enrosewriter

[enrosewriter]

Three Kisses

"Three Kisses"

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Warnings: Mature Content, Minors DNI

Pairing: Han X Reader

Word Count: 1500

It was supposed to be just a harmless party.

Music pulsed low in the background of the dorm, a lazy playlist trailing through the speakers as a few drinks sat half-finished on the coffee table. You were curled up between Han and Hyunjin on the floor, cheeks warm from laughter and something slightly stronger than soda.

Truth or dare had escalated, as it always did when Minho got bored.

“Alright,” Minho said, smirking with his signature mischief. “Jisung. Y/N. Since you two are joined at the hip anyway, I dare you to go into the bedroom together.”

You raised a brow. Jisung laughed, a little too quickly. “That’s it? Just go in?”

Minho leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Not quite. Y/N has to leave three kiss marks on you. Neck, chest, and…” he paused dramatically, “…v-line.”

The room erupted in chaos—Hyunjin choking on his drink, Seungmin groaning like he’d heard enough, and you?

Frozen.

Your heart tried to climb into your throat. Jisung glanced at you, laughing, but there was a flicker in his eyes���nervous, unreadable.

“I mean, only if you’re okay with it,” he said quickly, voice lower than usual.

You swallowed. “Yeah. Sure. It’s just a dare.”

Liar.

You stood up first, legs slightly shaky as you made your way to his room. The moment the door clicked behind him, the air changed. No more background laughter. Just the two of you.

Jisung rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “We don’t actually have to if it’s too weird.”

You looked up at him. “Do you want to?”

He hesitated. “I mean… yeah. Kind of.”

That surprised you. But you didn’t question it.

You stepped forward, gently pushing him to sit on the edge of the bed. He swallowed hard, eyes locked on you, waiting.

“Okay,” you whispered, straddling his lap carefully, your hands resting on his shoulders. “First one.”

You leaned in and pressed your lips to his neck, just below his jawline. You sucked softly, just enough for color to bloom against his skin. You felt his breath hitch.

“Damn,” he mumbled under his breath.

You tried not to smirk.

Next, you slipped your fingers beneath the collar of his shirt, letting it fall off one shoulder as you leaned in again—this time against his chest, just above his heart.

Your lips lingered longer, your breath brushing his skin as you marked him slowly. You heard him exhale, his hands gripping your waist lightly.

And then, the final one.

You looked up, searching his eyes for permission.

He nodded.

You reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it up. He lifted his arms so you could pull it over his head, and you stared for a second longer than you meant to. His toned stomach, the way his chest rose and fell under your gaze—it made your own breath stutter.

Your lips found the curve of his v-line, just above the waistband of his jeans. The kiss mark there was slower, deeper. You didn’t pull away immediately.

“Y/N…”

His voice was strained, barely a whisper.

You looked up again, your hands resting against his sides. “Too much?”

“No,” he said, a little too fast. “I just—” He paused. “I’ve wanted this. You. For a while.”

Your heart flipped. “You have?”

He nodded, eyes searching yours. “But I didn’t want to screw up our friendship. You’re… important to me.”

You smiled, your voice barely audible. “You’re important to me too. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but I feel the same.”

That was all it took.

He kissed you before you could say another word, pulling you into him like he’d been waiting forever. It was desperate, soft and messy all at once. His hands traced your back, pulling you closer until there was nothing between you but heat and want.

His mouth found yours again and again, like he couldn’t get enough. Your shirt was gone before you realized it, and when his hands met bare skin, you gasped into his mouth.

“You sure?” he whispered, breathing hard against your jaw.

You nodded. “Yeah. I want you.”

And like the, it was like something had snapped in him. Han's mouth was back on yours, letting his hands roam all over your skin, not sure where to start.

He fell back against the bed, pulling you with him, wrapping you up until everything else—the party, the dare, even the room itself—faded out. All you could feel was him, the rise and fall of his chest under your palms, his lips tracing patterns along your collarbone.

You tugged at his jeans, feeling him tense beneath you.

“Eager?” he teased, his voice a mix of laughter and breathlessness.

“Very,” you shot back, flicking open the button and sliding them down. He helped kick them off, leaving him in boxers that did nothing to hide how much he wanted this.

His hands moved to your waist, pulling at your own jeans. “Fair’s fair,” he said, grinning up at you with that same flicker of vulnerability beneath the confidence.

You shimmied out of them, tossing them aside before leaning over him again. The friction of skin on skin was electric, dizzying; each touch sparked new.

He kissed you slowly, savoring each second like it might end too soon. Your bodies fit together seamlessly, filling every space with heat. He rolled you over, breathless, resting his weight on his elbows as he hovered above you. His hair fell in his eyes, and you pushed it back, tracing his jaw.

“Han,” you whispered, more a plea than a name.

He groaned softly at the sound, sliding down your body with deliberate care. His lips left a trail from your collarbone to the edge of your bra. He paused, letting his breath warm your skin.

You arched into him. “Don’t stop…..please”

Your bra hit the floor fast, and he was on you again—mouth and hands everywhere all at once until you couldn’t tell where one started or ended. When his lips closed around your nipple, heat flooded through you so hard you gasped and tangled your fingers in his hair.

It felt like nothing else mattered but this moment with him—everything raw and real.

You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, unsure if you could wait any longer. He moved back up to meet your mouth, every shift of his body sending sparks along your skin.

When he finally slid them off, you felt him hard against your thigh, and it sent a thrill through you.

His mouth was near your ear, whispering your name like a promise. “I’ve got you.”

You let him roll you on top again, straddling his hips, hearts pounding in time. He pulled at the lace of your panties, hesitating just long enough for you to nod before sliding them down.

The sensation of his fingers brushing along your inner thigh made you tremble, and he watched the effect with a mix of awe and victory.

“Y/N,” he said softly, like he still couldn’t believe it.

You kissed him deep, letting all those years of wanting pour out. His hands cupped your ass, guiding you against him until he couldn’t wait any longer.

He reached beside him, fumbling in the nightstand drawer. The crinkle of foil broke through the haze.

“Prepared?” you teased breathlessly.

He laughed. “Hoping is more like it.”

You took it from him with shaking fingers, tearing it open and rolling it on slowly. He groaned at your touch—low, guttural—and it almost undid you right there.

Then he pulled you down over him, gasping together as he filled you completely. You had to stop for a second to catch your breath, dizzy from the sensation of him finally inside you.

“God,” Jisung moaned. “You feel…”

You cut him off with another kiss, moving against him until talking turned into broken words and raw sounds. It was more intense than anything you'd imagined; every new angle sent shockwaves through both of you. His hands guided your hips faster until there was nothing left but pure sensation.

Your breath came ragged and fast as the pressure built higher and hotter between you—until all at once it shattered, leaving your whole body shaking with release.

Jisung followed seconds after with a deep groan and an arch of his back that sent warmth flooding into every part of your soul. You collapsed against his chest in disbelief and relief while the world slowly pieced itself back together around you.

He wrapped his arms tight around you like he never wanted to let go. The dare seemed like a distant echo now; everything else faded away except his heartbeat under your cheek.

“Hey,” he said after a long moment, still catching his breath but grinning wide. “We might have to do this dare thing more often.”

You laughed into his neck, brushing sweat-damp hair from his forehead so you could see those bright eyes looking at only you.

“Yeah,” you murmured happily as sleepiness crept over both of you in waves. “I think we should.”

[enrosewriter]

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Pairing: Reader X Bang Chan

WC: 600

Content: Idol au, mature context, shy reader, kiss marks, more of a dom chan then shy chan.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

It was supposed to be just a photoshoot. Just another concept for the brand Chan was helping promote—something edgy, something bold. And you, his best friend, had somehow ended up roped into being part of it.

The photographer’s vision? Something intimate. Something raw.

Something like kiss marks all over Bang Chan’s chest, neck, and stomach.

You’d laughed when they explained it, thinking it was a joke. But Chan had agreed almost instantly, flashing his dimple and saying, “Yeah, Y/N’s perfect for it. She’s comfortable with me. We’ll make it look natural.”

Comfortable. Right.

Now here you were, backstage in the dimly lit studio, your lips stained red from the makeup artist’s touch-up, and Chan standing in front of you with his shirt already off—tan skin, defined abs, and that confident smirk faltering just a little when your eyes met.

“Ready?” he asked, voice lower than usual.

You swallowed hard. “Yeah. Totally.”

The first kiss was awkward. You leaned in, pressing your lips to his collarbone, and both of you laughed nervously.

“Sorry,” you muttered against his skin. “This is just…”

“Weird?” he offered, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Yeah.”

But the camera clicked. The photographer gave you encouragement. And you did it again.

And again.

You trailed marks down his chest. Light pressure. Lingering lips. His skin was warm under your mouth, and you could feel every breath he took—shallow, restrained.

At one point, your hand landed on his waist to steady yourself, and he flinched—just barely.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

He didn’t say anything, but his fingers brushed your arm in response. Gentle. Anchoring.

By the time you got to his stomach, the tension was unbearable. You could feel it humming in the air—unsaid things and stolen glances. Your lips pressed lower, just above his waistband, and his hand gripped the edge of the table behind him.

The photographer’s voice was distant. Something about how good the shots were turning out. You barely heard it.

Finally, someone called a break. You turned away, heart pounding, heading toward the dressing room to wipe the lipstick off.

You didn’t expect Chan to follow.

He closed the door behind him, locked it, and stood there, eyes dark and unreadable.

“Chan—”

“What are we doing?” he asked, voice rough. “Because that didn’t feel like just a shoot.”

Your back hit the counter. He moved closer.

“You think I didn’t notice how your hands were shaking?” he said, his fingers brushing your hip. “How you hesitated every time your lips got too low?”

You exhaled, trying to stay composed. “We’re friends. We’re just—”

“Friends don’t look at each other like that,” he growled, cutting you off. “You think I haven’t noticed how you avoid my eyes lately? How you bite your lip when I get too close?”

He pressed a hand to the wall beside your head, caging you in, but not touching you beyond that. Giving you space—barely.

“Say something,” he murmured.

You reached up, thumb brushing one of the kiss marks you’d left earlier. “You liked it,” you whispered. “Didn’t you?”

His control snapped.

He kissed you—hard. Mouth urgent, hands gripping your waist like he couldn’t get enough of you. And you kissed him back, all the heat and tension from the day exploding between you in a rush of teeth and tongue and desperate gasps.

When he finally pulled back, both of you breathless, he pressed his forehead to yours.

“That’s not leaving the studio,” he whispered. “That’s mine.”