tt🤍🩷

“you’re really nervous, huh?”

his voice is soft— gentle in that way chenle rarely ever is. usually he’s teasing, smug, full of sharp grins and sarcastic remarks. but not right now.

right now he’s kneeling between your thighs, warm palms sliding slowly up the backs of your legs as you sit there on the edge of his bed, trembling slightly, every part of you too aware of the fact that you’re finally letting him touch you like this.

your best friend.

your very experienced, very cocky best friend.

you nod, swallowing hard. “i’ve never—i mean, not like this. not anyone…”

he leans in a little, thumbs brushing the crease where your thighs meet your hips. “i know,” he says softly, meeting your gaze. “i’ll take care of you. you trust me, right?”

you nod again—faster this time. because you do. you’ve always trusted him.

and something about the way he’s looking at you makes you ache. like you’re something fragile. like he wants to ruin you slow.

“good,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “just relax, baby. let me make you feel good.”

you inhale sharply as he pushes your legs apart, letting them fall open for him. chenle groans, low and soft, like he’s been waiting for this forever.

“fuck,” he breathes, mouth barely brushing your skin. “so pretty. you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

his hands are steady, thumbs stroking gentle circles into your hips as he kisses closer. he’s not rushing. not even a little.

you’re already soaked, and the first slow lick of his tongue makes you gasp.

“oh my god—”

“shhh,” he murmurs, grinning against you. “you’re okay. i’ve got you.”

he eats you out like he’s memorizing the shape of every sound you make—every twitch, every breathless moan. like he wants to make you cry from how good it feels.

and the praise. god, the praise.

“so sweet, baby.”

“you’re doing so good for me.”

“you taste like fucking heaven.”

his voice is thick with want, but he doesn’t let it slip. doesn’t rush. just keeps lapping at you slowly, tongue dragging through your folds, lips sealing around your clit with practiced ease.

you’re shaking in minutes, one hand fisting in the sheets, the other gripping his hair.

“c-chenle, i—”

he pulls back for half a second, mouth shiny, smile soft and crooked. “already close?”

you nod frantically, eyes wet.

“fuck, that’s so hot,” he whispers, before diving back in.

he moans against you like he loves it—like getting you off is his favorite fucking thing in the world. and it’s too much—his tongue, his voice, the way he’s holding your hips down even as you squirm.

“come for me, baby,” he breathes, mouth brushing your clit, fingers digging into your thighs. “let go. i wanna hear how pretty you sound when you fall apart.”

and when you do—shaking and sobbing through the most overwhelming pleasure you’ve ever felt—he doesn’t stop. he slows, sure, kisses through it, licks up everything you give him with a groan like he’s drunk on it.

then he’s kissing your thighs again. your belly. your trembling hips.

“you did so good for me,” he whispers, crawling up beside you to pull you into his chest. “so fuckin’ good. my perfect girl.”

your legs won’t stop shaking, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps as you clutch chenle’s shirt, the aftershocks of your orgasm still rippling through your limbs. you’re dazed—floaty. the kind of blissed-out that makes it hard to speak, let alone think.

he’s holding you gently now, hand smoothing over your back, lips brushing your forehead like he just gave you the sweetest gift in the world.

and then he murmurs it. low and soft and dangerous.

“i’m not done with you.”

you stiffen a little, whining into his shirt. “i—i already—”

“i know,” he says sweetly, kissing the corner of your mouth. “you were perfect. but i didn’t say you could stop.”

your breath catches. his tone isn’t cruel. it’s warm. coaxing. but there’s something firm under it—something that tells you he means it.

his hand slips down again, fingers ghosting over your soaked, sensitive cunt. you jolt.

“still wet,” he whispers. “still warm. so pretty like this—fuck, you squeeze when i talk to you like that.”

you whimper, thighs trying to close on instinct, but he’s already between them again. already settling down with a grin that could ruin anyone.

“you trust me, right?” he says again, eyes locking with yours. “you want me to take care of you?”

you nod, already breathless again, even as your body trembles.

“that’s my girl.”

and then he’s kissing you there again—softer this time, gentler, but it burns now, every brush of his tongue dragging sparks through your nerves. your hips lift without meaning to, legs trembling as he licks slow, careful stripes over your clit.

“so sensitive,” he coos. “you feel everything now, don’t you?”

you nod helplessly, mouth falling open as another soft moan escapes you. it’s too much—you should be done. but the way he’s touching you? the praise? the warm weight of his hands holding your thighs apart, steady and patient and so fucking in control—it makes you want more.

he keeps going, not teasing, not rushing. just loving you. like this is his favorite thing in the world. like he knew you’d take it again. like he knew your body would give in even when your mind said it was too much.

“you’re doing so good for me, baby. look at you,” he murmurs, voice full of warmth and awe. “already shaking, already crying again. and you’re still letting me.”

your eyes are glossy now, and you don’t even realize the tears are back until he lifts his head and kisses one off your thigh.

“fuck, you’re so sweet,” he groans, fingers digging into your hips. “you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

he presses a kiss to your clit, feather-light, and your whole body jolts.

“can you give me one more?” he whispers, smiling up at you. “just one. i’ll make it feel so good, i promise. just one more for me, pretty girl.”

you whine, nodding through the overwhelm, because even if it’s too much—you trust him. and you want it. want him.

his tongue returns with purpose this time, circling your clit, flicking it just right, the angle of his mouth making everything sharper. your hips twitch and your hand flies to his hair, tugging without realizing it.

“that’s it,” he breathes, voice husky and low. “give it to me. i want to feel you come again. i need to.”

and god—when it happens, it’s loud. it’s messy. it’s a sobbed-out moan and a full-body shake, your thighs closing around his head as you come for him a second time, even harder than the first.

he doesn’t stop until you push at him, crying out softly, and even then he kisses your thigh, your mound, your hip—whispering, “you did so good. you’re amazing. i’m so proud of you.”

and when he finally climbs back up beside you, pulling you into his arms again, you bury your face in his neck, still trembling. still reeling.

he presses a kiss to your forehead, brushing your hair back.

“you okay?” he whispers.

you nod. and then, barely audible—“thank you.”

his smile is audible in the warmth of his voice.