sunnysdiary

[sunnysdiary]

guys...my bias wrecker is bias wrecking....han jisung step back PLEASE i was getting comfortable in my changbin hole☹️

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i only made 2 that i ACTUALLY liked so

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so this story is CONSUMING me so im taking a break from writing to make some banners and im gonna let you all vote on them!

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am i losing my spark for writing? oh shit.

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AHHHH I MET PROJECT FEAR THIS IS UNREAL

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🍙🤍

𓂃 . 𐑞 How'd They Spend Summer With You ⟢

ꔫ﹒genre﹒⟢ - boyfriend stories/romance/wholesome. gn!reader

⏆﹒⿻ ch . bangchan . leeknow . changbin . hyunjin . han . felix . seungmin . i.n

﹙◞◟﹚﹒warnings ﹒ Romantic Themes & Intimacy (Emotional, Not Physical) . Emotional Sensitivity . Emotional Depth/Soft Angst (Mild) .

Bang Chan (방찬)

It was the kind of summer that turned the world gold. The sky blazed like clear diamonds, and the air smelled like sea salt and sunscreen. Bang Chan had planned this getaway months in advance—just the two of you, tucked away in a secluded beach house on Jeju Island, where the only background noise would be the waves and maybe a few lazy seagulls.

The house was cozy but open—floor-to-ceiling windows that welcomed the sunrise and moonlight alike. On your first morning, you woke up to the scent of coffee and soft guitar strumming. He was on the back deck, barefoot, hair tousled, wearing his favorite sleeveless tee. His face lit up when he saw you.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said with a grin, setting the guitar aside to pour you a cup.

Most days were slow and filled with softness. You’d walk along the shore, hand in hand, collecting shells and letting the tide tickle your ankles. Chan would sneak glances at you when you weren't looking—he adored seeing you bathed in sunlight, so alive and carefree. He'd take candid photos, promising he’d compile them into a photo diary later, complete with scribbled captions and inside jokes.

Afternoons were spent lying on the hammock outside, the two of you tangled together, sharing earbuds. He played you demos—some unfinished, some deeply personal. “This one’s for you,” he’d say with a shy smile, and you’d hear your shared laughter sampled in the background or lyrics that mirrored moments you’d lived together. He wanted you woven into his music, a permanent note in every harmony.

At night, the beach turned silver under the moonlight. He built bonfires for just the two of you, roasting marshmallows and telling stories from his trainee days, the flames flickering against his dimples. One night, without warning, he got up, took your hand, and started dancing with you barefoot in the sand. No music—just the crashing waves and his humming voice as your private melody.

On your last evening, he surprised you with a song he wrote over the week. He played it as the sun set behind him, casting him in a warm amber glow. His voice trembled a bit at the end.

“I just… want every summer to be with you,” he murmured. “This—us—feels like the safest place I’ve ever known.”

Lee Know (리노)

Lee Know wasn’t one for flashy trips or dramatic gestures. His summer idea of heaven was something quieter, more domestic—more real. He invited you to stay with him in his hometown for a couple of weeks. His parents were away, so the two of you had the house to yourselves. The days passed slowly, steeped in the kind of comfort that only comes with being truly known.

Minho greeted you with that half-smile that always gave away more than he said. “Welcome to paradise,” he teased, nudging your suitcase inside as his three cats swirled around your legs in greeting.

Your mornings began with sleepy limbs and sunlight leaking through sheer curtains. Minho liked his silence in the mornings—he wasn’t grumpy, just contemplative. He made breakfast while wearing mismatched slippers, feeding the cats with sleepy efficiency. You often found yourself watching him, caught by how beautiful he looked in these unguarded, simple moments.

Mid-mornings were made for spontaneous road trips in his car. No set destinations—just fields, forests, and small countryside cafés. One day you stumbled on a sunflower farm, and he insisted on taking your photo, claiming it was “for his phone wallpaper… or maybe for blackmail.” But his fondness gave him away every time.

One particular day, rain surprised you. Instead of rushing home, Minho parked under a canopy of trees. You listened to the raindrops drum the car roof, your fingers laced with his on the console. “This,” he whispered, “is my favorite weather. Makes everything feel quieter… like the world’s listening.”

At home, your afternoons were filled with baking attempts (he was secretly good at it), feeding the cats treats, and lying on the floor together watching old Studio Ghibli films. He’d casually rest his head on your shoulder or play with your fingers, not saying much, but his body language screamed affection.

He rarely said “I love you” in words, but he made you tea without asking. He remembered how you liked your blanket folded. He always made sure your favorite snacks were stocked. Every action was a love letter in disguise.

On your final night, you were lying on the roof with him—just a blanket beneath and the stars above. He looked over at you, his face calm and unreadable.

“I don’t need fireworks or big plans,” he murmured. “Just this. Just you, breathing next to me.”

Then, after a pause, he said it.

“I want you in every season, but if I had to pick one forever… I’d pick summer—this summer—with you.”

Changbin (창빈)

You never thought summer in Seoul could feel like an adventure movie.

He insisted you stay at his apartment for a couple weeks while his schedule was light—“It’ll be like a staycation, but better. Trust me.” His place was cozy, surprisingly neat, and smelled faintly of his cologne and that expensive coffee he always had.

The mornings started with him shaking you awake with a mischievous grin and two iced Americanos. “Come on, baby. Time to sweat out our laziness.” That usually meant hitting the gym together—or more realistically, you watching him lift weights while he showed off, half-joking, half-flirting, fully adorable.

Afternoons were built for chaos and fun. He planned little “missions” around the city—trying the spiciest tteokbokki from a tiny stall in Hongdae, racing to find the weirdest thrift shop item, or going on mini food crawls where he dramatically judged each patbingsu like he was on a Michelin panel.

And when it got too hot, he’d tug you into random air-conditioned bookstores and read manga aloud in ridiculous voices until you both got kicked out for laughing too loud.

At home, evenings were low-key and sweet. He’d put on music—sometimes hip-hop, sometimes love ballads he wouldn’t admit he liked—and you'd cook dinner together, both of you dancing around each other in the kitchen. You discovered Changbin’s guilty pleasure: singing full-blown musicals while sautéing onions. “I missed my calling,” he’d declare, flipping his imaginary Broadway scarf.

Sometimes you’d lie on the floor afterward, stomachs full, his head resting on your shoulder as he softly rapped new lyrics he’d written. “This one’s kind of about you,” he mumbled once, and your heart stuttered at how vulnerable he sounded.

Late-night drives were his favorite. Windows down, music up, Seoul flickering by in neon gold. “Let’s not go home yet,” he’d say, and you’d end up parked by the Han River, feet dangling out the open door, sharing banana milk and talking about everything and nothing.

Hyunjin (현진)

He invited you to a lakeside artist’s retreat a couple of hours from the city. It was part of a small residency, mostly quiet creatives and older painters. You had your own rustic cabin with ivy climbing the windows and a tiny balcony that overlooked the water. The place felt like it had secrets to tell—and Hyunjin loved that.

Mornings were slow and poetic. You’d wake to the sound of him sketching by the open window, pencil dancing across his sketchpad. He always glanced back when he noticed you were awake. “You look like a painting when you sleep,” he whispered once, laughing when you rolled your eyes but blushed anyway.

He took you on long walks around the lake, his camera slung over his shoulder. Sometimes you’d sit in a meadow, your head on his lap while he read poetry aloud—sometimes Rilke, sometimes his own.

Afternoons were creative chaos. You painted together in the studio space—him meticulously focused, you more playful, both of you covered in smudges of cobalt blue and burnt sienna. He said you were his muse, but more importantly, his best friend. “I don’t just want to paint you,” he murmured one day, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “I want to live a life that feels like art—with you in it.”

One evening, he surprised you with a moonlit picnic by the lake. Fairy lights strung between trees, a little record player, a blanket with your favorite foods. He danced with you barefoot on the grass, holding you close as the music slowed.

“This feels like something we’ll look back on when we’re eighty,” he whispered against your temple. “And I’ll still remember how you looked under this moon.”

Later that week, he asked to paint your portrait—not just your face, but a whole canvas of your presence. He worked on it secretly for days. You only saw it on your last night: a dreamy, impressionistic masterpiece titled “Home.”

Because, as he told you softly, “That’s what you are. Summer came alive because you were here.”

Han (한)

You were staying in a rented rooftop studio apartment in Busan, where the ocean air blew in with every open window and the scent of street food followed you everywhere. Han had booked the place last-minute. “I dunno,” he shrugged, “felt like the kind of place we could be happy.”

And he wasn’t wrong.

Mornings with him were messy and perfect. He’d wake you up by flopping dramatically on top of you, demanding affection, iced coffee, or attention—usually all three. He played songs off his chaotic summer playlist—everything from lo-fi to aggressive K-hip-hop.

“Let’s go do something,” he’d say on a whim, dragging you to arcades, art galleries, or late-night markets. You’d ride tandem bikes near the shore, eat your weight in bungeoppang, and sneak kisses in alleys between buildings.

But Han wasn’t all noise and chaos. He was soft in quiet moments, too.

One night, after a particularly goofy day of failed beach volleyball and karaoke battles, you found yourselves curled on the couch with nothing but the city sounds and his heartbeat. He held your hand without words, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“I think I’m scared,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “Of how easy it is to love you. Of how much I want this to last.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Just kissed the back of his hand and pulled him closer.

Another day, he brought you to a tiny, hidden studio he found. It was dusty, but had decent acoustics. He spent hours building a track, looping bits of sampled laughter, your voice saying his name, and snippets of street sounds you’d recorded together. When it was done, he handed you his headphones.

“I didn’t write lyrics yet,” he said, fidgeting, “because I want us to write them. Together. Later. Maybe when summer’s over. Maybe when we’re still in love.”

Felix (필릭스)

He brought you to his family’s countryside home in Australia. The air was different there—cleaner, warmer, quieter in the way that made your heartbeat easier to hear. It was nestled between flowering fields and whispering woods, with a backyard big enough for stargazing and bonfires.

Your first morning, he made you pancakes from scratch. “My grandma taught me,” he said, dimple flashing as he passed you a plate covered in strawberries and powdered sugar. You sat on the porch barefoot, legs tucked under you, watching the sunrise paint the hills orange and pink.

Most days were full of little joys. You helped him plant vegetables in the garden, your hands covered in earth as he taught you the names of native herbs. He took you on slow hikes, hand in hand, where he stopped every ten minutes just to take pictures of wildflowers or clouds shaped funny.

And when it rained—because it always rained at least once a week—he made it magical. You’d sit on the covered deck, wrapped in blankets, drinking tea as he read you fantasy novels in that low, ocean-smooth voice of his. He gave every character a different accent, making you laugh even when the scenes were serious.

But nothing beat the nights.

Felix had a habit of pulling you outside after dark, whispering, “Come see the stars with me,” like it was a secret. You’d lie in the grass, his hand warm in yours, and he’d trace constellations with his finger in the air.

“See that one?” he’d say softly. “That one’s ours. I named it after the way you look at me when you’re not thinking about it.”

He was the kind of lover who wrote letters he never gave you—stuffed into his journal. But you felt them every time he looked at you like you were made of gold.

On your last night, he baked you a cake—vanilla with honey and lavender, topped with tiny edible stars. “It’s a thank-you,” he said, eyes shimmering under fairy lights. “For making this summer taste sweeter. For being mine in this life.”

Seungmin (승민)

You spent your summer in a quiet university neighborhood, tucked away from Seoul’s rush. He found a temporary sublet above a tiny independent bookstore and invited you to stay, claiming, “It has character… and terrible Wi-Fi, so you can’t ignore me.”

Every morning started with quiet rituals: coffee made just the way you liked it, a shared crossword puzzle, and music drifting from his speaker—old indie songs, soft jazz, the occasional piano instrumental. He loved the calm, and even more so, he loved sharing it with you.

By noon, you’d head down to the bookstore together. The owner was a retired literature professor who adored Seungmin and gave you both free reign. You helped restock shelves, organize quirky poetry corners, and sneak off to read in the sunlit loft, your feet tangled together. Seungmin always read the back of every book carefully, like he was choosing something sacred before handing it to you. “You’d like this one,” he’d say, and he was always right.

You’d sit in the window booth of a café two blocks down, sipping warm lattes while the sky opened up. Sometimes you’d talk for hours—philosophy, dreams, little things that didn’t matter until they did. Other times, you’d just sit, quietly watching people rush by, your legs brushing, his hand occasionally reaching for yours.

Despite his dry humor and sarcasm, Seungmin showed love like a steady flame. He remembered when you needed space, but also when you needed to be pulled back in. He made playlists you didn’t know existed. He brought you strawberries when he knew you were tired. He once stayed up all night printing out photos from your trip and left them on your pillow in a hand-bound scrapbook.

I.N (아이엔)

He took you on a road trip along Korea’s coast—just the two of you, a tiny blue car stuffed with snacks, a camping tent, and playlists full of pop punk, love ballads, and the occasional trot song he pretended to hate but sang way too well.

Your first stop was a coastal town that held a summer festival every weekend. He was ecstatic—dragging you from one game stall to another, determined to win you a giant plushie no matter how much money it took. “You deserve the best,” he insisted, even when he failed five times in a row and sulked dramatically for ten minutes before winning on the sixth.

You ate corn dogs, sweet shaved ice, and tangerine soda until your stomachs hurt, then ran barefoot along the beach as fireworks lit the sky. He twirled you around in the surf, both of you soaked, breathless from laughing.

Jeongin’s love came in bursts—surprise picnics, handwritten notes stuck in your bag, late-night snack raids followed by whispered heart-to-hearts. But it also came in those soft, raw places between.

He was the first to break, eyes wide and watery. “I hate when we’re not okay,” he said quietly. “Because I love you too much for even one hour to feel this far.”

You cried a little together, then laughed about crying, and made up over shared peach slices and bad jokes. That’s what love looked like with him—imperfect, messy, beautiful.

On your final night, he brought you to a hill overlooking the ocean, where the stars seemed impossibly close. He pulled a folded letter from his hoodie, cheeks red.

“I wrote this before the trip,” he admitted. “Didn’t know when to give it to you, but… I meant every word.”

Inside was a simple line:

“You made this summer feel like a movie I never want to stop watching.”

He kissed you under the stars, holding you like he already missed you—and maybe he did. Because even in that perfect moment, Jeongin loved in a way that was always a little too big for just one season.

[sunnysdiary]

guys....this felix fanfic turned into an entire story.....it will have chapters i fear 😣

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hey so guys i wanna read this so GET HER TO 1000 FOLLOWERS. (please :3)

༶•┈♛ 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑 ♛┈•༶. (releasing when I hit 1,000 followers!!)

𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐀 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓・l.f.

🔪 — You can't fall in love with him, he can't fall in love with you—that would be apocalypse.

LEE FELIX was your new bodyguard, and you hated his guts. Growing up the Mafia's princess, daughter of the most ruthless mob boss in the world, you learned at a young age—all humans are expendable. Now you're 5,956 miles from home, landing in Seoul South Korea with your infuriatingly perfect bodyguard on a very important mission—locate and eliminate the man responsible for sending your father's worst criminals to prison. Nothing makes sense. Who is making so many ruthless criminals voluntarily confess all their transgressions? The more you and Felix dig into the past, the more you seem to expose. There’s so many gaps in the story, dark secrets to be uncovered, and betrayals to lament. Nothing is as it seems when you’re chasing a ghost. Will you be able to keep it together, seeing felix every day for the next year? There's so much that could go wrong.

♟️ — paring・felix x reader // genres・mafia!au, bodyguard!au, enemies to lovers, forbidden love, slow burn, found family, mystery!au, hurt and comfort, smut…maybe // words・ // warnings・fights, knives, guns, blood, kidnapping, violence, death, drunkenness, parental manipulation and abuse,

a/n・I struggled so much trying to write this fic. I certainly couldn't have done it without the lovely @jeonginsleftcheek who was my biggest supporter from the very beginning and all the way through when I had a mental breakdown, an existential crisis, a small writing hiatus, changed the plot, then changed it back, then changed it again, and changed it again but she helped me through it all. I truly cannot thank you enough for all your help. I hope I did it justice.

“𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨�� 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲.”

—Sade Andria Zabala.

You were so close, so close you could count every freckle sprinkled over his cheekbones, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips.

This was wrong.

Then, why can’t you pull away?

Felix tilts his head against the headboard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. His fingers twitch on your hips, “What are you doing?”

You couldn’t answer that yourself. It felt a little like falling, like you had just tripped over your shoelaces and now you’re suspended mid-air. What are you doing? You are feeling butterflies, swarms of them, fervently flapping their wings in your stomach, desperately trying to keep you upright. You are hanging onto his shoulders like they were your anchor. You are fighting warmth inside your chest, a seed planted so long ago, finally blooming.

It leaves you dizzy. So odd, so unnatural to feel such tenderness in a single touch, a single emotion. What is he doing to you?

You knew, secretly, you knew.

His hair was messy and tousled, a stray lock falling into his eyes. You brush it away.

“You’re making it so hard to hate you,”

(If you wanna be added to the tag list let me know!)

[sunnysdiary]

not ready to love until my mind sounds like Lovesong by Beabadoobee.

[sunnysdiary]

🍙 -> Hi its sunny !!

ꕥ You can call me Sunny!

ꕥ 8TEEN

ꕥ My friends tend to call me a nerd (i am not i just like math and science)

ꕥ I want to be a child therapist (or a poet)

ꕥ If im not listening to SKZ, I like: Laufey, Yung Kai, Beabadoobee, Khalid, SZA, Arctic Monkeys, The Neighborhood, TXT, Kickflip, W2e, and anything from the late 90s--earky 2000's

ꕥ Full of love, laughter, and anxiety

ꕥ I LIVE on spotify

ꕥ Christian!

ꕥ I love cats :3

ꕥ I LOVE THE BEACH !!

ꕥ «Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.» - Carl Jung

[sunnysdiary]

🍙 -> SKZ AS FORMS OF ART

@lixies-favorite-cookie and i spent WAY too long thinking about this and now i have something to post until i have motivation to write again!!

ּ ֶָ֢.๑ˎˊ˗ Bangchan -> Bangchan is definietly the art of the guitar. Simply the acoustic guitar. Hes light but is so passionate. He is so diverse and fun just like the guitar, listening and learning it.

ּ ֶָ֢.๑ˎˊ˗ Leeknow -> DANCING. He can be on stage so effortlessly. The music playing in the background, and the body moving to the beat. It’s so simply–Leeknow. He loves it and is so good at it that dancing is just so him.

ּ ֶָ֢.๑ˎˊ˗Changbin -> MY MAN MY MANNNNNN. He would be the art form of lyric writing. Writing lyrics is just spilling thoughts, and he has a lot to share. This doesnt just apply to rapping–he definitely gives off soft and gentle lyrics too.

ּ ֶָ֢.๑ˎˊ˗ Hyunjin -> Hyunjin would be sketching. Simple–pencil or pen–and a sketchbook. The sounds of the pencil scraping the page and the sounds of the page crupling a bit under the touch of a hand that is so him. It just brings me back to his lives when he would just sit and draw.

ּ ֶָ֢.๑ˎˊ˗ Han -> Han is so MUSIC. Hes so loud yet quiet. While he is the All-star of the kpop community it makes sense too. He can sing, rap, make beats, write lyrics, adn dance. He is just the sound and art of MUSIC.

ּ ֶָ֢.๑ˎˊ˗ Felix -> Felix would be photography. The way this man is so EFFORTLESSLY beautiful KILLS me. While he is great in front of the camera, I feel like he gives the vibe of being behind the camera too. The sounds of the clicks and the sight of flashing lights are screaming Felix to me.

ּ ֶָ֢.๑ˎˊ˗Seungmin -> Seungmin is so hard, he would be the art of slam poetry. Slam poetry is so witty yet so lovely just like Seungmin. While he has the witty and snarky outside, deep down he has the warm and meaningful center just like Seungmin.

ּ ֶָ֢.๑ˎˊ˗ Jeongin -> Jeongin is fashion. He gives off sitting in front of a sewing machine and just making a whole outfit. Wether it be making it for someone else or for the own person. He gives the vibe of putting on the best playlist on spotify and just making clothes.

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hi my rays!! how would we feel about a felix blurb? i had an idea and wanted to know how wed feel :)

youre his girlfriend and basically youre helping to cut his hair! it would have a lot more in the story just this idea popped into my head

[sunnysdiary]

……i may I have just died

reader is ovulating and is needy for changbin, starts with riding his thigh bc thats what she is comfortable with but by the time its over, she NEEDS more.

Title: Desire, My Darling Genre: Smut, fluff Pairing: Seo Changbin x f!Reader Word Count: ~ 2,000 words Warnings: Sexual Content (minors DNI), ovulation, thigh riding, p in v, unprotected sex, praise, soft dom!Changbin, needy reader, aftercare A/N: This request had me melting, I would literally die for this man's thighs tbh. Thanks for the request 😊 I've got a few more to answer, so to the readers who submitted an ask, please hold on a little longer! Requests Masterlist

You’d been restless for hours.

Changbin had noticed it — the way you kept fidgeting in your seat across from him, thighs subtly pressing together, lip tucked between your teeth. You’d barely touched your food at dinner, distracted and dazed, eyes lingering on his arms, his neck, the solid line of his chest beneath his hoodie.

You didn’t even try to play it cool anymore.

By the time you both collapsed onto the couch, the ache between your legs had grown into a low throb, deep and demanding, your whole body warm with the need you could no longer ignore.

Changbin was sprawled out next to you, legs spread wide, scrolling idly on his phone with one hand while the other rested on his thigh — the one you couldn’t stop staring at.

That thigh. Thick. Powerful. Perfect.

You shifted closer, your breath catching slightly as your bare leg brushed against the denim stretched over his muscle. He looked up from his screen, brow lifting.

"You good?"

You hesitated. Swallowed. Then crawled into his lap without another word, straddling his thigh and sinking down slowly until your clothed core met him exactly where you needed.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh,” he said with a little laugh, clearly amused, clearly knowing. “Is that what’s been going on with you today?”

Your cheeks flamed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from his face. “I… yeah.”

You started to rock against him, just a little. The pressure — even through your panties — was delicious, a cruel relief that only made the ache inside you worse. Your breath hitched as your clit rubbed against the denim, and you moaned softly.

Changbin’s hands found your hips, steadying you. He grinned — soft, teasing, but filled with affection.

“Baby, are you ovulating again?”

You gave him a pitiful little nod, whining as you ground down more firmly. “I can’t help it. I just… I need you.”

“I can tell,” he murmured, dipping his head to press a gentle kiss to your jaw, then another beneath your ear. “You’ve been squirming all day. Didn’t think you’d last much longer.”

You whimpered and buried your face in his neck, moving faster now, the friction so good but still not enough. He flexed his thigh under you, giving you more to grind on, and chuckled when you gasped and clutched his shirt.

“God, you’re soaked,” he muttered, voice warm and fond. “Making a mess all over my jeans.”

His words made your hips stutter, the pleasure building fast but just shy of that final high. You needed more — more pressure, more stretch, more of him.

“Changbin,” you whined, voice trembling. “I can’t—I need—”

He tilted your chin up so you’d meet his gaze, his thumb stroking your flushed cheek.

“Tell me.”

“I need you inside me,” you blurted, shameless now. “Please, Bin. I need your cock. I feel so empty. I just—can’t take it anymore.”

His eyes softened at your desperation, but his smile didn’t fade. If anything, he looked even more endeared. Like he loved seeing you fall apart like this, loved that it was him you came to when your body demanded to be filled.

“You poor thing,” he whispered sweetly, brushing hair out of your face. “Is my baby aching that bad?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes—please—”

“Okay,” he said gently. “C’mon. Let me take care of you.”

He stood with you wrapped around him, carrying you to the bedroom like you weighed nothing. The moment he laid you on the mattress, his hands were all over you — undressing you slowly, carefully, kissing every inch of skin he revealed like you were something to be worshipped.

By the time he pushed your panties down your thighs, he groaned at the sight of you.

“You’re dripping,” he murmured, running his fingers through your folds, teasing you with a lazy touch. “Fuck. Your body really wants me, huh?”

“It needs you,” you gasped, hips lifting. “Please, Bin.”

He leaned down to kiss you, slow and deep and soft, even as his fingers finally pushed inside you. You gasped into his mouth, clinging to him, but it still wasn’t enough.

“I want your cock. Please, no more teasing—need to feel full, I need to—”

“You’re so needy,” he murmured, kissing down your throat. “So sweet. You know I’ll give it to you. Always.”

And then he was there — thick and hard, the heat of him pulsing against your entrance. He pushed in slow, giving you every inch, and your back arched as a broken sob left your lips.

“Yes,” you cried. “Oh my god—yes, yes, yes—”

He groaned, eyes fluttering shut as he bottomed out. “Fuck. You’re so tight. Gripping me so good, baby.”

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as he started to move. Every thrust was deep, deliberate, slow — designed to hit every sensitive spot and make your eyes roll back.

“Feel better now?” he asked softly, brushing your hair back from your face.

“Yes,” you moaned. “More, please, Bin—don’t stop—”

“I won’t,” he promised, kissing your forehead as he fucked you deep and slow. “Gonna give you everything. Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Just relax and let me make it better.”

And he did. Until your body went limp beneath him, legs trembling, mind completely blank except for his name.

~~~~

Your body felt like melted wax.

Limbs loose, lungs still catching up, mind blissfully blank except for the lingering imprint of his name on your tongue. Changbin stayed inside you for a long moment, his body warm and heavy against yours, chest rising and falling with each breath. One of his hands gently stroked your thigh, the other cradling your face like you were fragile glass.

“You okay?” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek.

You nodded slowly, too relaxed to speak just yet. Instead, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer, your nose nuzzling into the curve of his neck. He smiled, kissed your forehead, then carefully slipped out of you — drawing a soft whimper from your lips as you clenched around nothing.

“Shh, I know,” he soothed, kissing your temple. “You’re so sensitive.”

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he padded to the bathroom. He returned moments later with a warm, damp cloth and his most ridiculous level of concentration, gently cleaning you up like you were something delicate and precious.

“You’re always so sweet after,” you murmured, voice still hoarse from moaning. “Dangerously good at this whole boyfriend thing.”

He huffed a laugh. “Well, if my girl’s going to hump my thigh like she’s about to combust, I figure she deserves a little pampering after.”

You blushed, hiding your face in the pillow, which only made him laugh harder. He tossed the cloth aside and climbed back into bed, pulling the blankets over you both before wrapping his arms around your waist. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, his nose nuzzling your skin.

“You really were desperate, huh?” he teased, whispering against your neck. “Didn’t even ask. Just climbed into my lap like a girl on a mission.”

You turned your head just enough to meet his gaze. “Can you blame me? You in that hoodie, looking all broad and comfy? You were practically inviting me to use you.”

He grinned, eyes crinkling. “I’ll remember that next time I wear it.”

There was a quiet beat. Then, with a playful little smile, you wiggled your hips back against him under the blanket — just enough to grind lightly into his still-bare thigh.

Changbin groaned softly. “Baby…”

“Still ovulating,” you said sweetly, looking up at him through your lashes. “And you did say you weren’t stopping until I couldn’t think anymore…”

He shook his head, laughing, but there was no hiding the way his eyes darkened again. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re still hard,” you said innocently, glancing down between your bodies.

He huffed out a slow breath, running a hand over his face. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You rolled onto your back and reached for him, pulling him close again. “Guess I need another round to make sure.”

Changbin looked down at you, smiling in that soft, adoring way that made your heart ache. He kissed you — slow, deep, with no urgency, just overwhelming affection — before murmuring against your lips:

“Anything you need, baby. Round two it is.”

Tags: @jehhskz @true-queen-of-mischief @necrozica

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Taglist is open.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ © @changbinniescurlyhair

[sunnysdiary]

Home and Reason.

When someone says the word 'home' what do you think of? Some may have thought of their house, a friend, a significant other. Not me.

I think of 8 boys who make me feel a peace.

8 boys who helped me find my best friend. ( @lixies-favorite-cookie)

8 boys who saved my life.

Stray kids: My home, my safety, my security. My reason.

[sunnysdiary]

Hi my Rays! Here is a bit of chapter 1 of book 1 of the Lost but Lucky series! (Tanners Turn) it is incomplete, I just wanted a little feedback--like if this would make you want to keep reading you know? Also this is a book I do want to get published one day!! keep that in mind!! THIS TOOK ME A MONTH FOR LIKE HALF THE FIRST CHAPTER (what youre about to read)

TWS??: Court, mommy issues.

“Tanner!” My dad’s voice sliced through the quiet of our small apartment. I groaned, lifting my head just as he opened my door–for the third time in twenty minutes. “Why are you still in bed?” he barked, ripping the covers off me and letting the cool air rush over my body. “We need to get you registered for school.”

I flopped back down with a sigh, burying my face in the pillow. I didn’t understand why I had to go to a real school now.

School was never easy for me. Not academically–I got by fine–but socially? That’s where I always fell short. So, back in third grade, Dad pulled me out and started homeschooling me. It worked. For me. But now he thought sending me to a smaller private school would “help me open up.” I just wished he’d stop pushing it.

“I really don’t want to–”

“I don’t want to hear it, son,” he cut in, pointing toward the door. “We leave in half an hour.” I scoffed, sitting up as my feet hit the carpet. Stretching, I shuffled over to my dresser and started digging through the mountain of t-shirts until I found one that looked decent enough to pass Dad’s inspection.

After throwing it on, I hurried downstairs. Petal, my cat, was perched on the kitchen counter, staring at me like usual.

“Morning, Petal,” I mumbled.

She meowed, unimpressed. I grabbed the stack of registration paperwork we’d already filled out and headed for the door.

“Ready, kid?” Dad asked, wearing that proud smile he saved for moments when I acted even slightly responsible.

I just nodded and followed him down the apartment stairs.

We got in the car, and once we hit the main roads, he spoke again. “I wanted to talk to you about this whole school thing.”

I braced myself. “Okay?”

“I know how scary it is to start somewhere new. Especially jumping in mid-year, as a junior.”

I rolled my eyes and tuned him out. I already knew the speech: Just try to make one friend this year, it’ll help you adjust.

He didn’t get it. I’d tried to make friends before. More than once. It just never stuck. I was better off alone.

When we got to the school, we spent a few awkward minutes trying to find the front office. Students were scattered everywhere–rushing to class, laughing with friends, slamming locker doors. I felt like I’d stepped into another universe.

Eventually, we found the front office. Dad tugged open the glass door, and a woman with blonde hair and kind brown eyes greeted us.

“Hello, Mr. Lavada. And you must be Tanner Lavada.” Her smile was way too bright for this early in the day. “Have a seat, if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” Dad replied, smiling back. I swear he was blushing. He sat down to the left of me.

“I’m Dr. Manson, your principal,” she said.

Dad shot me a look–the kind that meant, say something.

“Tanner,” I muttered quietly.

“Nice to finally meet you.” She nodded. I gave a small one back and promptly tuned out again.

I vaguely remember Dad handing her the paperwork, her filing it away, and then giving me my uniform and a printed class schedule.

Then, the door opened.

A girl stepped in—brown skin, curly black hair, and the kind of energy that lit up a room.

“This is Sunny,” Figures. Dr. Manson said. “She’ll show you around today, give you a walkthrough so you’re not lost tomorrow.”

I stood up and handed my uniform to Dad.

“I’ll be in the office when you’re done,” he said with a quick smile, then left.

“Looking forward to seeing you in class, Tanner,” Dr. Manson added before turning her attention back to her desk.

Sunny and I walked out into the hallway. It was quiet between us at first, but there was something about her presence–easy, warm. I opened my mouth to say something, but she beat me to it.

“What’s your first period?” Her voice was cheerful, light. I handed her the paper. “Art. Mr. Gonzalez.” She read off the page. “Oh, you’ll like him. Just don’t get on his bad side.” She grinned and led me up a flight of stairs.

As we passed classrooms full of students and teachers, I couldn’t help but think: this was normal for them. For me, it felt completely foreign.

“Here we are. Room 201.” She gestured dramatically to the door, a playful twinkle in her eye.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” she asked as I shook my head and clasped my hands behind my back.

“That’s okay,” she said with a hum. “I can talk enough for both of us.”

And oh–she did. I listened to every word.

By the end of the tour, I knew her pets’ names, her life story, and her favorite color, food, and book. Turned out we had the same homeroom and lunch, so she gave me her number.

“Find me Monday,” she’d said. “You’ll sit with me.”

It was strange. I barely said anything, and yet… she wanted me around. It felt like breathing after holding it in for too long.

I found Dad in the office, exactly where he said he’d be–sitting in one of those stiff, spongy chairs, eyes glued to his phone, lip pulled between his teeth. He only did that when he was focused–or worried.

I tapped his shoulder.

“How was it?” he asked, standing.

“Fine,” I muttered.

“Come on, son.” He gripped my arm, pulling me toward the car. Once inside, he practically threw it into drive and sped off.

“Is something wrong?”

No answer.

“Dad?”

Still nothing.

“Dad!” I shouted, finally snapping him out of it.

He looked at me, jaw clenched. “What is your problem?”

“I need you to talk at this school, son.”

“…Why?”

Silence. Heavy. He then spoke. “Your mom’s taking me back to court.”

He paused, tightening his grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

“You have to talk. Tell them you want to stay with me.”

My heart dropped to my stomach.

“You mean… talk in front of a judge? Mom? A jury?”

“Yes. And school’s the best place to start.”

“Dad–”

“You have to!” he shouted, voice cracking. His whole body tensed as he blinked hard. “You have to,” he whispered again.

The silence that followed wasn’t angry. It wasn’t peaceful. It was heavy. Painful.

“You can’t go with her, kid,” he said after a beat. “You’re my kid.”

“I’m yours,” I whispered.

He pulled into the parking lot and reached across the seat, pulling me into a hug.

[sunnysdiary]

I ☁︎‎‎‧₊˚----sunnys yapping time

OHMYGOSH? HELLO THANK YOU FOR 40 FOLLOWERS?? I DIDNT THINK I WAS ABLE TO GET ABOVE LIKE 10!! YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST :)

(SOME BIG SEUNGMIN HUGS FOR ALL OF YOU LOVELYS!!)

[sunnysdiary]

PSSSSTTT

☁︎‎‎‧₊˚----sunnys yapping time

Hi so like my bsf in the WHOOLLLEEEE world @lixies-favorite-cookie is about to hit 1000 followers and like I think you guys (If you don't already) should go follow her. Her stores are so swagatacular and she has much more on the way!!