The Room (M) ~Bang Chan

The Room (M) ~Bang Chan

Pairing: Bang Chan x F.Reader Themes: Alternative Universe | Smut | Established Relationship | Angsty Word Count: ~3k | AO3 Synopsis: Some nights, you wanted nothing more than to spend them with Chris in your room. Thankfully, once you came home tonight, you were able to do just that. Warnings: the reader is perceived as chubby/curvy/fat/etc · discussions of self-image · bittersweet · smut (warnings under the cut).

Author’s Note: i’ve got NO idea what this is, but i’m happy with how it turned out, so i hope you like it as well. if you do, please leave your feedback! it’s always encouraging to read your thoughts (: especial thanks to @notastraykid & @channieskies for beta-reading this for me. they’re the best.

Due to all the abovementioned warnings, this story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors please do not interact.

Smut warnings: masturbation.

Disclaimer: the story presented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

The room was extra cool tonight; it usually was whenever this happened. The feeling of your bedsheets against your heated skin was pleasant, but even then, you still wished he could come closer to keep you warm.

Instead, he stayed semi-still on that goddamn armchair, sitting comfortably with his legs spread wide. 

“Chris”, a pout came to your lips when you said his name.

Caressing your bare thighs, you focused on the image of him in front of you, as well as the tinkling sound produced by the ice in his drink whenever he swirled the glass. 

“Mmm?” Chris took a sip, looking the embodiment of calmness you’d known him to be.

“Lemme see…” you were trying your best not to sound as desperate as you felt, but it honestly wasn’t working. After all, after a week of not seeing him, you were desperate.

Chris chuckled, resting his glass on the armrest of the chair, smirking in your direction. “You let me see. Don’t you think that’s fair? I wasn’t the one shaking ass all night trying to make you jealous”.

You sighed, squishing your thighs with your hands and throwing your head back against the pillow. “Wasn’t trying to make you jealous…”

“No?”

“No. It’s not my fault you get jealous. Besides, I was only dancing with my friends. Not like I was rubbing my ass against some rando’s crotch”.

He hummed, and his expression softened. “‘Suppose you’re right. It’s not your fault you look that good when I can’t touch, hm?”

“Mm…” Your skin felt tingly, like he was leaving a fiery trace wherever he looked. This dress was certainly more revealing than any other in your closet, but it was also the only clean one you had to wear tonight for your friend’s birthday celebration, so you genuinely weren’t doing anything with the purpose of riling him up.

However, that didn’t mean it wasn’t a good plus.

“Regardless…” Chris brought his glass to his lips again, leaning back fully on his armchair. “I definitely won’t be the first one exposed tonight, baby. So why don’t you part your pretty legs and let me see what I’ve been missing out on?”

With a deep breath, you let your body relax, bringing your hands from your thighs to your bent knees. “Fine…”

Oftentimes, you liked to pretend like you weren’t ready to give in to his requests at any second. It helped build the feeling of need in the pit of your stomach, and, surely, it helped feed his feelings of need, too.

Slowly, you let your legs fall open, raking your short fingernails down your thighs. Chris’ deep intake of breath didn’t go unnoticed; you’d been in this position so many times before you just knew the effect seeing you like this could have on him.

In all honesty, it fed your ego to inimaginable levels.

“Look at that…” Chris’ voice was barely a whisper, accompanied by the tinkling of the ice against the glass in his hand. “So puffy… That thong is covering nothing…”

Years ago, you used to be ashamed of your body, of all the curves, rolls and folds created by the extra weight. Not anymore, though. Not as much, at least. It’d been a gradual process of acceptance, but it certainly peaked when you met Chris. 

After a couple of sexual encounters, he was just no longer shy. He was very vocal about his wants and needs and preferences. In his words, your body specifically was his preference, fat and all.

You hadn’t really needed his attention to reach these levels of comfort with your body, but to feel wanted was certainly more than appreciated. 

“Wanna eat you up, y’know?” There was an amused lilt clinging to his words, and just the thought had your brain swimming laps inside your skull.

“God, please do…”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Nodding, you tried to suppress the whimper that threatened to come out of your mouth.

Chris chuckled, in that way that almost sounded like he was endeared. “Oh, baby, if I got my head between your legs, I’d just never leave… Push that silly string of fabric to the side; let me fully see you”.

