“I think women like to read about murderous mothers and lost little girls because it’s our only mainstream outlet to even begin discussing female violence on a personal level. Female violence is a specific brand of ferocity. It’s invasive. A girlfight is all teeth and hair, spit and nails — a much more fearsome thing to watch than two dudes clobbering each other. And the mental violence is positively gory. Women entwine. Some of the most disturbing, sick relationships I’ve witnessed are between long-time friends, and especially mothers and daughters. Innuendo, backspin, false encouragement, punishing withdrawal, sexual jealousy, garden-variety jealousy — watching women go to work on each other is a horrific bit of pageantry that can stretch on for years. Libraries are filled with stories on generations of brutal men, trapped in a cycle of aggression. I wanted to write about the violence of women. […] I particularly mourn the lack of female villains — good, potent female villains…I’m talking violent, wicked women. Scary women. Don’t tell me you don’t know some. The point is, women have spent so many years girl-powering ourselves — to the point of almost parodic encouragement — we’ve left no room to acknowledge our dark side. Dark sides are important. They should be nurtured like nasty black orchids.”
hey. if someone tries to smear you on the internet for something asinine, what you need to do is block every single person engaging with the post and remind yourself that absolutely under no circumstances are you obligated to draft a PR response defending some out-of-context screenshot or kink fanfiction or thing you said when you were 15 or whatever put your blood in the water. you are not a public figure or a brand. you do not have to respond to something if you know in your heart it is bullshit.
some people don’t deserve fanfics, much less for free.
also even if authors didn’t tag any specific warnings but they used the “creator chose not to use archive warnings” tag, then that is your warning.
“omg you should’ve —” no one forced your entitled ass to read anything. fanfic writers write for themselves and their own enjoyment. if you don’t like what you’re reading, quietly leave. ao3 is not an airport. no one cares about your departure so no need to announce it.
when they make you repeat yourself mid-sex [ateez x fem!reader]
“What was that?” They heard you. They just want it again.
ateez (separated) x fem!reader | various settings | power play
Genre: smut
Warnings: explicit sexual themes, pwp, dominant/submissive dynamics, choking, bondage (improvised restraint), oral (male & female receiving), fingering, p in v, , hair pulling, breath play, semi-public sex, wall pinning, manhandling, dirty talk, teasing, praise kink, possessive behavior, overstimulation, switch dynamics, creampie, unprotected sex (nooohhh)
wc: ~550 words each
a/n: it’s been a while since i’ve written smut… i’m a little rusty, so please go easy on me :(
masterlist
✧ seonghwa
You’re already trembling when he lowers himself between your thighs again.
The room is warm. Dim. Sheets tangled around your legs. There’s still a thin sheen of sweat across your skin from the last time he made you come, your chest rising unevenly, body hypersensitive.
Seonghwa notices everything.
He always does.
He presses a slow kiss to your inner thigh first. Then another. Unhurried. Patient. Like he has nowhere else to be.
“Hwa…” you breathe, half-warning, half-plea.
He hums softly against your skin and continues, deliberate and maddening. Every touch measured. Every movement precise. He isn’t rushing. He isn’t chasing.
He’s savoring.
Your hips tilt instinctively, the friction against his mouth making your stomach twist.
His tongue darts out, tracing every fold, circling your wetness, lapping, flicking, teasing.
When he finds your clit, he sucks it in, slow and wet, warm, until you whimper. You squirm, fingers twisting into the sheets.
“Seonghwa, too much, stop!” you whisper faintly, trying to push his head away, though your hips betray you, lifting instead of pulling back.
He pauses.
Slowly, he lifts his head. His hair falls slightly into his eyes, gaze calm. Composed.
“Say it properly,” he murmurs.
The words are soft. Devastating.
You swallow. Your body is still pulsing from where he left you moments ago.
“Do you really want that?” he asks quietly. Not mocking. Just steady. “If you want that, say it again.”
Your head shakes before you can stop it.
He watches you closely.
“Words,” he says.
When you hesitate, the absence of his touch is immediate. Noticeable. His hand leaves your thigh entirely. The loss makes your breath hitch.
You try to push him again. Frustrated. Desperate.
He doesn’t give in. Instead, one thumb lazily traces your clit up and down, slow, coaxing an answer through pleasure.
Your body spasms at the touch, hips jerking instinctively.
“Tell me,” he repeats.
You squeeze your eyes shut, flushed, overwhelmed by the need twisting low in your stomach.
“Keep going,” you whisper.
He doesn’t move, thumb still teasing.
“Properly,” he insists, his grin audible in the vibration of his voice.
Your voice breaks a little this time. “Keep going, please.”
The faintest chuckle escapes him, warm and satisfied. Not cruel. Just pleased that you said it. That you chose it.
He lowers himself again without another word.
This time he doesn’t drag it out.
His patience dissolves into something hungrier, movements faster, less restrained. One hand pins your thigh open as he focuses, relentless now, messy in the way he rarely allows himself to be.
His tongue dives back in, sucking, swirling, teasing every sensitive nerve. Your hips grind down, desperate for friction, and he parts just long enough to look up at you, smiling.
Then he’s back, tongue plunging deep again, and with one hand, he slides two fingers inside you. In and out quickly, curling, hitting every spot that makes you cry out.
Your back arches off the mattress, a sharp cry leaving you before you can swallow it.
And above the sound of your breathing, you hear him murmur softly, almost to himself,
“That’s what I thought.”
