REPLAY : Limbo

REPLAY : Limbo

REPLAY Masterlist | w/c: 3.3k | Lee Know x Reader

warnings: light angst, swearing, bullying/name calling between friends (this is meant as like...friendly roasting/teasing, no malicious intent), breakup mention, food

synopsis: Lee Minho was great at a lot of things; taking care of you being near the top of his list. As any best friend should upon receiving a distraught phone call, he sets off on a mission to comfort you as best as he can. But, as any best friend knows they should not, he's managed to find himself absolutely enamored by you. With you effectively comforted, the only question he has now is whether or not he should keep it to himself.

“I know it’ll change with just one word, the word I cannot say.”

Minho rushed through the aisles of the local grocery store - his mind on one thing and one thing alone; where the fuck was your favorite ice cream?

When he’d seen your contact name pop up on his screen, he’d answered almost too quickly - eager to hear from you after you’d been out all day with your boyfriend. Naturally, when he heard you sobbing instead of gushing about the date on the other end of the line, he’d shifted immediately into Best Friend Mode.

Stay put, give me a half an hour.

His instructions were simple, earning a broken affirmation from you before the call disconnected, marking the start of his countdown.

He’d already grabbed a small, plush cat and a copy of your favorite film - a disgustingly sappy romcom that he would never be caught dead choosing of his own volition.

But this was you Minho was doing this for. You needed this. You needed him.

He cursed under his breath as he scanned the freezer section, wondering when exactly they’d decided twenty flavors of a single brand was a good idea. Normally, it took more than excessive ice cream varieties to get under Minho’s skin, but he’d already spent five minutes looking for the sickeningly sweet flavor he’d always tease you about loving so much.

The urge to actually shout in excitement as he spotted a container of the gooey, chocolatey treat was strong. He snatched it up quickly, tossing it in his basket before speeding over to the drink aisle.

Water was next on Minho’s list. If the garbled state of your voice was any indicator, you’d likely cried out enough of your body’s water content to be on the verge of dehydration. He tutted under his breath to himself, voicing his concern outwardly despite not yet being there with you. He put a couple of bottles of water alongside the ice cream before heading to the checkout.

Minho nearly sprinted to his car once he’d paid for the items, not bothering to grab his change in his hurry to make it to you. Typically, he tried to keep a level head - not letting his emotions show one way or the other. This was different, though.

You were different.

His thoughts were on you as he got into his car, tossing his haul into the passenger seat before turning the key in the ignition.

This was not Minho’s first time assisting you through heartbreak. He’d tell you the same thing, each and every time.

“They didn’t deserve you, anyway.”

And he meant it, each and every time. You were…astounding to Minho. Soft despite the hardships you’d faced, but strong enough to pull through and stand up for yourself. Hardheaded. Strong willed. Although he’d frequently feign annoyance, Minho had always found your stubbornness extremely endearing.

Minho had always been completely honest with you. Your outfit isn’t flattering? He’d say something. You had food in your teeth? He’d point it out. He disliked your partner? You’d know about it.

The only thing he’d never been able to tell you was that he loved you.

Not that he’d never said those words to you before, having been your best friend for several years now - but this was different. 

This wasn’t an offhanded, platonic, “Yeah, yeah, I love you, too,” as he’d normally say, rolling his eyes at your affectionate statement.

This was an, “I want to kiss you until I can’t breathe, hold you every night and never let go,” type of love. 

This was an, “It hurts me every time you give one of these jerks a chance, because I know I can love you better,” type of love.

This was a, “Despite my feelings for you, I am buying you all of your favorite things and coming over to comfort you after someone - who didn’t deserve you in the first place - fucked up,” type of love.

Minho sighed to himself as he spotted your apartment complex, pulling into park next to your car. He prepared himself to see your blotchy, reddened face and not blur the line between “concerned friend” and “madly in love.”

He grabbed the grocery bag before jogging up the steps, two at a time, and arriving outside of your door. 

Minho felt his concern growing as the door remained closed. He raised his hand to knock again, only to stop as he heard a faint sniffle followed by shuffling footsteps on the other side. 

When you opened the door, his heart dropped into his stomach.

Your eyes were swollen and red, glistening as though you’d been crying up until the moment you revealed yourself to him. You had your favorite blanket - a gift from Minho himself - wrapped snugly around your head and shoulders as if it were a hood. Your cheeks were flushed, and your nose was a startling shade of crimson.

“You look like shit,” Minho said bluntly, stepping inside and slipping the shoes off of his feet.

“Gee, thanks,” you replied dryly, sarcasm only broken by the slightest twitch of a smirk on your lips.

Minho handed you the bag wordlessly, making a quick detour into the kitchen to grab you a spoon before placing a gentle hand in the middle of your back and leading you to the couch.

He sat down, patting the spot next to him to urge you to do the same. You followed suit, finally looking into the plastic bag you’d been handed. 

“Water?” You asked him, your voice just sad enough to sound more pathetic, less unamused.

“As if you’d remember to hydrate in the midst of your crisis,” he rebutted immediately, raising a brow, “Drink.”

You unscrewed the cap, taking a small sip of the still-cold liquid. You hadn’t realized just how parched you’d become in the midst of your breakdown, immediately raising the bottle back to your lips for a more prolonged drink.

Minho nodded as you drank, content with the lack of resistance when it came to something as important as your health. After finishing a quarter of the bottle, setting it down on the coffee table, you peered into the bag once more.

You slowly pulled out the brown and white plush from the bag, smiling softly despite the heavy sadness in your heart.

“Looked like Dori,” he explained before you could ask, “Your apartment doesn’t allow pets, or I would’ve just brought her along.”

You nodded, setting it carefully in your lap. You’d always loved playing with Dori, the most playful of Minho’s children, and - despite being unable to play with the plush as you would’ve the real thing - you still valued the sentiment.

There was a ghost of a smile on your lips as you grabbed the next thing out of the bag, recognizing it by its shape and cold exterior before it had even entered your field of view.

“Brownie batter?” you asked quietly, sniffling once more.

“That better be the right one,” he warned playfully, “You need a new favorite brand, twenty flavors to search through is too many.”

That ghost of a smile grew increasingly closer to becoming genuine as you met his eyes, “I’m not choosing a new brand just because you’re lazy,” you tried to tease back, though it sounded a bit more like a whiny complaint in your current state. Minho chuckled warmly at your reply, regardless of how stuffy and downtrodden you sounded, “Besides, this flavor is the best.”

“Sure,” he quipped, rolling his eyes despite the overwhelming relief he felt to have you acting like yourself already. Seeing a smile on your face - regardless of how small - after having nearly panicked upon hearing you on the verge of hyperventilating on the phone soothed his heart. 

He watched you pull the final gift from his bag of heartbreak remedies, already steeling himself for what was bound to be a dramatic reaction.

“You didn’t buy this, I refuse to believe that,” you said, stone-faced as you held the movie in your hands, “You wouldn’t be caught dead purchasing this in public.”

“Yet here I am, delivering it to you personally,” Minho easily countered. He’d always been so quick with the counterarguments - something you’d once been bothered by, but now found hopelessly entertaining.

“Are you sure I’m the one who needs taken care of?” You raised a brow as you spoke, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, “I’m allowed to give a shit about you, yeah?”

You laughed softly as Minho offered you the spoon he’d grabbed from the kitchen, “Yeah, I guess I’ll allow it.”

“Good,” he deadpanned, turning his body until he was facing you directly, “Now, tell me what happened.” Your face fell, the smile you’d finally found dropping immediately at the reminder of your pain. This didn’t go unnoticed by Minho, however, as he attempted to bribe you, “You can eat your ice cream and I’ll watch this horrible movie with you afterwards.”

“It’s not horrible, you’re just a cynic,” you mumbled, avoiding both eye contact and giving him a direct answer.

“And you’re hoping I debate this with you to give you an excuse not to talk.”

Damn him for knowing you so well.

You sighed, shaking your head. You couldn’t tell him he was wrong - because that was exactly what you’d hoped for. A shaky inhale prefaced your next words, your throat tightening as you made your best attempt to explain without crying again.

You’d been seeing Jay for a few months now, and you’d truly thought things were going well. Naturally, you were blindsided by his sudden admittance of falling for someone else. Admittedly, you did prefer being told to your face to actually be cheated on - but, damn, it still hurt. 

Minho listened intently as you recounted the conversation, not interrupting even once - save for a hum here and there to show you he was still paying attention. When you finished explaining the reason for your blubbering phone call, Minho sighed softly.

“He didn’t deserve you, anyways,” just as you’d predicted, he’d resorted to his faithful response any time a man had played with your heart.

“How did I know you were gonna say that?” you whispered, a breathy laugh on the tip of your tongue.

“Because you know that it's the truth,” he said with a small smirk, reaching out to ruffle your hair. 

You pulled away, lips pursed into a frown, “Do you really think I’d keep getting into these situations if I knew they’d turn out this way?” You patted down your now-tousled hair as Minho shook his head.

“I suppose you’re right,” he mused, the mischievous glimmer not once leaving his eyes, “Be kinda dumb if you did it on purpose.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, crossing your arms.

Minho simply laughed brightly, taking the movie from where you’d set it next to you as he approached the blu-ray player. 

“You’re really gonna watch it with me?” you asked, genuine surprise in your voice as you opened the pint of ice cream.

“Mhm,” Minho replied, as if it would’ve been obvious. 

“You hate it, though,” you said softly, worried that he was putting himself into a situation he wouldn’t enjoy just for your benefit, “You said it was ‘so mushy you could throw up’ when I tried to show it to you before.”

“You are correct,” Minho said plainly, opening the case to put the disc into the player, “I do hate it.”

He made his way back to the couch, sitting next to you as he grabbed the remote from the table.

“Then why are you watching it, willingly, on purpose?” You questioned, suspicion evident in the way your voice slowed with each descriptor.

“Because I love you, and you love this gooey shit.”

His eyes were focused on the screen as he navigated the menu, for which you were grateful considering the way heat had prickled up your cheeks. It wasn’t as though Minho had never told you he loved you before, but you were typically the instigator in those rare moments of affection.

Of course, you couldn’t show him that his words affected you this way - you’d never live it down.

So you settled for the next best thing - deflection via humor.

“Now you’re so mushy I could throw up,” you nudged his side with your blanket-wrapped shoulder as you teased him, earning a scoff as he hit play.

“This is why I don’t do nice things,” he muttered as though he were annoyed - though the warm smile on his face showed you that he truly wasn’t all that bothered.

“Whatever, you love me,” you said back, focusing your attention towards the tv as the movie began.

“That’s what I said, yes,” Minho nearly whispered, watching you rather than the screen as the opening sequence immediately enraptured you. 

You didn’t see the way his gaze softened as he reaffirmed that he did, in fact, love you. Nor did you pick up on how serious he’d been when he’d said it in the first place. You’d figured he was just being nicer than usual because you were sad, nothing more, and had settled in to watch the movie with the pint of ice cream in your lap.

Minho was kicking himself internally. Why couldn’t he have just…clarified that he meant what he’d said. Why hadn’t he pushed a little farther, finally telling you that he loved you beyond the level which was acceptable between friends? 

He hadn’t expected you to notice his shift in demeanor, let alone point it out. Yet, here you were, staring at his furrowed brow after turning to catch his reaction to a particularly cheesy scene.

“You okay, Minho? You didn’t even gag at that,” your brow was raised as you put another bite of ice cream into your mouth. 

“Hm?” He asked before your words had fully registered, “Yeah, I’m alright,” he said with his best attempt at a reassuring smile.

The benefit to how brutally honest Minho was, was how painfully obvious it was when he was lying.

“Minho…” you urged, turning to face him, “Don’t lie to me, you’re terrible at it.”

He chuckled, glancing over to you as he shook his head, “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Too late.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I came here because I was worried about you, not for you to worry about me.”

Your lips tightened into a thin line as you stared him down, not budging in your desire to know what he was thinking, “Giving a shit about each other goes both ways,” you reminded him, casually using the terminology he had earlier.

Minho smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time around. He tilted his head as he met your expectant gaze, “Well, well, using my own words against me?” he inquired, raising a brow.

Normally, you’d humor him with a laugh - or at least crack a smile - but Minho appearing to be anything other than okay was a rare enough sight that it took every ounce of your attention - whether you wanted it to or not.

“You aren’t letting this go, are you?” Minho asked after feeling your eyes bore into him for several seconds. His tone had shifted from his typical lighthearted banter to something more vulnerable - something soft, and small.

“No, I’m not,” you confirmed, scooting a bit closer to him in order to place your hand on top of his, “You know you can tell me anything, Min.”

The look of genuine worry in your eyes was enough to send Minho’s heart into a frenzied pace, forcing him to swallow a sudden lump in his throat. 

“I love you,” he said softly, one corner of his lips curling up into a halfhearted smile.

You returned it in kind, squeezing his hand gently, “I love you, too, Minho. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

He laughed humorlessly, looking up to the ceiling before allowing his eyes to meet yours once again, “I just did.”

“What?” You were confused for a few seconds, what he’d meant going right over your head at first.

Until it didn’t.

It hit you like a ton of bricks that Lee Minho, your best friend in the entire world - the man who’d helped you pick up the broken pieces of your heart more times than you could count - just said he loved you.

And meant it.

You felt your eyes turn into saucers as you studied his face, looking for any hint of humor - any clue that he was just joking - as your lips slowly parted.

“You…you mean as more than just a friend, right?” you whispered, a sudden heaviness in your chest as you waited for his answer. Minho had quite the proclivity for pranking you, but something told you that this was definitely not one of those times.

“I thought that was obvious, yeah,” he answered, his snark coming through even in a moment where he was baring his soul. You didn’t blame him, though. You knew him well enough to know that it was only because of how nervous he must be feeling, revealing something so potentially catastrophic.

“This is your one chance to tell me if you’re fucking with me,” you warned, swallowing hard as you stared into his dark eyes - searching for any hint of doubt in their depths.

“I’m not,” he said softly, holding your intense stare with one of his own as he turned his hand over, lacing his slender fingers between yours.

“I swear to God, Minho, if this is some sort of sick joke I’m gonna lose my –” “Goddamnit, it’s not a joke!” he cut you off, his brows furrowing together as he took a deep breath to get control of himself, “I’m…I’m serious.”

“Oh my God…” you whispered, shock still written all over your face as you felt him squeeze your hand tighter, “You’re…you’re really not kidding, are you?”

“I’m really not kidding.”

“You love me?” your words came out slowly, tentative as you continued to search his face.

“Yes,” he answered, smiling softly - relief evident on his face the longer you went without freaking out on him.