You complied with his request in a heartbeat, doing just what he wanted and spreading your folds with two fingers for him to get a better look. God, you were drenched already… So much so, you could’ve sworn you heard the sound of your moist skin separating.

“Fuck…” Chris swore under his breath, once again swirling the glass in his hand before he took a long swig. “Touch yourself, love. Feel how wet you are”.

You did as asked, spreading your slick around your entrance and along your folds.

The sound of glass clinking against glass reached your ears when Chris placed his drink down on the table next to the armchair. Biting your lower lip, you tried to hide the triumphant smile forming on your lips.

You had him now, and with his full attention directed at you, your stomach was doing flips.

“Is that all for me, gorgeous?”

You nodded. “All for you, baby…”

“Mmm… You know I can’t resist when you call me baby”, Chris shifted in his seat, fully resting both elbows on the armrests and linking his fingers together. “Gentle circles on your clit, love. Slow to start, just how we like, yeah?”

Relief washed over you as soon as jolts of pleasure started to run up and down your spine, and, slowly, you became more and more incapable of keeping the sighs and quiet whimpers contained within your mouth.

It felt good, but you wished so badly that it was him… His calloused fingers and his plump lips…

As arousing as his dirty words and commanding voice were, you were sure he’d be able to make you feel so much better if only he could touch you. 

The slow stimulation was starting to drive you mad. Your legs twitched, your toes curled, and you grabbed at your inner thigh or your plush mound with your free hand the needier you got, earning an occasional hum or groan of appreciation from Chris.

“Mmm… That’s good, pretty. Very good. Use your fingers now; start with one, make sure you coat it thoroughly…”

He’d barely stopped speaking when you had already slipped your middle finger inside your hole, whining when you curled it up to stimulate the bundle of sensitive nerves inside your walls. 

“Such a pretty face. Does it feel good? Is that why you look this pretty right now?”

Heat rushed to your head and spread all over your cheeks. You just nodded, because what else could you do?

You weren’t sure if pretty would’ve been the adjective you’d use to describe yourself at this moment, but if you were making any faces, it was definitely because of how good you were feeling… Because of how good he was making you feel, even in a situation like this one.

“I–I want another…” Your insides felt empty; one finger just wasn’t enough, much less if it was your own. 

“Another?” Chris chuckled, sounding almost incredulous. “What makes you think you deserve another finger so quickly? Greedy baby…”

“I just–just want it”, there was no way you could start this tug-o’-war right now. You really, really needed that extra stretch. So when you saw Chris open his mouth, you immediately pulled out your lowest tactics. “Please, baby. I want it so bad, want you so bad…”

Okay, that last part was most certainly not planned, but it wasn’t a lie. You wanted that extra finger, yes, but you probably wanted him way more. 

You wanted him so badly right now that you feared you’d start throwing a tantrum and cry. You’d reached those levels of pathetic desperation just way too quickly…

This was so unfair… So, so unfair…

Why couldn’t he just touch you?

Well, you knew why, but that still didn’t make it any less frustrating.

Chris must’ve noticed the shift in your tone and the expression on your face because he gave in. It wasn’t unusual, but it certainly didn’t happen often. He much preferred to make you wait and make you beg more, but tonight he simply gave in.

“Alright, prettiest. You can have another. Even a third if you want. As many as you need…”

Having that second finger stretching you open had never felt as good as it did tonight. A choked sound left your mouth when you started pressing both digits up against your walls, coupled with the attention to your clit, you were trembling, moaning Chris’ name like it was the only word you’d ever known.

You heard the unmistakable sound of metal hitting metal, followed by the sound of an opening zipper. You focused on Chris as best as you could, just in time to see him pulling his already hard length out of his underwear and start stroking himself. 

It seemed like tonight Chris was giving in in more ways than one. It usually took way longer for him to start touching himself whenever you found each other like this, but right now, he was clearly just as desperate as you were.

“Oh, my… Fuck–” You couldn’t help but whine at the sight. He was so hard, flushed tip peeking out of his fist with each slow stroke, he looked just so… appetising. If only you could’ve had him in your mouth, it just felt so empty, and you knew he’d fill it up so well.

Which was exactly what you told him. He groaned lowly in response, with furrowed eyebrows and biting hard on his bottom lip.

