Why, hello there.

Boyfriend!Han Jisung, who loves to be the "man" in your relationship.

He's silly, sure, and he's a little bit clumsy and nerdy, but he tries. He holds open every door for you, fumbles to pull your chair out before you can grab it yourself, and insists you walk on the inside of the sidewalk, even when the street is empty. He's the picture of a gentleman (or at least, he's trying very hard to be) and it's endlessly sweet. He doesn't like the stereotype, but he likes taking care of you, so he does, in a very Han Jisung way.

Boyfriend!Jisung who everyone jokes is the "woman" of your relationship anyways.

Who's dramatic, who loves to gossip, who won't touch certain things because he's worried it'll chip his nails. He won't go out if he's had a bad hair day, he won't get anywhere near the tiny spiders that appear in the bathroom, and he certainly won't leave the house if his outfit isn't "serving" (his words, not yours). Neither of you care about stupid stereotypes like that anyways, but you can tell it digs at him a little bit. Makes him feel like he's not taking care of you well enough, that he's someone not doing enough for you despite being the best boyfriend you've ever had.

Boyfriend!Jisung who, under his facade, has a big, girly secret.

The secret is kept folded neatly in a little brown box in the back, back corner of his closet, behind his old guitar case and a handful of shoeboxes full of memories. Jisung's disorganization is his safety net, because no one wants to dig through his mess to find anything in his closet, so his little secret stays nestled away.

The secret is made of silks and lace and cotton, is sheer and soft and flowy, is everything everyone jokes he is.

Boyfriend!Jisung who has a box of pretty, girly clothes in the back of his closet.

It's something he holds close to his chest. It's not like he cares - hell, he's worn skirts for shoots before, done girl group choreo without "boy group-ing" it, loves the way that makeup softens his features - but there's something different about dressing in feminine clothes in his own home. Something domestic burns under his skin, something softer, something he absolutely refuses to unpack. So he doesn't. He waits until he knows Minho isn't home, until he knows you're going to be busy for a few hours, and he slips himself into his cute home clothes.

Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who walks around his shared dorm with skirts and thigh high socks on, the kind with the stripes rimming the top, in the name of it being "more comfortable". A skirt is so very freeing, the range of movement so much nicer than his sweatpants or the big shorts he usually wears around the house. He likes the ones with pleats, the ones with lace rimming the hem, because they swish so much prettier when he turns, make him feel small and cute and girly.

He has a whole secret photo album of photos, in a locked folder within a locked folder just in case. LEDs a deep red in his room, his phone angled to cut his face off, thighs spread and skirt riding just high enough on his thighs to be suggestive. Some of the photos are sweeter - soft beiges and browns against the white of his bedsheets, cute sweater paws and even cuter makeup, pouty lips painted a pretty pink - but there's something just so taboo about the whole thing that makes him want to take dirty photos.

Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who has a lacey surprise hiding under his skirt, too.

He hadn't indulged in lacey underwear right away. Lingerie always seemed uncomfortable anyways, and plus, the pretty ones weren't necessarily designed for his...anatomy, anyways. Other than the one time he had lost a bet to Minho and had to wear a red lacey thong under his clothes for the day, Jisung was sure he would never wear lingerie.

He proves himself wrong very, very quickly, because he stumbles across an online forum about lingerie for men and suddenly there's a package at the door in a discrete little box from a local boutique. He tells himself the first time it's just curiosity - that something shaped like that couldn't possibly hold his balls and his dick in - but on the fifth time a little box shows up in their mailbox in the span of two weeks, Jisung can't lie to himself anymore.

There's something so racy about having lace on under his clothes. Like another layer of secret under his skirt and the pretty sweater he wears that falls off his shoulder. If you caught him now, would you know that the lacey black strap peeking out from under his sweater is a bra? Would you cup his tits pecs, tell him how pretty he looks? Run your fingers up up up his thighs until they found the soft, silky material underneath his skirt? Would you tell him how cute his little cock looks, straining against the lace?

Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who tries really, really hard to convince himself that he isn't into this.

It's just a fun little side hobby! He's an idol, of course he likes dressing up. It's part of his job, after all! He just loves all parts of his job, that's all. Is it so bad that a guy loves his job so much he brings part of it home with him to enjoy? He likes feeling pretty on stage, likes the way it feels when Stay calls him cute or pretty, likes the way it sounds when it falls from your lips more, so why would it be bad if he wants to feel pretty at home, too? Sure, he's not usually wearing skirts on stage, but he could be! The stylists certainly wouldn't complain, and he saw the way that the internet lost their minds over Jeongin and Seungmin's little half-skirts. Imagine how much Stay would enjoy it if Jisung just fully wore a skirt on stage!

Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who shamefully gets off in his prettiest little outfits.

Shameful is a tough way to put it, because Jisung likes the shame. Likes the way it boils under his skin, makes him feel pathetic and needy. It blurs into pleasure, blurs all his thoughts into mush and makes him come harder than he ever has from just his hand and his imagination. It shouldn't feel good, the humiliation of doing something that feels taboo, but it does, and Jisung leans into it, lets it drape over his skin until he doesn't know who he is without it.

He likes to turn off the lights, to let the LEDs illuminate every dip and curve of his skin, to watch himself settle onto his bed from his full length mirror. Seeing himself like this makes the shame burn hotter, and the lust swirling in his gut feel like magma. He loves watching the way his lips part when he runs his fingers gently down his sides, loves to watch the way his hips jerk up when he runs the pads of his fingers over his nipples through his too-thin sweater.

He rarely gets off any other way anymore, because nothing else feels as good. It's shameful, makes him feel girly, when he doesn't even have to reach down to wrap his hand around his cock anymore to get off. Instead, he presses a plushie between his legs and ruts down onto it weakly, fingers dipping into his mouth or playing with his nipples until his brain is fuzzy with pleasure, and the poor lace covering his cock is almost sheer with precum.

Some nights, he doesn't take off the skirt or the cute little top he's wearing with it, plays with himself under his clothes instead. Watching the way his skirt tents, the way his tight-clad thighs try to squeeze together around the plushie, it's almost too much. He feels so much warmer, as he watches his cheeks go rosy and his fingers disappear beneath the hem of his shirt. His fingers can barely sneak below his bra enough to tweak at his nipples before he's coming with a moan, painting the inside of his skirt white.

He's started humping the night away pathetically, somehow teenager-levels of horny again. Minho's started making his coffee a little stronger in the morning, his eyes searching as he tries to figure out why Jisung's eye bags are sinking further into his head, but Jisung's too embarrassed to say it's because he's horny. Not like Minho wouldn't offer to help, or at the very least rat out Jisung's horny behaviour to you, but Jisung can't stomach the idea of Minho knowing about his secret. So he comes nightly in his panties alone instead, often more than once, and wakes up early enough to clean up his mess before Minho can walk in and catch him asleep with dried cum gluing his skirt to his thighs.

Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who knows he can't keep it a secret forever, who tries so hard to hide it anyways.

...but he's notoriously terrible at keeping secrets from people he's close with. It's easier, with the members, who don't pry into his personal life other than to poke fun. When his ears go red when Hyunjin calls him your "girlfriend", it can be excused as embarrassment. You're too busy defending his boyfriend honor for him to catch the flush that creeps up his neck, the way he swallows like his mouth is full of cotton, the way his tongue pokes into his cheek like he's trying to swallow down a needy sound.

Minho notices first, because of course he does. Jisung hates that he knows Jisung better than he knows himself, hates that Minho always knows how to read him like a book, even when Jisung himself can't read the words on the page. The eye bags were the first piece of evidence, and then Minho comes home late one night and finds Jisung's door locked, and he starts to connect dots.

He catches Jisung doing laundry at 5am on a Wednesday and that's when he knows for sure that Jisung is keeping a secret from him, and Minho will be damned if he doesn't figure it out. Jisung flushed so red when he saw Minho that morning that Minho thinks, perhaps, Jisung pissed the bed. But there's more than just bedding in the machine - not that Minho can get a good glimpse, not with Jisung shoving him out of the room and insisting he'll "cook breakfast" for the two of them - and Minho's curiosity has been peaked.

So he pokes and prods until Jisung spills the beans, because, actually, it's not that Minho always knows what's going on with Jisung, he just knows how to get him to talk about it. It's a gentle game of coaxing and convincing, not unlike getting a shy cat to allow you to pet it, and Minho's got Jisung across the table from him with his head in his hands in less than a week, confessing his sins.