“Like…love me, love me?” you pressed, blinking rapidly.

He scoffed, eyes lighting up with a strange mixture of affection and annoyance, “Oh my God, yes! I love you love you, whatever the fuck that means.”

“Minho?” you asked, looking down at your hand joined with his, grazing your thumb across his knuckles gently.

“Yes?”

“Kiss me?”

Minho hadn’t realized how much he’d craved to hear those words escape your lips until they did - sounding like the sweetest song he’d ever heard in his entire life. His free hand came up to cup your cheek delicately, a smirk on his lips as he - in typical Minho fashion - had to get the last word, “I thought you’d never ask.”

You didn’t even have time to so much as roll your eyes before his deceptively soft lips were capturing yours. Your head instantly felt light, as though you were floating, your own empty hand reaching up to rest against his chest. You could feel the hammering of his heart beneath your palm, though his mouth moved with a calm certainty against yours. 

When he finally pulled back, cheeks reddened and lips slightly swollen, he gave you a crooked smile - his eyes sparkling with the familiar mischief you’d come to adore.

You’d come to love.

“What?” you asked him, suddenly self-conscious as you laughed breathlessly.

“I think you were right,” he teased, his lips parting further to reveal a brilliant grin.

“About what?” your confusion must’ve been evident, bringing a light chuckle forth from his lips as they gently brushed yours once more.

“About that ice cream being the best,” he started, smirking as he licked the taste of it from his lips. He pulled back to look you in the eyes, clearly amused.

"Is that so?" You asked, an uncharacteristically flustered giggle bursting forth from your lips.

His smirk evolved into a full, bright, beaming smile before he said in a surprisingly serious voice, “Yeah, I think it’s my favorite now, too.”

permanent taglist: @svintsandghosts

i was not expecting a voice clip at all, but holy shit. man was in for an amazing ride lmao. but also, i feel like as much as i kinda relate with chris in this one(for things i will keep private) i genuinely hope with future chapters he finds his place to stand up to his wife more. his wife seems extremely cunty and not in the affectionate way.

DON'T LET ME LOVE YOU | Chapter 1

«SERIES MASTERLIST»

«We shouldn’t. We really shouldn’t.»

SEDUCTION 📜9.9k | Aprrox. 41-min. read 🚨Refer to series masterlist for general themes & warnings of this story: Referenced past traumatic experiences (broken home, domestic abuse, implied murder, runaway situation), various criminal acts, depictions of a dysfunctional marriage, heavy sexual frustration, sexting, mention of sex toys/teledildonics ("Connected" is a fictional app where partners control each other's sex toys), (mutual) masturbation, handjob, blowjob, risk of getting caught. 💭Reblogs & comments are always appreciated and please keep in mind they are the ultimate motivation fuel. 🍮Like my content? Consider supporting my work with a pudding!

This chapter features NSFW audio purely for the sake of an immersive story experience. Should you choose to listen to it, please proceed at your own risk.

Penguins are monogamous creatures.

The male penguin brings the best, smoothest pebble he can find and offers it to the female. If the female accepts it, they mate for life. Keep one mate away from the other and they will get sick. They will even stop grooming themselves because what’s the fucking point when their literal other half is not around to appreciate them?

The logistics are exactly the same for humans. You offer a shiny stone to your partner with the promise of mating for life. If they accept it, that should be your happily ever after because that’s how every fairy tale ends. Little do those scam stories tell you that shit goes down after you say “I do”.

What is marriage at the end of the day anyway? It’s an insurance policy you never hope to use. It’s a gamble where you go all in that the other person won’t break your heart.

Penguins don’t coerce their partners into mating. It’s an instinctive thing for them. They are unaware of the concept of blackmail.

The only thing some humans have in common with penguins is the tuxedos they wear on their wedding day. Some humans, mind you. They are selfish. They are mean. They are lying, scheming, ugly creatures, and they will do anything to get what they want. Good luck trying to stand in their way and not getting razed to the ground.

Christopher Bang was also married. Beautiful couple, beautiful house, living large on the seven figures he made annually. Pure envy fuel.

If he said out loud that he was thinking about cheating on his wife every second of every day, he would either get shunned to the final circle of hell or get publicly lynched Game of Thrones style because what the literal fuck could someone possibly want more from life? You wanna get your dick wet outside of the holy institution of marriage? Get a fucking divorce!

If only people shut the fuck up for once and provided their unsolicited opinions after knowing the truth.

Because it was nothing but ugly.

Thistles had such a bad rep.

Not only were they categorized as invasive plants, but they were also viciously thorny. Nobody ever cared about how beautiful the bright violet flower was, but for some reason, roses didn’t get the same treatment.

That was exactly why you adored the thistles growing in the backyard of your childhood home. They provided a safe haven for you like a pillow fort made of spikes every time you ran from the yelling and screams of pain echoing in some room of the house. Nobody ever cared to look for you among the vicious thorns.

Nobody ever cared for you.

It was six weeks before your seventeenth birthday that your mother couldn’t endure it anymore. It was six days after her funeral that you left everything behind and disappeared into the night with a piece of thistle stuffed in your pocket. The prospect of getting stranded on the side of some highway was much better than going through the system now that your excuse of a father was behind bars.

Nobody ever cared for you, and no one was going to. You would rather die than rely on someone other than your own shoulders. 

You did try the honest ways at first; just trying to make a humble but decent living to get by, abiding by the rules, and being conscientious. The more you tried to do the right thing, the more people thought you were this poor little naive thing that had nobody, ripe to be taken advantage of.

You would rather die than let someone use you in any capacity.

Yes, all was fair in love and war, but nobody ever talked about how it was also the case in survival. It started as a simple coping mechanism to keep people at bay, just a thin sheet of metal between you and the rest of the world. With all the trials life threw at you, with all the fuckers you had to deal with, it morphed into heavy body armor made of spikes that would put the most reputable knights to shame.

Those who touch it, prick themselves.

Nobody was born a badass. You had to become one.

You were spending your life completely unaware of the concept of taking roots, going wherever the wind took you, frequently changing identities, dancing and scamming for a living, which eventually led you to become a part of The Club, the only woman-led gang that put themselves on the map with branches all over the country. They were the closest thing you had to a family.

You didn’t even know what family was supposed to be like prior to meeting them.

You weren’t ashamed of anything you had done—on the contrary, you were proud of staying afloat on your own and living your life on your own terms. If it came to that, you would do it all over again. 

Nevertheless, human beings had limits, and it was getting more apparent to you as you were getting older.

You agreed to marry some hedge fund guy who was deliriously in love with you for his money. He had promised to take care of you. You didn’t have to do any of this anymore and just enjoy the good things in life like the princess he took you for.

Rule #1: If it sounds too good to be true, it most likely is.

You were so exhausted from being on constant survival mode that you had forgotten all about it.

If taking care of you meant you were supposed to be this window exhibit for him to admire any time he wanted, keeping you away from all human contact, and experiencing acute rage when a male mosquito was passing by then fuck all of this very disrespectfully.

You had grown up adoring thistles. Obviously, you weren’t just going to walk away without a bang. You sought the assistance of The Club’s lawyer then. An absolute expert in shady shit. Lee Minho.

Your last ‘number’ featuring Minho involved framing your dear dear husband for embezzlement to get rid of him, which granted you an automatic divorce and enough money to start a new life. Away from all of this shit. From all the lying and scheming and running away. Just enjoying the good things in life by your fucking self.

And at long last, you saw the sign at the borders of the town.

Welcome to Sunderland!

You didn’t know it back then, but this big-ass cursive sign should have come with a tagline attached to it.

...where suburban dreams are made and all people do is live fake-ass lives.

“Thanks! I’ll take it from here.”

You saw the moving people off, and stood right in the middle of your spacious living room, just looking around your new ‘home’. You thought the warm and fuzzy feeling that you heard about so much would start creeping in already, but… You had no clue what warm and fuzzy was. 

While you were opening a bunch of boxes in search of coziness, your doorbell rang, and on the other side stood someone that looked like they belonged to the cast of Bling Empire.

“Hi, welcome to the neighborhood! My name is Casey.”

A woman in a white sundress with floral patterns. Slightly taller than you, glowing skin, shampoo commercial-looking-ass coiffed long hair, and Instagram model measurements that you knew were obtained after several operations. You ran her through the bullshit filter you had acquired courtesy of meeting way too many people in your lifetime, and your initial results? 

Fake bitch with the potential to be even more annoying.

“Y/N. Pleasure to meet you,” you smiled at her as she handed you what looked like homemade banana bread.

“I live right over there,” she pointed at the house across yours, “Is your husband around? I’d love to welcome him as well!”

Good god, why is she talking in a pitch that disturbs cats?

“Oh, I’m not married,” you kept your composure at the thinly veiled insinuation.

“Aww, it’s okay,” she pouted and placed her hand on your shoulder, “You never know when your soulmate will come knocking on the door. He’s right around the corner, I can feel it!”

There ain’t no way this woman wasn’t hopped up on Adderall or some shit. Who the fuck squeezed eighty five different prejudices about someone in a span of thirty seconds?

What a fucking cunt.

“If you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to come knock on our door. My husband and I will be more than happy to help you,” her eyes disappeared behind her smile, “I’ll let you get back to unpacking. Welcome again!”

You thanked Casey and closed the door behind you, your ears still ringing from the extraordinarily high decibel she spoke in.

Your doorbell didn’t stop ringing that entire day, and different couples composed of good-looking people kept appearing at your doorstep as if they were auditioning for a real estate commercial, but it didn’t feel like a welcome parade at all. It was more like somebody told someone that there was this denim-short-wearing single person moving into the neighborhood, and the word somehow traveled at lightspeed. From the way those pretty ladies were intensely judging you while smiling at your face, it was so obvious they were just there to declare their assets and show you what you should not touch at all costs. Meanwhile, the aforementioned assets looked at you once and then turned around to look at you again, enraging their partners beyond control on their way back home.

You most certainly did not belong with these modern-day Stepford wives, and needless to say, it was gonna be so much fun to piss them off.

Since you kept being interrupted, you said fuck it to unpacking. In between the doorstep speed dating with your new neighbors, you hung out on your balcony instead, smiling and waving at the passersby. With a glass of wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other, you looked like you were badly photoshopped into that backdrop—all that was missing was a scarlet A stitched to your chest. 

When the goddamn doorbell rang again for the jillionth time that day, you were pretty buzzed and annoyed out of your mind thanks to the unsolicited auditions. Did no one give a shit whether you were available or not?

Fine, we get it, y’all have a commemorative organic cock in your house and I have my fucking dildos. What do you WANT from me?!

“Hi, yes, I’m new here,” you clenched your teeth with a forced smile and snatched the plate from the visitor’s hand, “and I have negative interest in your husband. Thank you for the cookies.” 

“Wow, you’re a bit of a bitch, aren’t you?”

It was… surprising to say the least. You were so conditioned to the saccharine cookie commercial niceness of the Stepford wives that the bluntness hit you like a cool refreshing breeze. Your attitude towards this woman immediately changed because she reminded you so much of your friends from The Club.

“I like you, badass lady,” you extended your hand to her, “I’m Y/N. You daydrink?”

“Nathalie,” she accepted your olive branch with squinted eyes, “Whoever says no to sauvignon blanc in the afternoon cannot be trusted.”

“And now we have to be best friends. Please come in.”

That afternoon, you made your first friend and bonded with her over your mutual annoyance with these fake as hell people. For a second there, you thought you were maybe just being paranoid, but when Nathalie confirmed your observations, you were unequivocally convinced that these people were straight up judgmental assholes.

With the wine-induced comfort she found with you, Nathalie told you all about being as shunned as you the day she moved here because she was ‘new money’—after an extremely lucky weekend in Vegas, she and her husband Jisung had decided to move here in hopes of living a happy life. The Stepford wives were seemingly very cordial with her, but their attitude was nowhere north of ‘you can’t sit with us’. It was like they were doing everything in their power to remind her that she did not belong with them. 

You, on the other hand, immediately liked this woman because honestly, she was the only real one among them. You were pretty sure her husband was as likable as her.

“Okay, I was mad when you first came, but seriously thank you for the cookies. Come by anytime you want, okay? I live alone.”

You exchanged phone numbers with Nathalie and saw her off. As you were opening a new bottle of wine on your balcony, thinking it was going to take a lot of self-brainwashing to get used to this town and its Trumanesque people, you noticed some movement in your peripheral vision.

The garage door to Casey’s house was open, and there was a man inside, literally the only person who did not drop by your place the entire day. He was naked from the waist up and he was punching the sandbag in front of him so hard that you wondered whether he had a personal vendetta against it.

You didn’t make much of it at first. Who the fuck were you to judge when you had that eye candy for a street view anyway?

The next evening you watched him shoot hoops very aggressively for almost two hours all by himself. The day after he did maybe sixty laps in his pool. It was quite obvious he was an active guy, but he seemed to be doing that excessively as if he was trying to compensate for anger management issues or something. He always seemed to be quite irritated, never once smiling.

Besides the fact that he was the only person inducing something akin to butterflies in your stomach even from that afar, there was nothing to worry about.

That Friday, you invited Nathalie for brunch, which was a complete excuse for socially acceptable daydrinking. After you downed three glasses of Bellini each, the topic of conversation shifted to a spicier realm, which happened to be among the things you were a bit too knowledgeable about.

According to what she told you, Nathalie and Jisung both seemed a bit clueless when it came to exploring pleasure. She quite clearly wanted more, and her husband was eager to please, but they were stuck in the vanilla rut of most marriages. 

“Well, have you tried openly communicating with him about this?” you asked while adding ice to her flute.

“I don’t know how. Don’t get me wrong, I love Jisung, but…” she trailed off and heaved a deep sigh, somewhat afraid you were going to judge her, “Sometimes a girl just wants her man to… hit that, you know what I mean?”

“Preach, good woman,” you raised your glass for a toast, “Want me to teach you a couple of tricks?”

“Like what?”

“Y’all have a sex shop around here?”

“A what?”

You looked at Nathalie with wide eyes as if she had told you the earth was flat.

“You’re kidding me,” you raised your voice but immediately backed down and grabbed your phone, “No judgment! The internet will save us all. So what are some things you are into?”

As you were going through some of your favorite products on your phone, you heard the loud sound of an engine, and a car pulled up in Casey’s driveway. You watched the hot workout guy get off the car and head straight into the garage instead of inside the house.

“Hey, Nat, who’s this?”

“Girl, don’t even!” Nathalie immediately protested, “His wife would tear you to shreds.”

“What did I do?!”

“You breathed. You’re the only single in this entire neighborhood and a hot piece of ass. Your chances of survival are very slim.”