“Faster, pretty. Whenever you want, just go faster…”

Oh, like music to your ears… It was fun to follow his instructions, but some nights–especially nights like this one–having your free will handed back to you made your insides fire up.

There was a moment where all that could be heard were the wet sounds produced by the movement of your hands between your legs, as well as the shared groans and moans and swear words spilling freely out of each other’s mouths. It was good, but you just knew it could be so much better…

Even after you slipped that third finger inside, even with all the shots of pleasure coursing through your body, there was this feeling of dissatisfaction looming over you.

You did your best to ignore it, though.

There was no point in dwelling on it right now. You didn’t want to dwell on it right now. You just wanted to share and enjoy this moment with him, just like you’d done every few nights consistently over the past year.

“I want you, too, you know?” Chris’ voice broke through your muddled thoughts, successfully pulling your entire attention towards him. “Wish I could have you wrapped around me, love. I bet you’re so warm…”

“I’d–I’d love that…” Your voice was airy, unsteady from your ragged breaths and the quickening movements of your fingers.

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Chris tightened his grip and sped up his hand, coaxing wet sounds of his own to join yours in the process. “Fuck, I know you’d feel so good. S–soft”.

All you could give him in response was a mindless nod of your head and a shaky exhale.

“Plump cunt just hugging me tight, hm? Hea–Heavenly, I’m sure…”

Oh, how you wished you could give him that. You wished you could give him the world…

“Just–just for you, baby”, you could feel your lower abdomen flexing harshly with need, like a rope winding up in the pit of your stomach, almost, almost reaching the breaking point. “Plump cunt for you to ruin–”

Chris swore under his breath, a sound that was almost drowned out by your own moans. He threw his head back against his chair, increasing the pace of his hand. “Already trying to make me come?”

“Mm!” The high pitch in your voice was almost foreign to your ears, but you’d started to get used to it. After all, whenever you shared these moments with him, whenever your thighs were twitching and your back was arching, your head just seemed to shut off completely, leaving only this feeling of desperation that grew exponentially the closer to your climax you got. “Want you to– Fuck… Want you to do it here…”

You pressed up against your walls more firmly, rubbing faster circles on your clit. You were so incredibly close, you could almost taste your relief on the tip of your tongue.

“Shit, I want to do it, too… So fucking badly”, his own thighs were twitching now, the veins on his neck protruded with exertion as Chris worked himself up, and you couldn’t help but yearn to sink your teeth on his flesh. “I’d give you anything, love. Pump you so fucking full–”

“Fuck–! I’m– I’m– gonna–” You’d barely gotten three words out before your whole body shook with your release. Waves upon waves of bliss shot from your core to every single one of your limbs as your walls contracted and relaxed repeatedly around your fingers.

Your ears started to ring. You barely noticed Chris pulling his shirt up to expose his lean abdomen before his cum soiled his skin. Thick ropes of cum spurted from his cock, paired with the most delicious groans escaping his throat. It was a whole sensory feast, one you simply didn’t want to be taken out of.

Silence enveloped the room after a few moments, where you both basked in that post-climax bliss. Your limbs felt like jelly, you hadn’t even taken your fingers out of you, nor had you moved them away from your clit, they were just there, motionless like the rest of your body, save for your heaving chest.

It wasn’t until you noticed Chris’ shoulders shaking that your senses fully returned to you, enough that you finally had the mind to take your fingers out of your slick cunt. 

He was still holding onto his now softening length; his torso was still covered in his release, but his head hung low, like he was trying his hardest for you not to see him. It was a futile attempt, one that had your heart squeezing in agony and a knot forming in your throat.

“Fuck, sorry…” You could barely hear him speak, but you’d been in this situation so many times already that you honestly didn’t need him to say it any louder for you to know what was going on. “How fucking pathetic am I? All covered in cum and crying like an idiot…”

“Baby…” Your own voice broke a little. You wished so badly that you could hug him, that you could help him clean up, hold him close and tell him it’d all be okay. Unfortunately, you couldn’t. “You’re not an idiot”.

There was a broken laugh, one that was more of an incredulous exhale than anything else. Chris shook his head, wiping his eyes with his clean hand, before he finally looked up and reached for the wet wipes he kept on the glass table next to his chair.

You grabbed some tissues from the dispenser on your bedside table as well, and used them to wipe your hands and between your legs. Tears pricked your eyes, but you didn’t dare let them fall. Tonight, you’d be the strong one for the two of you.

“I just… I hate that we can only see each other like this…” Chris mumbled, carefully and meticulously wiping his cock, torso, and hands before he was tucking himself back into his briefs. “I hate it so much”.

“I know…” You laid down on your bed fully, curling in on yourself. “I hate it, too”.

Chris took a deep breath, leaning his head back for a moment after he carelessly threw the soiled wipes on the table. 

He was still for a few moments, until he finally stood up, pulling his belt out of his slacks’ loops before he discarded it somewhere in the room. He made his way to the bed, and laid down on the opposite side of you.

He was facing you; he was close, but as usual, it wasn’t like you were seeing him. You perceived him; your brain tricked you into thinking you could feel the mattress dipping under his weight, that you could feel the warmth emanating from his body, but those things weren’t happening–not in your reality, at least.

However, it was real. Those things were happening somewhere, just not in this version of this room, not in your universe…

You couldn’t help but appreciate his features. The faint freckles on his face, his eyelashes, his lips, his nose… “I really wasn’t trying to make you jealous earlier, you know?”

Chris chuckled at that.

“I know”, his fingers ghosted over your cheek. He wasn’t touching you, of course, but you could almost feel him doing so. “I just wish I could physically experience those moments with you, not only through our mental connection, you know? …Take you out, dance with you, kiss you, hold you close…”

It’d been over a year already since the first time you started ‘seeing’ him. What was a seemingly failed experiment in Chris’ bedroom turned into this connection of sorts. His room was your room, and yours was his, both coexisting within a shared pocket in space and time but on completely separate sides of reality.

When you first started perceiving his presence, you seriously thought you were going insane, and sometimes you still thought you might be. But you knew deep down in your heart this was real. 

It had to be…

What started as a weird friendship with someone you liked to call a mad scientist bloomed into quite possibly the most heart wrenching long-distance relationship you could’ve ever had. 

For this man to exist somewhere within the folds of reality, but not where you could actually have him, was cruel and just so incredibly unfair…

“You know I don’t usually talk about these things, but…” Chris’ voice was gentle, his hand laid right next to yours on the bed, so close yet so far apart… “I feel like we’re growing closer to understanding the veil, we’ve been making some good progress…”

Chris almost never spoke about his research, at least not about things that concerned the veil, which was the name he and his team had given this absolutely bonkers phenomenon happening in your room that had somehow extended to your minds over the course of a year. He never talked about it because he knew it was a sensitive topic, not only for you, but for him as well. Especially after starting this… relationship with you.

“The first thing I’m gonna do once we do, is find a way to get to you”, Chris’ fingers danced over the back of your hand, just a few millimetres away from it. If you focused enough, it was almost like you could feel the trail of warmth his fingertips left behind… “That’s a promise. I’m gonna find a way”.

You took a deep breath, turning your hand so he could trace shapes on your palm. “That’s a bold promise to make”.

“I know”, he replied simply, almost… confidently. “Call me insane, but I believe we can do it. I’ve got faith in my team, and… and I’ve got faith in us. You and I”.

You seriously wanted to be the thick-skinned one tonight, but his words were worming their way into your heart, slowly eating away at the emotionally strong façade you’d put up. Some nights, you’d argue over comments like these, mostly on nights where hopelessness seemed to loom over your heads. But tonight, you wanted to believe…

“When you get here, would you take me out on a proper date?”

Chris smiled at you, snuggling a bit closer without invading your space on the bed. “I will. I’ll take you out for dinner, then kiss you at your doorstep, and, if I’m lucky and you allow me to, I’ll give you the best orgasm of your life”.

You couldn’t help but laugh, pushing aside any sparks of doubt lighting up in your mind. There was no place for those tonight.

For now, you’d let yourself believe that it was possible, that he’d find a way to make it possible. After all, having him physically with you in your own reality was one of the things you wanted most in this world.

And maybe if you started believing hard enough, it’d finally become true.

tagging:

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General Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙭𝙭𝙭𝙞𝙫. 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨𝙣’𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙞𝙩’𝙨 𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

!! this part contains graphic imagery that may distress some readers, proceed w caution !!

「Contents List」 「Act 1」  「© Dec 2023 by jl-micasea-fics」

Don’t let the porn fool you; showers are the worst places to fuck.

“God, Min—”

Still; it’ll do in a horny pinch.

Propped against the glass door with right leg hitched at his hips, Minho drives a steady, solid pace. The flow of hot water soaks him, rivulets caressing him and dripping iridescently down his svelte form. Having him inside you makes you bone-deep weak; you cling to his shoulders, try not to slip.

“Fuck, baby—” He speaks through wet lips, looks at you through sodden lashes. His eyes are glazed honey. “Want to pump you so full.”

You groan obscenely. He’s so fucking thick.

“You want that? Baby wants to be bred, huh?”

“Min, Jesus—”

He grins, perfect white. Water runs into his mouth, drips from his chin. “She doesn’t want it?”

“She does. She wants it. I want it— Fuck, please—”

Satisfied, his pace doubles. Smack, smack, smack. All speed from the dancer’s hips, his muscles trained by precision. Almost burns to touch him; the water scalds, blood runs fiery, lust singes the air that shimmers incandescently and presses you closer to one another. You wonder what he sees as he fucks you; what he thinks about. Does he feel it? This inexplicable sensation of walking a cliff edge? Does he look over it and welcome the rocks below? Would he slice his palm open and watch with glee as the red inks the ocean and spreads, spreads, spreads until it’s nothing more horrifying than a silent ripple? Maybe it’s just you. Maybe you’re the only one that would happily step off and come during the fall.

There’s something wrong with you, after all.

The rapid glide of his throbbing cock brings you to collapse, your g-spot so much abused you fear having to get out of this shower. Minho kisses you, his wet mouth slipping, and with his lips pressed to your burning cheek he holds out as you tremble and babble until reduced from the violence of orgasm, when he can fuck you full of his own.

It’s a near relief when he withdraws, cleans you down, attends gently to your sticky skin. Everything aches, the soreness between your thighs the most pleasant. Feels good to be used. To take what Minho gives you, what Changbin gives you, because you’re good for it. So good. Blissfully fucking good.

Maybe there’s nothing wrong with you?

Exhausted beyond sense, Minho puts you—and your little black box, so thoroughly well fed—to bed. Draws the blinds to the morning hour, to the rising life of the city, kisses your forehead and mumbles a promise of being there when you wake up.

You distantly hear him leave the apartment.

You dream of a brightly lit stage; of a man with red hair that shows dimples when he smiles. He sings like an angel, moves like one too. His beauty is second to none, his joy at his profession bestowing upon him a radiance that can’t be touched. He waves at the fans, and they adore him. Would give anything for him. They clamour and cheer and swoon; there are none so devoted as they. You stand in an empty corner, far from it all, nursing a darkness that writhes with life of its own. A darkness that is sentient to its emptiness. A monster. You try to keep it in, keep it close, but its hurts so much. It pushes and stretches your skin and cracks your ribs, and you can’t anymore: it escapes with violence and sweeps over the audience in a great tide, extinguishing their brilliant light. The man with red hair weeps as his fans scream and try to run, scrambling for the stage, yet they’re just out of his reach. He begs you to stop, falls to his knees and claws at his skin and pleads with you, “Stop, stop, please! Make it stop!” But you don’t know how. You don’t want this. Never wanted any of it. The darkness rears at the stage, having eaten all light but one. It glares down upon the man, haloing him. With tear-streaked cheeks and still on his knees, he looks at the great tide of black that swells and rises over him. “It’s my fault,” he sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

And your darkness swallows him whole; the man with red hair that showed dimples when he smiled.

There is, most definitely, something wrong with you.

sorry for the delay. health is having its way w me right now. why must brains have thoughts lolol. happy new year beanlings ♡

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ♡ 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙠𝙤-𝙛𝙞 ♡

< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >

↬you accidentally send a nude to another member.

pairing: ot8 x reader

genre: humor (if you find me funny lol)

a/n: helloo, it's been a while and i missed writing these silly lil reactions. i used this prompt for another fandom years ago and while i was looking for something to write i was like YOU KNOW WHAT it'd be so much fun to write skz's reaction to this lol. i hope you guys enjoy and if you do please let me know! (also i want you all to picture han's scream in get lit for his slide bye)

Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙭𝙭𝙫𝙞𝙞𝙞. 𝙛𝙤𝙤𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙝, 𝙛𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙚

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

「Contents List」 「Act 1」  「© Dec 2023 by jl-micasea-fics」

Changbin’s pin leads you downtown, to a storied building by dusk.

