#9 puzzles

giggling ive discussed this with @gyumshot before lmao

ALL HEX CODES R LINKS SO U DONT GOTTA LOOK EM UP‼️‼️

Nam-gyu

grower

3 inches soft, 6.5 hard, about 5.2 inches of girth

hes uncut, his foreskin covers like 87% of his tip so u can just see the top of it when he whips it out (foreskin cheese too/j) normal nuts, they hang alot tho

not really veiny maybe like one vein down the shaft underneath, curves up

tip is #8f5166 , shaft is #9e7764, his nuts are #6b5449, his nut is #d6c6b6, his ahh hole is #694e35

his pubes r wild, hes hairy, shaves down there every new months, he has a real hairy happy trail

his nut tastes like battery acid

he likes his nuts slapped when hes finna nut too, has done gay shit for drugs and will keep doing gay shit while hes high

6 bodies

Sang-min

shower

7 inches hard about 6.5 soft

hes cut, got a fat ass tip, the top pf his cock is fatter than the base, the girth around the tip is like 6.7 inches and the base is 5.5in his nuts r normal

very veiny, curves slightly to the left and up

tip is #a16779 length is #c29c7e nuts are#82654e nut is #e8d3cc ahh hole is #824e5b

clean shaven, imo hes a clean freak and cant stand hair and he exfoliates, shaves, uses lotion, and scrubs his ahh real good, he lowkey moans when he scrubs his ass

his nut tastes like nothing, maybe a littke bit salty, he looks like has a good diet he eats hella pineapple the day before he fucks someone

lowkey rubs his tip with the palm of his hand while holding the base sometimes because hes bored and it feels good

19 bodies. hes a slut.

Seowan

grower

3 inches soft, 5.5 hard, 5 inch girth

fat tip like 6 inch girth, hes got fatass nuts too

uncut, his foreskin only covers like half of his tip

no veins, slight left curve

tip is #8f6161 length is #ccaa9d nuts are #a17868 nut is #f0e4df ahh hole is #a8626b (it puckers when u blow air on it)

bush but he cleans it up so its not crazy but will sometimes shave it into designs cause hes bored, stopped doing it when he nicked his dick, has a sexy ass happy trail

cum is very salty, a little bit sweet, i imagine his diet isnt the best but okay

he IS a shameless futa gooner, he was on twitter looking at hentai (cs lets be fr, he doesnt watch porn he watches hentai) and accidentally found futa of chun li and liked it, hes also posted tributes on 4chan and reddit to his fav characters

like 1 body

Geun-mo

grower

5 inches soft 7.6 inches hard( 8 inches if hes REALLY horny), almost 7 inch girth

hes got a FAT cock, its a little bigger at the base than the tip, small nuts💔 not like tiny, but smaller than average

hes uncut but it only takes up like 25% of his tip

veins but not like super veiny, maybe about 4, 2 big veins that he loves when u trace em with ur tongue, right and up curve

tip is #d97986, length is #ab7e5c nuts are #826148 nut is #f0e1d5 ahh hole is #7d5f66

he has hair but he keeps it trimmed, he likes it nice and neat not fully shaved, shaves his happy trail💔

cum tastes like nothing, extremely good diet

he got caught jerking off at his desk at the station because he thought he was the only one there, he was watching porn on his computer, the worst part is that it was gay porn, he didnt realize it was gay porn he thought that dude was a woman

3 to 4 bodies

Hansoo

shower,

8 inches soft and hard, 5 inch girth

its same girth around the whole length, normal nuts

cut

only like 2 small veins no curve

tip is #732f3f length is#997663 nuts are#634b3e nut is #c4b5ad ahh hole is #40352f

hes got an untame bush, him and namgyu tie, their bushes look the same, hairy happytrail

cum tastes salty, hes got an OKAY diet

cops raided his house one time and found abunch of playboy mags with pages stuck together and laughed at him

3 bodies

In-chan

grower

3.5 inches soft, 7 hard, 5.6 inch girth

FAT tip, FAT nuts,

cut

veinyish, down curve

tip is #bd5c6e length is #ba7757 nuts are #754935 nut is #f0e4e5 ahh hole is #c97984

hes got hair but he keeps it trimmed nicely, shaved happy trail,

cum is same as seowan, but his diet is a lil better than seowans

has pulled a kurt cobain with his paintings multiple times, has sold some of them forgetting he did that

Kim *always wearing a beanie* hansaem

Hwang In-Chan x male!reader

18+ content ahead ! || Soft Dom Hwang In-chan, Yearning, Mutual Pining, Emotional Sex, Praise Kink, Oral Fixation, Frottage, Rimming, Fingering, Overstimulation, Teasing, Confession During Sex, Creampie, Aftercare, First Time, Desperate Touching, Whimpering, Light Power Play, Soft Dirty Talk, Gentle Jealousy, Handjobs, Sensory Detail, Messy, Intimate

You’ve known Hwang In-chan long enough to recognize the signs. The careful distance. The way his eyes linger when he thinks no one’s looking. The quiet little breath he holds every time you stand too close. He’s never said it. You’ve never pushed. But it’s there—threading every look, brushing every touch, burning under every silence.

Tonight, it’s different.

You’re in his apartment after a long day. Takeout containers sit abandoned on the coffee table, half a beer left untouched. The room glows warm from the standing lamp in the corner, casting golden light over the bookshelves and his rumpled sweater.

He’s sitting on the couch, quiet. Distant.

"You okay?" you ask, leaning forward.

He doesn’t answer right away. Then: "I’m trying not to ruin this."

"Ruin what?"

His eyes flick toward you, soft and wrecked. "Us. This. Whatever this is."

"In-chan," you say gently, "look at me."

He does, slowly. Like he’s bracing for heartbreak.

You shift closer, knee brushing his. "You’re not gonna ruin anything."

The look in his eyes breaks. He grabs your face like he can’t help it and kisses you—rough at first, then shaky, like he’s afraid he’ll wake up.

You kiss him back, deepening it. Your fingers tangle in his hair. He makes a sound when you tug gently—part gasp, part groan.

When you straddle his lap, he stills like he can’t believe it’s happening.

"Tell me to stop," you murmur.

He shakes his head, breathless. "Don’t. Please."

Clothes come off slowly, reverently. In-chan peels off his sweater, then his shirt, baring his pale chest to the warm lamplight. You slide your own shirt over your head and unbutton your jeans, shimmying them down to your knees—but you leave your underwear on. You’re hard beneath the fabric, and he’s staring like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

He runs his hands up your chest like he’s memorizing every inch. You kiss your way down his throat, then lower—past his ribs, his belly, until he’s bare beneath you, cock flushed and twitching against his stomach.

You look up at him. "Can I taste you?"

He bites his lip and nods, cheeks red. "Y-yeah. Please."

You start slow, dragging your tongue up the inside of his thigh, letting your teeth scrape gently. He hisses through his teeth. You kiss up to his hip, then down again, licking a wet path toward the base of his cock but never touching it directly. He’s squirming already, hands gripping the couch cushion like he doesn’t trust himself.

Finally, you take the head of his cock into your mouth and suck—firm and slow.

He moans. Loudly.

His hand flies to your hair, not pushing, just holding, grounding himself. You sink lower, taking more of him in, your tongue curling along the underside. You set a rhythm, slow and hungry, like you’re savoring every inch. You bob your head, cheeks hollowing, letting your spit drip down his shaft.

"F-fuck," he gasps. "You feel so good—don’t stop."

You hum around him and he jolts, his hips jerking. You pull back just enough to mouth at the head, licking lazy circles around the tip. He’s panting, pink in the face, thighs trembling.

"You’re gonna make me—ah, I’m close—"

But you pull off, letting your breath fan over his wet skin, and he groans in protest.

You crawl back up and kiss him, letting him taste himself on your tongue. He groans into your mouth, pulling you close.

"You're evil."

"You love it."

"Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah, I do."

Your cocks brush together—his bare and slick, yours still trapped inside your damp briefs. The friction is dizzying.

You grind down against him slowly, teasingly. His hands grip your hips, helping you find a rhythm.

"Oh my god," he pants. "Feels so good—"

You lean down to kiss him again, mouths open, messy. His hips lift to meet yours, your bodies rocking together like you’ve done this a hundred times.

The friction builds. It’s clumsy and hot, your soaked briefs dragging across his slick cock, the head rubbing right against your length.

"You’re gonna make me come like this," he whines.

"Me too. Don’t stop."

You rut together, faster now, both of you panting, your moans tangled between kisses. Then it happens—In-chan shudders beneath you, crying out your name, his release smearing between your stomachs. You follow, grinding through it, cock twitching as you spill inside your underwear.

You collapse against his chest, both of you breathless.

But In-chan doesn’t let go.

He shifts to press you back into the couch cushions, settling between your thighs. Your briefs are sticky now, clinging to your skin, and his eyes darken as he cups you through them, rubbing soft, lazy circles.

You arch into his touch with a strangled moan.

"Still hard?" he whispers, lips brushing yours.

"Can you blame me?"

He grins against your mouth and keeps rubbing, his palm firm and knowing.

"You’re so fucking hot like this."

You push into his hand, whining softly.

"Take me," you whisper. "I want you inside."

His breath hitches. He sits back on his heels, finally tugging your soaked briefs down your thighs and off.

He shifts lower, kissing your inner thighs before spreading you open again.

He presses his mouth to your hole and moans, tongue flicking and circling until you're trembling, gripping the couch.

"Please—fuck—"

"You want it?"

"Yes, In-chan, please—need you."

He slicks himself up, fingers shaking a little as he lines himself up.

"Let me know if it’s too much, okay?"

You nod. "Just fuck me."

He pushes in slowly, inch by inch. You gasp at the stretch, at the way he fills you so completely. He kisses your neck, your jaw, your shoulder—anything he can reach—whispering your name like a promise.

He begins to move, and the room fills with the wet sound of skin meeting skin, your breathy moans, and his choked groans.

His hand slides back to your cock, stroking you in time with his thrusts.

"You feel so good," he pants. "So perfect—tight, warm—fuck."

He hits deep, and your whole body arches.

"Ah—In-chan, I—I’m close—"

"Me too," he groans. "Come for me. Let me feel you."

Your orgasm rips through you like lightning, your body shaking, his name breaking on your lips as you spill across your stomach. He follows, slamming in deep and groaning as he fills you.

You’re both breathless, bodies tangled, sweat-soaked and spent.

He doesn’t move right away. Just lowers his forehead to yours and breathes.

You let your fingers run up his back. He shivers.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," he whispers. "That was... everything."

Later, he cleans you up with a warm towel, pressing soft kisses to your chest and thighs.

He helps you into one of his shirts and pulls you onto the couch, wrapping a blanket around both of you.

His arms stay locked around your waist, like he’s afraid to let go.

"Hey," you whisper, turning in his arms. "I’m not going anywhere."

He smiles against your temple.

"Good."

You fall asleep with his chest pressed to your back.

@inchans

m!reader, mlm, hurt/comfort, fluff, domestic in-chan, post-show, established M/M relationship

The clinic is quiet.

Not in the unnerving way—the kind that used to make his chest tighten when he walked through the old duplex late at night, hearing only the buzz of fluorescent lights and Seung-joo’s quiet humming behind closed doors. This silence is softer. Warmer. It smells faintly of herbal tea and acrylic paint, and it settles over the space like a favorite blanket.

You find him in the back room—not in his white coat this time, but in that oversized oatmeal sweater you like. The sleeves swallow his hands, as always, and the fabric is streaked in faded flecks of ochre and blue. The window is cracked open, letting in the mountain air. His easel stands beside him, canvas still damp, half-finished with gentle brushstrokes in muted earth tones.

He doesn’t hear you at first. He’s focused on rinsing his brushes, brow furrowed in that precise, delicate way of his—like one wrong movement might unravel the whole mood.

You lean against the doorframe, watching for a moment. “You’re getting paint on your sweater.”

He turns, startled just slightly, then exhales a soft smile when he sees you. “I thought you were a patient.”

“I am your most recurring case.”

He snorts. “You’re the one case I never want to discharge.”

You cross the room and wrap your arms around his waist from behind. He’s warm. Always is, even with the faint chill that clings to the clinic this time of year. He leans into you naturally—head tilting until it rests against yours, like your body is home and he knows exactly where to fit.

“Was today okay?” you ask, voice low, your fingers slipping beneath his sweater hem to press against bare skin.

“Better,” he says. “There was a kid this morning. Told me she’s not afraid to sleep with the lights off anymore.”

You smile against the slope of his neck. “That’s because her therapist is ridiculously good at his job.”

He hums, quiet and unsure, the way he always does when praised. You can feel the tension that lingers just below the surface—like he still isn’t used to being seen as something good.

You kiss the soft skin behind his ear, and his breath catches slightly.

A beat passes.

“She asked if I lived alone,” he murmurs.

You pause. “And what did you say?”

He shifts in your arms, turning to face you fully. His cheeks are flushed—either from the heater or the way you’re looking at him. His voice is soft, tentative. “I said no.”

You raise a brow.

“I said I live with my partner,” he adds, “who makes terrible coffee but is annoyingly good at folding my laundry.”

You grin. “Progress.”

“I almost choked saying it,” he mutters, and you laugh, nudging your nose against his. He smiles—really smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners—and something in your chest warms.

He looks like someone who’s still learning how to hold joy without feeling guilty for it.

You kiss him. Not deep. Just a gentle press of your lips to his, quiet and certain. And when you pull back, he doesn’t speak. He just rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, like your presence alone is enough.

The sun’s starting to dip outside, casting long shadows across the floor. His half-finished painting catches the light, and you notice now what he’s been working on: a quiet street, a clinic sign in Hangul, two coffee mugs left on the windowsill.

Home.

Later, the rain begins.

The clinic is shut down for the day—no more patients, no more schedules. Just the soft hum of the heater, the drip of water outside, and the way dusk folds over everything like a memory.

In-chan is curled up on the couch in the front room, legs tucked beneath him. He’s changed into that old navy cardigan you keep threatening to throw out, the one with frayed cuffs and loose threads he always fiddles with when he’s deep in thought. His glasses rest on the coffee table. His eyes are far away.

You settle beside him, wordless. He doesn’t look at you at first. Just stares at the floor, fingers laced tight.

“She was my only real friend, you know,” he says suddenly, voice low.

You stay still, letting him lead.

“Seung-joo,” he clarifies. “We met our first year of college. She hated everything—said the professors were outdated, that the curriculum lacked imagination. I liked that about her. She was always angry in the right ways.”

You nod gently. “You’ve told me she helped you get through med school.”

“She did more than that,” he says. His throat works around the words. “She was the first person I told I was gay. I was terrified. My parents… you know. But Seung-joo didn’t even blink. Just handed me a piece of chocolate and said, ‘Well, I hope your boyfriend is smarter than you.’”

You smile faintly. “Sounds like her.”

“She never told anyone. Not even when people assumed we were dating. Not even when my mom started talking about weddings.” His voice falters. “She just… protected me. Always.”

You gently reach over, slipping your hand into his. He grips it tightly.

“I made that puzzle for her,” he whispers. “The one they found pieces of at the crime scenes. It wasn’t meant to be… that. It was just a gift. She said she wanted a metaphor for the mind—something impossible to fully solve. I didn’t know she’d—”

His voice cuts off in a ragged breath. He’s not crying, not fully. Just breathing like it hurts.

“I keep thinking… if I’d said something. If I’d noticed. If I’d just paid attention. She was my anchor. My person.”

You move closer, pressing your forehead to his temple.

“She still loved you,” you say softly. “Even if she lost herself. That doesn’t erase what she was to you.”

“I keep seeing her,” he murmurs. “Making tea. Calling me lazy. Laughing at my playlists. I don’t know how to let that version of her go.”

“You don’t have to,” you whisper. “She was real, too.”

When he finally looks at you, his eyes are raw—glasslike, rimmed red. But steady. His voice is hoarse, like it’s carrying every unsaid thing. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

You squeeze his hand. “You’ll never have to find out.”

And then he kisses you.

Not desperate—just slow. Soft. A little wet from grief but full of something honest. It tastes like trust, like relief, like coming up for air after holding your breath too long.

He pulls back, breath brushing your cheek. “Thank you,” he whispers.

You brush your thumb along his jaw and kiss him again—deeper this time, grounding. Your hand slips around his waist as you pull him into your chest. He leans in fully now, letting the weight of everything melt into your arms.

You stay like that for a while. Quiet. Close.

Just two people who found each other in the wreckage—and chose to stay.