Shortly after, he emerged by his pool in his red swimming shorts and immediately jumped into the water to do laps. Your lips parted at the sight, and you spoke without even thinking.

“God, he gives me a massive lady boner.”

“BITCH!”

“What? I can’t control who’s turning me on, can I?” you stretched your hands to the side, “Seriously, who is it?”

Nathalie let out a defeated sigh, “That’s Chris. Or as Casey keeps correcting people, Dr. Bang.”

Dr. Bang me all night long, indeed.

“Casey… Casey… Cas—  He’s married to Malibu Barbie?!”

Nathalie looked at you with raised brows and bust out a loud cackle, “That’s the most accurate description of her if I ever heard one.”

“So he’s a doctor,” you nudged her for more information.

“Yeah, he has his own practice,” she continued, “He’s been to second base with all the ladies of Sunderland at one point.”

“You too?”

“Of course.”

“Damn, the dude’s a player, huh?” you turned to his direction again.

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous! He’s a cosmetic surgeon,” Nathalie immediately corrected you, “There’s not a pair of tits in this town that hasn’t seen his magnificent treatment.”

“Oh…” your eyes inadvertently shifted to her chest, “I mean your tits are indeed awesome.”

“I know right?” she grabbed her breasts and mischievously smiled, “Granted, most people use breast implants as an excuse to ethically spend time with him.”

“Why? Does he grant wishes or whatever?”

“It’s the way he talks, sweetie,” she munched on her croissant, “The guy’s Australian.”

Oh, GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK! 

“Hot doctor dude with a hotter accent and he’s taken?” you whined a bit too loudly, “Well, fuck my life indeed.”

“Yeah, sorry,” she swallowed her bite and gave you a pat on your back, “You can always consider breast implants, though.”

“I’m good, Nat, thank you.”

A doctor. Ridiculously good-looking. Seemed well-off. Of course every job came with a certain amount of stress, but why did he throw himself into physical activity the second he arrived home?

“Every time I see him he’s working out, though,” you spoke, your eyes still on Chris.

“And? Sue the guy for wanting to keep fit.”

“That’s not it,” you insisted, “He’s overdoing it a little bit. Like he’s angry or some stuff. Why is that?”

“So what if he likes working out?”

“Nat…”

When you stood firm with your observation, Nathalie heaved a sigh and scooted closer to you.

“Between you and me, Casey loves flaunting him around, but I don’t think their marriage is what she makes it out to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve seen Little Miss Perfect, right? She acts like she’s living in a reality show,” then she continued with even a lower voice, “But rumor has it they don’t even have sex.”

What an interesting piece of information, indeed!

“And… he’s okay with it?”

“I doubt it.”

“So, what is it? Is he like— seeking the company of other people?”

“As if! Everyone’s dead scared of Casey.”

Well, you weren’t.

The more you kept watching him, the more Chris reminded you of the surfers you knew from your time at Kirra Point.

Sunkissed friendly guys who would get you soaked just with their filthy mouths.

Well-behaved guys who were into kinky shit behind closed doors.

Considerate guys who would mark their girls in their beds.

Laid-back guys who fucking lost their shit when someone else touched what was theirs.

You wondered if Chris was one of them.

From that day on, you stopped fighting the urge that had been bubbling inside you. Not only was Chris fucking gorgeous, but his vibe was way more distinctive than his cigar-smoking, scotch-drinking, golf-playing counterparts. You hadn’t even talked to him once, but he had already colonized every single corner of your mind. He was the only thing you could think about every time you touched yourself.

“Just what the fuck are you doing being the Ken to that Malibu Barbie?” you uttered out loud in your bed one night, “A man like you belongs with me.”

“Fuck!”

You were supposed to head to the city center that day to run some errands, and of course that would be the day you had a flat tire. Right when you walked back to your driveway to search for some auto shop nearby, you noticed your neighbor’s garage door was very much open.

Maybe every cloud indeed had a silver lining after all. 

“Nice ride,” you pointed at the Maserati as you walked into the garage, “I’m assuming you also have a car jack?”

“A car jack?” Chris spoke with his back still turned to you.

“I have a flat tire. I haven’t been able to get all my garage stuff yet.”

When he turned around, you established your first eye contact with him. His gaze on you shouldn’t have affected you so maybe, but you felt shocked from head to toe although you didn’t let it show.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he launched a pair of dimples and extended his hand to you, “I’m Chris.”

“Y/N. I just moved across the street,” you pointed to your house.

“Nice to meet ya. I’ll go get the jack.”

Nothing too extraordinary. His sandbag you were a bit too familiar with hung to the ceiling, some boxes he stored in his garage, a bunch of tools lying here and there… It didn’t tell much about who he really was.

“What brings you to Sunderland?” Chris came back momentarily without being able to find the jack, “This is not really a place to move to unless you have to be here.”

“Very long story. I’ll tell you sometime,” you smiled and leaned against the wooden desk, “What do you do?”

“I’m a doctor.”

“Specialty?”

“Cosmetic surgeon.”

“Oh, goodie, are you doing give-a-shitometer implants because I need one to survive here.”

Chris involuntarily burst into laughter at your words. It had been a while since he genuinely laughed at something.

And the sound of his voice gave you an extreme case of butterfly invasion.

“Unfortunately, can relate.” 

He was still looking around to look for your request, and you decided to fill in the silence with some more small talk.

“Got any kids?”

“No. Happily married without children.”

There was something in his voice that you were a bit too familiar with. It was the exact tone you used when you were trying to pass something as trivial. You cocked a brow and snorted.

“Wow, do they not teach you about the dark arts of lying in med school?”

“Excuse me?”

“Hey, I don’t know you from Adam. You might be a great doctor, but you’re a horrible liar, man,” you crossed your arms over your chest, “You don’t have to take me up on the offer, but I’ll just put it out there that I’m around if you ever need someone to talk to.” 

Chris had found the jack by then so you walked over to him to grab it from his hands.

“Or other things if you ever need it,” you winked at him and reassuringly smiled, which caused him to get flustered for some reason.

“Ot–other things?”

“You know, information,” you shrugged, “Not only am I very perceptive, but I’m also great at research.” 

“Yeah? Anything interesting you’ve perceived so far?”

His tone changed to something much more playful. If you didn’t know any better, you would be inclined to say that he was… flirting with you.

“For starters, I know sexual frustration when I see it,” you brazenly grinned, “That’s why you box a lot, isn’t it?

His expression immediately transformed into shock, which was how you knew you hit the nail on the head. 

“And I’m very discreet. I can keep your secrets too if you want,” you nonchalantly uttered, “It’s been a while since you had some back-arching, toe-curling sex, hasn’t it?” 

Chris was completely stunned, having less than zero clue as to how to respond to that. He didn’t deny it, nor did he tell you to mind your own business for that matter. With the courage you derived from that, you continued.

“What is it? Vanilla lady just lays there and you do all the work?”

No, that wasn’t it. His eyes darted to the floor and you could see his ears getting concerningly red.

“Or is it because you’re too much of a deviant?” you carried on with a smaller voice, “I know for a fact that not everyone can handle that shit.”

He was drawing a total blank. It shouldn’t have been hard to refute, but he clearly enjoyed your blatant flirting considering the smile he was trying to hide with a discreet bite of his lips. Unfortunately for him, you noticed that, too.

“I uh– I don’t– I’m–”

“Sweetheart, are you—? Oh. Hello.”

“What’s up, Barbie?” you greeted the owner of the voice with a salute of two fingers on your forehead, completely unfazed by her presence.

“Casey. We met the other day,” she spoke with a forced smile, “Did you need something?”

“Yup. This bad boy,” you held the car jack.

One needed to be next-level dumb not to notice Casey was looking at you with absolute malice. Chris might have learned how to block the fuck out of it considering how unresponsive he was, but you knew that look. You had seen it many times before directly targeted at you.

“It’s good that I ran into you,” Casey walked over to Chris and linked her arm with his, “We’re hosting our annual fall dinner at the end of the month. You should definitely come!”

Good fucking grief, who knew what the fuck kind of ulterior motive this woman had. Then again, one thing she did not yet know about you was how much of a thick skin you had, and this could be your ultimate chance to put this woman in her place. 

“Sure,” you shrugged and readily accepted her invitation, “Can I bring a friend?”

“Of course! Feel free to bring a date.”

“As much as I’m not married, I also don’t have a partner.”

“I can arrange someone for you!”

“Casey,” Chris warned looking to his left.

Goddamn, Barbie. Way to be subtle about your neurotic tendencies.

“Nor am I looking for one,” you reflected her fake smile back at her, “I meant Nathalie and her husband from two doors down.”

“Oh,” Casey stole a look from Chris and smiled again, “Why not? The more the merrier.”

“Then it’s a date,” you chirped, “Thanks for the jack, Chris.”

“Oh, actually,” Casey corrected you, “It’s Dr. Bang.”

“Ah, of course,” you exaggeratedly reverenced all the way to the floor, “Please accept my eternal gratitude for the car-lifter his almighty excellency, Dr. Bang. I am but a humble servant to your whims whenever you wish, your grace.”

Chris laughed so loudly at your antics that it seemed to have made his wife much angrier.

“And I mean it,” you winked at him teasingly and walked away.

One thing you learned that day for sure was that Casey did not like you.

It wasn’t really discernible. You were reading a book on the swing on your balcony when you heard some yelling in the distance, followed by Chris loudly slamming his front door close and driving off into the night. 

If this is not the proof that suburbia dreams are a scam, I swear to fucking god…

After some time, the night air became a lot chillier, and you decided to walk inside, which was when you heard a knock on your door. Nobody had ever knocked on your door besides Nathalie, much less during nighttime.

“Chris?” you wrapped yourself in your shawl while opening the door, “What are you doing here?”

“Does your offer still stand?” he looked at you with a mixture of desperation and annoyance, “I just need someone to talk to.”

“What’s your poison?” you stepped aside for him to come in, “Scotch? Wine?”

“Gin.”

“The best I can do is vodka.”

“Fucking deal.”

You grabbed two glasses from your cabinet and momentarily returned to your living room couch.

“If you don’t mind me asking, don’t you have any friends?” you started pouring the drinks, “Like male ones your wife won’t flip out about.”

“They are worse than the women populating this neighborhood. You say one thing and it travels all the way to the city council by the next morning,” Chris grabbed the glass and downed the content in one go, “Nothing they already don’t know about anyway.”

“So I’m getting the executive summary on your household drama,” you attempted some lighthearted humor to ease his apparent tension, “Good to know.”

He let out a faint chuckle, and while you were expecting him to start talking, only silence followed.

“I actually don’t even know why I came here.”

“Because you needed a friend,” you gently touched his shoulder, “You can vent as much as you want. I meant it when I said I’m very discreet.”

And boy did he go off. 

Why the fuck did people always have to do everything together, huh? Maybe sometimes he fucking needed his space. Come to think of it, Chris needed his space all the time. Couldn’t people just get the fucking hint? If someone was not spending time with you, it meant they fucking wanted to be away from you, and he was sick of locking himself in his clinic. He wanted his goddamn work and personal spaces to be separate; was that too much to ask? It wasn’t like there were any places he could go to in this godforsaken town anyway. If he could, he would, and he would only come home to sleep. He was seriously considering investing in a shooting range in this town because otherwise he was going to fucking kill someone.

Chris was completely breathless by the end of his monologue while you were looking at him with a calm expression.

“Feeling better?”

“Loads,” he answered, having massively calmed down by then.

You didn’t ask any questions. It didn’t look like Chris could answer many of them in that headspace anyway. You just lent your listening ear to him and kept refilling his glass until he was all vented out. After about an hour later, he noticed what time it was.

“Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry. I should go,” Chris got up from the couch, “Thank you so much for listening to me.”

“Anytime.”

You walked him to the front door to see him off, thinking about how to properly do it. A handshake after a heart-to-heart talk was going to be too formal. A kiss on the cheek might have been too familiar. A hug. A hug was the way to go. It was friendly, but not too intimate. Everybody hugged, after all, right? It didn’t have to mean anything else. You opened your arms to offer him an embrace and he reciprocated. That was it. Everything was going fine. Zero damage.

Until he decided to fucking linger and steal a whiff of your scent from your neck.

You were dead scared to face him and look into his eyes. His big, sad eyes that seemed to harbor some inexplicable restlessness. You wanted to kiss him. Just once. Feel his perfectly plush lips between yours. You just knew he was a good kisser. He would get you so wet just with that moist pair of flesh alone. You could make him cum just by kissing his face off if he let you. 

You didn’t even realize how you were pulling at each other like magnets. The distance between you was almost completely closed when he suddenly stopped himself.

“Do you uh– Do you mind exchanging numbers?”

“Right!” you immediately backed away like somebody pinched you, “Of course.”

He handed you his phone for you to type in your digits, and you called yourself to save his number. After that, there was nothing else left for him to do but leave.

“I um– Yeah, good night.”

“Good night, Chris.”

Once you closed the door behind him, you dashed to your window and watched him walk towards his home with his hands in his pockets. To pretend everything was fine and that he didn’t have a shred of worry in this world. As if he wasn’t trapped within the tight walls of the holy institution of marriage. Who did they think they were kidding? Was this entire town experiencing a collective case of blindness, or did everybody just go along with it? If they did, just fucking why?

That Malibu Barbie-tch was never going to leave him alone. Except maybe for a casual greeting on the street, or making up excuses to borrow stuff from each other, there was no way for you to see him again unless he came to see you.

You really wanted him to come and see you. Just once more. To shelter him from whatever it was that was making him so unhappy.

Until then—if that was ever going to happen, that is—all you were able to do was text one another. About whatever. The basketball game last night, some documentary, ‘You’ll never guess who walked into my clinic today’, which happened to be the mayor’s wife coming in for a butt lift. Stuff that one would assume you would be able to talk to your spouse with. But he was talking about them with you instead. Days were passing by and nothing was happening. 

Except something was happening to you, and you fucking hated that feeling.

It was another lonely night. While watching some rom-com to diss the couples you saw on the screen out loud, you had seen the bottom of a pretty decent rosé bottle already, and you were contemplating whether you should open a second one. You might have been watching a movie to keep the front end of your brain occupied, but you were thinking about Chris again in the background. You were thinking about him a lot.

With all the courage granted to you by the dumb decision juice, you grabbed your phone and opened his message tab.

You Wyd? Chris Can’t sleep. Netflixing. What u doing up so late? You Alcohol intake [Typing…] You alone? Chris Yeah You Where is she? Chris On a plane coming home unfortunately [Typing…]

He stopped typing. You had seen Malibu Barbie just that morning jogging like a reality star followed by cameras, which meant she was out of town for less than twenty-four hours, but more importantly, Chris said she was ‘unfortunately’ coming home.