It’s stuffed in amongst a street of others just like it, vibrant signs for cram schools and cafés and offices for let splashing colour on the dull concrete. You text Changbin as to your arrival, and several minutes later, he emerges from the main entrance, a snapback pulled low over his eyes. His smile is irreverent; on approach he looks as though to embrace you, yet thinks twice on account of the publicity.

“It’s good to see you,” he says, hands tucked in his pockets. “Come in?”

Your heart races. “Sure.”

He leads the way inside and up several flights of stairs, the view of broad shoulders and slim middle and peachy ass so prime you feel like you should be paying for it. Fuck, he’s so edible.

At the third floor, he takes you through a heavy metal door. With no expectations, the studio setup you walk into a pleasant surprise; it’s small but well presented. Soundproof foam lines the walls, glossy hardwood floors are chic. Sound mixing equipment is arranged around a recording booth, a standing microphone with a pop filter takes centre stage. A leather corner sofa is draped with a black hoodie—Changbin’s, you assume—and the man watches as you take it all in.

“Wow.”

You wonder if 3racha record here. Maybe there’ll be traces of them somewhere—

“This isn’t where we record, just so you know,” Changbin says.

Oh.

He laughs softly. “Nah, we go to the label for that. This place is mine. Like, my personal studio.”

“You own it?”

“It was a rental at first, but when we made it big I took it off the owner’s hands. Pretty cool, right?”

“It’s awesome, Bin.”

Your gazes meet across the small space; a blush colours his cheeks. Your mouth waters with urge to bite them.

“You want to sit?” he asks, gestures to the small sofa.

You nod and do so, the leather cool on your skin. Changbin takes the desk chair and wheels his way over, adequate space maintained, much to your disdain. Silence settles, as does the awkward, and that’s valid, you suppose. You’ve not seen each other since Hoe Records, and that was; well. He came on your back. So—

“You look good.”

You scoff a laugh. You were doing chores before you left the apartment, and did so in a rush. God knows how sweaty and unkempt you appear. “Liar.”

“Hey. I don’t lie. You always look good.”

“Always?”

He grins. “I mean; maybe I'm a little gutted you didn’t turn up in uniform this time.”

Just like that, it all comes back. The little black box creaks open and it’s a sensory tide of his hands on you. His mouth on you. Ghosts of memories that shorten your breath and prick at your skin.

“I’m sorry for going quiet,” he says. “Especially after...”

“You don’t need to apologise.”

“No, it’s not cool. I don’t want you to think I'm like that. I wanted to see you again. Wanted to see you every day, actually. I just... couldn’t.”

You wait for the elaboration. His leg bounces uncharacteristically.

“Things got heated with Chan.” He bites his lip. “I had to let it cool off.”

I know.

“I told him about us.”.

I know.

“He got pretty upset.”

“I’m sorry.”

Changbin shrugs. “Don’t be. I’m not. We did nothing wrong.”

Oh?

“So... Chan really gave you explicit permission to have sex with other people?” you ask.

He frowns. “Of course.”

Not to discredit him, but you want to ask if he’s sure, if Chan truly understood what he agreed to, if anything could have been misconstrued.

“You think I’d have fucked you behind my boyfriends’ back?” he asks incredulously.

“What? No, I just—”

“That’s cheating. You think I cheated?”

“I just don’t understand how Chan could be so upset about something he agreed to. I mean; he would have known it was coming. He would have been prepared. At least in part. I’ve been thinking about it, and the way he’s acting, it’s like… Did he feel ambushed by it all? Did he say yes to you but mean no? I don’t get it.”

Changbin’s gaze falls, his jaw ticks.

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” you add with a sigh.

“It’s you.”

“What?”

He leans forward, elbows on knees. He speaks softly, but his words lance your chest one by one, each drawing blood. Each fucking painful.

“It’s not that he doesn’t want to us to have sex with other people. It’s that he doesn’t want us to have sex with you.”

fst marathon event~ next chapter in 24 hrs. drop a reblog and comment, show your support and i'll keep the content coming x

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ♡ 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙠𝙤-𝙛𝙞 ♡

< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >

Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙭𝙭𝙫. 𝙞 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙞𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

「Contents List」 「Act 1」  「© Dec 2023 by jl-micasea-fics」

A fortnight passes with an absence of 3racha.

