₪ synopsis: a hilarious encounter turns unforgettable when yn realizes the charming, but silly, guy she met online is the same guy who is now onstage singing and dancing like he was destined to do so. what starts as a teasing and laughter slowly blossoms into a friendship, and then something far more tender and undeniable.
content — established situationship to lovers, smut, explicit sexual content, mirror sex, riding, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (baby, pretty girl, channie), soft dom sungchan, unprotected sex (wrap it up irl), creampie, aftercare, feelings confession, fluff at the end, minors DNI!!
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
It’s late at night when you receive a text from your situationship.
He always texts you late at night. You’re starting to wonder what you even are to him—friends with benefits? Something more? Something less?
You’ve been meaning to talk to him, but every time you build up the courage, this happens. He sends a photo, teases you, and you end up pressed into his mattress, completely forgetting what you wanted to say.
And to be fair… you always fall for it. Because deep down, you know you like him. It’s more than just hooking up and casual hangouts for you.
You grab your keys, get in your car, and drive to his apartment.
You knock.
He opens the door—and there he is, wearing the exact same outfit from the photo.
“Hey, pretty girl,” he grins, stepping aside to let you in.
“Hm… so what was the reason for the sudden pic?” you ask, back still turned as you take off your shoes.
He wraps his arms around you from behind. “I missed you, baby.”
“Missed me,” you turn to face him, “or fucking me?”
He smirks, lips brushing your neck. “Both?”
Everything in you is screaming to have that conversation—but you’re also painfully turned on after that picture, so…
“Show me the new mirror?” you smirk.
“Gladly.”
He picks you up instantly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he kisses your neck.
He carries you into his room and lays you down on the bed.
And there it is—the mirror, perfectly placed in front of it.
He kisses you again, fast and needy.
Then he pulls back and gestures for you to sit up. He lifts your shirt—and pauses when he realizes you’re not wearing anything underneath.
“Fuck… baby,” he breathes. “Already so pretty for me.”
He leans down, kissing and grabbing at your chest, one hand teasing a nipple while his mouth focuses on the other.
You moan softly, fingers tangling in his hair.
Then he leans close to your ear. “Ride me?”
You blink at him.
That’s new.
He’s never asked that before.
You swallow, nodding softly. “Yeah…”
He wastes no time, pulling off his pants and boxers while you get rid of yours. He shifts you on top of him, hands firm on your hips.
You start grinding against him, your wetness coating his length.
“Fuck… baby, don’t tease,” he groans. “That feels so good—fuck.”
You lift yourself slightly, dragging his tip along your entrance, teasing him back. He’s already a mess beneath you.
Then you sink down slowly, a soft whimper leaving your lips.
“Fuck—baby—” he groans.
“Chan… you’re so deep—fuck—
“Yeah?” he pants. “You like that?”
“Fuck, I feel so full… you feel so good—”
One of his hands grips your hip while the other moves to your chest, playing with your nipple as you start moving.
You throw your head back, lost in the feeling.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Taking me so well… look in the mirror, baby. See how pretty you look riding my cock.”
You follow his words, eyes meeting your reflection—your body moving over his, his hands all over you.
“Come on… I can feel you clenching,” he groans. “Cum for me. Wanna see that pretty face when you do.”
That’s all it takes.
You fall apart around him, your body tightening as you reach your high.
He doesn’t stop.
Instead, he flips you over, pulling you up before you can even process it.
“I’m not done with you,” he mutters. “Let’s actually test that mirror.”
Before you can react, he lifts you again, pressing you against the mirror. Your hands wrap around him instinctively as he kisses you.
Then he slowly lowers you, turning you around so your chest presses against the glass.
Your breath fogs it instantly.
He lines himself up behind you, teasing your entrance again before pushing in.
“Fuck… still so tight,” he groans.
You moan, pressing back into him.
His thrusts start slow but deep, powerful, making your body jolt against the mirror.
“Faster, Channie… please—”
“Yeah?” he murmurs. “You can handle it?”
“Please—”
That’s all he needs.
He picks up the pace, thrusts becoming rougher, faster.
“Pussy’s made for me,” he groans. “Look at you… taking me so well.”
The sounds fill the room—your moans, his, skin against skin.
“Sungchan—fuck—I’m gonna cum again—”
“Me too, baby… cum with me.”
He reaches around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles as he keeps thrusting.
Your body tightens again, and you release, clenching around him.
That’s what pushes him over.
He groans loudly, finishing inside you.
He slows, pulling out, watching as it slowly drips out of you.
Then he gently pulls you back to bed, both of you collapsing onto the mattress.
“Well… that was something,” you mumble, still breathless.
You turn to him, only to find him already looking at you.
He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I know this might not be the best timing…” he starts softly, “but I really like you. I want us to be more than just… this. More than hookups and random hangouts. I wanna take you on dates. I want you to be mine.”
You blink at him, then smile.
“I like you too. A lot, actually,” you admit. “I’ve been wanting to talk about it… but we always get distracted.”
He laughs quietly. “Yeah… I can’t really control myself around you.”
He leans in, resting his forehead against yours. “Be mine?”
You nod, whispering, “Yes.”
He smiles—and kisses you, slow and soft this time.
synopsis: in a drunk, heartbroken haze, you anonymously submitted a love song to riize fm— campus’ well-known radio station. never once serious about singing, the last thing you expected was to go viral. now the whole campus is hunting for the mystery artist… and the one getting dangerously close to the truth? sungchan jung. your irritatingly charming project partner and riize fm’s resident dj. the worst part? you might actually be falling for him.
featuring: fem!reader, riize, seunghan, katseye (sophia), &team (maki), and more!
content warning: suggestive, swearing, drinking, and smoking. a minor character is chronically ill
author’s note: please be sure to read the profiles and descriptions under them for clarity. thanks and happy reading! :3
DISCONTINUED.
edit: sorry i couldn’t finish this guys! it’s still enjoyable if you’d like to read through it </3 many kisses to my jinsu luvrs!!
(w) = written portion
profile 1 | profile 2
001. spawn camping. | 002. generational trauma. | 003. stalking. | 004. anonymous. | 005. wreck it ralph. (w) | 006. pipsqueak. | 007. insufferable. (w) | 008. good pipe. | 009. peanut. | 010. pussy detector. | 011. smoke bomb. | 012. fawk no. | 013. fan behavior. (w) | 014. loverboy. | 015. public shaming. | 016. gambling. | 017. patrick star. | 018. fuck it all. (w) | 019. therapist hat. | 020. ass whooping. | 021. drama town. | 022. boundaries. (w) | 023. ref card him. | 024. he gotta be pregnant. | 025. end of times. | 026. daily newspaper. | 027. kwangya unc. | 028. no way. | 029. hear ye. | 030. hurt. (w) | 031. nosy incorporate. | 032. greedy. (w) | 033. cuffed. | 034. demon mode. | 035. deepthroat. | 036. ragebaited. | 037. trolling. | 038. side hoe. | discontinued.
synopsis: your weakness is watching your boyfriend's fancams, it's just too much!
› pairings & contents: idol jung sungchan x fem!reader, established relationship.
✧ warnings: reader has her nails done, teasing, sungchan being sungchan, making out, mentions of other idols (daesung) but not in a weird way, use of petnames. SMUT. size difference is mentioned, big dicked sungchan, unprotected sex (don't do this!) multiple positions (missionary, doggy) + rounds (2).
it was a stupid, idle friday. you were curled on your side of the couch, laptop balanced on your knees, scrolling through your phone while zip daesung, specifically riize's episode played in the background.
a notification popped up on your phone.
YouTube • Just Now
STUDIOCHOOM
[UNFILTERED CAM] RIIZE SUNGCHAN "Do your dance" 4K | STUDIO CHOOM ORIGINAL
you clicked on it without much thought. just wanted to see your boyfriend doing his job.
big mistake.
big fucking mistake.
the video was shot in crisp, high definition, focusing entirely on him. it was the performance of his new comeback,, and he was wearing that white sleeveless t-shirt that said "PUBLIC ENEMY" in bold black letters, and dark blue washed jeans. the camera loved him. it caught the sharp cut of his jaw as he turned, the intense, focused glint in his eyes during his rap verse, the way his muscles shifted and rolled under the sheer fabric with every powerful, controlled move.
a slow, warm curl of heat started low in your belly. you shifted on the couch, trying to ignore it. this was ridiculous. you’d seen him perform a hundred times. you saw him without the shirt every other week!
. . . but there was something about the curated focus of the fancam, the way it framed him as magnetic, the pure intensity of it hit differently.
you were biting your lip, watching his hands gesture sharply during a dance break, when the couch dipped beside you.
"what’re you watching?" his voice, low and familiar, right in your ear.
you jumped, fumbling the laptop. "nothing—! just...just some stuff,"
he plucked the phone from your slack fingers before you could lock it. his eyebrows rose as he saw his own face, frozen mid-move on the screen. a slow, knowing smirk spread across his lips. he looked from the fancam to your flushed face, his dark eyes missing nothing.
"oh," he drawled, the single syllable dripping with implication. "my fancam."
"it came up on my feed," you mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant and failing spectacularly.
"mmhmm," he leaned back, stretching his long arms across the back of the couch. the movement made his t-shirt pull tight across his chest. he was just in sweats and a soft shirt now, but the sheer size of him—the width of his shoulders blocking the lamplight—was even more overwhelming in your quiet living room. "and? how was my performance?"
"it was… good. you looked good." the words felt inadequate.
"just ‘good’?" he teased, his voice dropping. he reached over and tapped the space bar, restarting the video. the heavy bass filled the room. he watched you watch it, his gaze heavy on the side of your face. you could feel your cheeks burning. when the camera zoomed in on a close-up of his lips during the chorus, you let out a tiny, involuntary sigh.
that’s when he laughed, a soft, dark sound.
"you’re all worked up over a video?"
“i’m not,” you protested weakly, but your body betrayed you, leaning slightly towards his warmth.
he hummed, not believing you for a second. in one smooth motion, he closed the laptop, placed it on the floor, and turned to you. his large hands came up to frame your face, his thumbs stroking your hot cheeks. "my poor baby,, got all flustered watching me on a screen." he leaned in, his breath mingling with yours. "when i’m right here."
then he kissed you, and it wasn’t the soft, sweet kiss you often shared. it was deep and claiming, so fucking confident. you moaned into his mouth, you honestly surprised yourseld with that. your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle there.
he pulled back just enough to speak, his lips brushing yours. "you like seeing me like that?" he didn’t wait for an answer. his mouth moved to your neck, sucking a mark right over your pulse point. one of his big hands slid down your side, over your hip, squeezing possessively. "you should see how you look right now, so pretty for me."
he maneuvered you until you were lying back on the couch cushions, his large body caging you in. the size difference was never more apparent; you were completely enveloped by him. he kissed you again, slower now, teasing your lips apart before his tongue swept in. his hand slid under your shirt, his warm palm skimming up your ribcage.
"sungchan—," you gasped, arching into his touch.
"what do you want, baby?" he murmured against your skin, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "tsk, i'm right here, aren't i?"
he was being mean, a deliberate tease, drawing out every second. his fingers brushed the underside of your breast but didn’t go further. his hips ground against yours slowly, letting you feel the hard line of his erection through both your clothes, but offering no real friction.
frustrated, desperate, you dragged your hands down his back. your nails—done just last week in a pretty, glossy dark blue—of course in honor of II— scratched lightly over the fabric of his shirt. you felt him shudder above you.
a low groan rumbled in his chest. "fuck," the teasing edge vanished, replaced by raw hunger. "okay. okay, you win,"
he made quick work of the rest of your clothes, his own following shortly after. when he finally slid into you, it was with a single, deep, devastating stroke that punched the air from your lungs. he was so big, stretching you so perfectly full. he stilled, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours, his breaths coming in ragged pants.
"this what you wanted?" he whispered, his voice strained with restraint. "when you were watching me on your phone? you wanted this, huh?"
all you could do was nod, your fingers digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders, your nails leaving faint, promising marks.
that broke the last of his control. he began to move, and it was nothing like the slow tease from before. it was deep, rhythmic, and utterly focused, each thrust designed to chase the coil of pleasure tightening inside you. he watched your face the entire time, his eyes dark and unwavering.
when you finally came, it was with a sharp cry, your back bowing off the couch. the sight of you falling apart beneath him was what finally pushed him over. he followed with a guttural moan, his big body collapsing over yours for a moment before he carefully rolled, taking you with him so you were sprawled on top of his chest.
he traced the lines your nails had left on his back with a wince and a smile. "rough, baby," he mumbled into your hair, but his arms tightened around you. his heartbeat was a steady, comforting drum under your ear.
he kept you tucked against his chest for a long while, his big hands stroking lazy patterns up and down your spine. the room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing syncing up. you could feel him softening inside you, a warm, intimate weight.
"you’re gonna be the death of me," he mumbled, his voice a sleepy rumble under your ear. his fingers traced the shell of it, a ghost of a touch. "watching my fancam and getting all…"
you nuzzled into his neck, hiding your smile. "you started it,"
a low chuckle vibrated through him. "no regrets," he shifted then, gently guiding you off him. you made a small noise of protest at the loss, but he just smiled, that sharp, knowing smirk returning. "we’re not done,"
before you could process it, his hands were on your hips, turning you with an effortless strength that made your breath catch. you found yourself on your hands and knees on the couch cushions, facing the back of it. the position was suddenly, intensely vulnerable. you could feel the cool air on your skin, the dampness between your thighs.
you heard him move behind you, the shift of the cushions. then his hands were back on your hips, his thumbs digging into the dimples of your lower back. he leaned over you, his broad chest blanketing your back, and his mouth found the side of your neck.
"you looked so good from the front," he whispered, his lips moving against your pulse point. "let me see how you look from here,"
you felt him, the thick, blunt head of him nudging against you, still wet from before. he was already hard again. the realization sent a fresh jolt of heat straight through you. he was big. you’d felt it before, but in this position, the awareness was acute, almost overwhelming.
he didn’t rush. he pushed in just an inch, a slow, deliberate stretch that made you gasp and push back against him instinctively. he let out a soft, approving sound. "there you go— fuck, baby, take it,"
another inch, then another. he filled you so completely, a deep, stretching burn that quickly melted into a pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. you dropped your forehead to the couch cushion, a muffled moan escaping you. your dark blue nails dug into the fabric, searching for purchase.
"fuck," he breathed out, his voice tight. "you feel…— ah, god, you feel perfect like this,"
he started to move then, and it was different. deeper. each slow, dragging pull out was almost as intense as the push back in. his grip on your hips was firm, almost bruising, holding you in place for his thrusts. the sound was obscene in the quiet room—skin slapping against skin, your choked-off whimpers, his ragged breaths.
he leaned back a little, changing the angle, and the next thrust hit something so deep and bright inside you that you saw stars. a sharp cry tore from your throat.
"that’s it,— c'mon baby," he said, his pace picking up, becoming less controlled, more desperate. "right there, hm?" you take me so fucking well,"
one of his hands slid from your hip, around your thigh, his fingers finding the slick, sensitive bundle of nerves there. the dual sensation—the deep, relentless pounding and the precise, circling pressure—was too much.
you came apart with a shattered sob, your body clamping down around him in tight, rhythmic pulses. you shook with it, your vision blurring.
the feeling of you drying him was what finally undid him. with a final, brutal thrust that buried him to the hilt, he stilled, a broken groan tearing from his chest as he spilled into you. you felt the hot rush, the way his whole body shuddered against yours.
he collapsed over you for a second, his weight a comforting press, before carefully pulling out and gathering you into his arms. he didn’t even try to go back to the other side of the couch; he just laid down right there, pulling you half on top of him, your back to his chest. his arm was a heavy, secure band across your stomach.
"mean," you slurred into the cushion, utterly spent.
you felt him smile against the back of your shoulder. "how the tables have turned," he kissed the spot. "my girl, took all of me so well,"
you hummed, clearly tired, surrounded by the scent and warmth and sheer size of him. this—the possessive grip, the whispered praise, the overwhelming reality of him—was better than any fancam could ever be.
oh, the zip daesung episode ended several minutes ago, though nobody watched.
➥ ◜ ⓘ sungchan’s constant hovering isn’t just habit, it’s a love language!
sungchan x gn!reader ☁︎ wc . 506 𑇛 ۫ ៹ fluff established relationship ◞♡ library
jung sungchan has a habit of hovering.
not in an annoying way. more like he just… ends up near you.
you’ll be standing at the counter doing absolutely nothing important, and suddenly he’s there, leaning against it beside you, hip bumping yours like it was always meant to. on the couch, he starts on the opposite end. somehow, ten minutes later, his shoulder is against yours.
you don’t comment on it. neither does he.
you’re scrolling on your phone when he tilts his head, squinting at the screen. “what’re you reading?”
“nothing,” you say.
he hums, unconvinced, and stays right there anyway.
a few seconds pass.
“you’re cold,” he says.
you blink. “i am not.”
he looks at you for a second, then down at your hands tucked into your sleeves. “you are.”
before you can argue, he’s already tugging his hoodie over his head. “sungchan—”
“hold still,” he says, gentle but firm, guiding it over you like he’s done this before. it’s warm and oversized, sleeves way too long, soft from being worn and washed a hundred times. it smells like clean laundry and him, which feels unfairly comforting.
he steps back to look at you, eyes flicking over the hoodie, then your face.
“…better?” he asks.
you roll the sleeves over your hands. “yeah. thanks.”
his ears turn pink instantly.
he clears his throat and looks away, pretending the counter is suddenly very interesting. “okay. good.”
later, you’re both on the couch again. sungchan stretches his legs out, accidentally-on-purpose crowding your space. you don’t move, so neither does he. instead, he shifts closer until your thighs touch.
“is this okay?” he asks, quiet.
“yeah.”
“okay,” he says, equally quiet, like he needed permission even though he already knew the answer.
his hand hovers near yours for a second, actually hovers, before he finally reaches out, pinky brushing against yours. when you don’t pull away, he hooks it gently, like he’s testing the waters.
he relaxes instantly.
“you comfy?” he asks after a bit.
“mhm.”
he nods, satisfied, thumb starting to trace slow circles against your knuckles without him even noticing he’s doing it. you lean into his shoulder, and he freezes for half a heartbeat before adjusting, arm slipping around you so you’re more supported.
“sorry,” he murmurs. “tell me if i’m too—”
“you’re not,” you say.
he hums softly, content.
the room is quiet in that everyday way. the hum of the fridge, something playing on the tv that neither of you are actually watching. sungchan rests his chin lightly on your head, breathing slow and even.
after a while, he squeezes your hand once.
“i like when you’re here,” he says, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.
you tilt your head up to look at him. “yeah?”
he shrugs, shy smile tugging at his lips. “yeah.”
you lean back into him. he holds you a little tighter, like that settles something.
jung sungchan stays right there, hovering, holding you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The worst part wasn’t that you were in love with someone else.
No.
The worst part was that you weren’t in love with anyone—you were just so hopelessly, blindingly clueless that you never realized Sungchan was in love with you.
Everyone else knew.
You’d call him at 2 a.m. because you’d lost your keys, and he’d show up half-asleep in sweats, unlocking your door without complaint. You’d crawl into his bed during movie nights, tucking yourself under his arm like it was the most normal thing in the world. You’d steal his hoodies—never giving them back—and he’d pretend not to notice just so you’d keep wearing them.
You thought it was friendly.
You thought he held your hand when you were tired because he was “comforting you.” That he brushed your hair behind your ear because it was “in your face.”
You were the kind of girl who’d giggle and say, You’re so nice to me, Chan, never realizing he was mentally proposing marriage every time you smiled.
And the worst thing?
You did it without even trying.
Like last weekend—when you’d slipped your hand into his at the street crossing. Or the time you’d fed him a bite of your ice cream without blinking. Or when you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder, wearing his hoodie, legs draped across his lap.
You had no idea how many times he’d nearly leaned in to kiss you, how many nights he’d lain awake, heart a bruised thing in his chest, wondering how you could be so painfully, heartbreakingly oblivious.
And that’s why now—
You burst into his apartment, a tiny pink shopping bag swinging from your wrist, wearing that innocent smile that could unravel him in seconds.
You had no idea how many times you’d nearly given him a heart attack.
Like right now, when you burst into his apartment, a tiny pink shopping bag swinging from your wrist, wearing that innocent smile that could unravel him in seconds.
“Sungchan,” you chirp, “I need your opinion!”
He’s sprawled on the couch in a black hoodie and gray sweats, hair falling into his eyes, because he’s been sulking for the past two hours thinking about you out on your little coffee date with that guy from your history class. His jaw tenses.
“Opinion on what?” he asks carefully, because he knows if he sounds too jealous you’ll notice—though honestly, you never notice anything.
You plop down beside him, so close he can smell your perfume—soft and sweet, like vanilla—and his brain short-circuits.
“On this,” you say, pulling out a dainty hair clip. It’s shaped like a cherry. “Do you think it’s cute?”
He blinks. “Yeah. Cute.”
“Like…should I wear it on my next date?”
He almost chokes. “Date?”
“Yeah! Remember the guy I told you about? The one who’s in my class ?”
Oh, he remembers. The walking highlighter who’s been trying to flirt with you for weeks. Sungchan’s hands curl into loose fists, and he swallows the sharp thing in his throat.
“You really…like him?” His voice is too tight.
You frown, tilting your head. “I mean…he’s nice?”
That’s it? Nice? He wants to laugh, or scream, or just grab your face and say I’m nice too, but you don’t see me taking you on dumb coffee dates.
Instead, he says:
“Don’t go.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t go with him.”
“Why not?” you ask, wide-eyed. You look genuinely puzzled, and it only makes him feel more insane.
He rakes a hand through his hair. “Because—”
“Because what?”
Because I’m so in love with you it makes me stupid.
But you just sit there, blinking at him, clutching your cherry clip like it’s the most important thing in the world.
“You don’t even see it, do you?” he says hoarsely.
“See what?”
“How much I—” He breaks off, chest heaving. Your eyes soften in concern.
“Sungchan…are you okay?”
“No,” he mutters. “I’m not.”
Before you can reply, he grabs your wrist, tugging you closer until your knees bump. His heart is pounding like he’s run a marathon.
“I’m not okay because you keep going on these dates and talking about other guys and you never, ever realize—”
“Realize what?”
He exhales shakily, voice dropping low. “That you’re mine.”
You freeze, lips parted.
“…Yours?”
He tips his forehead to yours. “Yeah,” he breathes. “You’re mine.”
For a second, neither of you moves. Your pulse is thrumming under his fingers.
“You’re always mine,” he whispers. “And it’s driving me crazy that you can’t tell.”
You open your mouth, but no words come out.
Then, very softly, you say, “You…like me?”
His laugh is ragged. “I’m in love with you.”
Your heart skips.
“You’re so clueless,” he groans, burying his face in your neck, voice muffled. “God, you make me jealous over everyone who so much as looks at you.”
You swallow, feeling your cheeks burn. “…Even the guy with the pens?”
“Especially him.”
“…Oh.”
He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, searching for any sign that you’re going to run away. Instead, you smile—shy and sweet.
“…So…should I cancel my date?” you whisper.
His thumb brushes your lower lip, gaze dark. “Yes.”
“Okay,” you murmur, “but…what if I still want to wear the clip?”
He groans again, and you giggle as he kisses you—finally, after all that time, your clueless heart catching up with his.
And in that moment, there’s no more jealousy.
Just you. And him. And all the sweetness you never noticed until now.
“they never once ate you out?” sungchan asks, voice low, almost disbelieving. not that he particularly enjoyed talking about your exes, but the thought just didn’t make sense to him. his brows were furrowed, jaw tense, like the idea actually pissed him off.
you laugh, a little shy but still honest. “i mean…not really. it was always about them. i just didn’t ask.”
his eyes flicker, with what, you’re not sure. but he’s already kneeling between your thighs, hands gentle as he helps you out of your underwear like you’re made of glass. like you deserve to be handled with care, unwrapped slow.
“you shouldn’t have to ask,” he murmurs, pressing slow kisses up your legs. “they should’ve wanted to.”
you were already flushed, back sinking into the sheets as his hands guide you open, gazing at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful. in his mind, he hasn’t.
“i’m not like them,” he says softly, dragging his lips over your skin until he’s breathing against your pussy. “i take care of what’s mine.”
and with that, his tongue dips between your folds. slow and warm. he groans into like he’s the one being touched, like tasting you is the best thing he’s ever been allowed to do. he doesn’t rush either. doesn’t tease you. he just pleasures you, leaving open-mouthed kisses to your pussy and deep, perfect licks on your clit that have your hips rolling in seconds.
“fuck—sungchan—” you moan out, already squirming.
his hands slide under your thighs, holding you down as he buries his face even deeper, tongue fucking you slow, then fast, then back to slow again until you’re practically shaking.
“you taste so good. knew you would,” he mumbles, voice muffled by your pussy. “you’re gonna come for me, right? want you to.”
his tongue never stops, lips locked around your clit like he was made for it. but then his hand slides up, heavy and large, trailing up your stomach before he cups your breast.
you gasp out a whine when his fingers brush your nipple, tugging, rolling it between his fingers.
“oh my—please don’t stop,” you whimper, arching your body into his hand, into his mouth. he groans against your pussy, squeezing your tit a little rougher now, needing to feel how your body reacts under him.
he mouths at you deeper, fingers tugging at your nipple in slow, perfect rhythm with every stroke of his tongue, and suddenly it’s all too much. all of the feelings at once, all the pleasure he was giving you. and he caught on.
“come for me, baby,” he murmurs into your cunt, voice husky and low. “let me feel you.”
your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging needing something to grip, but he just groans louder and switches between fast flicks to your clit and sucking the sensitive bud.
“let go, baby,” he whispers, licking a long stripe up your throbbing pussy. “show me how good a real man makes you feel.”
and when you finally fall apart, thighs shaking hard and lips spilling the prettiest little sounds, he doesn’t stop. doesn’t even think about it. he licks you through every last wave of pleasure, hands still gentle, mouth still hungry.
after a while,you look down at him. glowing, messy, a little smug and he just smiles, lips and chin wet.
“told you,” he says, sucking a mark onto your thigh again. “real men take care of their women.”