Huh.

You I can see you typing Finish that sentence Chris [Typing…] Been thinking about you

Goddammit, Aussie dude!!!

Being a cool-ass woman was a matter of pride for you, so you thanked everything fucked up and twisted that there was nobody around to see how much that stupid text made you giggle.

You May have been thinking about you too Chris What are you thinking about? You What are you thinking about? Chris I asked you first

He wanted to know what you were thinking about? Fine. You took off your bottoms in one go, sat down in front of your full-length mirror, spread your legs apart, and took several pictures. After deciding on the one that showcased the gloss on your folds the best, you hit send.

You [IMG_301.jpg] Your mouth right here Chris [Typing…] Are you trying to drive me fucking insane????? You Maybe :) [Typing…]

Was that too much? That had got to be too much. Then again Chris didn’t outright tell you what the fuck you were doing, and one could argue that he gave you a rather satisfactory reaction instead. Maybe he was as drunk as you. Maybe he was also thinking about it. If shit hit the fan, you could always blame it on the alcohol, apologize, and call it a day.

But not without shooting your shot first.

Chris You’re doing it this time Finish that sentence You [Typing…] Can I send you an invite? Chris For? You Some fun [Link] “Vibe with neonredlights on Connected.” Download this app Chris [Typing…] You’re underestimating me [Link] “CB69 is inviting you for a Connected session.” You really shouldn’t

Yeah, apparently you absolutely shouldn’t have, but how in the genuine fuck did Chris know about Connected in the first place? You had never seen a guy owning a remote-controlled vibrator for himself before, and you would bet good money no one in the vanillaest town ever that was Sunderland knew how to spell sex toys. Unless you were playing solo, the app required knowing another person’s username to directly connect to them within a 200-feet radius, and that was all the evidence you needed to conclude that Chris’ frustration levels were through the fucking roof.

So the rumors were true. So that was why he was obsessed with excessively working out every single day.

They weren’t having sex.

You 🧍‍♂️ You own a fucking stroker???? Chris :) [Typing…] I can see you Why don’t u come closer to your bedroom window? You [Typing…] Can I hear you too? Chris [Typing…] What’s the point of letting me play with you if I can’t hear your voice? In that case... Your partner CB69 wants to start a video session.

The excitement was too much to handle all of a sudden. Not only were you going to see him in all his fucking glory, you were also about to make each other feel good. So good that you were sure it was going to be beyond either of your wildest dreams.

But the call screen disappeared before you could take it, and a text followed instead.

Chris Fucking… There’s someone at the door To be continued? Please?

You let out a heavily frustrated sigh as this was the worst case of blue balls you had ever experienced. When you stole a quick glance from his gate, you saw that it was Casey waiting for the door to be opened. You cursed a mouthful and responded.

You You bet

It might not have gone as you pictured it, but that night you still came to the thought of Chris playing with you however the fuck he pleased.

“I did something bad.”

You weren’t looking for Nathalie to condone what you did. You just wanted to get it out of your chest because you weren’t exactly sure you were allowed past the threshold of a church. 

“What did you do?”

“You mean who did I do…”

She tilted her head, indicative of the fact that she knew where this was about to go, and let out somewhat of a scared whine.

“Oh, god, not Chris!”

“Well, technically I didn’t do him,” you darted your eyes to your glass and continued with a smaller voice and at a faster pace, “We sorta sexted the other night.”

“You WHAT?!”

“Look, I’ll listen to your scolding in a second, but he also came by my place some time ago,” when her eyes widened even more you immediately continued, “Nothing happened, I swear. We just talked.”

“And?”

“The man’s in horrible shape, Nat. He seems so unhappy.”

“That’s literally none of your concern.”

You were getting a bit frustrated at the whole let the sleeping Caseys lie attitude of this entire fucking neighborhood. Just what the fuck did this woman have as leverage to scare everyone not to even have a genuine conversation with Chris? Or did she even have anything for that matter? What if it was all a big fat bluff, and nobody was fucking calling it?

“Looks like it ain’t anybody’s concern, either. Aren’t you guys friends with this man?”

Shame. You recognized that expression wherever you saw it.

“I’ll talk to Jisung to make some time for him. Just don’t get yourself in trouble until we know more, okay?”

Well, you could at least try. 

That afternoon, you went to the city center for some shopping and you ended up making a day for yourself, just checking out shops, walking at the park, and having dinner somewhere by yourself. By the time you got home, it was already dark and you were dead tired.

As you were in your room getting changed, you caught a glimpse of the illuminated pool of your neighbor. You recalled the memories of how he frantically swam in it like he was trying to soothe some burn. The way he slicked his wet hair back when he got out, drops of water trickling down his perfectly sculpted body, his bulging arms, his large hands, his thick thighs…

Oh, god.

You felt yourself getting wet at the mere thought of him again. You were never not getting turned on by this guy lately. If only there was a way to manifest him in your room every time you felt that way because—

Chris Hey

Well, that was quick.

Hey. A simple opener. A casual greeting. Literally no meaning behind it.

Yet it immediately fried your brain.

Chris [Typing…] You awake? You I am Chris You looked so pretty today :) You Thank you :) Where did you see me? Chris Passing by my clinic You Oh your clinic is around the square? Chris Yup I’m still there actually You What are you doing there all by yourself at this hour? Chris Currently? [Typing…] Thinking about you I can’t concentrate

A sudden rush of excitement immediately started coursing through your body. It wasn’t an assumption; he was as aroused as you were. You were looking for a quip to hit him back with, but Chris took your one chance of snark away from you.

Chris I want to touch you so bad

There was no other way around it but to just dive into the water headfirst.

You Just touch? Chris [Typing…] Among a lot of things I want to show you how good I can make you feel

Fuuuck this guy entirely!

Your breath hitched in your throat. You climbed on your bed and started replaying all the fantasies you had about him from the top.

You You ever been to the Ritz in Mayweather? Chris For conference only You Their suites are to die for Wanna go sometime? Chris [Typing…]

Waiting for that reply was fucking torture, but you were completely entranced, just looking at your screen with your lips parted as if you were having this conversation with him face to face. Was his heart beating as fast as yours? Was he also imagining all the things he would do to you? Was he thinking about you as often as you were thinking about him? Was he cumming to the thought of you at all?

Chris It would be fucking amazing Just the two of us Spending the entire 24 hours in a room Fucking I wanna drive you insane

In all honesty, who would drive whom insane was up for debate, but it was nice to hear that he was up for the challenge. You couldn’t help biting into your smile.

You I would dress up for you you know Chris You would? [Typing…] What would you wear? You I have a respectable collection of black lace You like bralettes? Chris LOVE them Show me You Not so easy Show me what I’m doing to you first Chris [IMG302.jpeg]

You literally felt your sanity evaporate when you saw how flushed and hard he was. Just how the fuck was he this… fucking… gorgeous?!?!

You FUCK [Typing…] I’m salivating all of a sudden Chris Your turn

You jumped from your bed to change into one of your favorite lingerie combinations. Then you laid on your bed face down with your feet up, snapped a picture in the mirror, and sent it to him.

Chris I hope you’re not attached to those I so wanna rip them off you [Typing…] Talk to me baby

You wondered what it would actually feel like if he said that to you while looking right into your eyes. When he was hovering over your body. When he was touching you. Kissing you. Filling you up over and over again just to fuck his cum deeper into you. 

Talk to me, baby. 

Give it to me, baby. 

I’m yours, baby.

Unbeknownst to yourself, you started stroking yourself over your underwear.

You I want to know what you taste like I want to know what I taste like on your lips But even better I want you to know what you taste like spilling out of me

Chris was definitely playing everything through in his head on the other end of the line. Every time you were waiting for his reply, it felt like some undiscovered part of you was getting filled with excessive amounts of anticipation, and the second you received that text, it morphed into elation and released as complete zeal all over your body.

Chris Fucking Keep going Please [Typing…] I’m so fucking close

Out of complete instinct, you took your top off and sent him a picture of your breasts with your nipples visibly hardened.

You [IMG303.jpeg] I wanna feel you cum on these Chris [Typing…]

He stopped typing. All of a sudden, that little indicator turned into something so unexpected that it immediately skyrocketed your blood pressure, causing your heart to thump in your ears.

Chris [Recording audio…]

He was fucking recording. You weren’t able to mentally prepare yourself for what he was about to send you. It could be fifteen different things. Maybe a song playing in the background. Maybe a sentence. Maybe… Maybe… 

Chris Audio (1:22)

By then, you were so overwhelmed with desire that your hands were shaking when you were about to press play.

There was no way you were the same woman you once were after listening to Chris’ voice, pleasuring himself to the thought of you, moaning, panting, whining, and begging to the ghost of you for his release. The recording hadn’t even finished when you felt a sudden peak in your arousal and came untouched to the sounds of his pleasure.

Chris I’m fucking gone [Typing…] You’re amazing

You bit into your smile, experiencing this kind of an afterglow for the first time ever, and responded to him.

You Good night handsome :) [Typing…] I’ll see you tomorrow at dinner

Who knew, maybe Casey was right. Maybe your soulmate was really right around the corner in the literal sense of the word.

You appeared at your host’s doorstep with Jisung and Nathalie, clueless about what to expect from the night. Chris was the one to greet you by the door, and once he let the Hans in, he turned to you. There seemed to be sparks flying between you two, and once he caught a glimpse of the intricate front straps of your bralette under the oversized shirt you were wearing, it almost short-circuited his brain.

“You– you wore black lace.”

“I told you I would,” you winked and handed him the bottle of wine you brought.

“Welcome to our home! You absolutely shouldn’t have,” Casey snatched the bottle from Chris’ hands and gestured towards the living room, “Come in!”

Your trio seemed to be the last people to arrive although you came in at 8 PM sharp. You sat next to Nathalie while exchanging greetings with the rest of the guests, and Casey started serving dinner.

“So Y/N, we never had a chance to speak. What do you do?” she asked while bringing you a bowl of soup, “Besides seducing the entire neighborhood with those looks, I mean.”

“Casey.”

“I’m kidding, Chrissy! Learn to take a joke, christ,” she pseudo-playfully scoffed at her husband and turned to the table with an exaggerated laugh, “Doctors, am I right?”

Well, no, you’re not.

You looked at her with a faint smile, very much aware of what she was trying to do. What she was trying to make you out to be. You responded with as much composure as the docile women of the table possessed.

“I’m a freelance translator.”

“Freelance translator? Does that pay a lot of money?”

“Casey!”

“What?” she looked at Chris, seemingly not following what he was so scandalized over, “I’m just a little surprised that someone is able to pay a mortgage in Sunderland just by freelancing, that’s all.”

So that was how she played, huh? The lead cheerleader of the team, doing and saying whatever the fuck she pleased and no one else besides her husband even dared to tell her to take it down a notch no matter how uncomfortable she made them.

“When you know five languages, it’s easier than you think,” you replied with your smile getting wider, “Do you speak any languages, Casey?”

But she wasn’t used to this. She wasn’t used to anyone one-upping her in any capacity because god forbid if anyone ever surpassed Casey Bang by the narrowest of margins. There was a collective silent conviction that she would kill everyone in their sleep.

Nevertheless, all she was able to do is to shoot you a blank stare with her lips parted.

“I’ll bring the chicken,” Casey got up to her feet with a defeated smile while you happily munched on the roasted sweet potatoes on your plate. You could swear Chris was a part of Nathalie and Jisung’s silent entertainment bubble watching you throw snark at the prom queen.

Me: 1 — Malibu Barbie-tch: 0

Casey didn’t bother you for the rest of the evening after learning her lesson. Little did she know, these were only basic tutorial sessions and the main lectures were a long way away. As she got engrossed in a very heated debate over this year’s Met Gala looks with her entourage, you silently asked Chris.

“Where’s your restroom?”

“I’ll show you.”

You followed him to the guest bathroom on the second floor. As you were about to go in, Chris stopped you.

“I’m really sorry on her behalf,” he spoke with a genuinely apologetic voice, “She just can’t tolerate any kind of competition.”

“I’m flattered she thinks there’s competition,” you leaned into the doorframe, “but it seems like she can’t tolerate her husband, either.”

That very same caught-off-guard expression as the day in his garage. He looked like he didn’t know what to say.

“It’s– That’s–”

“Trouble in paradise, Chrissy?”

“No, everything’s fine.”

That response was such a knee-jerk reaction that it was obvious he was lying. You took one step towards him and touched his arm.

“How hard did you cum to the thought of me last night?”

He was instantly flushed at your unexpected question.

“I uh– That’s… You– you heard—”

“Not enough. I wanna know what you really sound like,” you took one more step and started talking in whispers, “Not only did I absolutely cum untouched to your voice, I soaked my goddamn mattress listening to you. You’re the sexiest fucking thing, handsome.”

You noticed how he twitched under his pants, and your mouth was watering at his hardening bulge. Your hand started moving by itself as if it had a mind on its own.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Giving you a hand.”

He shuddered at the simple brush of your fingers, and a quiet groan escaped his lips.

“Good god, how long has it been since you’ve been touched?”

“C-Casey’s downstairs.”

“Aren’t you sick and tired of being taken for granted, gorgeous?” you tilted your head and feigned the fakest innocence, “Don’t you wanna be reminded of what a magnificent man you are?”

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. You were literally taking his breath away, paralyzing him with your mere words.

“Someone’s gonna see us,” he spoke very throatily, acutely aware he was already neck-deep in trouble. Yet it wasn’t fear painting his voice.

This excited him.

“So your concern is getting caught.”

You pulled him inside the bathroom in one swift motion and closed the door behind you.

“It’s not that hard to stop me and put an end to this,” you slowly loosened the button of his jeans and halted your movements, “But you want it too, don’t you?”

You weren’t doing anything else, just standing there right in front of him with two of your hands on each side of the sink, trapping Chris in that confined space. He was a man with spectacular physical stamina, so if he wanted to get out, he could easily do so. Any time he wanted. Scold you. Chastise you. Shun you out of his house and tell you to never speak to him again.

But he didn’t.

“You want me,” you quietly spoke against his neck.

“We shouldn’t,” he gulped trying to get a hold of his sanity, but his eyes were closed, “We really shouldn’t.”

It was obvious Chris was sitting for the ultimate test of willpower, and the way he was miserably failing at it was entertaining the shit out of you.

“You hear that faint sound?” you brushed the back of your index finger against his chest and dragged it down, “It’s the rules whispering to us to ignore them.”

He smelled heavenly. Woody. Oceany. Subtlest hints of musk and spice. He smelled like the refreshing breezes of Kirra Point.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” you placed the smallest kiss on his jawline, “But once I touch you, there’s no turning back.”

He couldn’t do it. He did not possess the physical or mental faculties to opt for what he knew was the logical choice. Chris was burning from head to toe, so much so that you could feel the heat waves emitting from his body washing over you. He had resisted so many things in his life up until that moment, but you… A dangerous enchantress. A fearless seductress. An irresistible temptress.

Everybody had a weak spot, and for Chris, it was you. 

“Let me take care of you,” your hand started sliding past his waistband, getting dangerously close to where he needed you the most, “I promise it’ll feel much better than your stroker.”

And once you palmed him, you could fucking swear you both felt that jolt of electricity jumping from skin to skin.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathily cursed through his teeth as his eyes rolled back. You started stroking him with a very languid rhythm.

“God, you’re so hard,” you rested your head on his shoulder, “Bet it feels incredible to sit on.”

He squeezed his eyes tight. Chris was so turned on that he was about to combust. With every flick of your wrist, his breathing escalated like he was sprinting.

“You want me to sit on you, don’t you?” you faced him again, “You’re wondering what it feels like to actually fuck me.”

That was the moment Chris gave up and completely let go.

“Touch me more,” he pulled you closer from your waist while relaxing against the sink, “Don’t– don’t stop.”

You placed his hand on your chest and let him fondle your breasts. He throbbed under your touch at the contact.

“Would you like to fuck me, handsome?” you spoke softly, “You can, you know. You can fuck your troubles away. Take all your frustration out on me.”

It had been so long. Too long since he felt a speck of lust for someone. Someone he knew in person for that matter rather than nameless strangers fucking on camera for a living. Now there you were, utterly drowning him in the depths of desire, pushing his head down underwater just to see for how long he could hold his breath.

And he was fucking loving it.

“You are so handsome, you know that right?” you filled your lungs with his scent, “You’re just so… so… so sexy.”

You calling him those names was killing him. He couldn’t open his eyes. If he did, one look at your face and he was going to violently erupt. He wanted to relish this stolen feeling for as long as he could. Melt under your touch. Feel himself get out of his own body. Of his reality. Of this burdensome life. 

With you.

“You wanna know what it feels like inside me?” you lightly chuckled, “It feels really warm. Really really wet, too.”

“Faster.”

“And so tight,” you gently squeezed him, “If I clench once, you’ll fucking finish five seconds in.”

“Fucking god, I’m– I’m gonna cum.”

You freed yourself from his grip and shoved his leaking cock down your throat, quietly humming to provide little vibrations for a more brutal orgasm. Chris came so hard that he had to grab the hand towel nearby and scream into it. It was everything he had imagined and more. Savagely thrilling. Scorching hot. Mindnumbingly delicious.

“You taste fucking amazing, handsome,” you wiped your mouth and placed a tiny kiss on the tip of his nose, “Gather your wits. Then come back downstairs.”

You washed your hands and left Chris in the bathroom to collect himself. When you made your way back, you were instantly subjected to Casey’s interrogation.

“There you are! Where did you run off to?”

“I was trying to find where your safe is. You know, to pay my mortgage,” you looked at the rest of the table with a smile, “Can I have some more wine, please?”

Not too long after, Chris also returned to the table, basically floating on air in utter bliss.

“Everything okay, honey?”

“Yeah, um– Work,” he flashed his phone from his back pocket.

You decided to use the moment to give Casey a taste of her own medicine and started bombarding her with questions like a stress interview.

“So, Casey where did you graduate from?”

“Yale.”

“Class of?”

“2010.”

“What did you major in?”

“English. What is up with the interrogation, though, am I right?” she laughed a little nervously.

“No reason,” you took a sip from your wine, “I just think you’re an incredible woman.”

She pressed her hand on her chest with somewhat of a moved look on her face, “Aw, thank you.”

You and Nathalie exchanged a brief knowing look and returned to your fruit parfaits.

“Thank you very much for tonight,” you thanked Casey as they were seeing you off and then spoke directly addressing Chris, “Everything was excellent.”

Several question marks had already formed in your head about Casey and that night was just the salt and pepper on top of everything. It was pretty late already, but this couldn’t wait. The second you got back home, you grabbed your phone and called Minho.

“What do you want?”

“What’s up fuckface? I missed you too,” you exchanged your usual greeting with him.

“This better be important. Shh, shh, it’s okay, baby, I can still keep fucking you.”

“Minho, am I legit interrupting a dicking down session right now?”

“If you don’t start talking, I’m hanging up. Oh, fuck yeah, just like that.”

“Ugh, fine. I need intel,” you managed to suppress your nausea, “Get me everything you can about all the Caseys who graduated from Yale in 2010.”

“There are twenty-three variants to that name. Text me the correct spelling. That’s it, baby, take it.”

“Oh my god, fine, just don’t cum when I’m on the phone!”

“As if you haven’t done that before. Fuck, don’t stop!”

“Don’t be gross. Get back to me as soon as you can.”

“OH, GOD, YES!!!”

You threw your phone on the coffee table and yourself on the couch, watching the ceiling for some time while replaying the entire night in your head.

You’re hiding something, Malibu Barbie, and I will find out what it is.

«TO BE CONTINUED»

AUTHOR'S NOTE

🍮Like my content? Consider supporting my work with a pudding!

Meet the horniest Chris I've created to date. You're welcome. Sound ref: moon xx (several sources retrieved and compiled from creator's public content)

If you enjoyed this story, feel free to share your thoughts with me in reblogs, tags, or in my inbox. As long as you're kind, that is.

-R. (CB97%)

📢Regarding tagging: Please do not ask me to tag you if you won't be meaningfully engaging with my work. Additionally, I do not tag ageless and/or blank blogs, nor can I tag you if your blog is listed as "invisible" / if you've changed your URL and didn't let me know. Thank you for your cooperation in advance!

🔖Story taglist: @gabbunnyy ; @arashihiss ; @ayoitschannie ; @lalal-99

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only fools fall for you | hyunjin sm au

synopsis:

you’re excited to finally get a new start at university, majoring in the thing you love the most; dancing, and you’re positive that absolutely nothing can ruin the quintessential college experience for you.

that is, until you run into your lifelong rival, hwang hyunjin and to make things worse…you can’t seem to get rid of him.

pairing: dancer! hyunjin x dancer! reader

fic type: social media au + written parts

genre: college au, angst, enemies to lovers, smut, mature content, friends with benefits, some fluff, slowburn (!)

status: complete

if you’d like to support me and my writing, you can buy me a coffee here! thank you so much.

masterlist:

playlist

yns squad

hyunjins squad

1. a fresh start

2. not a cat, minho

3. i need new friends

4. number one fan

5. a hopefully hot boy

6. bane of my existence

7. i blame felix

8. a beautiful dancer

9. did you just defend hyunjin

10. be more passionate

11. the enemy you know

12. should i be offended

13. is this even legal

14. the bar is so low

15. not a bad kisser

16. ready, ready baby

17. the morning after

18. what happened last night

19. showstopping

20. being sick

21. im gonna kill him

22. a pretty face

23. dramatic entrance

24. distracted

25. communication can help

26. the world would be a better place

27. get back at him

28. what i want

29. nothing to hide

30. you’ve matured

31. beautiful face but a terrible personality

32. one and done

33. you sound whipped

34. i want you to

35. does this make up for it

36. don’t say no

37. play with fire

38. weather forecast, wet

39. more important than ramen

40. you up?

41. not fighting anymore

42. english lit can wait

43. am i allowed to kiss you

44. red lights

45. the view

46. corn dogs

47. chaeprincess

48. i hate people

49. looking out for hyunjin

50. talk to yeji

51. how can you be sure ?

52. happy birthday han

53. everything okay ?

54. what happened in high school

55. happy for you

56. safe space

57. what’s kkami

58. yeji knows

59. moving on

60. you need to get out

61. unforgettable night

62. daisy

63. hatred is a strong word

64. not afraid to show it

65. hopeless romantic

66. not your business

67. have faith

68. little star

69. epilogue part 1 : the world is a better place

70. epilogue part 2: look where that got us

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all for nothing | twelve.

♡ series masterlist | spotify playlist

—summary: after experiencing heartbreak and betrayal, hyunjin has become incredibly closed off and reserved. he hated opening up to people, nor did he think the time or effort was worth it. but when hyunjin meets you, he finally realizes the importance of having someone by your side throughout all the ups and downs of life.

—pairing: hyunjin x f. reader

—genre: (18+) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, (eventual) smut

—word count: 5.2k

—chapter warnings: hyunjin to the rescue again, surfer hyunjin and seungmin lol, flashbacks in chapter, oc has a moment with hobi, so so many feels and butterflies!!

—a/n: happy new year my loves! thank you for all your support on this blog 🥺wishing you all a safe, healthy and amazing new year <33 you deserve the world and more!

Keep reading

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DON'T LET ME LOVE YOU | Chapter 2

« PREVIOUS CHAPTER · «SERIES MASTERLIST»

«I’m fucking done with your teasing.»

CONNECTION 📜10.3k | Approx. 44-min. read 🚨Refer to series masterlist for general themes & warnings of this story: Heavy sexual tension and horniness galore, mentions of food, risqué behavior, rendezvous shenanigans, consensual filming of sexual acts, mentions of free use, narratophilia (mc talks about a cnc fantasy, it's not acted upon), aggressive semi-public sex (feat. marking, groping, spanking), sex toys, nipple play, spitting, cumplay/cum eating, unprotected sex, creampie. 💭Reblogs & comments are always appreciated and please keep in mind they are the ultimate motivation fuel. 🍮Like my content? Consider supporting my work with a pudding!

This chapter features NSFW audio purely for the sake of an immersive story experience. Should you choose to listen to it, please proceed at your own risk.

When the clock turned from PM to AM, it was time for your demons to run loose. 

You uncaged them and allowed them to say whatever the fuck they wanted into your ears. Sometimes they would be so mean, whispering things to remind you of what a terrible human being you were, and you let them. You knew you deserved that punishment every once in a while for everything you had done with complete disregard for anything other than yourself.

Some other times, however, they would just sit next to you and relentlessly tempt you. Persuade you into doing things you knew were wrong by an average person’s moral compass. Then again, you were no average person, and your compass was long broken, so you let them coax you, cajole you into turning into an absolute menace. To society, to the people around you.

To yourself.

Much like that night as you were wrapped in a blanket on the swing on your balcony with your peach vodka in your hand. 

The cold, delicious drink was awfully reminiscent of Chris. So sweet. Refreshing. You fucking knew it needed to be consumed in moderation, but the buzz wouldn’t even set in until you downed a couple of glasses, conveniently giving you the false impression that there wasn’t even any alcohol in it. You would only realize you were completely smashed when you attempted to get up, and by then it would already be too late. 

There you were, on your balcony, wrapped in your blanket, thinking about Chris again. You were never not thinking about Chris.

It was a terrifying thing to notice, but ever since the dinner party at his place, something had shifted inside you. You wished you were making it up, but you knew something had changed for him, too.

You darted your eyes from the tar-like night sky to your phone when you heard the notification sound.

Chris I can’t stop thinking about you How the fuck am I supposed to go back now that I know what your skin on mine feels like?

No ‘Hey’, no greeting, nothing—he just got straight to the point. Little did he know, you were pondering the exact same thing while very much drunk. You weren’t even sure if you were drunk on the vodka or Chris at this point, and it was driving you insane that you didn’t know why this was happening to you. He could have very well been a patron in one of the clubs you used to dance at. Would you feel this intensely about him then, too?

You Who says you need to go back? Chris I’m serious You So am I Chris [Typing…] Then where do we go from here?

Where would you go from here? You had already crossed a line, and it seemed like both of you had picked up an instant addiction. To be fair, it was most likely a very strong infatuation for both of you. Maybe it was the fact that he was taken. Maybe it had been just too long since someone else made him cum. And maybe things just got lost in translation afterwards.

Then why the fuck were you instantly excited just thinking about him?

You Are you familiar with the term ‘free use’ Dr. Bang? Chris As in [Typing…] With benefits? You All the benefits you can think of I think we both know your stroker can’t make you cum as hard as I can Just come over whenever you wanna blow off some steam Chris [Typing…] Can I come over right now?

What?

At this hour? Was Casey away? You were already trapped between the blurry lines of tipsy and drunk; you wouldn’t even be able to live up to the expectations you set for yourself.

But you really, really, really wanted to see Chris. Everybody had a weakness, and maybe he had become yours.

You Sure

In about thirty seconds, you heard a faint knock on your door. You almost trampled yourself on the way over how excited you were. You were acutely aware of how ridiculous it was for you to feel this way, but still…

When you opened the door and locked eyes with Chris, neither of you said anything for five seconds. Seeing him in the flesh felt like a cold splash of water on your face, and for some reason, he looked like he instantly came to his senses, as well.

“I have no fucking clue what I was thinking. This looks really bad I know, I swear I’m not actually like this. I just…” Chris let out a defeated sigh, “I really wanted to see you.”

The feeling in the pit of your stomach shapeshifted all of a sudden. You were overcome with an intense surge of affection and endearment towards him.

“I know,” you spoke with a smile.

Chris could be many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a bad person. He wasn’t like you. He wasn’t like most people you had known for that matter. He was a human being with flaws, but you knew his heart was in the right place.

Because he was not like you.

“Just so you know, the benefits involve unlimited talking privileges,” you flashed your car keys at him, “How about we go for a drive instead?”

He broke into a smile and nodded. Meanwhile, you grabbed your jacket and handed your keys to him.

“You’re driving,” you instructed him while closing your front door, “Can we stop by a drive-thru? I need me some trash food to sober up.”

You didn’t even give a damn if you were seen or not. If anybody fucking asked, you just called a friend to take you to your beloved burgers because you were in no state to drive by yourself and the damn place wouldn’t deliver at this hour. End of story. 

You cruised on the empty streets for a while. With your head resting on the passenger seat window, you watched Chris’ silhouette as he drove with all his attention on the road. Neither of you talked, but the silence wasn’t awkward. It was needed, actually; it enveloped the two of you in a soothing bubble of serenity. Judging by the way he was comfortably sprawled behind the steering wheel rather than assuming his usual tense posture, Chris seemed to be able to breathe easy. It put a smile on your face.

“Do you really know five languages?” Chris asked in the parking lot before munching on his burger. You looked at him with a judgmental ‘I beg your fucking pardon?’ look while slurping on your drink, and responded.

“多分。”

“Was that Japanese?”