It’d be like they never existed if not for the void in your gut. If not for the glittering streaks they've left in your sky like the fiery meteors they are. Were.

Nothing feels quite like it used to; like you hit the peak of what life could ever possibly amount to when you met them, and from there it’s all downhill. A plunge to dismal acceptance. You won’t go kicking and screaming. What would be the point? If anything you suppose you should be awash with gratitude; you experienced something so insane no-one would believe you if you told them. Met your idols. Fucked one of them. Butted heads with another. So blessed you are to have had Chan curse at you. The little black box clutches that one like a prized hog.

And all of that is without even considering the developments with your best friend, roommate and long-term chronic crush. He’s the only thing that makes all this bearable— wrapping around him soothes in ways he surely doesn’t intend, but you’ll cling to him just the same. Helps that his appetite is voracious. Not a spare second goes unfilled with his attention, and you’re rather accustomed to the intricate windings of the ceiling Artex now. Could trace them by heart with eyes closed. Indeed; intimacy is the easy part. Not so easy is accepting that he wants you. That it wasn’t a one-off. Wasn’t an accident. You, with all your rotten secrets and heinous inclinations. You, so adept at faking being normal. Lest you ever forget it’s not you that he likes, the little black box ever dutiful reminds you. He likes who you pretend to be, darling. Who you’ve been pretending to be since you met. Who you wish you were— a girl that can see beautiful men together without imagining how their dicks fit inside one another, how their lips lock, how their bodies move, how their lustful groans harmonise. So shameful a habit, but one forged from the toughest steel. A joke to even imagine breaking it.

It’s in the quiet moments that you think of the trio, when little else occupies. Still contracted as their choreographer, Minho dodges your questions when you ask about them, and it’s unlike him to be so cagey. You text Changbin every other day, but his responses are horridly polite. Like you’re not the girl he fucked in his parents’ record store two weeks prior. Like you’re not the girl he made come on his tongue or the girl he called beautiful or the girl whose greedy cunt he praised for being just that. Now you’re the girl on the other end of the phone that gets a yellow thumbs-up emoji, and that’s if she’s lucky.

So, yes. Something’s wrong; all of it’s wrong. You don’t know how to fix it. If you even should. They’re meteors, after all. Rare and dangerous; not to be chased for fear of cataclysmic consequence. You should just move on. Be grateful and move on.

Finishing an early shift at the coffee shop leaves you much of the day to play with. In relative high spirits following the successful avoidance of Supervisor Jin, now seems as good a time as any to bring on the fiery apocalypse. What have you to lose?

The sun is warm on your back as you walk. A dial tone rings steadily in your ear.

“Yo, what’s up?”

“Hi, Bin.”

There’s rustling from the other end, the sound of a door closing.

“Hi,” he whispers.

A cool reception. Okay.

“Are you— Is everything alright?”

“Fine, why?”

“We haven’t talked in two weeks.”

“What?” He laughs. Nervous. Off-brand. “We text.”

“Really?”

“Yeah?”

“You call that texting? One word responses and emojis?”

“I mean; yeah. What do you call it?”

“Alright. Forget it, I shouldn’t have called.”

And then he says your name. “Wait. Just— I’m sorry. I can’t really talk right now. I’m at the studio. Can I call you when we’re done?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

“Cool. Alright. Later, then?” And at the last second: “Miss you.”

Something’s wrong.

All of it’s wrong.

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ♡ 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙠𝙤-𝙛𝙞 ♡

< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >

Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙭𝙭𝙞𝙫. 𝙣𝙤𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙤

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

「Contents List」 「Act 1」  「© Dec 2023 by jl-micasea-fics」

“I want to hear it,” Minho urges.

Your heart is so loud your vision trembles. You can hardly breathe. This can’t be real. He can’t be asking for the shameful, sordid details of such a private thing. It’s all locked in the little black box and to unlock it is to risk so much, but he asked, and so—

“He, um...” You glance at him; he listens intently. “He went down on me.”

Minho’s eyes drift down your body. “He made you come? On his tongue?”

A wanton shudder claims you; you nod softly. He licks his lips.

“Did he tell you how good you taste?”

“God, Min—”

“Did he?”

“He told me I... was pretty. Beautiful.”

Minho smiles. Like you’re discussing the weather. “What else?” His hand lingers at your upper thigh, the curve of his little finger settled shy of your groin. The tease has you throbbing; as does the topic of conversation, as does the man, as does everything in near vicinity with how tightly you’re wound.

“I— After he made me—” You try to slow your breathing. “He asked if I could stand.”

Minho quirks a brow.

“Then he... bent me over the counter.”

He draws his plush bottom lip between his teeth, indenting the flesh. “That how he fucked you?”

“Mhm.”

“Over the counter like an animal?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.”

The hand at your thigh glides up and closes over your core, cupping gently. He crowds you with a lean, catches your gasp with a kiss, so passionate an invasion it might tear the skin. When he breaks, he speaks against your lips: “Did he blow your back out the way you wanted, baby?”

The heel of his palm grinds down and against you. You groan into a breathless, “Y— Yeah.”

“Tell me how good his dick felt.” He nips at your jaw. “Tell me how big he was.”

“God, I— He felt so— He was so big, Min. I never wanted it to stop.”

Minho keens, curses as he loses what remains of composure. He rises and drags you with him, makes hasty work stripping you, lips never too far removed. Whispers of wanting fan the flames as Minho gets naked, and when returned to the sofa you’re urged to straddle his lap, the promise of relief so close with him hard beneath you.

He runs his hands down your body, smothers your navel and chest with left-handed attention as the right drops to your wetness. “He’s still all over you.” He presses his nose to the hollow of your throat. “Can smell him.”

Fuck. He likes it. The suggestion of another man on your skin. He throbs to it.

“Can you take me as well as you took him, darling?”

“I can. Want you, Min—”

He draws a lazy smirk. “You have me,” he promises, and the slow intake of his girth sets upon you, your body drawn tight to accept him. When flush in the cradle of his lap, accustomed to the sensation of a God so snug inside you, he kisses you tenderly, a pant on his lips.

“Oh, fuck. You’re so—”

You kiss him with heat; words just won’t fucking cut it. You're both sensible to it anyway; the trust, the desire and wanting. This is the first time, and yet you’re so attuned you could be decade-long lovers. A slow rhythm is set in your gliding over him, every inch he offers felt so abundantly he trembles in restraint. He keeps you close, your hips and groin grinding you ever closer to crisis. Smothers your skin in open-mouthed affection, kisses your breasts and laves tongue over nipple when you arch to allow him indulgence. Soft hands canvas your spine and drop to the swell of your ass, appreciative squeezes felt as he throbs inside you.

It’s a different sort of sex to that experienced with Changbin; whereas the prior was swollen with carnal need to satisfy animalistic urges, this affair is altogether softer. Minho adores and with dark eyes wide open maps to memory the way your body moves on him, with ears pricked plays back the way his name sounds falling from your abused lips.

“Baby—”

You settle low, ride him deep, shudder with the delicious stimulation. Clutch his heated cheeks with both hands and kiss him.

“Can I...” His thought is broken by a moan. “Fuck— Can I come inside you?”

“You want to?”

He nods, eyes glassy. “Want to be the only one who does.” He takes your hands from his cheeks, holds them to his chest. “Did Changbin...?”

“No. No, he didn’t.”

He nods, and with control passed off and allowing him to set a pace of fucking such that your broken groans are mere seconds apart, he chases what he seeks. Tensed and muscled with honey skin iridescent, the sofa creaks with his rhythm, the grip on your hips sure to bruise. Gaze of delirium flicks between your face and where he watches his length disappear with a slickness of ease that worsens when you come; Minho snaps firm and holds, pants through your tightening with burnt complexion, runnels of sweat gathering in the dips of his throat and chest. In collapsing over him Minho attaches to your skin, thrusts once, twice, a third and fourth time before the fifth yields brutality.

When he comes, he does so with fervent strength. You feel every second of it, his request made good upon.

Some minutes pass before harmony restores, and though he retracts gently, your physical state is far from capable; you’re lifted from the sofa to his room, where he deposits you on the bed with promise of returning in a moment. The distance of running water is a comfort soon realised when he bathes with you.

In the small hours of the morning when sleep is broken by the shriek of a passing ambulance, Minho whispers through the dark: “I’m yours.”

Was always yours.

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ♡ 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙠𝙤-𝙛𝙞 ♡

< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >