intothestrayverse

[intothestrayverse]

need to suck han’s dick until there’s no more cum in him left, need to him milk him dry until his stomach caves in like a caprisun, need to have the nastiest, unholiest sex w him that the devil himself will personally walk me 2 heaven gate & tell god he don’t want my nasty ass down there

[intothestrayverse]

“Cognitive Dissonance”

Chan is your therapist—he uses every one of your weaknesses.

Genre: Therapist!Chan, Smut, Dark (ig)

Tags: Older Dom!Chan, Sub!reader, corruption kink, unethical therapist/patient dynamic, manipulation, mind games, praise + degradation, power imbalance, orgasm control, overstimulation, emotional tension, aftercare (twisted still aftercare ig), unprotected sex(wrap it before you tap it)

Summary:

You were sent to therapy because you couldn't sleep—troubled mind, nagging concern, possibly some trauma you weren't ready to talk about yet.

But Dr. Bang Chan… wasn't one of the others. Wasn't so serene. Too perceptive.

The way he listened made you feel like a problem he already had the solution to.

And you didn't realize it until too late—he wasn't there to cure you. He was there to claim you.

Because while you were spilling your secrets in his office, Chan was committing every trigger, every tell, every vulnerability—to use against you.

 "Cognitive Dissonance"…

Session #8 — Audio Recording Begins

"You're not very good at hiding things, you know that?"

His voice is low, smooth, with quiet power as he closes the door behind you. You sit on the couch—legs crossed, eyes fidgety.

"Hiding what?" you ask, voice tiny.

He tilts his head, a spark winking behind his glasses.

"The way you squirm whenever I mention your control issues."

You bristle. He notices. He always notices.

"You want to let go," he breathes, standing over you. "But you're too proud. Too afraid of what you'll be if someone else holds the strings to pull."

He sits beside you, knees brushing against yours.

"So what if," he breathes, running his fingers over your hair at the nape of your ear, "you let me have control… just tonight?"

You don't say anything.

And that is all the permission he needs.

You don't remember how you ended up in his lap—only the heaviness of his words against your skin, the scent of fresh musk and worn leather, and the damp heat building between your legs.

"Already wet," he tsks, pushing his fingers down your waistband. "Your body responds faster than your mouth."

He fingers you off to one side with practiced ease, two fingers sinking deep—just to test your reaction.

"You require control, don't you?" he whispers in your ear. "You want to be taught how to come, when to beg, when to rebel."

"Y-Yes," you gasp, eyelids closing.

"Good girl."

He fingers you deeper, curling precisely, thumb grinding over your clit. You arch back at him, moaning helplessly.

"Every session, you wore those little skirts hoping I'd snap. Every 'accidental' touch, every sulk when I didn't praise you."

"You've been begging for this."

He takes away his hand. You whimper.

"No coming yet. We're still processing, remember?"

He stands, unbuckling his belt. You automatically drop to your knees.

"See?" he smiles, stroking himself lazily. "All that hyping about independence… but the minute I utter your name, you obey."

He grabs your hair and stuffs you with his cock—inch by inch, slow and fat.

"Gag on it, sweetheart. Make that your epiphany."

He bends you over the leather couch, chest against the armrest, your moans echoing in the office.

You don't need therapy," he growls, pushing into you so hard the couch scoots forward. "You need to be owned."

Your hands grasp at the cushion as he thrusts into you, his one hand around your throat, the other pinned hard across your waist with bruising grip.

"You pleaded for this the moment you entered," he growls around gritted teeth. "The sleepless nights. The tension. The fucking need to be destroyed by someone more intelligent than you."

"And now," he grunts, restraining only to pound in further, "you'll never require the help of anyone else."

He strikes with a snarl, hips against your backside as you're filled by him.

You're trembling, leaking, tears streaming down your face.

“Good girl,” he whispers, brushing your hair back gently. “Now get dressed. We’ll talk about boundaries next week.”

(Pls dont copy or translate my work ིྀ)

[intothestrayverse]

guys i need absolutely FILTHY smut recs. im talking insane taboo and risky plots (no incest or my usual triggers) but i’m talking age gap, forbidden stuff, risky borderline concerning filthy smut. i need to feel it absolutely have my shaking from the inside out. i need feral smut. please.

[intothestrayverse]

• bsf's dad!chan x f!reader | m.list

| It doesn't seem like a good idea to tease your friend's dad.

warning | smut(ofc), dirty talk, overstimulating, ruined orgasm

word count | 1,2k

from the moment your friend pushed you in front of him with a smile on her face and said "dad, she's the friend I told you about" you knew it wouldn't be your last time at this house. you briefly looked at the hand he extended to you and reached out the same. his hand, which was bigger than yours, tightly wrapped around yours "well, pleasure to meet you sweetheart"

and that was all. he rarely left his office for the rest of the day. so that's why you decided to go to him instead "um..if you want, i can take the coffee to him while you choose the movie." only you knew the desire to see him again behind the innocent eyes of yours "oh okay then" the cup in your hand brought a smile to your face, you soon found yourself in front of his office door and knocked.

after a while of silence, the door opened, chan raised his eyebrows in surprise when he saw you "oh- is there a problem young lady?" you briefly extended the coffee in your hand to him, your action made him smile sincerely, his narrowed eyes and the dimples you saw made you wet your dry lips. "wow, thank you, i really needed this actually."

at that moment, chan thought about how kind and ladylike you were, he loved that his daughter was making friends with such a nice person. the next time you came home, he always greeted you with a smile, not knowing the thoughts behind your gaze.

"oh fuck." said your friend "language." she rolled her eyes and mumbled "sorry dad— anyway i forgot to get the most important ingredient for the cake, i'll be right back." your gaze turned to him the moment she left the kitchen, he was at the kitchen counter, taking out the ingredients in the bags, you took the opportunity and stand up, approach him "you're someone to be proud of, you take care of your daughter all by yourself... but doesn't being alone get tiring?" chan stopped at the question directed to him and locked his eyes with yours "well...you get used to it, time flies when you're busy." he politely brushed it off, but that didn't end yet, your eyes began to scan him shamelessly from head to toe "i mean...you're a really nice looking guy. i'm surprised that you're not seeing someone." he pulled his eyes away from you with what he heard and cleared his throat, the tension on his face made your smile even bigger "thank you...but these are not things to talk about."

you knew it would be easy to tease him, you could see that he was trying to push himself back but his gaze, the change in his breathing gave it all away. he just didn't want to convince himself that he wanted you.

now, the face that greeted you with a smile when you came home had turned into a tense expression. he avoided being alone in the same place with you but you weren't going to give up, he understood that when you entered the room without knocking. "I would've preferred you knock on the door." the fact that he was still trying to sound distant made you laugh. you made sure to lean in close enough to him as you placed the coffee on the table. chan felt dizzy the moment he smelled your perfume, his eyes drifted to the open buttons of your shirt and down to your breasts, he let out a shaky breath "If you're really interested, I can show you more." he cursed under his breath. no, you were never the innocent and kind girl he thought you were. you were a young naughty girl who didn't know how to behave. and the first chance he got, he was going to show you what happened to naughty girls.

you had gotten him to the point you wanted him to be, so you decided to pay him another little visit. unannounced. the day your friend was out with her friends.

when chan opened the door, the person he saw while waiting for his daughter made him hold his breath for a moment, you went inside without waiting too long. the familiar scent of perfume made his head spin again as he closed the door behind him and followed you. your steps took you to his room "I assume you didn't come for my daughter." you raised your head towards him and tilted it slightly "right guess, she's with her other friends, what could I do...? I got bored so I thought I could at least see you, did I do good?"

he ran his tongue across his cheek angrily "you don't know how to behave yourself, do you?" he took a step towards you, hand gripping your arm tightly. his grip made you whine in pain at first, but he didn't stop. he kept walking until your foot hit the bed, losing your balance and falling backwards. you watched him as he leaned over you "I gave you plenty of time to stop didn't I? so what did you do? you ignored my warnings and did your own thing." you could tell how serious and angry he was. the coldness in his voice had literally given you goosebumps.

chan got up off you, so you propped yourself up on your elbows and looked at him. noticed his hands going down to his own pants "well then. you asked for it, you'll get it." after hearing that sentence, something inside you was awakened by how easy it was to get what you wanted.

but chan wasn't going to let you experience the pleasure fully.

a groan filled your ear as you beg "please..." but your begging only made him continue more "mm..what's that? wasn't you the one who wanted it? you worked so hard to get my cock in that tight little pussy didn't you? I'm giving you what you want." his big thick cock was filling your walls, your pussy was being destroyed with each hard thrust but you still hadn't come completely. "wanna..cum.." you weren't even sure If you were heard anymore because none of your pleas were working.

"you really think you deserve to cum? you horny naughty girl, shouldn't think there won't be any consequences for what you do." your legs were shaking, you were on the verge of tears from the sensitivity of your body.

chan felt himself close to cumming, his vocals increasing "fuck—" he was making sure you took the full length. your body started to tensed, felt close to cumming again " 'm close..wanna cum..fuck— please.."

chan held your hips tightly where you were sure there would be a mark "yes, fucking cum baby, you can cum on this cock yeah? c'mon, make me proud." after a few hard thrusts you finally came with a loud moan, then chan came on your stomach.

while you try to catch your breath, he leaned closer to your face and kissed your forehead "there you go. you better not test me again or it won't be good for you, understand?"

[intothestrayverse]

unfortunately i am a dope fiend and i will smoke to get to the function

[intothestrayverse]

low-key forgot I can write instead of doing my work 😪

◁◄◁◄Jaws snaps

[intothestrayverse]

“Don’t choke, baby”

Pairing: Hyunjin x Reader

Tags: frat boy hyunjin, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, size kink, praise + slight degradation, spit, rougher hyunjin, post-party tension, frat house bathroom rendezvous, nsfw, minors do not interact

Boarders by @toastray

You barely made it down the hallway before Hyunjin’s hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you into his room like he owned the building—which, being the vice president of the frat, he kinda did.

The door slammed shut behind you. The air still smelled like weed, beer, and expensive cologne. He didn’t waste a second. His hoodie was halfway up his toned stomach, his jeans undone, and his cock?

Yeah. Just like you thought.

Big.

Thick. Heavy. A little curved. Red at the tip. Already leaking.

“Go ahead,” he said, voice low and smug. “Let’s see what that mouth can do.”

You dropped to your knees without a word, heat pooling between your legs at the sight of him—so cocky, so tall, so hard. You wrapped your hand around the base, spit already dribbling down your chin as you kissed the tip, then took him in inch by inch.

Hyunjin groaned above you, a hand sliding into your hair.

“Fuck, you look so pretty like this,” he muttered. “On your knees for me.”

He was big enough to stretch your lips, big enough to make your eyes water as you worked him down your throat. Your mascara started to smudge. He grunted when you gagged a little—his grip tightened in your hair.

“That’s it, baby. Take all of it.”

You pulled back for a breath, then went deeper—nose brushing his abs, spit dripping down your chin as he let out a rough moan.

“Shit—look at you,” he whispered, breathless. “You were made for this dick.”

You tried to respond, but he hit the back of your throat again, making your vision blur.

“Eyes up,” he muttered, tilting your chin. “Wanna see those pretty tears when I fuck your throat.”

You whined around him. He cursed. His thighs tensed.

And when he came, it was with a low, broken moan, spilling down your throat while his hand cradled the back of your head like you were his and his alone.

You pulled off, lips swollen, eyes glazed. You swiped your mouth with the back of your hand, still catching your breath.

Hyunjin grinned, chest rising and falling.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered. “I like that.”

[intothestrayverse]

any hyunjin drabbles u may have not shared yet? i js want to read anything hyune related >.<

i can give you a sneak peek of this unfinished hyunlix smut i've got in my drafts (cw: dollification, dubcon)

It’d all happened so fast. You’re not sure how you’d ended up like this: face pressed into a pillow and back arched to give the two men behind you the perfect view.

The stash of books and papers on the floor reminds you of what you should be doing instead. Your shared uni project abandoned, Hyunjin and Felix are clearly more interested in watching the arousal pooling between your legs. And judging by the appreciative sounds they’re making, it's already an embarrassing amount. You close your eyes and bury your burning face deeper into the pillow. 

“Tchk, doll, keep still,” Hyunjin shushes. He brushes soothing circles on your back and that fuzzy warmth washes over you again. Pliant. Docile like a captive animal they’re examining with great interest. 

“But the deadline is tomorrow…” you counter weakly. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Why is forming words so hard? They’ve barely touched you and you’re already twitching and shaking. They didn’t even bother to undress you, your skirt flipped up and underwear shoved down your thighs haphazardly. All afternoon they’d coerced you with subtle touches until Felix had slipped his hand between your legs to trace the outline of your pussy over your dampening panties.

It’d been so easy for them. Too easy. 

“You’re always studying,” Hyunjin lowers his face next to yours so you can meet his dark eyes. “Always working so hard. You deserve a break, love. Let us shut that big brain of yours up for once. Be our pretty doll.” His fingers ghost over your thigh and he chuckles when your gaze grows unfocused. 

“We can finish the project after,” Felix says. “Just let us play with your pussy first, okay?”

Impatient, he doesn’t wait for an answer, grabbing hold of your hips and parting your folds with his tongue. You choke out a low moan and Hyunjin laughs again, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

It’s confusing, the dichotomy between their gentle touches and the way they’re taking whatever they want.

Hyunjin watches the hesitation in your eyes falter with every swipe of Felix’s tongue. “We know what’s best for you, sweetheart. Dolls don’t think. Dolls don’t speak. Dolls don’t move… dolls just take what’s given to them,” he brushes a strand of hair out of your face. “How does that sound?”

You realize there’s no point in even trying to fight the two men on it. Not now they finally got what they must’ve wanted all along: your body at their disposal, all theirs for the taking. 

Maybe Hyunjin is right — maybe they do know what’s best for you.

[intothestrayverse]

Need to go into a puppy play sorta space with Channie real bad

Need him to put a sparkly collar on me and tell me how pretty I look while he rubs behind my ears-

RUFF RUFF

puppy girl agenda always! (sorry this got hella out of hand 💀)

warnings for below the cut; pet play (semi-heavy? there is a scene or two where chan’s treatment of reader is… more like she is an actual dog LOL but it’s not meant to be degrading), daddy!chan, sub(puppy)!reader, daddy kink, d/s dynamics, established relationship, dry humping, collaring, leash mention, subspace, mentions of knots and heat, praise, dirty talk…, erm… if i missed something just let me know!

Bang Chan is many, many things.

He fulfills many roles at the ripe age of twenty-seven; leader, son, and brother to name only a few. They’re all rewarding in their own right, playing strongly on his sense of duty. However, the most fulfilling duty isn’t being respectful to his mother, nor is it being a role model of a sibling or even being a strong, sturdy guide for the seven young men he chose to build his dreams with. The most rewarding job that he has is being a partner, a caregiver, and more specifically, your Daddy.

The way you kneel between his legs, all dilated pupils and parted lips, is a quite the sight for sore eyes. You look at Chan like he’s hung the moon, adoring and awestruck. It’s an ego booster — heady. Chan leads in every aspect of his daily life, but it’s different with you, especially within the confines of your bedroom walls. You trust Chan implicitly, and the thick collar that he’s currently placing around your neck is tangible proof of that.

“Pretty,” he compliments, stroking the skin above the collar. He watches the way your body almost deflates, tension bleeding from your muscles. “Just what my puppy needed, hm?”

You mewl, unfocused eyes gazing into his own. A nod and a slurred, “Yes,” is the only response you give him.

Strong hands curl themselves around the sides of your head, sliding over the skin behind your ears until the top of his fingers are pressing at the base of your skull. They press and massage the nodules there, and you can’t help but lean into it, neck going limp because you trust that your Daddy will be the pillar to hold you up. Chan smiles, wide and brilliant, as a coo makes its way past his lips.

“Look at you, baby. Feels good to let go, yeah?”

It’s a rhetorical question, so you don’t reply. You’re sure the answer is in your expression, anyway. You go down so easy for him these days, content to float away because Daddy will handle it all. Your unwavering submission makes Chan feel powerful in a way that satisfies his need to take care of those he loves, but also in a way that makes his cock stiff in his jeans. You’re his pretty baby, his good girl, his sweet pup. Chan will take care of you always; you don’t have to worry about a thing whenever your collar is on.

His nails scratch lightly at your neck and scalp, his own pupils dilating at the tiny pants you begin to let out. His chest starts filling with an aching sort of want; the more he scratches, the looser your jaw becomes, those tiny, puppy-like pants flowing out freely. You’re so cute; Chan thinks you’d look even cuter if you’d let your tongue fall out. Maybe he could make you yip for him later? Have you give him a little bark and wag your hips like a real puppydog. That’s for later though; right now is for taking care of you.

“Puppy,” your boyfriend croons, gripping your hair so he can tilt your eyesight to level with his. “Daddy’s gotta ask you a question, okay? You with me?”

It takes a moment. Your brain is pretty fuzzy, but you are cognizant of the fact that Chan is talking to you. You fight through the fog in your head to gain a little focus, just enough control to be able to look him in the eyes and really hear what he has to say. Chan waits patiently, a faint smile on his lips as he watches you come back down to earth.

“There you are,” he breathes, and your lashes flutter at the raspy, quiet bass of his voice, “Back now, sweet girl?”

“Mhm,” you answer, body buzzing in a state that feels like it’s somewhere between sleep and arousal. “Right here, Daddy.”

“That’s good. I just wanna know what you need, baby. You wanna play?”

You think about it for a second, and then a second longer. “No, no play.”

“Wanna go for a walk?”

You feel heat prickling your skin. The thought of sinking further into the clouds, letting Chan lead you around on all fours does sound enticing. You can hear the phantom jingle of the tags on your collar already. Still, it’s not quite what you want and you make that known.

“Mm, okay,” Chan hums in understanding. You don’t need to act out a scene, and you don’t need to slip deep into subspace.

There is only one other option and you’re both aware of it. Chan can tell you’re blushing, the heat underneath his palms as he slides his hands forward to cradle your jaw. Inside he’s smirking though his face remains impassive. How adorable is it that you have enough shame to blush even though you’re on your knees with a literal dog collar around your neck?

“Ah, I know,” he drawls, leaning in close, “Puppy wants to hump, doesn’t she?”

Your breath catches, embarrassment and desire churning in your gut. You feel shy, but it’s fleeting; there is no shame to be had here, you know. Chan is more than happy to indulge your needs, especially knowing that his own align with them so well.

“Is my pretty puppy going into heat?”

“Daddy,” you whine, “‘M not a real puppy.”

“Sure you are, baby,” he tuts, pinching your cheeks between the index finger and thumb of his dominant hand. “You’re my puppy, aren’t you?”

You hesitate, licking over your dry lips before answering.

“Yes.”

“So say it. Go on; tell me. Say, ‘I’m Daddy’s puppy’.”

“I’m D-Daddy’s puppy,” you say, squeezing your thighs together.

“Good girl,” he rumbles, nudging his foot into the small place between your parted knees.

“Now let’s take care of that pesky heat, yeah? Go ahead and lower your hips. You can hump my leg, puppy; it’s okay.”

“Daddy,” comes your whimper, hips dropping immediately, lowering all the down until you’re settled atop his foot.

Your hips kick forward at the pressure against your swollen cunt. It’s only then that you realize how wet you are, a tendril of shame curling in your gut knowing that Chan can feel it. Your arms encircle his lower leg to stable yourself as you rock, panting lowly because you’re finally getting that much needed friction against your sensitive clit. Chan grins, wolfish and hungry, and pets over your hair.

“Such a good girl,” he praises, “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“Y-Yeah,” you slur, a foggy haze of desire settling in your brain. “So nice.”

And it does. It’s a slick slide, the soft skin of Chan’s foot under the heated skin of your pussy. At the top of your rolls, you can feel the bone of his ankle, sturdy and unmoving as it holds its ground again your rutting. You can’t help your whining, feeling slightly out of your mind.

It’s going to be so easy to come like this.

“Shh,” Chan hushes you, urging you to rest your cheek on his thigh. “You just focus on coming, baby. Gotta make sure you’re nice and wet, yeah?”

You hum in agreement, rutting harder against Chan’s leg.

“Yeah, that’s right. Need you soft and relaxed for when Daddy stuffs a knot inside that tiny, little puppycunt of yours.”

Neither of you are that surprised when you come.

© hyungszn 2025; please do not copy, steal, repost, modify, translate, use for ai, or recommend on any other platform without my permission!

[intothestrayverse]

han jisung + overstimulation/dumbification

Your wrists are pinned above your head, fingers twitching in his grip, useless against the way his body cages you in. Jisung’s chest is slick with sweat, his breath fanning hot across your face as he moves—slow, deep thrusts that make your spine arch and your thighs tremble. You’ve cum. Once. Twice. Maybe more. Your muscles are weak, twitching from the overload, tears clinging to your lashes. But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down.

“Aww, what’s wrong?” he coos, cock twitching inside you as he watches your mouth fall open in a sob. “Too much?” His voice is all mock sympathy, the kind that drips with smugness, the kind that knows exactly what he’s doing to you. You choke on his name, broken and breathless, and he smiles—a slow, wicked thing that spreads like fire under your skin.

“That’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, leaning down, lips brushing your cheek, your jaw, your ear. “You don’t have to think anymore.” His grip on your wrists tightens. “I’ll do that for both of us.”

You whimper when he thrusts again—slower this time, but impossibly deep, grinding just right, making your entire body shudder. He groans against your throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

“You just lie there and take it,” he whispers, voice dark and reverent like it’s a command and a prayer all in one. “My perfect little toy. So good like this. So pretty when you break.”

And when your eyes roll back and your body gives out, he catches your next orgasm like he’s earned it.

Because he has. Over and over again.

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

skz general: @velvetmoonlght @scarlet789 @estella-novella @nightmarenyxx @channiesluvrclub

(if you want to be added to my taglist, please comment under the post.)

[intothestrayverse]

◁◄◁◄Jaws snaps

study break

fem!reader x han jisung

synopsis: you take a study break with your boyfriend

warnings: 🔞!! slightly innocent reader, some nipple play, fingering, oral (f!rec), prob forgot some sorry

wc: 2k

an: this was a request but my inbox ate it ;-; hope i got everything anon asked for :)) not proofread sorry :( feedback appreciated! [m.list]

You have been at your desk for over six hours studying for your next exam. Hand cramping from all the notes you were copying down from slides you missed a few weeks ago. Ones that you finally remembered you needed to go over. You had only stepped away for a shower a few minutes ago to try and calm your mind after nearly crying over a worksheet. Pacing back and forth before you caught sight of your shower caddy deciding that if the shower didn’t work as a refresher then you would just take whatever grade you got and would have to live with it. 

It wasn’t until the knocking at your door that you realized how stressed you had been. The evening you had planned with your boyfriend was forgotten until you pulled open the door to see him standing in the hallway of your dorm. 

“So you are alive,” Han smiles as soon as you open the door. His hair curled around his ears, dotted with droplets of rain. 

“nooo I missed our date,” you softly whine leaning your head on the door. The past couple of times you've studied you turned on an app that locked your phone to help with distractions. Only now it was backfiring because Han had been trying to reach you to remind you of your night out. “I'm so sorry Han I swear I didn't do it on purpose I haven't even thought about anything else besides this exam,” 

“it's okay i kinda figured so I picked up dinner,” he holds up the paper bag in his hand. 

“I'm the worst,” and he only smiles shaking his head, “You perfect, I should have known that scheduling a date the night before an exam was not the best idea,” 

you wave him into the small space, your books a mess on your desk, the bed rumpled and unmade. Your roommate's side is just as lived in even for her off staying at her boyfriends most of the time. You're sure this is the first time hans been in here besides you picking up something but he never made it past the doorway. 

The two of you have only been seeing each other for little dates for a few weeks now. You shared a class together, working next to each other in silence for most of the semester before he asked for help on an assignment he didn't need help with at all. Confessing later that he only just got up the courage to speak and used the work as an excuse. You're closer to friends than you are really dating with how slow the two of you are moving. Neither of you moved past holding hands and one interrupted make out session. But you were new to everything and Jisung was patient. 

Han kicked off his shoes, setting the food down at the edge of your desk. “Have you taken a break at all?” 

“I mean I showered,” you shrug, your hair is still wet, droplets of water soaking your tank top. You didn't even notice how the fabric was wet enough to leave nothing to the imagination. The outline of your nipples draws hans eyes right to your chest. 

“You are all wet,” he smiles, biting the tip of his tongue. You can feel your skin getting hot, trying to play off his stare by rolling your eyes.

“Usually what happens after a shower,” you collect a few of your books, closing and stacking them up to make room. Shuffling papers around and making sure to check you have everything turned in before the exam. You're leaning over your chair looking at the assignments calendar online when you see you forgot to submit last week's discussion post. Your light sigh is enough for Jisung to place his hand on your back leaning next to you to see what you are now focused on. 

“It's already late, maybe you should save it for the morning,” he suggests, warming up your lower back as he rubs soft circles against your skin. 

“it's only one question, it better to just get it over with so I'm not stressing more than I already am,” although it's the last thing you want to do, already you have given up after your long day. But you rolled your chair out sitting down to work out one more question. “you should just start eating so your food doesn't get cold,” 

“no no I picked up sandwiches from the cafe by the library I can wait,” he stands behind you, hands on your shoulders, fingers flicking over the thin straps of your tank top. 

You pull up the post not realizing the link attached was for a document you had to read consisting of six long sheets of tiny text. Your sigh is more of a groan this time, hans chuckle right at your ear as he looks over your shoulder. “I think that's the kind you need the magnifier tool for,” 

“why the hell would anyone use text that small,” you can feel the weight of the day landing heavy right at your feet. Just when you hoped to be done, to only have to overview notes you hated this. Your teeth sink into your cheek trying to will yourself not to cry over something so stupid. You were so close to finishing not only the day but your class, one assignment wouldn't kill your grade but just knowing it was going undone would kill your pride. You let your head fall to your hands, the heels of your palms pressed to the sockets of your eyes like that would will your tears away. 

“Hey,” Han whispers, pushing a few strands of hair behind your ear, “come on let's take a longer break than just a shower, we can worry about that later,” his hands slip over your arms, sliding up and down, chin on your shoulder, nose bumping your ear. 

“Sorry, I've just been so overwhelmed with everything,” you say, rubbing at your eyes, feeling a bit embarrassed. 

“That's okay, you just need to relax, lay back, and forget school for a second,” his breath is ghosting over your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. His hands go to your stomach, finger tracing the seam of your top. “you know I could help you with that,” his nose brushes down behind your ear and down your neck, lips leaving slight pecks on your skin. 

“t-the assignment?” It's a stupid question but you're not past the brain fog, now worsened by Han giving you the softest kisses on your neck. Your head falling back, eyes closed as he fell into the feel of you. 

“no,” he kisses at your jaw, “not the assignment,” one hand slipping up your stomach, knuckles brushing your nipple. “is this okay?” 

“yes,” you nod, reaching up behind you to twist your fingers into his hair. Your back bowed as he cupped you over the thin material of your shirt, fingers rolling over your pebbled nipples, his lips sucking marks onto your skin. 

His free hand starts to slip past the waistband of your shorts, your breath catching in your throat, “you don't have to do that,” he pulls his hand back to your stomach. 

“Do you not want me to? We can slow down or stop, whatever you want,” now you're more than a little bit embarrassed. 

“No it's not that I want you to stop, I just- I've never really had anyone do that before,” you confess, face hot enough to thank the fact your back is to han. It wasn't that you were against it, only that you spent most time inside studying instead of going out and meeting guys to hook up with. And from what friends have said some guys don't like going down on girls with their mouths or hands. “and I know some guys don't like it,” 

“yeah the wrong guys,” he chuckles the rumble of his laugh right in your ear before he kisses over the mark he made on your neck, “I on the other hand have been thinking of devouring you the second you sat down next to me that first day in class wearing that little skirt,” 

“Really?” his fingers tugging the waistband of your shorts before letting it snap back in place. 

“uh huh, thinking about how good you would taste, how pretty you would look cumming on my tongue, how perfect you would sound,” your hips instinctively roll at the idea, Han's hand slipping back under your waistband. “Would you like that?” 

“Yes,” the whisper is enough for Han to pull your chair out from under the desk, kneeling before you looking up like you set the best platter before him. 

He kisses your knee hands sliding up the side of your thighs to tug down your shorts and panties. You should feel exposed or even a little bit shy but Han is licking his lips, eyes flickering between your glistening cunt and your face. “Even prettier than I imagined,” hooking his hands at the back of your knees he pulls you to the edge of the chair, slotting your legs over his shoulders as you lean back gripping the seat watching what he’ll do next. 

“Are you just going to like...kiss it?” 

“I plan on suffocating between your thighs so maybe a lot more than kissing,” he peppers kisses all along your thigh, your legs already trying to close at how each kiss sends a tingle straight to your clit. 

When he finally leans down and his lips brush over your swollen nub you know you're done for. His light kiss was enough to send all thoughts and stress right out the window. And when he licks up your wetness from your entrance and swipes up to your clit latching on and sucking your head falls back and you let out a moan that doesn't sound like you. Jisungs hands move to hold your hips in place. 

You swear you see stars as he sucks before he pulls away your whine making him chuckle, “Do you like it?” 

Your hand moves to his hair wanting to tug him back down, “please don't stop now,” 

“Look at you trying new things,” he gives light kisses to your folds, loving to watch your hips try to work on their own to get his mouth back on your clit. “already doing so good at being responsive to my touch,” 

“Hannie please,” you beg and he doesn't hold back. He sucks your clit into his mouth, letting one hand free from holding you down to raise in front of you.

“suck my fingers and get them all wet and ready for me to get you to cum on them,” slipping them into your mouth you follow his orders letting them roll on your tongue before he pulls them back to rub on your pussy. 

Your orgasm was building in the pit of your stomach, every flick of his tongue pushing you closer to the edge. Your legs jolt at the feel of his finger prodding your entrance, knees pulling in before he shakes his head, “Relax baby,” letting your other hip go he presses the pad of his thumb to your clit rubbing at a soft rhythm until your legs rest back on his shoulders. He's slow to slip his first finger in, dragging it out before adding the second. His smile is starstruck, feeling along your gummy walls like he found heaven, “look at that, you're doing so good for me,” the slow pumps of his fingers take up more of your mind until he leans back down to suck on your clit. 

Thighs trembling your head rolls back, eyes shut trying to catch your breath before you're cumming, Han pressing his fingers into your g-spot like he's always known your body. Han is swallowing all your cum down like he can't get enough of it, burying his face in your pussy as you pulse around his fingers. Your hand on his hair starts to tug harder, your hips thrusting into his face, knees closing in around his ears. He is slow to pull away from you but knows he shouldn't overstimulate you the first time. “now if you ever need me to take your mind off of anything, you don't even have to ask I'll be right here on my knees ready for you,”

[intothestrayverse]

Sticky, Sweet, Strawberries

Pairing: H.jisung x afab!reader

Genre: smut. just absolute smut. MDNI!

Summary: The heat is unbearable, but not nearly as suffocating as the need in Jisung’s gaze—sticky fingers, strawberry-stained lips, and all—until you’re trembling and ruined.

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Content Warning: Smut, Food Play, Sensory Play, Oral, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Begging, Light Degradation & Praise, Teasing, Edging, Orgasm Control, Light Choking, Desperation, Overstimulation, Messy, Sticky, Filthy─literally & Figuratively, slightly needy Dom! Jisung (might've missed some)

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: this was absolute filth. I don't know how i went from watching strawberry mukbang during my break to writing this.

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EVERYTHING WRITTEN IS PURELY FICTION──NOTHING IS DIRECTLY RELATED TO ANY REAL LIFE EVENTS.

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The summer heat clung to your skin, thick and oppressive, the weight of it pressing down like a second layer. The air conditioning was barely sputtering, doing little to chase away the suffocating warmth that curled in the apartment. It smelled of something lazy and slow—sun-warmed skin, the faint hint of sweat, and the overripe sweetness of the strawberries sitting in the bowl between you and Jisung on the couch.

Jisung was sprawled out next to you, but his body wasn’t relaxed. No, he was a live wire, wound so tight he was practically vibrating with pent-up need. His leg pressed against yours, his knee shifting, restless, like he was trying to inch closer without making it obvious. His fingers toyed with a strawberry, rolling it between his fingertips, squeezing just enough to make the juice seep out. And when he bit into it—slow, deliberate—the syrupy red dripped down his chin, trailing to his throat, disappearing beneath the thin fabric of his tank.

He was putting on a show. For you.

And he was fucking dying for you to notice.

You caught him watching, of course. You always did.

His eyes were darker now, his lips parted slightly, breath a little heavier. His tongue flicked out, chasing the juice at the corner of his mouth before sucking his fingers clean, gaze locked onto you the whole time.

“You wanna taste?” His voice came out rough, thick with something unspoken.

You swallowed hard. “I’m good.”

Jisung groaned, head falling back against the couch dramatically, his thighs spreading wider. “God, you’re killing me.”

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“You think I don’t see you looking at me?” He turned his head to face you, lips still glossy, his fingers gripping at his shorts like he physically needed to hold himself back. He reached for another strawberry, but this time, his hand was shaking. He bit into it, eyes fluttering shut as a deep groan rumbled in his chest.

“I can’t—” His voice broke. “I can’t fucking sit here and pretend I’m not about to lose my mind.”

Your stomach clenched. “Jisung—”

“I want you so bad it hurts,” he whispered, his free hand ghosting over your thigh, squeezing just enough to feel the way your muscles tensed beneath his touch. “Been thinking about you all day. All fucking day. And now you’re here, looking at me like that, and I—” He cut himself off with a harsh exhale, dragging his palm over his mouth like he was trying to keep himself from saying something he shouldn’t.

“Like what?” You whispered, leaning in just slightly, your own resolve slipping.

His eyes flashed. “Like you want me to ruin you.”

Your breath hitched.

Jisung let out a shuddering exhale. “Fuck. You do, don’t you?” His fingers twitched on your thigh. “Baby, please—please, I can’t take it anymore.”

His desperation was palpable now, thick in the air between you. His hips shifted restlessly, his chest rising and falling unevenly. His fingers, still sticky from the strawberries, traced slow, shaking circles into your skin.

“Tell me you want me,” he pleaded. “Tell me, or I swear to god, I’m gonna fucking lose it.”

Your lips parted, but he wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his breath hot against your neck. “I’ve been like this for hours. Hard and aching and thinking about how fucking good you’d taste. I can’t—I can’t do this anymore.”

His hands were on you now, gripping, squeezing, pulling you closer like he needed to feel you against him or he might actually go insane. “Please,” he whimpered, pressing his forehead against yours, his voice breaking. “I need you.”

And when you finally—finally—whispered, “Take me, Jisung,” he let out the most wrecked, relieved sound you’d ever heard.

He smirked. As if that one single go signal snapped something inside him. “So... you like watching me eat, baby?”

The way he said it—low, teasing, like he knew exactly what was happening between your legs—made your stomach clench. He shifted closer, the heat of his body pressing against your side, his hand sliding over your thigh, fingertips still sticky as they traced slow, teasing circles into your skin.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” he murmured. “The way you’ve been squeezing those thighs together?”

His fingers dipped higher, dragging the juice-sticky pads just under the hem of your shorts, leaving damp streaks on your skin. You sucked in a breath, your nipples tightening beneath your thin tank top.

He noticed that too.

“You wanna taste?” he whispered, lifting his hand, holding two sticky fingers up to your lips—glistening red, sweet and wet.

You parted your lips without thinking, wrapping them around his fingers, sucking slow, tongue flicking against the pads. He let out a low groan, his own breath stuttering when you hollowed your cheeks, sucking the juice clean from his skin.

“Fuck.” His voice cracked, his free hand gripping your thigh. “Greedy little thing.”

Your heart pounded, your skin burning. You were already soaked, the wetness sticking your panties to your folds, the ache unbearable.

“Jisung…”

“Shhh.” His fingers traced down your throat, your collarbone, then lower—gripping the strap of your tank top and sliding it down, exposing one bare breast. His sticky fingers circled your nipple, rolling it between them, coating it in the faint sweetness of strawberries.

“You wanna know what I was thinking about this whole time?” His lips brushed your ear, voice honeyed sin. “How fucking good you’d taste if I smeared this sweet little pussy with strawberry juice… and licked you clean.”

A breath shuddered from your lips, your thighs clenching involuntarily.

“You want that, baby?” His fingers teased lower, slipping just beneath the waistband of your shorts and underwear. “Want me to eat you like dessert?”

You whimpered. “Yes… please.”

“That’s my girl.”

In one fluid motion, he was pulling your shorts down, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath him. The heat of the room made every touch feel electric—every brush of his fingers against your swollen folds sending sharp pleasure through your body.

He reached for the bowl, dipping his fingers into the leftover strawberry juice, watching you the whole time as he brought them between your legs, dragging the sticky wetness through your slit.

“Fuck, you’re already so wet,” he groaned, circling your clit with slow, lazy strokes. “Look at you… making such a mess for me.”

Your breath hitched, your hips jerking against his hand. The combination of the cold juice and his warm fingers had you shaking, every nerve ending on fire.

“Jisung—”

“I know, baby,” he cooed, slipping one finger inside—sticky and slow—stretching you open. “Gotta get you ready, don’t I? Can’t fuck you if you’re not nice and soft for me.”

He added a second finger, fucking you slow and deep, curling them just right—dragging against that spot that made your toes curl. The wet, obscene sounds of your slick mixing with the juice filled the room.

“You’re dripping all over my hand, baby. So fucking sweet.”

He pulled his fingers out suddenly, making you whine, and brought them to his lips without breaking eye contact—licking them clean with a low groan.

“Tastes even better than I imagined.”

You whimpered, your thighs shaking, the ache between them unbearable.

“Please—”

“Oh, don’t worry, baby.” He smirked, sliding down to his knees between your legs and pulling your laced panties down, his hot breath fanning over your soaked pussy. “I’m gonna clean you up real nice.”

And when his tongue finally flicked against your clit—sticky, sweet, and devastatingly slow—you realized you were completely at his mercy.

The air in the apartment was thick—hot and damp, clinging to your skin like syrup. The scent of ripe strawberries mixed with sweat and sex, a heady concoction that made your head spin. The flickering neon sign from outside bled through the blinds, casting everything in a hazy red glow, as if the entire room was soaked in sin.

The first flick of his tongue had your thighs twitching around his head, but Jisung just chuckled against your soaked heat—his breath hot and humid, sending a shiver straight down your spine. He had you spread out on the couch, legs thrown over his broad shoulders, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs as he kept you pinned in place.

“So fucking sweet… just like I knew you’d be.”

His voice was gravel, rough and low, vibrating against your pussy as his tongue traced lazy, teasing circles around your clit without giving you the pressure you desperately needed. Every touch was deliberate, calculated to break you down piece by piece.

The sticky strawberry juice mixed with your slick, making everything messier—hotter. He spread your folds with his thumbs, smearing the sweetness all over you, the obscene wet sounds echoing in the sweltering apartment. His mouth was relentless, lapping up every drop before sinking lower, teasing the tight ring of muscle just above where his fingers stretched you open.

“You’re making such a fucking mess, baby,” he groaned, dragging his tongue up through your slit, slow and filthy, gathering every drop before sucking your clit into his mouth. His teeth grazed the sensitive bud, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips when you whimpered. “Gonna lick you clean… eat this pretty pussy until you’re crying.”

You whimpered, back arching, hips bucking up into his face, already so wound up you could barely breathe.

“Jisung… please—”

A rough groan against your dripping cunt. “You beg so fucking pretty, baby.”

The sweltering heat of the apartment only amplified the sticky, filthy mess between your thighs—strawberry juice mixing with your slick, dripping down onto the ruined couch cushions. Jisung hadn't stopped touching you, tasting you, making you tremble beneath him.

He reached for the half-empty bowl of strawberries, fingers already coated in the syrupy sweetness. A wicked grin stretched across his face as he plucked out the ripest one, glistening red and dripping with juice.

“You trust me, baby?” he murmured, dark eyes flickering between your flushed face and your messy, soaked pussy.

You nodded weakly, lips parted.

“Good.”

Without warning, he pressed the cold, wet fruit against your swollen clit, dragging it slow and teasing through your folds. The contrast of the chilled berry against your overheated skin made you jerk, a sharp gasp tearing from your lips. But his free hand was already there, pressing down on your stomach, holding you still.

“Don’t fucking move.”

You whimpered, body shivering, thighs twitching around his head. He smirked at your reaction, eyes locked onto the sight of your soaked pussy, now smeared with sticky red juice.

“Messy little thing,” he muttered, rolling the fruit against your entrance, letting the wetness coat your folds completely before lifting it to your lips. “Bite.”

You obeyed without hesitation, sinking your teeth into the soft flesh. The burst of sweetness flooded your tongue, mingling with the taste of your own arousal still lingering from his fingers earlier.

But he wasn’t done.

He brought another strawberry to your entrance, pressing the rounded tip against your dripping hole. Your breath caught, body tensing as he slowly pushed the fruit inside—stretching you open just enough to make you squirm.

“Fuck—look at that,” he groaned, mesmerized by the sight of your pussy swallowing the fruit. “Taking it so well, baby.”

He twisted it, just slightly, letting the juices spill out inside you, mixing with your slick, making everything impossibly wetter. You moaned, hips rocking into his touch, desperate for more.

“You like that?” he murmured, pushing it in a little deeper, then pulling it back out just enough to tease you. “Like me fucking this messy little pussy with a fucking strawberry?”

You sobbed out a desperate, breathless, “Yes—please—”

He smirked, twisting the fruit again, fucking you slow and deep with it, watching as the sticky red juices leaked out around it, dripping down your thighs. Then, without warning, he pulled it out completely and brought it to his lips—tongue flicking out to lap up the glistening mix of strawberry and your arousal.

“Fuck—you taste even better like this.” His voice was wrecked, thick with lust.

But he wasn’t done.

With one hand gripping the bowl, he tilted it, letting the thick strawberry syrup pour down the center of your body—trickling between your breasts, dripping over your stomach, pooling between your thighs. The sensation was overwhelming—cool, sticky, and utterly filthy.

“Jesus fucking Christ—” Jisung groaned like he was in pain, watching the mess spread across your skin, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “You’re such a filthy little thing… letting me pour this shit all over you.”

Then he was on you.

His mouth latched onto your pussy, hot and desperate, his tongue swirling through the sticky syrup—lapping up the mixture of strawberry juice and your own arousal. He moaned against you, the vibrations shooting straight through your core, making you jerk beneath him.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groaned, lips dragging over your clit, sucking the mess into his mouth before diving back in. “Sweetest fucking pussy I’ve ever had.”

You were wrecked—gasping, trembling, legs shaking around his head—but he didn’t care. He just held you tighter, his grip bruising, his mouth working you over like he was starved.

“You like that, baby?” he murmured, voice muffled against your drenched pussy. “Like having me eat you like a fucking dessert?”

“Y-Yeah—”

He smirked darkly before spitting directly onto your swollen clit, watching it mix with the sticky mess already covering you.

“Good.”

His tongue flicked faster, greedier, his fingers plunging back inside you, curling deep, fucking you with just the right rhythm to have you sobbing for release.

“Come on, baby.” His voice was wrecked, desperate, dripping with hunger. “Cream all over my fucking tongue… let me taste every last drop.”

You shattered—legs shaking, body convulsing as you came hard against his mouth, soaking him completely. He groaned, drinking you down, licking every last bit of the sticky mess from your trembling thighs.

By the time he finally pulled away, you were panting, spent, completely wrecked. But Jisung just smirked, wiping his slick, sticky mouth with the back of his hand before crawling back up your body.

“Told you I’d clean you up, baby.”

Jisung’s need was unbearable—his cock aching, leaking through his shorts as he grabbed another strawberry, rubbing it along your sensitive, overstimulated folds. The juice smeared everywhere, making you shudder, your body still twitching from the last orgasm.

“Fuck, baby,” He tossed the strawberry aside, freeing himself from the tight confines of his shorts gripping the base of his cock, dragging the tip through the mess he’d made of you. “I need to be inside you—need to fuck this messy little pussy so fucking bad.”

You whimpered, reaching down to grab at his wrist, desperate and needy. “Please, Jisung—just fuck me already.”

His resolve snapped.

he groaned, lining himself up, and in one slow, devastating thrust, he pushed inside—stretching you open inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt. The stretch was too much and just right all at once, making you gasp, nails digging into his back.

“Oh my fucking god—”

“Shhh,” he cooed, dragging his lips down your neck. “You can take it, baby. I know you can.”

His thrusts started slow—deep, deliberate, dragging every inch of his cock against your soaked, swollen walls. But the stickiness of the strawberry juice, the mess between you, made everything so much filthier—slicker, wetter, hotter.

“You feel that?” He groaned, voice thick with pleasure. “So fucking sticky… making such a mess all over my cock.”

He gripped your throat with one sticky hand, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. “I’m not stopping until you can’t walk.”

The room is thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and strawberries. The sheets are ruined beneath you, sticky and damp, but Jisung doesn’t care. He’s still buried inside you, cock twitching, hands gripping your hips like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

His breath is ragged against your throat, his body shivering above you. He’s desperate, needy—his fingers digging into your skin as he holds himself still, like he’s trying to savor the feeling of your tight, dripping heat around him.

“Fuck,” he groans, forehead pressed against yours. “You’re squeezing me so fucking tight, baby… gonna make me lose it.”

You whimper, your own body still trembling from the last orgasm he dragged out of you. But Jisung’s not done—not even close.

His hand slides down between your bodies, fingers slipping through the mess of slick and strawberry juice smeared all over your pussy. The mixture is warm and sticky, clinging to your swollen folds as he gathers it up, smearing it lazily across your skin. He finds the half-mushed strawberry still resting against your throbbing clit and presses it in just enough to make you gasp, the cool flesh meeting with the heat of your arousal.

“You feel how messy you are, baby?” His voice is wrecked, thick with need, each word dripping with hunger. “Look at this fucking pussy—sticky, soaked, just for me.”

He drags the fruit down, the juices mixing with your slick, dripping between your thighs as he rolls it along your entrance. The sensation is foreign, teasing, the soft flesh pressing against you before he slides it lower, coating his cock in the syrupy mix of juice and your wetness. He strokes himself slowly, hissing at the sticky glide, his length glistening with the obscene combination.

“You want it?”

“Please,” you gasp, legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his lower back. “Jisung, please—”

That’s all he needs.

He thrusts in hard, burying himself back in one slick stroke. The stretch is deeper than the first thrust, overwhelming, a filthy mix of pressure and heat that has you arching beneath him. The thickness of him pries you open, stuffing you full until he’s pressed flush against you, the weight of his body heavy and grounding.

“Oh—fuck—”

Jisung groans, head dropping to your shoulder. His hips are already moving, fast and desperate, like he can’t hold back anymore. The syrupy wetness only amplifies the glide, making each thrust deeper, wetter, filthier. Every snap of his hips echoes in the air, a mix of slick sounds and the raw, panting moans spilling from both of you.

“Fuck, baby,” he grits out, voice strained as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. “You’re so fucking tight—I can’t—I can’t stop.”

He doesn’t try to. His pace is relentless, deep and hungry, every thrust sending the sinful mix of your slick and sticky juice spilling out around the base of his cock, dripping down onto the ruined sheets. His hands grip your hips so tight you’re sure they’ll bruise, his fingers sticky from where he held the strawberry against your clit.

“You hear that?” he mutters, his voice thick with lust and satisfaction. “So fucking wet… making the nastiest fucking sounds.”

You can hear it—can feel it—the obscene, squelching noises each time he drives his cock into you, a filthy mix of slaps and drips. His fingers find your clit again, sticky and slick, rubbing messy circles that make your whole body jolt beneath him.

“Gonna come for me again, baby?” His voice is a plea, raw and desperate, laced with need so thick it sends shivers down your spine. “Please—please, I need it—need to feel you.”

You’re already there, already so close you can barely breathe. Jisung’s hips stutter, his thrusts growing sloppy, but he keeps fucking into you, chasing both of your highs like a man possessed.

“Come on, baby,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot and ragged. “Come for me—make a fucking mess—”

That’s all it takes.

Your orgasm crashes over you in a dizzying wave, your walls clenching down so tight around his cock that he chokes on a moan. White-hot pleasure pulses through you, the intensity making your legs shake as you gush around him, soaking his cock, his thighs, the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck—fuck—”

Jisung follows with a deep, shuddering groan, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you, his warmth filling you up with every pulse of his release. He stays buried deep, grinding against you through every last tremor, his breath coming in uneven gasps against your damp skin.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is your ragged breathing, the faint, wet drip of the mess you’ve made together seeping onto the sheets. The air is thick, heavy with the scent of sweat, sex, and strawberries.

Then, Jisung lets out a breathless, wrecked little laugh, pressing a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

“Shit,” he mumbles against your mouth, still catching his breath. “I’m never looking at strawberries the same way again.”

You laugh weakly, still trembling under him, the aftershocks leaving your body boneless.

Jisung smirks, rolling his hips just enough to make you gasp, feeling the way you flutter around him, still sensitive, still needy.

“Think you can handle one more, baby?”

The way he’s still hard inside you tells you you don’t really have a choice.

“Good,” he murmurs, reaching for another strawberry, letting the juice drip between your breasts. “Because I’m not done making a mess of you yet.”

[intothestrayverse]

⎯ caught in the webs. ⟡ featuring han jisung

🕷️ : Spider-Man! Han Jisung x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. Spider-Man! au, nerd Jisung! au, high school! au, pining, confessions (somewhat), slight self-doubt, a little angst, nervous sungie :(

WORD COUNT. 7.4k words ⭑ 35min read

WARNINGS. cursing, mentions of an existential crisis, (not actually) ghosting, insecurity, slight anxiety/degradation of oneself, dubcon(??) kiss

AUG'S NOTES. although i initially planned for this to be a mere 4-5k word fic… yeah. got a little carried away, oops. funny enough i’ve been seeing so much spider-man merch everywhere—got me thinking this fic was meant to be :) please enjoy and feel free to leave your thoughts in a reblog!! have a lovely day everyone <3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. To everyone else in high school, Han Jisung is just a nervous, somehow ingenious chemistry nerd. And yet, beneath the glasses and long hours studying, a secret lies. Because Han Jisung isn’t just a nerd, but Seoul’s one and only, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. But what happens when he finds himself head over heels for no one but you? No less scrambling for the courage to ask you out before the Valentine’s Dance? Between the fine-line of his secret identity and the more he falls for you each day, he finds himself hoping you feel the same way.

or alternatively :

In which the tangle of webs makes for complications, and love.

“And- I mean, it’s not like she knows I’m Spider-Man so,” Han rationalizes, hands flailing about in an awkward manner of both panic and hope, currently spilling his worries out to a luckily, ever patient Chan.

That is, opposed to Minho (Han’s official roommate) whom the two both know would nod his head and eventually (bluntly) tell Han he’s thinking far too hard before going back to studying. 

And yet, at this very moment, Minho might be the sole reprieve in calming said boy’s nerves with his no-nonsense attitude.

Because in less than three weeks their high school’s annual Valentine’s dance will be here, and if anyone knows something about Han Jisung, it’s the borderline pitiful way he pines over you like some neglected puppy, a factor it seems only you don’t notice.

As for the thing nobody knows of apart from some greatly trusted compadre’s, Han Jisung isn’t simply a dorky high schooler, but Seoul’s one and only, (trying-to-be) friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. 

Who.. is having a heart attack merely thinking of your face, your laughter, your smile, your— ugh.

Three weeks to gain as much style and confidence as he can muster and, first and foremost, the balls to even ask you out when the time comes. 

To put it simply, he’s fucked.

Completely, utterly, fucked.

Biochemistry with Mr. Jang is the pits when it comes down to his hour-long lectures, but it isn’t the boredom itself grasping his attention so deliberately, it’s you.

Two seats ahead, one seat to the right. 

And oh, if Han isn’t smitten.

You’re smart, stupidly smart. With your pretty hair and pretty face and crinkling eyes when you smile, where your lips curl in delight. You seem to glow, as if an ethereal fae he’d learn of in childish folklore, come alive amid his wildest daydreams.

So it’s the shrill ring of the dismissal bell that has him jumping from his seat, palms slapping against the wood of his desk with a stinging force effectively gaining the attention of most everyone in the class.

And the harrowing silence.

Trust, his face goes beet red, and Jisung had never choked on an apology faster in his life beneath Mr. Jang’s scrutinizing stare.

Though, from the corner of his eye, he can see it: that breathtaking smile of yours hidden behind a hand as you laugh. 

Jackpot.

Han Jisung has just hit the lottery.

Even if it was his scolding earning your laughter. But he’d brush off the matter a thousand times over to see that smile again. And again and again, like a selfish itch incapable of being satiated.

He really is hopeless.

.

.

.

“No you don’t get it! She smiled at me and—“

The rest is a series of groans and oddly unintelligible sounds, ones the partner of his decides not to inquire about.

Now squirming around the hallways, Jisung buries his face into his hands, whining loudly. Third period leads both him and Minho to Physics together, the decently spaced walk across campus to the classroom allowing leeway for (currently-kept-secret) Spider-Man’s groveling. 

Funny story, actually.

The way Minho found out, that is.

Having grown used to his webs over the few months of adjusting, he’d been ignorant in forgetting his roommate would be home as well.

Which.. ensued the piece of bread he used his webs to beckon over—while making the glorious concoction donned as a grilled cheese—met with Minho’s furrowed, evidently confused brows and an equally, albeit slow, acceptance whilst continuing on to the fridge.

A predictable reaction, Jisung would’ve supposed.

If not for the fact he downright begged the boy to not tell, dread forming in his stomach merely watching that sly, mischief-filled sneer curl at his roommate’s lips. 

Laundry and dish-duty for a week.

Thanks, Minho.

As for Chan’s introduction to Seoul’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, the two had been approaching each other after Chan’s football practice when the older of the two tossed a football at the younger counterpart, under the (accurate) impression Jisung couldn’t catch to save his life.

That was correct.

The unable-to-catch part, yeah.

But of course, per his luck, if Han couldn’t catch it, that damned radioactive spider would help him catch it.

And he did. Both hands, firm and fast.

Quick enough to freak the quarterback out and, given a few weeks time, unveil his secret after one too many tests on his reflexes and a downright scary amount of footballs thrown at his head.

“So you’re diseased.”

“I am not, we’ve been over this.”

“You’re walking on the ceiling.”

Fair enough, he’d admit if not for the cereal (that he currently figures out how to hold upside down- or right side up? It’s hard to tell) stuffed in his cheeks, feigning a glare matching Minho’s where his roommate pokes his nose indignantly prior to beginning off towards the bathroom.

Nearly 8am, and he’s aiming to keep comfy pajamas on as long as possible before having to exchange for school clothes.

Curious, observant umber irises waste time peering at the expanse of his torso visible where he hangs upside down, lips forming into an ‘o’ of awe seeing the defined lines descending down his belly flex with every move.

Those are new.

Perks of a spider bite, huh. 

Of the few.

Eventually resorting to doing forgotten dishes, he patiently waits for the grumpy roommate of his to finish in the bathroom, rumbling echo of the hairdryer synthesizing with the morning news’ daily report.

Weather, local updates. But the portion gathering his attention comes in the form of the headline: Creeping villain, Lizard, once again detained by Seoul’s mysterious vigilante, Spider-Man.

And simultaneously, listening in on the story, he finds a glow of pride settling in his chest.

He did that. With a few bruises and scrapes sufficing as evidence but, overall, his doing.

Nevertheless, with the rising pride comes the rising stupidity.

Apparently. 

Resulting in, while lost in the throes of his inflating ego, the reckless unleash of webs upon random surfaces as fast as he can manage, failing to notice the risky positioning of a web by his foot until—as if from a cartoon—he trips over it. 

“Ow! My foot- and my coffee..”

The shatter of his mug and Minho’s exasperated sigh seem to speak for themselves.

Most days it’s simply him and his thoughts in classes, and he enjoys that. Sometimes. 

The serenity, the ability to focus with ease, his headphones as his only companion—in which he tries pinpointing a suitable theme song for himself with. 

Embarrassing, he knows, but the aspect is exciting, having his own theme song.

He is a hero, after all.

Or.. one in training, after all.

A thumb and index tap along the surface of his desk, scribbling into his notebook. 

Web Fluid, consists of the topic at hand, scrawled on the top of the page.

A matter he knows he can create easily per his spider-like abilities, but finds himself pouring over regardless, curiosity gnawing at him with each formula jotted down on the lined paper.

Until you come along, and every sensible ounce of brain power goes aloof.

“Hey, what would you think about tutoring— web fluid?”

Your initial offer, from what he could tell, is swift to change, and Jisung feels his ears burn.

“Oh, yeah- I was just- web fluid, y’know? ‘Cause I, like everyone else, hate spiders (sorry radioactive spider) so I just-“

“That’s interesting, actually. You’ve got a real good grasp on chemistry.. huh.”

Lips puckered into a puff of contemplation, you’re slow to nod, gaze scanning over the wild bullet points, numbers too overwhelming to even consider.

So easy, he makes it all: the calculations, the math.

So easy, you make it all: the interactions, the conversation. 

Envy strikes him like a lightning bolt.

Why can’t he just calm down? Behave as he would if he were Spider-Man? 

Capable, assured.

“Think you could tutor me? I can pay you?”

This was not what he expected. 

“Tutor?” Han repeats, as if to clarify whether he’s hearing things. Not a belittling sort of echo, but one to console his inner panic, hope, bewilderment.

Emphasis on the bewilderment.

The nod of your head affirms all he needs to know, and, while suppressing the urge to shout with joy, he offers a small smile, waving a hand synonymously.

“Sure, yeah. Tutoring would be great. I think I’d have time between my internship with Stark Industries- not that I’m like- bragging or anything- just Mr. Stark can be kinda pushy and—“

He takes a moment to calm down before continuing to ramble on.

“We can work in your dorm? Or- if that makes you uncomfortable I totally get it-“

A big breath, flushing further beneath you patient smile.

“And you don’t have to pay me,” These words are quieter, his eyes flitting over the web fluid formulas below. “I don’t mind.”

“Thank you, Jisung.”

Jisung.

He has to cough into his hand to keep from choking, screaming, leaping like a rabbit and shrieking with accomplishment. Mainly because you called him Jisung, and secondly due to the number in his phone, your number in his phone a few minutes afterward.

This is Jisung, hi. Comes out as the most suitable first text after around twenty minutes of hesitation.

Yet, despite his exhaustion that following morning from swinging around the majority of the night in some way of expressing his happiness, he still glows.

And.. freaks out Minho in the process. 

That isn’t new. 

“Ugh…”

The ring of his alarm earns a low moan of irritation, slinging an arm over his face in feeble avoidance. His muscles ache, head thrumming frustratingly hard. 

Then again, he still gets up, still makes breakfast and dresses—however long that took between trudging steps and obnoxiously long yawns.

Though, there’s a minuscule facet of motivation keeping his eyes bright, his actions swift and steady.

You. 

Tonight, you’ll tutor at the library. Chemical equations, something he luckily excels at.

Together.

Cupid’s bow had long-since struck, leaving Han Jisung to drift away into a love-stricken labyrinth he had no chance of escaping from. 

And gosh are you pretty, the boy swearing he ends up lost gazing at you too many times to count.

There are days he can tell you’re tired, days you drag yourself to tutoring amid a likely hectic schedule where he simply wants to give you the biggest hug possible.

He can’t say his schedule looks any better, but will admit making time to both tutor and hang out sits at the top of an endlessly accumulating list.

In which beckons small notes scribbled between the margins of your textbook, sticky-notes attached to your folder for the next day.

A little extra motivation within the: “You can do it!!” or the silly messages like: “Imagine Mr. Jang as a giraffe!” that he pumps his fist seeing you laugh at that following day.

From then, a routine starts. 

Someone bringing coffee one week, the next the other’s job. Studying that turns into conversation, turns into him relaxing around you, able to communicate without slipping over his words, where you pitch in and he does too. 

Jokes, idiotic ones, he adds in just to watch you smile. Silly remarks you both laugh over until your stomachs hurt.

Even if this labyrinth isn’t one he can escape from, he finds himself not minding.

“And it’s not like she knows I’m Spider-Man.”

“Are you Spider-Man?”

Those words echo in his head, practically a wicked enchantment on replay.

Fu—ck.

Of plenty tutoring sessions, it had to be now that things suddenly went to shit, huh?

With his head running a mile a minute and the sensible words leaving every ounce of headspace, the genius of a boy manages one sentence.

One. Stupid. Sentence.

“Spider-Man? Who’s that?”

Great going, jackass.

Your awkward chuckle makes him want to crawl into his own skin, makes him wish so terribly the library would eat him up, that he could dissipate out of sight.   

“I’m kidding, you know that, right?”

Oh. He’s saved. 

“I mean,” A pause, and for a split second Jisung’s heart plummets once more, feeling as if he’s trapped on a nonstop roller coaster and not a decrepit library chair instead.

Do you know? Did his roomie snitch?

No. Remember the dishes-for-a-week deal, he mentally reassures.

“Everybody wants to know, yeah? I think he’s pretty cool, actually,” Eyes flickering back to your book, his face pales.

A good kind of pale, if that exists.

Ah. 

A light at the end of the tunnel.

It must be some sort of miracle, because Han Jisung hasn’t felt this elated since being presented with a new bicycle for his birthday when he was seven.  

“Thank y— Oh! Yeah. He’s.. yep, cool. Really cool.”

Stammering. Han Jisung, the boy who made a pact to end each night with beer pong come his college days (something that likely won’t happen), who makes dirty jokes bad enough Minho snorts at them, stammering. 

It’s beyond embarrassing, but he’s never felt so alive. 

Nonetheless, his tutoring voyage continues (although almost painful with how often he savors watching your face light up upon getting a question right), compiled in chatter he somehow gets through and small jokes here and there you exchange as if you’d known each other forever. 

And somewhere in between the lines of Stats and multiple-choice-answer hell, he thinks about it. About asking you out, about the dance, about spilling it all right here and there—with your two coffee cups steaming warm tendrils and the quietness of surrounding bookshelves making everything feel safe, comfortable.

“Hey, would you,” He finds himself hesitating, finds your kind gaze flickering to him from the review paper in clutch.

Baby steps. 

“Would you want to do this again? Tomorrow? Like, maybe at a café? The one by campus? Or not, if you’re busy or, don’t want to or whatever-“

“Sure.”

Sure.

He wants to resent you for the relaxed nature you adjust to an atmosphere with, your natural ability to pull him closer and closer, to make his heart thump hard enough in his chest he fears it might burst.

Because you’re far too much for his heart, and he’s giving you a run for your money with those wide globes for eyes and round cheeks bunching up in focus when explaining a concept.

But that’s a secret that’ll remain untold.

For the most part.

“Okay.”

He tried replying with the same fashion of nonchalance, but the words come out shaky and nervous and he nearly winces.

Although, come the finale of this almost-disaster, you still said yes. And to his knowledge—however meager when it came to the matter of love—tomorrow you’d be going on a date. Technically a study-date. Even still, a date.

So predictably, as the semi-idiot he is, he spends his night swinging through Seoul once more and swimming in consequential drowsiness the following day.

Worth it.

Under-eye bags be damned, it seems the way Jisung nearly radiates energy so early in the morning unsettles more than motivates for a second time these past few weeks, understood in the grunted: “turn it down!” received from Minho in response to his music.

..In which he currently serenades an invisible audience using a spoon as a microphone in the kitchen.

A date a date a date a date. 

He keeps the anxiety from settling in for the time being, knowing his kryptonite would take domain the moment he allowed himself in his mind.

What should he wear? Should he style his hair differently? It’s Saturday, maybe he should wear something less school-oriented?

No. 

Enough. 

More serenading, more bad-singing mutes the chaos bouncing around his skull.

He’ll take what he can get.

.

.

.

Each passing minute edges closer to noon, his bag hauled over a shoulder and a mumbled pep-talk recited where he paces his room—the fretful introductions he goes over in the mirror falling short upon his overthinking becoming all too much, prompting him from the dorms for fresh air.

Just be natural.

He scoffs at the thought.

Yeah right. 

The flutter of birds soaring from overhanging trees captures his attention, then the rustle of leaves, then the distant shout of children squabbling over a ball. Peaceful, if only temporarily. 

Eventually, the quiet provokes a hand to reach for his phone, clicking on your number with a ruminative hum, head bobbing to the melody in his eardrums.

The Cure plays, Friday I’m in Love’s familiar beat soothing his indecisiveness while walking.

Tongue pressing to his cheek does the feeling grasp him almost instantly. Tight and inexorable, noise in his eardrum numbing to a buzz. 

The Jisung Tingle.

Chan’s words, not his. 

Too far for a regular person to hear, he discerns the shout of a woman, and Han’s already finding his trusty alley to both dump his bag and simultaneously change into his suit in before scaling the wall.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot!” Comes his hurried babbling, technologically adept sensors in the costume’s eye-divots adjusting to better locate the source of commotion, danger.

A bank robber about a hundred feet away catches his attention first, the idiot scrambling for as much cash as he can muster into an already pitifully minuscule bag.

This guy’s gonna ruin my date!

Ah yes Jisung, ever the optimist.

Skillful deployment of his webs sends him straight to the problem, checking his phone for half a second.

Eleven fifty-two, and eight minutes doesn’t sound like nearly enough time right about now to both apprehend a criminal and turn into an unsuspecting Jisung attending his first date with the girl he really, really likes.

“Y’know,” He shouts, a sharp kick to the back of the leg forcing the perpetrator on ground so harshly he even winces at it, muttering a “sorry!” he scolds himself over after restraining the man.

Reminder: don’t apologize to criminals.

“I’d give you the credit for trying this in broad daylight, but this bag man.. it’s tiny!” He can’t help but chuckle, placing his hands on his hips matter-of-a-fact-ly.

“Lemme guess, it’s your mom’s bag,” Leaning forward, he grants some leeway to crack funny comments.

Deadpool’s funny, right? Can’t he be like Deadpool? That’s okay, yeah? People like funny Superheroes.

The unimpressed scowl from the robber earns a sheepish, squeaky giggle, waving his hands frantically.

Gotcha. No funny Superheroes.

“Not that your mom’s bag’s ugly! I mean it’s just, kinda small. Wouldn’t you wanna use a big bag, like in the movies?”

Alright. No humor, period. Got it.

“Yeah Spider-Man!” Suddenly, a person’s voice resounds from the onlookers, eliciting following cheers he can’t help but preen at, mouth agape beneath his mask.

“I have fans! Oh my gosh I fa—“

Han Jisung has one minute until his perfect, amazing date.

The memorandum is abruptly voiced from his suit’s inner audio system, and he both thanks Mr. Stark for the high-tech features and curses his ability to get distracted. 

Additionally cursing the beyond-cheesy way he typed in that reminder, by the way.

What’s up with the “perfect, amazing date” part?

Moving on.

Unfortunately, the time crunch calls for his equally time-crunched behavior, calling out a: “call the police please!” to the amassing crowd and using his webs to keep the robber’s hands behind his back moments after propelling himself upwards.

You.

He can’t afford to be late, witness your disappointed face.

Han would rather take off the suit for good than have you think he stood you up.

Unbeknownst to the awkwardly redressing hero in his beloved alley, you’re also running late, a factor he remains oblivious to.

Until he doesn’t. 

It’s true, time and time again, that a person’s instinctively compelled in locating the person they favor in a crowd. That even when hundreds of bodies surround, one’s eyes travel solely to their special person.

His special person, whom he involuntarily lands in front of without a single thought in mind. 

Great job, dude.

“Hey, um-“

No wait, he can’t just start a conversation like this. You don’t know he’s Spider-Man.

Right.

Deepening his voice (rather horribly), he waves a hand about, summoning this painfully fake, certainly-not-teenage impression. 

“You seem lost, ma’am. I could, y’know, give you a ride? I’m a very classical gentleman-“

Yikes, the voice crack. 

“..Alright?”

The way you tilt your head, the way your hair cascades around your face like a perfect frame.

Oh my gosh you’re pretty.

How many times has he thought that now? 

Heck, not just Jisung, but Spider-Man has to take a deep breath, more so when you loop an arm around his shoulders and he both struggles (and excels) at avoiding touching your bum, simultaneously pretending to be oblivious about your destination in mind.

As if he wasn’t just rushing there moments prior. 

Although it’s easy grinning at the mixture of screams and laughter bubbling from your lips with each practiced extension of his webs, savoring the manner you cling close while he bounds overtop Seoul’s cityscape, expression transforming into that of excitement after the first few nerve-wracking seconds. 

Alive.

He knows the feeling, the freedom coming with being above the crowd. 

The other thing he’s come to know the feeling of? The panic upon arriving at the café, followed by another bout of panic trying to subtly change in the tiny bathroom without making a racket.

Slightly sweaty, but durable. 

No less, crazily enough, the date goes well. You continue to look darling from your spot across from him, he rushes to behave the most manly he can, and the both of you merely.. talk.

About anything, everything. Plans for tomorrow, for next year. Family, friends, pets. Bbama (his dog) and how much he misses him, and quips he prides himself in earning your laugh at, progressively mellowing out.

Understandably, you’ve both long since abandoned the aim of “studying” in this excused study-date.

Then again, there are the moments. The brief notions where you're both out of breath, whether it be from laughter or hurried conversation altogether that he swears if he asked that perilous question you’d say yes. 

Want to go to the dance with me?

Or maybe that’s too laxed.

Gone just as fast as the chance arrives, he’s alternatively left trying to play off spacing out, flushing in response to bemused laughter.

Easy.

You’ve always made it easy.

This time, it’s his turn to level out the playing ground.

And while you’re effectively charmed by his antics, a little boy a few tables over wonders why he’s catching glimpses of Spider-Man’s suit beneath a high-school boy’s pants leg.

In all the years of Han Jisung’s life, he never pictured himself as a taxi service.

And no, not working for a taxi service, but being a taxi service.

You heard that right, yes.

So it’s a “new kind of whipped” (according to Chan) that more often than not he’s slinging himself over to your dorm after some not-so “coincidences” in which he ran into you on the street, eventually pretending to learn the whereabouts of your dorm.

“Sour gummy worms orrr— Sour Patch Kids?” 

Which leads to very intelligent conversations.

Obviously.

The Jisung less than a month ago would’ve screamed himself silly if he saw him now, currently combing his fingers through your hair where you sit leant against the side of the bed, popping a gummy worm in your mouth before lifting the bag to share.

Recently, most of his nights have been spent lingering around here after tutoring, the matter ignorant to you that the same boy in his glasses and flannel shirt minutes earlier now stood as Spider-Man.

Expectedly, you talk. And talk and talk and talk until he knows a curfew officer would knock him out cold if he was found sneaking from your dorm, till you forget about time altogether.

Of your many conversations, the ones where you end up crying are his least favorite. 

To say it broke his heart the first time he watched you break down in front of him was a severe understatement, thanking the courage his hero-identity provided him with to usher you into a hug he never wished to let go of.

And he didn’t, not until those sniffles subsided, those glossy eyes lost their heart-wrenching factor.

A week from the dance, you fell asleep in his arms for the first time since these meet-ups, the boy barely sneaking through the window before you came barreling him over in a hug.

He had an inkling you weren’t feeling up to tutoring that night from the start, the failure to focus not going unnoticed.

Of course, with being able to provide you security as Spider-Man, so came the insecurity as Han Jisung.

Was it this version of him you wanted? The strong, capable soon-to-be-eighteen-year-old known as Seoul’s helpful vigilante? A hero?

Was Han Jisung not enough?

However much the doubt struck him electrified, for now he’d savor being able to be your consolation, your confidant. To hold you close when you needed to feel something, someone, for his head to rest in your lap when his own day sucked.

Someone to rely on, so this world wouldn’t seem so lonely. If only for a little while.

.

.

.

Still, the downsides had to persevere.

That night’s headline was definitely a downside, more humiliating than anything.

Spider-Man’s clumsy apprehension of Chang-dong bank robber.

The knowing snicker he can practically hear from Minho’s dorm followed by an assumed-to-be equally smug text from Chan lighting up his phone is returned by a childish whine.

Yeah. Not proud of that.

“I’m going to file a stalker report, y’know.”

Four days from the dance, he decides his nightly escapades could use a bump up, lowering himself upside down with his webs where you passed by a crevice of two buildings.

A little scare wouldn’t hurt, right?

…Right?

Number one? Don’t do that, he learned. Number two? Your smacks really hurt.

“Jerk!” Irritated in manner, it’s the small grin tugging at the corner of your lips giving away your true feelings, a matter Han can’t help but giggle cheerily at despite the stinging of his cheek.

Ouch.

It has his head going for a loop both hanging upside down generally and acknowledging the fact you still look good from this odd angle altogether, head tilting quizzically.

“Actually, I think I deserve a thank you,” His haughty reply, channeling your earlier accusatory energy, beckons a laugh.

“Don’t you know it’s dangerous out late? Gotta have Spidey here to keep the creeps away.”

“My hero,” Comes your own haughty reply, placing a dramatic hand to your chest before dissolving into shared smiles.

A pause interrupting the flow of speech, he fills in the blanks searching your face for any indication of the thoughts swirling in that head of yours to no avail.

“Well I’ve got to reward you in some way, yeah? You’ve given me free rides,” Arrives your too-sweet of a response, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

That perfect knit between your brows.

Cute.

“Say, ‘been thinking you sound similar to somebody I know. We study together.”

Oh. 

Whoops.

If his eyes were visible, you’d watch them grow the size of saucers, his mouth gaping.

“Ah, just a thought.” 

And with a wave of your hand do you dismiss an upcoming heart attack, only to stir up yet another upon reaching for his mask, earning what meager observation would conclude as a squeal.

“Wait- wait! Wait!” 

Thankfully, you do in fact wait, and Han Jisung, with only his mouth bared, breathes a sigh of relief.

“Please don’t take it off.”

For a moment, the man sounds remarkably like Han Jisung, but you shake the thought as soon as it passes. 

“Okay,” It’s a whisper, but heard nonetheless, the appearance of storm clouds bathing the alleyway an even darker shade, clouding your vision to the mere white of his teeth, the parting of soft lips when he speaks, breathes. 

“I dunno I just- I thought between you in my dorm and the way we- I thought it’d be-“

This time you’re stammering, something he’d initially be starstruck regarding if not for the guilt gnawing at his chest. 

Understandable.

Friends don’t just cuddle at night, visit each other just to be held.

Not the way you two do.

“Would a kiss work? For a ‘thank you’, I mean.”

Somewhere in between, you saw Han Jisung in this stranger, this hero.

Whether it turned out as him or not, a part of you wished when you closed your eyes, that sweet, studious boy would be there when you opened them. 

A little inkling in your gut tells you more than you catch onto.

The bob of his throat beckons a small snort of sheepish, pained laugh on your end, the boy fearing he may suffer a head rush the longer he dangles upside down.

“I’m sorry— that was too forward, right?”

A beat of silence ensues. More stifling than ever.

Though it’s the precious manner your lips wind tight, expression filling with hesitation compared to a previous playfulness that has him speaking before you say something along the lines of “forget it” and leave the seemingly invincible Spider-Man to cry in this horrific-smelling alleyway like a child.

“No! No. That’s- yeah. That would be okay.”

Again, he scolds the wobbliness of his tone, schooling it into that playful cadence his identity as a hero calls for instead.

Because he’d be a liar first off saying he didn’t ache for more, and an ever bigger liar denying himself from your kiss after such arduous pining. 

“Just one though, can’t have too many, alright?”

Liar, for a second time. 

You could kiss him till he passed out and he’d wake up grateful. 

But the ego’s got to be kept up, right?

Yet, before another sly quip can fall from his tongue he’s nearly spellbound, your lips finding his shutting off both all brainpower and erasing the retort he’d planned to fill the quietness. 

And oh if Jisung doesn’t just melt, chasing after your lips instinctively, savoring the silly bump of your nose against his chin from upside down. The laughter between too-short of contact, the warm touch of your fingers against his cheeks as cold rain pelts the city from above, droplets tickling his skin.

Pulling away, he finds his hands instinctively reaching out, tenderly smoothing away strands of hair stubbornly sticking to your forehead just like what he’d do to soothe when you’d cry—giggling at the messy mascara tracks scoring your cheeks upon detaching his webs, suit-clad feet thumping on the sidewalk below.

Alas, right side up.

“Hey, don’t make the people think I made you cry, hm?” He cracks a smile, adjusting his mask back over his face. 

Well, that’s seconds from coming to understand the price of the rain, the effect of the rain in drenching your t-shirt see-through.

Oh how fast that smug facade vanishes, Han’s palm jutting out to shield both you and his eyes. 

“Your- I’ll be right back- I’m not looking!”

Because beneath the hero-suit, he’s only a teenager. 

And a gentleman, he prides himself in believing himself to be.

Luckily, this just so happened to be the alley he’d ditched his initial clothing in, exchanging for his suit moments prior. 

Gotta love his trusty alley.

Thanking whomever above, an extra “Stark Industries” t-shirt of his suffices in calming the situation at hand.

Trust, Jisung wants to groan with the sight of you in his t-shirt, one he assures you can keep for as long as you need on the ride back.

Ride, as in, web-slinging, an occasion definitely not as fun beneath the downpour of thunder and rain.

Ensuring you get back safely, he practically catapults himself into his own dorm, running to the shower like a wet rat seeking shelter.

Yep. It’s a great look.

But gosh does that shower feel like a slice of heaven.

Though not as heavenly as your kiss.

From inside the shower, a loud scream of realization rings out, previous events raining down on him like the warm water sifting through his hair.

Seems it sunk in.

.

.

.

“So.. what should I do if I see a girl's bra?”

Fairly normal conversation between him and Minho, per usual.

“..Did you sleep with someone?”

“Wha- no! It was an accident!”

“An accident that you slept with someone?”

This is going nowhere.

“No! An accident where I saw her b-“

“Then congrats.”

Congrats.

“What am I supposed to do, celebrate?” Han demands incredulously, giving his roommate a nonsensical stare.

“.. Butter chicken?”

Unfortunately, his stomach argues against any more squabbling, voice like that of a mouse.

“Yes, please.”

And the two enjoy their butter chicken in relatively harmless terms, The Bachelor playing on the TV, Minho taking the floor with his sparkling cider while Jisung occupies the couch above, notebook in hand.

In less than three day, I went on my first date and kissed the girl I’m in love with. Except, she doesn’t know who I am, he writes, hand stopping after that final period before closing the forbidden contents away with a loud exhale, head tipping back to rest against the couch.

One thought failed to be written down? A little extra something, bouncing around in his skull.

I want to tell her the truth.

This is met with another sigh.

What a day.

“Who knew I’d be hanging around thee Spider-Man. Or that he kissed me.”

The last sentence is barely audible, but Jisung catches it all the same, a lopsided grin nudging at his cheeks. 

From your view on the rooftop, the sunset illuminates her waning rays, painting the sky an effortless canvas of crimson and amber hues. Your feet dangle aimlessly from the edge, an action you would be horrified of if not for the man’s presence beside you.

Han’s presence, though you didn’t know that just yet.

All you’ve gathered of his identity were the momentary occasions he’d roll up his mask, like now, where the superhero gnaws at a granola bar, seated beside you. 

“I’m pretty normal though,” Comes his reply, a lilt in the last word hinting at his confusion. 

“Pfft- normal? You’re Spider-Man! Everyone in a quarter radius of Seoul City wants to know your identity. Either that or they run some secret fan account for you.”

A pause before his masked-face slowly swivels to you.

“..Do you run a fan acco—“

Jisung’s pondering was quick to be choked upon (literally) when you smack his back, provoking a chaste gagging fit on his granola bar. 

Yeesh your smacks hurt.

“No! I was just giving an example!”

He finds himself laughing anyway despite the dull throb of his shoulder, feigning a pout whilst rubbing over the skin in feigned hurt. 

It’s nice, he thinks. To be sharing this little corner of the world with you. Away from the hustle and bustle of life. 

Most days he’d swing his way here for a late dinner, peeling layers of tin-foil from his wrapped burrito, legs swinging over the edge, headphones blaring some slow tune while watching the moon make its entrance past a setting sun.

For once, his world as Spider-Man isn’t so.. isolated. 

Dangerous, risky with the prospect of you discovering his identity, but for now he’ll embrace the possibility, embrace your presence beside him.

He doesn’t care if it’s momentary, fleeting. 

Being a Spider-Man, having these abilities, this random probability in a billion of becoming a hero, has taught him to hold onto each opportunity with both hands.

Without a chance of letting go.

And somewhere during those consistent weeks of tutoring, you join each other on the dorms’ rooftop on random occasions when he can’t slip into your dorm undetected. 

Him under the ecstatic impression he gets to see you again outside of the library, you believing the boy from tutoring had gone back to his dorm, now meeting a totally-separate, definitely-not-Han-Jisung Spider-Man.

Or so he thought.

Frequency, predictably, beckons familiarity. Opening leeway to deeper, more meaningful conversations within those nights more than ever before, the uncovering of sensitive, intimate layers that almost provoke Han to speak, to reveal himself.

Guilt, ever so slightly, in regards to your obliviousness to the truth.

A guilt unnecessary, he had yet to know of. Because you’ve come to notice that, when rolling his mask up just enough whenever eating, a chocolate-chip looking mole rests on his cheek, one oh so signature to yet another person.

Two strangers, turned friends, turned kiss-don’t-tell, turned foolish secret-keepers chasing each other’s tails after a love requited all along.

As for tonight, his hands brace himself upon rigid brick, the month and a half span of adapting to your companionship enabling him to not freak out (unlike the first time it happened) when you rest your head against his shoulder. 

One earbud in his ear, the other in yours.

DEAN plays, the title “Half Moon” quite befitting for that same moon rising above two high schoolers. One hopelessly having fallen first, the other finding themself falling harder.

“Can this be our song?” His whisper’s barely divisible against a gust of wind, but you hear it anyway.

“Mhm.”

The nod against his shoulder is enough.

.

.

.

“Alright, it’s about time I head out, hm? Got homework to do.”

It’s a small peck, one placed chaste and tidy against his cheek. However, no matter the size, Han transforms into a tomato beneath his mask, ever so grateful for the coverage provided.

“Just one, you said. Wouldn’t want it to be too much.”

Cruel, he thinks, watching you go, watching that teasing smile on your face.

Using my words against me.

“If a weird guy shows up, tell them Spider-Man will hunt them down!”

Per a greater confidence beneath the mask, he felt obligated in getting the last laugh, chuckling at the dismissive wave of your hand before you disappear down the stairs, the roof’s access hatch clunking closed behind you.

Following your absence, a glance at the sky and its brilliant stars elicit a weighted breath in response. 

Two days from the dance, proposals having started up left and right in the halls, the classrooms.

Ah, this is getting bad.

Who knew love could be so troublesome?

But then again, the intervention of hesitation snakes its way between the lines, and Han Jisung finds himself cast-away to a deserted island within his head during the one class he’s usually most attentive in, Biophysics. Too busy thinking of you, of the “something more”.

Because what if who you kissed that night, Spider-Man, was who you were into? What if the Han Jisung beneath the suit wasn’t what you wanted, but the hero, with his brave facade and unbreakable spirit?

And Han Jisung was just a nerdy high schooler. 

A hard shake of his head futilely tries discarding the gray clouds of worry, appearing incessantly come this past week. 

Foot tapping against the tile floor, he jams the endlessly clicking tip of his pen against an unfitting, empty notebook.

You deserve the hero.

The thought, somehow, makes his heart break a bit. Sends his mind into a frenzy of existential questioning.

Was Han Jisung Spider-Man? Or simply the man behind the suit? Two lives, completely different and yet all the same coming down to the person responsible.  

Is he that hero? 

That night, he lets people down.

He doesn’t respond to his call from Mr. Stark (and the following one from Happy), disappears from his dorm, and fails to show up for tutoring and his daily drop-in to your dorm.

Han Jisung can’t be perfect, can’t live up to every expectation, every stereotype a hero is portrayed as.

There are lives that’re going to be lost with or without his interference, people he can’t save, circumstances he can’t change no matter how hard he tries.

But today is now. Nothing will change unless he changes it.

Spider-Man can’t be without Jisung, yet, Jisung needs to be able to be without Spider-Man. 

There is no sacrifice if it all relies on the suit, no heroics. 

Just a scared little boy hiding behind fancy technology, behind a confident facade unable to be replicated without a media-ridden title attached to it, a suit to cover himself with.

The boy that kissed you? That was Jisung. Jisung’s voice, lips, laugh. His nervousness, his cockiness. 

It’s always been him.

Just Han Jisung.

And he’s okay with that.

Because if he can’t be without the suit, what is there to be?

Texts left unread, it’s one pebble knocking, then another against your window at 6am the day of the dance that alerts you from your sleep, cursing under your breath as you make for the window—left without a trace of the sender other than a sticky note smack-dab in the middle of the panel.

No other could’ve left that than him.

The reasoning earns your sigh of disbelief.

Climb to the rooftop, please.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he prays you’ll comply.

It’d make plenty of sense, your pensiveness. He let you down, held you to a predictable standard left unpredictable after oh so long.

However, feelings always have a way of choosing things before the mind can, and even your spitefulness works futile against the two feet guiding you up the stairwell.

What awaits you leaves every ounce of anger simmering into nothingness, because the familiar sight of Mapo Bridge miles off says something.

A sharp inhale.

Intertwined across the arch and guardrails, webs spell out such a peculiar assortment of words.

I love you.

A smaller writing off to the side.

I’m sorry.

Oh he makes you angry.

Angry thanks to this boy throwing your life for a loop, angry thanks to the foolishness this love seems to have infected the both of you with.

The ignorance, the insecurity, the childishness. All so messy.

What a fool you were to stay quiet about the truth, to pretend these feelings weren’t to be acted upon.

And from his place seated atop the bridge’s arc, the shout of yours faintly reaches his ears, the words sounding remarkably like “I love you.”

He doesn’t return until later that night, watching parents drop off their kids, couples gliding up the stairs in throes of laughter, hand in hand.

Suit-adorned legs dangle from the streetlight a block or so away, chewing at his lip in thought.

Until his thought is abruptly interrupted by the clearing of a throat, your throat, he verifies upon turning around to look, significantly paling.

“Fess up, loser.”

Oh you’re mad.

Dressed up all pretty for the dance and yet fuming.

…Why is it hot?

Quit that, he internally berates, slow to hop down to ground level.

“Look, I can-“

“No you can’t! You- you what, randomly decide “oh I’m just gonna go off the grid for two days, let’s not notify anybody and everything will be alright”? Huh? You don’t respond to anyone’s texts, calls, the school couldn’t even find you!”

Furious steps stomp forward, feebly pounding your fists against his chest.

Shaky hands find your wrists to hold, his breathing nearly painful to listen to within his mask. Stifled, shuddering. 

And he can tell, oh he can tell. You’re going to cry.

He’s just made you cry.

There’s never been a moment Jisung hated himself more.

“Hey hey hey- no no don’t- don’t cry-“

Another scream of yours makes him wince, makes his hands originally reaching for your face to cradle flinch back.

“I hate- I hate this! I hate that I’ve let you worm your way into my heart and- and that you tell me you loved me and-“

A sputtering breath before his mask is not-so gently hoisted up to catch onto the hook of his nose and he’s dragged into your kiss by the collar, dissolving into mumbled “I’m sorry”’s repeated into your lips before you pull away, out of breath.

“You scared me half to death,” Scolding, one hand comes to brush off your clothing after letting go, impressively calmed after such a whirlwind of emotions, or maybe he’s simply reading it wrong.

“I forgive you.”

This mumble is much softer, muttered beneath your breath. 

Sometimes you truly do behave like a child.

A tiny quirk of his lips betrays his fondness.

“Just.. don’t ever do that again, okay? Or I’m breaking up with you.”

The threat is feeble and certainly not sounding sure enough to believe, your brows furrowed in conviction the only remnant of insistence he’d chuckle at if not for the lingering fear of being yelled at again.

A fair yelling, he’d admit.

“Wait.”

On his part, a delay.

“We were dating? I thought we..”

“I mean we kissed but would you count that as…?”

High schoolers, to the core.

Sort of funny, actually, trying to uncover a label.

For a moment your attention flickers to the dance-attending students, retreating back to Jisung in response to his heavy sigh, the seriousness returning.

Merciless, it is.

The truth.

“I can’t be there for you how I want to be, you know that. My life.. as Spider-Man, I mean, it’s too unpredictable. Risky. I can’t make promises. A life at risk isn’t scheduled, arranged. I’d put you in danger and let you down and—“

“I know what I’m getting myself into, okay?”

Easy, you always make it.

This time, he’s grateful.

“I love you, and I think you heard it.”

Synonymously, he scorns the gradual wobbliness of his lip, the tremble in his hands returning full-force, breaking any earlier pretense of strength put up.

No barriers, you both know this.

Not anymore.

“I’ll um,” His voice cracks, but he doesn’t wince, turning his back to you as if to slip away. “I’ll come by your dorm tonight. Dance your heart out, okay?”

He nods to the auditorium, flashing lights and blaring music echoing from the closed doors.

Shifting from foot to foot, it takes every ounce of willpower to speak, to keep him from drifting off once more.

“Well if Spider-Man can’t go to the dance.. Can Jisung?”

To say his jaw dropped would be an understatement, each muscle in his body turning into stone, as if having gazed at Medusa herself.

“I knew you were.. you for a while now.”

Your voice, awkwardly explaining, aids in the wild gesturing of hands, admiring his messy hair where the mask is pulled off the entire way, unveiling a rather shell-shocked Han Jisung underneath. 

“It’s your mole um, right here?” Pointing to his left cheek, a small smile tugs at your lips. “I saw it one time when you were eating that granola bar on the roof. Kinda just.. put two and two together-“

“Why didn’t you say something!”

Now it’s Han’s turn to sound like a petulant child, causing you to bite back with the same kind of vigor.

“I was nervous, idiot!”

Hurried gasps for air fill the empty street, catching your breath after screaming at each other from mere feet apart.

Couldn’t get more mature than that. 

Observing his face, you find it only a matter of time before whatever frothing idea brewing past curly hair becomes audible.

“C’mon.”

“Wha- WHAT?!”

Swept off your feet where Han runs to scoop you up, it’s oddly difficult in whacking his shoulder from so much laughing, whisked away to somewhere you couldn’t name.

Fools.

And now, having understood this idea of his to be on your ordinated rooftop, you simply take to watching from afar as he flits around, having disappeared for a few minutes before returning back with what eerily appeared to be a speaker hidden behind an arm.

Before you can inquire, the melody of a song begins to strum.

Your song, together.

Half Moon, by DEAN.

Han pretends to know how to dance and you pretend to take him seriously, extending a hand your way where he waltzes over with clumsy steps.

The silliness earns a giggle, hand reaching for his hand anyway.

And beneath the stars, your own Valentines dance comes alive.

This stage is made for two.

Fools.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[intothestrayverse]

han jisung + size kink

◜06 kinktober◞

! : 0.8k , dom!jisung , size kink , unprotected kitchen sex , bulge kink , nipple play , hickeys , cum eating(?) , implied messy sex

you’re slammed against the kitchen wall before jisung rocks his hips against yours, pushing his dick deep in you in one go. his hand snakes up to your breasts, palm covering you entirely as he kneads the flesh, snapping his hips harshly from the get-go.

Keep reading

[intothestrayverse]

“Hands full”

Y/N’s got a thing for grabbing the boys’ muscles, and now they’re all just trying to survive her chaos.

Warnings: Fluff but I guess also kind of suggestive

[intothestrayverse]

Introducing…🥁🥁🥁 Me

. My name is Regan but I prefer being called Spidey/Jaws.

. I am a 2000’s baby. I'm 19.

. I am not new to writing, just new to publishing my work.

. I am a Dom!Skz supremacist. (but I am open to writing them in other ways).

. I am Han biased, bias wrecker ot8.

. I am Jamaican, Grenadian, Portuguese, Italian, and Korean.

. I am Bisexual.

. I was born and raised in Brooklyn, NewYork and when I was younger (4-9) I lived in New Zealand. I also just have a slightly British accent.

. Love singing, Calisthenics, and can play 4 instruments.

. I will probably be doing a lot of dark fics. SO BEWARE!!!

. I can write: Stepcest, Piss fics, Gender neutral reader, 9th member reader, Idol reader, Age regression reader, (practically anything).

. I won’t write: Scat play, Member x Member, Male reader, Probably not gonna write Noona reader, Age regression skz. Make a request so I can tell you if I'm comfortable writing it.

. Gonna try to update and post every week.