“Yyyup.”

He let out a very entertained giggle and continued his questions like he was interviewing you.

“So what are your favorite places around here so far?”

“Librerías y papelerías. Son muy bonitas.”

“How did you even decide on which languages to study for?”

“Qui cherche, trouve, chéri.”

“Not gonna lie, I’m a little turned on right now.”

“야 그만해라.”

His giggles turned into their final and most devastating form, and you laughed along with him. At that empty parking lot, Chris felt like he was making his first genuine connection with someone after what seemed like several forevers. For once, there was no hidden agenda to be in his good graces. No underhanded motive. Nothing about money, power, influence, or whatever the fuck else these people loved around here. Just two people enjoying each other’s company, talking about the most random things they could think of while scarfing down burgers and driving back home at some godforsaken time of the night.

All this time you two were alone. You could have done things if one of you so much as insinuated something, but you didn’t even kiss. It felt like both of you were in dire need of something much more humane than an animalistic impulse. 

And it felt nice for a change.

“Whenever you wanna blow off steam,” you quietly uttered as Chris was about to leave, having considerably sobered up by then, “Just talk to me, okay?”

He gave you a smiling nod and made his way back to his own prison. Talk to you. Talking to you was the easiest thing in the world.

One trip to some fast food joint at 2 AM. That was all it took for you both to form a new habit.

Your night drives with Chris became somewhat regular. Granted, you had much more ulterior motives when you first brought up free use, but this version seemed to be just as nice. One of you would shoot a text to the other, you would meet, and drive to some parking lot to grab a bite, watch the sea, or just talk. That confined space of your vehicles turned into somewhat of a bootleg therapist’s office where you got a little bit closer to each other every time. You were both a little too experienced with reading between the lines, so no excruciating details needed to be depicted. You talked about your love for thistles. He talked about growing up with his grandmother, and how he decided to leave the country for good no postcards from his mom later. 

“Is there a reason you came to Sunderland specifically?”

“The commercials looked really nice,” you shrugged, “I’ve always been a nomad. Wanted to take a stab at settling down by myself for a change. My ex husband didn’t seem to understand the concept very well.”

“Your… your ex husband?”

“I used to be married.”

Even though his eyes spelled “Really?” he didn’t say anything out loud.

You were sort of baiting Chris with moderately outrageous facts about yourself to assess his reactions. Just to confirm whether your intuition about him was true. He was never once judgemental like the most people populating this town. He didn’t shame you. Didn’t break into monologues about morals, or doing the right thing, or whatever. Even when you told him what you used to do for a living.

You were lowkey hoping he would do or say something to disappoint you because otherwise…

“Well, you gotta do what you gotta do to survive,” he shrugged instead, “Don’t expect the people here to understand you, though, because they can’t.”

The first commandment of being a nomad was not to get attached. To anything. Anywhere. Anyone. All you did so far was rental exchanges with strangers for your own entertainment, pleasure, or personal gains, and that was it. You didn’t give a fuck about the other person because you were only supposed to look out for yourself. It had always been that way.

That was exactly why connecting with Chris to this extent made you panic for your dear life because you didn’t know what you were capable of doing if you actually fell for someone. You were trying your hardest to tread with caution, but it felt like trying to find your way in pitch-black darkness by only touching the things around you, not knowing what they were or where you were even going.

One night as you were on a quest for the donuts he wouldn’t shut up about, Chris went on and on and on about the beaches back home. The way he talked about it like a kid on a sugar high endeared the crap out of you. With each word he uttered, you felt something swell in your chest.

Something was indeed happening to you, and you fucking hated that feeling.

“Damn, man, did the Ministry of Tourism commission you to be their ambassador or something?” 

“I wish,” he widened his eyes, “That would have been the dream. I love the sea.”

“You surf?”

“I used to.”

“What else do you like?”

“I mean… donuts,” he held up the half-bitten piece of pastry in his hand. You giggled.

“What do you hate then?”

As he was swallowing his bite, Chris creased his brows. He took a long while to come up with an answer, but he was still empty-handed by the end of it.

“No one’s ever asked me that question before.”

“How about I go first then?” you shifted in your seat, “For example, I hate olives.”

“Oh,” he quickly scanned the index of his strong dislikes, “In that case, I hate pineapples in my burger.”

“What the hell do you have against pineapples? They’re delicious!”

“Hey, I’m a pineapple juice lover, okay?” he dramatically emphasized, “There are some things you just should not put in your food is all I’m saying.”

“Fair enough,” you punctuated the pseudo-argument with a smile.

After his laughter faded, Chris’ aura changed colors. He looked way too somber all of a sudden and put the donut back into the box, seemingly having lost his appetite. You examined his face trying to understand what was wrong, but before you could even ask a question, the words spilled from his lips on their own.

“I hate that I have to pretend.”

You grabbed the box, shoved it into the glove compartment, and scooted a little closer to him. You held his chin and turned his face towards yours to look into his eyes.

“Pretend what?”

He finally locked his eyes with you and responded in a tone stuck between angry and sad.

“That I don’t hate things.”

“If you don’t mind me observing,” you rolled the words in your mouth for a little while and finally spat them out, “You’re not sleeping with your wife, are you?”

The only reply you received was a silent shake of the head as he was looking away.

“Because?”

Chris heavily exhaled and leaned into his seat.

“You can’t really bring yourself to touch someone you detest with your entire being.”

“Then why are you even married to this person?” you questioned, “Unhappy people getting a divorce is not unheard of, you know?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

He brokenly smiled and turned to his right to look at you so that you knew how sincere his wish was.

“I really hope I can tell you someday.”

You reflected his broken smile back at him and wiped the Bavarian cream clinging to the corner of his mouth. Chris inadvertently flinched when you touched him out of the blue and immediately sat up straight.

“I– I don’t think you understand my frustration levels,” he cleared his throat, “I’m one minor contact away from having an accident, so please…”

You chuckled, “If you’re one minor contact away, how do you deal with your clients every day?”

“You know the profile of my clientele, right?”

“Oh, come on! Surely some hot piece of ass walks into your office every once in a while to rejuvenate her vagina or something.”

“I mean, occasionally, yeah,” he spoke matter-of-factly, “But they’re my patients. I’m not attracted to them.”

“You have a type?”

Chris couldn’t help his smile at your incessant mischievous questioning with that grin slapped on your face, and brazenly responded.

“Yes, I do.” 

Only silence ensued as he was looking at you intently. After several seconds, you pointed your finger at yourself questioningly, and when he nodded, you bust out a cackle.

“So you like ‘em flirty and promiscuous.”

“No, I like ‘em fearless and dangerous.”

Your mutual giggling eventually died down, and you were just looking at one another, attentively examining the little details on each other’s faces. His eyes eventually darted to your lips, reminding him of what they looked like wrapped around him not too long ago, and he felt a warm sensation rapidly spread in the pit of his stomach.

Goddammit…

He was doing so fucking well up until that moment. Chris was beyond frustrated, not because he didn’t get laid, but because he couldn’t touch you. Sexting or masturbating to you wasn’t enough anymore. Feeling you just once wasn’t enough. It hadn’t been enough for quite some time. He needed to fuck you. He needed to fuck you right here right now. Hard. Fast. Sloppy. Into his backseat. Fuck you until you fogged all the windows of his car. Choke you until you begged for some air. Grope you until you had bruises on you in the exact shape of his fingerprints. Kiss you until your skin was healed. Finger you until your eyes rolled back. Eat your pussy until you arched into his mouth. If only he wasn’t able to smell how wet you were between your legs because now that he could, it was getting way too hard to restrain himself with each passing second.

Just why the fuck did your scent have to be so… fucking… delicious?!?!

He closed his eyes, licked his lips, and took a very deep breath to seemingly calm himself, which was to no avail because as much as he was able to sense you, you were able to notice the strain under his pants, too. You scooted even closer to him and placed your hand on his thigh to gently caress it.

“Should I take this as a compliment then?”

Chris was embarrassingly hard already, and your touch was not helping his situation at all. Why, yes, you should take that as a goddamn compliment because were you even aware how many times he had to touch himself in a single day because of you?

“Please…”

You weren’t able to hold back anymore either. Once the spark from that match was alive, there was no turning back. It immediately turned into an uncontainable fire. You leaned into his reddening ear which looked like smoke was about to come out of it any second now.

“I want you, Chris.”

“Please,” he couldn’t dare open his eyes, “Don’t… Don’t prey on my weakness like that.”

But how could you not when he specifically told you not to in that desperate voice of his? Having had a knack for languages for so long, you knew exactly what that translated into.

Keep going and I will not take any responsibility for what happens.

“Your weakness?” you started sliding your hand up his thigh, “Is that what you call being touch-starved?”

“No, it’s– it’s you,” he thickly gulped, “Please.”

His words said Have mercy, but the fine print said something else. If you stopped right then and there, he was probably going to go back home and wreck everything in his garage into a pile of debris out of sheer frustration. Then wouldn’t having mercy be the complete opposite of what his lips were saying?

“I want you bad,” you placed a kiss on his earlobe, “I know you want me, too.”

“Please.”

You brushed your nose on his cheek, and when you spoke against his skin, your warm breath carried your words right to the pit of his stomach.

“You keep thinking about us, too, don’t you?” you loosened the button of his jeans, “You touch yourself to how incredible it felt in my mouth, don’t you handsome?”

“Please!”

“It’s just you and me. Just two people who deliriously want each other. Nothing more, nothing less.”

And when you finally touched his neck and whispered loudly in his ear with that much air—

“Fuck me, gorgeous.”

“ENOUGH!”

Chris jolted in his seat like he was electrocuted and grabbed your face.

“I’m fucking done with your teasing.”

Ironically enough, your first kiss came way later than the first time you made him cum. It was a kiss. A goddamn kiss, but by god, you had never experienced something this erotically charged before. The way he kissed you felt like he was trying to invade the void in your soul. When you touched his torso under his shirt, you almost charred your skin for his temperature was a million degrees. You were scared he was going to suffer a seizure or something due to acute fever.

“God, you’re so fucking hot. Who the fuck told you to be this fucking hot?”

Chris lowered your seat all the way back with one pull of a lever, and you started stripping each other a little too roughly like your life was at stake. He actually managed to rip off several buttons of your shirt and tore the lace of your bra, immediately latching himself to your nipples on sight. He was way too enthused for his own good, and you could feel him gently biting on the pebbled skin while getting rid of your pants in the meantime.

Why the fuck did you love getting tossed around by him this much?

“I want you,” Chris breathed into your neck, “Endlessly.”

You’d had your fair share of steamy encounters. Well, you’d had a lot of people’s share of steamy encounters for that matter, but you were aware of what those entailed. Both parties were always a placeholder. Temporary. Disposable.

Nobody had ever wanted you before.

“Gosh, you’re soaked,” Chris brought his thumb dangerously close to your clit and ogled you with his lips parted.

You were so goddamn slippery and on edge that the way he kept denying you contact annoyed the shit out of you. When you attempted to buck your hips for a little bit of friction, he groped your thighs and pinned you down.

“Behave.”

Sunkissed friendly guys who would get you soaked just with their filthy mouths. 

Well-behaved guys who were into kinky shit behind closed doors. 

Considerate guys who would mark their girls in their beds. 

Laid-back guys who fucking lost their shit when someone else touched what was theirs. 

Turns out, Chris was one of them.

“Don’t fucking act like you don’t wanna bury your face there,” you grabbed his wrists, “Now I’m gonna soak you.”

With one quick reflex, you straddled him and started grinding your clit against his rock hard cock. A throaty groan ripped from his throat. You felt him grope your ass as he made out with your neck. He was gasping for air against your skin. You inadvertently moaned when he landed a spank on your hips. The moment you locked eyes with him again, you saw how content he was with your reaction, biting on his lips with a twisted smile.

“God, you’re into some messed up stuff, aren’t you?”

“What are you gonna do if I am?” Chris shoved his fingers into your mouth, “Do you mind if I use this real quick?”

He loved the way you started swirling your tongue around his fingers, letting out sharp exhales each time you sucked on them. The deeper you took them in your mouth, the louder he moaned.

“I wanna do so many things to you,” you pressed your forehead against his.

“Do fucking everything to me.”

“You said everything,” you slithered your hands behind his nape, “No takebacks.”

“But I can’t wait that long.”

“Fucking use me. I know you’re sick of it,” you grabbed him by his neck, “Eat me alive.”

“Stop talking like that!” he grunted almost in the form of a whine. Meanwhile, you just shamelessly grinned at him.

“Why? Because treating me like a cumdump is disrespectful?”

“STOP!”

He turned you around in his lap, aligned his leaking length with your entrance, and pressed you closer to him so that your back was flush against his chest.

“Sit on it,” he firmly instructed you, “I wanna disappear into you.”

As you lowered yourself, Chris also pushed you down from your thighs, and you almost imploded for the sensation was way too overwhelming.

“Fucking—!”

“I can feel how creamy you are on my cock, fucking christ,” he rested one hand on your breast and spread your thighs further apart with the other, “Ain’t no way I’m not cumming inside.”

Chris felt fucking incredible inside you. He was pounding into you so hard and fast that pornographically sloppy sounds accompanied the echo of both your moans in the car.

“How does it feel sitting on me? As good as you imagined?”

“Fucking better.”

“Feel every inch,” he kissed your neck, “Every… fucking… inch. You did this to me.”

You threw your arm behind you to hold onto his nape and rested your head on his shoulder. Not too long after, he started rubbing your clit with his wet fingers while marking hickeys on your neck.

“Harder! I said eat me alive.”

“The fuck are you doing to me?”

He started thrusting into you with sharper movements, and when you started contracting, it basically spelled his impending doom.

“Don’t clench. Don’t… clench!”

“But I’m gonna.”

“Don’t— FUCK!!!”

Chris barely lasted five minutes. The way he violently spurted inside you, the way he clenched his teeth and moaned against your skin, the way he rode out his orgasm… It was all so hot to witness that you didn’t even give a fuck you didn’t get to cum.

“I’m– I’m so sorry. I couldn’t—”

“It’s fine,” you chuckled, “Didn’t that feel really good just now?”

“It really did,” he rested his head against your temple, “I’d forgotten what fucking feels like.”

You carefully got off him and laid down in the backseat as Chris hugged you. You kept caressing his unruly hair until he caught his breath. Unfortunately for you, right at that moment that swelling feeling in your chest tightened, and you felt something click like it got permanently locked inside.

Please don’t let me love you, gorgeous. Otherwise, we’re fucking doomed.

Ever since that day, you started observing Casey a lot more closely whenever you saw her. What she was doing, what kind of a person she actually was, the fucking front she was putting up, and tried to understand the reason why. Chris didn’t say he didn’t want to get a divorce. He said he couldn’t, and you just fucking knew this bitch had something to do with it. 

It was somewhat tolerable when you watched her doing some domestic shit in her garden from afar, waving at each other with fake smiles, but it was straight up making your skin crawl whenever she was right in your face.

“Oh my god, your garden is a mess!” she shrieked pointing at the thistles, and scared the crap out of you, “Do you need a gardener? I can give the number of ours to you. He does a fantastic job weeding out our yard.”

“Oh, this is very much voluntary,” you replied all unfazed, “I’m growing them myself.”

“Really?” she contorted her face in mild disgust, “Why would you grow thistles when you could have beautiful roses and jasmine shrubs instead?”

It took everything in your willpower not to smack her with the pruning shears in your hand.

“I’m a little busy. Did you need something?”

“Oh, nothing, I just wanted to say hi,” Casey flashed a disgustingly sweet smile and waved, “Toodles!”

The second she was at a safe distance, you mumbled to yourself through your teeth.

“It’s not like I’m growing cannabis here, you Sharpay Evans looking-ass cunt.”

“You’re not gonna believe what happened the other night,” Nathalie appeared out of thin air, giving you your second heart attack within a span of two minutes, “Inside. Now.”

She looked somewhat distraught, so you immediately dropped everything and followed her to the kitchen area.

“Is everything okay sweetie?” you took out the gloves from your hand and brought out a pitcher of sangria from the fridge, “Did those bitches do something again? Whose ass do I have to kick?”

“It’s not like that. Sit,” Nathalie fervently patted the couch and went off, “You know the Lees down the street, right?” 

“I think?”

“I was at the farmer’s market on Monday morning, and I ran into Chaeryong.”

“Oh, right, I remember her,” you snapped your fingers, “Contrary to her counterparts, she seems like a nice lady, actually. All quiet and everything.”

“I know, right?” Nathalie widened her eyes and flapped her hand quickly, “Anyway, we sort of started shopping together and then she invited me for brunch.”

“Bitch, you’re brunch-cheating on me?!”

“Will you fucking listen?” she slapped your thigh, “We get to talking, and then all of a sudden she asks me if Jisung and I would be interested in an exclusive party they’re hosting. Apparently, they get together every month.”

“Something like Casey’s pretentious-ass dinner party?”

“I thought so. I say ‘Sure’ and Ji and I drag our asses to the address she’s given me. It’s like this big-ass mansion, right? We’re greeted by a butler. A fucking butler!”

“Whose house even was this?” you furrowed your brows and refilled your glass.

“I don’t know!” Nathalie squealed with gigantic eyes, “I thought it was going to be a restaurant or something at first. Almost everything inside is marble, and then we’re escorted to what I thought was going to be a dining room.”

“It– it wasn’t?”

“Oh, there was some eating going on alright,” she took a very deep breath and punctuated her story, “Bitch, it was a whole-ass swinger party going on inside!”

Your jaw dropped all the way to the floor so fast that there was surely a dent in your hardwood floors now. A swinger party? In fucking suburbia galore? You started to die laughing.

“What the fuck did you guys do?!”

“We freaked out and went home!” Nathalie downed her entire glass, “But somehow that whole scene… It unlocked something for us.”

“How so?” 

“When we got back home Jisung seemed a little too… riled up,” she uttered somewhat bashfully, “Talking about how he would knock a bitch out if they dared touch his girl and shit.”

“And? Did he finally hit that like you wanted?”

Clearly replaying her memories in her head, she melted into the couch.

“God, it was the best sex of my goddamn life.”

You started laughing even louder, but at the end of the day good for your friend, right? Effective proof right there that disasters were indeed salvageable. 

“It’s always the quiet ones, I swear,” you wiped the tears from your eyes, “See? Instead of waiting for the neighborhood deviants to point shit out to you, you should talk to each other more often.”

“I didn’t know how I would ease into it, but I guess anything I bring up will be way too tame compared to this now,” she leaned back into her seat, “So yeah. What have you been up to lately?”

Well, I finally fucked Chris, and it blew my goddamn mind, was what you wanted to say, but for some reason, you couldn’t really bring yourself to reveal this piece of information to your friend yet. Technically, you weren’t lying to her; you just... didn’t bring it up.

“Nothing much,” you smiled at her, “Sangria?”

Nathalie hung out with you until the evening hours, and once you saw her off, you briefly questioned yourself regarding why you chose to hide the whole Chris situation. Were you feeling bad about it? No. Would you do it again? Hell, yeah. Were you aware that it wasn’t exactly the right thing to do?

Well, technically…

Right before a whole-ass debate broke out inside your head, your phone screen lit up with a notification from Chris.

Chris Since I’m kinda bored at the office Bets open How many times did I cum to that ass since the last time I last saw you?

Boom! Your logic? Gone. Common sense? Gone. Immediately. You sprawled on your couch and responded to him.

You Four Chris Eleven I keep replaying it in my head I can still feel you under my touch

You involuntarily bit into your smile because samesies. You were sort of scared to bring it up again, especially after that weird post-sex feeling, but you never stopped thinking about that night, either. It was under control when you were just relying on your imagination, but now that you had actual evidence of what Chris felt like in all your five senses, you were the one who was one minor contact away from having an accident.

You Did I ever tell you That your voice drives me fucking crazy? Let me hear it again [IMG304.jpeg] Here’s a little motivation 

Right after you sent the text involving a picture of your breasts squeezed together, you started waiting for the indicator to change with bated breath. After what felt like hours, there it was again, exciting you way too much on cue.

Chris [Recording audio…]

Your hand reached inside your underwear, and you started caressing yourself with very gentle touches. Just the thought of Chris jerking off to you right now was so fucking hot you didn’t even need to hear the audio itself to get wet.

Then you finally got the notification you were waiting for.

The way he kept hissing, the wet sounds of him stroking himself, the little whimpers he let out every now and then, panting and moaning to an image of you… It was fucking customized porn. Unadulterated, top-notch, cutting-edge, state-of-the-art quality porn made just for you.

Oh, you’re fucking killing me with this.

But the important question was why were you touching yourself all alone in your living room when he could be touching you?

Your wits spectacularly lost the battle against your urges. Shortly after, you found yourself getting ready as fast as you could and driving to his clinic. 

Between you leaving home and arriving at his building, the sky lost complete consciousness and turned from dusk to pitch-black. Even as you were riding the elevator eighteen floors up, your rationality was still nowhere to be found. You caught a glimpse of Chris taking out his white coat through the open door to his office. Very casually. As if he didn’t indulge in some shameless acts not too long ago. Seeing him in the flesh looking like that, your sanity peaced out for good. You watched yourself push the glass door open and walk into that lobby with a ridiculous amount of confidence.

“Good evening, Dr. Bang,” you called out to him.

Chris was stunned to see you right before his eyes as though he somehow manifested you there out of sheer willpower. Before giving him a chance to speak, you continued.

“I apologize for the last-minute consult. I’m aware I don’t have an appointment and it’s late, but I really need this resolved as soon as possible. You see, my boyfriend’s coming to town.”

“Dr. Bang, I’m taking off for today.”

“Uh– Thanks, Stacy. I’ll see you on Monday,” Chris saw the woman behind the information desk off and called you in, “Please come in.”

You followed him into his office, your heart thumping in your ears for some reason. 

“Your boyfriend?” Chris raised his brows questioningly. You, on the other hand, were entertained out of your mind.

“Your receptionist needed something to chew on, no?”

His relief was so obvious from the way he deeply exhaled. It was quite endearing, actually.

“You’re crazy,” he started laughing.

“And you get a kick out of it,” you started walking towards his chair, “Actually, there might really be something wrong with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been told you’re the best doctor in town for this, so I think you can really help me with my problem,” you sat on his desk and spoke with a solemn voice, “Do you also happen to specialize in sexual health, Dr. Bang?”

Chris was sort of caught off-guard as he was expecting a legitimate consult on his professional opinion. He did his best to try to suppress his laughter and responded as seriously as he could manage.

“I’d like to assure you all my clients leave here figuring out what works for them, and they carry on enjoying a healthy sex life.”

“Oh, I’m not here to figure things out. I know what works for me.“

“Then what’s the purpose of your visit?”

You got up from the desk and made yourself comfortable in his lap. The way you brushed your fingers against his neck gave him goosebumps.

“I have a problem getting enough.”

“Insatiability,” a shadow of a smile passed through his lips, “Well, that’s a first.”

The second you took his full lips between yours, you started melting into each other again. You kept teasing one another with little touches here and there, scared to lose complete control if you did anything more than that.

“Did you miss me?”

“A lot,” Chris spoke against your lips, “You’re like bad drugs I swear to fucking god…”

“Touch me,” you brought his hands around your waist, “I don’t care where. Just touch me.”

The way you started moaning into each other’s mouths gradually more loudly was the signal that this was about to get out of hand pretty quickly. You broke the kiss before either of you started doing something earthshatteringly stupid.

“Down for a little escapade with me?”

“H-here?”

“One of these days, I am gonna fuck you in your office, and you’re not gonna be able to look at this place the same,” you chuckled and fixed the collar of his shirt, “but today is not that day.”

“Where do you wanna go then?”

“Somewhere only we know. Just to be safe,” you started explaining the little plan you concocted, “Come to the parking lot in ten minutes and follow my car. We’ll drive separately. I’ll go in first. You’ll come sometime after me and ask for a single room with a single bed. Just to cover our bases. I’ll be waiting for you by the elevators, Dr. Bang.”

A thirty-minute drive later, there you were. In the lobby of The Ritz in Mayweather. 

You checked into a suite with a sea view and started going through your phone mindlessly until your person of interest stood right next to you to call for an elevator. He didn’t even have to say anything; his sandalwood scent made you keenly aware of his presence anyway.

The second those elevator doors closed behind you you were all over each other. Tongues clashing, bites on lips, tugs of the flesh. You felt his hand slithering up your thigh.

“Finger me.”

Chris hastily turned you around, spat on his fingers, and slid his hand inside your underwear.

“You got twenty three floors to cum,” he pressed your body against the mirror, “Show me what you got.”

He was quietly moaning while making out with your neck as he fingered you. You could feel how hard he was getting on your hips, and you were both fogging the mirror with how heavily you were breathing. 

“Just give it to me.”

“Faster. Right– right there!”

If you had a little more time you could actually cum on his fingers maybe, but you were severely cockblocked by the sound telling you you’d reached your floor.

“Tsk, this won’t do,” Chris licked his fingers, “I told you you got twenty three floors.”

When you walked into the spacious room, the first thing Chris did was pour drinks for both of you to chug. You could feel that his aura was a little different. There was a delicious flicker of danger emitting from him. When you attempted to unbutton his shirt, he stopped you.

“You know what, I have an idea,” he poured himself another drink and pointed at the bed, “Sit.”

You had no clue what it was about him that night that made you want to follow each and every instruction, but you just did. Chris dragged a chair right in front of you and leaned back with one ankle resting on his other knee. Then he took his phone out.

“Do you mind if I get a souvenir?” he playfully smirked, “I think it’s only fair if you returned the favor.”

“Go ahead,” you reciprocated his smile.

“Strip for me.”

He sipped on his drink as you undressed, licking his lips with every piece of clothing you took off.

“Spread your legs wide.”

He zoomed in to get a close-up of your pussy and smiled to himself.

“Lay down,” he continued his instructions, “Now you’re gonna touch yourself and let me watch you,” 

“Can I use aids?”

“Why, of course.”

You reached out for your purse and took out the bullet vibrator you were carrying in your wallet because fuck a lipstick, this was a girl’s best friend.

“Close your eyes,” Chris started speaking in a huskier tone, the giveaway sign of how turned on he was, “I want you to tell me everything you want me to do to you.” 

“Everything?” you softly chuckled, “Sure you’re not gonna get scared?”

“Try me. I haven’t always been a suburbia guy,” he nonchalantly uttered, “I have some conditions, though.”

“I’m listening.”

“If you can do those things to yourself, you’re gonna manifest me on your body,” he savored the taste of the gin on his tongue, “Wanna get your pretty pussy eaten? I’d better see you dripping.”

You weren’t sure whether it was the alcohol or the sense of freedom that transformed Chris into this, but you absolutely weren’t complaining. You made a mental note of each and every thing he said like a meticulous student.

“Want me to make you scream? You’d better stop it with those quiet moans. You act like you don’t actually want me to drill you into that mattress? Just lazy rubs on that clit? That’s all you’re getting from me.”

His voice was commanding. Enthralling. Categorically tantalizing. You couldn’t even remember whether anybody else was ever able to get you this worked up.

“But if you can show me what you exactly want?” Chris carried on with his directions, “Then I’ll show you I can do it way better than you can ever do to yourself.”

He downed half his glass in one go and pressed record.

“You may begin.”

May. He said fucking may like he was giving you goddamn permission to entertain him for his viewing pleasure. 

You wished you didn’t salivate over this cocky side of Chris.

“You and I are out, having drinks. Away from anybody we ever know. Just the two of us,” you started fondling your breasts, “I look a bit too good, and you’re not so bad yourself.”

You felt the soft sound of his amused chuckle tickling your ears. Your hand started sliding down your torso, and you started caressing your pussy with gentle movements.

“There’s a guy in the corner ogling me. He seems like he doesn’t really care that you’re there with me. I excuse myself to the restroom. When I come out, he’s right there, asking for my number,” you dragged your fingers on your tongue to get them wet and started playing with your nipple, “I tell him I’m not interested and come back to the table. Unfortunately for me, you see this exchange.”

You applied more pressure on your pussy, which elicited a moan out of you. Per your instructions, you didn’t try to suppress it. You started rubbing your clit to get yourself wetter.

“You ask me what the hell that was and I tell you it’s nothing. Because it is nothing. I only have eyes for you. Even when you’re not with me, I can’t stop thinking about you. You know that, but you act like you don’t believe me. You’re so gone with jealousy that you see red. You grab me by my wrist and drag me to an alley outside. It excites the fuck out of me.”

“Pay attention to how your clit is throbbing,” Chris spoke with a low voice, “Keep caressing yourself.”

You grabbed the vibrator sitting next to you, clicked on it, and started dragging it on your pussy.

“You shove me against the wall and slide my dress up. It angers you that I have underwear on. You rip it off me and tell me to arch my ass. I say I don’t want to, but you know I do. You know I want you to do completely disrespectful, borderline illegal things to me,” you spread your legs wider and began fucking yourself, “If I told you what I really want you to do, I would sound like an absolute masochist that needs to be institutionalized. You awaken the worst parts of me and I fucking love it.”