✧ hongjoong
The studio smells like warm wires and something faintly metallic. It’s past midnight. The hallway lights are off. Only the soft glow from his monitor spills across the room.
You’re sitting on his lap.
Straddling him in his chair, one of his hands still resting lazily on the armrest like he hasn’t fully decided this is happening.
His dick presses into you through his jeans, hard and impatient, and your hips shift instinctively, rolling against him.
Your hoodie is half off your shoulders. Your fingers curl into his shirt, wrinkling it.
“Joong,” you murmur, breath warm against his ear.
He hums, distracted. Or pretending to be.
Your hips move again, slow, testing. Sliding down, pressing fully, grinding. His jaw tightens just slightly.
You lean closer. “Touch me.”
He tilts his head. A slow grin on his lips.
“What was that?”
You know he heard you. His eyes are sharp now, completely focused. The cursor on his screen blinks unattended.
Your fingers dig into his shoulders. “Touch me,” you repeat, softer this time. Almost shy.
He studies you like you’re a track he hasn’t decided how to mix yet. One hand slides from the armrest to your waist, thumb brushing just beneath the hem of your hoodie.
“Clearer,” he says gently.
You swallow.
“I want you to touch me.”
His smile deepens, not mocking. Just pleased.
“Good,” he murmurs.
He doesn’t rush. Like you didn’t just climb into his lap because you couldn’t wait any longer.
One hand slides down to your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you shiver, guiding your hips against him.
His other hand slips under your hoodie, cupping your breast, thumb brushing over the peak.
Your movements stutter for a second.
“You get impatient,” he says quietly. “And then you forget how pretty you sound when you ask.”
You roll your hips again, frustrated at the way he’s dragging this out.
He exhales, finally letting his forehead rest briefly against yours. The patience cracks just a little.
“Say it one more time,” he whispers. Not teasing now. Intent.
You don’t hesitate this time.
“Please.”
That does it.
His hands tighten. He finally gives in the way he wants to, not rushed, not reactive. Controlled. Decided.
The chair shifts slightly under your movement as you grind against him harder.
Outside the studio, the building is silent.
Inside, he kisses you like he’s signing his name on something he owns.
✧ yunho
You shouldn’t be doing this on the couch.
That’s what makes it worse.
You’re sitting on his lap, back pressed to his chest, legs parted just enough for him to fit between them comfortably.
You’re soaked, already slick from the heat building between you. His middle and ring fingers slide in and out of you in a steady rhythm that makes your breath catch every few seconds.
The slick sounds between your legs are obscene, and Yunho grins, eyes dark, clearly loving every one.
He tips his head over your shoulder, watching as his fingers pull out, spread you open, then sink back in, filling you perfectly again.
His other hand slides higher, big palm warm and possessive on your chest. Kneading the warm skin there.
His middle finger teases your nipple over your thin tank top, one strap threatening to slip from your shoulder with his eager movements.
He’s holding you like he likes to. Like you belong exactly where you are.
His bulge presses hard against your lower back, reminding you of how much he’s craving you.
“Yunho…” you murmur, head tipping back until it rests on his shoulder.
He laughs softly against your ear. Teasing. Unbothered. Like you’re not seconds from falling apart.
You press a kiss to his neck, just under his jaw. He hums at that, rhythm never faltering.
“We don’t have long,” you whisper.
Yeosang said he’d be back soon. Any minute. The front door could unlock at any second.
“Relax,” Yunho says easily. “I’ve got you.”
You roll your hips, impatient, trying to get him to move faster.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he grins, watching the way your breathing stutters. “What was that?”
You huff softly. “Go faster.”
He tilts his head. “Hm? I didn’t catch that.”
You know he did. The smug curve of his mouth gives him away.
You shift again, desperate now, trying to guide his hand with your movement. His fingers press deeper for a second and you gasp. You clench around him reflexively.
That makes him laugh properly.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “Easy.”
“Yunho,” you whine, more urgent this time. “Fuck. Faster!”
He pauses just long enough to make you regret snapping at him.
“You’re bossy today,” he says lightly.
You buck your hips again, not even pretending to be subtle anymore.
That’s what does it.
His teasing expression softens instantly. Gone. Replaced with something warmer. Hungrier.
“Okay,” he murmurs.
His rhythm changes. Quicker now. Less playful. More focused.
His fingers work you expertly, curling and pressing, coaxing every shudder, every gasp from your lips.
You feel him through your clothes, his cock straining against your back, moving with you, desperate to feel release.
You cling to his forearm as the couch shifts under you. He leans forward, teeth grazing your neck before he bites down gently, right where he knows you love it. Saliva damp against your skin.
Your body reacts immediately.
“Yunho, I’m—”
“I know,” he whispers against your skin.
It builds fast after that. Too fast. Your thighs tense, breath breaking apart in sharp little sounds you’re trying desperately to keep quiet.
The release hits hard and sudden.
You gush around his fingers, coating them as you clamp down.
A shudder runs through you as you press back into him. biting your lip to muffle the noise.
Then, the front door unlocks.
Both of you freeze.
Yunho bursts into quiet laughter, breathless and disbelieving. “Perfect timing.”
You scramble off his lap, trying to fix your clothes while he grabs your wrist, dragging you down the hallway toward his room.
“Move, move, move!” he whispers, still grinning.
The bedroom door clicks shut just as footsteps echo from the entryway.
You collapse against his chest, trying not to laugh.
Yunho presses a quick kiss to your temple.
“See?” he murmurs. “Told you I’ve got you.”
✧ yeosang
The bathroom is thick with steam.
Water slides down tiles, down skin, down the sharp line of Yeosang’s shoulders. His hair is darker like this, slicked back, droplets clinging to his lashes.
You press into him first.
Your mouth finds his collarbone, then the curve of his neck. You kiss him there. Slow. Open. Your hands drag down his chest like you’re mapping him.
He inhales softly.
His fingers hook into your waist, pulling you flush against him. Water rushes between your bodies, heat building despite it.
“Let me take care of you,” you murmur against his throat.
“What?” he asks, not moving his gaze from you.
You know he heard you.
You kiss the corner of his lips. Then his jaw. Then back to his mouth, slower this time.
“I said,” you whisper, breath warm against his skin, “let me take care of you.”
He hums faintly, like he’s distracted. Like the water is too loud. Like your voice can’t possibly carry through all this steam.
His eyes never leave your lips.
His hands slide down your back, squeezing your ass gently, possessively. The other traces up your spine, nails grazing lightly. You shiver.
“Did you say something?” he asks, tone innocent.
You glare at him.
He raises one eyebrow.
You lean in closer, almost on your toes, water cascading between you.
“Yeosang,” you whisper directly against his ear. “I want to take care of you.”
Silence.
He studies your face carefully. Not teasing now. Just watching the way your confidence flickers under his gaze.
“Say it clearly,” he says softly. “So I don’t misunderstand.”
Heat climbs your neck despite the water.
You inhale.
“I want you to let me suck you off.”
There’s no hesitation in you now. Only hunger.
His jaw tightens. His tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip. He leans down and bites your lip gently before releasing it, just enough to make you gasp.
“You should’ve said so,” he murmurs. “But you don’t have to ask like you’re unsure,” he adds quietly against your skin. “If you want something, you tell me. And I’ll decide,” he finishes softly.
You hold his gaze.
Something shifts in his expression.
His hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers threading into damp hair. He pulls you into a deep kiss, sudden and consuming. It’s not slow this time. It’s hungry. Teeth brushing. Breath stealing.
You melt into it.
He breaks it just as quickly. No warning.
His hand leaves your neck and moves to your shoulder instead, firm now.
Then he presses, gentle, guiding you down.
Your knees bend under the water. Tiles cool beneath your skin as you sink down in front of him. Water runs down his chest, over his stomach, dripping from his fingertips.
He stands tall, chest rising and falling heavier than before.
He doesn’t look away. Not once.
His hand slips into your hair, loose but possessive. Not forcing. Just anchoring you there.
“You wanted to take care of me,” he says quietly.
You glance up through wet lashes, and this time, you lick your lips on purpose.
His grip tightens just slightly.
“Go on.”
Your hand wraps around him, stroking once from base to tip.
Heat slicks your fingers as you trace him slowly, deliberately. Then your tongue follows, licking along the length, tasting him.
He lets out a low sigh, muffled against the water.
When you finally take his tip between your lips, his hand on your hair presses lightly, urging you deeper, guiding every movement.
A groan slips past him.
He leans forward, forehead resting against the cold tile behind you, caging you in. Your head tilts with the push, a small gag leaving you as he hits deeper.
Your hands clutch at his thighs.
And Yeosang?
He doesn’t rush. Just watches you.
He loves when you take care of him. He just likes to make sure you really mean it.
✧ san
San kisses you like he’s memorizing you. Slow. Intentional. Like this is sacred.
It’s only the third time sleeping together since you started dating, and everything still feels new. His hands explore carefully, reverently. He praises you between breaths.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs against your mouth.
His lips trail down your jaw. Lower. “You’re perfect.”
He says it like he means every word. And you love it.
But tonight the sweetness makes something restless coil inside your stomach.
He’s inside you, slow and steady, every thrust gentle.
You push against his lower back, urging him to go faster, but he hums against your neck and keeps his pace. Making you feel good without scaring you off.
Buy you want more.
You don’t think. You just speak.
“Can you… San, I—I want you… Can you tie me up?.”
He stops. Completely.
The rhythm vanishes. The warmth leaves you when he pulls out slowly, withdrawing with a softness that feels like distance.
Panic flares instantly. You messed up.
You try to close your legs, instinctively retreating, but his hands snap to your knees before you can, holding you open.
His breathing changes.
When you look at him again, he looks different. Still San. But darker, hungrier.
His eyes search your face carefully. Not angry. Not confused. Assessing.
He shifts closer, one hand leaving your knee to cup your cheek gently. His thumb brushes under your eye like he’s grounding you.
“Baby,” he says softly. “Look at me.”
You do.
“Did you mean that?” His voice is low, steady. “Or did it just slip out?”
There’s no mockery. No edge, just patience, waiting for you to answer.
You swallow.
“I meant it.”
He studies you a second longer.
“You’re not saying it because you think I want to hear it?”
You shake your head quickly. “No.”
His thumb strokes your cheek once more.
“Then tell me,” he murmurs, almost tender. “Tell me what you want. Clearly. So I know you mean it.”
Your heart pounds, but you don’t feel scared. You feel safe.
“I want you to tie me up,” you say, stronger now. “Please. I need you to use me.”
His pupils blow wide. A slow, dangerous smile curves his mouth.
“There you are,” he whispers.
Something in him ignites.
He exhales sharply and scrambles off the bed, dropping to his knees to search the floor. His slacks are half-tangled near the nightstand. He grabs them and pulls the belt free in one smooth motion.
When he climbs back onto the mattress, there’s no hesitation.
He guides your wrists above your head carefully, checking your expression before looping the belt around them and securing it to the bedframe. Not too tight. Just enough.
When he’s done, he sits back on his heels and looks at you.
And you feel exposed in a way that makes your pulse skip.
His hands travel slowly from the belt at your wrists down your arms. Over your shoulders. His knuckles brush your cheek softly.
Down your throat.
Across your chest.
Lower.
Until his palms settle on your thighs, spreading them gently.
“So pretty like this,” he murmurs, voice low. Dangerous and adoring at the same time.
His thumb traces your jaw.
“You tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”
You nod.
His expression softens just a fraction. The sweet San still there beneath the heat.
But when he leans down again, pressing his body over yours, there’s nothing hesitant about him anymore.
“You should’ve told me sooner,” he whispers against your lips.
And then he thrusts back in, harsh and fast.
Your back arches instinctively, a loud gasp tearing past your lips as you tug at your restraints above your head. San chuckles teasingly, watching the way your body responds to him.
And the way he smiles after that?
You know you’ve just unlocked something you’re never going to stop craving.
✧ mingi
The headboard knocks softly against the wall with every snap of his hips.
He’s standing at the edge of the bed, feet planted on the floor, towering over you. You’re on your hands and knees, sheets tangled beneath you.
Mingi’s hands are firm on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to leave warmth behind, his rings cool when they first touch your skin and then warm almost instantly.
He’s holding you against him so firmly you feel like you could melt and he wouldn’t let you fall.
He pulls you back toward him every time you try to crawl forward, strong enough that you feel it in your bones.
“Stay,” he pants.
The sounds he makes are low and wrecked. Like he’s already halfway gone.
You love it.
You turn your head slightly, hair falling over your cheek. “Harder.”
He laughs breathlessly. “You’re insatiable.”
He gives you exactly what you asked for. Harder. Rougher. His grip tightens, dragging you back with each thrust so your body jolts forward and back in his control.
His cock drives deep, filling you completely.
He angles his hips just right, each hit brushing against your cervix, making your back arch deeper, tilting yourself into him with every thrust.
The room fills with skin smacking, broken breaths and the bedframe shifting beneath you.
He’s close. You can feel it. His rhythm grows heavier. Less teasing. More desperate.
Then you whisper it.
“Choke me.”
He falters.
Not fully stopping, but enough that the pace stutters.
“What?”
He stops inside you. He needs to steady himself.
Mingi's chest brushes your back as he leans down, broad frame engulfing you completely.
His hands leave your hips. One braces beside your head. The other combs your hair away from your face. Gentle. Careful.
He needs to see you. Needs to make sure he heard right.
You feel him pressing even deeper, and a whine escapes you, eyes closing, eyebrows furrowing as the sharp ache mixes with pleasure.
Mingi presses a kiss to your temple, soft, almost an apology.
His fingers hook under your chin, lifting your face slightly so he can catch your eyes.
“Say that again,” he murmurs, not teasing now. Just caught off guard.
“Choke me.”
That’s all he needs.
His expression shifts instantly.
His hand slides from your jaw to your throat without hesitation this time. Big palm wrapping around your neck.
“You trust me?” he asks roughly into your ear.
You nod.
Mingi gifts you a slight squeeze that makes your breath hitch and your hips press back instinctively, clenching around him.
He pulls you up against him in one smooth motion, your back flush to his chest, both of you upright now. One arm braced around your middle to keep you steady, the other still holding your throat.
The new angle makes you gasp.
His grip tightens just a little as he resumes his pace, deeper now, faster. His mouth drops to your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin as a low groan spills out of him.
He likes this. The way you asked. The way you demanded.
Your hand clutch at his forearm, feeling the flex of muscle under your fingers. The other slides to his nape, twisting through the long hair there, keeping yourself steady.
Your breathing turns shallow. Not panic. Not fear. Just that dizzy edge of surrender that makes your head spin.
He squeezes again. Just enough to make your pulse flutter beneath his palm.
And he smiles against your shoulder when he feels it.
Mingi loves when you take control. Even when he’s the one holding you up.
Especially then.
✧ wooyoung
The party noise outside the bathroom door is loud. Laughter. Music. Someone shouting for another round. None of it matters.
You’re sitting on the countertop, the faucet pressing into your side, cold and inconvenient.
You barely register it.
Not when Wooyoung is standing between your knees, your underwear on his pocket, eyes lit up like he’s about to commit a crime and enjoy every second of it.
He unbuckles his belt slowly.
You roll your eyes. “Hurry up, Woo.”
He laughs under his breath. “Bossy.”
But he does hurry.
The metallic sound of his belt slipping free feels indecently loud in the small space. Your pulse kicks up. You lean forward slightly, impatient.
“Seriously,” you whisper. “Hurry.”
He steps closer, crowding you. His hands slide to your thighs, squeezing once before pushing them wider.
“You’re the one who dragged me in here,” he murmurs.
“Don’t make me regret it, just fuck me already.”
The words barely leave your lips before he moves.
He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t tease the way he usually would.
One hand tugs his zipper down. The other wraps around himself, stroking once, fast, slick.
Then he presses in. Hard. No prep. Just him, filling you in one sudden, decisive thrust. The sting makes you whine sharply, a sound louder than you meant it to be.
His hand flies to your mouth instantly.
“Shh,” he breathes, eyes wide for half a second.
You both freeze.
Outside, someone knocks against the wall, laughing.
Wooyoung’s gaze flicks back to you. The smirk returns.
He stays still for one long beat, his palm warm over your lips, his forehead almost touching yours.
“What were you saying?” he asks softly.
He starts to move again. Slow at first.
You try to answer, but your words melt into his hand, muffled and useless.
His grin widens.
“Oh, I can’t hear you.”
The pace picks up. Not frantic. Controlled. The kind that makes your thoughts scatter. Your head tips back, and it knocks lightly against the mirror.
The sound is small, but in this room, it feels explosive.
Wooyoung’s smirk disappears instantly.
His hand drops from your mouth and slides behind your head, palm cushioning between your skull and the glass. Protective without breaking rhythm.
The teasing melts into something darker.
More focused.
He leans in closer, lips brushing your ear.
“No, really,” he says, voice low now. “Say it.”
Not mocking anymore, commanding.
“Fuck me, Woo!” you gasp, repeating yourself as you cling to him.
His eyes flash at the sound of it.
“Finally got it out, huh?” he murmurs, smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s my girl… exactly what I wanted to hear.”
His mouth drops to your collarbone, teeth grazing, tongue soothing after. His free hand slides lower, palm pressing over your lower stomach, thumb drawing circles on your clit.
The bathroom fills with the sound of your breathing and the quiet, relentless rhythm he’s set.
Outside, the party keeps going.
Inside, Wooyoung holds your head steady like he’s the only thing keeping you from shattering against the glass.
Bratty. Reckless. But the second it matters, he loves taking care of you.
✧ jongho
The city hums below you.
Lights blink in the distance, cars sliding through the dark like quiet comets. The balcony is high enough that no one can see up, but the open air makes everything feel exposed anyway.
Your palms grip the cold railing.
Jongho stands behind you, solid and unshakable, chest pressed to your back. His mouth is against your spine, breath hot where the night is cool, his dick filling you perfectly.
He hasn’t looked at the skyline once.
One arm stays firm around your middle. The other slides lower. His fingers find your clit, making your knees tremble. But he keeps you upright easily, like you weigh nothing.
Your body responds instantly, hips rolling back against him without thinking, pressing him in deeper.
Slowly, the arm that’s around your middle slides upward, hand tangling in your hair, not yanking, just keeping you exactly where he wants you. Bent slightly forward over the railing, heart racing at the height, the adrenaline of being watched.
His rhythm turns heavier. Less measured. Every thrust hits deeper.
He’s close.
You can feel it in the way his breathing roughens against your skin. In the way his grip tightens just a little.
“Come inside me,” you breathe into the night.
The words float into the dark.
He doesn’t react at first. Just keeps moving. Steady. Deep. Focused.
“Again,” he grunts against your shoulderblade.
No smile.
No teasing.
Just the command.
You arch back into him, voice cracking with need.
“Jjong,” you gasp, voice shaking. “I want you to come inside me... fill me up.”
He exhales sharply against your back. That’s all the confirmation he needs.
His fingers press harder, circling with intent now, pushing you toward the edge with him. His thrusts lose some of their precision, turning almost sloppy with how close he is.
But he never stops. Never pulls back. Never breaks the rhythm.
He listens to you. He does exactly what you asked. He wants to make you happy.
When he finishes, it’s quiet. Controlled. A low sound swallowed against your skin as his grip tightens in your hair for a second while he spills deep inside you.
You come seconds after him, forehead nearly touching the railing, the city lights blurring beneath you.
Your walls clench around him, juices mixing, slick and warm.
His hips keep moving through it, slower now, drawing your release out like he refuses to let it pass too quickly. His hand doesn’t leave you. His body doesn’t retreat.
He pulls out slowly. Only then does he finally lift his head from your back.
The sudden emptiness makes you whine.
The cool night air hits your heated skin, and you feel the warmth of him linger, a faint trail of him slipping down your thigh. The contrast makes you shiver.
His hand immediately steadies you at the waist.
He turns you around gently, far softer than he handled you seconds ago. One hand comes up to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
His expression has changed. The edge is still there, but the fire has settled.
“Are you okay?” he asks, voice even. Calm. Watching you closely.
You smile at him, still catching your breath. “Perfect.”
Only then does his mouth curve slightly.
“Good.”
He leans down and presses a firm kiss to your forehead. Soft and protective.
The city keeps glowing below you.
But up here, in his hands, you feel completely steady.
when he starts crying mid-sex - [ateez x fem!reader]
it’s supposed to just feel good, until it feels like everything, and they don't know how to hold it in anymore
boyfriend!ateez (separated) x fem!reader | various settings
Dynamics: soft dom!san, sub!mingi, shy sub!yeosang, soft dom!seonghwa, switch!hongjoong, possessive dom!yunho, teasing dom!wooyoung, controlled dom!jongho
Genre: smut, fluff.
Warnings: explicit sexual content, emotional vulnerability, crying during sex, intense romantic attachment, possessive behavior, p in v, rough sex, power dynamics, marking (biting, scratching), hair pulling, chocking, breast play, nipple stimulation, clitoral stimulation, strong language, unprotected sex, creampie, physical restraint,
wc: ~850 words each
a/n: sorry for my ongoing sub!mingi obsession… it spread to the rest of them too haha this one’s a little longer than usual, i just have a weakness for pretty men who cry and tell you they love you, what can i say
masterlist
✧ seonghwa
He always takes care of you first. It's instinct for him. Woven into every touch, every glance, every careful movement.
Even now, above you, he holds himself just enough so his full weight doesn't press down, but not enough to create distance. His hips move in slow, measured strokes, steady and deep, his dick dragging against your walls with every thrust. The wet sounds of your bodies joining fill the room, raw and unfiltered.
His hands slide along your sides, warm, grounding, thumbs brushing under your ribs as if he needs to feel your breath, make sure you're right there with him.
His lips find yours again. Once. Twice. Lingering, this time with more tongue, a slow exploration that matches the rhythm of his hips.
A silent check-in.
Your legs tighten around his waist without thinking, pulling him closer, keeping him there when he tries to stay controlled. The change in angle makes him groan into your mouth, the sound vibrating straight through you.
"Hwa…" you whimper, the sound catching as your fingers slip into his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. It falls right back into place, soft between your fingers, and you do it again just because you can, tugging gently enough to make him hiss.
He exhales softly against your mouth, kissing you deeper this time, slower. His rhythm falters for just a second before settling again, like something in him just shifted.
His palm drags up your thigh, unhurried, familiar, thumb brushing dangerously close to where you're joined.
Then he looks at you. And something in his expression softens in a way you don't see often. Not fragile. Not uncertain. Just open.
His hand comes up to your face, thumb brushing slowly along your cheek, like he's tracing something he wants to remember.
"You're…" he starts, voice quiet, almost thoughtful. "You're so warm."
It's simple. But it lands, especially with the way he's filling you so completely.
His gaze drops briefly, then returns to yours, steadier this time.
"You always—" he exhales softly, like he's trying to put it into words and failing. "You always make everything feel… easy."
Your chest tightens at that, and you clench around him intentionally, making his breath hitch.
His thumb keeps moving, slow, grounding. His pace slows further, hips pressing closer, not pulling away fully between movements, like he doesn't want to lose the feeling of you around him even for a second.
He grinds into you at the end of each stroke, his pelvic bone pressing against your clit, sending sparks through your veins.
He kisses the corner of your lips. Your cheek. The soft place just beneath your ear. Each one a little softer, a little slower, like he's savoring something he's afraid might slip away if he rushes it. Then lower, down your neck, across your collarbone, placing open-mouthed kisses along the swell of your breasts before taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently.
"I love you," he murmurs against your skin, the words vibrating through your chest as his hips roll into yours again, deeper this time.
Your fingers still in his hair. And then you feel it. A drop. Warm. Soft.
You gently tilt his head up, and your chest tightens instantly.
Tears. Quiet ones. Slipping down his cheeks while he keeps moving, slower now, deeper, like he doesn't even realize he hasn't stopped. He rests his chin on your sternum, looking up at you with those teary eyes, completely vulnerable.
"So much," he adds, breath uneven, gaze fixed on yours like he's holding himself together through it. Like you're something he still can't quite believe he has. "I love every part of you."
Your chest tightens. Because he doesn't let himself unravel like this. Not easily. Not unless something inside him has been held for too long.
You pull him back up to your face, your hands cradling his cheeks as you kiss him deeply, pouring all your love into it. The kiss is hungry now, passionate, all the unspoken emotions passing between you.
"I love you too," you whisper against his lips.
His breath stutters. Not enough to break the rhythm, but enough that you feel it ripple through him. His eyes open briefly, his face turning into your palm, lips pressing faintly against it like he doesn't know what to do with being held like this.
So you don't hesitate. Your other hand slides into his hair again, nails grazing lightly over his scalp, and his hips falter, just for a second, before pressing forward again, a little less controlled this time.
"You always take care of me…" you murmur, your nose brushing his as your lips hover just over his. "Let me take care of you too."
Something in him gives. You feel it in the way his next movement lingers, slower, fuller, like he's no longer trying to hold anything back. His forehead drops to yours, breath warm and uneven between you, his hands shifting only to hold you closer. One at your side, the other sliding under you, keeping you anchored against him.
The rhythm changes. Not stopping. Not fading. Just deeper. Each movement slower, more intentional, like he's feeling everything at once now. Not just you. Not just the moment. All of it.
His lips find yours again, softer than before, but heavier somehow, like every kiss carries more weight behind it.
"You make me feel so safe," you manage between moans as he hits that perfect spot inside you again and again.
His breath catches again, this time more noticeable. His hand slides up your arm, slow, fingertips tracing like he's memorizing you all over again. Like he needs to make sure you're real under his hands.
Another tear slips free. He doesn't hide it. Doesn't stop. Just stays there, moving with you, holding you, letting you see him like this.
Your thumb catches the tear gently, your hand never leaving his face, keeping him right there.
"You okay?" you whisper.
He nods faintly, eyes open now, soft and completely unguarded. And when he kisses you again, it's different. Still gentle. Still careful. But deeper. Heavier. Like he's pouring everything he's been holding into it, into you, into the way he moves, the way he holds you close without letting even a breath of space slip between you.
Not overwhelming. Not consuming. Just devotion.
He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one forearm while gently cradling your head in the same arm, creating a cocoon of intimacy around you. His other hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers and raising them above your head, not to assert dominance, but to feel more connected, more at home with you.
You try to guide his pace with your legs, tightening around his waist, but he maintains his rhythm, determined to savor every moment.
Your free hand roams along his body, feeling the muscles of his back, the strength in his arms, the way he trembles slightly under your touch. You drag your nails down his spine, making him shudder and thrust into you harder.
And wrapped around him, holding him just as tightly, you let him feel it. Let him unravel without falling. For once, you're the one keeping him steady.
Right there, between slow breaths and softer movements, in something that feels less like desire, and more like worship.
✧ hongjoong
The studio is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the monitor and a forgotten lamp in the corner. It smells like him. Faint cologne, warm electronics, something familiar that settles in your lungs.
He should be working. He was working.
Now he's on the couch with you, bodies turned into each other, legs tangled, his thigh pressed firmly between yours like he needs the pressure. Your hand rests against his chest, feeling the tension still coiled there, tight, contained.
There's no space between you. Not anymore. He's already inside you, his hips moving with a desperate, hungry rhythm from the start. The wet slap of his balls against your ass is obscene, echoing in the quiet studio.
His arm wraps around you, hand spread wide on your thigh, fingers digging in just enough to feel. The other hooks at the back of your neck, thumb pressing there, grounding himself through you.
Hongjoong is always controlled. But right now, he's holding it together by force, and it's cracking.
"You're thinking again," you murmur, your hand sliding up to his jaw, turning his face toward you.
"I'm not," he says automatically, punctuating the lie with a particularly sharp thrust that punches the air from your lungs.
You raise a brow.
His grip tightens on your thigh, sharper this time. “…I am."
Your thumb brushes his cheek. "Then stop."
He huffs, almost a laugh, but it doesn't land. His eyes drag over your face slowly, like he's committing something, deciding something.
And then his hand tightens.
Not gentle anymore.
He pulls you closer, hips pistoning into you harder, faster, the shift immediate, like whatever he was holding snaps loose all at once.
"I don't like this part," he mutters against your throat.
"Which one?"
"This," he says, breath rougher now, his lips already at your jaw, your neck, not waiting. "Not being able to control it."
Your chest tightens. Because he's not talking about the moment. He's talking about himself.
You barely get to answer before he moves again, faster now, deeper, his hips moving with more insistence, his hand sliding higher, gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks, guiding you to meet his brutal thrusts.
"You don't have to," you manage, breath catching as his mouth drags along your collarbone, teeth grazing just enough to make you feel it.
That's what breaks him.
"I love you so fucking much it hurts."
It comes out wrecked. Unfiltered.
And for a second, you just look at him. Because Hongjoong doesn't give things like that easily. Not even to you. Not like this.
His hand clamps around your skin, squeezing, grounding himself through you as his pace stutters, then picks up again, rougher now, less measured. His control doesn't disappear, it sharpens, turns into something more urgent, more selfish.
And then you see it. The tears.
He doesn't stop. Doesn't slow down.
They just slip down his face while his mouth keeps moving against your skin, kissing, biting lightly, like he doesn't know where to put all of it so it spills everywhere at once.
Your hands come up immediately, catching his face, forcing him to look at you.
"Hey," you murmur, firmer now. "Stay with me."
His eyes flicker, breath uneven, something frustrated and raw twisting through his expression.
"I am," he insists, even as his grip tightens again, his nails digging into your skin. "I just—fuck—I don't like how much you affect me."
That almost makes you smile.
"Well," you whisper, pulling him back down, your hand firm at his jaw. "You should."
Something in his gaze snaps into focus at that. Not calmer. Sharper. Hungrier.
His hand slides from your hip to your ass, gripping hard enough to keep you exactly where he wants you, his nails dragging up your back as he moves again. Faster, more deliberate, like he's decided to use it instead of fight it. He's chasing his own pleasure now, using your body to get there.
"Don't think," you murmur against his lips. "Just feel it."
A tear slips down. He doesn't even blink it away.
"I love you," he says again, lower this time, like it's anchored now instead of spilling.
"I love you too," you answer, steady.
That's it. That's what pushes him over the edge of restraint.
His hand slides into your hair, gripping. Not harsh, but firm enough to tilt your head back, to keep you right there as he kisses you deeper, messier now, like he's done pretending he's unaffected. His other hand continues to grip your ass, guiding your movements to match his relentless pace.
His pace doesn't slow. If anything, it becomes more relentless. Still controlled, still precise, but driven now. Fueled.
Every thrust lands heavier. Closer. Like he's trying to press the feeling into you, into himself, into something that won't slip away.
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his grunts and groans muffled against your skin. His mouth finds your nipple, sucking hard, making you cry out. Your hand threads through his hair, keeping him there, encouraging him.
"Hongjoong—fuck—" you moan, your back arching off the couch.
He responds with a particularly hard thrust, his teeth scraping against your neck.
"I hate this," he mutters, but there's no real resistance left in it. Just heat. Just truth.
Your hand slides down your body, between your legs, finding your clit. You start to rub circles around it, matching his rhythm, chasing your own pleasure as he chases his.
You brush your thumb under his eye, catching another tear before it falls.
"No, you don't."
He doesn't answer. Just pulls you closer, tighter, like he's decided he's not letting go of this. Of you. No matter how much it unravels him.
And this time, he doesn't try to hold it back. He just feels.
✧ yunho
He fits around you like he was built for it, all warmth and length.
You’re both on your side in bed, sheets twisted around your legs, his chest pressed flush to your back, one arm locked tight across your middle like a seatbelt he refuses to unbuckle. His breath ghosts along your neck, steady at first, grounding, familiar, as he moves behind you in slow, deliberate thrusts.
Yunho is always like this. Easy, playful, solid. Safe. That's what makes you push him.
"You gonna let me move at all," you murmur, shifting your hips just enough to test him, grinding back against him in a way that makes him groan.
His grip tightens instantly, his other hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple.
"No," he says, too quick, too easy.
You smile to yourself. "Figured."
A quiet laugh brushes your skin, low and warm. "You're the one who climbed into my bed."
"Did I?" you hum, leaning back into him on purpose. "Don't remember asking to get stuck here."
His hand slides a little higher on your waist, firmer now. Possessive without thinking about it. He pinches your nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he continues to thrust into you, his pace never faltering.
"Mm," he murmurs, brushing his nose along your neck before biting down gently. "You're not stuck." A pause. "Just staying where you belong."
You let out a soft breath that almost sounds like a laugh. "That so?"
His fingers flex against you. A warning. Playful.
"Careful," he murmurs. "You're getting brave."
You shift again just to prove a point, grinding your hips in a circle that makes him curse under his breath.
His hold locks. Tighter this time.
"Yunho—" you start, half amused.
"Don't," he mutters, a breath of a laugh following it, like he's still playing along.
But something's off. You feel the shift before you understand it. A hitch in his breathing. A pause that lingers a second too long. And then, something wet hits your skin.
You blink. Another drop follows, sliding slowly along your neck.
Your smile lingers, softer now, tilting your head just enough to glance back. "Wait—" you murmur, teasing still there, gentler. "You crying on me?"
You expect him to deflect. To laugh it off. To say something cocky. He doesn't.
"I love you so much, baby."
It slips out of him. Rough. Unfiltered. Like it slipped past him before he could shape it into something easier to hold.
You turn slightly in his arms, just enough to see him, and the sight steals the air from your lungs.
He looks confused. Not ashamed. Not hiding. Just caught in it. Like the tears sliding down his face don't belong to him. Like he doesn't understand how they got there.
"I don't—" he exhales, shaking his head faintly, eyes flickering over your face like he's trying to make sense of something. "I don't get it. How you do this to me…"
That's when you fold.
The teasing disappears, replaced by something softer, warmer. Your hand finds his without thinking, fingers threading through his, squeezing tight.
"I love you too," you whisper.
And that's it. That's the moment everything tips. His breath breaks. Not loudly, but enough.
His arm tightens around you immediately, pulling you back into him like proximity is the only way he can make sense of what he's feeling. Like if he holds you hard enough, it will stop spilling out of him in pieces.
Another tear hits your skin. And then your vision blurs. It catches you off guard, the way it sneaks up, the way it matches him.
A small, shaky laugh slips out of you as you blink through it, turning your head slightly.
"Look…" you murmur, breath uneven but smiling through it. "You made me cry too."
He lets out a soft, disbelieving sound against your shoulder, something between a laugh and a broken exhale. His hand tightens on your breast, squeezing possessively.
"Good," he whispers, voice thick. "Now you know."
And you do.
You feel it in the way his hand clings to yours. In the way his body shifts behind you. Still strong, still steady, but no longer contained. There's something open in him now. Unfiltered.
His movements change. Not losing control, never that. But gaining weight. Intention.
Each thrust sharper, more grounded, like he's trying to press the feeling into something real, something lasting.
His other hand slides down to grip your hip, holding you in place as he picks up the pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Sweat beads on his brow, dripping onto your shoulder and mixing with his tears.
"I love you," he says again, quieter now. Like he needs to hear it.
You squeeze his hand tighter.
“You don’t have to say it,” you whisper. "I feel it."
He exhales against your neck, long and heavy, his face pressing there like he's grounding himself. But his grip never loosens. If anything, it tightens. His mouth finds your shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave a mark.
The softness doesn't stay. Not fully. Because Yunho is still Yunho.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes still wet, but different now. Focused, sharpened with that familiar intensity you know so well.
"Don't look at me like that," he murmurs, a faint smirk returning through the wetness on his lashes.
"Like what?" you whisper.
"Like you just broke me," he says, thumb brushing your cheek before his grip firms again at your waist, his other hand continuing to knead your breast, massaging it roughly.
You smile softly, still a little teary. "You did that yourself."
A quiet laugh escapes him. There he is.
The familiar heat threading back through him, his hold turning more certain, more possessive, like he's reclaiming himself piece by piece.
"Yeah?" he murmurs, voice dropping. "Then let me show you something else you do to me."
And just like that, the softness becomes memory. Not gone. Just folded into everything else he is. Because Yunho doesn't stop feeling. He just learns how to hold it in different ways.
His thrusts become harder, deeper, more demanding. You grip the sheets, your knuckles white as you try to hold on. "Yunho— fuck—" you gasp out between moans.
When you try to shift away, overwhelmed by the intensity, his arm locks around you like steel. "Don't even think about it," he growls against your ear, pulling you back into him, his teeth sinking into your neck. "You're not going anywhere."
His hand leaves your breast, sliding down your stomach, his fingers finding your clit. He rubs tight circles around it, matching his relentless pace, making you cry out. