#Strip out Services Sydney | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luckyroll3 · 2 months ago

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Save a Horse; Ride a Cowboy

Summary: On a month-long sabbatical from your stressful New York life, you escape to a remote Australian cattle station, only to meet Chan—a cocky, womanizing cowboy with no interest in commitment. The chemistry is instant, and soon you’re swept into a wild, no-strings-attached fling. He’s charming, carefree, and exactly the distraction you’re looking for. As your time on the ranch draws to a close, so does your steamy affair, leaving you refreshed… but will you be able to leave him behind? You’re not so sure.

Fuck Boy Bang Chan x Reader (f); Fling, Smut

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, smut, etc.

The first-class seat envelopes you like a cocoon as you sip champagne and watch the clouds drift by, miles from the suffocating bustle of New York City and the endless briefs, contracts, suits and other things you deal with as a corporate lawyer for a Fortune 500 company. You let out a long exhale, the stress already beginning to melt away. An eternity later, the Sydney airport materializes below, and you step into the blinding Australian sun, squinting as you make your way to the rental car.

The GPS guides you into the heart of the outback, red dirt and scrubby bush stretching endlessly on either side. Sweat beads on your forehead as the AC sputters its last breath. Suddenly, the engine lets out a prolonged groan and the car rolls to a stop, steam billowing from the hood.

"No, no, no..." You bang on the steering wheel before getting out of the car to pop the hood. You tap frantically at your phone. No service. Of course there’s no fucking service, you think to yourself as you toss the phone back into your bag. According to the GPS, the ranch is still 15 miles away.

You sit on the scorching trunk, the heat of the metal dampened through your jeans, scanning the shimmering horizon for any sign of life. One hour passes, then two. Your mouth feels like sandpaper, your water bottle long since drained. As the sun climbs higher, a figure appears in the distance, barely a speck against the vast blue sky. It grows larger, taking the shape of a horse and rider. The horse canters closer until it towers above you, its coat glistening with sweat. Your eyes travel up the muscular legs of the rider, past slim hips and a broad chest, to settle on a face that makes your breath catch.

You hear him say your name, watching as his pink, full lips form each syllable. His Australian accent makes the pronunciation sound sexy.

“That’s me,” you answer. “And you are?” You use your palm as a make-shift visor to block the blinding glare cast by the bright ass sun as you look up at him, your eyes taking in his features. Those gorgeous pouty lips are accompanied by a strong jawline, a broad nose, and beautiful deep brown eyes that stand out against his tan skin. The face shaded beneath the wide-brimmed cowboy hat is absolutely breathtaking.

He swings down from the saddle in one smooth motion. "I'm Chan, the foreman," he says with a vibrant, dimpled grin. "We were getting worried when you didn't show up on time."

His gaze rakes over you, taking in your flushed cheeks and the way your tank top clings to your curves. You feel stripped bare under his appraisal, heat rising under your skin that had nothing to do with the relentless sun. There is a glint in his eye, a confidence bordering on arrogance, that both unnerved and thrilled you.

"Car trouble," you reply, struggling to keep your voice even as you state the obvious. "I don't suppose you could give me a ride?"

Chan's lips quirk. "I think I can manage that." He holds out a hand, pulling you up off the car with surprising strength. "Ever ridden before?"

"Oh, I’ve ridden before,” you joke with a smirk, “just not a horse.” You swing your backpack onto your shoulders as the sound of Chan’s hearty laugh echoes through the air, his head thrown back in amusement.

“Okay, then. Let’s get you on.” He gives you a quick lesson on how to mount the horse, instructing you where to place your hands and guiding your foot into the stirrup. With his strong hands grasping your waist firmly and steering you, you mount the horse. The leather of the saddle creaks under your thighs. After checking to make sure you are situated and comfortable, he effortlessly hops onto the horse directly in front of you. "Hold on tight then," he instructs as he throws a wink over his shoulder. "And enjoy the view."

You tentatively wrap your arms around his waist, fingertips brushing against the hard planes of his abdomen. As the horse lurches forward, you instinctively tighten your grip, your chest pressing against Chan's back. Even through his shirt, you can feel the heat of his skin, the flex of muscles as he nudges the horse forward. The rocking motion of the gallop jostles you against him in a way that feels almost indecent. You try to create some space between your bodies but Chan only chuckles, the vibration rumbling through you.

"Relax, city girl. We've got a ways to go." He readjusts your arms around his body, bringing you back to the position you were in initially before you tried to distance yourself.

His words held a suggestion that makes your pulse quicken. The scrubland blurs into streaks of ocher and sage as you surrender to the rhythm, to the solid warmth of Chan's body against yours. By the time the ranch comes into view, nestled in the shadow of a rust-colored mesa, your thighs ache and an unfamiliar tension coils in your core. Chan swings down and reaches up to help you dismount, his hands firm on your waist. For a charged moment, you are suspended against him, close enough to see the golden flecks in his eyes, to feel his breath ghost across your lips. Then your feet hit the ground, and the spell is broken.

"Welcome to Wandalla Station," Chan says, his voice husky. "Let me show you around."

As he leads you past the weathered barns and corrals, you can't shake the feeling that you’d signed up for more than you bargained for. But as you sneak a glance at Chan's profile, the way his shirt stretches across his shoulders, the way his jeans cling to his round ass, the way he walks with a certain swagger, you find yourself craving the adventure. New York and its pressures feel worlds away. Here, under the endless outback sky, anything seems possible.

He leads you down a gravel path towards a small cottage. “I’ve sent someone with the tow truck to get the car and I’ll call a mechanic in the morning. You should have your luggage within the hour, but if there’s anything you need in the meantime, let me know.”

“I should be fine. Thanks.”

“This is you. There’s cold water and fizzy drinks in the refrigerator.”

You nod as you set your backpack on the table. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“Not a problem. I’m looking forward to having you with us over the next month.” He flashes his smile again before heading back out. “Dinner’s at 7:00,” he calls over his shoulder as the door shuts behind him.

***

Over the next week, you try to throw yourself into ranch life, eager to embrace the change of pace. But it quickly becomes clear that your city skills are of little use here. The first time Chan takes you out to muster cattle, you can barely stay in the saddle. The horse seems to sense your inexperience, tossing her head and sidestepping skittishly. You’re pretty sure she gives you a side-eye.

"Easy there, city girl," Chan calls, reining his mount effortlessly beside you. "You've got to show her who's boss."

His tone is teasing, but there's a glint in his eye that sends a shiver down your spine.

“I’m pretty sure she knows she’s the boss.” Chan smirks at your joke.

You grip the reins tighter, determined to prove yourself. Chan reaches over, his hand covering yours.

"Like this," he murmurs, guiding your hands. His touch is electric, lingering a beat longer than necessary. "You'll get the hang of it soon."

And slowly, you do. The days take on a rhythm of their own - early mornings, the scent of eucalyptus on the breeze, the lowing of cattle. You learn to appreciate the burn of your muscles after a long day, the satisfaction of a job well done.

And always, there's Chan.

He's never far, his presence a constant pull. He flirts as easily as he breathes, his charm as natural as the landscape. You watch him joke with the jackaroos, see the way the station hands, male and female, hang on his every word. And when his gaze finds yours across the paddock, you feel the heat of it like a brand.

"Looking good out there," he says one afternoon, leaning against the fence as you brush down your horse. It’s taken the entire week, but she’s finally come around to liking you, just a little bit. But you’ll take what you can get. "You might make a proper jillaroo yet."

You roll your eyes, but you can't suppress a smile. "I thought I was just a ‘city girl’."

Chan grins, slow and devastating. "Oh, you are. But I've got a feeling about you. I think you might be fun."

Fun? you say to yourself, wondering how he’s defining the word, wondering what actually constitutes being fun in his eyes.

He saunters closer, reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers graze your cheek and your breath catches. For a suspended moment, you're caught in his orbit, drowning in the depths of his eyes and dimples.

Then he steps back, the spell broken. He picks up the saddle and begins walking towards the barn. "Drink later?” he asks over his shoulder. “The crew's heading to the pub. I'll save you a dance?" His eyes meet yours.

You nod, not trusting your voice. As he walks away, you breathe out slowly, your skin tingling where he touched you.

You know you're playing with fire. Chan's reputation precedes him - the love 'em and leave 'em type, a heartbreaker with a trail of conquests, a literal fuck boy. But out here, with the red dirt beneath your feet and the vastness of the sky above, consequences feel far away.

That night at the pub, the crowd is lively; there are workers from the ranch as well as locals from town. You perch at the bar, watching Chan work the room. He's magnetic, laughter trailing in his wake. When he catches you looking, he winks, that damnable dimple flashing.

As the live band plays, you watch Chan dance with a few girls. As he thanks one girl and she walks away, another swoops in to take her spot. He sways with each of them, their bodies grinding against his as he guides them expertly through the moves. He’s a great dancer. Your body aches to be next to him, to feel his touch.

Eventually, he finds his way over to you, leaning casually against the bar in front of your stool.

“How’s your night going?”

You take a sip of your beer, savoring the cool liquid as it slides down your throat. "Not bad. Though I think I'm still adjusting to outback nightlife."

Chan chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "What, this isn't like your fancy New York clubs?"

"Not quite," you laugh. The pub is crowded and noisy, music blaring from the speakers now that the band is packing up. The air is thick with the scent of beer and sweat. She hasn’t been to a place like this since law school. "But it has its charms."

"Oh yeah?" Chan leans in closer, his voice dropping low. "And what might those be?"

Your eyes meet his, and the intensity you find there makes you clear your throat. You're suddenly aware of how close he is, the heat radiating from his body. "Well," you say, struggling to keep your voice steady, "Good music. Cold beer. And…the company's not bad either."

Chan's grin widens. “Well good then.” He finishes his beer and turns to face the bar. “Lia honey?” You turn to see he’s referring to the pretty brunette bartender at the other end of the bar, currently handing off two full pitchers or beer.

“Another one?” she asks as she walks to the register to deposit the cash she was just handed.

“Yes, ma’am. And I’m covering her tab,” he points his thumb in my direction.

“Got it.”

Chan returns his gaze to me. “Anything you want, it’s on me.”

“Thanks. So do you do this for all the ranch guests.”

“Not at all.” He leans in to whisper in my ear. “Just the ones I find incredibly sexy.”

“Here you go, Chris.” Lia slides him another bottle of beer.

“Thanks, mate,” he says without breaking his eye contact with you.

“I guess I’ll take that as a complement,” you respond when Lia walks away.

“You should. You are incredibly hot, city girl.” He brings the bottle to his lips, taking a large gulp. He licks beer from his lips before another devastating grin crosses his face.

You try to think of a response, but you’re a bit flustered. Instead of speaking, you sip your beer. Chan notices and chuckles at the effect he’s having on you.

“Channie!” someone calls from the pool table. “You’re holding up the fucking game. Are you coming or do you need more time to flirt?”

“I’m coming, ya cunt!” he yells, before turning his gaze back to you. “Talk more later, yeah?” You nod. “Great!”

While Chan and his friends play pool, you continue to watch him. As Chan lines up his cue, muscles flexing beneath his tight black t-shirt, you lean against the back of the stool and take a sip of your beer, your eyes focused on him as he shoots. He notices you watching and grins when you don’t avert your gaze. The game continues, but your eyes keep drifting back to him, each time meeting his gaze. A small smile creeps across your lips as you both share a moment of silent understanding before he takes his next shot.

"He's trouble, that one," a voice says beside you. You turn to see the bartender leaning against her forearms on the bar, her smile knowing. "Chan Christopher Bahng, breaking hearts across the Outback."

"You know him well?" you ask, trying to keep your tone casual.

She laughs. "Everyone knows Chan. I'm Lia, by the way.” You introduce yourself and shake her hand. “He and I go way back. We’ve been friends since the first day of Kinder."

“What's his deal?” you ask, intrigued.

“His deal?” Lia repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Chan’s a good bloke, don’t get me wrong. But when it comes to women…. He’s a notorious flirt. He manages to have a fling with every new woman who moves to town and every tourist who passes through the ranch. He can’t help himself.”

You take another sip of your beer, contemplating her words. So, he’s a smooth-talking player, you think to yourself. I can work with that. But men that looked and acted like him often had small dicks or were bad in bed. You were willing to find out though.

“And despite him always telling them he’s not interested in anything serious or something more, they always fall for him…then have their hearts broken.”

“You too?” You hope she doesn’t think you’re being forward or nosy.

“Eew, gross.” She makes a face like she’s dry heaving and that causes you to laugh. “Fuck no! He’s like my brother. Where you ladies see hot guy, I see a dirt eating, hair pulling, crybaby.”

“Heh! Sorry, I was just curious.”

“No worries. Can I get you another? Or something more expensive since Channie’s paying?” She wiggles her eyebrows and chuckles.

“Oh Lia, you and I will be great friends,” you say with a laugh. “I’ll just do another beer.”

As you watch Chan flirt and charm, you can't help but imagine his hands on your skin, his lips on your neck. The wanting is a physical ache, a pull low in your belly.

Later, alone in your bed, you let your hands wander, tracing your fingers over your body. You imagine Chan above you, his eyes dark with desire. You feel his hands exploring every inch of you, his touch feather-light, and the heat of his breath against your ear as you sink your fingers into your core. As you pump your digits in and out, and alternate with rubbing your clit, you can’t help but to moan. When you cum, his name is a whisper on your lips.

In the stillness after, you stare at the shadows on the ceiling. You know this is dangerous territory. You came here to escape complications, not to create new ones. But as sleep claims you, it's his face you see, that roguish grin inviting you to take a chance.

***

Your second week is going much better. You’ve learned a lot and are already showing signs of improvement. And the tasks you initially found annoying and tedious are now calming and meditative.

The sound of footsteps echoes through the stables, jolting you from your thoughts. You've been cleaning tack for the better part of an hour, the monotonous task giving your mind ample time to wander—to him.

"Working hard or hardly working?" His voice is a lazy drawl, sending a shiver down your spine.

You turn to find Chan leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, that ever-present smirk playing on his lips. "Some of us take our jobs seriously," you retort, but there's no real bite to your words.

He saunters closer, invading your space. The air feels electric, charged with the tension that's been building between the two of you. "And some of us know how to have a little fun."

You roll your eyes, feigning nonchalance even as your heart races. "Is that what you call it? Fun?"

His hand reaches out, brushing a straw of grass from your shoulder. His touch lingers, trailing across your shoulder and down your arm. "You telling me you don't want to have fun with me, city girl?” His eyes lock on yours for a second before he leans down to whisper in your ear. “How long are you gonna play hard to get?" He pulls back to resume looking at you.

Your breath hitches. This close, you can see the faint scar above his brow. You can smell the scent of him—leather, vanilla, and sweat.

"I'm not looking for complications," you manage, your voice shakier than you'd like.

His grin widens. "Who said anything about complications? I'm a simple man, sweetheart. I see something I want, I ask for it. I see something I like, I go for it."

And there it is, laid bare. The offer, the temptation. No pretenses, no promises. Just raw, unbridled desire.

Your eyes drop to his mouth. Those full, sensual lips that have starred in countless of your late-night fantasies. "And what is it you like? What is it that you want?" Your gaze flits back up to his eyes. You can be just as direct when you want to.

He leans in again, his breath hot against your ear. "I think you know."

Something snaps inside you, the last of your reservations crumbling. You surge forward, capturing his mouth with yours. He responds instantly, his lips fierce and demanding. It's a clash of teeth and tongues, a kiss that's more battle than caress.

His hands grip your waist, lifting you onto the workbench. Your legs wrap around him, pulling him closer. You can feel him, hard and insistent, pressing against you. The two of you make out furiously while Chan rubs his contained, hard cock against your crotch.

When he brings his hand to your belt buckle, you hesitate. "Wait," you gasp, breaking away. "Not here."

His eyes are dark, pupils blown with lust. "Then where?"

You shoot him a coy smile. "Tonight, after dinner. My cabin." He brings his lips back to yours and kisses you slowly, deeply for another minute.

“Tonight. After dinner. Your cabin,” he repeats, each phrase punctuated with a kiss.

Later that evening, in the privacy of your cabin, you discover just how talented Chan's hands and mouth can be. He plays your body like an instrument, coaxing out symphonies of pleasure. His mouth moves from your lips down your neck. He leaves no part of you untouched - hot breath against sweaty skin, teeth and tongue tracing every curve along your collarbone, then moving to your breasts. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, tugging, biting, teasing, before lavishing the same attention on the other breast. His lips continue their journey across your body, stopping briefly to kiss your belly button, then landing between your legs.

He spreads your legs wide and buries his face between them, inhaling your scent deeply. His stubble scratches against your thighs as he teases you with gentle licks and nips. His tongue finds your clit and sucks gently, sending shocks outward. Then he slips several fingers inside you. You arch your back, moaning softly. "Chan...", you whisper, amazed at how good this feels. Your hips buckle up to match his movements, desperate for more. His fingers delve deeper, finding your G-spot and dragging against it rhythmically. You keep reaching down to tug at his hair, telling him how good he is without words. He groans against your clit, a mix of satisfaction and desire. The resulting vibrations teasing you more. You lose track of time, caught in the haze of pleasure. You're on the brink of coming but you want this to last forever. As you push him away, he looks up at you and grins.

“Come here,” you whisper, and he is all too happy to oblige. He slowly climbs up your body and captures your lips, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

He positions his dick at your entrance, inserting just the tip before pausing. “Tell me you want it,” he demands, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I want it,” you reply, staring into his eyes,

When he finally sinks his hard cock into you, it's with a completeness that steals your breath. He’s huge; the girth fills you up and stretches you out, making you ache for more. His hips push into yours, rocking you against his shaft.

“Oh god,” you moan as his thick length slides in and out of you, grazing against your sweet spot with precision on each pass. You lose yourself in his intoxicating rhythm, in the slick slide of skin on skin. His touch is everywhere—bruising, worshiping, consuming. His mouth claims yours, adoration and lust mingling in the messiest of kisses.

Your hands explore his broad shoulders as he positions himself deeper within you, pumping in and out of your wet heat. You dig your nails into his shoulders, leaving marks that will likely fade but that you hope will remain a reminder of this moment between the two of you for days to come.

Your climax is again building quickly, the waves of heat starting to pulsate outwards from your pussy. He murmurs dirty things in your ear that only serve to heighten the sensations. It simultaneously pulls you back to reality and causes you to lose yourself all in one breathless moment.

"Almost there," he growls against your neck before biting lightly. You aren’t sure if it is a statement or a question. Your sharp intake of breath only fuels him, driving him harder into you as he pulls out to slam back in with a force that makes stars explode behind your eyes.

And when you shatter, it's with his name on your lips, coupled with praise and expletives escaping in a burst of raw pleasure. You come hard against him, writhing underneath him as a guttural sound escapes from somewhere deep within your soul—a mix between pain and ecstasy and pure bliss—the kind that only comes from being truly fucked well. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you can’t even remember the last time you got fucked, much less the last time you were fucked like this. Fucked into the stratosphere.

He groans loudly, too, at feeling how wet you are when your walls compress around him, thrusting himself faster within you as cum explodes from his tip into the condom. He buries himself inside with one last hard thrust before collapsing beside you.

In the afterglow, as you lie tangled in sweat-dampened sheets, Chan trails idle fingers along your spine. "Not bad for a city girl," he teases.

You swat at him playfully. "You're not so bad yourself, cowboy." You were impressed and he’d already proved you wrong. Big dick and good in bed. What more could a girl want?

He grins, that boyish, carefree grin that first drew you in. "Oh, sweetheart, you ain't seen nothing yet."

And as he rolls you beneath him, his mouth hot on your neck, you know he's right. This is just the beginning. The start of something reckless and wild and utterly intoxicating.

In the days that follow, you find yourself in Chan's bed more often than your own. Stolen moments between chores, frenzied couplings in the hush of night. Each touch, each kiss, is a brand, a claim.

He takes you apart with expert hands, learning your body, your desires, the right combination of buttons to push. He whispers filthy promises in your ear, telling you all the wicked things he plans to do. And he makes good on every single one. He also always makes sure you cum every single time.

It's a haze of lust and sweat and pleasure so intense it borders on pain. You've never been so thoroughly ravaged, so completely consumed. Chan is insatiable, and you match him, hunger for hunger.

But it's more than just the sex. It's the way he makes you laugh, the easy banter that flows between you. It's the unexpected moments of tenderness—a brush of his hand, a soft look when he thinks you're not watching.

You remind yourself that this is temporary. That you're both just in it for fun. But in the quiet moments, when he's draped around you, one hand playing in your hair, the other hand tracing shapes into your hip, his heartbeat steady against your back, you can almost let yourself pretend. Pretend that this is something real, something lasting.

You know it's foolish. Chan is a wildfire, burning bright and hot. And you? You're just the kindling, destined to be consumed. But as he pulls you closer, his lips finding yours in the dark, you can't bring yourself to care. For now, in this moment, you let yourself burn. Let yourself drown in his flames.

The days blur together in a haze of stolen glances, teasing touches, and searing encounters that leave you aching for more. Chan is an addiction, one you can't seem to shake. Every time you tell yourself to pull back, to remember that this is just a fling, he's there with that cocky grin, those bulging muscles, and those skilled hands, drawing you back in.

"You're thinking too hard again," he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear as he comes up behind you in the stables. "I can practically hear the gears turning."

You lean back into him, savoring the solid warmth of his chest. "Maybe I like thinking."

He chuckles, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "I can think of much better things for you to be doing."

His hands skim your sides, teasing, promising. His mouth sucks on your neck. You bite your lip, desire warring with doubt. "Chan..."

"Shh." He turns you to face him, his eyes dark with want. "Stop overthinking. Just feel."

And then he's kissing you, deep and demanding, stealing the breath from your lungs. You cling to him, lost in the heat of his mouth, the press of his body against yours. Nothing exists but this, but him.

It's Lia who finally pulls you back to reality. Over drinks at the local bar, she fixes you with a knowing look. "You're falling for him."

You startle, nearly choking on your beer. "What? No. It's not like that. We're just having fun."

She arches a brow. "Honey, I've seen this story play out a hundred times. Girl comes to ranch, falls for Chan's charm, thinks she can change him. It never ends well."

Your cheeks burn, shame and indignation blooming in your chest. "I'm not trying to change him.” And you weren’t. Chan had been very clear about what this was and what it wasn’t. You had also agreed to not make it a thing. “I know what this is. It’s short-term fun. In less than 10 days, I’ll be back on the other side of the world, back to my life, and Chan will be a distant memory. A lovely memory, but a memory all the same. There will be no declarations of love or pleas for change." It sounded convincing. You just hoped you actually believed it yourself.

Lia's expression softens. "I hope so. Chan's a good guy, but he's not the settling down type. I'd hate to see you get hurt. I kinda like you."

“I appreciate that. But you don’t need to worry.” You smile at her before taking another sip of beer.

Her words echo in your head over the next few days. You try to distance yourself, to rebuild the walls Chan so easily tore down, in an attempt to maintain the casualness of your relationship. But he's always there, drawing you in with a look, a touch, a filthy whisper in the dark.

It comes to a head one evening. You're in the stables, brushing down your favorite horse, when you hear a familiar giggle. Your heart clenches as you peer around the corner to see Chan leaning close to one of the new ranch hands, his grin wide and flirtatious. You recognize that look, that pose, that tone.

Jealousy claws at your throat, bitter and choking. You know you have no right, no claim on him. But the sight still stings, a harsh reminder of what you are. What you aren't.

You avoid Chan for the rest of the day, throwing yourself into your work, and using the time to remember and recommit to the original purpose of your entanglements with him. But he finds you that night, concern etched on his handsome face.

"Hey, have I done something wrong?" he asks, reaching for you.

You step back, crossing your arms over your chest. "No. I just... I thought you might want some space. To spend time with... other people. I feel like I’ve been monopolizing your time." You uncross your arms, hoping to seem less closed off.

Understanding dawns in his eyes. "Is this about Jess? We were just talking."

"I know." You swallow hard, hating the quaver in your voice. "I just don't want to crowd you, or cramp your style."

Chan frowns, stepping closer. "Is that what you think? That I'm tired of you?"

You shrug, looking away. "I wouldn't blame you if you were. I'm sure you want some variety."

Strong fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "I want you." His voice is low, intense. "I'm having the time of my life with you. I'm not ready for this to end."

Butterflies flutter in your chest. "You're not?"

"Hell no." He grins, that familiar cocky tilt of his lips. "I mean to have you every way I can, as many times as I can, before you go back to your real life and forget all about little old me."

"I could never forget you," you whisper, the truth of it aching in your bones.

His eyes soften, his thumb brushing your cheek. "Then let me give you some more memories to take with you."

He kisses you then, deep and slow, his hands sliding under your shirt. You melt into him, into the heat of his touch, the promise of his words. For tonight, for the next week, he's yours.

And you plan to make every second count.

The days of your final week blur together in a haze of passion and pleasure, stolen moments and heated glances. You work side by side during the day, the sun beating down on your skin, sweat dripping down your spine. But every brush of Chan's hand against yours, every smoldering look, promises a replay of the previous night's ecstasy.

And oh, how he delivers on that promise.

Each night, he takes you to new heights, exploring your body with a dedication that borders on worship. He learns every curve, every sensitive spot, playing you like a finely tuned instrument until you're singing his name in breathless gasps and pleas.

But it's not just physical. In the quiet moments after, when you're tangled together, spent and sated, he makes you laugh with his wild stories and shameless flirting. He listens intently as you share your own tales, offering bits of wisdom wrapped in his signature cheekiness.

You try to memorize every detail - the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the rumble of his laugh against your ear, the shape of his dimples, the feel of his calloused hands on your skin. You etch them into your brain, a bittersweet collection to carry back to the life you left behind.

And then, suddenly, your last night is upon you.

There's a heaviness in the air as you walk into Chan's cottage, a sense of finality that weighs on your chest. He feels it too, you can see it in the set of his shoulders, the flicker of something raw in his eyes.

"So this is it, huh?" His voice is light, but there's an undercurrent of emotion he can't quite hide.

"I guess so." You aim for a smile, but it wobbles at the edges. "Time for me to turn back into a pumpkin."

"Nah," he steps into you, hands settling on your hips. "You're a goddess, remember? Whether you're here or in New York."

Your heart clenches, affection and sorrow twisting together. You'll miss this, miss him, more than you ever expected. But you know this is how it has to be.

You wind your arms around his neck, fingers threading into his hair. "Then take me to bed. Give me something to remember you by."

His grin is slow, wicked, sending heat spiraling through your veins. "Oh, baby. When I'm done with you, you won't be able to think of anything else."

And then he's kissing you, deep and desperate, like he wants to crawl inside you and never leave. You answer in kind, pouring every ounce of passion, every unspoken feeling, into the press of your lips, the slide of your tongue.

Clothes hit the floor in a flurry of impatient hands, the need to feel skin on skin overwhelming in its intensity. He walks you back to the bed, lays you down like you're something precious, something to be cherished.

And then he sets about making good on his promise.

He worships every inch of you with hands and lips and tongue, bringing you to the brink again and again only to pull back, to tease, to prolong the sweet agony of your desire. He whispers filthy praise into your skin, telling you how good you feel, how perfect you are, how he's going to make this a night you'll never forget.

When he finally sinks into you, it's with a groan that sounds like it's been punched out of him, raw and harsh and so unbearably sexy. He starts to move, deep, rolling thrusts that light you up from the inside, sparking along your nerve endings like wildfire.

You match him stroke for stroke, hips rising to meet his, nails raking down his back. He hisses as you scrape his skin. You're lost in him, in the motion of your bodies, the mingled sounds of your gasps and moans, the searing heat building in your core.

It's both too much and not enough, this feeling, this moment. You want to stay here forever, suspended in this blissful torment, this excruciating ecstasy. But you can feel your orgasm approaching, the coil winding tighter and tighter, demanding release.

"Chan..." It's a plea, a prayer, a benediction.

He knows, he always knows. "I've got you," he rasps, his rhythm increasing, driving into you with a force that steals your breath. "Let go. Cum for me."

And you do, his name a broken cry on your lips as rapture crashes over you, through you, exploding in dazzling bursts of light behind your eyelids. He follows a heartbeat later, your name a reverent groan as he spills himself inside the condom, his face a mask of exquisite agony.

You cling to each other as you both come down, sweat-slicked and trembling, exchanging soft, sipping kisses that slowly bank the fire still smoldering in your veins. There's an ache in your chest, a looming sense of loss, but you push it away. This isn't the time for sorrow.

This is a time for gratitude, for celebration. For the joy and freedom and unbridled passion you found in his arms, in this wild Outback that now feels more like home than any place you've ever known.

You fall asleep wrapped around each other, your head on his chest, his heartbeat a steady drum beneath your ear. In the morning, you'll untangle your limbs, share a final, lingering kiss. You'll drive away with a smile on your face and an unfamiliar lightness in your soul, ready to face whatever comes next.

But that's tomorrow. Tonight, in this perfect, shining moment, there is only Chan, and the blissful afterglow of being thoroughly, wonderfully, unforgettably fucked.

You wake a few hours later, surprised to see it’s still dark out. As you slowly open your eyes, the warmth of Chan’s body next to you envelops you. His peaceful expression makes your heart flutter. His thick, full lips call to you and you kiss them gently, causing him to stir awake.

“Mmmm,” he murmurs. “What a nice way to wake up.” He pulls you on top of him and deepens the kiss, his growing erection pressing against your folds. Your own body responds, as you involuntarily begin to grind your crotch against him resulting in him quickly growing harder beneath you. “Shit,” he whispers as his cock springs to attention. “The things you do to me….”

“Well, I’m about to do it one last time.” You take his bottom lip in between your teeth and pull gently before letting go and kissing it.

Without a word, he reaches over to the nightstand to pull a condom from the decorative glass jar he uses to hold them.

But you quickly grab his arm, shaking your head in protest. "No," you say softly but firmly.

“No?” His eyes narrow to slits as he examines your face.

“No.” You move your hand to his cock, gently massaging it with slow strokes up and down. You make sure to run your palm over the tip each time you reach the top, eliciting soft moans from him. “I want to feel all of you against my walls,” you whisper, biting your lip seductively. Your crotch has not slowed its delicious grind against the base of his shaft. “If that’s okay.”

He can’t contain the wide grin that spreads across his face, his excitement evident at the prospect of fucking you raw. “Is that so?” he asks amused, the pronunciation of the last word heavy with his Australian drawl. You nod. He chuckles before continuing in a soft voice. “Whatever you want, love.”

You lift your hips to position yourself over his cock before slowly sliding yourself down, allowing your head to roll back as you revel in each inch and savor every sensation as you take him all the way in.

Your body moves with a fluid grace as you ride Chan's length, the muscles of your thighs clenching and releasing in perfect rhythm with your hips. His hands find their way to your waist, gripping it tightly as he watches you. You bring your hands to his chest, stabilizing yourself on top of him.

The bed springs creak in harmony with your movements as you continue to grind against him, feeling his cock hit every spot that needs hitting. You bite your bottom lip, trying to hold back a moan at the intensity of the sensations coursing through your body.

As you pick up speed, Chan's grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he helps to guide your hips back and forth as he thrusts upwards. Each thrust makes you feel both vulnerable and powerful at once. You look down at him, taking in the sheer desire etched on his face, and it ignites a fire within you. You quicken your pace even more, loving the way his eyes roll back into his head with pleasure.

You lean down, capturing his mouth in a hungry kiss that leaves you both panting for air. You break the kiss and let out a low growl, nipping at his jawline before looking at him again. "You like that?" you ask breathlessly.

His response is a groan mixed with another moan as he nods, his eyes still closed tightly. "God yes."

Encouraged by his response, you speed up once more, your movements becoming more frenzied as you grind against Chan with renewed intensity while you chase your final release.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Chan groans, his hips bucking up to meet yours. “Why do you feel so good?”

You lean down, pressing your chest against his as you kiss him deeply. The change in angle causes him to hit even deeper inside you, making you gasp against his lips. Chan takes advantage, his tongue sliding against yours as he thrusts up to meet your movements.

You can feel yourself getting close, that familiar tension building. Chan seems to sense it too. One of his hands slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. He rubs tight circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves, and it's like a match to gasoline.

Suddenly, your body goes taut, and your inner walls clench rhythmically around Chan’s cock as you cry out, “Ahhhh!” The sight, sound, and feel of you coming undone pushes Chan over the edge. He groans your name.

You rest your forehead against his as the two of you try to catch your breaths. You feel the sticky mess start to slide out of you. You don’t mind though, instead feeling a sense of contentment. Apparently neither does he; he is just as lost in the moment, his eyes closed and lips parted, as you breathe in each other’s air. Neither of you feel compelled to move and separate from each other to clean up the evidence of what was surely a poor decision on both of your parts. Absolutely fucking reckless; you both know better. Yet, in this moment, it doesn’t matter. The need for more was undeniable, and rational thinking be damned.

The bad decisions always feel so right, don’t they.

He breaks the silence first. “That’s certainly one way to say goodbye,” he says with a grin against your lips.

You chuckle and press a kiss on them. “Didn’t I tell you I could ride?” you whisper.

His laughter rings out in the room as he wraps his arms tightly around you.

***

The sun is high and hot as Chan loads your bags into the rental car, the red dirt of the Outback stretching out behind him. There's a bittersweet tinge to the air, a sense of an ending, but also of a new beginning.

You lean against the car, watching him, trying to memorize the lines of his face, the play of muscles under his bronzed skin. He catches you looking and flashes that familiar, cocky grin.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," he teases, closing the trunk with a decisive thud.

"Don't tempt me," you shoot back. "I might just wallpaper my apartment with them."

He laughs, sauntering over to you. "I'll send you some nudes to add to the collection."

"You do that." The banter is easy, familiar; it soothes the ache of leaving. "Just don't be surprised if they end up on a billboard in Times Square."

"Mate, I'd be proud." He settles his hands on your hips, his touch igniting sparks under your skin despite the layers between you. "I'll show those city boys what they're missing."

Your chuckle is a little wobbly, emotion welling up in your throat. "I'm going to miss you," you confess softly. "Miss this."

His eyes gentle, one hand coming up to cup your cheek. "Me too," he murmurs. "More than you know." He stares deeply into your eyes. “Think you might ever return? Cause I certainly wouldn’t mind if you did,” he says softly.

You turn your head to press a kiss to his palm. “If I did, I’d need luxury accommodations next time.” You say, only half-joking. “I don’t know that I could rough it again!” You grin.

He snorts. “Ha! I thought you handled it well enough, city girl. Five-star accommodations can be arranged, if necessary.”

“That would be much appreciated. And if you’re ever in Manhattan, you should give me a ring.”

"Tempting." His thumb strokes your cheekbone, his gaze turning thoughtful. “New York City might be a bit too posh for a bushman like me. But if I ever make it there, you’ll be my first call."

"I'll hold you to that," you whisper.

Silence stretches between the two of you as you stare into his eyes. And then he’s kissing you, soft and sweet and full of unspoken emotion.

It ends too soon, as all good things must.

He leans in, rests his forehead against yours. "This doesn't have to be the end, if we don't want it to be," he whispers.

You pull away from him and raise an eyebrow. “Oh wooooow,” you say in a singsong voice. “Did someone catch feelings?”

A blush starts at his neck and travels up his face to his ears as he runs his fingers through his hair. He smirks and responds, “Maybe just a little.” He leans in and lowers his voice. “But don’t tell anyone; it could ruin my rep.”

You laugh and push him away playfully. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

Before you know it, you're behind the wheel, the engine humming beneath you. Chan leans in the window, his smile soft around the edges.

"Drive safe," he says quietly. "And don't forget about me when you're back in your fancy office, bossing people around."

You swallow hard, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. "Never," you vow.

And then you're pulling away, the ranch and the man getting smaller in your rearview mirror. You watch until you can't see him anymore, until the Outback swallows him up like a mirage; there one moment and gone the next.

But he's not gone, not really. He's there in the ache of your muscles, the bruises on your ass, the bite marks on your neck, the delicious soreness between your thighs. He's seared into your skin, imprinted on your soul.

The drive to the airport passes in a haze of memories, snapshots of stolen moments and heated encounters flashing through your mind. The curve of his smile, the roughness of his hands, the way he made you feel alive, desired, free. It was a fantasy come to life, and now it's time to return to reality.

Check-in and security are a blur, and then you're settling into your first-class seat, the plush leather cradling your weary body. As the plane lifts off, you gaze out the window, watching the harsh, beautiful landscape fall away below you.

Despite the melancholy tugging at your heart, you feel lighter somehow, unburdened. The weight of expectation, of obligation, seems to have disappeared somewhere in the red dirt and endless skies of the Outback.

You came looking for escape, for distraction, and you found so much more. Freedom. Passion. A piece of yourself you hadn't even realized was missing.

And Chan... The thought of him brings a small, secret smile to your lips. He'd been everything you needed and nothing you expected. A friend, a lover, a safe place to land. Not a forever thing, but a perfect interlude.

As the plane carries you back to your life, to the bustle and pressure of the city, you close your eyes and let yourself drift, savoring the last vestiges of this stolen time.

You don't know what the future holds, if your paths will ever cross again. But you know you'll carry a piece of him, of this wild, perfect dreamtime, with you always. A reminder of who you are, of who you can be, when you strip away the masks and expectations.

After all, you muse, smiling to yourself as the clouds engulf you, that's the beauty of a fling. It's fleeting, but it's forever a bright flash of light against the darkness, a memory to hold onto when the real world intrudes.

And as for Chan... well, the Outback will always be there, waiting, if you ever need to find yourself again. And maybe, just maybe, so will he.

With that thought, you chug the rest of your champagne, then let yourself sink into sleep, dreaming of red dirt and strong hands, of laughter and passion beneath a sea of stars, as the miles unspool behind you, carrying you forward, carrying you home.

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids #skz fanfic #bang chan #bangchan fanfic #bang chan fanfic #bangchan imagines #bang chan imagines #skz smut #bang chan smut #bangchan smut #stray kids smut #bangchan #skz #bang chan x reader #bangchan x reader #chan x reader

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snnrinc · 2 years ago

Text

Made for Sin

Minors DNI

• Pairing: Corrupt!M!Sydney x F!Reader

• Excerpt: His eyes were now focused on you and on every expression that you were making, on the way your muscles tensed, how your chest was bouncing in time with his thrusts. His hair had started to fall onto his face and his brows were furrowed in concentration. He looked so fucking hot when he was like this, ready to devour you, watching intently as your back arched off the bed when he hit a particularly nice spot. The way the twilight sun hit your curves had him under a spell, tracing the outline of your body with his eyes before one of his hands followed the same trail, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"My love," he growled. "You have a body made for sin."

• Warnings: NSFW, overstimulation, creampie, oral (f receiving), slight dubcon. But let's be honest, this is DoL we're talking about, what ISN'T a warning?

• Word count: 5.9k

Voices rumbled amidst the large hall, an amalgam of words that fused into each other only to become meaningless, background noise. People shuffled from their seats as the service finished, approaching the exit of the hall while chatting amongst themselves, leaving only a few people to remain seated in the pews, some with their hands clasped together in silent prayer, others simply basking in the silence of the holy temple.

Seated somewhere near the front seats was a young man, fingers intertwined and pressed against his lips, eyes closed in concentration. He was thankful once the commotion died down, hoping to finally be able to focus more on his prayer, but he soon realised that his thoughts were running too wild and simple silence was not enough to bring him peace. On the contrary, the more he kept his eyes closed, the louder his mind got. The more he tried to concentrate on his prayer, the more his thoughts unconsciously morphed into the image of a beautiful person.

The image of you.

Sydney opened his eyes and sighed in frustration. He moved to rest his chin on his clasped hands, opting to distract himself for a while by looking at the various portraits of saints that were decorating the wall in front of him. The paintings were beautiful, golden hand-crafted wood framing them and giving them a regal, almost ethereal look. Normally, he would stare at such brilliance and feel peace and purity radiate from them and settling deep into his soul, soothing his pain and sorrows. But now, a simple glance left him feel cold, disinterested. Disconnected.

Was it because of you?

Was it you that took the place of the holy images, of the promises of salvation, of all-powerful idols that could tame and purge all that is wrong in the world? Was it you that settled in his heart oh-so-delicately, that now the only idol he could think could bring him peace and salvation, the only idol he could get down on his knees and worship, was you?

Was it you that overtook his mind and stripped him of any sort of dignity or shame he had left, baring all the primal instincts that had been buried so deep inside in a dark corner of his mind?

Oh, but he couldn't care less. Not when he got to be buried so deep inside of-

Sydney let out another sigh at his intrusive thought. This was getting ridiculous. You were the only thing he could think about. You and the things he would do for you, with you, to you.

He couldn't understand why you had such power over him, and frankly, he wasn't sure he needed to understand. But you existing in his life, by his side, shook him to the core in a way he did not know how to manage, his emotions swirling in his mind until he could not tell them apart from each other. He was in love, that was for sure. His heart fluttered whenever you brushed your hand against his, he melted on the spot whenever you planted a small, innocent kiss on his cheek or forehead. And seeing you smile at him, hearing you laugh at one of his jokes, sent him to cloud nine, making him feel like everything was right in the world when you were together.

But... his heart was not the only one affected. In his mind he would always envision you during these sweet moments, under him, your hand grasping his and holding onto it tight as you writhed beneath him, chanting an almost delirious chain of 'I love you, I love you, I love you', bodies tangled and so lost into each other that he didn't know where he ended and you began, as he claimed you as his beloved again, and again, and again. And you always looked so beautiful, warm, like the sun was caressing his skin with every touch of your fingers, like flower petals dragged over his most sensitive spots whenever you kissed him, like you and him were the only people to exist in the world.

He could no longer tell love and lust apart. Was this even lust? Was it adoration? Was it wrong for him to feel so strongly for you, so much so that you were more important to him than his vows?

Sydney let his hands fall into his lap, taking in a shaky breath to try to calm down his racing thoughts and pounding heart. He could feel the start of a headache pulsating painfully as he brought his fingers to his temples to massage them, allowing himself a moment of quiet before his thoughts slipped again.

Why did it even matter that his vows were broken? You did this to him. And he wouldn't have it any other way. He was happy to finally not be a sheltered, innocent little boy anymore. You showed him how beautiful sin could be, how good it could feel, but you also showed him how ugly the reality of the world was. The lives you two led were vastly different, and for a second Sydney allowed himself to shoot an angry, flaming look at the paintings in front of him, almost as if admonishing the Heavens for putting you through all the pain and suffering you had to endure. He almost couldn't believe himself, but at that moment he felt that all his prayers and desperate pleas for salvation were falling on deaf ears.

But you always heard him.

And he was glad to return the favour, always happy to let you use him when you reached your breaking point, always willing to welcome you in his arms and keep you safe, away from anything and anyone who may cause you harm. His heart was breaking every time you'd reach out with a shaky hand, your tearful eyes staring into his own, desperate, pleading, silently asking him why? Why you? Why always you?

The image made his heart clench, his eyes closing and brows furrowing before a gentle touch on his shoulder made his eyes snap open again. He looked to his side wide-eyed, almost as if he was scared he was saying his innermost thoughts out loud, but his expression quickly softened when he saw your smiling face next to him, giving him a little wave and a gentle 'hi'.

He smiled softly. "My love."

He scooted over to make space for you to sit down. Once you settled in your place, Sydney took your hand in his and kissed your cheek, smiling wide at your loving expression.

"I missed you," he said, intertwining his fingers with yours.

You giggled. "So soon? But we're already spending most of our time together at school. We see each other so often!"

"If I don't spend every moment with you, it's not nearly often enough."

You felt your cheeks warm up as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing them against your knuckles softly while staring deeply into your eyes. At the intensity of his gaze, your eyes shifted away for a split second before returning to his, earning a knowing smirk from your boyfriend. Fuelled by your reaction, he tugged your hand a bit higher so his lips had more access, leaving a trail of kisses up your forearm, his other hand gently grasping your upper arm so he could pull you closer. Just as he reached your inner elbow, he was stopped by your louder than intended exclamation:

"I brought food!"

Gasping at the realisation of your volume, you looked around to see if anyone noticed and sighed in relief when you saw the other churchgoers focused on their prayers. You looked back at Sydney who was now just affectionately rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb, looking at you with a soft expression. It was only now that he noticed you brought a bag with you.

"I brought food," you repeated, quieter this time. "I know you've been working really hard and I'm willing to bet you haven't eaten anything today."

A sheepish smile crept on his face. "Please don't be too mad at me, love."

Your shoulders slumped in disappointment and you gave him a stern look. "Sydney!" you clicked your tongue. "I told you you need to take care of yourself more! At this rate, you'll pass out in the middle of the temple at any moment."

Sydney let go of your hand and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer and burying his face into your neck. "I know, darling, I'm sorry for making you worry. I promise I'll be good and eat what you brought for me."

"Yeah right," you scoffed. "Just like you did yesterday, when you said you'd eat the homemade pie I made for you just so I could find it today, in the same place, with only one bite taken out of it?"

Sydney squeezed you a little tighter in an attempt to make you soften and stop your scolding.

"Or like on Monday, when I brought you some sandwiches and you said you'll keep them for later only to forget about them," you continued. "I found them in your drawer at the library counter. Mouldy."

You crossed your arms over your chest and moved to look at Sydney. He looked up at you with doe eyes and pouted, detaching himself from you and twiddling his fingers.

You raised an eyebrow at him, expectantly. He sighed in defeat.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, okay? Please stop looking so mad," he reached out and grasped your hand. "I promise I'll eat whatever you prepared this time. Just give me the bag and I'll-"

"Oh, no, not today," you pulled your hand out from his and stood up, gathering your stuff and the bag with Sydney's food in the process. "Today we'll eat together. It seems there's no other way to convince you to eat more than just the amount needed to stay alive than to feed you myself."

Your words stirred something in him. He looked up at you teasingly as his lips stretched into a smirk.

"Oh, so that was your plan all along, huh? Not just because you care about me?" he chuckled when you snapped your attention to him, furrowing your brows.

"Don't get cocky, love. I'm still mad at you."

With a chuckle, he stood up and grabbed your hand. He offered to carry the bag for you before leading you outside of the hall.

Your giggles resonated in the kitchen when Sydney kept tickling your shoulder with his hair as he kissed your neck.

"Stop it!" your tone meant to be serious, but you couldn't force the smile off your face. He giggled as you almost dropped the ingredients you were setting up from squirming so much. "Sydney, come on!"

"I'm sorry, I just can't resist kissing you."

As he let go of you, you turned around to smile at him sweetly. Your eyes admired his golden ones for a few moments before travelling down to his white shirt, the first three buttons open and allowing a glimpse of the chain of his holy pendant.

"You should change your shirt if you want to help," you said, turning your attention to preparing the ingredients once more. "It'll get dirty."

"Oh? Should I take it off then?"

"I'm just saying it's a nice shirt. I don't want to ruin it."

"I do," you threw him a look and he giggled. "I'll take care of laundry then. I'll give you some spare clothes."

"Oh, you don't have to, really! I'll just go home and wash them."

"Oh..."

At the sound of his disappointed tone, you looked over your shoulder to see him leaning on the table, his stance deflated. You saw his bottom lip come out slightly in a pout.

You turned towards him. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing, I was just..." he looked back at you. "I was hoping you could spend the night."