Chris let out a loud groan indicative of how he was about to pass a precarious threshold, and it pleased you more than you were pleasing yourself.

“Lick your own juices,” he firmly ordered you, “Then finger yourself.”

You turned off the vibrator and sucked on it as if you were sucking on him to get him to cum. Then you pushed two fingers inside you while pinching your nipples.

“I love the way you fuck, gorgeous. I love how mad you are. I love how you’re overcome with this urge to put me in my place. I fucking love the way you ruthlessly take it out on me.”

You were panting and moaning to this make-believe scenario you depicted for him, and Chris couldn’t really calculate that this sight was going to cause him to cum untouched if he let you keep going. It was just too hot to handle.

“Stop.”

You halted your movements and waited for further instructions while catching your breath.

“Sit up. Look at me.”

You did as you were told and locked eyes with him. He was still filming you.

“How much do you want me?”

“Endlessly,” you echoed his haunting declaration back to him. 

He hurriedly unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants. The sight of his precum induced an intense desire in you to just lap at it.

“Open up,” he guided his cock into your mouth, “Suck it deep for me.”

You looked right into the lens while blowing him to give him his ultimate personal porn. The way he was reacting to you with his loud groans was fucking everything.

“My pretty girl,” he placed his hand on your head, “That’s it, choke on it.”

Your enthusiasm suddenly tripled when he called you that. You took more of him down your throat while swirling your tongue around him.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking good at this,” he threw his head back in pure ecstasy, “Deeper. Take it deeper.”

As he was guiding your head, Chris got a little too excited and started fucking into your mouth. 

“Do it again,” his voice came out as a desperate plea, “Make me cum hard in your mouth again.”

When you started moaning on his cock, that was simply the last straw for him. You felt the warm, bitter liquid shooting down your throat, and once his tremors died down, he stopped the recording.

“That was for me. Now we’re gonna make something for you,” he handed you the phone, “Give me your vibrator.”

“Damn, no ‘please’ or anything?” you sarcastically laughed.

“Did I sound like I was asking? Because I wasn’t.”

Good fucking god, who the fuck was this man because you were losing your whole entire shit over him. You watched Chris strip and nestle himself between your legs.

“No cumming until I tell you to.”

“Because?”

“Because I fucking said so.” 

At this rate, you would jump off that window if he asked you to because it was getting impossible to say no to him.

“Now film me.”

He started caressing your nipples with his thumbs just to watch the way the skin hardened. Zero hurry. Compared to some of your other erogenous zones, your breasts weren’t that sensitive. At least, you had always thought so.

That night you learned what would happen if someone actually took their sweet time working you.

“It’s a shame, really,” he let out a disappointed sigh, “It would be fucking amazing if your cum also squirted out of your nipples.”

Since WHEN are you this forward, my guy?

Chris was paying so much attention to your breasts with excruciating gentleness, kissing them, taking them into his mouth, and drawing slow circles on them with his tongue. He was treating your nipples no different than your clit. Every single movement of him was so unrushed that you felt yourself gradually shift to a realm of pleasure that you didn’t even know existed. He wasn’t doing anything else. No aids. Nothing. Just hyperfixating on your chest area to make you aware of how good this could feel.

After some time, the teasing reached such an unbearable level that you simply started oozing between your legs. You needed him. On you. In you. Behind you. Everywhere. 

Right at that moment, he started descending from your chest with kisses to your ribcage, your stomach, all the way down to your crotch, and stopped in front of your cunt. He wasn’t touching you—his eyes were glued on your folds, admiring it, gawking at how glossy they were because of him. It was like he was waiting for you to snap or something.

“Spit on it.”

You didn’t even know where those words came from; they just forced themselves out of you. Chris paused for a brief moment while looking into your eyes with a knowing smile and then fulfilled your request. 

It indeed pushed you a little closer to snapping.

“Fucking god, eat me. I need to feel your tongue on me,” you tangled your fingers in his hair, “Just lick me. Suck me. Slurp on me until I cum in your mouth.”

He was beyond content with how impatient you were getting, and promptly got to work. You almost lost your fucking mind watching this through the screen, and it was going to be on record forever. This absolute perfection of a man between your legs making out with your pussy. You were instinctively grinding against his face and with every roll of your hips, you were five steps closer to your orgasm. Your legs started shaking not long after.

“Ah, yes. Yes, just like that. Nice and slow,” you felt yourself dissolve on his tongue, “Who the fuck told you to eat pussy this good, my GOD!”

“Told you I’m gonna drive you insane,” he placed a wet kiss on your thigh, “Hold it. I’m not done eating yet.”

That prompted a heated push and pull of who was in charge. You pulled on his hair, he shoved his tongue into your entrance. You scratched his back, he squeezed your thighs. You loudly moaned, he moaned louder into your pussy.

“I wish I could stimulate you from everywhere all at once,” he softly chuckled, “You should see this. You’re soaking the sheets.”

You spread your pussy lips to expose your clit to him and zoomed in on the way he lapped at it with his eyes closed, completely basking himself in your taste.

“So wet,” he pecked your pussy, “Come on, you can give me more.”

At long last, Chris finally grabbed the vibrator, but didn’t turn it on. He just dragged it from your clit down to your entrance and pushed it inside with no pressure, yet it still met resistance.

“You feel that?” he demonstrated how he wasn’t able to go further with a few more pumps, “You’re so aroused, your walls are all swollen.”

He pulled the toy out of you and dragged it back up to a very dangerous zone.

“Clitoris is such a fascinating part of the body, you know,” he started speaking in a beguilingly calm voice, “It’s like there is this annihilate button right out in the open. Who wouldn’t wanna press that?”

He clicked on the vibrator to turn it on, but he still wasn’t pressing it against your clit very much on purpose. All you could feel was the very very faint, feather-like vibrations around it.

“Interesting things, bullet vibrators,” he continued with the same tranquil tone, “They’re supposed to make you feel good, but they don’t have very strong motors. Not to mention you can’t properly fuck yourself with it because of their size. They don’t reach very deep.”

Then he locked eyes with you, and the way he smiled at you was simply demonic.

“That’s why in the wrong hands, they become straight up torture devices, don’t you reckon?”

You were dying. Chris was killing you with his words and ruthless teasing. He kept dragging that damn thing you were cursing yourself to bring out in the first place, and he suddenly discovered a critical spot.

“CHRIS!”

“Oh, found it. Right here under your clit, isn’t it?” he lightly poked his target once, “Want me to work that?

That was a very much rhetorical question because of course he wasn’t going to. He slowly glided the small device currently drenched in your sweet arousal just to bring it down to your entrance again. He pushed the very tip through your swollen hole, fucked a few shallow pumps, and when he met resistance, he moved it back up. His other hand started playing with your nipples again while teasing you to death. You had brought this on yourself—you were the one initiating this arson on your body. You were so sensitive by then that you could feel everything he was doing, and threefold more intensely for that matter. The way he made out with your nipples like he was munching on your clit. The way he contently hummed against your skin like he was getting his dick sucked. The way he slowly slid down the vibrator to that sweet spot right under your clit. Everything.

Then you said the one thing you absolutely shouldn’t have.

“I’m g– I’m gonna cum!”

Chris halted all his ministrations immediately and clicked on the bullet to turn it off. Then he stared you down with a threatening look. 

“I think the fuck you’re not.”

“Chris, please!” you were about to rip your hair out due to unadulterated frustration, “Fucking stop this torture!”

“I don’t think you heard me,” he adamantly declared, “I said no.”

With that, he went back to work you all the way from the top as if you had messed up a one-take shot. Just your breasts again. Just kisses. No contact with your cunt whatsoever. He turned on the vibrator and used it to get your nipples wet with your own juices while pressing the tip on the hardened skin. You wondered if he was trying to see whether you would actually squirt your cum out of them. When your whimpers became too much, he turned the device off and channeled his attention to somewhere else.

He very carefully touched your folds with his thumb, just lightly caressing and avoiding your clit at all costs. He started drawing very slow, languid circles around your clit with the toy as if it was a pen and proceeded to fuck you with very very shallow thrusts again. He kept alternating between the two, but the second your breathing got labored he stopped.

“Stop this!” you pleaded on the brink of tears, “Please stop edging me!”

“But I’m gonna,” he kissed the soft skin right above your pussy, “I’m gonna edge you. I’m gonna edge myself. I’m gonna keep on edging until one of us fucking loses it.”

He turned the vibrator on and swirled the faint vibrations on your outer labia first. Then your inner labia. Then around your clit. Then finally… 

Fucking finally he pressed it on your clit.

“Oh, fuck, yes!”

“Hold it.”

“Chris, yes!”

“Hold it.”

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

“I… said… hold… it.”

His lips might have been saying one thing, but Chris forced you to cum very violently by aggressively fucking you with the toy and sucking on your clit, knowing damn well there was no way in hell you would be able to hold it. That wasn’t an orgasm you experienced.

You fucking combusted and shattered into a million pieces.

“What did I just tell you?” he disapprovingly tsked, “You don’t know how to listen. There should be consequences for what you’ve done, don’t you reckon?”

Your brain completely reset. You didn’t know who you were or where you were anymore.

“What– what consequences?”

“Shh, I’m not gonna hurt you,” Chris hovered over your body, “I just want a kiss. Taste yourself on me just like you wanted.”

This was the consequence? Why, by all means, you could give him all the kisses he asked for. 

He placed the phone that slid from your hand on the nightstand, still recording for that matter, so that you were both in the frame, then shifted you on top of his body. He was kissing you long and deep while playing with your tongue and sucking on it. You were feeling yourself slowly resurrecting.

“I’m not gonna do anything, I swear. I’ll only grind against you,” he started moving his hips, “I just want some friction for myself.”

Chris continued with his kisses while grinding, but that didn’t last very long. When he aligned his cock against your entrance, you chortled.

“That feels like more than just friction.”

“Just the tip, baby. Come on.”

Oh, hell no.

This was supposed to be a sweet escape. You were doing extremely obscene things to each other, but when he uttered that damn word, the dynamics suddenly changed. 

The lock in your chest was trapped under a deadbolt now.

“A little more,” he moaned into your mouth, “I only want a little more.”

He turned you around and engulfed your body under his, then you felt him completely sink into you with one sharp push.

“Chris…”

“Fucking need you,” he threw your legs on his shoulder, “I won’t cum inside, I promise.”

He could feel how thick your walls still were, still slightly contracting from your earlier orgasm. Warm. Wet. Perfectly wrapped around his cock like a custom-made sleeve. Then at long last, what he was doing finally hit you and you started laughing.

“You’ve been after making a cum-filled wreck out of me all along, haven’t you?”

Chris looked deep into your eyes with an absolutely maniacal grin and whispered.

“Bingo.”

You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

“You should manipulate me more often.”

“You should fuck me more often,” he caressed your cheeks, “You should fuck me all the time.”

“Then fill me up. To the brim. I wanna feel your cum leak out of me.”

“No leaking. You’re gonna keep it inside, yeah?” he kissed you again, “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

He started fucking you with a much faster rhythm and shoved his fingers into your mouth. When you started sucking on them in the exact same way you sucked on his cock, Chris let go and squirted his load all over your walls. 

“Inside, baby. Keep it inside,” he grabbed his preferred assault weapon one last time, “Look into my eyes.”

Without driving you up a wall this time, he pressed the vibrator right on target, under your clit to make you cum on his cock. You were still pretty sensitive from earlier, so it didn’t take long for him to hit the nail on the head. Chris stopped the recording and collapsed right next to you. When he pulled out, as much as you wanted to keep it inside, you leaked a little. He brushed his finger on the white liquid to taste it.

“It’s much better when we’re mixed together,” he brought his finger in your mouth, “See for yourself.”

It was indeed much better. The aftercare involving lots of hugs and kisses was very much worth almost passing out.

“Do you think I should get this mole removed?” you pointed at the freckle on your chest.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It looks so sexy on you,” Chris placed a kiss on it, “I love it.”

“Did you know our pristine neighborhood has a swinger’s club?”

“A what?”

You bust out laughing at his reaction and turned to your side to face him.

“Yeah, Nat told me.”

“Who knew? maybe this town isn’t so boring after all.”

“So they never asked you to join, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Would you have been interested at all if they had?”

“God no,” he furrowed his brows, almost slightly nauseated, “Certainly not in my current situation.”

“What do you mean current?”

He heaved an annoyed sigh, “Even if we were both willing parties, such a scenario wouldn’t be a turn on with Casey.”

“Why not? You don’t find her sexually attractive?”

“Sexually, morally, as a human being overall.”

You couldn’t help the snort that came out of you because samesies. Then all of a sudden, the way he worded it caught your attention and you pulled yourself closer to Chris.

“So it’s not that you wouldn’t wanna do it, but it’s who is involved,” you knowingly smiled, “Would you want to share me with someone else?”

There was a total blue screen on Chris’ face. No thoughts, head empty, just thinking about the lewdest scenarios you just sparked in his mind. What if people were in the room to watch him please you beyond humanely possible? What if they listened to your screams of pleasure when you begged him to give you more? Or stop stimulating you anymore? What if you fucked all night long and people touched themselves to the hottest fucking sight they’d ever witnessed? What if it was so damn seductive that they started fucking each other?

His throat got super dry all of a sudden.

“What uh– What did you have in mind?”

“We can talk about it,” your smile grew wider, “but I have different priorities. I was promised twenty four hours of fucking.”

You straddled him and lowered your body on his. Even though neither of you fully recuperated yet, you didn’t want to be away from him for one second.

“Spend me, gorgeous.”

“I think I enjoy your insatiability problem a bit too much,” he smiled into your lips.

Right when you started another round, your phone screen flashed in your purse with a text notification.

Minho Call me when you can This bitch is sus af

«TO BE CONTINUED»

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『paradise lost』 ; 01

❝ do you ever wonder? ❞

↳  finding out about one of your friends spending a night with your best friend changes the trajectory of the way you view him…forever and for always.

⎯ ୨series mlist୧ ⎯ ○ ⎯ ୨next୧ ⎯

『 pairing 』 : kim hongjoong x fem!reader

『 genre 』 : friends to lovers, romance, explicit sexual content.

『 rating 』 : mature

『 word count 』 : 10k

『 warnings 』 : drinking, smoking, sexually explicit content: unprotected penetrative sex, oral sex (f rec), (nice) dirty talking, light possession play, light humiliation play.

“Have you ever done it?”

“No, of course not.”

“Have you ever thought about it?”

“Definitely not.”

An admission of complete truth: you hadn’t.

That was, of course, until you had.

Keep reading

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