"Okay." Minho says afterwards, evenly, like his roommate didn't just confess to humping himself to sleep in women's clothes every night.

And it's actually...normal, after that. Minho doesn't judge him, and Jisung finds that he doesn't quite mind wearing skirts around the house when Minho's there anymore. He comes home one day to see Minho holding a skirt up to himself and almost cries with joy. So maybe, maybe, things are okay again.

Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who still can't bring himself to talk about his little nighttime routine with you, his partner.

He knows you're not stupid, though, and that you're catching on. Jisung has never necesarily been dominant in bed before, but he's never quite been submissive either. The two of you have a push-and-pull dynamic, a perfect blend of both of you in charge in a way that makes it feel like no one's quite really in charge, at all. It's an equal act of giving and taking that makes your bed chemistry so good, and Jisung wouldn't trade it for the world.

Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who's getting worse and worse at keeping any level of control when the two of you are fucking.

It's as if the box in his closet is calling his name whenever you roll on top of him, when you use your weight to hold him down and just take. He pictures, on nights when he's on his own, you guiding his hips, you wrapping your fingers around his neck like a necklace, you forcing his hips onto the bed as you ride him like a personal dildo. You, fully clothed, pushing that pretty pink dildo he's used on you before into him and making him take it like a good girl boy.

He tries it once, on his own, because he really just couldn't help it! He starts with his fingers, blunt and short, and finds quickly that it's just not enough. He wants more, wants you pressing him down with your weight on the back of his thighs, fingers spread his cheeks and forcing the pink dildo in and out of him. He can't do it well himself, his wrist giving out when it feels too good, and he can't keep the pace up well enough when his pleasure peaks that he can't bring himself to come with the dildo, despite the burn of pleasure under his skin.

Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who's become a total pillow princess.

He's all glossy eyes and bitten raw lips, fingers digging uselessly into the sheets or the fat of your hips when you're having sex. He's sloppy when he's thrusting into you from behind, until you get sick of his inconsistent bucking and flip the two of you over, riding him until both of you come. He's babbling the whole time, begging for more and less all in one breath, because it's just so overwhelming to have you on top of him. He feels like a sick, dirty pervert, laying back and sobbing and imagining you calling him your pretty girl boy, imagining you fucking into him, instead.

You take the role in stride, because who would turn down a doe-eyed Han Jisung, begging to be fucked into the mattress? You certainly don't mind being the one in control - your ego certainly doesn't mind either, especially when his eyes roll back and his back arches so high off the bed he almost throws you off of him - and he's just so sweet with you afterwards. Face pressed to your chest, pinky linking with yours, taking big, shuddering breaths while you rub circles into his back until he melts against you. He mouths at your skin softly, pressing kisses wherever his heavy head can reach, mumbling about how "good you felt" and how he loves you "so, so much, love you so much, you know that?". You can't help but be soft on him, cooing and petting his hair until his legs are strong enough to carry him to the bathroom.

You wash him carefully, not letting him do any of the work, because when he's like this, you just want to coddle him. Want to wrap him up in bubble wrap and protect him from the world. You use your softest towel to dry his hair afterwards, noting how his eyes are still a little glassy and unfocused when you take care of him like this too, not just when you're pressing him into the mattress. He looks so perfect, all thoughtless and pliant for you, and you tell him so as you tug him into your bed, wrapped in one of your oversized hoodies.

"Shut up." He huffs, but his words hold no weight when he's got little sweater paws balling into fists against your chest, and his ears are going bright red.

Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who gets caught in the middle of his nighttime routine.

He's gotten bad about locking his bedroom door at night, mostly because Minho already knows not to disturb him at night anymore, at least without knocking loudly at the door and giving him an obnoxious "are you decent in there?". Minho knows to give him a warning.

You, on the other hand, do not.

Because you don't know about his little habit. Well, didn't know, because now you're looking with wide eyes at your boyfriend sitting on the floor, clad in a little pleated mini-skirt and a soft, creamy white sweater, and wondering how the hell you missed this development. You can't take your eyes off of him, because he just looks so...right. There's nothing unnatural about it at all, no stiffness in his shoulders, no "this was for a bet" anywhere in the way he carries himself.

Plus, the pillow between his legs and the red light of his LEDs tell another story.

You close the door behind you, click! the lock, and tentatively step forward. Jisung's eyes are squeezed shut as his hips buck and you have to resist to urge to moan out yourself, because Jisung looks so gorgeous. A bead of sweat drips down his neck, and you want to trace the path with your tongue, want to grab his tiny waist and force him to rock harder and faster into the crumpled pillow between his perfect thighs, which look to be clad with something silky and soft. You think you might come before you even get your hands on him.

"Jisung?"

No response. His own moan drowns out your call of his name, a quiet but powerful sound, sweet and high-pitched, so unlike the deep groans you used to hear from your sweet boyfriend. His fingers drag up his thighs, up past the skirt, up under his sweater, and you bite your lips as he starts toying with his nipples underneath the soft fabric. You wonder what generous, self-sacrificing thing you must have done in your past life to have earned the right to see such a beautiful sight.

"Jisung."

Nothing again. He's lost in his own world, caught in the swirl of pleasure in his gut and the way each rut of his hips makes everything feel like static. It buzzes under his skin, the image of you behind his eyelids enough for him to fuck into the pillow harder.

"Jisung."

Your voice is firm, strict even, and that's what pulls him out of his reverie. Part of his is still sickly turned on, your voice so in control and in charge that he feels his cock leak even more under his skirt.

Part of him, though, is so fucking scared. Scared of what you're going to say. He can taste the acid on his tongue, the venom that you would spit at him for dressing like this. It burns his skin, peels back the layers and leaves him feeling raw, like one word from your mouth would be enough for him to bleed. He's ready to beg, to plead, to tell you "it's not what it looks like" and "please don't leave me" and he doesn't even realize he's sobbing until you're on your knees next to him, cradling his face so gently that he can't help but sob harder. He's going to miss this. Miss you, when you tell him you don't want anything to do with him anymore.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong, jagi?" you ask, concern laced in your voice, and he shakes, words heavy on his tongue.

He chokes on whatever he was going to say and pushes your hands away from him, arms wrapping around himself like it'll protect him. He knows what's coming. He's read enough romance novels, watched enough K-dramas to know that a secret like this is always the tipping point. The truth comes crashing down, and everything shatters underneath the weight of it.

Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who's convinced he's about to be ex!boyfriend!Jisung pretty soon.

You're looking at him so tenderly, too. At least, that's what it looks like, through his tears and the dim glow of the red lights above the two of you. It makes it burn so much worse that you're going to leave, he thinks, arms curling tighter around himself, the soft fabric of the sweater under his fingers scrunched so tight he can feel it digging into his sides now, but he doesn't care. Nothing is going to hurt more than-

"Pretty boy, what's wrong?" you say, sitting yourself cross-legged in front of him, "I know it's probably not appropriate for me to say right now...but you look beautiful, you know that? How can I make you feel better, jagiya?"

Pretty? Beautiful? Jisung takes a shuddering breath. And he looks at you now, really looks, searching your face for an answer you'll readily give him. He hates that you know him well enough to know he needs to read your feelings on your face, hates how easily you share everything with him like you trust him. It makes something in his stomach constrain itself, twist and twist until everything comes tumbling out of his stupid, stupid mouth.

"You're not...you're not grossed out?" He squeaks, so quiet it's barely a breath, but you hear him, because you know him, know to listen for his little truths in the quiet, not in the loud.

"Sungie, what?" You look startled, like that was the last thing you could ever think, "Sungie. Did you really think that I would...me?? Jagi, look at me."

He swallows, wills himself to stop burning a whole into the wall behind your head with his eyes and lets himself hold eye contact with you.

Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who finds nothing but adoration in your eyes.

He hates that the dam breaking, the sweet wash of acceptance over his skin, is enough for his cock to stir back to life. Enough for his body to remember what he was doing, what he was thinking about when he was humping his pillow like a dog in heat. He remembers that same look in your eyes in his fantasies, so endlessly fond, so perfect and lovely and it tears a raw little sound out of his throat. He tries to swallow it, but it bubbles up anyways, and you give him a sugary sweet smile, a knowing look in your eyes as you reach a cautious hand out.

He doesn't let you reach him - not because he doesn't want you to, but because he's barreling forward into you before he can think twice, fingers reaching to wrap around you and hold you impossibly close. And you, perfect perfect you, just open your arms and catch him, careful fingers tracing up his back and tangling into his hair. Your legs spread open to accommodate him, and he feels small, curled up into you and shaking with your body surrounding him.

