is actually kind of painful, right now. The truth is that he can’t bring himself to care: not when he can smell your fabric softener on the shirt still hanging off your shoulders, the shampoo in your freshly washed hair, all so pretty mixed with the damp scent of your desire. Not when you clench around him as he slides his finger in and out of your cunt. Not when he could get you to soak all the way through these pretty satin pants.

Your arms snake around his neck as he dips a second finger inside you to join the first. The way your thighs tighten around his hips could — should — be embarrassing, the fact his sturdy lap holds you open enough for your pussy to be toyed with even more so. You almost always do this too music, too — for what might be the first time ever, you can hear every single wet sound your body makes, every hitch of your own breath, every grunt he gives even though he’s not the one being pleasured.

You don’t even realise how you’re rocking up and down against his hand until Chan licks from the base of your neck to your jaw, smirking over your pulse point and says, “gonna ride my cock this good too, baby?”

And if it was anyone else talking to you like this, you would be embarrassed. Mortified, at being so needy you’re here doing all the work for him. At the cry you give as he splits and scissors his fingers to stretch you out. But instead? You feel another rush of arousal drool out of you as you press your nails into his shoulders and nod, bouncing harder and watching how his bicep tenses up solid with the effort of keeping his arm steady for you to use.

“Wanna,” you gasp. “Want it so bad, Chan—”

Despite your pleas for this to move further, when his hand pulls back out of the elastic of your waistband, you feel like you could throttle him. The urge ebbs away when his soaked fingers press to your lips and he quirks an eyebrow at you, though — you end up suckling them clean, licking up every trace of your own slick. You lock eyes with him as you do, slumping on your thighs so your drenched core sits right over his tweaking length, the seam of your pants giving just enough friction to your clit for it to feel good as you grind down on him again.

“Get those off,” he instructs, trying to sound hard and dominant. Which would work, perhaps, if his voice didn’t crack in the middle of the sentence. “Now.”

Even though you’re overcome with a need to tease him, the desire you have to be split open on his length outweighs it, so you do as you’re told and hold it in for later. It’s not easy, but you manage to manipulate yourself in his lap to work the satin down your thighs and past your knees. He helps you tug them the rest of the way past your ankles and feet, shoves them onto the floor — Chan’s hands settle back on your hips and yours skim down his stomach at the same time, fingers grazing over the little hairs that trail from his bellybutton down into his jeans.

“Can I?” You ask, playing already with his belt buckle.

He hums assent and you slip it all the way open, tugging as he moves his hips underneath you so you can pull it free from the loops. Between you, you manage to get his jeans unfastened, to pull both them and his boxer shorts down over his ass and to his knees; finally, fucking finally, his cock sits pretty and leaking and free between your stomach and his. It’s getting cold in the car now the heating isn’t on, but you’re already burning up in anticipation for him to ruin you; the way his abs ripple as he takes his shaft into his hand and strokes himself a couple of times to prepare tells you he’s in the same boat.

It’s like clockwork, from here. You shift into position as easily as you settle into bed after a long day. Chan rubs his tip through your folds, feels the warmth of you and hisses through his teeth with fluttering eyes. Just like always. This never changes. He can’t ever get enough of that first feeling of his cock against your pussy: it’s like the first hit of a blunt, like the first sip of a cold beer, the first full-body stretch early in the morning. He’s sure it’s what arriving at the gates of heaven must feel like.

You sink down onto him slowly, fluttering around his tip and stilling to give you both a moment to get used to the feeling. He’s thick inside you. Thicker than his pretty, dainty fingers have ever been able to stretch you enough for. Even as wet as you are, you still need to suck a deep breath into your lungs before you can relax your hips further and let your heat swallow him all the way to his base.

Chan’s head is tipped back in pleasure, he’s biting his lip at the sting of your nails pressing hard into the back of his neck. He loves it, though — loves how the pain shoots in waves down his spine, how it tingles in his brain, how he knows you need to anchor yourself this way or you’ll lose control. He kneads at your ass as you sit against his thighs, listening to you whimpering at how deep he is inside you.

“So fucking tight around me still,” Chan groans, focusing all his willpower into keeping his hips down on the leather beneath him. “Shit, baby — you feel so good…” His neck softens and his head drops forward again as you start to move, rising and falling over and over. He kisses your throat and down to your collarbones while you work up to a rhythm, sliding his palms up your back, hugging you close to him.

He isn’t even the one putting in the hard work, but within minutes of this, his soft, fluffy hair clings to his forehead. A light sheen of sweat makes him radiant under the moonlight breaking through the trees. He’s breathing heavily, the top of his toned chest painted a soft pink — you don’t think he could possibly look prettier. Not until he cups your jaw with his hands and you look upwards: you land on his smiling face, those plush, swollen lips, his devilish but sweetly glittering eyes. The sight of him, looking at you like you’re some kind of Goddess, makes your pussy tighten and your tiring hips stutter. You slip your pyjama top all the way off your arms and curl your fingers into his hair, meeting him in an open-mouthed kiss, through which you’re both just beaming.

You’ve never kissed him this much. When it all started out, you sort of had a rule against it, but now? Neither of you can stop. As he starts to fuck up into you, taking the reins and letting your burning thighs rest, he keeps your face steady with his hands and freely allows his lips to slide against yours. It’s not refined. It can’t be. Not with how hard and fast his movements quickly become, not with the onslaught of curses and moans and babbled praise coming from the both of you. One particularly sharp thrust makes you yelp out a squeak of his name and he just swallows it down, making a point to keep aiming for— and hitting— that same spot inside you. You’re a mess.

He could do this all night. When your orgasm bubbles inside you and he starts pinching at one of your nipples, sending you over the edge, he’s nowhere near finished. Even though your cunt massages at his length, throbbing and pulsing through your climax; even though your voice is so high by now that only dogs can hear you; even though you nearly collapse on top of him with almost all your weight in his lap, and he has to work twice as hard to keep this going, he barely slows. He definitely doesn’t stop.

“You can gimme one more, right sweetheart?” He asks, grunting into your neck. “Always feels so fucking good when you come.” You choke up an ‘mhm’, to which he responds by slipping a hand between your bodies and down to where you’re connected. His thumb presses against your clit again — not moving, just applying enough pressure to make you stutter when you say his name.

Your thighs are still twitching when you try to lift yourself a little, try to meet his movements as he chases his orgasm too. The “problem” with Chan is that his stamina is otherworldly. You couldn’t keep up if you wanted to.

“Relax,” he says, tensing his jaw, doing the opposite himself. “Fuck — lie down.”

It’s pretty cramped and hard to move, but you lift yourself off him and only slightly lament at the sudden emptiness between your legs. There isn’t time to get too upset, however: moments after you get comfortable on your back, Chan shoves his jeans the rest of the way down and stands with one knee planted on the seats, lifting one of your ankles up to rest it on his shoulder. He slips back inside you easily then, gripping around your calf to keep you both steady. From the word go, his pace is relentless. You scrabble around for something to hold onto but the entire car seems to melt away; you ball your hands into fists at your sides instead, your eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Mm-mm. Look at me,” Chan hums, tightening his grip on your leg. “Wanna see those pretty eyes.”

You obey, opening your lids to look up at him while he pounds into you hard enough to make the car shake. Over, and over, and over, and over. Rougher. Faster. For how long? Who even knows. All you’re truly aware of is how good it feels. How the windows grow foggy with the steam of your laboured breaths. How his sweat mingles with your own.

When his fingers on the other hand get reacquainted with your clit, when he bites down on his bottom lip, when his thrusts start to get messier and more erratic and the veins in his arms start to bulge out, you know he’s getting close. He doesn’t need to tell you out loud. The smirk he wears speaks for itself.

“Where d’you want it, baby?” He asks you, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle.

“In— mmh, in-…side me—” you stammer, hips jolting as you near your second orgasm to match his first. “Please, Chan — want it all…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah—”

Well, he must’ve been holding himself back something spectacular, because a few thrusts later you watch all of his muscles contract as he tips over the edge, and you go hurtling with him. It’s all so much. All your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire and your vision starts to blur at the edges; it’s not long before you have to close your eyes to shut one of your overworked senses out, completely. Your muscles are sore. Your throat hurts. Even your lungs ache.

God, he hasn’t gone that hard in so long, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can barely speak — it’s going to take you a week to recover from this, minimum.

He stills deep inside you, feeling his cock throb with the last pumps of his release. Your leg slips off his shoulder and your foot lands down with a thud onto the car’s (thankfully clean) floor; he bends forward to kiss you, still breathing heavily against your lips. You’ve come over completely boneless and reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair again feels like running a marathon at sprint pace. You’d fall asleep right here, right now, if you could, but with sweat cooling rapidly against your skin, you know that’s probably not up there as one of your finest ideas.

“You really think getting involved with me was stupid?” Chan asks, nudging your nose with the tip of his own. He’s never been less serious than this in his entire life, which stops you feeling too bad when you lightly slap at his rock solid chest and try to push him off you.

“Yes,” you lie, attempting to reach to the ground for your pyjama shirt while he grips your chin and attacks you with tiny little pecks all over your face. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

(Chan chuckles to himself and thinks that he’s quite happy to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, really. He can stay that way, as long as you promise never to stop.)

thank you so much for reading. i hope you enjoyed it - likes, feedback, comments, reblogs are all so appreciated.<3

#dino smut #lee chan smut #dino x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt x reader #kpop smut #j writes.#*#this description is ass we're gonna pretend it isnt. ok THANKS bye <3

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madewithangst · 4 days

Text

SEVENTEEN + texting you after the breakup [pt2]

PAIRING: seventeen (ot13) x f!reader if you squint GENRE: text imagine, angst + fluff WARNINGS: mentions of asthma attack‼️ a few swear words and cheesy terms of endearment, some lines from taylor swift songs, other than those, nothing else! NOTES: please mind the timestamps!

Hyung Line + Maknae Line (plus woozi!)

More A/N: The Blocked Number was Mingyu, we don't speak his name because of what he did in this 😤

Recognized any lines from Taylor Swift? 😉

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ssentimentals · 6 months

Text

a pleasant surprise {lee chan}

pairing: dino x fem!reader

prompt: 'is that my shirt?' + 'i love it when you moan my name' (this work is part of my 1k event, go check out other works of mine here)

warnings: nsfw (minors, this work is a no-no for you), blowjob, whipped channie, unprotected sex (which is also a no-no but this time for everyone), a tiiiiny bit of dirty talking

chan doesn't find stereotypical 'sexy' things enticing at all. low cleveage, clothes that hug one's body like a second skin, high heels, red lips - all those attributes don't provoke anything in him; he doesn't have anything against them, they just don't affect him in any way. there are other things that excite him and have blood rushing south - you and anything about you, for example. he used to have some views on what is pretty and sexy before but after your appereance in his life, all those criterias changed drasticallly and took a shape of you in a way that is a bit embarrassing to admit. hair color that he finds pretty? exactly like yours. style he prefers on girls? the way you dress. what he looks for in a girl? everything that you have and nothing else. 'don't wait up for me, i'll stay the night,' he says loudly to his roommate.

jeonghan snorts unattractively. 'when you haven't? stop pushing your lovey-dovey relationship right into my face and get out of here.'

chan grins. he knows there's no bite in those words and turns around, sending his roommate a wink. 'don't choke on your jealousy while i'm gone.'

'brat!' jeonghan throws a pillow at him and dino easily ducks, making hannie smile. he may tease him a lot, but in reality he's very happy for his friend. 'get your stupid face out of here!'

'already gone!'

chan never understood this game some people play of acting cold. holding yourself back, not replying as soon as you saw the message, getting late to the dates... all of it doesn't make sense to him. chan's enthusiasm towards you is not subtle at all and he never tried to hold himself back. why would he? he's always happy to see you, always rushes to see you, always eager to reply and meet up. that's why he's practically running to your place, breath coming in short puffs as he speeds up at his maximum. casual and chill nights with you are his favorite and memory of your warm body plastered to his makes him smile widely. he sprints to your room and bangs loudly, taking few seconds to catch his breath.

'coming!' you open up, staring at him with a wide grin. 'that was fast, did you run here?'

'i'm always running to you,' he replies cheekily, loving how even after so many months his words still bring blush on your cheeks. 'and-'

chan freezes. he didn't notice at first, but now when you step back and walk towards your bed, he can see very well what you're wearing and his brain shuts off for a second. yes, chan doesn't find a lot of stereotypically sexy things enticing at all, but this? you wearing this? that's the top on his sexy things list. he closes the door automatically and doesn't move away from his place, following your moving figure with his eyes hungrily.

'i think we can continue watching that anime or if not, i downloaded several movies-' you turn, frowning at his unmoved state. 'channie? why are you still standing there?'

'is that my shirt?' he rasps out, suddenly having trouble swallowing.

you quickly look yourself up and down, shrugging. 'oh yeah, i found it in the closet. it's a bit big on me, but that's fine.'

in chan's humble opinion simple 'that's fine' doesn't cover it. his t-shirt which is voersied even on him reaches right up to the middle of your thighs and it does things to him that he's ashamed to admit. familiar heat coils in the pit of his stomach and he swallows dryly, pulling his phone out of his pocket and dropping it on the table nearby. you wearing his clothes is a plesant surprise, the one that makes his heart beat a little bit faster and his hands itch with desire to touch.

'channie?' you call, confused. 'is everything-'

'please tell me you're not wearing anything underneath,' he interrupts. 'please.'

'i-' you gasp when he suddenly crosses the distance between you two in a blink of an eye. 'um, there is-'

he doesn't let you finish. chan is not known for being a patient person in general and how can he stay patient right now, when you're looking the way you do right in front of him? his hands are on you in instant, reverently feeling up your legs, groaning like he's in pain when he realizes that you're not wearing any shorts. your silky skin makes him salivate in a really unattractive and maybe even concerning way and he licks his lips, staring down at you with lust blown eyes. 'this is such a nice surprise,' he mutters, pushing you towards the bed. 'the best outfit. you should always greet me looking like that.'

you laugh at this and he softens instantly, looking up at you. your laugh is one of his favorite sounds, it makes his heart skip a beat every single time when he hears. that probably isn't very healthy, but chan doesn't care when it comes to you; you make his heart perform acrobatics in his chest and he doesn't even blink, will gladly rip it open for you to see so you'd know what you do to him.

'what's gotten into you, my god,' you laugh as he throws you onto the bed. 'chan!'

he grins when at your loud squeak as he pounces on you, settling his body on top of yours. you struggle, obviously finding it hard to breathe, but chan just lays motionless, grinning at your futile attempts of escaping. 'you've gotten into me,' he replies hotly, finding your mouth with his. 'all's your fault.'

kissing you is like coming up for air when you've been underwater for way too long. it feels like taking that very first breath of air, filling your lungs with it and realizing that you're saved. chan kisses you with all he has every time, never holds back, fueled by idea that if this might be the last kiss then you'll know how much he loved you. he gives it all for you, to you and you respond to it in such a majestic way that it knocks all the breath out of him. your body is his favorite instrument and he knows what to touch and how to do it to make your head cloud with pleasure. he uses it to his advantage, loves watching you turn into a writhing mess under him.

'feels good,' you breathe out when he finally tugs away his t-shirt from you, grasping your breasts.

'yeah?' chan grins, leaning in to lick a fat stripe on your collarbones. 'wanna make you feel even better.'

chan is a pleaser. he likes making you feel good, better than good. he likes hearing your moans, likes knowing that he's the reason of them. likes playing with your breasts and biting lightly on your nipples to make you groan loudly. likes when you first your hands into his hair and tug, when he gets a bit too harsh with his bite marks. likes when you pointedly try to push his head downwards, always shy to speak up and tell exactly what you want. when your chest is covered in tiny marks almost everywhere, only then chan relents, leaning back to admire his work. exquisite. he is so, so in love.

'channie,' you whine, pushing your legs together in a subtle way of asking for attention there.

'hm? you want something?' he asks, fully leaning back and taking a hold of your knees. 'something in particular?' he pushes your knees to the sides, easily fitting himself between your legs. 'what is it?'

you huff in annoyance and try to glare at him, but your hair is a mess and your lips are shiny and swollen from kisses and you look fucked out so your glare is very ineffective in that state. chan chuckles and gets out of the bed to stand right next to it and pointedly reaches for his belt, quickly opening it. 'i think it's your time to work a little, baby.'

chan is a pleaser but he's not selfless. he will die a happy man if he dies with your lips wrapped around his cock. still glaring at him, you quickly switch positions, crawling on bed till you get on the edge, your face right next to the place he wants to have it the most. 'don't glare, baby,' chan admonishes gently, pushing zipper of his jeans down. 'i know you want it. don't you want it?'

your butt cutely wriggles and you lick your lips, making him chuckle. he is so, so weak for you. but good thing is that you are so, so weak for him too. 'say that you want it,' chan mutters, stepping closer and getting rid of his jeans. 'cmon baby, don't lie to yourself.'

your hands push his underwear down and chan hisses when you immediately wrap your hand around his shaft. 'i want it,' you breathe out, looking up at him in a way that makes his dick even harder.

'go ahead then.'

it's a really hard mission not to come from the first three strokes. just like he knows what you like, you also know how to make him buckle his hips helplessly. your nails digging into his skin, your hot mouth wrapped around him - chan grunts with an effort of not fucking up into your mouth. you look sinful like this, so sexy that it makes his head spin; he grabs your hair in order to stay focused. your head bobs enthusiastically, you create your own rhythm and chan groans, knowing how you like when he's vocal about his pleasure. 'just like that,' his fingers automatically pull your hair into a ponytail, tugging. 'doing so good, i'll fuck you so good afterwards, baby.'

your answering moans revebrates around your throat and he shivers from additional stimilus, bucking his hips. this action makes you choke and you pull back, his hands immediately on your face, caressig your cheeks in apologizing manner. 'sorry, sorry,' chan says, quickly checking if you're okay. 'all good?'

you nod, wiping away spit from your chin. your hand reaches out to stroke him and chan groans, when you look up and lick your lips. 'all good,' you say, smirking. 'if i knew wearing your clothes would get you like this, i-'

'you'd be the death of me,' chan finishes and tugs your hair harshly. 'lay back on the bed.'

chan is a weak man. if he were stronger then at the sight of you naked he would have taken his time to worship your body, but... chan is a weak man and he has no patience. his fingers find your heat in seconds and he tries to slow down, he really does, but one finger becomes two way too quickly even if you're not complaining.

'chan, oh my god,' your back arches as he thrusts up two fingers in a pace that is too quick.

'i love it when you moan my name,' chan whispers into your skin, lavishing your breasts with his attention. 'can you take more?'

chan prays you agree because he feels like he might burst any second now; when you nod, his sigh of relief is almost palpable as he adds third finger, reveling in your wetness and your loud whimpers. he likes how vocal you are, how you don't shy away from pleasure, how you seek for it in the most erotic ways when your head is on the cloud nine. your body moves along with his fingers, wants them deeper and he curses at the lewd image it makes, moving a little downwards.

'i'll fuck you so good,' he promises - babbles, really. 'you've been so good to me, i-'

his words die out as he bottoms out, flesh to flesh. it's always heaven to be locked with you in this way, to feel your warmth all around him. he always has to take few seconds to calm down, to find his footing, to relish in this feeling before he moves. your hips start moving, calling out for him and he is not that strong to resist your call. sometimes chan is in the mood to draw it out, to be slow and tease you until you're crying, but today is not that day. his patience snapped long time ago and he instantly sets a punishing pace that makes you choke on your moans. grabbing at the pillow desperately, it takes you few moments to start moving along with him, bringing you both to pleasure much faster. his grip on your hips is bruising and when chan moves his fingers to grab the back of your thighs and change the angle, you squeak, almost biting your tongue in the process.

'good?' chan asks, concentrating all his strength in holding your legs up higher. 'like this is good?'

'yes, yes, so good, chan,' you drool a little, succumbing to the pleasure fully. 'so fucking good.'

chan only groans at that, snapping his hips harder. he can hold off for you, but it's hard when you're so wet and warm, when your body is so honest in letting him know how exactly he makes you feel. chan prides himself in this, how he can make you crazy with it, how he gets to be the one who sees you like this. it's a privelege more than anything and he will never take it for granted.

'close,' you manage to croak out, gasping for breath.

chan nods in acknowledgement and doubles his effort, losing his rhythm in favor of bringing you to the peak closer. sweat runs down his face and he huffs, falling on his hands. your legs wrap tight aroudn him instantly as his mouth latches on yours, swallowing all your sounds eagerly. 'so pretty for me,' chan whispers into your mouth, looking at you with hearts in his eyes. 'always so good, cmon, you can come baby, i know you want to, don't hold it.'

there's something about his whispers that makes you cry, shaking with pleasure. he sucks hickeys on your neck while you get off from your high. little shocks run through your body and you turn your head, bumping noses with him. 'channie,' you call, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

you sound so satisfied that chan grins. 'can i?' he asks and at your nod, he uses your body to chase his own high. it doesn't take him long to pull out and spill all over your stomach, groaning. 'fucking hell.'

your chuckle makes him smile and he flops next to you, kissing you senseless. he knows you're about to get whiny and bratty at the sticky semen on your stomach, so he quickly stands up, searching for anything to wipe it off with. 'let's just go to the shower,' you call, reaching out of him. 'i demand to be carried.'

chan can't even pretend that he doesn't like it. he can't even for a second keep the barrier of a stoic and cool guy when he's with you. not when he turns into a poodle, not when he's ready to give you everything you ask for. he easily lifts you up, smiles warmyl at your giggles and carries you to the shower, kissing your forehead. 'i'm so leaving my hoodie here,' he says, carefully putting you down. 'greet me in it next time?'

a/n: it's funny how i try to make chan gentle and make it more like love making and not fucking and then my fingers live their own life and he ends up the way he did here :D - nini

tagging @prpldahy

#seventeen imagine #seventeen smut #seventeen dino #lee chan x reader #lee chan smut #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen reaction #svt dino #seventeen lee chan #seventeen chan #lee chan imagines #lee chan fluff #lee chan x you #dino x reader #dino smut #i am not saying that dino is the most fuckboy out of them BUT i am saying that he kind of...fits..the image...#i can't write him all lovey dovey i just can't

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