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multislut · 11 days ago

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i <3 boobies! — enhypen (f)(s)

your boyfriend sees your boobs for the first time and doesn’t know how to act.

heeseung

you’re a little drunk.

like warm-tummy, loose-shoulders, stupid-giggle drunk.

heeseung’s lying on your bed, scrolling, talking about something dumb — a dream he had, maybe. you’re sitting on the floor, half-listening, sipping from your glass, and then suddenly—

you stand up. pull your shirt over your head. no warning. no speech. just tits.

he looks up. and he freezes. scrolling finger mid-air. lips parted. expression blank. like you just slapped him with a gospel truth.

“bro,” he whispers.

you raise a brow. “bro?”

“oh my god.”

you just stand there, shirt in one hand, boobs out. vibes immaculate.

“are you for real?” he says, sitting up so fast he nearly drops his phone. “are those— are they always like that?”

“like what?”

“like fucking perfect?”

you laugh so hard you nearly fall over.

and he just keeps blinking at them. like they might change shape if he stares too long. like they’re a hallucination.

“you’re not real,” he mutters. “i’m in a dream. this is a simulation.”

you roll your eyes and sit on the bed, pulling the blanket around you lazily.

“okay, enough,” you giggle. “you saw them. you can stop worshipping now.”

he doesn’t move.

“no. no i can’t. this changes everything. i saw the light and now i’m different.”

jay

he doesn’t mean to look.

you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

but the moment your shirt lifts — before you even have time to toss it in the hamper — you hear him go quiet. like, dead silent.

you turn around, confused.

he’s sitting up now, remote in one hand, lips parted. just… staring. his entire soul left his body.

“what?” you ask, blinking. “why are you looking at me like that?”

“you…” his voice breaks.

he coughs. clears his throat. blinks like he just came back from war.

“you’ve been hiding those from me?”

you glance down, realize you’re still topless, and laugh — “i thought you weren’t looking.”

he puts the remote down slowly. reverently.

“i wasn’t. and now i’m being punished for it.”

you start reaching for your shirt again, but he stops you.

“no. no, you don’t get to take them away. i just met them.”

you laugh even harder, grabbing a hoodie, but he just looks betrayed. hand on his chest. like he needs a moment.

he’s so serious.

“i’m gonna write about this in my notes app. i just need a second to process. they were so pretty. like. aesthetically. artistically. spiritually.”

you roll your eyes. “you’re being so dramatic.”

he just nods slowly. “i know. and i’m right.”

and later that night, when you’re finally in bed, hoodie zipped to your chin, back turned…

you feel his hand on your waist. his lips near your ear.

“next time… warn me. or don’t. i’ll survive either way. i think.”

(he won’t.)

jake

he was laying on your stomach.

like full face-planted. arms around your waist. humming into your skin, half-asleep, talking nonsense between every other breath.

you thought he was dozing off. so when you finally sit up, lifting your shirt over your head, you don’t think twice.

you’re just changing. grabbing a hoodie. your back’s to him, and it’s dark. no big deal.

until you hear him choke.

“oh.”

you glance over your shoulder. “what?”

he’s sitting up now. like—straight up. eyes wide. cheeks red.

“did i—did you just—i mean, did i see that?”

you pause. blink. realize what he saw.

“oh. yeah,” you say casually. “sorry, i didn’t think you were looking—”

“NO i mean—it’s okay i just—wow.”

you laugh, pulling your hoodie on, but he’s still sitting there like he witnessed a miracle.

“you’re just… walking around with those? like… they’re real?”

you look at him.

he looks at you.

then covers his face with both hands and groans.

“i’m gonna have dreams about this,” he mumbles. “like not even in a gross way. just in a i saw something sacred kind of way.”

you crawl back under the blanket and he immediately wraps himself around you like a koala. kisses your collarbone like he’s trying to prove his love to god.

“you know i’d die for you, right?”

“because of my boobs?”

“yes. but also your soul.”

sunghoon

he just wanted his charger.

you’d taken it earlier. said he left it in your room. told him to come grab it when he needed it.

he didn’t knock. he thought you were in the kitchen.

so when he pushes the door open and sees you — topless, glowing, towel low on your hips, hair still damp, hand frozen mid-lotion — he doesn’t speak. doesn’t move. just. stares.

your eyes meet. for a second, you both just blink. like a standstill.

and then—“oh my god—” you gasp, arms flying up to cover your chest.

he flinches so hard he nearly drops his phone.

“i’m sorry—i’m so sorry—i thought you were—i didn’t know—i didn’t—”

he steps back, slams the door shut, and stands there. outside your room. in silence. breathing heavy.

you call through the door.

“did you at least grab the charger??”

his voice cracks.

“no. i… i blacked out a little.”

you start laughing, and he wants to crawl into the floor.

he walks back to the living room like he just got hit by a bus. plops on the couch. face flushed. head in hands.

his phone buzzes.

you: “they were nice though right 😌”

him: “don’t do this to me rn”

you: “i’m just saying”

him: “i’m spiraling”

he doesn’t talk about it again until a week later.

you’re cuddling. watching something dumb. his hand on your waist. and he whispers— “i wasn’t trying to see you like that.”

you smile. “i know.”

he exhales.

“but i think about it every day.”

sunoo

he knew you were a little drunk. and he loved it.

you were glowing — cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, giggling at nothing, spinning in his room like the floor was made of clouds.

“this song is so cute,” you hummed, dancing barefoot in your loose, but cropped tee. “you like it?”

“you’re cuter,” he said automatically, phone in hand, recording you from the bed like a proud dad. or a smitten boyfriend. or both.

and then you twirled. just once. dramatic. shirt lifted. boobs out. fully. jiggled in the light.

he screams. like, not a little gasp. a full-bodied, hands-flailing, dramatic-ass scream.

you freeze.

he drops his phone.

“what was that?!”

“what do you mean?” you blinked innocently.

“you just showed me your entire whole everything!”

you laughed. “it was like half a second!”

“HALF A SECOND TOO LONG!.”

he turned his back like it was a crime scene. hands on his hips. pacing.

“do you know what that did to me? i can’t just see those and go back to normal?? i have to live with this memory now???”

you’re still giggling, flopping on the bed.

“are you mad?”

he turns back slowly. shakes his head with deep, dramatic disappointment.

“i’m not mad. i’m… changed.”

you smile at him, hair messy, shirt hanging off your shoulder now, and he just sighs.

“your boobs are pretty,” he said, soft.

“thank you,” you whisper back.

ten minutes later, he’s cuddled into your side, face buried in your chest like nothing happened.

“just so you know,” he mumbles, “those are mine now.”

jungwon

he wakes up slow.

sunlight leaking through the curtains. sheets warm. room still. his head hurts a little, but it’s dull — the kind of ache that tells him he slept too hard, not too little.

your back is to him. face tucked into the pillow. one arm curled under your head, the other hidden beneath the blankets. hair a mess. tank top clinging to your shoulder, twisted near your ribs.

he yawns, stretches, blinks a few times—and then sees it.

he doesn’t even mean to look. he just happens to glance down as he shifts closer. and it’s there.

the curve of your breast. soft in the light. warm against the fabric. and your nipple. completely out.

his breath catches. eyes widen.

he goes still. so still. his body locks up like if he moves too fast, he’ll ruin the moment—or combust.

he stares for maybe two seconds too long. just enough to memorize the shape, the color, the way it’s pressed to the blanket. then he flips over and stares at the ceiling like a freak.

his brain short-circuits.

“you weren’t supposed to see that.”

“but i did.”

“you need to act normal.”

“i can’t.”

he’s spiraling. breathing too carefully. sweating for no reason. his heart’s beating like you just kissed him, but you’re not even awake.

he hears you shift. the blankets rustle. he wonders if you’re about to wake up and ask why he’s being so quiet.

so he gets up. fast. grabs his phone off the floor. stumbles into the kitchen like he’s being chased by demons.

ten minutes later, you walk out half-asleep, tank top still traitorous, rubbing your eyes.

“morning,” you mumble.

he can’t look at you. he sips his tea like it holds the answers.

nods once. “morning.”

you pause. tilt your head. “you okay?”

he nods again. eyes still fixed on his mug.

“…did i say something weird in my sleep?”

“no.”

you raise a brow. he finally glances up—but the second he sees your shirt slipping again, he FLINGS his gaze back down.

“jungwon,” you laugh, catching on. “did you see something?”

he says nothing. just takes a breath and murmurs, “i shouldn’t be seeing this. pausing a bit more before he whispers, “but it was beautiful.”

and that’s all he says.

for the rest of the day, he can’t look at you without blushing.

and for the rest of his life, he never forgets it.

ni-ki

you’re in his room, lights low, legs tangled under the blanket with a half-eaten bag of spicy chips between you.

the tv’s playing something dumb neither of you are watching — both too busy side-eyeing each other between jokes, limbs inching closer, pretending the tension doesn’t exist.

“you’re literally so bad at arguing,” you mutter, tossing a chip at his chest.

he catches it. eats it. shrugs.

“because i’m never wrong.”

you scoff. dramatic. lean back against his headboard like he didn’t just say something delusional.

it’s hot. too hot. the hoodie you’re wearing feels like it’s suffocating you. so you sit up. lift it over your head mid-sentence, not even thinking — just pull it off and toss it to the floor.

you don’t notice how your tank top rises too. you don’t notice how loose the armhole is. you don’t notice that for a split second, your left tit literally says hello to the room.

but he does.

he goes still. chip mid-air. eyes locked on you like he just saw a solar eclipse and isn’t sure if it was real.

you look at him.

“what?”

nothing. no answer. just him blinking.

“…what?” you laugh.

he points at you. expression unreadable. voice low.

“you did that on purpose.”

you blink. “did what?”

“you just flashed me.”

your face scrunches. you look down. your shirt is back in place.

“i didn’t flash you.”