Fuck. There's his cock again.

He squirms in your hold and you just squeeze him tighter, mistaking his wiggling as a sign that he wants more. And well, he does, but not like this. He needs you to slip a thigh between his legs, needs you to slide your fingers under his sweater and find the lace there, needs to watch your pupils dilate as you realize he's wearing little panties under his skirt. He wonders if that's where you'll draw the line. Wonders if you'll call him disgusting and gross while still palming his cock through the gauzey material, wonders why the idea makes his cock leak even more.

"Can I..." you trail off, fingers digging a little harder into his skin as you think, "Sungie, can I ask you something? Feel free to say no."

He nods, not trusting his voice, and he feels you let out a slow exhale, body relaxing underneath him.

"Can I...can I help you?" You murmur, pressing kisses the the crown of his head to distract yourself from the heat spreading across your face and down your neck, "Help you here, I mean."

You accentuate your words with a drifting hand, sliding down until it squeezes his cock through the skirt lightly, like you're scared to cross a line. His body responds for him, arching into your touch, a weak sound escaping his mouth when your fingers pull away.

"No-" he whines, eyes wide and pouting as he pulls back to look at you.

"No?" you say, smugness settling into your skin as you tease him, "No, you don't want me to? Okay baby, we don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"No, no, that's not - you know that's not - you're being mean," he whines, big, glossy lips curling into a frown, "Why are you being so mean?"

You watch reverently as little tears prick at the corner of his eyes, leaning forward to kiss at the corners there like it'll make him feel better. It doesn't, the softness of your actions just making the heat under his skin worse, and he makes an indignant sound when you pull back away from him to give him an expectant look.

Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who's so much more sensitive when he's like this.

To your touch, to your words, to everything. He's already leaking and hard again and you haven't even properly touched him yet. You haven't even been that mean - he's taken worse, asked for worse, and yet a little jab is enough to have him tearing up. It sends a twisted thrill through you, a spike of heat straight down, that you have this much power over him. It feels wrong, to want to make him cry more, to smudge the gloss on his lips across his cheek and watch it mix with his salty tears. You should feel guilty.

You don't.

Instead, you feel yourself sliding away from him, standing up and offering a hand down to him. He looks up at you like you're his god, irises swallowed by pools of black and tears making his eyes shimmer, and takes your hand. You guide him carefully to the bed, guide him to lay down on the sheets, skirt splayed across the sheets like a piece of art. You think he looks edible.

You tell him as much and he laughs, a wet thing, and then makes grabby hands at you. You strip yourself of your clothes as quickly as you humanly can, fumbling a bit with your underwear and snorting when Jisung whines in response. You can't deny him for long (you never can), and you slide on top of him easily, settling your weight on his thighs, just below the skirt hem.

Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who looks like he could be your pretty girlfriend, instead.

Now that you get the chance to really admire him, you can see the light dusting of blush painted on his face, the weight of mascara on his eyelashes. There's a little bit of eyeshadow used to frame his eyes and make them look big, and the gloss on his lips still glimmers in the low light. You want to know what it tastes like, so you lean in carefully, a hand coming to cradle his chin as you guide his mouth to yours.

It's your first kiss you've shared tonight, so it starts delicate, sweet. All the words that haven't been said quite yet are passed to the other in this moment, in the breath between your lips. The gloss tastes of something sweet, and your tongue peeks out to swipe a line across his lips just to get a second taste. He whimpers, fingers dancing across your skin and settling on your bare hips, digging in hard enough to leave the shape of his fingers printed into your skin tomorrow.

You pull away just enough to breath and enough to admire his face, smiling down at him when he grins up widely at you.

"It's uhh...peach," he says, swallowing when your brows furrow in confusion, "The uh. The gloss. It's peach flavoured."

"You are so hot." You tell him, with so much sincerity it makes his head spin, and swoop back in for another taste.

He already tastes so sweet, so the peach flavour just makes him taste like a treat, like a peach cobbler fresh out of the oven. The artificial flavour fades the more you taste him, but you can't be bothered, because all you really want to taste is Jisung. The peach is just an added bonus, the cherry on top of your perfect girl-boyfriend.

Your fingers slip down his body, down the soft sweater, down the pleats of his skirt, until they're toying with the hem of it, looking up at him carefully to read his expression. He's watching you with bated breath, eyes locked on where your fingers roll the soft fabric between them.

"Can I, pretty girl?"

You both freeze, the words still fresh on your tongue. Pretty girl. He would be, you're certain, and the lust had put a haze over your brain, but you hadn't meant to say it out loud. You wince, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Shit, sorry Sung-"

"Say it again." He blurts out all at once, looking anywhere but you.

"...pretty girl?"

BoyfriendGirlfriend!Han Jisung who lets out the loudest, prettiest moan when you call him pretty girl.

Both of you feel the shift in the air. It feels thicker, like the room is filled with so much lust and desire that it's hard to even take a breath. You're so turned on you think you might explode, watching with an open mouth as Jisung's cock tents his little skirt impossibly more, a wet spot spreading from where his tip is pressed to the fabric.

You're greedy, the desire to consume him whole overtaking your whole body so violently that you shiver on top of him, a jolt of lust-love-pleasure zipping up your spine so violently you think you might keel over. You steady yourself, if only to fulfill your greed and slip your wandering fingers under the hem of his skirt.

You expect to feel the smooth glide of his boxers or nothing at all, not lace. It's rough and wet against your skin, but you can feel the silk underneath it. You think this must be what it's like to meet god. You think you might come untouched.

"Han Jisung," you stutter out, choking on your own air, "Baby. Baby. You're going to kill me."

"In the hot, sexy way?" He jokes.

Only Han Jisung could crack a joke with your hand pressed against his erection through his panties - you can't believe still that he's been hiding these from you. You wonder briefly how many times he's gone out in public in these. How many dates that he's had pretty lace cupping his dick underneath his jeans, how many times he's hidden these where no one can see, a little secret between him and himself. You want to crawl into his ribs and live there, want to put him in a jar and keep him in your pocket forever.

Instead, you squeeze his cock through the flimsy material, grinning when his eyes roll into the back of his head and his lips fall open into a little 'o'. Your other hand flips up the skirt so you can stare, and fuck.

The lace is a pretty white, a deeper color where it's soaked with Jisung's precum. It hugs his skin tight, like it's molded to his skin, and it makes you want to take him into your mouth through the fabric, taste the lace and his precum under your tongue. But you're impatient, your own arousal burning between your legs, so you file the idea away for another time. God, you hope there's another time, because now that you've seen your boyfriend in a pretty little skirt and white lace, you don't think you can live without it ever again.

Girlfriend!Han Jisung whose fingers slide under his sweater on his own accord, fingers mindlessly playing with his puffy, sore nipples.

His sweater rides up just enough for you to see the shape of his tattoo, black ink creeping up his side and reminding you that this is your boyfriend. Your strong, capable boyfriend, reduced to mush underneath you, playing with his nipples like he can't get off without it.

You yank his panties to the side, just enough to free his dick and balls, enough that you can sink down onto him without the lace getting in the way. If you were more patient, you'd drag your own arousal over the lace, keep him trapped under that flimsy material as you humped against him for pleasure. Use him for pleasure until you're both desperate, until he's crying again and begging you for more more more, please-

You're too aroused for that now, your own heat leaking and dripping as you reach over to the bedside table and fumble for the little bottle of lube you know is hiding in there. Jisung toys with his nipples as he watches you, glassy eyes wide and unfocused as he tugs and twists at them. You wish he would slide the sweater up enough for you to see more than the shape of his hands moving under it, so you could see just how swollen and abused his nipples are, but your hands are covered in lube and Jisung has no thoughts left in his head, so you let it go for now. Another time, another time, you repeat like a mantra, hoping that perhaps your blind hope with manifest another time to happen at all.

You prep yourself lazily and quickly, already worked up enough that you can't help but want to get him inside you already. You use a generous amount of lube, enough that it drips down your thighs and sinks into the sheets, but you don't have it in you to care. The comforter below Jisung is ruined with a sick mix of both of your fluids already anyways, so it doesn't matter if you get a little lube on them now.

"Sit still," you hiss as you move to straddle him properly again, reaching back to stroke his cock once, twice and line it up with your hole, "Let me make you feel good, princess."

It was a risk to call him that, but a calculated one, because the word makes Jisung's hips buck up into you, and both of you moan in tandem as your legs give out at the sudden rush of arousal that floods over you and you take him all the way in one go.

Girlfriend!Han Jisung who comes the second he's fully seat inside of you, because he's just so, so sensitive.

He's been worked up for so long, his own pillow humping having gotten him so close to the edge already. It's not his fault that your warm, wet heat was so much better! Really, it's your fault for making him feel so good.

"Sorry, sorry, didn' mean to," he whimpers, blinking up at you with hazy eyes, "'m sorry, sorry, promise, didn't mean to-ahn, ahn, too much!"

Girlfriend!Jisung who starts crying when you start bouncing.

It's too much too little too everything for him, still so fresh from his last orgasm that he doesn't think he could possibly be hard already again. He must be, because his dick doesn't slip out of you, still stretching you impossibly wide open, but he can't feel anything other than a loop of pleasure, magma pulsing under his skin and melting him until there's nothing left of him that doesn't blur into you.

He's babbling, he's sure of it, can feel the dull pull of the muscles of his mouth and jaw moving, but he can't hear a word of it. His vision is black around the edges, dotted with stars and galaxies he's never seen before, and all he can see is you in the middle of it, using him like he's nothing more than a pretty little dildo for your pleasure.

You're not doing much better, the warm feeling of him coming so quickly giving you a head rush, the act of having this much power over him making your own orgasm seem impossibly close.

You can't shut up either, your mouth moving a mile a minute, because you have to tell him how beautiful he is. How much you want to spend hours with him dressed up like this, worshipping him from head to toe, exploring every inch of him with your hands and your mouth.

Your fingers splay across his abs as you use him for balance, your thighs shaking from the exertion, but it just feels so good you can't bring yourself to slow down and take a break. You need him more than you need to breath, more than you need to walk anywhere tomorrow.

Your head falls forward as you moan, the coil in your stomach tightening and tightening. You're so close, so near the edge you can taste it on your tongue.

"My pretty girlfriend, taking it so well for me," you pant out, words broken up by little moans and hiccups as pleasure muddles your mind and weighs down your tongue, "You like that? Like being my pretty girl? My pretty little sex doll, just here to lay there and take it?"

He moans, hips bucking up meet your movements, but you dig your fingers into his skin as a warning.

"Princesses don't move, they just lay back and let themselves be taken care of, hm? Stay still pretty girl, don't make me hold you there."

His cock pulses inside of you, a violent twitch, but he doesn't come yet. You can see how close he is in his eyes, in how they can barely stay open enough to look at you, that he's almost there, that he's just as close as you.

So you push your luck. "Can I play with your tits, perfect girl? Please, wanna touch your tits, can I?"

You whine a bit at the end of your question - a plea - and it has him nodding eagerly, hiccuping through tears enough to give you permission to play with him.

"Want that, wan' your hands on my titties," he wails, words slurring together in pleasure, "Please touch my titties? Please please please?"

Your fingers slide up up up his sweater, rolling it further up, and the sight in front of you is what pushes you over the edge.

Because underneath the sweater is a bra.

It's white and lacey just like the panties, clearly a matching set, little bows sitting at the peak of each cup just to tease you. There's a delicate little pink rose that sits right at the center of the bra, and it hugs him so perfectly that it really does look like he has boobs.

Your fingers can barely make it to rub at his nipples through the delicate lace before you're coming with a moan of his name, riding out your orgasm on top of him. Your hips move in fast little grinds as you fall forward, and you mouth finds one of his nipples through the lace, biting down, and he comes with a shout, a hand shooting up to cup your head to his chest. You continue to lick and suck and bite as he fills you up, the burn of oversensitivity worth it to have his come paint your walls white.

Girlfriend!Han Jisung who looks up at you with her big, fucked out eyes and begs for more.

Girlfriend!Han Jisung who's absolutely unsatiable now that you know his little secret, the two of you fucking like rabbits until the sun is peeking over the horizon to say hello. You can't help it, not when he looks so good like this, so gorgeous and perfect, your pretty pretty girl. You remind him over and over and over again, until you're both shooting blanks and too lazy to do anything more than spoon. You fall asleep like that, sticky and gross and perfectly content, because your pretty girlfriend was in your arms.

What more could you ever ask for?