haarrrys - Tumblr blog

haarrrys · 9 days ago

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⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content, neighbors to lovers, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), reader first orgasm, soft dom Han Jisung, emotional vulnerability, praise kink, mention of toxic relationship, slight exhibitionism (thin walls), slight degradation of ex-boyfriend, aftercare, fluff, soft angst (parental neglect), mdni

notes: in which han jisung hears you faking your orgasms through the walls of your apartment--and things spiral from there.

The walls in this building are a joke.

Half an inch of drywall. That’s all that separates his shitty one-bedroom from yours. He’s counted.

It’s not like he meant to know so much about you. He’s not trying to eavesdrop on every late-night argument, every hungover FaceTime call, every time you drag your heavy Econ textbook across the floor.

He just lives here.

And unfortunately, so do you.

Jisung never asked for the proximity. He never asked to know the way your voice rises when you're tipsy or how you only sing when you thinks no one can hear. But he does. He knows. He knows you eat too many frozen waffles and tha tyour microwave beeps twice before you remember to take shit out. He knows the name of your boyfriend, the sound of your laugh when you’re trying too hard, and worse—

The exact pitch of your moans when you’re faking it.

Because you fake it. Every damn time.

And he would know. He’s had the misfortune of being hard at 2AM with your paper-thin walls pressed against his back and that sorry excuse for sex filtering through his second-hand studio monitors like a mockery of porn.

It’s always the same: breathy gasps, your boyfriend’s awkward grunting, the bed springs squeaking like hell, and then—

“Oh my god, yeah, just like that...”

Flat. Perfunctory. The kind of moan that sounds practiced. Rehearsed. Completely unconvincing.

Jisung rolls his eyes and turns the volume up on his mix.

Not because it bothers him. Not because he cares.

It’s just distracting.

He’s got better things to do than think about the pretty girl next door faking orgasms like it’s a part-time job.

Like finish this track. Like land an actual gig. Like figure out how the fuck he’s going to keep affording rent in a city that eats people alive and doesn’t even burp after.

He’s not interested.

He’s not.

Except—

Sometimes he wonders what it would sound like if you meant it.

What you’d sound like if someone took their time. If someone made you come for real, dragged it out of your with fingers in your hair and lips on your neck and the kind of steady, brutal rhythm that doesn’t stop until you’re shaking.

What you’d sound like if it were him.

Jisung curses under his breath and drags his headphones off.

His eyes are dry. His dick’s half-hard. His track’s going nowhere.

Cool.

Maybe he just needs to… do something. Anything. Something mundane. Something that reminds him he’s a functioning adult with a trash bin and a spine and better things to focus on than the soft moans of the girl next door and the way they don’t sound quite right.

He grabs the overstuffed trash bag by the door, ties it with too much force, and makes a beeline for the hallway before he can talk himself out of it.

The fluorescent lights hum. The elevator’s broken again. Everything smells vaguely like burnt toast and someone’s fruity shampoo.

This building is hell.

He loves it.

Jisung drops the bag down the chute, lingers a second too long just to feel the rush of cold air against his face, then heads back.

He’s barely two doors away from home when he sees you.

You’re standing outside your apartment, arms crossed over your chest, loose sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder like it’s been a long night. Your boyfriend—Jason? Jared? Justin?—is leaning in too close, his mouth moving fast. Jisung can’t make out the words, but the tone’s familiar. Sharp. Defensive.

The boyfriend tries to kiss you.

You turn your face away.

Jisung doesn’t mean to stop walking. His feet just… do.

“I said I’m tired,” you mutter.

“Oh, you’re tired?” the guy snaps, way too loud for this dingy little hallway. “You weren’t tired twenty minutes ago when you were riding my dick, were you?”

Jesus.

Jisung should keep walking. Should disappear into his apartment and mind his business like he always does.

But instead, he just—

“Hey.”

His voice comes out cracked around the edges, like it hasn’t been used in a while. Which is accurate. He hasn’t really spoken to anyone in three days. Not unless you count the talking he does into the mic when he’s laying down verses at 3AM.

You both turn to look at him.

Jisung tries to smile.

It’s more of a grimace.

“You, uh…” he clears his throat, glancing at you instead of the walking ego next to you. “You okay?”

You hesitate.

The boyfriend doesn’t.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Jisung shoves his hands deeper into his hoodie pocket. “Neighbor.”

The guy blinks, then laughs. “Oh. So you’re the one blasting that emo SoundCloud shit through the wall every night?”

Jisung winces. A breath stutters out of him like he’s been lightly slapped.

Then he notices it—you wince, too. The tiniest flicker of guilt flashing across your face, so fast he almost misses it.

And yeah. Okay.

That stings more than it should.

“I didn’t say it was shit,”you mumble under your breath, clearly meant only for your own conscience.

“Don’t worry,” Jisung says quickly, forcing a light tone as he scratches the back of his neck. “It’s fine. Totally fair. Some of my stuff is… uh. Kinda dogshit.”

The boyfriend grins like he’s just won something.

“Glad we agree. Thought I was gonna have to explain how sound works to a wannabe DJ.”

Jisung opens his mouth—then closes it again.

Not worth it.

Definitely not worth it.

Except you’re still looking at him. Still standing there with your arms folded tight, sweatshirt slipping down further. And your face—

There’s something in it. Not pity. Not sympathy.

More like… regret.

He hates that it softens him.

The boyfriend, oblivious, barrels on. “Anyway, next time you feel like giving a concert at four in the morning, maybe wait until someone asks.”

“Next time you feel like giving headboard percussion lessons at two,” Jisung mutters, “maybe make sure she actually comes.”

The words leave his mouth before his brain catches up.

Instant silence.

You gasp. Cover it with your hand, like you’re trying not to laugh—or scream.

The boyfriend just stares at him.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Jisung shrugs, already stepping toward his apartment door. His hands are shaking a little, but he keeps his voice light.

“I mean, the moaning’s impressive. Real Oscar-worthy shit. But you’d think a guy who talks that much would at least know when he’s not doing it right.”

“You little—”

“Hey, man.” Jisung turns back for half a second, nodding at him with a crooked, tired smile. “If I can tell through the wall that she’s faking it, that’s not on her. That’s on you.”

He shuts the door behind him before the guy can even finish winding up his insult.

Click.

Deadbolt.

Silence.

Except for the thundering in his chest.

Jisung exhales hard, forehead thunking against the door. “What the fuck did I just do?”

He sinks down to the floor like his legs have given up. Which, to be fair, they kind of have.

This isn’t him. This isn’t what he does.

He doesn't talk back. Doesn’t mouth off. Doesn’t insert himself into other people’s messy lives—especially not yours. He barely speaks to delivery guys. Half his social life happens through a pop filter.

And yet.

“You’d think a guy who talks that much would at least know when he’s not doing it right.”

God. It was kind of funny.

But still—Jesus.

Jisung scrubs both hands over his face, embarrassment curling in his gut like a hangover.

Across the wall, he hears footsteps. Muffled shouting. The boyfriend’s voice, sharp with wounded ego. And then—

The unmistakable slam of a door.

Silence.

No more voices. No more fake moans. No more anything.

Jisung doesn’t move.

Eventually, when the silence stays long enough to feel safe, he hauls himself up off the floor. Brushes dust from his sweats. Tries not to replay what he said out loud like a greatest hits compilation of shit he absolutely should not have said out loud.

____________________________________________________________________________

He sleeps like shit.

Of course he does.

And when morning comes, it hits in a wave of cheap sunlight and neighborly noise.

He hears your usual routine unfold with near-perfect familiarity: fridge door opening, kettle clicking on, cabinet slam (twice—you always forget which one holds the instant coffee). Muffled cursing. Zipper. Then keys jingling against the lock.

He listens as you step out, lets the door fall shut behind you, and walks down the hall toward the stairs.

Everything is the same.

And none of it is.

Because this time, when you leave,your footsteps pause right outside his door.

Just for a second. A breath.

Then gone.

He groans and pulls the blanket over his face.

The rest of the day moves in its usual haze. Jisung does what he always does: noodles with a half-finished beat, eats instant ramen over the sink, ignores three texts from Chan asking for an update on the mix. His headphones stay around his neck most of the day, never quite getting used.

By sunset, the hallway is quiet again.

The beat he’s working on is shit. He knows it’s shit. He keeps tweaking it anyway.

It’s not even music anymore. Just sound. A bunch of clunky, disjointed loops that won’t glue together no matter how many times he messes with the tempo.

He’s just about to scrap the whole thing when—

Knock knock.

He freezes.

It’s soft. Measured. Hesitant.

He doesn't move right away—just sits there in his desk chair like someone just rang the doorbell in a horror movie. Then he leans back slightly, just far enough to peek over the edge of his laptop.

Another knock.

His heart does something stupid.

He stands. Pads barefoot to the door. Checks the peephole.

Of course it’s you.

You’re standing there in leggings and an oversized hoodie, arms cradling a plastic container like its armor. Your hair's pulled back, face bare. You look—

Small.

Unsure.

You lift one hand and knock again, even softer this time.

He hesitates a second longer, then opens the door.

Not all the way. Just a crack.

Your head jerks up. You blink. “Hi.”

He blinks back. “Uh. Hey.”

You shift your weight. “Can I—uh, are you busy?”

He opens the door a little wider, eyes flicking down to the container you’re holding. “No. I mean. Just… failing at music.”

That gets the faintest smile out of you.

“Right. Yeah. I, um…” You hold out the container. “These are for you.”

He stares. “Cookies?”

“Apology cookies.”

There’s a beat.

Then:

“I didn’t bake them,” You admit. “But I did walk two blocks to the overpriced organic place to get them. So. Effort was made.”

He blinks down at the container again, like it might disappear if he stares hard enough.

“Effort noted,” he mumbles.

You shift again, hugging your arms tighter. “You don’t have to eat them. I just—felt weird not saying thank you. Or sorry. You didn’t have to do what you did last night.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. Felt weird not saying something. So.”

You stand there in the doorway for a second, both of you clearly unsure of what to do now that the thing you came to say has been said. He should probably invite you in. Or take the cookies. Or smile, or make a joke, or something.

Instead, he clears his throat.

You jump in to fill the silence. “Also, just so we’re clear—I didn’t actually mean the SoundCloud thing. That was… low-hanging fruit.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So you’ve listened?”

That earns him a flush, bright and instant. “Not on purpose.”

“Wow.” He presses a hand to his chest. “What a glowing endorsement.”

“I’m just saying—I wasn’t trying to be a bitch. That wasn’t fair.” Your gaze softens. “Your stuff is good. Better than good, actually. The one with the—uh—strings and that lo-fi beat underneath?”

His eyebrows raise. “Track twelve?”

She nods.

His stomach flips. It’s ridiculous. But that track had been sitting unfinished for weeks, like something he wasn’t sure anyone but him would ever care about. And now she’s standing here—face bare, voice quiet—quoting it back to him like it meant something.

He doesn’t know what to say.

For someone who spends hours arranging syllables and syncopation for fun, it’s laughable how words immediately bail on him when they might actually matter.

“You, uh…” He shifts the container to one hand. “You’ve got a good ear.”

You smile. It’s small. A little sheepish. “I’ve got shit walls.”

That makes him laugh—quiet and surprised.

“I should let you hear more sometime,” he says, before he can talk himself out of it.

You tilt your head. “Yeah?”

“I mean—only if you want to. No pressure. I just thought…”

He trails off, scratching at the seam of his sleeve.

“I’d like that,” You say.

And he doesn’t know what to do with the warmth that blooms in his chest. It’s not huge. It’s not loud. But it’s there—steady and unexpected, curling under his ribs.

“Cool,” he says, voice softer now. “I’ll, uh. Let you know next time I make something new.”

You nod, then shift your weight backward—just enough to start retreating. But not before your eyes flick to his again, briefly, like you want to say something else.

He thinks might.

But all you do is smile—small and real—and take one step back towards your door.

“Goodnight, Han.”

His name on your lips feels like something it shouldn’t. Like a secret.

He nods. “Night.”

And then you turn. Cross the narrow hallway back to your apartment, keys already in hand. you hesitate at the door for half a second—he notices that, because of course he notices that—then slides the key in, disappears inside, and lets the door fall shut behind you with a soft click.

He watches the empty hallway for a beat longer.

He stares at his own door for a moment after he closes it, forehead pressed against the wood like the words you left behind are still floating in the air.

Goodnight, Han.

He hadn’t realized how nice his name could sound until you said it like that.

It echoes in his chest. Warms something that’s been cold for a while.

When he finally moves, it’s slow. He sets the cookies on the kitchen counter, grabs a pen, and flips open the nearest notebook—one he’s barely touched in weeks.

And he writes:

Track idea: starts quiet. Voice sample, maybe hers? Lo-fi beat behind it, soft keys. Let it build. Don’t let it rush. Let it breathe.

He underlines let it breathe three times.

Then he puts his headphones on.

And for the first time in a long time—

The music comes easy.

______________________________________________________________

You never planned on being friends with Han.

The boy next door with the quiet mouth and loud headphones. The recluse who only seemed to exist in studio beats and half-heard melodies through the wall. You knew his name before you knew his face—Han, printed on a mailbox slot too narrow.

Now he nods at you in the hallway. Smiles, even. You’ve learned that they’re rare, his smiles—crooked and shy, like they’re still trying to figure themselves out. You’ve started waiting for them.

Some mornings, you catch him in the elevator, hoodie pulled over messy hair, a takeout coffee in one hand and sleep in his eyes. You say hi. He says hey. He always holds the door for you.

It’s nothing. But it’s not nothing.

And then, one night—it’s something.

It starts with your friend’s voice, high and nervous. “I swear I had your keys. I swear they were just—fuck, okay, check your bag again—”

You’re too drunk to care. Or think. Or stand up straight

Your bag is wide open on the hallway floor, a war zone of receipts, gum wrappers, lip glosses with no caps, and an unopened pack of hot sauce packets you swear you didn’t steal from Taco Bell. Your friend is crouched beside it, frantically digging like she’s searching for buried treasure.

And that’s when the elevator dings.

You don’t even bother turning around. You’re too busy trying to balance one heel on top of a rogue pack of gum like it’s a tightrope.

Your friend, however, freezes. Then straightens sharply, whisper-hissing, “Oh shit—it’s your neighbor.”

You blink. “Which one?”

“The hot one.”

That gets your attention.

You turn—wobble—and there he is: Han. Grocery bag in one hand, hood halfway off, hair a little windblown. His eyes flick from your friend to you, then to the scene at your feet: your life in full chaotic display.

He pauses. Then says, with the softest little blink of disbelief,

“Uh… everything okay?”

You blink right back at him.

Then lean toward your friend—not subtly, not gracefully, and definitely not quietly—and whisper at full volume:

“You’re right, he is hot.”

It echoes.

Down the hall. Into the vents. Probably into the next dimension.

Your friend claps a hand over her mouth.

Han stares at you, frozen mid-step, grocery bag dangling like it no longer belongs to him.

You sway slightly. Flash him a winning, drunken grin. “Hi.”

His ears go pink.

He recovers with a cough and a quiet, “Hey.”

Your friend steps in, trying to salvage the moment. “She, um… lost her keys. And maybe her filter. And maybe also her last three brain cells.”

“I have at least five brain cells,” you argue, eyes still locked on Han like you’ve just spotted the last bottle of tequila on Earth. “Maybe six.”

“Okay,” your friend says sharply, grabbing your arm before you can say anything worse. “She’s drunk. She needs to sleep. You’re right next door. I trust you, I think. Will you—can you—?”

“I’ve got her,” Han says, voice gentle. Too gentle. Like he’s trying not to laugh but also trying not to die of second-hand embaressment.

He steps forward, freeing his hand long enough to steady you when you stumble again. His grip is warm, careful. You immediately lean into it like he’s a weighted blanket.

“Wow,” you murmur. “Strong and polite. A dangerous combo.”

He just smiles—shy and crooked, the way he always does when he doesn’t know where to put his face. “You good to walk?”

“No promises.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘maybe,’” he says, easing your arm over his shoulder.

Your friend sighs, already backing toward the stairs. “If she tries to seduce you, just tell her she cries at Disney movies and once got drunk and tried to fistfight a traffic cone.”

“I won, though,” you shout after her.

Han chuckles.

Your friend throws one last suspicious look over her shoulder, mouthing to Han, text me from her phone if she throws up, before disappearing down the stairwell.

And now it’s just you and Han.

And the heat of your skin pressed to his side.

And the wild, buzzing thought in your brain that you’ve never been this close to him before.

He shifts his weight. Glances down at you.

“You seriously okay?”

You nod. “I feel great.”

“You say that while using me as a crutch.”

“Yeah. But like—a sexy crutch.”

He laughs, head ducking slightly like he’s embarrassed for both of you.

But he doesn’t let go.

And he doesn’t stop smiling.

Han’s arm stays steady around you as he unlocks his door, grocery bag still dangling awkwardly from one wrist. He guides you inside carefully, flicking on the lights with his elbow and nudging the door shut behind you.

You blink, taking it in through a haze: tiny apartment, warm lighting, a bunch of wires and gear by the desk, no couch in sight.

He catches you swaying and steers you toward a plain padded chair by the wall. “Here, sit for a sec.”

You plop down like a ragdoll.

Han crouches in front of you instantly, gently tugging your heels off one at a time like he’s afraid you’ll tip over trying. “You good?” he murmurs, setting your shoes aside neatly. “Anything feel weird? Dizzy?”

You grin at him. “You’re so worried.”

He flushes instantly. “I just—yeah. I mean. You’re really drunk.”

“Yeah, but like, in a fun way.”

“Still,” he mutters, already handing you a bottle of water from the counter. “Drink this. Slowly.”

You take it. “You’re like a… a boyfriend. But like, a really responsible one. Like—tax-paying, call-my-mom-for-me energy.”

Han snorts and gets up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, you’re done talking now.”

“I’m not!” you call after him as he sets the grocery bag down. “I’m very interesting!”

He just shakes his head, trying (and failing) to hide his smile.

When you blink again, he’s in front of you, holding out a hand. “C’mon. Bed’s this way.”

You pause. “You only have one bed.”

His ears go pink. “You can take it.”

You squint. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

He shrugs, awkward. “Floor. I’ve got blankets.”

“That’s tragic.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

You pout but don’t argue as he pulls you gently to your feet again. You’re warm, wobbly, still clutching the water bottle like a security blanket, and when he steers you toward the bed, you barely resist at all.

He helps you sit, then hands you a second pillow and adjusts the blanket like he’s not trying to combust over how soft you look there. He’s halfway to standing up again when you tug the edge of the blanket higher and murmur:

“Thanks, Han.”

He’s still standing near the edge of the bed, half in the dark, blinking at you like you’ve just short-circuited every single brain cell in his head.

His voice is a little uneven when he says, “Y-Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

You smile at him, all cozy and soft, limbs draped across his sheets like you belong there.

He doesn’t even know where to put his hands.

“I, uh—” He scratches at the back of his neck. “I still have a bit of work to do. Just mixing something. I’ll, um. Be over here.”

You blink up at him. “What kinda work?”

“Music stuff.” His voice cracks a little, and he clears his throat immediately. “I won’t bother you. You can—yeah, you can just pass out. All good.”

“You don’t mind me on your bed?”

Han stares at you for a second too long.

Then jerks his gaze away. “No. I—I mean. No, definitely not. Like, at all.”

He fumbles over to his desk, nearly knocking over a pair of headphones, and drops into the chair like his legs have forgotten how to bend properly.

You snuggle deeper into the mattress, dragging the blanket over your legs with a dramatic sigh. “This is comfy. You have good taste in sheets.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, clicking around on his laptop even though the track’s already loaded.

You giggle.

He pretends not to notice.

You don’t see it—but his eyes flick to you constantly. Quick little glances when you shift, or sigh, or tuck your face into the pillow like it’s your new favorite thing. He can’t not look.

You yawn, cheek squished into his pillow. “You smell nice.”

He makes a sound that’s somewhere between a cough and a quiet plea for mercy. “You should, uh. Try to sleep.”

“Mhm.”

You don’t move.

Just keep lying there. All sweet and sleepy and tangled up in his blankets, on his bed, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And even though he should be focusing—he really, really should—

Han can’t stop smiling.

He turns back to his screen and presses play, the familiar beat fills his headphones, looping low and steady.

It’s not done—not even close. The layers are uneven, the bass too soft, the melody still fighting to find its place. But it’s something. And tonight, it’s the only thing keeping his hands busy while his mind refuses to stop thinking about you in his bed.

You’re quiet for a while.

He thinks maybe you’ve finally fallen asleep. You haven’t said anything in minutes, and your breathing’s slow, almost even. He lets himself glance over his shoulder.

You’re still awake.

Eyes open. Watching him.

You shift slightly under the blanket, cheek still pressed into his pillow. Your voice is soft, drowsy. “Can I hear it?”

He blinks. “What?”

“The track you’re working on,” you murmur. “Can I listen?”

Han’s heart does a somersault. Or maybe a backflip. Hard to tell through the static in his chest.

He turns fully in his chair. “Now?”

You nod, slow and lazy. “You promised. You said I could listen next time you made something new.”

Right. He had said that.

But not this one.

Not track twelve.

He fidgets with the headphone wire. “It’s not that one.”

You blink at him, confused.

“The one with the lo-fi strings,” he explains, voice quieter now. “Track twelve. I still haven’t finished it.”

“Oh.”

You don’t sound disappointed. Just curious.

He rubs a hand over his face, then offers a crooked little smile. “But you can hear this one. If you want.”

You nod again, eyes fluttering half-shut like the night is finally catching up to you.

He hesitates.

Then gently unplugs the headphones from the jack, letting the soft sound of the track fill the room.

It’s quiet. Dreamy. Bare bones but beautiful—slow, pulsing synth layered under a simple piano loop. There’s a vocal sample buried under the mix, something wordless and airy, like a breath that never ends.

You close your eyes fully this time, listening.

And Han watches you—watches the way your body relaxes into the sound, how your lips part just slightly, like the music is pulling something from you even in sleep.

He turns back to the screen, fingers hovering over the trackpad.

You speak again, barely above a whisper.

“It’s sad,” you murmur.

He doesn’t answer.

“Not in a bad way,” you add quickly. “Just… it sounds like it’s missing something. Like it’s looking for something.”

Han swallows.

Yeah.

That’s exactly what it is.

He stares at the waveform on his screen and says, very softly, “I think it’s trying to say something I don’t know how to say yet.”

You don’t reply. Not right away.

When you do, your voice is already trailing off into sleep. “You don’t have to say it. It’s already in the music.”

And then you're still.

Breathing even. Eyes shut.

Han doesn’t move for a long time.

Just sits in the soft blue glow of his screen, heartbeat slowing down to match yours, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to finish a song when the thing it’s missing is falling asleep five feet away.

______________________________________________________________

It’s been months since that first night.

Since the couchless sleepover, since the drunken key fiasco, since you fell asleep to the sound of his unfinished song.

And in that time, Han has come out of his shell in the slowest, sweetest way possible.

At first, he was shy. Still the hoodie-wearing recluse with his eyes glued to Ableton and his words tucked somewhere behind clenched teeth.

But then he started showing up more. At your door with takeout. With headphones and half-finished demos. With quiet, tentative smiles that stretched wider the more you smiled back.

You got to know him.

He told you about Malaysia—about sticky summers and midnight noodles and the way his parents still call twice a week even though they’re oceans apart. He told you how he moved to Korea for college, studied for a year, and then dropped out when he realized his brain was wired for sound, not textbooks.

You told him about your life, too—your parents and their ever-shifting conditions for love, the apartment they still pay for, the degree you’re grinding out just to prove something. To who, you’re not even sure.

And Han—turns out he’s kind of a chatterbox. Once he’s comfortable, the boy talks. About anything. About everything. With his hands, with his whole face. About samples and synths and the absolute travesty that is powdered parmesan.

Now, it’s like this: casual, constant, inevitable.

You crash at his place sometimes—not because you're locked out, but just because. Sometimes you bring your laptop and do homework on his floor. Sometimes you nap in his bed while he works. You keep a toothbrush there now. A hoodie of his has quietly migrated to your closet.

You even invited him to your graduation this spring. “It’s not like my parents are coming,” you’d shrugged, and Han had just blinked at you, then said okay, like it wasn’t the biggest fucking deal.

He still blushes when you call him hot. Still won’t take the bed when you stay over. Still treats you like you might disappear if he lets himself want too much.

And today, you’re at your place—your couch this time, legs tangled together on either end, killing time the way only two people who are too comfortable with each other can.

Lazy game of truth or dare. No real stakes. Just soft laughter and shared snacks and the kind of questions that teeter between teasing and tender.

Han’s fingers are brushing against your ankle, casual and unthinking. The popcorn bowl is somewhere on the floor, long forgotten. You’re both half-reclined, cozy and loose, a tangle of limbs and friendship that’s been threatening to become something else for weeks now.

You’ve already dared him to do his worst celebrity impression, and he’d made you sing a jingle from one of your old childhood commercials. The kind of dumb, lazy game that only works when you trust someone enough not to twist the blade when things get close.

Now it’s his turn.

“Truth,” you say, yawning, stretching like a cat in the sun. “I’m feeling vulnerable.”

He gives you a look. One brow raised, fingers tapping thoughtfully against his thigh. “Okay. What was your best orgasm?”

You blink.

Then laugh.

He flushes instantly. “Shit—was that too far? I thought we were in the spicy round.”

“No, no,” you say, waving a hand, trying to keep your smile light. “It’s fair.”

But you don’t answer right away.

You sit there for a second, fiddling with the hem of your oversized sleep shirt. His question settles somewhere low in your stomach—not uncomfortable, just… exposed. Like a truth you’ve learned to laugh off before anyone can look too closely.

You glance at him, then say it—half-teasing, like a joke you’ve told a few times before.

“I wouldn’t know.”

Han blinks. “You wouldn’t—?”

You shrug. “Never had one. Not a good one. Not any, actually.”

There’s a pause. His brows lift, lips parting slightly, but you beat him to it with a raised hand and a crooked grin.

“I know, I know. Tragic. I’m either defective or cursed. It’s a toss-up.”

He doesn’t laugh.

You thought he might—just to lighten the mood. Maybe roll with the joke, keep it casual.

But Han’s expression softens instead. Slowly. Like he’s putting something together.

“That’s not funny,” he says, voice quiet. Barely a wrinkle of sound between you.

You blink. “It’s kind of funny.”

“No, it’s not.” He leans in a little, eyes searching yours. “And it’s definitely not true.”

You hold his gaze for a beat longer than you mean to. “Tell that to every guy I’ve slept with.”

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t flinch. Just says, soft but certain, “They don’t count.”

Something in your chest pulls tight.

You sit back, let out a soft exhale through your nose. Try again, lighter this time. “I mean, at some point, you start to wonder if it’s just you, right? Like maybe I missed a biological memo.”

“You didn’t,” he says, firm now. “You just haven’t been with someone who cared enough to figure you out.”

You snort softly, eyes dropping to his lips before flicking back up. “What, and you do?”

His breath catches, just slightly. But he doesn’t flinch.

“Yeah,” he says. Simple. Sure. “I do.”

You go quiet.

It’s not the answer that surprises you—it’s how steady he is when he says it. Like it’s not even a question in his mind. Like he’s already imagined it, already decided what he’d do if you ever let him.

That steadiness makes your throat go tight.

“Okay,” you say, voice quiet. “Then what would you do?”

Han shifts slightly, eyes locked on yours, his expression unreadable. Focused.

“I’d start slow,” he says, and it doesn’t sound like a line—it sounds like a plan. “Let you get used to being touched in a way that’s not… performative.”

You blink.

He leans in, just a little. Not close enough to touch. Not yet.

“I’d watch your face,” he continues, softer now, “and actually pay attention. I’d figure out what makes you squirm. What makes your breath catch. What makes you ask for more.”

Your pulse thrums at your throat, hot and sharp.

“I’d talk to you,” he murmurs. “Tell you what I’m doing. Tell you how fucking good you look while I’m doing it. Make sure you know every second that it’s about you.”

Your pulse thrums at your throat, hot and sharp.

You don’t say anything. You can’t.

Because Han is looking at you like he already has you spread out in his mind. Like he’s memorizing every microreaction, storing them away like he might need them later. Like he’s already tasting the sound you’ll make when he finally breaks you open.

Your voice comes out low. Barely there.

“That’s a lot of attention for one orgasm.”

Han’s mouth twitches. Not a smile. Not quite yet.

“I’m not aiming for one.”

You feel it in your chest—in your spine—the way his voice sinks into you. Low. Purposeful. Like he’s already in your skin, like the words themselves are a touch.

You can’t breathe.

He’s so close now, and still—still—not touching you. He could. He should. Your body is already leaning into the heat of him, legs still curled beneath you, the hem of your sleep shirt brushing high on your thighs. But he doesn’t move.

“Have you… done this before?”

He blinks. “Made someone come?”

You nod, quick, almost shy.

“Yeah.” His mouth lifts at one corner. “Why?”

You hesitate, eyes flicking over his face. “I… thought you were a virgin.”

Han blinks. Then he laughs—a soft, breathy thing that curls low in his throat.

“Wow,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks already going red. “That’s, uh… new.”

You’re not teasing anymore. Not really. Not with the way your eyes keep flicking over him—his mouth, his hands, the pink creeping up the slope of his neck. Not with how you’re sitting up straighter, how your thighs squeeze just slightly together without meaning to.

He notices.

And it flusters him, of course it does—he’s Han, after all. All nervous energy and soft-spoken charm. But there’s something else underneath it too. Something steady. Something you didn’t see before.

“You really think I’ve spent this much time listening to you fake it through the walls and didn’t fantasize about doing it better?”

Your breath catches. Hard.

His gaze doesn’t drop. Doesn’t falter.

And suddenly, you’re seeing him for what he is—really seeing him.

The slightly older boy next door. The dropout with big hands and bigger dreams. The quiet music producer who hides behind humor but notices everything. The same Han who always opened his door, always gave you the bed, always walked on the street side of the sidewalk—but now you realize he’s been wanting you the whole time.

And you missed it.

You look at him now—and you feel it.

The shift.

Because he’s still Han. Still hoodie-clad and sweet and overly cautious.

But he’s also a man.

And god, it’s hitting you all at once.

The way his eyes haven’t left your mouth. The way he says things like I’m not aiming for one with such quiet, devastating confidence. The way he can be so careful with you and still make your skin burn like he’s already touched you everywhere.

You swallow hard.

“So,” you murmur, voice dipping low, “you’ve done this before.”

His fingers twitch where they rest against his thigh. “Yeah.”

“How many girls?”

He blushes harder at that. Clears his throat. “I mean, not a lot.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I’m not—” he fumbles, flustered now, voice high-pitched with embarrassment, “—like, I’m not some sex god, okay?”

You giggle. Can’t help it.

He glares, weakly. “Don’t look at me like that.”

You lean in. Let your voice soften. “Like what?”

He shifts under your gaze, eyes flicking down again before returning to yours. “Like you’re surprised.”

“I am,” you whisper.

And you are.

Surprised by the heat in your belly. Surprised by the tension in his jaw, the way he’s not looking away now. Surprised by the fact that the Han you thought you knew—the one who panicked over burnt rice and once apologized to a houseplant—is sitting in front of you, cheeks flushed, voice low, practically thrumming with restraint.

And the restraint is unraveling. You can see it. You can feel it.

His hand is still resting on his thigh. Tense. Useless.

You want it on you.

He must know, must feel the shift in the air, because he breathes out through his nose—shaky, controlled—and finally moves.

Not to kiss you.

Not yet.

Just slides closer, knees brushing yours. Hands braced on either side of your thighs like he’s holding himself back from climbing into your lap. Like if he gets too close, he won’t be able to stop.

His voice is soft when it comes. Careful.

“I don’t wanna mess this up.”

You blink. “What?”

“This,” he says, eyes darting between yours. “You. Us.”

Your heart kicks.

“I’m serious,” he adds. “If you want me to stop, I will. Even if I’ve already started. Even if you change your mind in the middle. I need you to know that.”

You just look at him.

At his flushed cheeks, his trembling fingers gripping the couch cushion, the way his eyes won’t stay still—darting to your mouth, your thighs, your eyes again.

You don’t know how to say what’s clawing up your throat. Don’t know how to explain that you’ve never felt like this. Like you could fall apart and not have to put yourself back together alone.

So instead, you reach for him.

You thread your fingers through his, bring his hand to your thigh—bare skin under the edge of your sleep shirt—and press it there, warm and waiting.

His breath stutters.

“Okay,” you whisper.

His breath stutters.

That’s all it takes.

His fingers flex against your thigh—just a twitch, nothing urgent. But the heat of them sinks in deep. You can feel how careful he’s being, how tightly he’s holding the leash on himself, like he doesn’t trust what’ll happen if he moves too fast.

You tilt your hips slightly. Just enough.

He moves.

Slides his hand higher, beneath the hem of your sleep shirt. Knuckles grazing soft skin, the inside of your thigh, and you’re already trembling. The anticipation is thick—so much thicker than anything that’s come before it. Your body’s aching and he hasn’t even touched you where you need it yet.

Han breathes out slowly. You can hear the effort it takes not to rush.

His fingers reach your panties.

They’re soaked. Clinging to you. And he makes a sound in the back of his throat when he feels it—somewhere between a sigh and a groan, like it’s hurting him, how wet you already are.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers.

“I’m trying not to.”

“You don’t have to,” he says, and leans in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “You can just let me take care of it.”

And you do.

You sink into the cushions and let his hand keep climbing. Let it trail over skin that’s already too hot, too tight, too aware. The hem of your shirt rides up over your hips as he moves, exposing soft skin and damp fabric.

He touches you through your panties first. Just a single stroke—up and down, slow, deliberate.

You jolt.

Your thighs twitch. Your hips tilt into his hand before you even mean to.

His fingers are steady. Gentle. No fumbling, no testing limits just to say he did. He strokes over the soaked cotton with maddening patience, slow enough that your body’s buzzing before he even slides them aside.

He strokes over the soaked cotton with maddening patience, slow enough that your body’s buzzing before he even slides them aside.

When he does, it’s with a breathless little sound—almost like awe.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice low and tight. “You’re so wet already.”

You shiver.

He doesn’t ask permission again. He doesn’t need to. Your legs fall open on instinct, your body already offering itself up like it’s been waiting for this. For him.

He dips his fingers into you with quiet care—just the first two, slow and unhurried, and it’s so much. Not just the stretch, not just the slick slide of it—it’s the way he groans like he can feel how good you feel around him. Like your body is turning him on just by existing.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “How has no one made you cum?”

You whimper.

“Seriously,” he says, fingers curling slightly inside you, rubbing against that spot that makes your toes curl. “You’ve got the prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen. Wet and warm and just—fuck, baby.”

Your hips jolt when he says it—baby—and he notices. His mouth quirks.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, watching your face like it’s giving him instructions. “You like that. Being talked to while I fuck you with my fingers?”

You moan—helpless, high-pitched—and your hand shoots down to grab his wrist.

He stills immediately. “Too much?”

You shake your head. Or maybe you nod. You don’t even know anymore—your brain’s barely holding on, your body dragging you under, soaking up everything he gives like it’s the first drop of water in a drought.

He watches your reaction like it’s gospel. Like every twitch and gasp is holy.

“Thought so,” he says, and starts to move again—slow, controlled pumps of his fingers, careful not to lose that rhythm now that he’s found what works. The way your walls clench when he curls. The way your hips chase him when he retreats. The way your breath hitches when his palm drags across your clit just a little too hard.

And god, he uses it all.

“Fuck,” he mutters, eyes glued to where he’s working you open. “If this pussy was mine, I wouldn’t be able to leave you alone.”

You gasp.

“I’d keep you like this every night,” he says, voice thick now. “Stuffed, dripping, begging for it. Just like this.”

You keen, head falling back against the cushions, thighs straining around his wrist. Another twist of his fingers, another filthy curl, and you’re spiraling again—clenching, grinding, chasing something you’ve never actually caught before.

But it’s still not enough.

Close, so close. You can feel it in your gut, in the burn behind your eyes, in the way your whole body draws tight like a wire about to snap. But then it slips, slithers away like it always does, leaving you aching and wrung out and panting like you’ve been running in circles.

Han doesn’t stop.

He slows, sure. Eases off that pressure like he knows—like he felt the way you were peaking and watched it fall apart all over again.

Your breath stutters. Your hands tremble where they’re gripping the couch cushions. Your whole body shakes with the frustration of it.

Han looks fucking thrilled.

“Shit,” he whispers, eyes glued to the slick mess between your legs. “You’re gonna be a fucking problem, huh?

You whimper—shaky, half-desperate—and try to pull your legs closed, but his free hand slides up your thigh and keeps them open. He’s still panting, still hard in his sweats, and yet somehow entirely focused on you.

Your voice comes out broken. “I can’t—fuck, Han, I was so close—”

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, leaning over you. His fingers finally slip free, soaked and shining, and he brings them to his mouth like it’s nothing. Like tasting you is just a thing he does between breaths. “You’re so fucking pretty can’t believe no one’s ever made you come.”

He sucks one finger between his lips, humming low in his throat, and your entire body jerks.

He grins around his knuckle. Blushy. Sweet. Still Han, somehow—except his eyes are dark now, slow-burning, locked onto you with intent.

And when he speaks, it’s not teasing. It’s reverent.

“I knew you’d taste good,” he murmurs, dragging his hand down your thigh again. “Didn’t think you’d ruin me this fast, though.”

You squirm, still reeling from the touch of his fingers, still aching from how close you came—how it slipped just out of reach. Your panties are somewhere around your knees now, tangled and damp, and your thighs are trembling despite the warmth of the room.

But Han doesn’t give you time to settle.

He drops back down between your legs like it’s instinct.

Like he belongs there.

You brace for it—his mouth, his tongue—but nothing prepares you for how intentional it is.

Because when he licks you, it’s not just lust. It’s devotion.

The first press of his tongue is slow, hot, drawn out like he’s tasting something forbidden. It drags through your folds, slick and maddening, before he pulls back just slightly and exhales a shaky breath against your cunt like it’s worship.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “You’re so fucking sweet. So wet—dripping for me, baby.”

Your hips jerk. A soft moan tears from your throat, helpless and startled.

He hums at the sound. And then his tongue is on you again—lapping, curling, sliding in lazy circles around your clit, not rushed, not rough. Patient.

But it’s overwhelming.

Too much and somehow still not enough.

You gasp, spine arching. Your thighs twitch against his shoulders again and he presses his hands there—holding you open, keeping you still. His grip is firm, grounding. Gentle only in contrast to the way he eats you.

He groans low when your hips roll, when your slick coats his lips and chin. Like it turns him on more than anything else. Like this is the part he needs.

He devours you like he’s starved for it.

Like he’s been thinking about this—you—for longer than he’s willing to admit. Tongue slow but deliberate, savoring every stroke, every gasp you give him. He doesn’t speak now, doesn’t need to. The sounds alone—your moans, the wet suck of his mouth, the way your breath stutters every time he flattens his tongue against your clit—say enough.

But it’s your reactions that do it. The way your body jumps every time he moves just right. The way your hands scramble for the couch cushions, for him, like you don’t know what else to hold onto. The way your thighs clamp around his head when he groans into your cunt.

That’s when he realizes.

You’ve never been eaten out before.

It hits him all at once—in the way you shiver, in the way your body doesn’t quite know how to take the pleasure he’s giving. There’s something raw about it. Uncharted. Holy.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tease. Just lets the knowledge settle deep in his chest like a vow.

So he slows down. Not to drag it out—to care. To guide you through it.

He pulls back just slightly, presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another one, lower, softer. You can feel his breath against your skin, shaky and uneven, like you are unraveling him just by letting him do this.

He kisses down, worshipful, open-mouthed presses of tongue and lips trailing toward where you’re slick and trembling—until he’s back on you, groaning deep in his chest like he needs this to survive.

He laps at your cunt like a man obsessed. Messy, wet, obscene.

His tongue flicks fast over your clit, sloppy and relentless, and when you whimper—high and panicked—his hands tighten on your thighs, dragging them wider, pushing you open like he can’t get enough. His nose presses into the soft swell of you and his mouth won’t stop.

And god—god, the noises.

The slick suck of his mouth, the soft wet licks between your folds, the broken, wanton moans he keeps letting out like your taste is fucking euphoric.

Your thighs are trembling against his cheeks, toes curling against the cushions, hands fisting in the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this plane of existence. Every time you start to come down, he drags you right back up—tongue flicking, then flattening, then sucking.

You’re soaking him. You know it. Can feel the slick mess coating his lips, his chin, now—but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t even flinch. Just dives in deeper, grinds his mouth against you like it’s the only thing that matters.

And maybe it is.

You’ve never made sounds like this before. Never felt anything like this. It’s a full-body unraveling—pleasure so raw and high-pitched it’s almost unbearable. You can’t even find words anymore. You try—gasp out his name, maybe a plea, maybe a warning—but it’s just breath. Just noise.

He hears it anyway.

Groans in response, and the vibration shoots through you—tightens every nerve, every muscle. You feel it everywhere. In your spine, in your belly, in your fucking teeth.

He licks through your folds like he’s trying to commit the shape of you to memory, tongue dragging over your clit in slow, hard laps now—intentional, devastating. One hand lets go of your thigh to slide underneath you, to lift your hips, tilt you toward his mouth like an offering.

Like you’re his altar and he’s ready to worship.

You don’t even realize you're crying until the tears hit your cheeks—silent and sudden, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it, the depth of it, the relentlessness of him.

Jisung doesn’t notice.

Or maybe he does and just thinks it’s holy.

Because he’s still moaning against your cunt like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Like this is salvation. Like this is his first time, too.

The warmth is unbearable. Sharp and sweet and all-consuming, climbing up your spine in thick, molten waves that won’t stop—won’t let you go. Your muscles are locking up, your breath catching in your throat, your fingers cramping from how tight you're clenching the cushions.

You’re going to break.

You know it.

You want to.

And he just keeps going—tongue pressed flat and firm against your clit now, dragging in slow, filthy circles while his lips suck softly, reverently, like he’s trying to love you apart piece by piece.

You feel it snap somewhere deep inside you.

The heat—the ache—the need—it peaks.

And then it bursts..

Your thighs clamp around his head, your hips jerk off the couch, your moan rips loose from your throat like you’ve been silenced your whole life and this is the only language your body ever needed to speak.

You’re cumming. Hard. Helpless.

Everything pulses—your cunt, your chest, your fingers. Every nerve is alight, every inch of you clenched and shaking, your whole body seized in the grip of something so big you can’t name it.

And Jisung doesn’t stop.

Not when your legs twitch.

Not when your body tries to squirm away.

Not even when you sob his name, high and wrecked, too sensitive to breathe.

He eats it up. Literally.

Groaning low in his throat, nose pressed to your mound, tongue still working your clit like he wants to wring another orgasm out of you before this one’s even ended. You try to stop him, legs trembling, fingers pushing at his hair with barely any strength behind them.

But he just moans again, long and loud and ruined, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

“H-Han—” you gasp, voice cracked and teary.

But he can’t stop. He won’t.

You’ve broken open for him—shattered for him—and it’s like something inside him snapped too. His mouth keeps moving, lapping through your folds like he’s addicted, like he needs the taste of you to live, sucking every drop from your body like he’s trying to memorize it.

You try again to push him off. This time with real effort. A desperate shove, your fingers fisting in his hair and yanking—not hard, not mean, but urgent.

“Han, please—”

He finally pulls back.

Gasps.

His chest is heaving. His mouth is slick and swollen, the lower half of his face soaked in your release, and he blinks up at you like he forgot where he is.

“Shit—fuck, I’m sorry, I—” he pants, voice wrecked, dazed.

Then he looks down.

And groans.

Because you’re still dripping.

Slick pooling out of you, slow and obscene, catching the light as it runs in glistening streaks down the curve of your pussy and the swell of your ass, soaking the couch beneath you.

And he can’t help himself.

His hands slide up your thighs again—possessive, reverent—and before you can stop him, he leans back in.

One long, filthy lick—from your entrance to your clit—slurping up everything you spilled. He moans as it hits his tongue, deep and satisfied, and swirls it around like he’s tasting honey.

He pulls back just far enough to look at you.

Face flushed, lips swollen and slick, chin glossy with your release. His eyes are glassy—fucked-out and starving and soft in a way that shouldn’t match the filth of what he just did to you. But somehow it does.

Somehow, it makes it worse.

He’s panting like he just ran miles. Sweat dampens his curls, his hoodie clings to his chest, and his cock is still straining hard against his sweats—visibly aching. But he doesn’t even look at himself. Doesn’t even care.

He’s still looking at you.

At the mess he made.

At your cunt—pink and soaked and fluttering with aftershocks, spread open on the couch like he carved you out just for him.

And he fucking smiles.

“Jesus,” he breathes, dragging his thumb along your inner thigh, slow and lazy, eyes still locked on the slick between your legs. “You’re unreal.”

You’re still trembling—wrung out, flushed, completely silent now except for the shattered sound of your breath.

But he isn’t done.

Not really.

Because then his thumb moves—trails closer, closer, until it’s swiping through the slick seam of you, collecting it, spreading it.

You flinch, hips twitching, breath hitching on a wrecked little gasp.

He freezes.

“Sorry—shit, sorry,” he murmurs, voice gone soft in the edges. “You’re probably so fucking sensitive right now.”

You nod, dazed. Barely. You’re not even sure you meant to.

But his eyes drop back down—and the sight of your cunt twitching under his touch, the way slick is still dripping out of you, slow and shiny, pooling where your thighs meet—

It short-circuits whatever restraint he had left.

“Can I…” he starts, already leaning in again, lips parted, breath ragged. “Just—one more taste, baby. Please.”

And before you can answer, he’s there again.

Licking into you.

Tongue flat and greedy, slow and deep, sliding through the wreckage he left behind like he needs it to breathe. He moans—loud—when it coats his tongue, when it drips down his chin, when he presses another kiss to your clit like he’s thanking it for everything.

You can’t stop shaking.

From how tender he’s being while still devouring you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. From how overwhelmed your body feels—stretched between too much and not enough, oversensitive but still wanting.

He doesn’t rush now. Doesn’t try to make you cum again.

This is different.

It’s reverent. Like he’s cleaning you up with his mouth, dragging his tongue through every slick drop, pressing soft kisses into the mess like he’s trying to soothe the tremble in your thighs.

You whimper, just once—raw and hoarse.

That’s when he stops for real.

You sigh into his mouth, quiet and trembling, the kind of sound that only comes when everything inside you is raw—peeled back, exposed, open. He swallows it like it’s precious. Like it matters.

His hand at your waist shifts, pulling you gently forward until your chest brushes his. You’re still bare from the waist down—thighs sticky, breath uneven—and he’s still clothed, still hard, still aching beneath his sweats.

But he doesn’t grind against you.

Doesn’t ask for anything.

He just holds you.

Your knees fall around his hips, lazy and loose, and his thumb strokes the hinge of your jaw—slow, absent, like he needs the contact to stay calm.

The kiss deepens. Not with hunger. With heat. With reverence. His lips move against yours like he wants to memorize the shape of your mouth, your breath, the taste of your tongue mixed with your own arousal.

You break first—pulling back just a fraction to breathe, eyes fluttering open.

He’s already looking at you.

And there’s something in his gaze that wasn’t there before. Something stunned. Struck. Soft.

He whispers, “You okay?”

You nod. Maybe too fast. You feel stripped down to something small and shaking, something new—but his hand doesn’t leave you. His thumb still brushes your cheek. His chest still rises and falls like he’s feeling everything with you.

You whisper back, “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

Jisung exhales a laugh—wrecked and wrecking.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, leaning forward again to press a kiss to your cheek, then another to your temple. “Then I guess we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

You don’t even realize you’re smiling until he kisses it. Presses his lips right there, at the corner of your mouth, so gentle it makes your eyes sting all over again.

There’s a beat of silence—thick and golden, warm between the ruined rhythm of your breathing.

Then he asks, quieter this time, “Can I hold you for a while?”

And god. You’ve never wanted anything more.

______________________________________________________________

The crowd pours out of the auditorium like a tide—caps slightly askew, diplomas clutched tight, families gathered in little clusters of congratulations and cameras. Laughter. Shouts. The click of heels and the flutter of gowns. You scan the crowd, heart racing, eyes darting.

And then you see him.

Leaning awkwardly against a tree, holding a slightly crumpled bouquet of grocery store flowers and dressed in the nicest outfit you’ve ever seen him wear. Still a hoodie—because he’s him—but it’s black and clean and zipped halfway up over a plain white tee. His hair’s been pushed back, curls tamed, face soft in the sunlight.

Like he wanted to look good.

For you.

You run.

Full sprint, no hesitation. Laughing, radiant, the hem of your gown flying behind you. And Jisung barely has time to react before you crash into his arms—legs wrapping around his waist, face buried in his neck.

He catches you without thinking. Arms locked tight around your back, holding you like the whole world could fall away and he’d still have you.

“Jesus—hi,” he breathes, stunned, grinning into your shoulder.

“You came,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to look at him, eyes glassy and sunlit.

“Of course I came,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “I wouldn’t miss this.”

You swallow, smile trembling just a little. You’re still holding your cap too tightly. Still searching the crowd behind him, over his shoulder, behind trees and between cars—hoping.

And Jisung sees it.

Sees the flicker in your expression when you realize no one else is coming. No familiar voices calling your name. No parents weaving through the crowd, late and disheveled but here. Nothing.

Just him.

You try to play it off—force a smile, tilt your head.

But Jisung just exhales, jaw tight, eyes warm and sharp.

“Hey,” he says softly, tipping your chin up. “Fuck ‘em.”

Your breath hitches—more from the way he says it than what he says. No apology. No pity. Just truth, blunt and biting and yours.

“Fuck ‘em,” he says again, firmer this time. “They don’t get to take this from you.”

And something in you cracks. Not the kind that breaks—the kind that lets light in.

Your cap slips from your hand to the pavement. You don’t even notice. You just lean forward and let your forehead rest against his, eyes fluttering shut as the noise of the world fades away.

“I thought it wouldn’t matter,” you whisper. “That I didn’t care.”

He nods like he already knew. Lets his hand fall to the small of your back, thumb tracing slow circles through the fabric of your gown.

“But it does,” you admit.

“Of course it does,” he murmurs. “You deserved more than this.”

You pull in a shaky breath. Exhale. Nod against him.

And then you laugh—quiet, almost startled. “God, you look nice.”

He pulls back just enough to give you a crooked smile. “You noticed?”

You sniffle, wiping under your eyes. “You did your hair.”

“I used product and everything,” he says solemnly, and that makes you laugh for real this time. His face lights up at the sound. Then, like he remembers something, his eyes go wide and he fumbles for something in his pocket.

“Wait—here. Got you something.”

You raise a brow as he pulls out a pair of slightly beat-up white AirPods and holds them out like they’re wrapped in silk.

“Your... earwax?” you tease, voice still thick, but lighter now.

Jisung groans, face going red. “Just put them in, smartass.”

You give him a look, lips twitching like you’re holding back another laugh, but you take them. Slip them in with practiced ease, still smirking, still sniffling a little.

And then—

You hear it.

Soft at first. A low, warm hum of synth. That familiar piano progression you’ve heard a hundred times echoing from his bedroom speakers, half-finished and always evolving. A quiet heartbeat of static underneath, the sound of something personal, unfinished—

But not this time.

Now it’s whole.

The bass comes in slow. The melody rises. The rhythm finds its footing like it’s been waiting for you.

Then his voice.

His voice.

Low. Raw. Stripped back and unfiltered, like he recorded it in the middle of the night, barefaced and half asleep. It’s not polished. It’s intimate. Each lyric laid out like a confession, like he’s pressing it directly into your chest.

You freeze.

Your mouth parts, but no words come out. You just stare at him—eyes wide, breath caught, the world suddenly nothing but him and the song in your ears.

Jisung watches you closely, fidgeting, clearly trying to read your face.

“I, uh… I finally finished it,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Track 12. I—kind of stayed up all night working on it. Wanted you to be the first to hear it.”

You swallow hard. “You—wrote this… for me?”

He nods, sheepish. “Well, yeah. Who the fuck else would it be for?”

You blink at him, still stunned, still half-floating somewhere between the melody and his smile.

The music wraps around you like a secret, like sunlight through a window. His voice in your ears. His eyes on your face. His hands fidgeting at his sides, picking at the edge of his hoodie sleeve, suddenly nervous like he didn’t just lay his heart bare in a three-minute track.

And then he says it.

Quiet. Almost like it slips out.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your breath stutters.

He panics a little, eyes going wide, hands gesturing now like he’s trying to physically catch the words and shove them back into his mouth.

“I mean—not in like, a weird, ‘I wrote you a song and now you have to marry me’ way. I just—I’ve been in love with you for a while, and I didn’t know how to say it. And then I kept not saying it, and then you let me eat you out on your couch and I was like, oh cool, guess I’m definitely in love with her—”

You stare at him.

Mouth slightly open. Ears still ringing with his voice from the track. Face flushed from the heat of him and the way he’s unraveling in front of you, hands flailing, words tumbling out too fast, too honest, too him.

“And now I’m saying it,” he rushes on, breath hitching. “And maybe it’s too soon or maybe it’s stupid but—fuck, I don’t care. I love you. And I don’t just mean in the afterglow, post-head, 'wow-she’s-so-pretty-when-she’s-cumming' kind of way—which, like, you are—but I mean in the real way. In the way where I think about you all the time and you’re in my music and my coffee and my fucking laundry detergent because you smell like it now—”

You cut him off with a laugh—soft and stunned, the kind that comes from something blooming too fast in your chest. Your hands reach for him instinctively, palms pressed to his chest like you’re trying to slow his heart down, or maybe match yours to it.

Then lean up and kiss him.

He melts into it—hands landing on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll float off if he doesn’t hold you down. His mouth is soft, a little shaky, like he still can’t believe this is happening. Like he’s kissing you with both hands behind his back, offering up his heart like a truce.

When you pull back, your forehead rests against his.

You’re smiling. He is too, in that breathless, stunned way—like you’ve both finally exhaled.

“I’m in love with you too,” you whisper.

He chokes out a sound. Somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. “No shit?”

You nod. “No shit.”

Jisung blinks, then grins—slow and wide and boyish.

He just stands there, still holding you, like his body hasn’t caught up with what just happened.

Like he's trying to memorize this moment—your smile, your closeness, the soft heat of your hands resting over his heart.

He opens his mouth like he wants to say something else. Closes it again.

Then settles for a quiet, breathless, “...Okay.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Okay?”

He nods, dazed. “Yeah. Just… okay. Everything’s okay now.”

You lean into his chest, let your head fall to his shoulder. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for months. His arms wrap around your waist again, this time more certain. More steady.

And for a moment, neither of you says anything.

The crowd is still bustling in the background. Cameras flashing. Tassels swinging. Parents calling names that don’t belong to you. The sound of it used to sting—but not now. Not with him holding you like this. Not with the song still echoing in your ears, a private chorus written just for you.

You glance up. “So what now?”

He looks down at you, still smiling like he doesn’t know how to stop.

“We go home,” he says. “Order too much food. Fall asleep on the couch. Pretend we’re not both crying during The Office reruns.”

You snort. “That’s your big plan?”

He leans in, nudges your nose with his. “No,” he murmurs, softer now. “My big plan is to love you for a really, really long time.”

Your heart stutters.

And it’s so simple—so quiet, so uncomplicated—but it wraps around you like warmth, settles deep in your bones like something you forgot you were allowed to want.

You tip forward and kiss him again, just once. Just enough.

“Sounds like a good plan,” you whisper.

He grins. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Eventually, your fingers find his, threading together as the crowd begins to thin. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, grounding and sure.

You glance down at the flowers, still clutched in your other hand—slightly crushed, petals soft and folding in from the heat. But they’re yours. Someone showed up. Someone stayed.

You’re walking away with his hand in yours, the sun dipping low behind you, the final track still playing softly in your head.

It ends the way all good songs do.

Quiet.

Certain.

Yours.

2K notes · View notes

haarrrys · 10 days ago

Text

EPISODE 1: HELP! MY HOT GIRLFRIEND CAUGHT ME CRYING AFTER GIVING HEAD! (NOT CLICKBAIT)

this is smut, do not interact if under 18

jisung thought tutoring the hottest girl on campus would ruin his GPA— not his pants. one month later, he’s somehow getting called ‘pretty’ mid-thrust and offering you pocky as a post-orgasm snack.

pairing: nerd!han jisung x popular!f!reader, established relationship genre/tags: college au, smut, fluff, jisung is a loser with a capital L, humor sprinkled in bc i’m unserious asf, lots of references to anime and other dumb stuff, lowkey perv!jisung, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), piv, protected s*x, kinda subby!jisung but he’s still a whore lol words: 5.4k (wasn’t expecting it to be this long… guess i yap too much)

[ note. ] — i had to make another nerd!ji fic bc i literally cannot stop thinking about him 😣 feel free to read my other fic for more context since it’s set in the same universe but i wanted to make a smut ver so here we areeee <33 also, i will be making more parts eventually, hence why it’s labeled as ‘episode 1’ so stay tuned for more !

Jisung thought for sure that was going to die a virgin. Not in a sad, self-loathing kind of way, but more in a “yeah, that checks out,” kind of way. The type of peaceful resignation one might have while unplugging a broken router for the eighth time before crying into a bowl of instant ramen. Because guys like him— guys who quoted Dragon Ball Z unironically, who panicked when girls sat next to them in lecture halls, who built custom keyboards for fun and screamed at League. They didn’t date girls like you.

And they most definitely didn’t sleep with girls like you.

Still, that didn’t keep him from fantasizing. Constantly, shamelessly, unhingedly.

He’d never known what it felt like to have warm walls wrapped around his cock. Never heard those broken whines girls in hentai would make— unless he counted the ones he accidentally let out when he edged himself too long. His hand was simply never enough, no matter how many times he convinced himself he could “recreate the pressure.”

The bottle of lotion and box of tissues on his nightstand weren’t even hidden anymore— they sat like holy relics beside his gaming PC, ready for immediate access the second he closed League and opened incognito mode.

Porn never fully satisfied his craving though, he always wanted more. Even the best JAV compilation or doujinshi fan dub couldn’t compare to the real sickness consuming his brain: you.

You, with the glossy Instagram that he scrolled through like it was the damn Louvre. You, wearing micro bikinis in pool selfies with captions like ‘hot girl summer’ while he rots in bed, sweating and crying at the curvature of your ass.

You, biting your glittery, gel pen in class, leaning across the desk to ask for help, accidentally flashing a glimpse of cleavage so dangerous it made him pause mid-equation like he got hit with a stun grenade. Stalking your Instagram, seeing you in the tiniest baby tees and mini skirts. It was the perfect gooner material.

He’d stroke himself under the covers while biting a t-shirt to keep quiet, muttering your name between gasps like he was summoning a spirit. Fantasies playing out in his head that ranged from soft and romantic— like kissing you breathless during office hours— to completely feral, like bending you over his anime pillow while you called him “pretty boy” and ruined his life.

It didn’t help that you flirted with him now.

That you asked him to tutor you.

That you sat so close during study sessions he could sense your perfume from a mile away and taste the salt from the fries you always stole off his plate.

You laughed at his jokes, called him cute, even once said he had “nice hands,” and he nearly evaporated on the spot. Had to excuse himself to the bathroom with a boner and a prayer.

Every night ended the same. Him, fisting his cock in pathetic desperation at the thought of your pussy swallowing him whole, whispering ‘please’ like a man on the verge of religious enlightenment.

And every night, after he came all over his own stomach, out of breath and guilt-ridden, he’d sigh dramatically and say,

“I’m going to die alone. I know it. I’ll be the guy with the Zero Two body pillow and the unopened condom pack from 2017 that he keeps in case of a miracle.”

He did not, under any circumstances, expect you to be that miracle.

Never in a million years did he think he’d actually have a chance, let alone be dating you. You were just too perfect. The literal girl of his dreams.

Popular. Gorgeous. Cool in the kind of way that made any and everyone want to be around you without knowing why. You had that magnetic charm about you, an easily contagious laugh, a confident stride when you walk, and that dangerous habit of licking your lip gloss mid-sentence like you were in a CW drama.

And yet, somehow, here he was, currently horizontal on his bed, shirtless, breathless, with you on top of him wearing his oversized Bleach t-shirt and not much else, grinning like you’d just won first place in a science fair and a dance battle.

“Are you glitching?” You asked, poking his cheek. “Do I need to unplug you and plug you back in?”

“I- uh- w-what? No- yes? No.” He stuttered like every word had just magically left his vocabulary, he was definitely malfunctioning.

You laughed, head dropping onto his bare chest as he laid stiff as a board, arms hovering midair like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you even now. Even after dating you for a whole month.

“A month,” he whispered, still stunned by the timeline. “That’s like… thirty days of you voluntarily being seen with me.”

“Thirty one,” you corrected, lifting your head to smirk down at him. “Don’t forget the bonus day where you kissed me in front of the vending machine and the entire basketball team clapped.”

“I thought I was going to throw up.”

“You looked like you did throw up.”

Jisung covered his face with both hands and groaned.

God, he still didn’t know how this happened. When you had asked him to tutor you in stats, he assumed you were just kidding— or high. But you weren’t. You’d actually shown up. You’d flirted, sat on his lap one time when all the seats were taken at the library, and then acted like it was no big deal while his soul left his body.

And now here you were. Straddling him. Teasing him. Literally wearing his t-shirt with the anime print on it and calling him “baby” in the kind of voice that should be illegal.

“You’re so tense, Sungie,” you murmur, lightly dragging your fingers down his chest. “I know you like it when I touch you. You make these cute little gasps like a baby bird.”

“I-I don’t sound like a baby bird,” he mumbled, absolutely sounding like a baby bird.

You leaned down, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Chirp.”

Jisung squeaked.

You lost it, giggling into his neck while he covered his blushy face with a pillow. “Oh my god, stopp- why are you like this- why did you choose me,”

“Because you’re smart, and sweet, and you get all flustered when I call you hot. And because,” you sat up again, hips rolling ever so slightly and watching his pupils blow wide as you rocked against his clothed erect, “you say things like ‘This is just like my fanfic’ under your breath and then deny it.”

He groaned at the sudden friction, arms falling limp at his sides. “You heard that?”

“Babe, I hear everything. Like right now, I can hear how bad you want me to ride you.” You bit your lip, feeling your wetness growing at a rapid pace as you continuously grind on him.

Jisung whimpered. “Okay. I- this is really happening, right? This isn’t like, some kind of VR dream or like a… cursed hentai plotline where I wake up and you’re actually a sentient toaster?”

You blinked. “What the hell kind of anime are you watching?”

He slapped a hand over his eyes. “Nevermind, pretend I didn’t say that..”

You kissed him then. Slowly. Tenderly. Like you had all the time in the world and like you couldn’t believe your luck either. Because yeah, you were the cool girl, but Jisung was the first guy who actually listened when you talked. Who remembered your favorite boba order. Who’d stayed up until 3 am tutoring you and still walked you to your dorm with sleepy, nerdy affection twinkling in his eyes.

So yeah, you were gonna roast him forever— but you were also gonna ruin him tonight.

“Hey, baby,” you whispered, reaching down to tug his sweatpants lower.

Jisung was in the midst of catching his breath like he’d just run a marathon. “Y-yeah?”

“After I make you cum, will you tell me all about the sentient toaster anime?”

“…Maybe.”

“Okay,” Jisung panted, curling into your side like a baby koala clinging to its mother, “that was better than every hentai I’ve ever seen.”

You snorted into his shoulder. “High praise coming from the man who owns a $300 body pillow.”

“She was limited edition!” He quickly defends himself.

You playfully roll your eyes, kissing his flushed cheek. “So are you, Sungie. So are you.”

And yeah, Jisung still thought he was going to die a virgin once upon a time.

But now, wrapped in your arms with kiss marks littering his neck and your laughter still echoing in his ears— he was just really, really glad that he’s been proven wrong.

The moment you straddled Jisung and kissed him again, something shifted in the room.

And not just him having an outer-body experience for the sixth time in an hour.

You pulled back from his lips to look around, and the first thing you said was, “Okay, I have to say it- your room is the most aggressively virgin-coded space I’ve ever been in.”

“I told you not to look too closely!” He whined, burying his face into your neck as you giggled and craned to inspect the chaos surrounding you.

“Let’s see…” you started ticking things off on your imaginary list. “Anime wall scrolls? Check. Neon RGB light strips that make your room look like a gaming dungeon? Check. Is that Hatsune Miku in a glass case next to middle school spelling bee trophies?”

He groaned. “They’re collector’s items—”

“You were runner-up in 8th grade and you framed it.”

“I peaked early, okay?!”

You laughed so hard you fell forward onto his chest. “I love you.”

He froze. “Wh-what?”

You blinked. “I said I love you.”

He looked like you’d just offered him a lifetime supply of ramen and also stabbed him in the heart.

“…I love you too,” he whispered, barely getting it out before he hid under the covers.

You tugged the blanket back down just enough to see his red face. “Hey. Don’t hide. I wanna see you. Look so pretty when you blush.”

“PRETTY?!” He yelped.

You nodded in confirmation, brushing hair off his forehead. “Mmhm. Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen. Especially like this- messy hair, pink cheeks, all breathless under me…”

He made the most broken noise you’d ever heard.

His hands gripped your hips like he didn’t know what to do with them, like he was trying not to crush you or himself with how desperate he felt. His eyes were dark now, glazed and locked onto your every move as you slowly ground against the bulge in his sweats.

“This is real, right?” He meant to ask that in his head but blurted it out instead, voice slightly cracking. “This is really happening?”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Feels pretty real to me, baby.”

At this point Jisung was spiraling.

Not just emotionally. No, that happened daily.

This was a full-system shutdown.

You’d tugged your shirt off without warning and smiled down at him like it was the most casual thing in the world, and now his hands were hovering awkwardly mid-air like he wasn’t sure if he had permission to touch you or if he was being Punk’d by the gods of horny delusion.

Your skin. Your smile. Your fucking tits.

And worse— worse— as your fingers brushed through his messy brown locks and your thighs shifted over his hips, his brain suddenly screamed,

‘I can’t believe I’m about to get pussy before Jeongin.’

Jeongin, his slightly cooler, slightly taller, still-a-virgin roommate who had three rotating Discord kittens and a suspicious amount of cologne but somehow still never scored.

Jeongin, who walked around shirtless after push-up sessions and said things like “it’s not rizz, it’s charisma” unironically. Jeongin, who once said “I want my first time to be passionate and respectful” but also accidentally downloaded a virus trying to pirate a hentai dating sim.

Jisung had always assumed if one of them was gonna make it out of virginhood first, it’d be the guy with the Uzumaki clan symbol tattooed on his ribs and a social life.

But no.

It was him. Han Jisung. The guy who owned a limited-edition anime titty mousepad and squeaked like a kettle when a girl touched his arm. And now? You were grinding up against him slowly, teasingly, and he was barely clinging to reality.

“Y/n,” he whimpered, clutching your waist like you’d float away. “Can I- can I eat you out? Pleasepleaseplease.”

You blinked rapidly.

“…You wanna—?”

“So bad,” he choked. “I think about it all the time. Like in class. And when I watch those ‘how to’ videos online. Like, the diagram ones, not the porn ones, though I watched those too- but like educationally! For science!”

You stared blankly.

He was sweating.

“Okay,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You’re really cute when you beg, y’know that?”

He nearly ascended.

You barely had time to giggle before he flipped you gently onto your back, hair falling into his eyes as he ducked down between your thighs like a man on a mission from God. His hands trembled as he slid your shorts down, breath hitching at the sight of your soaked panties.

“Oh my god,” he breathed out. “It’s real.”

You snorted. “What were you expecting? A hologram?”

“I don’t know!” He cried. “I was starting to believe you were some kind of high-level succubus sent to punish virgins.”

You cupped his flushed face. “Wouldn’t be the worst punishment.”

And then he locks in— eyes meeting yours as he sticks his tongue out, licking a long, fat stripe across your clothed slit. Soft. Slow. As if he was trying to memorize you with his tongue, the heat of it makes you jolt. He’s not just tasting you— he’s learning you, tracing intricate patterns with his tongue like he’s trying to decode you one flick at a time. Every motion is precise yet hungry, like he’s writing a love letter in Morse code directly to your pussy. His glasses slipping adorably down the bridge of his nose, solely focused on pleasing you.

You gasped at the feel of him against you, the pressure of his mouth sent heat curling low in your belly, it was torture. Too much and not enough. You needed to feel him without the barrier of soaked lace clinging to your folds, and he must’ve read your mind, because he groaned like he was the one being denied. He kissed your pussy like he was thanking it, mouthing over your clothed core before dragging open-mouthed kisses across your inner thighs, leaving your skin slick with spit and bites to your inner thighs. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, everything about him felt so warm.

His teeth grazed you— playful, hungry— and your hips twitched as he whispered something nasty under his breath, half to himself, half to your cunt. By the time he slid your panties down, your thighs were trembling, tossing the flimsy fabric aside carelessly, like he didn’t care where they landed, only that they were gone. Then he buried his face between your legs like you’d been starving him for his entire life.

His tongue slipped between your folds, hot and greedy, lapping up everything you gave him like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. He flicked up and down with obscene precision, wet, messy, relentless— his nose bumping your clit as he moaned deep in his throat, like he needed this, like the taste of you could make or break him. You were soaked, legs shaking, lips parted in a silent cry, and all he did was keep eating like he was trying to crawl inside you with his tongue.

You were loving the way it feels, every bit of you being hit with electricity. Your fingers tangled in his hair the second his mouth met your pussy, gripping tight, yanking just enough to make him groan into you like he was grateful for the pain. He never slowed down. If anything, it made him hungrier, tongue flattening against your slit before flicking up again, sloppy and fast and fucking filthy.

“God- fuck, you’re so messy,” you gasped, thighs twitching around his head. “You like that? Being my dirty little mouth toy?”

He moaned. Moaned. Into your pussy.

Nodding obediently, even as you tugged harder, grinding him closer. His glasses were long gone, hair disheveled, chin dripping with spit and slick as he slurred out something unintelligible against your clit. His tongue working overtime like he was trying to spell your name in cursive with every flick.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled, words caught in his throat. “I could live here.”

You threw your head back with a laugh— and then a sharp gasp as he got bolder, messier, more desperate. His hands kept you spread, his tongue curling and licking and worshipping like this was the only chance he’d ever get. He was sure that he’d jizz his pants just from giving you head— sure it’s pathetic, maybe even tragic. But he couldn’t help it. You were just too hot, too perfect, too fucking unreal, and the taste of you on his tongue, the feel of your thighs squeezing around his head, it was better than anything his fist or filthy imagination had ever given him.

Your fingers remain tangled in his hair, holding onto him for anchorage. He looked up at you with glassy, pleading eyes, the lower half of his face glistening with your arousal and rosy cheeks. “Tell me I’m doing okay? Please? I read five articles about this. I practiced on a peach.”

You gasped. “You practiced on what?!”

“Nevermind. Just- keep calling me pretty. I swear I’ll die happy right here.”

You tugged his head back down, voice ragged and ruined.

“Then make me cum, pretty boy.”

And he did.

Like a man with something to prove.

Like a nerdy little virgin who had just found his true calling.

Your eyes closed shut at the feeling, falling apart at the seams. Every stroke of his tongue making your insides tighten. You suddenly couldn’t remember how breathing worked, all you saw were flashes of white invading your vision, cumming so hard that you almost saw stars. You cried out, high and broken, hands grasping at his head as you came hard against his mouth.

Jisung moaned through it— loud and messy— tongue never letting up, licking you through every twitch, every gasp, every last jolt of overstimulation until you were tugging at his hair for dear life and gasping for air. Only then did he pull back, lips shiny, eyes half-lidded, face absolutely drenched, and smiling like he just beat the final boss of his entire life.

Somewhere in the past twenty minutes between Jisung nuzzling your thighs like a man starved and moaning like he was the one cumming, you had apparently blacked out, transcended the mortal plane, and been reborn as a puddle of girl.

Now, you lay sprawled across his unmade bed, fully clothed from the waist up and violently ruined from the waist down, chest heaving, eyes wet and glassy, one sock half-off your foot like a casualty of war.

And Jisung?

Jisung was cuddled up beside you like the world’s horniest golden retriever, chin resting on your shoulder, looking so smug and soft it was almost offensive.

You could still feel the ghost of his tongue between your legs.

“You sure you’ve never done this before?” You croaked out, blinking up at the ceiling like it had answers.

Jisung tilted his head innocently. “What, that? Nah. I just… researched. A lot. And I… uh, practiced on a fruit.”

You turned your head slowly. “Was it the peach again?”

“…It might’ve also been a mango. For tongue agility. But I named it after you, so it was romantic!”

You tried to snort, but it came out as a wheeze. “I can’t feel my legs, Jisung.”

He beamed. “Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Still taking it as one.”

He leaned in and kissed your cheek, then your nose, then your forehead like he hadn’t just destroyed your entire nervous system with his mouth.

“I feel like I just unlocked a secret side quest,” he victoriously cheered. “‘Satisfy hot girlfriend until she sees God.’ Bonus XP for oral stamina. Am I your favorite now?”

You blinked at him, still fighting for air. “I don’t even know my name right now. You’ve ruined me.”

Jisung squeaked and tucked his face into your neck, practically vibrating with joy. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“You should. I saw the afterlife. It was just a video game buffering screen.”

He laughed, then rolled onto his back with a dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe this is real. You’re real. Your thighs are real. I had a girlfriend and head privileges all in the same night. I feel like I need to call my mom.”

“Please don’t.”

“Too late. She deserves to know her son peaked.”

You smacked him lightly with the nearest pillow, still grasping for air, still dazed.

And then he smiled at you— so big, so genuine, so sickeningly in love that your tired heart clenched.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat, y’know,” he mumbled, brushing hair from your face. “Just say the word.”

You looked at him, the boy with anime figures on his shelf, lotion still on his desk, and love in his eyes, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Next time,” you whispered, “I’m returning the favor.”

Mindlessly reaching into his sweats, the second your hand wrapped around his length, you froze.

“…Jisung.”

“H-huh?”

You gave a blank expression. Looking down. Looking back up.

“This is- you’re.. how is this even—?”

“I DON’T KNOW,” he cried. “IT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE SENSE, I’M ONLY 5’7!”

You stared at him like he just told you he had a second life as a Marvel superhero.

“Oh my god, I just assumed you’d be, like—”

“Average?!” He gasped, scandalized.

“No! I just- I mean- look at you! You’re this cute little nerd with anime socks and a keyboard with cat ears.. how are you packing all this?!”

You were in utter disbelief, there’s no way your sweet, stammering little boyfriend had been walking around with a dick that big and had no idea what kind of weapon he was carrying. Just raw, untapped dick potential— XL stats on a man who still apologizes when his knees crack too loud. Poor baby had been lugging around a whole third leg, and didn’t even know the first thing to do with it ;(

He simply shook his head, fully tomato red now, flailing beneath you like he was about to spontaneously combust. He watched you like he was afraid to blink. You pumped him once, slowly, watching him shiver under your touch. His lips parted. His back arched. You hadn’t even gotten started and he already looked completely ruined.

“Can I ride you?” You asked sweetly.

He nodded so fast his head could nearly fell off. “Yes. Yes, oh my god, yes- please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” You cocked your eyebrow.

“I’ll uninstall League right now if you ask me to—”

You giggled as you rolled the condom down over him, letting his hands greedily grab at your thighs. He was panting, forehead glistening with a sheen of sweat, like his brain was overheating just from the anticipation.

Then you finally lowered yourself, sinking down onto him, gradually, feeling the way you take him so easily from being soaking wet. Jisung mumbles something illegible under his breath as your cunt swallows his cock whole. It didn’t take long for you to reach the end of him since you were already so ready for him, staying in the same position to feel all of him inside you. His cock was splitting you open so nicely, it felt like you were in utter paradise.

And he made the sound.

Like his soul physically left his body, floated into the air, and gave you a salute on the way out.

“F-fuck.. you’re tight, I can’t—” he clutched your waist, eyes fluttering. “I’m gonna die. This is it. This is how I go.” He desperately bucks into you, wanting to feel more movement from you.

You move your hips to match his rhythm as you gain your balance, pressing both hands on his shoulder blades. You bounce slightly up and down on his cock, feeling your walls being filled up by every inch of him. You shifted from grinding on him real slow to picking up your pace indefinitely. Jisung threw his head back against the pillow from the pleasure, the sound of his balls hitting against your ass with the combination of it jiggling as you rode him like a bunny was enough to make him want to burst on the spot.

You leaned down and give him a chaste kiss. “Best way to go, huh?”

He nods vehemently. “Please don’t stop. Ever. I’ll cancel my Crunchyroll subscription for you. I’ll stop buying figurines. I’ll even delete my Genshin account.”

“Okay, now you’re being dramatic.”

He groaned helplessly as you continuously rode him like your life depended on it, breath hitching with every drag of your hips. He was so sensitive, so overwhelmed with it all that he couldn’t stop moaning into your mouth, mumbling broken, incoherent things like, “You feel soso good,” and “I can’t believe I get to have this,” and “Am I still breathing? No? Cool.”

You kissed down his jaw, showing no signs of stopping. You knew this was going to be one of those moments you’d both play on loop in your heads for a long, long time. “Still pretty, baby.”

He pants out. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You simply keep moaning as you kept bouncing on his cock, he was thrusting back into you, going even deeper. Your eyes reaching the back of your skull from the way he was hitting all the right spots. It wouldn’t take long before you started screaming his name and showering him with endless compliments.

“You’re so fucking pretty, Ji.” You were a broken record at this point, nothing but your whines and his grunts filling the room. You felt tense, your clit was throbbing, the pressure build up making you dizzy. Jisung couldn’t keep his eyes off you for a second, the way your tits bounced through your shirt, the way your long acrylics dug into his skin, he wasn’t even sure how he was still alive.

This was better than any of those fake scenarios that he’d absentmindedly create in his head, better than finally beating a level that he’d get stuck on for hours. He was in pure heaven, and he felt his high approaching any minute.

“I-I think ’m gonna cum,” he desperately choked out, rocking into you like a dog in heat.

Jisung was wrecked beneath you. Hands fisting into the sheets, mouth agape, his eyes rolling back every time you sank down fully and clenched around him.

“Fuck, please- please, I-I can’t,” he whimpered, voice shaky, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. His stomach tightening with every motion, trying so hard not to lose it.

You leaned forward and cupped his face, riding him a little harder, the slap of skin soft but steady. “You said you could take it, baby,” you whispered, voice syrup-sweet. “You begged for this.”

“I know, I- just- pleaseplease can I cum?” he panted, nearly on the verge of tears. His voice was raw, wrecked, like every second you didn’t let him was a cruel punishment. “’m so close, I’m- I’ll be good, I swear, just let me.. please—”

You seal his lips with yours, just to quiet the begging, grinning against his mouth as his hands fumbled for your hips again. He moaned into the kiss, his hips twitching helplessly under yours.

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you beg,” you airly chuckled, pulling back just enough to look down at him. His eyes were wild, glazed over, the pretty sounds he made were like music to your ears.

“Th-thank you,” he sobbed, the gratitude in his voice borderline ridiculous. “’m gonna- I’m- oh my god—”

And with that, he finally let go. Releasing every last drop of his seed into the condom, muscles tensing up, gripping you like you were his only tether to reality. He looked down to see your arousal creating a white, creamy ring around the base of his thick cock, almost about to cum again just from the mere sight alone. Your legs felt like jello, you were weightless, collapsing onto his sweaty, sticky chest as you try to catch your breath, brain all foggy in your post-coital daze.

You didn’t expect him to cry.

Okay— not, like, full sobbing. But a little misty-eyed? A little “what did I do to deserve this?” A sparkle in his gaze as you lay draped across his chest, both of you blissed out and glowing in the soft, RGB-lit afterglow?

Yeah.

He was trying so hard not to sniffle.

“You okay, baby?” You murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the curve of his jaw.

Jisung nodded, eyes wide and glassy. “I just… I thought my first time would be like, awkward. Or disappointing. Or I’d accidentally sneeze into someone’s mouth and get banned from touching boobs forever.”

You laughed against his skin. “Definitely didn’t happen.”

“No,” he grins, wrapping his arms tighter around you, “this was better than anything I could’ve ever imagined in my head. Better than my first SSR pull in Genshin. Better than when I tried the seasonal spicy chicken ramen and lived.”

You tilted your head up to meet his eyes. “That’s a pretty long list of victories to beat.”

“You’re the only victory that matters.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned playfully, “who is this smooth man and what has he done with my sweaty, anime-obsessed virgin boyfriend?”

He huffed, burying his face into your hair. “He’s still sweaty and obsessed with anime. He just… also happens to be madly in love with you.”

You smiled into his chest.

“Also,” he added, completely deadpan, “I think I saw the shadow realm.”

You snorted. “When?”

“When you said I was pretty and grabbed my—” His voice cracked. He covered his face with his hands. “Oh my god, I can’t say it. My ancestors are watching.”

You giggled, shifting to lay next to him and intertwining your fingers with his.

And for a while, it was just quiet. Safe. His hand slowly brushing over your side. Your heartbeat syncing with his. The faint whir of his PC fan still spinning in the corner because, of course, he never actually shut it down.

Then he jolted upright suddenly, as if he remembered something urgent.

“Wait.”

You blinked up at him, amused. “What?”

He slid off the bed, naked except for one, singular sock and scurried to his cluttered desk. You watched, dazed and curious, as he fumbled with drawers and cracked open a cabinet that definitely shouldn’t have had food in it.

Finally, he turned around triumphantly. Holding out a white, rectangular box.

“Pocky.”

You stared. “…Seriously?”

“I always imagined I’d give my girlfriend Pocky after her first time with me,” he said solemnly. “Like a weird little anime reward.”

You sat up and grinned. “You are a weird little anime reward.”

He climbed back into bed beside you and opened the box, pulling out one, white chocolate-dipped stick and offering it with both hands like it was a sacred gift.

You bit it gently from his fingers.

“Mmm. You’re such a good boy,” you purred with a playful smile, “giving me snacks after ruining me.”

He short-circuited. Almost choking on his own Pocky. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I hope so.”

You kissed his cheek, then his nose, and then— just to mess with him— you whispered, “Still thinking about how big you are, by the way.”

Jisung made a noise so high-pitched it could only be heard by dogs. He flopped face down into the sheets, flailing helplessly while you laughed and straddled his back.

“You have to stop saying things like that,” he muffled into the pillow.

“Why?” You asked sweetly, brushing his hair back. “You’re my pretty boy. I’m just appreciating what’s mine.”

He peeked up at you, still pink, still glowing.

“…Promise you’re mine too?”

You leaned down and pressed your lips against his, soft and slow.

“Always.”

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haarrrys · 10 days ago

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𝓗 𝓐 𝓝 𝓙 𝓘 𝓢 𝓤 𝓝 𝓖 - impatient.

warnings : sub!jisung, begging, whiny + needy jisung, masturbation, boners, caught in the act, slight perv!jisung.

summary : when your morning activities are interrupted by an emergency situation, your boyfriend can't help but pleasure himself at the thought of how delicious you looked while you innocently cooked him breakfast.

- ; 9:05 am

your eyes were still glued shut with sleep as you rolled over in bed, throwing your arm to the right which hit your boyfriend in the stomach, of course.

han shot awake, clutching his stomach instantaneously. after a few seconds of sputtering out soft swear words under his breath the said, "new way to wake me up, hm?"

you groaned in response, much too tired to give him a proper answer. the only thing on your mind was going back to sleep, but your boyfriend poking you in your side made that task pretty difficult.

"hannie, stop." you said curtly, grabbing his hand.

"you're the one who woke me up, shouldn't i be mad?" he turned you over so you were facing him. your eyes were closed yet he still took a moment to look at all of your delicate features.

"i can feel you staring at me." you spoke before opening your eyes. he was already staring into them. fuck. you wanted to be mad at him for not letting you sleep, but you couldn't.

he laughed before sliding his hand under your head, separating you and your soft pillow. you leaned closer to him and let out a hum at the plush feeling of your lips meeting his.

he pulled away for a moment and you smiled

"come here." you said grabbing his face and bringing it to yours, smashing your lips together once again, this time with more passion.

you bit his upper lip and he licked your lower, and soon after his tongue pried your lips apart. he sat you up against the headboard, not separating his lips from yours for a second. he unclasped your bra, taking a tit in his hand.

every second that passed just made the kiss more heated.

your hands slid up and down his body as his tongue explored your mouth. just as your hands made it to his waistband you received a call, to which you ignored.

and then another call came.

and finally a text.

he pulled away, recognizing whoever was trying to reach you probably really needed you, considering the number of times your phone had made that god forsaken ding! sound in the last thirty seconds.

han got off of you, letting you recollect and grab your phone.

"fuck." you mumbled

"what?" he looked up at you from the bed like a lost puppy, swearing to himself that he was going to come after whoever just created that cockblock of the century.

"its my best friend. her dog ran away. she wants me to come over and grieve with her. probably lay in her bed for three hours? i don't know.." you rambled on, shocked at the messages you had just received.

"oh shit. you gotta get going then?" he yawned. handing you the bra which he has just pried off moments before.

"i guess so." you slipped the bra over your head. "want breakfast before i leave?" you asked him, grabbing a pair of his pajama pants off of the floor and swiftly putting them on.

"i mean, why not?" he got out of the bed slowly before ruffling his hair and standing up.

you watched his muscles flex as he stretched. did your friends dog really have to run away today?

you walked over to him, giving him a peck on the lips before walking out of the room "meet you downstairs yeah?"

"yeah." he paused, "your not putting a shirt on?" he said loudly, knowing you were far down the hallway by now.

"i mean its just us at home, right?!" you called back.

hearing that he smiled to himself. rushing out of the room and following you down the steps.

- ; 9:32 am

"ji, im gonna burn the fuckin' eggs if you keep staring at me like that." you shuffled the eggs around in the pan once more before turning around to look at him, leaning your hands into the counter.

"what? am i distracting you?"

"just let me cook your eggs in peace." you smiled.

saying that, you turned around. you knew han wouldn't let you do that.

you felt his gaze burning into you as you walked over to the fridge to grab orange juice which you set on the counter next to you.

why not take advantage of this?

you opened the freezer and bent down to grab the mini pancakes you knew your han loved.

you arched your back as you stood up and turned around, "you want some of these, babe?" you held up the box of pancakes, waving them in the air.

your boyfriend traced your curves with his eyes. how his pants hung low on your hips, how your bra held your perfect tits.he was getting harder by the second.

who the fuck gave you permission to do these things to him?

and then, looked up from the floor where he was pretending to stare, blinking and shaking his head before speaking "oh shit- sorry babe what'd ya say?"

"hm." you crossed your arms and leaned against the counter once again, sighing this time. "what am I distracting you now?"

"i gotta use the bathroom, be right back." he said coldly.

you pursed your lips and then shook your head. "you want the pancakes or not?!"

"yeah!" his voice cracked as he ran to the bathroom.

you giggled and turned off the stove, and part of you wished you didn't know what he was about to do.

han bee-lined for the bed and threw himself on it, tossing most of the pillows to the floor and stuffing the remaining behind his back, before yanking his sweatpants down to his knees.

there was no need to drag this out.

he had enough foreplay just watching you downstairs, and not to mention the interrupted scene that morning that had been playing through his head for the rest of the time after that.

he grasped his cock firmly from the spot on his stomach where it had lay hard and wet-tipped.

he gasped at the contact and let his head fall back, his mouth parting slightly as he squeezed himself, before letting his cock fall with a slap against his heated skin.

with a flat hand, he pulled the moisture from his reddening tip, smearing it down his length, before curling his fingers over his balls, just grazing his fingertips below them.

han ran his tongue over his dry lips, picturing you in the kitchen, remembering how you'd looked with your pajama pants hanging so low that just the slightest tug would pull them off.

he groaned and brought his hand around his dick again, tugging jerkily, frantically, and bent his knees, planting his feet on the bed.

he could see you between his legs, one hand on his thigh, the other pleasuring yourself right along with him.

han screwed his eyes closed and clamped his other hand over his own thigh, breathing hard and fast and stroking even faster.

he imagined fucking you over the counter. both of you whimpering as he thrusted roughly into you.

one hand gripping your hips roughly, leaving small marks.

his other roped around to the front of your body, rubbing your clit.

the muscles in hans arms began to burn as he stroked himself, but that barely registered; the only thing he could think of, the only thing he could see, was you beneath him.

him plunging into you and hearing your pretty noises.

your face as it twisted with pleasure.

he stroked himself long and hard, inside and out, his breath ragged and heavy, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before his release.

he moaned loudly, picturing you against the counter once again. this tipped him right over the edge.

with a loud cry of your name, his knees hit his shoulders as his belly strained and his hips thrust up onto his plunging fingers, his body pulsing around them.

quick lines of milky liquid squirted over his hand and the quivering skin of his stomach.

you opened the bedroom door and hans head snapped at the creaking sound it had made.

"huh. well this sure isnt the bathroom." you teased, making your way towards the bed.

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haarrrys · 10 days ago

Text

AFTERCARE-SKZ OT8

-skz ot8 written imagine-

Summary:How Skz would take care of you after having s3x

Warnings:Maybe cussing,a tad bit of dirty talk...if you notice something that makes you uncomfortbale please lmk!

My next post...HERE

My previous post...HERE

Just a small drabble i wrote when i was boredddd

BANGCHAN

-Prepares you a bath and fresh clothes

-Softens immedately after you come,brushing hair away from your face and kissing you softly

-Helps you change if you're too sleepy

-Spoons you and sings you to sleep

LEEKNOW

-Hes rough-but when you turn all soft and tired,his gaze softens immedately

-Gets you your soft pyjamas and gets you new and fresh underwear(it will be needed)

-Gives you cuddles and clings to your side 24/7,will follow you to the bathroom like a cat

CHANGBIN

-"I wrecked you that bad,huh?"

-Gives you thousands of pillows to lay on(him included)

-Prepares you breakfast in the morning

-Doesn't let you leave bed

HYUNJIN

-Treats you like youre his favourite painting(you are)

-LITTERALLY ASK BEFORE TOUCHING YOU.

-"Is it okay if i touch you here,love?"

-The biggest gentleman istg

HAN

-Prepares:Facemasks,movies,a message...

-One time he left alot of hickeys and almost cried cause he thought he hurt you until you explained to him what hickeys really are

-Thanks you for breathing

FELIX

-SUNSHINEEEE,litterally the cutest

-Treats you like youre something so fragile and delicate(you are)

-Gives you the cutes nicknames(sunshine,my love,flower)

-Teases you a little(exp. "Aw poor baby,mustve fucked you too good?")

SEUNGMIN

-Helps you wash your hair and messages your scalp

-"Sorry for being rough baby,you like it tho yeah?"

-Cuddles you and stands outside the bathroom like a lost puppy when you leave the bed to pee

-Hes at his PEAK vulnerabillity y'all

JEONGIN

-Litterally has his arms around your waist 24/7 and will not let go if you physically threaten him

-Even tho he doesnt like skinship much he will hug your soul out

-"Did i hurt you,are you alright?"

-Falls asleep on top of you(you couldnt breathe but oh well)

Write your requests on my insta @angelzizangeling

Or on my tumblr!

@angelchannieeee

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haarrrys · 10 days ago

Text

Stray Kids Reaction || You Fall Asleep Against Them/Head In Their Lap

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - July 2025

⤜MASTERLIST

CHAN:

Chan was working on his laptop when he heard soft snores coming from his lap. Slowly, he froze a little and looked down at you, stopping mid-task and smirking to himself as he saw how peaceful you looked. You always tried to stay awake with him whenever he was working late, but every time you ended up asleep with your head in his lap or some other way.

Slowly, he brushed a strand of hair out of your face and watched you with a soft smile, butterflies erupting inside of him as he looked at you. Within seconds, though, he took out his phone and took a picture - just for himself - to remember how sweet you looked. By now, there was a large folder full of pictures of you sleeping against him or on the sofa inside his office.

MINHO:

"Hyung, Yn is asleep." Jeongin suddenly whispers through the quiet room. You'd joined the boys for a night in with a movie, and you'd once again fallen asleep halfway through the film right against Minho's lap. Looking down at you he had to force himself to hide the smile that was threatening to show and he rolls his eyes in front of the others, pretending to be annoyed with how quickly you'd fallen asleep, but while they weren't looking, he slowly traced invisible patterns into your skin while you slept. Secretly, Minho loved it when you would fall asleep against him because it meant he got to have some peace and quiet with you.

CHANGBIN:

As soon as Changbin realised you were asleep, he turned stiff and awkward, not wanting to move in fear of you waking up, he looked down at you and smiled to himself. You looked so peaceful,

"So pretty, baby." He whispers as he looks at you. Proud of himself that you felt safe enough to sleep against him, flexing to the boys that you'd fallen asleep against him, and he was clearly comforting to be around. Whispering sweet nothings to your sleeping form as he ran his fingers over your skin and just enjoyed the feeling of you so close to him.

HYUNJIN:

Hyunjin watches you sleep with your head on his lap, tracing his finger over your features, starting with your jaw and cheekbones, gently brushing his fingers over your lips, and smiling to himself. Luckily, his sketch book was within reach, and he slowly began to sketch you, capturing the peaceful moment just for himself.

Soft kisses were placed on your forehead every now and then, and he placed a blanket around your body since it was on the back of the sofa.

JISUNG:

Once Felix had pointed out to Jisung that you'd fallen asleep against his lap, Jisung went into panic mode,

"What do I do?! Do I move?! Can I breathe?! Do they need a blanket?!" he whispered to Felix who was holding back a chuckle seeing Jisung freaking out a little.

"They've been asleep until now, Jisung...Just relax," he whispers back to him, and Jisung nods with widened eyes, staring at you as you sleep. Smiling to himself as he snuck a photo of you, turning it into a video and speaking in a cute voice,

"Cute, Jagiya sleeping against me."

FELIX:

Without even hesitating, Felix reached for the blanket behind him and gently draped it over your body, grabbed a pillow, and slowly - and carefully - lifted your head and placed the pillow on his lap so it was comfier for you to sleep against him. Smirking to himself as he ran his fingers up and down your back, softly humming songs to you as he looked down at you. Smiling like you were the most precious thing ever in his life.

"Love you, baby." He whispers as he places a soft kiss on your temple and you snuggled closer to him.

SEUNGMIN:

You hadn't meant to fall asleep, but as soon as Seungmin noticed, he smirked to himself,

"Great, guess I live here now," he joked sarcastically, moving himself around to make sure you were in the most comfortable position you could be while on his lap, and he grabbed his phone, scrolling for a while. Seungmin loved it when you slept against him, even if he did make jokes and tease you about it days later, he always enjoyed the silent and quiet moments he got to spend with you, just like this. He wouldn't change a damn thing about it.

JEONGIN:

The moment you shifted a little and moved closer to Jeongin, he stiffened up a little, nervous to mess up your sleep, and he tried to stay as still as possible for you. A subtle blush began to overtake his cheeks as he smiled to himself.

"Channie-Hyung, they fell asleep." He whispered over at Chan, who was in the kitchen, coming over to look at you both as he took a photo with Jeongin's phone and smiled, leaving you both alone on the sofa. Jeongin smiles and puts his hand gently on your arm, grounding you in your sleep as he did his best not to fall asleep with you.

A/n: Hope you guys liked this cute piece

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haarrrys · 13 days ago

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More Than Anything

Summary: You and Bangchan had been in a very healthy relationship for 8 months. It was obvious that you were both head over heels, but there was a tiny issue...you've never had sex before. This is the story of how Chan slowly helped you gain confidence for your first time with him.

Pairing: Bangchan X Reader (F!)

Genre: Smut (MDNI), Fluff

Warnings: nipple play, handjob, spitting, oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected penetrative sex (reader is on the pill but please wrap it before you tap it guys), praise, cum shot, pet names, Chan kinda guides reader, sickeningly sweet Chan, 100% 18+ (seriously like if you're a minor don't read pls and thank you <3)

Word Count: 7.7K

You still couldn't believe that you had been in a healthy relationship with the man of your dreams for 8 whole months. Hell, you couldn't believe that you were dating the one and only Christopher Bangchan. Even after all this time of being able to be by his side through the good times and bad, through all of his wins and failures.

You considered yourself extremely lucky. And so did he.

He had an incredible woman who was so sweet and so kind to him. When he didn't take care of himself, you were there to yell at him for not going to bed, or not eating or drinking enough water. There were times you even threw pillows at his head just so you could try and get him to listen to you. And if he was being completely honest, he wouldn't have it any other way.

Well, he would. And you would too. See, you both loved your relationship. It went from a honeymoon phase of you two being extremely giddy and clingy, to a much more serious relationship. You both still made time to see each other a lot, Chan coming to visit you as much as he could. But it wasn't just cuddling up while watching a movie, sharing small pecks and kissing each other's cheeks and noses and foreheads anymore.

Almost every time you two were together, makeout sessions would occur. Hands would start wandering. And every time that Chan thought he could take it further, you'd always back out. Every single time, without fail.

Now, back when the two of you were fresh into the relationship, and makeout sessions would rarely occur, Chan could understand. The two of you didn't know each other that well. Hell, even he didn't want to push anything all the way yet. But, that was way back then.

Now? Now you two knew each other way better. You two knew each other so well, it scared the other members of Stray Kids any time they heard Chan talking about you. But...when it came to taking things past the making out like highschoolers...you'd back out.

The reason for you was simple enough. At least, that was what you thought. You hadn't ever had sex. You were a virgin. And while you wanted nothing more than to have Chan fuck you senseless, you were scared. More scared than you thought. Partly because of all the questions you had.

What if it hurt? What if it didn't fit? What if he didn't like what you had to offer? What if he didn't like the fact that you weren't experienced? What if he didn't like your body? What if things got awkward afterward?

All of these questions, and so many more, and nobody to go to. At least, that was what you felt. And so, you backed out.

But...you didn't realize what messages were being sent to Chan.

Tonight wasn't much different from the other nights you two hung out. Greet each other by the door, eat the food Chan brought with him and visit about your days while eating dinner, then go to the couch to put on the show you two had decided to start together, only to end with you in Chan's lap, lip locked with the incredible man.

Kisses with Chan were always so magical. His lips were plush and soft, and always moisturized due to him using Chapstick religiously. And the way he held you to him every time you two made out, his tongue dancing perfectly with yours? Oh, it MELTED you.

But, you didn't fail to notice how his hands started to wander. At first, they were wrapped around you, just resting. You didn't really mind that. But it was when his hands started to move up your sides, his thumbs going to just sit under your breasts when you knew what he was up to.

And so, you pulled away, out of breath. Your eyes laid on his closed ones, that opened in the confused manner they usually did. And as usual, you were the first to speak.

"I-I...I can't...I'm so sorry..." It was the same thing, over and over. You always said you were sorry, but Chan was really starting to have a hard time believing it.

And this time, he decided to speak up about it.

"You always say that, though." Chan's voice was soft, but he sounded upset. Was he upset that you weren't letting him fuck you? You were about to speak up, until Chan continued. "Is...Is it me?"

"What?"

"Am I doing something wrong? Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"What? No, No, Chris, that's not--You're perfect!"

"Then why do you always wanna stop? Do you not see me like that?"

"Of course, I do. Trust me, I really, really want to, Chris. Seriously."

"Then what is it?" His voice was soft, yearning to understand. It was how Chan always was. He was so sweet like that, always wanting to help you if you needed it. Even if it was just him listening to you, he'd be there in a flash. But you just couldn't get yourself to look at him.

"It's stupid."

"It's not stupid, nothing is stupid if it's troubling you, hun." Once he said that, he placed a hand onto your cheek, guiding your face to his, tilting his head. God, he looked like a confused puppy. You'd gush over him if you weren't feeling so embarrassed right now. "You know I love you, right?"

"...yes."

"And that you can talk to me?"

"Yeah."

"Then talk to me. Please, Y/n?" Chan placed a peck to your lips, giving you a smile. "I wanna understand what's going on. It could be the dumbest shit ever, and I'd still listen. You know that. So what's going on?"

You took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. You didn't want to look at him when you said it. But he was holding your face so that you'd look directly into his eyes. Those warm, comforting, sweet eyes of his that you usually could never look away from. But then, you said it.

"I... I've never had sex before." You watched for Chan's reaction, seeing him keep a warm smile on his face. He was wanting you to continue. "I just...I'm nervous about a lot of it. I want our first time to be good, y'know? And I feel like I'm gonna disappoint you because I haven't done it before."

"Oh, you could never disappoint me, sweetheart." Chan brought you down for another kiss, pulling back and brushing some hair out of your face. "And I don't care if you haven't had sex before. Really, I don't."

"Really?"

"Really." Chan nodded at your small question. "I love you for you, not for your experience in bed. What will make having sex with you magical is getting to do it with you. It doesn't have to be mind-blowing, or hardcore. As long as it's with you, I'm happy."

"But what if it's not what you expect?" You couldn't help but ask questions. You were an overthinker. Thankfully, Chan had plenty of experience with overthinkers, thanks to being a father of 6 with a motherly figure who stuffed his children's mouths with tissues.

"I'm not expecting a lot from you, hun. I just want you. Point blank period." Chan then took your hand with his own, kissing it.

"And if it hurts?" That made sense for you to be scared about. Thankfully, Chan had an answer.

"We'll go slow. I'll prepare you and wait for when you're ready." Chan gave you a smile, watching you take a breath to try and calm your nerves. And before you could ask him anything else, Chan spoke up again. "Y/n, there's no need to rush into it. It'll happen when it happens. Okay?"

Hearing him say that made you feel a lot better. Chan was a man of his word, too. He would wait. Especially now that he knew you were nervous. If that was all it was, then he'd wait until the end of the earth. And you knew that, too.

"Okay."

After having that talk with Chan, you felt a little more confident in yourself. A little. You were still scared to shove something in a hole that's never had anything in it before, but it was completely understandable. Thankfully, Chan would be willing to wait until you were completely ready.

Speaking of, you had just gotten back to your apartment from work, already feeling exhaustion hit you like a bus. Your plan of action was to just change into one of Chan's sweatshirts and shorts, lay on the couch, order food, and watch a movie.

And so, you did your thing, changing and getting onto the couch, relaxing with a blanket before starting to search for a movie. It didn't take you too long to just pick one that showed up, deciding on good old 'Enola Holmes'.

It was when you were just about to order food when you got a phone call from Chan. An unexpected phone call. But you still picked up, a smile on your face. You couldn't help it, you were in love.

"Hello?"

"Hey! Can I let myself in?"

"What?"

"I'm outside of your apartment, I brought some, um...what are these called again...? Oh, whatever, I'm here with food. Can I come in?" You practically laughed at your boyfriend's words, before speaking up.

"Yes, you can. Door should be unlocked."

"Perfect! See you in like, 2 seconds!" And in two seconds you saw him, indeed. He came right through the door, shutting it and taking off his shoes before coming over to the couch, smiling when he saw your face. "Hello, gorgeous!"

"Channie, I thought you had work until late tonight." Not that you were complaining. He bent down, placing a peck on your lips as he sat next to you, setting the bags of snacks and drinks down.

"I was supposed to work late tonight, but our manager let us off early. Figured I still had time to come and see my favorite girl!" Chan explained. He then hugged your side, noticing the movie that was playing. "Enola Holmes? Again?"

"What? It's a good movie!" You whined. Chan only laughed, starting to open a bag of chips as you leaned against him, drinking a bit from your water bottle. Sure, you may have seen the movie about a hundred times, but you couldn't help it. The series was good, in your eyes.

That's what the two of you did for a while. Eat, catch up, and watch Enola Holmes. It was when the second movie in the series started when you both settled down, you still leaning against Chan while he had an arm over your shoulder. You were engrossed in the movie, paying attention to every little detail.

But then, you felt a hand on your stomach.

You glanced over to Chan for a moment, knowing that it was him. But he was watching the movie, seemingly engrossed into what was going on. Little shit.

And so, you went back to watching the movie, only to feel his hand go further up, going right in between your breasts, up to your chin. You did your best not to say anything, just wanting one night of peace, but you always said something.

So you kept your mouth shut, wanting to see where this would go.

Chan tilted your head to the side, keeping his eyes on the TV as he placed a few kisses onto your neck, going up to your cheek, only to go to your ear, giving it light nibbles. Okay, he was definitely up to something.

"Chan..." It was like a warning. A warning that Chan was going to happily take. And throw into the garbage.

"Just relax..." His voice came out in a whisper, gently guiding your head to face his, only for him to gently kiss you. And who were you to not kiss the man back?

The kiss was soft and gentle enough, but it didn't stay like that for very long. Before you even knew it, the kiss had picked up, the two of you moving in sync with passion, tongues twisting together. Your arms were around Chan's neck, Chan's hands firmly on your waist. And before long, Chan's hands started to wander. One slipped underneath the hoodie you had on, the other going to your cheek as he pulled away from you.

"Can I keep going?" This time, he wanted to make sure you were okay to continue. And upon seeing you hesitate, Chan continued. "Just a little further? We don't have to go all the way."

You liked that idea.

"O-Okay." With a shy nod from you, Chan smiled, before grabbing the base of the hoodie, slowly pulling it up a little bit. But then, he stopped and looked to you.

"Can I take this off?"

"Yeah." You nodded once more, before watching as Chan pulled the hoodie off of you. And like that, your top half was exposed to him. He knew you hated wearing bras at night, so he was expecting you to not have one on. But...he wasn't expecting to see perfection.

"Holy shit, you're so beautiful..." Chan then looked up at you, placing his hands back onto your waist. "Can... Can I touch your chest? Are you okay with that?"

"Y-Yeah..." And then, Chan looked back down at your beautiful chest, staring at it in awe before slowly reaching towards it, placing his hands over them, just squeezing them a bit.

They were so soft...so squishy, so...perfect. He slid his hands down, placing them just underneath before lifting them up, admiring them in his own way. They were so beautiful, just like you were to him. He also didn't fail to notice your perky nipples, screaming for attention.

"Ch-Chan..." You breathed out, watching him work with your chest. Chan looked up, giving you a concerned look.

"Is this okay? Does it feel good?"

"Yeah...i-it does..." Chan smiled at your response, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your neck, trailing down and kissing your collarbone, and then your sternum.

"Good...that's good." And then, he looked up at you, his fingers starting to gently roll your nipples between them. It was so gentle, but it felt so good. You let out a small whine at the touch, Chan just smiling at how responsive you were. "You are just so...you're so beautiful, hun. Absolutely breathtaking."

And then, he placed a few kisses onto your breasts, making you flush. You couldn't help but feel shy, but you also felt incredible. The amount of body worship he was doing made you feel a lot better about yourself. That was for damn sure. And when he came back up, he placed a firm kiss to your lips, looking at you in the eyes with the sweetest look in his own.

"I love you so much, baby." He spoke gently, like if he talked too loud, he'd break you into a million pieces. It made you smile.

"I love you too, Channie." You then placed your own kiss onto his lips, feeling his hand on your thigh.

"I wanna go further." He still spoke softly, bringing his hand up towards your waist, hooking it onto the waistband of your shorts. It made you tense up a bit. "We don't have to if you're not ready. But fuck, I want you so bad."

"I-I..." You let out a sigh, Chan immediately stopping, taking in your tense stature.

"Hey, we don't have to. Okay? It's totally up to you on what we do right now." Chan didn't want to pressure you. That was the last thing he wanted. And knowing that made you feel just a little bit better.

"I...I'm not ready yet...I'm sorry-"

"No, don't apologize. It's okay, okay?" Chan smiled, placing a kiss to your forehead. You just let out a sigh, looking down. You felt bad, not being able to give Chan the one thing he probably really wanted. But then, you noticed the tent in his sweatpants.

"Chan, y-you're..." You trailed off, eyeing the bulge before looking back up at him with sad eyes.

"Hey, it's okay. I can take care of it later. Don't worry about it." Chan told you, putting a hand onto your cheek. You took a breath, leaning into his touch, glancing back down at his sweats. "Seriously, it's fine."

"It's not fine." You immediately countered him, giving him a determined look. "How long have I been cockblocking you? It's not okay, a-and it's not fair."

"Y/n-"

"Chan." Upon hearing his name, Chan stopped talking, seeing your determined face. God, he loved when you always looked so determined, whether it be because you wanted him to take breaks, or if you were trying to beat some video game against whoever you were playing. "I...I wanna help you."

"Y/n..." Chan trailed, not sure if you really wanted to or if you were just saying that because you felt bad. "You don't have to if you don't want to, I mean, it doesn't take long for me to jerk one out. It takes me like 4 minutes tops-"

"Chan, just...please?" You gave him a soft look, crawling a little closer to him. "If I didn't want to, I wouldn't offer."

"Fuck..." Chan knew that was the case, too. If you didn't want to do something, you wouldn't speak up about it or bring it up. And seeing that pleading look in your eyes made it easy for Chan to make his mind up. "Okay. Yeah, i-if you want to, I'm okay with it."

Hearing him say that made you smile. You placed a peck to his cheek, before backing away to focus on his visible erection. You spared him one last glance, seeing his eyes on you with anticipation. And then, you brought your hands to his waistband, pulling it back just enough for his cock to spring out. Chan hissed upon feeling the cool air hit it.

Your eyes widened upon seeing him for the first time. He was so...it was beautiful. And big. You wanted to say 7 inches, and it was fat. Veins ran up and down his shaft, and it oh, so slightly curved up. His tip was red and leaking, too. You just couldn't take your eyes off of him.

"Everything okay?" Chan's words got you to look up at him. He looked so eager, but nervous. You didn't know exactly why, but...you guessed it was because you weren't doing anything.

"Yeah, you're just..." You glanced back down at his cock, watching it twitch slightly. "It's a sight."

Chan laughed slightly at your words, which made you giggle. It was good to know he wasn't as nervous as he looked.

"So um...how do I do this?" You looked back up at him, curious on how he liked it. You knew that you had to move your hand up and down around him, but you didn't know the specifics.

Thankfully, Chan was happy to guide you.

"Here, put your hand around it like...oh, like that..." Chan took your hand, putting it around his base, not having you move quite yet. He needed a second himself, if he was being honest. Just seeing your hand around him...your smaller, softer, daintier hand around his cock was just...oh, he could cum if he thought about it enough. "And grip firmly, not like, death grip, but--holy..."

"Like this?" You tightened your grip just enough to where Chan wouldn't slip out of your grasp. Not too loose, not too tight.

"Fuck, just like that..." Chan let out a groan, sinking back into the couch a bit as you held his cock, before getting to the next step. "Okay, and just move your hand at a nice pace...fuck, baby, just like that...squeeze towards the tip, and...hoooh my god..."

You followed his instructions, keeping that grip as you moved your hand up and down, tightening your grip slightly as you got towards his tip. And obviously, Chan was enjoying it, breathy moans leaving him as you jerked him off.

"Feel good?" You asked, just wanting to make sure you were doing good. Chan nodded, running a hand through his hair.

"Yes, it's so good, hun...ungh, can you spit on it? Make it nice and wet for me?"

Of course you could. And so, you leaned over his dick, gathering spit into your mouth before opening and sticking out your tongue, letting the saliva fall onto his tip. And that sight alone brought Chan even closer than he intended.

"That's it, baby girl...go a bit faster...yes, perfect, you're doing such a good job..." Chan's brow furrowed, his hips bucking to meet your hand, more moans leaving him as you continued to follow his instructions. They were still breathy, but getting higher. "Oh, fuck, I-I'm gonna cum, keep...keep going, please, baby...ugh, yes...!"

And like that, Chan let out a nice and long moan as he came, white ropes flying out and landing on your hand. You continued to move, slowing your pace bit by bit, helping him ride out his orgasm. You figured that was what you were supposed to do, at least, from the porn you've watched. And once he calmed down, you stopped, carefully taking your hand off of him.

"Feeling better, Channie?" You asked, giggling when he groaned, giving you a fucked-out expression as you stood up.

"Are you sure you've never done this before?" Chan laughed a bit as he watched you go to the kitchen, cleaning your hand off before getting a rag for Chan. You couldn't help but laugh as well, coming back to him to help him clean up.

"Positive." You kissed his cheek before starting to wipe him down, Chan just groaning.

"First you give me an insane handjob, and now you're giving me aftercare?" Chan said, watching you tuck his now soft cock back into his pants before setting the rag on the table. You nodded, Chan just smiling and bringing you down for a kiss. "Fuck, I don't deserve you."

"I should be the one telling you that." You replied, grabbing his sweatshirt that you originally had on, sliding it back over your body. Chan just pulled you to him, letting you rest on his chest.

"I can't wait for when you let me give you the best first time ever." Chan told you, kissing your forehead. You smiled, melting into him as you both went back to watching your movie.

"Me too."

It had been a few weeks since the last exchange between you and Chan. It was really hard to get the image of his face melting in pleasure out of your head. The way he looked when your hand was wrapped around him was so ethereal, and it made you wonder what he'd look like when he was finally inside of you.

Just thinking about it made you want to do it even more. You felt ready enough, and after getting to experience the small amount you did with him before made you realize that as long as it was with him, you'd be okay. But...there was a tiny problem.

Chan had gotten extremely busy.

You two never really had time to hang out these days, all because Chan was busy with releasing a new album with Stray Kids. They had filming, photoshoots, practices, recording sessions, and before they knew it, they were on stages, performing for Mnet. It was almost like they didn't have time to breathe, and you felt bad for all of them.

But you really just missed your boyfriend.

You found ways to distract yourself, though. One of which being going to the gym and getting a good workout in. That was what you were about to do currently. You were in a sports bra and sweatpants, keys in hand as you texted your friend, letting her know that you were about to head over, only to see that she had bailed on you for a date. Rude.

You just let out a small sigh, setting your things down on your counter, before seeing that you were getting a call from Chan. You smiled, excited to hear his voice after not hearing it for a while. And so, you picked up, not even having a chance to greet him.

"WE WON!" You just laughed, hopping up on the countertop as you heard you excited boyfriend on the other end of the line.

"Hello to you, too."

"What, no congratulations? You're killing me over here, you know..."

"Ah, sorry, sorry. Congratulations, Chan."

"Thank you. But can you believe it? We won! I was seriously nervous, but we still managed to come up on top."

"You always do, baby."

"I know! And guess what?"

"What?"

"I'm gonna have time to see you! I'm heading over now, actually."

"Now?"

"Yeah, I'm about...2 minutes? Yeah, 2 minutes out. We just got here, so I'm walking to your building right now."

"Ah. Well, I'll leave my door unlocked then."

"Perfect! I'm expecting a hug from you when I get inside."

"Alright, I suppose I can spare you one."

"Great! Then I'll see you in a bit." And with that, he hung up. You wanted to change into something a little more decent, but you knew you wouldn't have time. But you also felt excitement shoot through you, knowing that Chan would like to see you in this.

Speaking of...it didn't take your boyfriend long to come right through the door, smiling brightly as he spotted you on the counter, not realizing what you were wearing quite yet.

"Hey!" He quickly took off his shoes, leaving them by the door before taking his coat off, hanging it up.

"Hey." You replied, smiling just as brightly as Chan was. You couldn't lie; you really missed him. And it was good to see him again after so long. You watched as he finished putting up his coat, turning to face you. And that's when he noticed what you were in. His eyes widened, a sharp inhale coming from him as he walked over to you slowly, taking it all in.

"And... what are you wearing?" Chan's eyes couldn't leave your body. God, it looked so perfect, and he really wanted it off of you. He walked between your legs, placing his hands onto your bare sides, gently rubbing up and down as he gave you a playful smirk. "This isn't for me, is it?"

"Well, I was supposed to go to the gym, but got bailed on." You rolled your eyes as you spoke, putting your arms around his neck as you looked back to him.

"And you didn't change?"

"I didn't have time to, baby. You were practically already here once we got off the phone."

"So then...this is for me." Chan smirked, tilting his head to place kisses onto your neck.

"I didn't say that." You replied, tilting your own head to give Chan more space.

"You implied it."

"I definitely didn't do that."

"Well, you could've changed while we were on the phone." He had a point there. You've done it before, plenty of times. But you didn't this time. "Is this a sign? Are you finally gonna let me rock your world tonight?"

"Mm..." You weren't actually sure if you were all for that. And upon noticing your hesitation, Chan pulled away, looking to you.

"Hey, remember what I said. If you don't want to, we don't have to." Chan then placed a kiss to your nose, putting his forehead on yours after. "You're ready when you're ready. Not when I'm ready."

You nodded at his words, knowing he wouldn't ever push you to do something if you didn't want it. You just weren't sure. And so, you let out a breath.

"I... don't know." You looked away for a second, before looking back to his eyes. "I want to, but I'm still nervous, you know?"

"Yep. And that's totally understandable." Chan placed a kiss to your lips, giving you a smile. "Tell you what. I am hard. You never fail to make me hard. If you wanna jerk me off again, then let's start there, and see where it plays out, yeah?"

You took a second, thinking about what Chan offered. Now that you thought about it, you had been wanting to try something for a while, since you had given him that handjob. And since the opportunity opened itself up, you decided to take it.

"Yeah, okay." You gave him a smile, nodding. Chan smiled back, crashing his lips onto yours a second after. He picked you up, bringing you to your room before setting you down on the bed. You then, watched as he took his pants off, his hard cock springing out once more before he went and laid on the bed, lifting his sweatshirt up a bit.

"Alright, baby. You know what to do." You did. And so, you went to him, wrapping your hand around his base, slowly starting to pump it. Chan let out a sigh, already feeling pleasure course through his body. You repeated what you had done the last time, keeping your grip tight, squeezing towards the tip and loosening as you moved back down.

"Fuck, just like that...you're a natural at this, baby girl..." Chan hissed, letting out a breathy moan as you continued. But then, upon seeing him enjoying this, you smiled, only to lean your head down to his cock. Chan watched with wide eyes, seeing you get close to him. "Whoa, what--"

"I wanna try something. Is...is that okay?" You wanted to make sure Chan was okay with it, not wanting to do something he wasn't comfortable with.

"I-I mean, yeah, sure...just...just don't push yourself o-or anything." You nodded at his words, letting out a breath. And then, you stilled your hand, before opening your mouth and placed his tip inside. You glanced up at him, hoping that this was okay.

The face you saw told you everything you needed to know.

His jaw was open, his brows furrowed as a silent moan left him. And once you brought your tongue in to swipe against his tip, going over his slit, an actual moan left him. His hand immediately went to your hair, running through some of it before gripping your head. And then, you started to carefully bob your head, not wanting to graze his cock with your teeth.

"Holy fucking shit, baby...your mouth feels so good..." Chan could hardly believe it. He hadn't ever felt anything this good or wet. He was sure that your pussy would be even better, but your mouth was just as amazing. "Oh my god...I'm not...I'm not gonna last, I'm already so close..."

You just took that as an incentive to go faster.

Chan just held onto your head for dear life as you did your best to move your head, using a hand to pump whatever wasn't in your mouth. And to Chan, it just added to everything he was feeling. Your hand, your mouth, your tongue, it was perfect. So perfect, he couldn't stop himself from cumming.

"F-Fuck! I'm cumming!" You could feel him doing that.

You just kept your mouth around him, letting him shoot his seed into your mouth as you slowly pumped his length, waiting until he finished. And once he had finished, you slowly pulled him out of your mouth, swallowing his semen. That got an audible moan from your boyfriend. You looked back to him, a shy smile on your face as he looked at you in awe, gulping himself.

"Was...was that okay? I didn't graze you with my teeth or anything, right--"

"Shut up." And like that, Chan immediately sat forward, capturing your lips with his. You were a bit taken aback, but you kissed him anyway, hearing him moan at the taste of his own cum. It didn't take him long to find one of your breasts, groping it as he pulled away, watching you moan a bit from the pleasure.

"Chan--"

"You are absolutely incredible. You know that, right?" Chan's eyes didn't leave yours as he lifted your sports bra up, revealing your perky nipple to him. He immediately leaned down, taking it into his mouth. You just let out a breathy moan, arching your back as you felt his tongue flick the hardened bud, watching Chan seperate from it with an audible pop. "Please, I'm begging you...I gotta taste you, baby. Let me return the favor. I wanna make you feel so good..."

You gulped, feeling yourself gush at his desperate pleads. He really wanted to do that? Did you want that? You did, but you felt nervous. Then again, you remembered to the first little exchange, and how loved Chan made you feel. Every ounce of nerves left your body because of this man.

And how could you possibly deny that?

"I...okay..." You gave a nod to him, and the sound Chan made as a result was delicious. You watched as he got up, grabbing your sweatpants and took them off of you, leaving you in your panties. He tossed those sweats to who knows where, before grabbing your panties. Before he pulled them off of you, he gave you one last look.

"Are you sure you wanna do this? We really don't have to if you don't want to." You swore you were going to get a cavity from how sweet this man was being to you.

"Chris." He gulped at your use of his English name. He knew you only used it when you were serious. "I'm sure. I trust you."

Chan smiled, quickly coming up to peck your lips, leaving another kiss on your forehead.

"I love you." He whispered. With that, he went back to where he was, slowly pulling your panties down and off of your body. Immediately, his eyes went wide.

Your cunt was so fucking beautiful in his eyes. It was sopping wet, it was pink, it was everything Chan could've ever hoped for. And the way you clenched around nothing...oh, it had him reeling.

"Holy shit, baby...your pussy is so pretty..." Chan adjusted himself, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he brought his head close, placing a kiss around your cunt. It made you whine. "And you're so wet...did sucking me off turn you on, baby girl?"

"Y-Yes..." You didn't know why, but you felt obligated to answer him. You couldn't help it. Chan just smiled, placing a kiss onto your clit, making you whine once more.

"Aw, you're so cute like this...I'll make you feel so good, okay? I'll make you feel so good..." And with that, he licked one long strip up your pussy, making you gasp and squirm, your back arching off of the bed. Chan hummed at your reaction, before diving in.

It was very safe to say that Chan knew what he was doing.

The way that he licked through your slit, only to clamp his mouth around your clit and suck, all while flicking his tongue against your sensitive bud made you moan out in ways you never thought were possible. He'd make slurping noises as he tried to suck up all of your juices, only to go back in for more. And eventually, he dove his tongue into your hole. That rewarded him with a dirty moan from you.

As he fucked your hole with his tongue, his nose bumped your clit, the man literally rubbing his face against your cunt, which felt so good. You couldn't help but grind your hips against his face, your hands flying down and gripping his hair as he continued to please you in ways you never thought were possible.

"C-Chan! Oh my--it's so good, your tongue is so good...!" You couldn't take much more. You knew yourself, and you could feel your body reacting. Chan could, too. It really didn't help that you were unexperienced, and that meant that you didn't have much stamina. "I...fuck, Chan, I'm close, please..."

Chan hummed, only increasing the speed of his movements. His hand gripped at your thigh, doing his best to keep them open as he brought you right up to your orgasm, which shot straight through you.

You squealed, your body jolting at the feeling of your orgasm hitting you hard. Your back arched, your thighs immediately clamped around Chan's head, and your hips bucked up. Chan held you steady, helping you through your orgasm until you finally calmed down, releasing your thighs from Chan's head.

"Shit..." You really didn't have anything else to say besides that. You were out of breath, panting like you had just run the high school mile. You heard Chan's laugh, wiping his face off with the bottom of his hoodie before moving up to you, kissing your cheek a few times.

"You did so good, hun, really. And you tasted amazing, too." You just let out your own breathy laugh at Chan's comment, tired after that orgasm.

"Where...where did you learn how to do that?" You looked to him as he hovered above you. Chan just smiled, brushing some of your hair out of your face.

"That, my beautiful girl, is a secret."

"Chan!"

"Y/n!"

"You're no fun..."

"Sure I am, you were enjoying yourself a minute ago--"

"Christopher Bahng!"

"Sorry, sorry!" Chan could only laugh at the pout you had on your face. After he placed a kiss to your forehead, he placed his own forehead there, rubbing his nose against yours. "I love you, baby."

"I love you, too." You smiled at his gesture. You really had the sweetest boyfriend. But his brand new hard on definitely didn't go unnoticed. You could feel it on your cunt, just sitting there. "Are you hard again?"

"Hey, you know I can't control it." Chan told you, giving a shy smile. You just smiled back, thinking to yourself for a second. It was already so close to you...it was so close to being inside of you.

"Well...you wanna pop my cherry then?"

"Wait, are you serious?" Chan's eyes widened at your comment, not expecting that from you. When you nodded, Chan immediately flushed, getting a little bit nervous. "Like, actually? You want me to take you right now?"

"Yeah." You gave him a nod, taking a second to breathe before continuing. "It's kind of what I said earlier. I trust you, a lot. And I know you'll be gentle, so..."

Chan immediately responded with placing his lips on yours, letting out a hum as he held you close to him. He was so happy, you made him so happy. And all of his patience, all of this waiting...

It finally paid off.

"Wait right here, I gotta go grab a condom-"

"It's fine, I'm on the pill."

"Are you actually for real right now?"

"Yeah?" Chan moaned at your response, wanting to just cum on the spot. Not only was he going to be your first. But he was going to be your first, and he wouldn't have to wear a dumb rubber on his dick while doing it.

He just wanted to worship you.

"Fuck, baby, you're gonna kill me one of these days...legs up for me." Chan watched you as you lifted your legs up, and he adjusted them so they rested on his shoulders.

Then, it was up to you to watch him closely, watching as he focused on getting himself lined up. You could feel his cockhead rubbing up and down against your pussy, trying to get himself just a bit more wet. The feeling made you shudder. Finally, he was ready, and his tip was prodding at your entrance. Before he entered you, he looked into your eyes, gulping.

"If it hurts, tell me and I'll stop immediately. Okay?" You nodded at Chan's words, watching him take a deep breath. And then, he was pushing into you.

Both of you moaned when his tip slipped inside of you. Chan moved so slowly, sinking deeper and deeper, almost like he was wading into water. You were so tight. You were tight, and warm, and wet, and soft, and it was perfect. He was honestly surprised he didn't bust right away.

As for you, you were surprised that it didn't hurt as much as you thought. Sure, it stung a bit, but that was probably because of how girthy Chan's dick was. If you were gonna be honest, it was more...uncomfortable? No...it was more unfamiliar than uncomfortable. It was new to you, and it was new to your body. It made your face scrunch, which didn't go unnoticed by Chan. He immediately stopped, looking into your eyes.

"You okay? Does it hurt?"

"No, I'm fine, it's just...weird, I guess." You squirmed a bit, trying to figure out what you thought.

"Good weird or bad weird?"

"Good, I think."

"So I can keep going?"

"Yeah." Chan nodded at your response, continuing to push in. The deeper he got, the more pleasurable it got. And before you knew it, he was sheathed inside of you, waiting for your signal to move.

"Feel okay?" Chan looked at you in the eyes, watching you nod. Your face was finally starting to show pleasure to him, which made Chan relax. And after you moved to try and adjust yourself a bit to get more comfortable, pleasure shot through you, and you moaned.

"Fuck..." Your brows furrowed as your jaw dropped, your eyes going to Chan's. "You...you can move."

"Okay...okay..." Chan then did as you said, starting to give you slow thrusts. Both of you moaned out, your head falling back as Chan's fell forward. You both basked in each other, enjoying how good you both felt because of the other.

"Chan..." You whined, reaching up for him. Chan moved down, letting you wrap your arms around his neck. He moaned into your ear, keeping his hips moving, his pace getting slightly faster with each thrust.

"You're doing so good, baby...fuck, you're squeezing me so well..." As Chan praised you, he moved down and kissed your neck, leaving marks as he moved faster.

There was one thrust where his dick rubbed right up against your soft spot. Upon feeling it, you let out a filthy moan, one you didn't even know you were capable of making, and you clenched around Chan, which made him moan out as well. You were already tight, and now that you were clenching? Chan was certain he just saw God.

"Baby, you can't...fuck, I'm gonna cum already...you're driving me up a wall here, you feel too good..." Chan moved faster, bringing a hand down to your waist, holding onto you as he snapped his hips up into yours, making you moan out and grab onto him, clinging for dear life.

"I-I'm close, I'm gonna cum!" You held onto Chan tighter, your boyfriend just leaning down and kissing your lips, grunts leaving him as he got closer. And before you knew it, you hit your orgasm, your thighs trying to close once more as your body trembled, a loud and very pornographic moan leaving you.

You were almost certain you heard Chan growl in response to that.

"Fuck!" Chan immediately pulled out, hitting his own orgasm as he jerked himself off, shooting his white ropes onto your stomach. Once Chan had calmed down a bit, he fell forward onto an arm, one hand still on his dick, just holding it as he breathed heavily into your ear. You were also breathing heavily, your arms relaxing around him.

"Oh...my god..." You trailed, Chan swallowing his spit as he slowly sat up, running a hand through his hair.

"So... how was that for your first time?" Chan asked, smiling down at you. You just mumbled nonsense, Chan only laughing before standing up, leaving you for a few minutes. While he was gone doing...whatever he was doing, you had time to just try and calm your body down.

Eventually, Chan came back, placing a few kisses onto your cheek and forehead before picking you up and bringing you to the bathroom, setting you into the water before taking off your sports bra. He then took off his sweatshirt before getting in behind you, laying you back against his chest.

"You okay?" Chan asked, holding you close to him as you nodded. Chan just smiled, placing a few more kisses onto your head before starting to use a rag and clean you off, making sure you were clean from your first time. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Yeah. It was magical." You smiled up at him, Chan smiling back and placing another kiss to your lips, continuing to wash you off. "I'm really happy you were my first time, Chan."

"I'm happy I could be your first time." Chan told you, setting the rag aside before rubbing your shoulders.

"So is this aftercare a first time thing, or can I expect to get this treatment every time?" You asked, Chan just laughing at you.

"You know I'll spoil you any chance I get, baby." Chan told you, kissing your head.

Eventually, he got out of the water, drying himself off before slipping on a pair of sweatpants he had left at your apartment, turning to you and helping you out of the tub. He dried you off as well, and just slipped one of his hoodies onto you. And then, he took you to the bed, laying you down before getting in next to you, pulling you into his chest.

"I know I've said this a lot tonight, but I really do love you, baby girl. You're the best thing that's happened to me." Chan told you, seeing you smile in his arms.

"After Stray Kids, right?"

"After that? No way in hell. They're a close second though."

"Ah. I'm telling them that."

"What--Baby, don't do that!"

"I'm totally telling Minho first, he'll air fry you, or maybe stuff your face with tissues, or-"

"Y/N!"

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding." You just giggled, placing a kiss onto his lips before snuggling into his arms.

"I love you, too."

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

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haarrrys · 13 days ago

Note

Hi! I must say your style of writing really hits. 💞

I would like to request a Minho x reader where Minho pretty much knows everything about reader and picks up on every mannerism. When he gets out of the shower reader gets hot and bothered and tries to hide it but he knows, he always does. Basically he gives her a night to remember.

(I also really don’t like degradation I’m a praise girly all the way)

(I really don’t want to sound picky but I would love if the reader just called him “Minho” or “Min” and he called her “Baby”, “My love”)

Hi! Thank you so much for suggesting this really good idea! I really hope this is up to your standard!

Edit (literally I just finished writing this): Um, I want to take the time to apologize for how LONG this took. Life for me just decided to take a knife and bring it over to me and just stab me repeatedly, like, SEVERAL times. So, um, I really hope you enjoy, and hopefully you really really like it!

Read Like a Book

Summary: Minho had always been good at reading you, ever since the two of you started dating. And so it wasn't hard for him to know the signs of when you got turned on. So when you had gotten aroused when Minho got out of the shower, he was easily able to tell. Even when you tried to hide it.

Pairing: Minho X Reader (F!)

Genre: Fluff, Humor, Smut (18+)

Warnings: Soft Pleasure Dom! Minho, sub! Reader, Minho reads reader like a book, making out, fingering, unprotective penetrative sex (wrap it before you tap it please and thank!), praise, COMMUNICATION (ugh communication is lowkey so hot i can't--), creampie, 100% 18+ (seriously like if you're a minor don't read pls and thank you <3)

Word Count: 2.1K

You and Minho had known each other ever since Chan had introduced the two of you. That was 3 whole years ago. And in that time, Minho had gotten to know you very, very well. All of your mannerisms, your ticks, your triggers...all of it.

His stage name was Lee Know for a reason.

He can still recall your first date with him. The two of you had gone out to eat, visiting and getting to really know each other. Through that first date, Minho could always tell when something he said landed, and when it didn't. You had a cute habit of swiping your tongue along the inside of your bottom lip before biting it when something you didn't like was said. When you did like it, you'd smile and giggle.

He also learned that when something annoyed you, you'd click your tongue. Such as when you were both waiting for the bill, but the waiter was taking forever. Sure enough, every time you spoke, there was a little click of your tongue before you spoke.

He only learned more from there.

When you were nervous or scared, you tended to cling to his arm if he was nearby and whine. When Minho wasn't, you'd crack your knuckles and pick at your nails.

If you felt sick, you wouldn't eat. You also always curled up on the couch and wouldn't move like you usually did to adjust when your back would hurt.

When you were happy, you practically filled with energy and got bouncy, squealing and shaking Minho. He loved that about you. And your smile, even though you tended to cover it up whenever you giggled.

When you were mad, you inherited Minho's nose sigh. As in, you'd sigh through your nose, and say that you were fine, even when you weren't. There was tongue clicking too, but not in the way when you were annoyed. You'd just click your tongue at whatever you didn't like as a response.

Minho got really, really good at reading you from there. Every little thing that you did, Minho would remember. Like how when he'd go get food and you said you didn't want anything, you actually did. You just didn't want Minho to buy anything for you. And depending on your answer when he asked you if you were sure, he knew exactly what to get you.

"Yeah, I'm absolutely sure." That meant Kimbap.

"Mhm. Go ahead." Korean fried chicken.

"Yep!" That was always Bibimbap with extra gochujang and two fried eggs instead of one.

He even learned your texting patterns. If things were sent in segments, it meant you were doing great. If you were sending long paragraphs, you were annoyed, but not at Minho. If you used punctuation? You were pissed with him. Whenever you said "I'm fine", you weren't fine, and Minho needed to be with you as soon as he could, because it usually meant you were crying.

He. Knew. Everything.

That's how he knew you were genuinely excited to see him when you arrived at his and Jisung's dorm. Except Jisung was currently in Incheon visiting his family. So it'd just be the two of you.

"Hey, Min!" You were quick to greet him with a hug, happy to see your lover. And Min returned the hug with a smile, kissing your cheek before pulling back to see your face.

"Hi, baby..." And after giving you a quick peck on both your lips and forehead, he pulled away again, cupping your face in his hands, admiring your beauty. Oh, he was so lucky to have you as his girlfriend. "Did you pick out movies like I asked?"

"I did!" The bright smile on your face meant Minho knew exactly what he had gotten himself into.

"Baby, don't tell me it's--"

"Barbie, Fairytopia; Mermaidia! Duh!" Minho should've known...He let out a sigh as you laughed, only to hug him. So you knew he'd react like this...you stinker.

"Baby."

"I swear it's good, Min! I promise, you'll love it after watching it!"

"I don't wanna watch Barbie, hun."

"Come on, please?" And then, there were the puppy eyes. Damn it all, Minho wasn't gonna survive the night.

"...fine." And there was that excited squeal as you latched onto his arm and shook him. He could only smile and pat your shoulder. You were really too adorable for him. "But I need to shower first."

"That's fine, I can set everything up." You gave Minho a soft smile as you backed off, Minho just pressing a kiss to your forehead one last time before walking away.

"And make sure you put extra butter on the popcorn."

"I will!"

And so, you got to work while Minho went into the shower. You laid out blankets, got a bunch of pillows, changed into one of Minho's shirts...and you even got popcorn ready with so much butter. Like, that shit was dripping with it.

Absolutely perfect.

And so, once you finished up with getting things set up, you headed to Minho's room to see if he was out of the shower. He wasn't. You could still hear the water running. And so, you decided to sit on his bed and wait for him, scrolling through your phone. It only took a few more minutes for Minho to open the door and walk out, wearing only a towel.

And you looked up. You regretted doing that.

Why'd he have to be so hot, firstly? Like, who gave him permission to be that hot? You didn't remember giving him that permission. But the way the extra water clung to his body, the way his chest looked fresh out of the shower, and the hair...Oh, the hair...

You swallowed, shifting a bit to rub your thighs together, a small shudder leaving you. You...didn't realize that Minho caught your small actions, though.

Minho was a very observant man, after all. He caught everything.

He smirked, raising a brow as his hand held where his towel's ends met, giving you a look of curiosity and amusement. And then, he spoke in that teasing tone of his. The one that would end you.

"Are you turned on right now?" He watched as you swallowed again, the way your tongue poked out of your mouth to wet your lip. And then, you bit your lower lip subtly. Very, very subtly.

"N-No..." You were quiet. Your voice had that very specific softness, letting Minho know that yeah. You wanted him.

"You sure?" Minho smirked, walking towards you slowly, almost like you were prey. You moved back, a shaky breath leaving you as you nodded. But it was when Minho placed his arms on either side of you. "There's nothing wrong with getting hot and bothered with me, you know. I'm your boyfriend."

"Y-Yeah, but..." And there was your mistake. You stuttered. Oops.

"But what, baby?"

"I really wanted to watch that movie with you..."

"We can always watch it after I fuck your brains out." WHOA, okay. That got you to shift and gulp, whimpering at his words. Minho hummed, smiling as he moved to kiss your nose. "Ah, I knew it. Do you wanna feel good, baby?"

You know what? Yeah. You did. And so, you nodded, looking up at Minho with hooded eyes and parted lips.

"Yeah..."

"Yeah?" Minho smiled, humming as he pecked your lips softly, only to pull back a bit to look at you again. "I promise I won't go too hard, okay? That way, we can still watch your movie."

Oh. You loved this man.

And with that, Minho kissed you once again, making you hum and wrap your arms around his neck. Minho took his towel off, knowing he wouldn't need it. And from there, he took your shirt off as well, smiling softly as he saw you didn't have a bra on.

"Ah, no bra?" Minho smiled softly, only for you to pout and hit his arm.

"Stop, you know they're uncomfortable!"

"I know, I know..." Minho just laughed softly, kissing your forehead as his hands went to your panties, slowly pulling them down. "I don't mind if you have your bra off. Just...not when Jisung is home, okay?"

"Okay..." You just smiled, kissing Minho's cheek before the two of you continued. Minho got your panties off, tossing them to who knows where. And then, his fingers found your clit, softly pressing before giving small circles, making you moan. "M-Min..."

"Feel good, baby?" Minho smiled softly, placing gentle kisses on your shoulder. His pace never changed, keeping it nice and steady. Why? He had to make sure you were wet enough to take him.

He...wasn't exactly small.

"Gotta get my pretty baby nice and wet...yeah? You're always so good for me, always getting so wet..." Minho's voice was slightly gruff, making you whine and open your legs.

"Min, please...want you--"

"I know you do, baby...but I wanna make sure you're ready." Minho just kissed your forehead, watching you closely. "I love you..."

"Love you too..."

Eventually, Minho deemed you wet enough for him. And so, he carefully spread your legs, lightly smacking his cock against your clit, making you gasp and whine. It was always a cute reaction due to how sensitive you were.

"That's it, good girl...just gotta get my cock slick, okay?" Minho glanced up at you, watching you closely. You were whimpering, legs spread and pussy very much ready. But you knew that it was necessary.

And once Minho was fully ready, he slowly pushed in, both of you moaning as he slowly went deeper and deeper. He bent down to get closer to you, pressing his forehead against yours, kissing your lips softly before looking at you softly.

"How do you want me?"

"S-Slow...deep and slow..."

Minho could do that.

He gave you nice, deep strokes, his hips grinding into yours almost painfully. All the while, the two of you kissed, Minho muffling your moans as he moved. Each stroke hit every single spot you needed him to hit, your hands gripping at his back as he moved.

"God, you feel so good, baby...so tight..." Minho pulled back to talk to you, his eyes hooded and brows furrowed. "You're so fucking perfect, baby...so, so perfect..."

All the while, you moaned in response, your back arching. Minho was making you feel beyond amazing, but you needed just a bit more from him.

"M-Min...want more..." Your voice sounded so erotic to Minho. So angelic. It was absolutely incredible.

"More? Faster?"

"N-No...clit..."

"Ah, my love wants her clit rubbed, huh?" Minho smiled, sliding his hand down to your clit, giving you soft, precise circles. At this point, he was here for your pleasure. He wanted to do what it took to make you feel good. "Good? More? Less?"

"Go-Good, so good, Minho..." Your eyes rolled back in your head, moans leaving you as you looked up at Minho, your eyes filled with love. And so was his. "Fuck, I-I'm gonna cum..."

"Go ahead, baby...go ahead and cum..." Minho wanted you to. He wasn't gonna tell you that he was close too, all from watching you get as much pleasure as you could handle.

It took 4 more thrusts.

Your eyes rolled back, a moan leaving your lips as you arched your back. Your orgasm washed over your body so delightfully well, making the tips of your toes and the very top of your head fill with pleasure.

And upon seeing you cum, Minho quickly followed, filling you up. And as you both panted, Minho placed soft kisses on your neck, smiling against your skin.

"I love you, baby..." Minho's voice was gentle. Soft. Perfect. And it made your heart flutter, and your stomach fill with butterflies.

"I love you, too..."

And after cleaning up, You and Minho curled up on the couch together. Minho had your legs in your lap as the two of you watched the Barbie movie you had picked out, Minho smiling as he watched it, his hands rubbing your calves.

"Y'know, this isn't as bad as I thought." Minho had eventually admitted it about halfway through the movie. "That Bibble thing is really like Changbin, huh?"

"See? I told you." You couldn't help but smile, giggling as Minho rolled his eyes.

"This is the last Barbie movie I'm watching with you."

"See, you say that--"

"I'm serious!"

"And so am I!" You couldn't help but laugh as Minho purposefully rolled his eyes back into his head, acting like this was the bane of his existence. "Min, seriously! There are so many other good ones!"

"I love you, but you're making me hate you right now."

"You don't hate me!"

He didn't. He loved you to the moon and back.

Taglist: @miss-daisy04 @kayleefriedchicken @wolfs-archive @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @wolfs-howling @rose-w-00-d @skzlover24 @sammhisphere

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haarrrys · 13 days ago

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haarrrys · 13 days ago

Text

[Chan's serotonin booster video]

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haarrrys · 13 days ago

Photo

lee know - skz-talker go in sydney

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haarrrys · 20 days ago

Note

Could you do Chan talking you through your first time 🫣

·:*¨༺ ♱✮ first time

𓆩❤︎𓆪: ̗̀➛ in which your boyfriend wants to take things to the next level ꒰ 𝓹airing ꒱ bf!chan x gn!reader ᵍᵉⁿʳᵉ/ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ ⤑ smut 18+ (mdni), penetration, tried to make gender neutral:), praise, chan talks a LOT, softdom!chan, fluff, use of lube

⤑ a/n: sorry if this is a lil short >_<

“fuck baby, i got you,” chan says, his hands caressing my sides. his touch so light, so gentle. “you sure?” he asks again.

i nod my head, “yes chris i’m so sure,” i whisper, kissing his lips again to confirm my words. im bare aside from my underwear, as was chan.

“god ok, yes i got you baby. ill do all the work ok? you just relax and i’ll make you feel good,” he moans, running his finger under the waistline of my bottoms, looking up at me before tugging them down my legs.

i whine as the air hits me, making goosebumps rise on my skin. chan rids himself of his remaining clothes, tossing them on the ground somewhere.

“gonna take such good care of my baby,” he muttered, more to himself than me. he brings his hand lower, playing with me slightly. “gotta prep you ok?”

chan grabs a bottle of lube from bedside table, squirting some onto my hole and his fingers. “it’s ok baby, it’s normal. don’t want to hurt you yeah?”

i nod at his words, then gasp when his fingers spread the lube around, then push his fingers in. i moan out, grabbing onto his bicep. chan smiles down at me, nodding. “there you go baby, just relax okay? it’s gonna feel so good i promise.”

i relax more into the bed, panting already at the new feeling. “yes chris! feels good baby.”

he adds another finger, scissoring them to open me up. when he retracts them, i sigh at the loss of pleasure. chan chuckles again. “eager baby, promise i’ll give you what you want.”

he then adds more lube to his member, stroking it slowly. my eyes widen at his size. “chris-“ i mutter, making his eyes snap to mine.

he grabs my hand, squeezing it lightly. “it’s ok baby, i’ll go slow okay?” he says, to which i gulp and nod. he brings the head to my hole, slowly dragging it to smear the wetness around. his tip catches, and i gasp. “i’m gonna push in now ok baby? gonna go nice and slow for you,” he moans.

he pushes just an inch in, but i gasp and he stops. “you ok?” he asks, leaning down but careful not to push in any further, to give me a kiss on the cheek.

“yeah- yeah keep going i’m ok,” i nod, catching his lips i a messy kiss. he pushes in more, slowly. his kisses along my face, and before i know it he stops. “why’d you stop?” i whine, teary eyes looking into his.

“letting you adjust baby,” he whispers against my skin. i look down and see his hips flush with mine. i moan at the sight and kiss him again. “god i love you so much angel.”

“i love you more chris,” i moan. i move my hips slightly, and chan gets the idea. he moves his hips back slowly, only half way before pushing in again.

it burns slightly, but eventually the pain subsides into overwhelming pleasure. “so good for me. so beautiful under me. you’re doing so good my baby,” chris says, words spilling out of his mouth.

his hips move faster after a few thrusts. “i’m not gonna last baby god you feel so good,” he breaths out. chan’s eyes screw shut, and i can see the self restraint on his face. “please baby, cum with me. i need you to baby, need to make you feel good. so good- fuck so good for me.” he rambles.

his words break something in me as i let go, holding into his shoulders and bringing him down so hips lips meet mine. he groans against them, and i can feel his cock jump, before he slowly pulls out and cums all over my stomach.

“fuck baby, so pretty covered in me,” he says, his eyes locked in on the sight, before they travel to my face. he lights up with a smile on his face, kissing me hard. “always so good for me. so perfect.”

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haarrrys · 20 days ago

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Baby On Board

Chris x fem!reader

Warnings: nothing!

Genre: strangers to possible lovers, flufffffff

Summary: You see a poor (hot) dad struggling with a crying baby in your flight, and step in to help. And sparks fly.

a/n: Short, but I tried. So tired I wanna pass out. Happy weekend everyone 🫶

It was exactly 58 minutes and 35 seconds since the very cute, very angry baby in 23A began crying. You couldn’t blame the kid - it was a long-haul flight - the adults were barely coping. Still, the loud wails had your head pounding.

You peeked over the seat, and saw the lone soldier of 23A. OH.

He looked absolutely exhausted - but yet gorgeous - messy dark hair, slightly sweaty, dark circles under his brown eyes. He bounced the baby in his arms, trying desperately to calm the poor child down, but it was like she had no plans to stop.

Your heart went out to the poor man. He was trying his best. But a couple of passengers muttered complaints loud enough for him to hear. One guy even hit him with a passive-aggressive, "Maybe some people shouldn't fly with babies."

You’d had enough of the rudeness. And, you did something insane. You stood up, and made your way over to 23A.

“Excuse me,” you said, tapping his shoulder.

He turned around, eyes widening when he met yours. Up close, he looked even more gorgeous, even if completely wrecked. His lips parted as if to apologize again.

“Do you want me to hold her for a bit?” you offered gently, glancing at the red-faced, wailing infant. “It looks like you could use a break.”

His jaw dropped slightly as he asked, “Are you serious?” His strong Australian accent hit you square in the gut.

“Completely serious,” you replied, smiling.

He hesitated only for a moment before nodding, looking like he was about to cry out of gratitude. "Thank you. God, thank you."

He handed the baby over carefully, like she was made of glass. The little one, red as a tomato and just as angry, locked eyes with you. You started gently bouncing her, speaking to her in a soft whisper. She gazed at you, her loud wails softening into tiny whimpers and then as if someone flipped a switch, she fell quiet.

Her father watched in absolute surprise (and some exasperation) as she let out a little sigh, snuggled in against your boobs (of course she did), and fell asleep. Just like that.

"What the…?" The man looked at you like you were a literal angel. "Are you some kind of baby whisperer? How did you do that?!"

“Trade secret.” You grinned.

“Seriously, she hasn’t slept in days. I mean, I haven’t slept in days. I don’t even remember what my knees feel like.” He said.

“Sleep is for the weak.” You nodded sagely, making him laugh.

“I can't thank you enough for this… I was this close to jumping out of the emergency exit.”

“Oh not dramatic at all,” You teased.

“Not at all,” He laughed. “I'm Chris, by the way. And she's Mia.”

“Y/N,” You said, rocking the baby in your arms, her warmth spreading into you like the sweetest hug.

When you were sure that she was asleep, you leaned forward to place her in the bassinet. It took only a second for the baby’s eyes to snap open, and her face scrunched in fury. She let out a blood-curdling scream that made Chris groan and bury his face in his hands.

“Okay,” you said, sitting back down with the baby nestled against your chest. “I guess this is my seat now.”

He shot you a sheepish, but grateful smile. “You don’t have to do this. I feel so bad…”

“Don’t feel bad,” you interrupted, adjusting the baby in your arms as she snuggled in. “Just so you know, you’re doing great.”

“Am I?” he asked with a self-deprecating laugh, running a hand through his messy curls. “Because it sure doesn’t feel like it.”

“You are,” you assured him firmly. “She’s fed, she’s loved, and you’re trying everything. That’s all that matters.”

He exhaled deeply, like your words actually lifted a weight off his chest.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

He laughed again, his whole face lighting up, and suddenly the exhaustion made him look even sexier. How was that even possible?

You quickly stopped that train of thought. He has a kid. That meant he had a partner. You quickly looked away, feeling a little embarrassed.

Mia whimpered gently in her sleep, and then nuzzled into your soft chest and fell asleep again. Chris sighed, watching his daughter sleep.

“She’s had colic the past two weeks,” he admitted quietly. “I didn't even know what I was doing wrong.”

“You did nothing wrong, Chris,” You said softly. “These things happen. It's always something or the other with babies. Besides you'd have some support -”

“Her mom’s not in the picture. Left right after she was born.”

You glanced at him, your heart squeezing. “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head.

“We were never really together, it's the strangest story really. Ahh, it’s been hard. But… Mia’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Your heart did something that had you holding the baby tighter against you.

“You’re seriously incredible,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t know how to thank you for this.”

“Dinner works,” you said casually, surprising even yourself.

He blinked, then smirked. “Are you always this smooth, or is it just me?”

You shrugged, your lips quirking up. “I think it's Mia. But you'd learn eventually…if at all -”

And judging by the way his eyes lingered on yours, it looked like that’s exactly what he intended to do.

You landed, and you tried to hand over Mia to Chris at the baggage claim. But she had a tiny fistful of your soft pink jumper, and was totally unwilling to let go. So here you were, walking beside Chris towards the exit, Mia still fast asleep in your arms and Chris, carrying your small trolley bag along with his massive duffle bag and a little bag of the baby's things.

You tried to wrestle it off his hands, but he shot you a tired but warm smile.

“You’re holding my kid. Least I can do is hold a bag.”

It was hard not to feel your heart melt at his words.

As you walked toward the arrivals area, you could see your best friend Minho waiting for you, spinning his car keys around his finger. His handsome face wore a bored expression that immediately turned into bewilderment when he saw you.

His sharp gaze flicked from the baby in your arms to Chris, carrying three bags like a domestic god, and back to you.

“Oh my god,” Minho said loudly, striding toward you. “Please don’t tell me you’ve had a secret husband and baby hidden away in Australia.”

You burst out laughing, swatting him on the arm. Even Chris chuckled, though he looked just a little awkward.

“Minho, meet Chris,” you said, still grinning. “And this is Mia. Chris, this is Minho, my deranged bestie. And no, Min, she’s not mine, and I am not secretly married.”

Minho narrowed his eyes playfully. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Nice to meet you, man. And thanks for not jumping to any conclusions.” Chris adjusted the bags on his shoulder, smirking.

Minho snorted. “Oh, don't mention it.”

“Can you behave for, like, five minutes?” You said, rolling your eyes.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Minho quipped before turning his attention to Chris again. “What’s the story here?”

“Mia's been having a rough time on the flight, so I was just helping out.” you supplied quickly, seeing your gremlin of a best friend already starting to look way too invested in this.

“Helping out, huh?” Minho’s smirk widened.

Chris’s ears turned a faint shade of pink, and you shot Minho a warning glare. “Don’t start.”

Minho held up his hands in mock innocence. “I didn’t say a word.”

The moment was broken by Mia stirring slightly in your arms. You looked down, your expression softening as you whispered, “Hello there.”

Mia made grabby hands at you, his tiny hands caressing your face.

Chris watched you like you’d hung the stars, his gaze so intense it made your stomach flip. When you looked up and caught him staring, he smiled - a real, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Here,” you said, stepping closer and gently handing Mia back to him. But before you let go, you pressed a soft kiss to her tiny hand.

“Bye, sweetie,” you murmured, your voice laced with affection.

Chris held her carefully, his expression unreadable as he looked at you.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For everything. Really.”

You nodded, smiling. “Text me about dinner?”

He grinned, the tiredness in his face momentarily replaced by something lighter, more playful. “Oh, I will.”

As he walked away, you felt the weight of Minho’s smirk before you even turned to face him.

“Don’t,” you warned.

“Oh, I’m gonna,” he teased. “So. Flirting with a hot single dad? Is this just a new hobby, or should I expect babysitting duties soon?”

“I was helping him, Minho.” You groaned.

“Right,” he said, dragging out the word dramatically. “And I’m here because I love airports.”

You shoved him lightly, but as you walked toward the parking lot, you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

Because, honestly? You couldn’t wait for that call.

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @hwangjoanna @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120 @silly250 @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @sammhisphere @soona-huh @princesskrystix @thecutiepieme

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haarrrys · 1 month ago

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PHOTOS YOU'VE TAKEN OF YOUR BOYFRIEND CHAN PT.3

please don't repost, requests open! | masterlist | sign up for the taglist

perm taglist: @bang-chan-my-man, @themothgraveyard, @remihrtsyou stray kids taglist: @yukichan67, @yukisroom97, @flipitkickit, @turtledove824, @boddaramji-tomorrow, @smuttaburger, @felix-my-sunshine-aussie-boy, @bambisnc, @sov-va

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haarrrys · 1 month ago

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This is a place where I feel at home

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Og8 X gn reader

Summary: After dance practice, you collapse with a seizure.

Genre: 9th member AU

Word Count: 3K

A/N: Requestee, you specifically asked for this. I know seizures can look different and vary from person-to-person, based upon the type of seizures and diagnosis, so I just did a general overview. I hope I managed to write something, that's difficult irl for you, and create something that can make you smile <3 (actually, I hope it makes you laugh)

_ _ _

Sweat seeped out of every pore. In the center of the group, all nine of you became a single entity. Breathing, moving, and creating movements that rippled through time. You were soaked in your own sweat. The collar of your shirt clung damply to your neck. It stuck between your armpits, but there wasn’t time to pull it away from your skin.

Stomps echoed and the swell of music caused your fingers to stretch in front of you. You grabbed the open air before jerking your body back and fitting between an open pocket of empty space. Between Han and Seungmin, your lungs heaved for air, but none of you stopped. There wasn’t any time.

You spun and rocked your weight from one foot to the other in a hop motion. Another twirl, bigger arm movements, and the facial expressions didn’t matter yet. You lost count of how many times you’d gone through all these motions. Another dance practice, another day spent losing yourself in the music. Your lungs ached, but you didn’t complain.

You lived for this. All the sweat didn’t matter. You caught glimpses of everyone in the mirror. You still didn’t understand how one choreographer taught all nine of you the dance moves. Over and over again, she went over the moves and helped you turn your body on time. Each movement translated to the beat and you flew again.

“Come on! You’re nearly finished! Keep up the energy!”

Behind you, she stood in the corner watching your formation. Her eyes swayed from person-to-person, trying to make sure nothing seemed amiss. It all ran perfectly, just like she imagined it to go. Everyone moved like she wanted them to.

When the song came to an end, loud claps came from the same corner. “Great job everyone! You did so well!”

Han was the first to sink to his knees. Muscular arms stretched outward in his sleeveless black top. “Oh, god. My arms are on fire, I think I’m going to die.”

The muscles in your arms felt the same way. No matter how much you danced, you weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to the burning sensation from swinging your arms around so much. You chuckled at his antics, shook your head, and went to your bag to grab your water.

Changbin’s laughter cut through the air. He pointed at Hyunjin, making fun of him. “Look at you, you’re practically drowning in your own sweat.”

“I don’t have the energy to fight you right now.”

“Looking good as per usual, hyung,” Felix teased.

A hand ran through Hyunjin’s hair. Sweaty strands jerked back and fell right back into his face. He huffed and collapsed beside Han. “Ugh, I wanna go home, but I think I need to take five. Just a few minutes to catch my breath.”

You’d been with the guys for so long, the scent of combined sweat didn’t bother you anymore. You’d gone nose blind to it, but you could feel the warmth of the room. The heat that built from moving bodies, flying limbs, and the stuffy contained feeling that caused your skin to itch.

“Hey.” A finger reached out and poked you in the back of your shoulder blade. You turned around to find Minho staring at you. “Am I taking you home today, or are you going with one of the other guys?”

“I wanted to go with you, if that’s okay. Chan, Changbin, and Han are all staying over. I don’t know what the rest of the guys are doing.”

Minho spun around to face everyone else and his voice raised. “Who needs a ride back to the dorms?”

Felix and Seungmin’s arms shot up. Jeongin glanced up from digging in his backpack. “Wait! Don’t make me drive back alone! Yongbok, be my passenger princess.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“I guess that means I’m with the cat and dog,” you mumbled beneath your breath.

“What was that?” Minho asked.

“Nothing.”

He blinked multiple times and shook his head. “Alright, Seungmin, let’s go.” He walked beside the leather couch, grabbed his bag, and headed towards the door.

You barely had time to grab your bag and follow him. Seungmin rushed after both of you. He waved to the guys, promised Felix he’d see him back home, and hurried into the hall. You and Minho were already halfway down it. From the practice room, Hyunjin grumbled, insisting that nobody loved him because nobody wanted to ride home with him. It didn’t take long for Changbin to straddle his back and confess his love.

In the air conditioned hall, you grabbed your water bottle and slowly sipped, relishing the cool water. The insulated bottle kept your ice water cold. When it came to days like this, you were always thankful for it. You spent a pretty penny on it, but it came from the recommendation of Chan. He used the same brand and always liked having cold water at his disposal, no matter the day.

“Can you two slow down?” Seungmin called out. “You’re acting like race horses and we have nowhere to be right now.”

“I have a place to be, it’s called the shower. I don’t know about you, but it’s calling my name.” Minho rushed down the stairs. “I’m in a hurry to get there because, unlike you, I don’t try to attract people to me via my scent.”

“Oh, shut up.”

You chuckled at their antics and took your time going down the stairs. In the lobby, a group of trainees was being addressed by their own manager. When the group spotted the three seniors, they ducked into a respectful bow. You smiled and waved at them. Blushes and shy eyes looked away. Seungmin greeted them back and Minho dropped a respectable nod.

All three of you knew what it was like meeting senior groups. The butterflies and nerves came fluttering back. It’d been years ago, but you remembered it like it was yesterday. As you walked past them, nostalgia hit you hard.

Minho held the door open for you and you thanked him. When it came to Seungmin, he let the door go before he walked through the exit. The door started to retract and bumped into Seungmin as he left the building. “Real mature. Thanks a lot, hyung.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome.”

“I’m getting the passenger’s seat.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m calling dibs.”

“Overruled. It’s my car and I pick the assigned seats.” Minho glanced back at you. “You can have the passenger’s seat.”

Your head shook. “No, that’s okay. Seungmin can have it if he wants it.”

“Did you not hear me? I said I pick the assigned seats. You’re up front with me.”

“Yeah, okay. Seungmin?” You spun around. “Give me your bag and I’ll put it in the trunk.” He tossed his duffle bag in your direction, you caught it with a grunt.

Minho pressed a button on his key fob and the back of his trunk retracted. Without complaint, you headed over and placed your bags in his trunk. Seungmin threw open the back door and slipped inside. Just as he was about to buckle, Minho tossed his bag between the driver and passenger’s seat, causing it to slam into Seungmin’s chest. “Hold that.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Did I stutter? Can you hear?” His eyes narrowed. “Should we take you to a doctor and get your ears cleaned out? They’re probably full of wax. No wonder why you don’t listen to what you’re told.”

“Real mature.”

You shut the trunk and looked over. Afternoon slipped into an early evening. The tangerine sky laid with highlights of soft pink. Supple streaky white clouds rolled warmth into your heart. It’d been a while since you’d been out of work early enough to catch the sunset before it faded into darkness.

Seungmin huffed and pushed Minho’s bag to his side. It stayed upright on the leather seats. Minho looked in the rearview mirror and glared. “Hey, I said hold onto that.”

“I’m not holding your bag the entire drive home.”

“You have no respect for your elders.”

“And the only thing you’re good at is bossing today’s youth around. I’m sorry you're bitter because your joints creak and your back aches. Don’t take it out on me, take it up with your geriatrician and try some fish oil pills.”

“What the hell did you just say to me, punk?” He unbuckled his seatbelt and jerked around in his seat. “Say it again and see what happens.”

“I said take it up with the doctor that specializes in old people!”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Do you kiss anyone at all?”

Minho lunged back, trying to smack the back of Seungmin’s head, but Seungmin ducked down, just narrowly avoiding it. “Missed me, asshole.”

“Come here!”

Meanwhile, your hand expanded outwards and you reached out for the side of the car. You mumbled Minho’s name, but he couldn’t hear it as he argued with Seungmin. It became a sixth sense, an inkling that you were on the verge of something happening. You tried again, softly calling out for Seungmin, but it didn’t work.

Light fractured and your body caved in. Knees buckled and you tried to stay upright, but your fingers caught nothing, only the smooth black paint of Minho’s car. A loud thud and a sharp pain filled your head. The sharp colors of the sky blended into a watercolor painting. An empty static and then the eerie silence of nothingness.

The moment a loud bang came from the back of the vehicle, Minho stopped reaching for Seungmin and glanced out the trunk window. “Hey, where’d they go?”

“Weren’t they just putting the bags in the trunk?”

“Yeah, but they did and– ah, shit.”

Seungmin’s eyes widened and he jerked his car door open. It wasn’t always, but you did have seizures every so often. Usually, the guys tried to keep an eye on you, but their actions were limited. You couldn’t spend your whole life being watched twenty-four-seven. He slammed his car door shut and rushed around the car.

Minho cursed and dropped down beside your shaking body. Every muscle in your body tensed and you jerked unconsciously. A faint noise left your throat. Unaware of it all, there was nothing you could do to stop your brain from firing in all the wrong ways. Muscles spasmed and your fingers twitched.

“Help me get them onto their side!” Minho barked.

Seungmin dropped down on your other side. Together, they worked to shift you onto your left side. One of your shoes dug into the cement and scraped across the pavement in the process. He popped up over your body, opened the truck, and quickly unzipped his bag. Minho glanced up in confusion.

“Here, use this to stabilize their head.” He pulled out a hoodie and folded it into a square.

Minho grabbed it and gently worked it beneath your head. “There you go. It’s okay, we’ve got you.”

Seungmin’s hand reached out and grabbed your top ankle. He tried to be cautious, but also stop you from jerking back onto your back. The recovery position, laying on your side, is important when a seizure is active. Minho’s hand hovered above your shoulder. If you jerked back, he gently steadied you.

“Should we call for an ambulance?”

“Not unless it doesn’t stop. We’ve been over this, remember?”

“I know, but I still worry.”

“We have to trust that they know their own body.”

For so long, you’d dealt with seizures. Your doctor tried medicine to stabilize you, but sometimes your brain had a mind of its own. You just had to wait for them to pass on their own.

When it finally stopped, you didn’t know if you were still in your own body. Dance practice already made you sore, but a seizure and aggressive tensing muscles made it so much worse. You sucked in a sharp breath and your eyes fluttered open.

Minho uttered your name and carefully cupped your face. You groggily looked up, but it sounded like you were beneath water. Whatever he said, you couldn’t understand it fully. Seungmin’s worried face appeared next to his. Your eyes shut.

“What’s happening?” Seungmin whispered.

“Exhaustion. Their body totally just freaked out on them. It’s not easy to handle.” Minho called your name again. This time, you could finally understand what he said.

“Hmm?”

“I’m going to pick you up and take you back inside, okay? We’re just going to make sure you’re stable before we put you in a moving car and take you home. Do you need anything?”

“My water.”

“Let’s get you inside and you can have some. This concrete can’t be comfortable. Seungmin, get the water. Is your head okay? There’s a red spot on your forehead. I think you slammed the bumper of my car when you fell.”

You shrugged, still feeling a little out of it. Minho’s strong arms slipped beneath your body. He stood up, scooped you into his chest, and slowly walked back to the company building. “If you need something, just let me know.”

“Okay.”

You were quiet all the way back upstairs. The pair chose the elevator and Minho instructed Seungmin to press all the buttons. Chan, Changbin, and Han were all in one of the recording studios. When Minho arrived with you in tow, the three of them glanced over.

“What happened?” Chan asked.

“Seizure in the parking lot.”

They were up within seconds, worrying about you. You wanted to be embarrassed, but you couldn’t be. Your head felt so fuzzy and you were tired. Minho gently placed you onto the couch. Your eyes reopened.

“Are you okay?” Changbin approached you first. “Do you need anything?”

“My water.”

Seungmin handed it to Changbin. He helped you sit up and watched as you took a few sips of the cool water. Multiple pairs of eyes fell on you, but you tried to ignore it. You didn’t like being the center of attention, but in times like this, you didn’t get a choice.

Han finally appeared and slowly slipped behind your legs. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, just tired.”

“Do you want to stay here for a bit? Chan, Changbin, and I were just about to rearrange our next song. It’s a ballad, so it shouldn’t cause your head to ache.”

“Or I can take you back home,” Minho added. “With Seungmin, it’s up to you.”

“Can I stay here? I just wanna rest.”

“Of course. Seungmin, let’s head out and give them some space. We can’t have you stenching up the place with your wet dog scent.”

“Excuse me?”

Minho waved him to the door. He rolled his eyes, placed your bag beside the couch, and headed away. “Whatever. Take care, you know where to find us if you need us.”

“If they make it home without murdering each other,” Chan joked.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

Your eyes shut, but you listened to the bickering with amusement. Their taunts would never get old. Changbin glanced at you once more before heading back to one of the chairs in front of the recording booth.

Han gently patted your legs. “I’m going to stay right here beside you. Maybe if I’m here, I can keep the seizures away. Like a mosquito repellant, but for seizures.”

“You think so?” You asked.

“I hope so.”

Chan shut the door and sighed. “I guess it could be worse. The other three went home earlier.” He headed back to the spot beside Changbin. “Maybe it’s better they’re not here because-”

The door jerked open and Hyunjin rushed in, nearly tripping over himself. He called your name with worry and dropped in front of the couch. “Are you alive? Are you a ghost? Tell me you can still see me! How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Hyung, Minho said not to bother them and let them rest.” Jeongin entered the room with crossed arms. “You’re going to stress them out more.”

“Am I not allowed to worry? How many fingers? You’re not responding!”

“Probably because their eyes are shut.”

Your eyes reopened at the sound of Felix’s voice. He placed an arm around Jeongin’s shoulder and waved at you. “Hey, we heard what happened from Minho. We just came to see if you’re okay.”

“I thought the three of you went home?” Chan uttered from his spot.

“Oh, yeah, we were going to, but-”

“I don’t want to drive home alone!” Hyunjin whined. “It’s like nobody in this group loves me. I stole Jeongin’s car keys and he keeps chasing me and trying to get them back.” He called your name. “Tell Innie that he can’t drive home with Lix. I need a passenger princess, too.”

The worry from your seizure melted away a little. Your seizures were serious and always would be, but with the antics of the guys, you couldn’t worry for long. Before you could speak, Minho appeared. “Hwang Hyunjin, I’m about to roast your ass in the airfryer. Get over here!”

“I had to make sure they were still alive!”

“I’m about to make ferret kabobs in the next five seconds if you don’t leave.”

“But hyung!”

Chan groaned and rubbed his face. “I can’t believe I picked all of you and have to put up with all of this years later.”

“Who wants to try a wolf kabob next?” Minho asked.

Every single hand went up, including yours.

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haarrrys · 1 month ago

Text

Hands On My Throat

Bestfriend! Chan x Reader

Tags: explicit sexual content, choking kink / neck play, brat taming, praise + possessiveness, slight dom/sub dynamic, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, multiple positions, couch sex, shower sex, best friends to lovers, sexual tension

Word count : 9.6k

Summary: He’s the golden boy of your friend group, also your best friend of ten years. Touchy without thinking. Protective without asking. And hot—criminally hot—without ever being yours. Until one night, in the middle of a crowded living room, his hand wraps around your neck without thinking. And you realize… he has no idea.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

Next>>

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There was no knock. There never was.

Chan walked into your apartment like he paid rent—hoodie half-zipped, keys jingling in his hand, the familiar scent of clean laundry and whatever cologne he swiped from his dresser that morning trailing in after him. He kicked off his shoes like a man with no shame and made a beeline for your fridge.

You didn’t even look up from your laptop. “You steal one more yogurt and I’m reporting you to the building board.”

He opened the fridge. “You don’t even like Greek yogurt.”

“You don’t know my life.”

“I know you used it once for a TikTok mask and gagged.”

You grinned. “Okay, fine. But still. Ask before you mooch.”

He shut the fridge and padded over, yogurt in one hand, water bottle in the other. “Never have. Never will.”

Chan dropped onto the couch beside you, close enough for his thigh to press solidly against yours. He stretched his arm behind you like he was at a movie theatre trying to flirt with a stranger. His fingers brushed your shoulder, then stayed there. Rested. Comfortable.

Normal.

You didn’t move. Just kept typing, one leg curled beneath you, the other pressed tight against his. You’d long since stopped noticing how often his body found yours. Chan was touchy—had been since high school. Always stretching across your lap, squeezing your arms, playing with your fingers absentmindedly during long talks. You didn’t even flinch when his palm dropped to your knee now, warm and casual.

This was just how it had always been.

People didn’t get it. Not back in school, not in college, not now when you lived a few floors apart and spent most nights either at his place or yours. The teasing from friends had been endless, and the side-eyes never stopped. But neither of you had ever crossed that line. Not even once.

Not even close.

You were hot. He was hot. That was an objective fact. But hot didn’t mean available. It didn’t mean interested. Not between you two.

Chan opened the yogurt with one hand and shoved the lid at you. “Lick this. Be useful.”

You turned your face slowly. “You want me to lick your foil lid?”

“I’m not dirtying a spoon just to eat this.”

“You’re so unserious.”

“I’m efficient.”

You took the lid, licked it once with a dramatic roll of your eyes, and handed it back. “Happy?”

He grinned. “Always.”

He popped the rest of the yogurt into his mouth and grabbed the TV remote, settling in like he didn’t plan on leaving for hours. You weren’t surprised. Most nights looked like this—Chan in your space, touching you somewhere, somehow, while the two of you talked about everything and nothing. He never asked. You never flinched. You barely noticed anymore.

And even when his hand slid just a little higher on your thigh—thumb brushing back and forth across the thin fabric of your shorts—you didn’t think twice. It didn’t register. Just Chan being Chan. Just another Tuesday.

⸻

Chan’s living room was loud. Like it always was when everyone crowded into his space.

Music buzzed from the Bluetooth speaker someone had connected half an hour ago. Your group of friends were splayed across every surface—couch cushions, beanbags, someone cross-legged on the floor—arguing over which movie to watch while the food delivery slowly made its way through Friday night traffic.

You were curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked beneath you, half-listening, half-scrolling on your phone. Comfortable. Cozy. Familiar.

You’d lost count of how many nights like this there’d been. Movie nights, lazy dinners, game nights that never ended with the actual game. And Chan—always at the center of it. Hosting, leaning against walls with his arms crossed, eyes creased from laughter.

Right now, he was behind you, one knee on the couch as he leaned over to grab the remote off the coffee table. The angle brought his chest close to your back, the edge of his hoodie brushing your cheek before he spoke over your head.

“Why are we even voting?” he asked. “We all know it’s gonna end up being some sad indie movie with subtitles.”

“Because you like chaos,” someone shot back. “We’re trying to have feelings tonight.”

Chan huffed a laugh, dropped the remote onto the cushion beside you, and stayed where he was—half-standing behind the couch, his weight shifting from one arm to the next.

Then you felt it.

One hand landed lightly on your shoulder. And before you could glance back or even think twice, it slid upward.

His palm curved gently around the side of your neck.

Not tight. Not firm. Just resting.

His thumb brushed the underside of your jaw once, then paused, like he was measuring something.

“Huh,” he murmured, half to himself. “Your neck’s tiny.”

He squeezed—not hard, just curious. Testing the width of it in his hand. Like he was checking the fit of something he already owned. His fingers spread easily around your throat, thick and relaxed, his thumb nearly meeting his fingertips on the other side.

You didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

You kept your phone up, face calm, body casual. But inside?

You were choking.

Silently. Violently.

He had no idea.

He wasn’t even thinking about it. It was just Chan being Chan—touchy, absentminded, always touching you. Always. You’d never given it a second thought.

But this?

This was the one place you’d never imagined his hand.

The one part of your body that could short-circuit you with just a look, if the wrong person stared too long. And here he was—fingers wrapped casually around it, thumb brushing over your pulse, eyes probably still on the TV while your soul momentarily left your body.

You blinked. Swallowed. Scrolled aimlessly to mask the tension pooling hot in your stomach.

“Chan,” someone called out. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he said distractedly, thumb still grazing your neck. “Just thinking how weird it is that this—” he gave the softest squeeze, “—could pop like a grape.”

You let out a short, strangled sound that you masked as a cough.

Chan chuckled and finally moved away, dropping onto the armrest beside you with a bounce. His arm still brushed your shoulder, but the pressure on your throat was gone. Like it never happened.

Like it meant nothing.

And to him, it probably didn’t.

But to you?

You weren’t even sure if your breath had come back yet.

⸻

The door shut with a final click.

Silence fell over Chan’s apartment, the kind that only came after hours of noise—empty cups scattered across his counter, the echo of laughter still clinging to the walls. You sank deeper into the couch with a sigh, one hand absently rubbing your shoulder where it ached from sitting in the same position too long.

Chan reappeared from the kitchen, hair pushed back by a band now, hoodie sleeves rolled to the elbows. He tossed a bottle of water onto the coffee table and plopped down beside you, then paused.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” you said, too quick. “Just… tired.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re stiff.”

You shrugged, not looking at him. “Yeah, well. You try staying upright for four hours while Minho screams at the TV like it insulted his mother.”

Chan smiled lazily. “You’re carrying tension. Scoot up.”

“What?”

He patted the space between his legs. “C’mon. Let me fix it.”

You hesitated, but only for a beat.

This wasn’t new. He’d given you shoulder rubs before—during finals in college, during hell weeks at your old job, after long car rides or moving days. It was Chan. Your Chan. The one person you trusted not to make anything feel weird.

So you shifted forward, sitting cross-legged between his thighs, and let him rest his hands on your shoulders.

At first, it was nothing.

Just firm pressure. The pads of his thumbs pushing slow, rhythmic circles into your traps, rolling out the knots like he had all the time in the world. You melted, just a little, head tipping forward under the strength of it.

“Jesus,” you muttered, “where did you even learn how to do that?”

“Years of stress,” he said. “You get good at fixing what you live with.”

You huffed something like a laugh, eyelids falling shut.

Then his thumbs pushed deeper, finding the ridge near the base of your neck, and you let out a low groan of relief.

It felt too good. Way too good.

But it was still safe.

Until his hands shifted.

Slid higher.

Thumbs brushing the edges of your neck now. Rubbing the muscles that fed into it. Soft. Slow. Intent.

Your body tensed before your brain caught up—and then it slipped.

A sound left you.

High-pitched. Sharp.

Needy.

You bit it back immediately, lips slamming shut, but the damage was done. It hung there in the air for a second too long—too feminine, too out of place for the room’s quiet.

Chan stilled.

You didn’t breathe.

Then—

“You good?” he asked lightly, voice above your head.

You could hear the confusion. Like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard it right. Or if you meant it the way it sounded.

“I—yeah.” Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat. “Just sore.”

He hummed. Didn’t say anything else.

His hands moved again, this time slower, gentler—sweeping wide across your shoulders before sliding up again, thumbs circling your neck with almost tender pressure. Like he was feeling out the muscle tension—but also maybe trying to see if you’d make that sound again.

You were still. Too still.

“Didn’t think you were holding this much here,” he murmured. His thumbs pressed gently into the dip just behind your jaw. “You always carry it this high?”

You nodded too fast. “Y-Yeah. Must’ve slept weird.”

His touch softened, almost affectionate now, tracing down your neck with his thumbs before slipping away entirely. The absence of it made your breath hiccup.

You couldn’t look back at him.

Not yet.

Because now you weren’t sure if he didn’t notice…

Or if he definitely did.

You hadn’t mentioned it.

Neither had he.

Not when you stood to leave a few minutes later, not when he walked you to the door like he always did, not even when his hand lingered low on your back as you slipped on your slides.

If anything, he looked more normal than usual. Relaxed. Even smiled when you told him you’d come by tomorrow to help clean.

“Don’t forget I’m your friend, not your maid,” you said.

He gave your arm a little squeeze. “You’re both.”

And that was that.

Or so you thought.

—

The next day, his apartment looked exactly the same. A few stray cups gathered in the sink, a throw blanket half-draped off the couch, crumbs on the coffee table. You tossed your bag down and got to work wiping things down while he gathered trash from the bedroom.

“You could at least pretend to clean while I’m here,” you called out.

“I am cleaning,” he shouted back. “I just clean in peace. Unlike someone.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning.

It was easy again. Like nothing happened.

Until it wasn’t.

He emerged from the hallway, rubbing the back of his neck, then padded barefoot across the room to take the rag from your hand.

“Okay,” he said. “Can we talk about something?”

You glanced at him. “What?”

He didn’t speak right away.

Instead, he took the rag, folded it neatly, and set it on the table—slow and deliberate, like he was giving you time to brace.

Then he looked at you. Really looked.

“That sound you made,” he said, voice quiet. “Yesterday. When I was rubbing your neck.”

Your stomach dropped. Not in panic. Just in… sheer mortified awareness.

You played dumb. “What sound?”

Chan tilted his head, amused.

“Don’t do that.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” you insisted, backing a step toward the kitchen, like that would save you.

He followed. One step. Two.

“You made a sound,” he said, not letting it go. “High. Like… I don’t know. Not pain. Definitely not pain.”

Your cheeks flamed. “Okay, and?”

“It just surprised me.” His voice stayed calm. Curious. “You don’t usually sound like that.”

You swallowed hard, crossing your arms in a weak attempt at a barrier. “It was nothing. You just hit a spot. I didn’t even realize I—”

“Sure,” he cut in gently. “But… I’m sure I’ve hit that spot before.”

You froze.

He smiled again, but it was slower now. Measured. A little too knowing.

Your voice came out small. “So?”

“So…” he scratched at his jaw, like he was still figuring out what he wanted to say. “I don’t know. It just sounded like… something else.”

Silence.

Heavy. Awkward. Charged.

You looked down. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Chan stepped a little closer.

You could smell him again—clean and warm, the same scent you’d been surrounded by for years. But now? It clung to your skin differently. Sunk into your pulse.

He was watching you carefully. Not pressuring. Not pushing.

Just… observing.

“Okay,” he said finally. “I believe you.”

Relief hit you, fast and fleeting.

“But if you had meant something by it,” he added, voice lower now, “you’d tell me, right?”

Your breath hitched.

He wasn’t teasing anymore.

He wasn’t joking.

You met his gaze—eyes warm, calm, steady. There wasn’t a trace of judgment in them. No expectation either. Just the softest, slightest pull of curiosity.

And something else you couldn’t name yet.

You looked away.

“Clean your damn table, Christopher.”

He smirked. “So that’s a no?”

“That’s a goodnight.”

You grabbed your bag and made a beeline for the door, pulse thudding in your throat, your skin hot all over. You could still feel the ghost of his hand there, even now. Still circling. Still squeezing.

And the worst part? You knew you’d dream about it.

The second you turned toward the door, you knew he wasn’t going to let it slide.

You felt it.

That shift in the air. The narrowing of his patience. Chan wasn’t dumb, and he wasn’t oblivious. You’d slipped out of a hundred close calls with him over the years, danced around every whisper of tension—but now?

He had a thread.

And he was pulling it.

“Wait,” he said, quiet.

You kept walking.

“Don’t be weird about it,” you muttered. “I said it was nothing.”

The words barely left your mouth before you felt his hand curling around the waistband of your sweatpants and pulling you back into him with a snap.

Your breath hitched.

Back to his chest. Spine to his hoodie. You froze, lips parting in disbelief.

“Chan—”

He grabbed your face before you could finish. One hand cupping your jaw, the other squishing your cheeks together so your lips puckered slightly, tilting your head back against him.

Your breath caught.

“Tell me,” he said, voice low—so low it brushed against your ear like a hum. “That moan. Was it your neck?”

You squirmed, heat rushing to your face, but his grip was firm. Not rough. Just insistent. Gentle like the beginning of something you weren’t ready to name yet.

“I said it was nothing,” you mumbled through his hold.

“I heard you the first time.” His hand loosened just enough for your jaw to move, but his palm didn’t leave your skin. “But that’s not what I asked.”

You turned your head slightly, but he followed the motion, chest warm against your back, his breath fanning across your temple.

“I’m not judging you,” he said softer now, almost amused. “I’m just asking… do you have a thing for this?”

His hand dropped—slow, steady—fingertips trailing from your jaw down the curve of your throat.

You stopped breathing.

His palm hovered just under your chin, thumb resting at the side of your neck, fingers spread. Barely touching. Barely grazing.

Then— He wrapped.

Not tight. Not firm. Just enough to feel his fingers circle you.

Just enough to remind you how small you were in his hand.

Everything in you went still.

Your lips parted again—useless, breathless, caught. You didn’t moan this time, but the silence said enough.

Chan’s voice dipped, teasing now. “So you do.”

You turned your face away, jaw tensed. “It’s not like that.”

His hand didn’t move.

“Then what’s it like?”

You stayed quiet, hands fisting at your sides.

“I didn’t even squeeze,” he murmured, voice velvet-slick. “And you froze like I switched you off with a button.”

“Shut up.”

He grinned. “Ohhh. So it’s like that.”

You tried to step forward, but his grip on your waistband tightened just slightly—reminding you he still had you. That he could pull again. That he would.

He leaned in, lips almost brushing your ear now.

“I’m not mad,” he said, gentle. “I’m not freaked out. I just…” his thumb grazed under your chin again, slow, sweet, deadly. “I think it’s kinda cute.”

“Chan,” you warned, but it came out too soft. Too breathy.

He let go of your jaw, finally. Stepped back a little.

His hand dropped from your neck like nothing happened.

But nothing about your body felt normal anymore.

“I’m gonna order takeout,” he said casually, walking to the kitchen. “You want the usual?”

You blinked.

Stared at him, stunned. “Are you serious?”

He glanced back with a smirk.

“Dead serious. But—if you wanna talk more about your kinks after dinner, I’m free.”

⸻

Dinner was a blur.

You barely tasted anything.

Chan ordered your usual like it was a normal night, like he hadn’t manhandled your face and wrapped his hand around your neck barely twenty minutes ago. He sat across from you at his counter, hoodie sleeves shoved to the elbows, digging into pizza while casually talking about Genshin.

You blinked at your own bowl, lips still tingling, mind running marathons.

He’d touched you a thousand times before—your waist, your thigh, your cheek, your lower back—but not like that.

Not with intent.

Not while calling you out about your kinks like he was just checking the weather.

You poked at your own noodles.

“So we’re not gonna talk about it?” you asked.

Chan looked up, chewing, one brow lifted.

“Talk about what?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t play dumb.”

A beat of silence.

Then the softest smirk curled on his lips. “Thought you didn’t wanna talk about it.”

You stared at him.

Something low and hot coiled in your stomach. That smug little tone he always used on you when he knew he’d won—when he baited you into spilling, or laughing, or saying something you didn’t mean to say.

And suddenly?

You’d had enough. You dropped your fork. Sat back in your chair.

“Fine,” you said, eyes locked on his. “You wanna talk kinks? Let’s talk.”

The smile slipped from his face, slow and sharp—like something in him clicked.

“…Now?”

You crossed your arms, chin high. “You started it.”

Chan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter. “Alright,” he said slowly. “Let’s go.”

His voice was low again. Not teasing this time. Steady. Intrigued. Like you’d just pulled a loaded weapon on the table and told him to pick a side.

You swallowed. “We’ve never talked about this before.”

“I know.”

“We said we wouldn’t.”

“I remember.”

“So why now?”

Chan shrugged. “Because you moaned like someone touched your soul when I only grazed your neck and then tried to lie about it. And now I’m curious.”

You flushed.

“Curious about what?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “You.”

A silence stretched between you—hot, tight, heavy.

You laughed once, hollow. “God. This is so fucking weird.”

Chan tilted his head. “Is it?”

“Yes!” you threw your hands up. “You’re my best friend.”

“I’m still your best friend.”

“And we don’t talk about sex.”

“We do now.”

Your breath caught.

His eyes were too dark. Too steady. There was no out here.

You inhaled slowly. “Fine. What do you wanna know?”

Chan sat back again, folding his arms. “What else does it for you?”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “Dead serious.”

You hesitated.

Then—like the words tasted like sin—you said quietly, “Hands.”

A pause.

Chan’s lips twitched. “Yeah. I figured.”

“Big ones,” you added without thinking. “Veiny. Rough. Confident.”

His eyes gleamed. “That why you always let me manhandle you like a ragdoll?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m just observing,” he said. “What else?”

You gave him a flat look. “What, you taking notes now?”

He leaned in again, elbows on the table, voice dark velvet. “I will if you keep talking like that.”

Your thighs pressed together under the table.

You looked away. “You go. Say something.”

He was quiet for a second.

Then—casually—“I like brats.”

You choked.

“Excuse me?”

Chan grinned. “Smart mouths. Girls who push back. Who pretend they don’t wanna listen but fold the second I—”

“Okay!” you raised a hand. “That’s enough, Freud.”

He laughed, head tipping back.

But the tension didn’t ease.

If anything—it twisted tighter.

You bit your lip. “So like… choking. Is that weird?”

He blinked. “Is what weird? Wanting it done to you? Or doing it to someone?”

You paused. “…Both?”

Chan tilted his head, thoughtful. “Not weird. But it’s intense.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Another silence.

He watched you. “You like intense?”

You looked up.

His eyes were too sharp again. Too serious.

You whispered, “Yeah.”

He stood.

You froze as he walked around the counter, bare feet soundless against the tile. He stopped in front of you, hand sliding onto your jaw—soft, slow—and tilted your face up again.

Your breath caught.

“You could’ve told me,” he said, voice low. “Any of this.”

“I thought you didn’t wanna hear it.”

His grip firmed just slightly—thumb brushing your cheek, the edge of your lip.

“I didn’t,” he said. “Until you moaned like that.”

His hand dipped.

Neck again.

Only this time, his fingers wrapped tight—not choking, but claiming. Measuring. Knowing.

And this time?

You didn’t pretend.

You looked him dead in the eye as your lips parted on a breathy, involuntary gasp.

“Yeah,” Chan whispered, smiling now. “That one.”

You should’ve walked away.

Should’ve laughed it off, said something dumb and deflective, gone home and buried yourself in blankets until the heat left your skin.

But you didn’t.

You sat there—his hand on your neck, your thighs clenched under the counter, breath caught somewhere in your throat—and you let him.

Chan was quiet. His eyes searched yours, slow and steady, like he was reading pages of you you didn’t even know were open.

His fingers flexed slightly around your neck. A light squeeze.

Not rough.

Just enough to say, I’m still here. You feel me, right?

And God… you did.

“You’re really into this,” he murmured.

You looked away, cheeks warm. “It’s not like I think about it all the time.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

He hummed.

Then leaned closer.

“But you’ve imagined it.”

You stiffened.

He chuckled lowly, and you felt it through his palm, the softest vibration echoing down your spine. “That’s not a no.”

You turned your head, just slightly, and muttered, “You’re annoying.”

He pulled back.

Only to hook his fingers under your jaw again, tilting your chin up like you weighed nothing in his grip. “There she is,” he said, smiling like you’d done something delicious.

“What?”

“That mouth,” he said, tapping your lip once with his thumb. “That bratty tone.”

“I wasn’t being bratty.”

“Mhm,” he smirked, stepping back. “Sure you weren’t.”

He let go.

The loss of contact was immediate—jarring.

Your neck felt cold without his hand on it.

Chan crossed to the couch and collapsed into it, legs spread, arms stretched along the backrest. Like nothing had just happened. Like your whole reality hadn’t just tipped sideways.

You turned slowly. “What the hell was that?”

“What?”

You gestured vaguely at the space between you. “That.”

Chan shrugged. “Just testing a theory.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What theory?”

“That I’ve been missing out.”

You blinked. “Missing out on what?”

He grinned, head resting lazily against the cushion. “This side of you.”

Your heart thumped.

“There’s no side,” you lied quickly. “That was— That’s just how I talk to you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious.”

He cocked his head. “So you’d moan like that if Seungmin gave you a massage?”

You glared. “Seungmin gives serial killer energy.”

“Then what about Hyunjin?”

“Hyunjin cries at perfume ads. I’d never let him near my neck.”

Chan laughed.

You didn’t.

“I’m not teasing you,” he said after a moment. “I just… I don’t know. Feels like we’re finally being real.”

You chewed your bottom lip. “It’s not like I was hiding anything on purpose.”

“I know.”

“I just thought it’d be… weird.”

Chan leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “It’s not weird.”

“You’re not freaked out?”

“Nope.”

You hesitated. “So what now?”

He smiled, that slow, cocky, dangerous smile. “Now I get to learn things.”

Your stomach flipped.

“You’re making it sound creepy,” you muttered.

He stood up again. Walked toward you, deliberate this time.

And when he stopped in front of you again, it felt different.

He wasn’t teasing now. He was… curious. Focused. Like you were a puzzle he’d just realized had more pieces.

His hand came up again—back to your neck—but this time, he didn’t wrap it.

He traced.

Knuckles down your throat. Fingertips skimming your collarbone.

You held perfectly still.

“So sensitive here,” he murmured. “And you never said a word.”

“I didn’t think it mattered.”

“It matters now.”

You swallowed. “Why?”

He leaned in. Close. His breath brushed your lips.

“Because now I’m gonna find out what else does it for you.”

Your legs weakened.

Chan reached behind you and gently pushed you back into the nearest couch, standing over you now, looking down like you were a question he wanted to spend the night answering.

He tilted his head. “You like being told what to do?”

You blinked, heart hammering. “Why?”

“Just wondering how deep the brat thing goes.”

“It’s not a brat thing,” you snapped.

That smile again. Sharp. Addictive.

“There she is.”

“Ugh,” you scoffed, sinking back.

“C’mon,” he said softly. “Give me something else. I’ll tell you one of mine.”

You looked at him, wary. “Promise?”

“Swear.”

You exhaled slowly. “I like being touched… slowly. Like… teased. Not rushed.”

Chan’s eyes darkened.

“Oh,” he said. “We’re gonna have fun.”

You blinked. “Your turn.”

He dropped to his knees in front of you. Rested his hands on your knees, just above them.

Then leaned forward and said—

“I like control. But only when someone wants to give it up.”

You froze.

“Like… the second you say stop, I’m out,” he added. “But if you give me the green light…” His thumbs stroked slow, slow circles over your legs. “I’ll ruin you sweet.”

Your breath hitched.

“Too much?” he asked, smiling.

You didn’t answer.

Because truthfully?

You didn’t know if it was.

You weren’t sure what had shifted.

The air, maybe.

Or the weight of his eyes when he looked at you like that—like you were becoming something right in front of him.

But Chan didn’t back down.

He stayed where he was, hands resting on your knees, thumbs rubbing slow, distracted strokes into your skin like his mind was already a step ahead.

“I’ve never really talked to anyone about this stuff,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you. “Not like this.”

You swallowed. “Me neither.”

“I didn’t think I needed to. Thought I had it figured out.”

“And now?”

His eyes met yours again, and there was something deeper in them now. Darker.

“Now I think I’ve been fucking around in the shallow end.”

You stiffened, legs tensing under his grip.

He felt it.

His thumbs stilled.

“That bother you?” he asked softly.

You shook your head before you could stop yourself.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he’d found a loose thread in you. “Then why are your thighs clenched?”

“I don’t know,” you breathed.

“Hmm.”

He moved his hands slightly up your legs, just a few inches, nothing dramatic. But his gaze stayed pinned to yours the whole time.

“Do you like when I talk like that?”

You hesitated.

Chan leaned in, whispering, “Tell the truth.”

Your lips parted, no sound coming out.

He grinned, barely. “Thought so.”

You flushed.

He sat back on his heels, exhaling a little laugh like this whole thing was amusing—and fascinating—and fucking exhilarating.

“I think I like this side of you,” he murmured.

“What side?”

He brought his hand up again, knuckles brushing your neck, then trailing down your collarbone. “The one that can’t sit still when I do this.”

You shivered.

He smiled. “You get quiet when you want something.”

“I’m not quiet.”

“Mm. You’re quieter than usual.”

He leaned in again.

Not touching this time—just watching you breathe.

“You always give this much control without realizing it?”

Your mouth went dry.

“I’m not—” you started.

But he shook his head.

“No, don’t answer. I like watching you try.”

Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.

You were wet.

God, you were already so fucking wet, and he hadn’t even touched you where it mattered. Not once.

He moved one knee forward, bracing his arm on the cushion beside your hips. The shift brought him closer. Too close.

And that’s when you felt it.

Hard. Heavy.

Brushing your inner thigh.

Your breath stilled.

Chan didn’t move.

His lips quirked—just barely.

And that’s when you knew.

He felt it too.

Still, he played innocent.

“Something wrong?”

Your eyes flicked to his, wide. “Are you—?”

“I am,” he said calmly. “You surprised?”

You blinked.

“No.”

“Because you’re hot?”

You exhaled slowly. “Because you’re different.”

That made him pause.

“How?”

“You’ve never… acted like this.”

He hummed, low in his chest. “You’ve never let me.”

You stuttered. “I— I didn’t stop you—”

“No,” he agreed, nodding once. “But you didn’t give me an invitation either.”

You looked down, eyes on the space between your bodies, his arousal pressed right up against you like a secret you weren’t supposed to notice.

And still, you didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t say a word.

His voice softened. “So now that we’re here… wanna know another thing I’ve never told anyone?”

You nodded without thinking.

Chan’s fingers skimmed your hip, slow and deliberate. “I like watching people fall apart.”

Your lips parted, breath catching.

“But not in a mean way,” he added. “I like the process. The way your body learns to trust me before your brain catches up. I like how shaky your breath gets when I press on the right spot. How your legs tense when you’re trying not to give in.”

He smirked, voice dipping lower.

“I like hearing that little gasp you just made. And I really like how your thighs are squeezing together again.”

You gasped again, this time audible.

He was rock hard now. You could feel him throb slightly against you. A steady pulse through his sweatpants.

And then—God help you—he moved just a little.

A subtle, deliberate shift of his hips.

Just enough to feel how warm you were.

How ready.

Your jaw clenched.

Chan’s eyes flicked down to your mouth.

And that was his breaking point.

Because suddenly his hand was back—on your neck.

Not squeezing. Not dominating.

Feeling.

Like he was trying to understand how something so small could make him so desperate.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he murmured, half-lost in it.

You swallowed. “Then show me.”

His eyes snapped back to yours.

Dark.

Ravenous.

But he didn’t kiss you.

Didn’t push further.

Instead, he leaned in—nose brushing yours—and whispered, “Not yet.”

That’s what he said—low, husky, brushing your lips like a secret.

But then his head dipped lower.

And you felt it—his mouth at your cheek first, warm and lingering, then sliding lower still until his lips brushed your jawline… his teeth barely grazing your skin.

You jolted.

He smiled against you.

“Still holding it together?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement.

And then he bit you.

Soft. Right on your cheekbone. Just enough pressure to make you gasp—nothing overwhelming, but so intimate, so damn suggestive, it felt like your body cracked open around it.

A moan slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

High. Desperate.

Sinful.

“Fuck…” you breathed, under your breath.

But he heard it.

God, he heard everything.

His mouth dragged to your ear—barely brushing it—before his tongue flicked once at the shell of it and he whispered, “Say that again.”

Your head tipped back into the couch, fingers digging into the cushion beside you.

He watched you fall apart, kneeling between your knees like you were some holy thing unraveling at his mercy.

And then, without even thinking, it slipped out.

“…Chan.”

His name, like a prayer.

Choked. Shaken.

Raw.

He stilled.

Completely.

You opened your eyes slowly, vision slightly hazy, only to find him staring back at you—eyes wide, chest rising visibly beneath his hoodie.

“Shit,” he muttered, like it hit him all at once.

Like he just realized the weight of what was actually happening.

You blinked, cheeks burning. “What?”

He shook his head once. “Say it again.”

“What?”

“My name.”

You bit your lip, too overwhelmed to even fake control.

And that was it.

That broke him.

Chan’s hands flew to your hips, dragging you down the couch cushion just enough for him to lean over you completely. His mouth caught yours in a kiss so devastatingly hot you forgot your own name.

Teeth clashing. Breath mixing.

Tongues tangling like they’d been waiting years for this.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, desperate for something to hold onto as he kissed you like a man starving—like he was angry you’d kept this from him, angry you made him wait.

And the way you moaned into his mouth? The soft gasp you let out when his hand slipped beneath your shirt and splayed wide over your waist?

It shattered him.

Chan groaned against your lips, grinding into you once—slow but solid—and the friction was unbearable.

You whimpered, breath hitching, thighs tensing around his hips.

“Jesus, babe,” he growled into your neck, voice cracking with restraint. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

But you did.

You knew now.

And worse? You loved it.

You tilted your head without thinking, exposing your throat like instinct, and the second his lips found the base of it, the moan you let out was filthy.

Loud. Guttural.

You felt him throb against your core through both your clothes.

And he didn’t even try to hide it.

His hand found your neck again—cradling, not choking. Not yet.

Just holding.

Possessive. Protective. Like it belonged to him.

“You were gonna hide this from me?” he whispered roughly against your skin. “This part of you?”

You whimpered, nails dragging down his back.

Chan laughed. Dark. Breathless.

“Not anymore.”

That was the last thing he said before everything blurred.

Your best friend had kissed you before—on your forehead, your cheek, once at midnight on New Year’s when he was tipsy and too sentimental—but this was different.

This wasn’t affection.

This was possession.

He kissed like he’d earned it—like every time he let you sleep in his bed, every time he pulled you into his chest when you were crying, every time he called you baby under his breath without thinking… was just a slow burn countdown to this moment.

His lips moved against yours like he already knew your rhythm. Like he’d been dreaming of it and now he was tasting it for real.

And when you moaned again? He growled into your mouth.

His hands were wild now, frantic. Pulling at the hem of your shirt, tugging you closer by the hips until you were slotted right against him, heat to heat.

You could feel how hard he was.

And when he shifted his weight and pressed into you deliberately, you gasped—high-pitched and startled.

He tore his lips from yours just long enough to pant, “Fuck. You’re driving me insane.”

“Then do something about it,” you whispered, already breathless.

His eyes flashed.

“Say less.”

His hand slipped beneath the waistband of your sweatpants so fast it made your breath catch—and when his fingers reached your panties, he froze.

Because you were soaked.

Dripping.

His fingers brushed along the fabric—slick and clinging—and then he dragged them lower, curling them against the wet heat right between your legs.

You gasped. Shuddered.

Chan’s head dropped to your shoulder, lips at your ear, groaning deep in his throat. “You’re fucking soaked.”

You whimpered.

His fingers stroked once—just enough to tease—before he yanked your sweatpants down in one go, panties and all.

You squeaked, legs instinctively clamping together, but he was already on his knees again, big hands sliding under your thighs and pulling them apart with a groan.

“Let me see,” he rasped. “Come on, babe, show me how bad you need me.”

You swallowed, chest heaving.

You had never seen him like this—never even imagined him like this.

Hair messy, lips red, hoodie halfway off his shoulder as he pushed himself between your legs like a man starving.

And it wasn’t until he looked up—until those dark, wrecked eyes dragged slowly up your body and met yours—that you realized:

You were gone.

Undone. Open.

And he loved it.

His fingers returned, sliding into your folds with maddening slowness.

You cried out, knees trembling.

He sucked in a breath, watching his hand work between your legs like he couldn’t believe what he was feeling.

“Dripping,” he whispered, almost reverent. “All this for me?”

You bit your lip. “Don’t be cocky.”

He smirked.

And then he curled two fingers inside you in one smooth thrust.

You screamed.

Your hand shot out, grabbing at his wrist, your thighs threatening to close—but he was too strong.

He pressed one hand firmly on your stomach, keeping you grounded while his fingers moved—slow, then fast, then deeper.

“Not cocky,” he panted. “Just maybe obsessed.”

You cried out again, body arching, trying to grind into his palm. Every nerve ending in your body was on fire—and he was eating it up.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned. “Melting for me. You gonna come already?”

You shook your head, biting your fist.

He chuckled darkly. “Don’t hold back now, baby. We’ve got years to make up for.”

You moaned louder—desperate.

And then he stopped.

Just like that.

Fingers sliding out, breath ragged.

You blinked at him in shock, your whole body pulsing.

“What—?”

He wiped his fingers on the hem of his hoodie like it was nothing, then leaned forward and whispered against your mouth, “I’m not letting you come with my hand. Not the first time.”

You whimpered, a broken, trembling sound.

He kissed you again, rougher this time.

And then his hands were on his hoodie, yanking it off in one smooth motion, chest glistening with sweat, body hard and flexed as he stood to kick off his sweatpants.

You stared.

You’d seen him shirtless. You’d seen him in boxers during sleepovers. But this?

This was feral.

Ripped, flushed, bulging under tension—and fully hard now, cock bobbing as he leaned back over you, eyes wild with want.

“You ready?” he asked, voice wrecked.

You couldn’t even speak.

Just nodded.

Because the fire had already started, and now?

You wanted to burn.

You were breathless beneath him—bare, dizzy, skin hot and tingling in all the right places. And when he hovered over you now, sweat-slick and wild-eyed, your best friend didn’t look like your best friend anymore.

He looked like a man unraveling. One second away from ruin. Yours.

His hand slid behind your knee, lifting your leg over his hip. “You good?”

You nodded again, swallowing hard.

He smirked, gaze dropping to your lips.

“You sure?” he asked, dragging the blunt head of his cock through your slick folds—slow, teasing, maddening. “You look like you’re in trouble already.”

And something in you—something playful and wicked—snapped.

“Guess we’ll see if you can handle it.”

Chan paused.

Your voice—usually warm, teasing, light—was lower now. Challenging.

Bratty.

His brows lifted. “Oh?”

You shrugged, purposefully lazy beneath him, your leg tightening around his waist. “I mean… you talk a big game, but—” you made a little face, “—you’ve never even kissing me before today.”

Chan blinked slowly.

Then laughed once—dangerous and deep in his chest—before grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head in one swift movement.

“You’re cute when you’re mouthy.”

You gasped, startled, but didn’t stop.

“I’m just saying,” you said sweetly, shifting under him, deliberately dragging your slick heat along his length. “You’ve waited ten years for this. Hope you’re not rusty.”

He stared down at you like you were made of sin and gasoline.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, lowering his face to yours, lips brushing your cheek. “You want me to wreck you, don’t you?”

You smirked. “I’d like to see you try.”

And that was it.

That was all it took.

He snapped.

His hand came down, wrapping tight around your throat and the next thing you felt was the blunt push of his cock stretching you open in one slow, greedy slide.

You cried out, head falling back, legs trembling from the stretch.

“Fuck—”

“That shut you up quick,” he growled, watching your face as he bottomed out.

You whimpered, fully filled now, completely caged beneath him, and for a moment all you could do was breathe.

You weren’t used to this—this intensity. This power shift.

You weren’t used to being his.

Chan didn’t move right away. He stayed there—deep inside you, hand on your throat, his other still pinning your wrists—just watching.

Then his voice dropped to a whisper. “Say my name.”

You bit your lip, eyes fluttering. “…Chan.”

He pulled out halfway.

“Say it right.”

“Chan—ah, fuck—Chan,” you gasped, back arching.

He snapped his hips forward—hard—and your moan broke into a scream.

“You’re soaked,” he panted. “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

“I didn’t know—” you whimpered, completely undone, “—you’d be like this.”

He smiled against your throat, kissed it once, then bit down lightly on your jaw. “This is what you do to me.”

And when you clenched around him at those words?

He lost it.

His grip tightened—your wrists, your throat, your hips—and he started moving, every thrust thick and deep, sharp enough to send your thoughts scattering into stars.

“Still wanna be a brat?” he growled, pulling out only to slam back in harder.

You whimpered, breath catching. “Yes.”

He chuckled darkly. “Wrong answer.”

He dragged your hands down, pinning them to your chest now as he fucked into you, his entire body a weapon. Every thrust hit somewhere new—some place that made you cry out, curse, beg without knowing you were doing it.

“Look at you,” he said, voice wrecked. “You gonna be good now?”

Your pride screamed no.

But your body—your soaked, trembling, wrecked body—sobbed yes.

You swallowed hard, hips twitching, and whispered up at him with all the strength you had left:

“Make me.”

Chan’s eyes blazed.

“Oh, baby,” he growled, snapping his hips forward again. “I’m gonna make you beg.”

And from the way your legs shook?

You knew he already was.

You didn’t remember when your moans got louder than the thoughts in your head.

Didn’t remember when you stopped trying to talk back and started crying his name like a plea.

But your body remembered. Every inch of it was tuned to his touch now—sweaty, sticky, soaked, and strung out beneath the weight of your best friend losing his damn mind inside you.

He hadn’t stopped moving.

And he hadn’t stopped talking.

“Fuck, you feel like heaven,” he groaned against your skin, hips snapping forward. “Been dreaming about this—about you—for years. You were right in front of me—walking around like that, giving me attitude, pushing my buttons.”

You gasped, fingers dragging down his back. “I wasn’t trying—”

“Bullshit,” he growled, pulling out just enough to thrust back in hard, rocking your entire body against the couch. “You knew what you were doing. You knew I’d snap.”

You choked on a scream, grabbing at his shoulder for balance.

And then, with a glint in his eye, he lifted one of your legs onto the couch arm and pressed forward—deep and low.

You damn near sobbed.

“Fuck, this angle—” he hissed through clenched teeth, “—you’re squeezing me so fucking tight.”

You shivered, mouth open, unable to answer—until a familiar bratty smirk broke onto your lips.

“Still think you’re in control?” you managed, breathless.

Chan stopped moving.

Dead still.

And grinned.

“Oh, baby girl.”

And just like that, he yanked out of you, flipped your body, and shoved your front down into the couch cushions.

His hand was already on your back, pressing you down as he lined up again—and when he slid back in with one long, filthy thrust, your scream was muffled in the fabric.

“Who’s in control now?” he grunted, pounding into you from behind, one hand on your hip, the other wrapped around your neck again—pulling you back, making your spine curve deliciously.

You tried to fight it—tried to sass, to squirm—but every stroke hit your g-spot like he’d mapped your body in his dreams.

And when he growled “look at that arch,” you whimpered.

“I can feel you clenching, baby. You gonna come already?”

You hissed, bratty again through your cries. “You wish—”

So he pulled out, flipped you again.

“Keep testing me,” he breathed, dragging you into his lap, guiding you down onto him so slowly it made your eyes roll back.

He didn’t move.

Just held your hips steady, eyes locked on your face.

“You think you’re the one riding me?” he whispered, almost tender—until his fingers dug into your skin and he thrust up hard.

You screamed, forehead dropping onto his shoulder.

“Oh no, baby. You just get to watch this time.”

He started bouncing you on his cock, fucking up into you, his grip rough, his rhythm feral.

“You gonna be good yet?” he panted, breath hot on your cheek. “Or should I fuck the brat out of you?”

You couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe.

But you nodded.

You were gone.

Gone for him.

He kissed your shoulder, then bit it.

And then?

He moved you again.

He was everywhere—his weight, his mouth, his cock so deep you felt like you’d split in half.

Your cries were high and broken now, your hands slipping against his sweat-slick back as he pounded you into the cushions with intent.

And then his hand went right back to your neck—holding, lifting, claiming you while he fucked the soul out of your body.

“You’re mine,” he panted, hips relentless. “Say it.”

You moaned, arching up into him. “Yours—yours, fuck—Chan—”

He dropped his forehead to yours, eyes wrecked, heart thundering.

“Come for me.”

And this time?

You did.

With a scream that could’ve broken glass.

Your body snapped, back bowing, thighs clenching around him, tears streaking your cheeks as the pleasure tore through you.

Chan didn’t stop.

He groaned, deep and desperate, as your walls clenched and fluttered around him—and then he stilled, cock buried to the hilt, trembling against you.

“Fucking—shit—”

You felt him pulse deep inside you, hot and thick.

And when he finally collapsed on top of you—panting, wrecked, his face buried in your neck—you couldn’t stop the soft, breathless laugh that left you.

“…That’s one way to discuss kinks.”

Chan huffed against your cheek.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, kissing your jaw sweetly. “You’ve got no idea how bad it’s about to get.”

—-

Your body was buzzing—tender, used, and so completely ruined that you barely noticed when Chan lifted you off the couch like you weighed nothing.

You whimpered at the movement, tucking your face into his neck as he carried you down the hall, both of you still catching your breath.

Neither of you spoke. There was only the soft pat of his feet against the tile, your fluttering heartbeat in your ears, and the low, satisfied hum he made when you clung tighter to his shoulders.

The bathroom light flickered on. Warm. Clean. Familiar.

He didn’t hesitate. Just toed off the last piece of fabric on his body and stepped under the stream with you still in his arms.

The hot water hit your back and you gasped at the contrast—already sensitive, skin electric under every drop.

Chan’s big hands slid over you, soothing, slow. He lathered up a washcloth and began running it gently over your shoulders, your thighs, between your legs with such focus you had to fight the urge to melt all over again.

“You okay?” he asked, quiet against your ear, lips brushing your temple.

You nodded. “…Think you broke me.”

He chuckled, chest rumbling against yours. “Not even close.”

But still, his touch was careful now. Reverent. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

And maybe that’s why you did it.

Why you let your hands roam a little more than they needed to.

Why you leaned in and started trailing soft kisses down his collarbone.

Why your lips didn’t stop there.

Because you couldn’t believe he was real either.

Not like this. Not yours.

He stilled when your mouth reached his chest.

You kissed it slowly, tenderly, running your fingers down his abs, over the ridges of muscle that flexed beneath your touch.

“…Babe,” he whispered, voice low, warning, already unraveling. “Don’t start.”

You looked up at him through wet lashes, lips parted, innocent and knowing all at once.

“Why not?” you murmured, kissing just below his ribs. “You let me fall apart for you. Let me return the favor.”

His breath hitched. He was already hardening again—and he knew it.

You kissed lower.

And lower.

And then you were kneeling—naked, dripping, your knees cushioned by the shower mat, hands already stroking his length back to full, pulsing attention.

He groaned.

“Fuck. Fuck, you look so good down there—”

You wrapped your fingers around his cock, squeezing gently, lips brushing against the flushed head of his cock. He jerked in your hand, and you hummed.

“I never told you my last kink,” you said sweetly, licking a slow stripe along the underside.

His hand hit the wall above your head, unsteady. “Yeah? What is it, baby?”

You smiled up at him—dark, sinful, soft.

“I don’t have a gag reflex.”

Chan let out a noise—guttural, choked, wrecked.

“Jesus Christ.”

And then you took him in.

All of him.

Slow. Deep. Deliberate.

His mouth fell open, eyes rolling back as you swallowed around him, your throat relaxing on instinct.

“Oh my fucking God—” he rasped, hips jerking forward before he caught himself, panting hard, water cascading down his back.

You pulled off with a wet pop, licking the tip before dragging your tongue along the base and sucking him back in just as deep.

He moaned—loud, shameless, one hand grabbing the back of your head while the other gripped the shower wall like a lifeline.

“Fuck, fuck, baby— you’re gonna kill me—”

You moaned around him in response, eyes half-lidded, hands stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach.

Every sound he made went straight to your core—deep and breathy and so needy, it felt like a reward just to listen.

“You’re unreal,” he groaned. “Fucking unreal—how is this even real—”

You let your eyes flutter closed, increasing the rhythm, hollowing your cheeks, spit and water dripping from your chin as you let him fall apart above you.

And when his stomach clenched—when his thighs started to tremble—you just held him tighter, took him deeper, and moaned his name from the back of your throat.

“Fuck— I’m gonna come—baby, I’m gonna—shit—don’t stop—”

You didn’t.

Not until his hips jerked one final time and you tasted all of him—thick and hot and desperate on your tongue.

He roared your name, damn near sliding down the wall as his whole body seized, then shook.

When he finally opened his eyes again, you were smiling, swallowing, licking your lips like you’d just won.

Chan stared.

Then laughed—ragged, disbelieving, utterly in awe.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he panted, hauling you up into his arms again. “Mark my words.”

You kissed his jaw, cheeky. “Then what a way to go.”

He groaned, forehead against yours.

“We’re not sleeping tonight.”

And you knew he meant it.

—

The water was still warm when Chan reached for a towel and wrapped it around your body, gathering you into him like you were something precious. Like you might disappear if he blinked.

You were trembling a little—not from cold, but from the comedown. The wild pace of everything. The stretch, the heat, the orgasm that had left your legs like jelly. The way he’d held your gaze while wrecking you on the couch like you weren’t his best friend—like you were already his everything.

Now? Now he was silent. Gentle.

A hand on the back of your head, stroking slowly.

“You okay?” he asked, voice raw and deep, brushing his lips to your temple.

You nodded into his chest. “Mhm. Just… processing.”

He smiled faintly, lifting you into his arms again—still naked, still wet—and carried you to his room without another word. The towel stayed wrapped around you, his hands never letting go, like it physically pained him to stop touching you.

He laid you on his bed with careful hands, kissed your forehead, then disappeared for a moment—returning with your hoodie, a fresh pair of his boxers, a warm water bottle, and a glass of juice.

You stared at him, body curling toward his naturally as you laid there—wrapped in soft cotton, legs still aching in the best way. “So… this really happened.”

Chan tilted his head, gaze steady. “Are you regretting it?”

“No,” you whispered, too fast. Then, “Are you?”

His brow furrowed like you’d offended him. “Baby. I’d do it all over again right now if you weren’t already shaky.”

You flushed, heat blooming up your neck. He noticed it. Of course he did. His thumb brushed the side of your throat, reverent.

“Still can’t believe that’s your kink,” he murmured, soft and possessive and wrecked. “You have any idea what that did to me?”

You licked your lips, looking away. “…There’s more.”

Chan’s eyes darkened. “Oh, you’re gonna tell me.”

You tried to hide your smile. “We never talked about sex in ten years and now you wanna hear all my kinks?”

“Now I need to,” he replied, curling his hand behind your neck and pulling you closer again. “You let me touch you like that. Let me own you. You think I can go back to pretending you’re just my best friend after that?”

His mouth was so close. His fingers were back to stroking your skin, down your back, over the dip of your waist.

Your voice came out quieter now. “I’ve never given up control that easily.”

“I know.” He cupped your jaw, kissed the corner of your mouth. “And I’ll never take that for granted.”

You met his eyes. “But I’d do it again.”

His breath stuttered. And then he kissed you—soft this time, lingering.

“You have no idea how hard I’m holding back right now.”

“I can tell,” you whispered, glancing down at the way his towel was starting to shift.

He growled against your skin, pressing his forehead to yours. “This changes everything.”

You nodded slowly. “But it doesn’t ruin anything.”

“No,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “It just means we’ve got… ten years to make up for. And I plan to.”

You smiled. “So… you’re mine now?”

Chan pulled back just enough to lock eyes with you.

“No, baby,” he said with a dangerous smirk. “You’re mine. And I don’t share.”

Your stomach fluttered. You pushed at his chest, bratty. “Mm. You weren’t this cocky when we were just friends.”

He climbed over you again, straddling you on the bed with that wolfish glint in his eye.

“You never let me touch you like this before. Now I know what you sound like when you moan my name?”

He leaned down, voice dark, hungry.

“You have no idea how cocky I’m about to get.”

And just like that, you knew.

You’d opened Pandora’s box.

And Chan had no plans to close it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: AAAAAHHHHHHH!!! God this was sooo juicy to write!!!! I am so sorry for my absence guys, theres been so much on my plate… I’ve actually started an original book that i plan to publish some time in the future. 🤭 But I’m here now and ill post more frequently. As for all the requests? I SEE EVERYTHING, I WILL WORK ON THEM!! Just hold on for me babes!

Anyway, if you enjoyed this one, leave me a comment, like and reblog guys!! My taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added or removed!

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