His doe eyes brought a warm smile to your face. You wiped your hands on a towel and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pecking his nose. Your actions made him smile and hug you close to him. Leaning forward, you pecked his nose again, before planting a quick kiss over his lips and moving to look at him. His expression suddenly changed, half-lidded, hazy eyes looking at you as if in a trance. You could feel it, too - the way the air around got thicker and you had to let out heavy breaths, lest you suffocate. One of his hands moved up to remove his glasses and place them somewhere on the table behind him, his other hand reaching up to rest on the side of your face, his thumb caressing your cheek before he leaned in, placing his lips on yours in a passionate kiss. You didn't hesitate to respond, pressing yourself against his body and parting your lips out of habit, demanding more of him.

He was more than happy to deliver.

Sliding his tongue past your burning lips, the hand that was caressing you moved to the back of your head, grasping your hair and pulling softly to get better access to your mouth. You moved in unison, your hands moving up and down his back before one of them settled in his hair. His other hand slid down your side to grasp your ass, earning a soft moan in return. Fuelled by the sounds you made, he pushed forward, making your back hit the edge of the counter on which you were working a few minutes ago. You felt his hands leave you for a second to find purchase on the back of your thighs, hiking you onto the counter. You suddenly remembered what you were there for.

"Mmh, Syd-" you tried to speak, but his lips wouldn't let you. "Syd, we-" kiss, "we were..." kiss, "we're supposed to-" kiss, "be cooking..." kiss.

"Later."

"No," you gently placed your hands on his chest and pushed him enough to get his attention. "You've already had nothing to eat today. You promised."

Seeing your frowning face made him detach himself from you, leaving only his hands to hold onto your thighs. You could see his apologetic expression and you didn't want him to feel bad, so instead you pulled him into a hug and kissed his cheek sweetly. He took advantage of your closeness to hold onto you tight.

"Please..." he whispered against your ear. "I missed you."

His needy voice made you shudder. You'd be lying if you said that hours upon hours of gentle kisses, fleeting touches and stolen glances at each other didn't rile you up to the point that everything the man in front of you was doing or saying was sending electricity throughout your veins, right down to your core. With how desperately he was clinging to you and how fast his heart was beating, he must've been starving, the poor sweetheart, starving for your touch, your attention, for your soft voice whispering to him, for your love. He was starving for you. And how could you deny him when you were there to take care of him in the first place?

A shaky sigh found its way out of your throat when you opened your mouth to speak. "Sydney..."

"Fuck-"

Before either of you could say anything else, his lips were on you again, hands undoing your apron and pulling at your clothes, grasping and caressing any part of you that he could reach. You unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it over his shoulders, urging him to discard it to the ground as you ran your hands over his arms and chest. A moan vibrated in his throat at the feeling of your palms on his bare skin and your hot body pressed into his, the sound pouring over into you and filling your lungs until you were drowning in him. You never thought loving someone could feel this intense.

As much as you loved making out with Sydney on every surface available, you knew that sooner or later the counter would get uncomfortable, and you didn't want your time in heaven to end so soon because of such inconvenience. So you gently buried your fingers in Sydney's hair, pulling him away slightly to finally catch your breath and his attention.

"Sydney, take me to bed. Now."

Nodding quickly, the man made sure your legs were tightly locked around his waist before he grabbed your ass and lifted you from the counter, blindly walking towards his bedroom as his lips found yours again in a heated kiss. Reaching his room, Sydney turned to face the opposite way and kicked the door he left ajar fully open, walking backwards into his room to make sure it doesn't swing shut and hurt you. He had half a mind to leave the door as it is and just take you as soon as possible, but eventually made sure to close it and lock it quickly, just in case Sirris would come home early. As he took a few more hurried steps into his room, one of his arms slid up your back to rest on the nape of your neck, giving you one last kiss before carefully lowering you on the bed as if you were a treasure he was scared to break. Once you were comfortably settled, Sydney hovered over you, watching, scanning over your entire body, the way you were sprawled out on his bed, looking up at him with such lustful eyes. His scrutinising gaze made you feel as if you already were completely bare in front of him, completely at his mercy.

"Syd," under the pressure, you broke the silence, his eyes shifting to yours. His stare was intense, focused, and the corner of his lip lifted in a smirk.

"Finally, I have you all to myself," his hands found their way to your sides, rubbing up and down. "You look so good in my bed, darling."

You whined at his words and he let out a shaky breath at the sound. His hands found their way under your shirt, lifting it up to reveal your plain bra. You sat up, helping him fully remove your top and bra, leaving your upper half bare for him to see. Under his fiery gaze, you almost felt the urge to cover yourself out of embarrassment , but you had no time to even think about it before his hands were on you, pushing you back onto the bed and burying his face into your soft flesh. His mouth found one of your nipples and his tongue circled it, licking, sucking, biting as his hand was on your other breast.

With a moan, your hands found purchase in his hair and back. You could feel the hot skin of his chest pressed against your abdomen and the closeness was driving you mad. You felt his tongue give you one last lick before he moved his mouth under your breast, biting softly on the flesh and leaving a mark.

Your legs moved up, thighs pressing to the sides of his waist as he looked up at you with hungry eyes. He pressed his tongue near the top of your stomach and dragged it upwards, stopping between your breasts and watching as you bit your lip and tried not to whine at the feeling. He smiled and chuckled at the sight, leaning forward to capture your lips into a passionate kiss.

His body was pressed flush against yours, hands moving up and down your abdomen and chest, grazing your nipples and grabbing at the softness of your flesh. It was driving him wild, feeling your hot skin stuck to his, a thin layer of sweat already adorning your body. He could feel your moans vibrating against his lips and chest, and he didn't think he could get any harder, but he already felt like he would burst any second. And yet, he needed more.

One of his hands failed to return upwards as he was caressing you, instead dipping beneath the fabric of your trousers, pulling them down along with your panties in a firm and swift movement. You felt his lower half raise slightly from you, your hips following his movement to allow him to remove the garments entirely, before he threw them on the ground carelessly and grabbed hold of your thighs, spreading your legs and lowering his body on you once more. The entire time, his lips refused to leave yours, moving passionately against your mouth, pouring his love into you.

You felt his hand slowly slither lower, fingers finally touching your core, making you yelp from the sudden feeling and dig your nails into his shoulder. His fingers slowly started rubbing circles on your clit for a brief moment, before he dipped his hand lower to run them against your soaking entrance, lubricating them and slowly dragging them back up teasingly. You mewled as he started applying pressure again, his mouth moving to your neck to nip and suck on your skin. Your body felt like it caught fire as his fingers worked you up the way he knew you liked. Your breathing erratic, you let out soft moans shamelessly into his ear, and you could feel his chest reverberating against you with his own groans echoing yours. Moving his hand lower to drag it across your entire core, you let out a particularly loud moan before you pressed your mouth into his shoulder to cover up any other sounds.

He chuckled, a smile pressing against your neck. "Did you like that, darling? Hm?" you felt his teeth graze your skin softly, sending a shiver through your body. You let out a shaky curse. "Fuck, you're driving me crazy... I love hearing you moan for me like that."

You felt his fingers move once again, rubbing against your entrance as his mouth continued to kiss and suck on your skin. Sydney's mouth moved to your shoulder, then your collarbone, then slowly dipped lower towards your breasts.

"I wonder," he spoke between kisses, "what other sounds can your body make?"

You could feel his smile pressed against your skin as he pushed a finger inside, relishing in the lewd sounds of your moans and your soaking heat. Giving you a few pumps, he pushed another finger in before he started fucking you, occasionally flexing his fingers to touch your sweet spot.

You let go of your last shred of shame, moving your hips in time with his hand, chasing your release as his lips moved across your neck. Pressing your mouth on his shoulder, you started to kiss upwards towards his ear before you gently bit his earlobe and moaned at his shiver. Goosebumps spread across his skin and that was enough for him to push another finger into your heat and fuck you with renewed vigor, rubbing his thumb on your clit. You were practically dripping, and he loved the wet, sloppy sounds that your sex was making from him toying with you. He loved having such an effect on you.

With a gasp and quickly getting closer to your release, you managed to snake your hand in between your bodies and past the band of his pants to grab his length and pump it. Breathing quickened, you felt your muscles tense before the coil in your stomach snapped, your walls clenching around his fingers and your hand pulling at his soft strands of hair, the other absentmindedly rubbing the head of his cock.

"Fu-uck!" his hips sputtered and he let out a high pitch moan. "N-not yet."

As you were coming down from your high, you looked up at him with a hazy vision. He retreated his hand from your heat in favour of ridding himself of the rest of his clothes, then grabbing the back of your thighs and pushing them towards your chest, standing up so he could look at the mess he made out of you with eyes that were almost glowing.

You couldn't help but stare. The soft rays from the setting sun were hitting the side of his face and almost making him look like he was donning a halo. His eyes looked like pools of honey and his bare chest was rising up and down, glowing from the sweat beads adorning his skin. As disgusting as you would've thought it would sound - had you not been high on lust - in that moment, you felt the inherent need to have your tongue on his skin, if only to feel his pulse quicken and the shivers of his flesh in time with his moans.

When you looked back at his eyes, you could see him gaze at you with the same unbridled hunger. You felt the tip of his shaft rub against your slit and his eyes started to lose focus. Slowly, he pushed forward into your heat, eyes rolling to the back of his head as both of you let out sinful sounds from the way his sex was stretching you oh-so-deliciously.

It wasn't long before he set a steady pace, snapping his hips toward you to reach deep within your walls so you could feel him fully. Your hands grasped at whatever you could find - bedsheets, your chest, his waist, his forearms, and when you looked up at him you saw his gaze changed again.

You knew you were in trouble.

His eyes were now focused on you and on every expression that you were making, on the way your muscles tensed, how your chest was bouncing in time with his thrusts. His hair had started to fall onto his face and his brows were furrowed in concentration. He looked so fucking hot when he was like this, ready to devour you, watching intently as your back arched off the bed when he hit a particularly nice spot. The way the twilight sun hit your curves had him under a spell, tracing the outline of your body with his eyes before one of his hands followed the same trail, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"My love," he growled. "You have a body made for sin."

You moaned at his remark and he smirked, lifting one of your legs up so he could reach even deeper within you and rub continuously at the spot that was sending wave after wave of shivers down your body. And fuck- the way his abs flexed as he was pounding into you, the way his hands gripped the meat of your hips so hard it was leaving marks to help you meet his thrusts, the way his holy pendant was swinging and hitting his chest as he was fucking you relentlessly, it was overwhelming in the most carnal way and you loved it. Your eyes focused on his pendant for a second longer, a symbol of purity on a backdrop of sin, and you had no idea why it only served to turn you on more.

"So good~" you moaned as your back arched once again. " 'M close, ah! Sydney!"

"Yeah?" his voice was raspy and breathless. "You gonna cum for me, beloved? Oh, yes, please, please give yourself to me!" His thrusts started becoming hastier in an attempt to chase both of your climaxes. His voice was choked and his breathing was becoming more and more erratic, it was like music to your ears. "I want you, I love you! Cum for me, cum on my cock like the good girl that you are."

And then you felt it again, a sudden surge throughout your body as your leg that was not on his shoulder and your hands were fighting to keep him inside you. Your walls clenched around his length and he let out a choked cry, hips stumbling before you felt him fill you up with a few more deep pumps. His body fell on top of you, completely spent, and you felt his hand grasp yours and interlace your fingers.

You were suddenly overcome by a small fit of giggles and he looked up at you from your shoulder, smiling at your beaming face, your eyes closed in bliss.

"That felt good?" he asked.

"Mhmmm."

You snuggled your face in his cheek for a second, giving him sweet pecks, before he turned and placed a chaste kiss on your lips. You hummed in pleasure and let your arm fall around his neck, keeping him close to you and feeling your sore body beginning to relax.

You felt his kisses trail down the column of your neck and on your chest. When you felt him grab your thighs and parting them your eyes snapped open.

"W-wait, Sydney! What are you doing?"

He didn't answer, instead looking at your quivering core and how his cum dripped out of you, down your ass and staining the sheets beneath you. You saw his tongue dart out to wet his lips and you recognised that look.

Now you really were in trouble.

You remembered that day in the temple when he had claimed you as his lover and given himself to you in return. You remembered the ravenous look in his eyes and the smog that turned him wild with lust. This time, you were in the comfort of his bedroom, nowhere near that sacred prayer room, and yet he was gripping your flesh with the same determination and hunger as when you first defiled him.

Lowering his body on the bed, his cock brushed against your leg and you realised he was still hard. You scrambled to push yourself up into a sitting position, stuttering out useless pleads for him to let you rest a bit, one hand on his shoulder to push him away from between your legs. You felt your tired muscles shake and goosebumps overtake your skin when he looked up at you from under his lashes, a wicked smile spreading on his beautiful lips before his arms pulled your body towards him roughly, forcing you to fall back onto the bed.

"I don't think you understand, lover," he spoke, tone dangerously laced with honey. "I'm not done with you yet. And I won't be until I make sure you're thoroughly fucked into this mattress and forget how to even speak."

His arms were holding your legs locked across his shoulders, one arm spread across your stomach, effectively holding you in place and leaving no chance of escape. You tried to close your thighs on his head and pull on his hair, hoping the pressure and pain will push him away, but it only earned you a lewd moan from the man before he chuckled darkly.

"You really think that's gonna stop me?" he gave your clit a kiss and you gasped at the sensation. "No chance, lover. So go ahead, be as rough as you need to be, take anything you want from me and fucking use me."

You let out a choked moan when his tongue dragged over your overstimulated folds, his hands kneading your thighs and keeping you from pulling away. It was futile to fight it and you knew it, mind and body torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. His tongue lapping and sucking at your core had you seeing stars, his groans vibrating on your sex and before you knew it, it felt like the entire world was spinning. Your jumbled thoughts could not be put into words, and anything coming out of your mouth were either sinful moans or praise and pleads, an incoherent string of "fuck, Syd, please, 's too much!" and "there, yes, oh fuck, right there, so good!"

Sydney was just as far gone as you were, drinking in all the sounds that you were making and lapping at the mess that you both made, a sense of pride swelling in his chest knowing how he was the only one who could do this to you. The only one who could defile you and who could be defiled by you. He loved you. He needed you. He needed more.

His tongue circled your entrance a few times before plunging in you, his thumb from the hand he had spread on your stomach lowering to rub your clit and you let out a sob from the overwhelming feeling. The way his arm was holding your hips down made it impossible for you to thrash around, sweat dripping down your body and breathing laboured.

Before you knew it, you came with a shout of his name and pulled at his hair. He moaned, but refused to stop, and from the way the shivers kept cascading down your body and your muscles ached, you felt like you were about to pass out. You were now a puddle in his hands, speaking in tongues, and you had no more power in your arms to fight, only to pull at his strands mindlessly.

He reached out with his other hand, groaning like man drunk on lust, and replaced his tongue with his fingers, his mouth now on your clit as his hips snapped against the mattress searching for relief. You couldn't even tell if you just came again or if you had a prolonged orgasm, brain mush and body ablaze with heat. The world was melting and the only thing you felt was your lover leaving his mark on your body with his.

You were radiating, and he was drinking you in like you were an oasis in the middle of the desert, basking in your light, your sounds, your smell, your heat. Soon, his hips started slowing down as he spilled his load on the bedsheets, the flame within his body only now relenting and allowing him to take a deep breath and relax his tense muscles.

Using his last bits of energy, he slowly detached himself from you and pushed himself up towards you, falling into the comfort of his pillows. Sydney took a mental note to change his bedding as soon as he regained his strength, but when he glanced up at you, his brain stopped functioning again. Your eyes were closed, swollen lips parted slightly as you caught your breath, your eyelashes gently brushing against your blushing cheeks as a few strands of hair fell down your face.

He thought you looked gorgeous.

Sydney reached out, gently brushing your messy hair behind your ear before he snaked his arms around you and pulled you to his chest. He placed a kiss on the top of your head, murmuring sweet words of praise and love. His fingers started massaging your scalp and you melted in his embrace, welcoming his touch once again.

Sydney worshipped you. You were the light of his life, the idol he venerated, the only one who could put his heart in a chokehold, and with you snuggled in his arms, safe and sound, he knew what true happiness meant. True salvation, devoid of the teachings of the temple. And as he held you close to his heart, he realised something.

His God was dead. You killed Him. And with no one else left to save you two, he'd make sure you save each other.

#degrees of lewdity #sydney smut #sydney the fallen #sydney the faithful #degrees of lewdity x reader #dol x reader #sydney x reader #dol smut #dol sydney

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minsungchronology · 11 months ago

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My Personal Opinions on Minsung's Dynamic (2023)

Disclaimer: I am not trying to pass off my opinions as facts. This is my personal interpretation of what is laid out right in front of us. I could be completely off base because I don’t know these guys personally, so take this with a grain of salt and feel free to disagree!

I feel like this is the year where they’re as blatant as they possibly get.

This year, a lot more eyebrow raising moments come about. Ironically, a lot of them completely go under the radar under more popular moments (I.e: the neck kiss) that can be explained away as normal skinship (Han has kissed other members on the neck before) or even fanservice.

LK and Han seem a lot more settled into themselves as the year progresses. However, a lot of the habits we’ve seen of them have not changed one bit. The way they act (in concerts especially) directly parallels to how they were during all of those fansigns back in 2018. They’re always goofing off together, always finding ANY kind of way to interact. Sometimes I don’t even think they realize they’re in their “own world” at times cause it seems so habitual at this point. Someone who has seen the group in person has said it’s a lot more (extreme?) if you drift off to the side and pay close attention to those two.

This year (I don’t put fan sightings or airport pics, except the Jeju one lmao) there’s been an array of fan sightings (+ a few direct stories of their hangouts) of them during their off time as well. Like in previous years, they always seem to find a way to spend time together outside of work.

Now for a moment that I haven’t seen being talked about a lot:

Apart from their concert shenanigans, I think this one is one of the most telling. It’s during the YT live they have before Lollapalooza with Seungmin and I.N – the one where LK has the zoomies. LK asks Han for his hotel room number and Han laughs because he obvs can’t give it away on live (a lot of people freaked out about this but that’s not the part that made me raise my eyebrows at all, there was nothing questionable about that imo). It’s Seungmin’s reaction, rather. As soon as LK/Han are within a closer distance and Han responds, he literally scoots up closer to the camera to block them and stays frozen for a while. I tried to think of any other reason why that happened, but nothing else seems to come to mind.

Moments that got a kick out of me:

Han stomping his feet as soon as LK strips off his coat (for him, not for the fans 😭😭😭) during Sydney day 2, as he was watching him through the big screen.

LK being V.I.P to Han’s muscles and blatantly checking him out before Han covers himself up during the one of the later dome tour concerts.

Han twirling his butt for LK (im not making this up) during the soundcheck before the second Los Angeles concert and the look LK gives him as he’s approaching. 😵‍💫

And the long-awaited moment I’ve been itching to talk about. Maniac Tour - Sydney day 1.

Hooo boy.

There’s a lot to unpack, but I don’t want to go into details at all, for good reason (I think it’s pretty clear if you watch the clips). The way they were acting throughout that concert had me speechless, like they couldn’t turn off their giddiness for one second. Take a shot every time Han’s butt gets smacked/touched in that day alone. LK getting on YT live a couple of days after and trying to explain the ~lower body workout~ they had. If you notice how nervous he was trying to explain himself- 😵‍💫

Han couldn’t even sit down prop– *gunshots*

But anyways, it’s the most sus moment between them I’ve ever seen.

And 5-Star promotions. It was a time when Han was feeling noticeably under the weather. If you watch all throughout that period, Lee Know is so attentive and watchful of him. While Han strikes me as a “words” kind of person (case in point: their 2 kids show episode, Han was doing most of the talking lmao), Lee Know comes across as an “acts of service” type of guy. You’re not really going to hear him wax poetic about the members, but you’ll see his love for them through his actions. This is so evident here. You can see how much LK cares about him; the love he has for Han has always been so obvious, since the beginning.

From what we’re able to see, LK never seems to pressure (or even playfully tease) Han to act a certain way. He lets him be, all while being super attentive and being playful/funny as a way to make him feel better.

Also, Han being the one to write and share “Want So Bad” (+ the times during the tour where he pointed at LK when fans would show him husband/boyfriend/girlfriend posters; I wasn't able to find the footage paired w/ the posters of those moments unfortunately) makes all of this so bittersweet. Especially when you look back at his reactions towards LK in 2018 with anything “flirty” or potentially anything that toes the platonic line (i.e: the feelings discussion in the 1st 2KR). Having that little insight really pieces a lot of things together, especially when you go back and watch their moments from previous years. Again, they've come so far. 😭😭

My personal opinion:

I believe this is the year they want us to know, or rather the fans who have long suspected something going on between them.

Here, they’re at their 5th year of being idols (almost 6 years as a group). At this point, they know just how much they can get away with. The act of shipping is pretty ubiquitous amongst different groups because of the conditions we see them in (members are in constant close proximity with each other and we constantly see them interact). Which makes it easy for fans to partake in the act of shipping. These guys have been shipped with each other (and with other members!) for years now.

Skinship, Shipping, and “Bromance” isn’t exactly discouraged at all either. There’s a long history of fans shipping idols together, within and outside of their groups. Fanservice surrounding this is also widespread. I’ve followed enough groups over the years to notice certain/similar patterns amongst the shipping side of the fanbase and the idols concerned.

Which is where Minsung come in.

A few of the things they do (or the group as a whole, rather) can be passed off as just that (some of the 'ments at the Japan DOME concert tour come to mind), but a lot of things we’ve seen over the years cannot be explained away with FS or even SKZ-typical skinship and flirting. The “slip-ups” (I.e: Sydney day 1 lmfao) and the consistent patterns of their behavior I’ve compiled throughout these videos (I.e: LKs behavior in 2018, 2022, and 2023, especially) are at the tip of the iceberg.

There’s the “you’re my boyfriend, too” moment. The reason why I believe it made the final cut in the vlog was because it’s directly quoted from a show (also telling of how clever LK is). A moment like this could easily be written off as FS, however, it’s their reactions to it all that make me believe it’s legitimately a safe but clever way of saying something (before the more blatant Want So Bad was even written). As soon as LK jokingly says that his Gimpo friend is his boyfriend, he looks straight at Han and says “right?”, as if trying to egg on a reaction from him. Han visibly looks taken aback, like he was almost about to choke on his food, probably not expecting LK at all to say anything like that. But Han (probably also familiar with that quote) says “What about me?”. And LK responds accordingly.

Also, Felix/Changbin did a SKZ record love duet a couple of years back. Chan also suggested Felix do one with him during a (2KR?) episode. He recently released one with I.N too. It’s not exactly foreign to them.

Artists of the opposite sex collab on love songs/duets all the time. But I obviously don’t think any of the other members are more than platonic in any way shape or form because they don’t have consistent actual eyebrow raising moments that can’t be explained away with SKZ’s usual brand of jokey and/or playful flirting (i.e: CB/HJ’s dynamic), their no-boundary skinship, or run-of-the-mill fanservice that’s not unusual in the industry.

Opinions on the 2 Kids Show Episode (cause someone asked me about it and I thought it would be appropriate to add it onto here):

FIRST THINGS FIRST…

I am shocked by the near lack of teasing from Changbin. I thought he was going to go all the way with the teasing (in a similar fashion LK did with Felix and CB). He did get a few couple of things in though (Like how Han said he was too tired to go back to his dorm after he hung out with LK even though they live a floor apart) and CB being like “ooooh wow that’s a creative excuse”.

I’m also surprised, but not surprised by the vague description of “Want So Bad” from Han. First, during his Q&A on bubble, and then during the 2KS episode. To me, that speaks volumes. Especially when you compare it with how Han normally speaks about his work and with how other members (who also did love songs) spoke about their own duets.

And them saying certain things about their bond, but then kind of contradicting themselves minutes later is interesting??? A lot of things were kept vague-ish throughout the episode - compare with Felix/Changbin being more open/specific about their friendship and joking about certain things like the pre debut kiss vs Minsung being more lowkey-ish.

If Minsung just released “Want So Bad” without doing much of anything questionable, then I would honestly believe they are just friends because, again, love duets aren’t exactly foreign to the group.

But take all of the genuinely eyebrow raising moments + the love song (and its more specific lyrics, i.e: the cosmos flower mention; get closer I'm not playing around) + the near lack of/vaguer discussion compared to other SKZ records/try to compare their "discussion" to I.N/Chan's and Felix/Changbin's + Han specifically saying as he went over the lyrics he was reminded of LK. It paints a pretty damning picture IMO.

Which is why I believe they’re using whatever they have within their means (the pervasive shipping culture, the industry’s familiarity with fanservice, other things that overlap with what other members have done/said in the past like the the duets, etc.) to say as much as they can possibly say without damaging their careers and possibly the careers of the people surrounding them.

#minsung #this is a lot longer than i thought it would be

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darkostudios-blog · 5 months ago

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MISE EN PLACE

(A sydcarmy fic)

Notes: first time doing something like this so bear with me. Would love to hear any feedback! But pls be nice because I’m sensitive 😭🙏🩵

Summary: friends and family night leads to Carmy in the walk in and syd waiting for him to get out.

Chapter one: Jasmine Tea

I grasp my station for support as I feel the inevitable acid in the back of my throat. The sound of the ticket machine drowns out my thoughts. Overlapping voices creep their way into my head. I clasp my eyes shut hoping for it all to just stop. “Seriously guys what the fuck is going on!” I hear a woman’s voice scoff from the dining room. Claire. The faks can handle her. I choke back my vomit as I take a sip of my water to wash it down. I glance over to Tina as she stands outside the walk-in. Carmen has been trapped in there all service, yelling, kicking, screaming. The last time I saw him we had argued. I choke back the acid burning my throat again. “Maybe- maybe I’m just not built for this. Right?” I choke again. “And- and maybe that's okay!” I cough as I cover my mouth. My stomach is a swirling pit of all the bad things from today. I should have eaten before service. “Maybe that just is.” Carmen's voice admits defeat through the thick walk-in door. I take a wobbly step back as I hastily make my way over there. My hand glides over Tina’s shoulder as I tell her to cover my station. I run outside in the fresh air and retreat to a dumpster. I vomit instantly, covering the black asphalt with orange tinted acid and bits of my ramen noodles from this morning. I hunch over behind the trash as I cough and try to compose myself. The voices dissipate but the nausea still lingers. My feet carry me to sit on a curb outside of the restaurant. Watching as happy customers leave and cars pass. I taste the acid lingering on my tongue and I sigh as I close my eyes. This was our first day of service, even if it was friends and family night, it was still service. A bad service. A bittersweet service. Me and Carmy argued, but everyone put all of their hands aboard and made a collective effort to their cause. Even after Carmen got stuck in that fridge.

Ticket machines whir as Sydney tries to keep up with them. She barks orders as I run around the kitchen, plating and cooking. “Hands!” I yell as I give a plate to Richie. “Yo- are you gonna talk to Claire?” He asks over my shoulder. “Later cousin.” I reply as I plate the next order. Lining up wagyu beef strips in a line. “Later?- what- what do you mean-?” “I said later chef.” He scoffs as he turns to walk out of the kitchen. I plate the next plate and yell for hands as I glance at Sydney. I see her eyes glaze over me as she turns back to the tickets. “Can I get two soups and a wagyu please chefs!” Her voice loudly carries throughout the kitchen, as everyone replies with “chef.” I retreat to Sydney's side as she manages the tickets and food orders. I watch her hands as they work efficiently, grasping tickets and highlighting words before she pins them to her station and barks the next task. “Can I get three pastas and one wagyu chefs!”

She yells as Tina slides me a plate, I take it with a nod and begin the same routine with every wagyu dish I get. “One wagyu chef-“ I began as I glanced at her. “That's Claire’s.” She speaks bitterly, her eyes glued on her own tickets. “Right.” I reply blankly as I glance down at the dish. “Are you gonna call for hands or?” Sydney blinks at me and then to the plate. “Uh- uh no- I’ll do it.” I hype myself up as a sigh escapes my lips. “What?” “Yea no- I’ll do it.” I grab the plate as I begin to leave, my gaze glances to Sydney before I leave.

Fear, I saw the fear in his eyes; but I didn’t see the panic until he came back. The door swings open as he comes back in and scrambles with a few dishes before he declares an order. “Refire.” My head whips around to glance at him as he yells, his voice slightly shaky as his breathing picks up. “No- it’s fine- just call for hands.” “No Syd! Refire! Tina. Refire.” He glares at Tina, as I stick my hand out to defend her. “Tina. Don’t. Carmen- there’s nothing wrong with it-“ “The cook is off!!” He yelled like a desperate child. “No- they’re fine they’ve only been-“ I try to reassure him before he cuts me off; stuttering and shaking. “Are- are these for the guy- the guy in the- by the fuc- fucking window? Is it for the GUY BY THE FUCKING WINDOW SYD??” he begins to yell as I approach him. His hands flailing around like he’s drowning as he frantically points to the dining room. “Whoa- whoa- yea it’s table 50-“ I show my palms to him to try and calm him down but he doesn’t listen. “WHAT THE FUCK-“ He booms again. “Refire. Please- Refire.” He states to me with a jab of his hand in my direction. “Well you were out there talking to whoever- and I was trying to-“ I begin to defend myself when I’m interrupted once more. “Syd. Syd. Syd.” The way he’s repeating himself is like a broken record or a child in shock trying to reassure himself that everything is fine. “They’ve been sitting here for fucking ever! Refire!” “Whoa. Hey. Watch. It. Dude.” He sighs as he grasps the kitchen island for support. His eyes dart to the floor as I speak softer. “Way down. Wayyyyyy down you gotta take it way down.” He turns to me again without the rage, without the panic, without the fear and I see Carmy. The real Carmy. The Carmy that doesn’t want to be like this in his kitchen. His brow raises in a nod as he whispers. “I’m sorry.” His fist reaches over to his heart as he circles it. A desperate chance to connect with me again. “I’m sorry.” He repeats in a dazed whisper. I nod at him with a sigh as I glance over the kitchen. I repeat his gesture back to him, a hand over my heart and a pain in my head. “I’m sorry that the food got cold- I- I was doing a lot.” I explain as he watches me. “Good?” He asks. A question I’ve heard only a million and one times before. “Yea” I reply as I glance at him again. “You good?” I ask, rolling the dice on if he’d answer or not. Carmen never answers these types of questions so therefore I never know if he’s truly good or not. It’s a con to working with him, especially in this kitchen where communication is our biggest concern. “Refire the set.” He whispers as he turns away to go into the walk-in.

——-

I sit on the edge of the kitchen island as I stare at the walk-in door. Mangled by the power tool they used to get me out. My life flashes before me as I bore into the walk-in door. My career at the French laundry. My career at Noma. My career in New York. Whenever I think about New York, or douchebags with glasses, it makes me want to puke. I feel the acid burn my throat as I sit there. “Here” a soft voice approaches me with a coffee. I take it from her grasp, not meeting her eye. I’m ashamed of what I put her through. Sydney stands next to me as she grasps her own cup. Probably filled with tea since she’s never really liked coffee. I remember the first day I learned that.

“Jasmine tea” I nod as I watch Carmen examine his mug. “Try it, you might like it.”

He glances at me with a cautious look before setting his mug down on his desk. “Maybe later chef.” I sigh softly as I glance at my own mug. “How’s bookkeeping?” I ask, trying to hide my slight disappointment. His tired eyes glaze over the mounted papers and files that lay before him. Pencil scribbles and anonymous numbers cover the graph paper. “It’s a- it’s a mess.” He pauses as he examines the numbers, then his gaze falls over to me as I lean against the doorway of his run down office. “How’s the brigade?” I scoff softly as I smile. “It’s a mess. I uh. I just feel like I’m messing up their system, like I’m poking my nose in a place where it doesn’t belong.” I admit. “What-? What are you talking about? You belong here.” He reassures me. “But like- I’m new and they already seem to not like me- plus they cook different than I do and it’s just like- now all of a sudden I’m bossing them around I don’t want to be like a- fucking- overbearing- piece of-“ “Sydney.” He interrupts my rambling. My wide eyes glance at him as my lips purse slightly. “You belong here.” He nods softly. I freeze as my eyes search for a sliver of deceit, but I see none. “You belong here.” I follow his nod and glance at my own mug as I take a sip.

“Okay”

“Hey uh- can I ask you something?” Carmen furrows his brow at me as I glance over. “Yea shoot”

“Why jasmine tea?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Well we don’t have jasmine tea here- at the restaurant- so you brought it. Why jasmine tea?” His eyes study my face as I glance away at his mug on the desk.

“Well when I was younger uh- my dad used to make it for me. Told me it’s my mom’s favorite.” I nod as I lie slightly. It was my mom’s favorite. “So I kinda just- I don’t know- nostalgia things.” I shrug as I glance at him.

“Nostalgia things.” He smirks with a scoff. “Tell me about it.” He shakes his head as he turns back to his work.

————

I take a sip of my cup. Coffee this time, burns my throat and warms my nerves. My eyes bore into the floor as I think about how I got here. How the fuck did I get here. Why is Sydney still here? I’ve hurt her more times than I can count and yet I can never seem to get rid of her. The silence welcomes back my old memories. They eat away at my nerves like I’m a discarded corpse- numbed by the flashed recollections.

Copenhagen. New York. My first dish. My sketchbooks. Claire. Sydney. The review. Mikey. New York. Asshole boss. Mikey. New York. Claire. Asshole boss. Fuck.

“I’m so sorry.” He pleads out, like it painfully crawled from his lips. I shut my eyes as I sigh and chew on my lip. I turn to him as I grasp my cup. Why is he sorry? Well no, he should be sorry. Right? I shake my head slightly as I search his face.

“We made it.” I whisper back.

“No” he replies instantly as he looks away. I see the vulnerability in his eyes. Whatever happened to him out there before he got locked in- fucked him up. Rocked his world. Did Claire say something? Did he see someone? Did he over hear something?

“You made it.” He nods as his eyes glance back to me. He’s sure of this.

“With the help of everyone else,”

“I left you alone.” He shakes his head as his eyes flicker. His throat is closing, I can hear it in his strained voice. “I left you alone when I told you that I wouldn’t.”

“Carmen. Things happen. Okay? It’s good.” I swallow thickly as I glance over him. I notice how his nails dig into his own skin as he trembles.

“We’re good?”

“We're good.” I confirm as I bite my tongue.

Carmen didn’t drink his coffee for the rest of the night. I only stayed there for about fifteen more minutes and when I left him he was still staring at the walk in door that was chopped off. When I said goodnight, he acknowledged me with a weak “yea” and didn’t even glance in my direction. I went to sleep, well barely slept, thinking about that night. It didn’t feel real, Carmen seemed like he saw a ghost- or picked up some really emotional baggage he lugged away. Opened a rotten can of worms he forgot he shut. It wasn’t my business but I found myself thinking over all of the possible scenarios. What got Carmen that bad? What caused him to emotionally spiral? I turned over in my bed as I sigh, shutting my eyes so hard until I saw the fuzzy little stars. I stayed like that for fifteen minutes- drifting, not drifting off to sleep, just drifting. And it was torture, horrible torture. The same question over and over. Something I couldn’t crack. Carmen. The same cycled thoughts circle in my brain like an out of control carousel. That went on until I couldn’t take it anymore, I shot up from my bed as I wandered, in the dark, to the kitchen. I open a cabinet and stick my hand in like a routine, muscle memory. My hand pulls out a small box and then I grab a mug. Sitting on the counter as I warm up water and drop the tea bag in. I grasp the warm mug, and suddenly I’m transported to Carmen as he sits on the island beside me, staring at the walk in. Transported back to Marcus’s house as I make him food and talk about cooking. Transported back to Carmen’s messy office before I quit, before the renovations, before friends and family night. Transported back home. The jasmine tea lingers on my tongue as I sigh with a shake of my head. I take another sip as I try to drown out the banging thought that I have to do all of this shit again tomorrow.

#the bear #carmy the bear #jeremy allen white #ayo edebiri #sydney the bear #syd adamu #sydney adamu #syd x carmy #syd x carmen #sydcarmy #sydcarmy fic #thebearseasonthree #writers on tumblr

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baelonthebrave · 1 year ago

Text

salt fat acid heat

continuation of spearmint and nicotine

sydney/richie [Ao3]

word count: 2,473

rating: gen

summary: Sydney reflects on the people who made her.

warnings: post Season 2, angst, referenced child abuse, mental illness, grief

Sydney picked up a copy of Salt Fat Acid Heat when she was 22, fresh out of school and still with a firm residence on the bottom rung of the culinary ladder. The smell of thyme had become a stink to her, so pervasive in the way it clung to her hair and underneath her fingernails as she spent hours everyday just stripping the leaves off their little branches, forming one part of many in the marinade for jerk chicken.

Whatever. She’d kind of prepared herself for this. Kept her head down and showed the sous that she could do what she was told and do it well, so that next week or next month she could be upgraded to scotch bonnets.

It was on a day off, when her mind had somewhat recovered from the numbing activity of stripping thyme leaves, that she picked up the book. Mastering the Elements of Good Cooking. It was for home cooks, really, and didn’t contain much technical learning that hadn’t already been drilled into her in school, but inso never went wrong, a fresh way of looking at something she’d already considered a thousand times before. A new philosophy and, if she was being honest, something to remind herself that she loved food, loved cooking, which had more to it than prepping herbs.

Besides, it put a warm feeling in her to see someone from outside the major European culinary traditions - Samin Nosrat, the cover stated - making a name for herself. Honestly, if Sydney had to listen to one more Italian guy act like his connection to and understanding of cooking was just so much more in-depth and spiritual than hers because of his heritage, her knife was going to slip and remove a finger. Good luck carrying on Nonna’s legacy with only half your right hand, you pretentious dick.

The book followed her after that, from restaurant to restaurant, from her own place and her own business back to her childhood bedroom, never straying far from her bedside table. Part of a stack of inspiration and a stack of resilience. Keep going, it said, keep going. You were made for this. It’s not supposed to be easy. Keep going.

At a certain point, those words - salt, fat, acid, heat - became ubiquitous in her life. All day, every day, variations fell from her mouth at different volumes and levels of urgency. They followed her out of the kitchen, coming home with her like the carefully wrapped and lovingly sharpened blades in her bag. They were everywhere, just like food, service, love was everywhere.

And they became a part of her philosophy, the fabric of her life.

salt

Sydney’s dad was salt.

Emmanuel Adamu was a good man, a kind man, a steady man. He paid for their beautiful apartment with his steady, well-paid job in an accountancy firm that required him to wear a tie and not utter any of the curses that fell from his daughter’s lips on a daily basis.

Emmanuel didn’t drink alcohol because his father - Sydney’s grandfather - did, and got mad and beat his eldest son when he was intoxicated. Sydney could understand being angry at an unfair world - sometimes she struggled with it herself - but she never figured out how it helped you feel better to take it out on a child. Fucking stupid. That was also why Emmanuel didn’t like the taste of cherry, because his sobbing mother used to spoon cherry-flavoured Tylenol into his mouth after the beatings, instead of being allowed to take her boy to the emergency room.

It was through learning of her father’s dislike for cherry that Sydney first started to piece together why food was so important, and how it gave meaning. Cooking was about the senses, and senses were memory, and memories are us. A person’s consciousness was little more than the cumulation of their memories, and that was the key to it. Flavours and smells and textures cut straight through every artifice to the very core of a person’s being, and that was what it was all about. Saying something, leaving your mark on someone.

So, her dad was salt, Sydney’s grounding element. The frame of reference that gave the rest of the world its meaning. He raised her, so gentle and kind where his own father had been cruel and angry, and gave her her footing. He brought out the colour in everything. Just like salt in caramel could take off the edge of the sweetness and let you taste the complexity of browned sugar and butter, Emmanuel tempered her anxiousness, slowed her worst tendencies, and helped her see that whilst all this might be fucking difficult, it was also beautiful. And it was worth the fight.

(n.b. Emmanuel Adamu was also salt because he cried. Sometimes with Sydney, sometimes without. Usually about his wife. About every step Sydney took that her mother didn’t get to see.)

fat

Sydney wasn’t clear on what made her mother the fat in this pretentious extended cooking metaphor she used to explain her life to herself. Partly because her mother actually grew her, with her own body. Sydney would literally not be here if not for the bones grown, muscles fashioned, fat and skin and organs added by her mother. Without her milk, her love, her hugs, Sydney wouldn’t be here.

And that line of thinking brought up the other reason why her mother was the fat. It was the part of the cut of meat that spoiled it for many people. The part you either hacked off or endured with a grimace, rubbery and chewy and greasy.

That’s kinda what losing a parent as a kid felt like.

You could either just… refuse to think about it. Hack it off at the source. Resolutely not imagine baking sessions and kisses after school and a comb sliding through your hair, all the things that you only got half your fair allotment of.

And when not thinking about it failed miserably, you could endure it. Think about how the world would have been, how you would have been if they’d lived. Sydney imagined herself calmer and more level-headed, with an actual normal way of thinking. It’s kinda hard to develop a normal way of thinking when your formative years are disrupted by the realisation that everyone leaves, everyone dies. You start living your life with one eye on the clock, except the clock is a fucking Doomsday clock counting down to the day you finally implode and people will make sympathetic faces and say its such a shame, she had a hard start at life, she never stood a chance, really. Part of Sydney thinks that’s why her catering company failed, because she couldn’t even look at the name - Sheridan Catering - without feeling a twist in her stomach.

Fat could be things other than a strip of grizzle on the side of a steak, though, and Sydney tried to remind herself that. You can’t cook anything worth eating without fat - rich olive oil, creamy butter, adding flavour and indulgence and energy your body needed to keep going. She wouldn’t be here without her mother, and she wouldn’t be Sydney if her mother hadn’t died of Lupus when she was four years old. Her drive, her wit, her passion, her appreciation for how fucking short life really is and how you need to make it count - she would have been different if Sheridan Adamu hadn’t died young.

She would like to meet the Sydney she would have been if her innocence had hung around longer.

But that was impossible.

So instead, she kept moving, and fat was as ever-present in her cooking as grief was in her life, like the Three of Swords inked on her shoulder blade.

She tried every day to see the positives in that, she really did.

acid

Acid, without a doubt, was Carmen Berzatto.

One of the greatest chefs living, definitely the best chef Sydney had ever had the privilege of working with, Carmy was the fucking zing that Sydney needed to get out of bed before the sun had risen and the frost had thawed.

Carmy was citrus - so lively was his cooking, his tattoos, the way he moved around a kitchen like his pants were on fire. He was the lemon to Sydney’s lime and there was some deep understanding between them that made Sydney sorry she’d ever hated on Italian guys, because this one was clearly her soulmate, her blood brother.

Carmy was also vinegar. He was sour and tangy, the clear result of leaving some nasty shit to fester for too long. In some ways, she knew Carmy was her if her dad hadn’t been so steady. If she’d had a brother who shot himself. So she tried to cut him slack where she could, but sometimes… sometimes the kindest thing you could do for a person who was a bit fucked in the head was tell them they were acting like they’re fucked in the head. As a victim of her own poisonous thoughts and nerves that ricocheted through her body like a nuclear chain reaction, Sydney knew sometimes you needed to put your foot down and tell people they’re not grounded in reality right now. She knew Carmen appreciated it.

He was sharp. Sometimes, that was a good thing, and he cut through the bullshit and found the heart of an issue like a little acid could lift an entire dish out of complicated mediocrity. Sometimes, it was a bad thing, though. Carmen could cut deep when he wanted to. His own close alignment with his biggest insecurities, the wounds he picked at, gave him a peculiar affinity for working out the weak spots in others.

She loved Carmy - he was ingenious, disciplined, creative, sweet, original. But when he was sour, it was overpowering. And maybe that was just his way of protecting himself, of claiming control. He pushed people away so they wouldn’t have the chance to reject him first. He said and did shitty things because being on the offence was familiar territory, family territory even, and the runt of the litter always had to bark twice as loud and snap twice as hard just to get his share of the meal. Didn’t make it okay, but she did understand it. Somewhat.

He could still be a little bitch though.

heat

For the longest time, Richie was heat just because being around him boiled Sydney’s blood. The person who got her back up by being so obstinate and infuriating that she was left wondering how he’d lived so long without walking off a cliff like a damn lemming.

They yelled and screamed at each other about God only knows what. Richie was a bitch about caulk. Sydney stabbed Richie. They were basically even, right?

But then, Richie changed.

The Bear changed them all. It was a call to arms, to a higher purpose, and they had all had to pull up their big girl pants and figure some shit out. Richie most of all, as it seemed that he was every bit as lost and drifting with the tide as Sydney had always thought him to be.

But then, by opening night, he was this guy in a suit who smelled good and who ran the front of house like a track star.

There was the minor issue of Carmy screaming some truly obscene things through the walk-in door, and the few days where they’d all but accepted that Richie was gone, sick of this shit and realising his own worth for the first time in his life. But then, Carmy had dislodged his head from his own rectum and made amends. Richie forgave him like he’d forgiven Sydney for stabbing him in the ass - that is, with remarkable ease - and came back to The Bear, as stubbornly committed to the Berzattos as ever.

That was something she learned the soft way about Richie - if you were loyal to him, he’d pay you back tenfold.

Heat became warmth. Warmth became a flame kindled between them. Fragile and flickering at first, then steady and strong. He brushed the back of her hand with his when they passed each other during prep. He reminded her to eat and drink. He asked questions. Where do you get your hair done? How long have you known you wanted to be a chef? What was your mom like?

Was he closer to her dad’s age than hers? Yeah, and she could tell it bothered him. Constantly asking in the early days why someone like her was hanging around with someone like him. The answer was simple, really. Because the more she worked with him, the more she realised he was only ever territorial. Trying to protect the last piece of Michael he had, no matter how much of a fucking nightmare it was. The second they realised they weren’t a threat to each other, that they could be friends, it was game over for Sydney. His laugh, his eyes, his voice, his heart. The way he was dragging himself out of his rut, hand over hand, fighting for himself tooth and nail. Made her realise maybe she could do it too, if she just followed his example. It was never too late.

He was so tender with her. He was the heat that kept her at a steady simmer, the warmth that stopped her from going cold in a world that had only ever been hard on her. He kissed her collarbones like they were precious, folded her washed bandanas into neat little triangles, told her she was beautiful at the most random moments, like he thought about it all the time.

She found herself cooking for him more and more as his palate and curiosity developed. Started listening to Taylor Swift, because Eva loved her, and Richie loved Eva. Started asking him questions. What was Michael like? Does Eva prefer school or sports? Had you been stabbed before or was I your first?

She’d long accepted that, for a man who had lived an entire life before she’d even met him, she’d never be the first anything. And she was happy with that. She didn’t think she could have hacked Richie the 22 year old at a tailgate party, draped drunkenly over Mikey Bear’s shoulders. She liked Richie the dad, the divorcee who still fixed Tiffany’s leaky kitchen sink on the weekends, the uncle who could bounce and quiet the baby when Nat was ready to cry herself.

So it was a surprise when, one morning in bed, he kissed her bare shoulder and told her, “You’re the first person it’s ever felt easy with.”

Ease had never been her thing, but she was finding it now.

Thanks to some good people, she was finding it.

all likes, reblogs, comments massively appreciated ❤️

#sydrichie #sydney x richie #the bear #the bear season 2 #sydney adamu #richie jerimovich

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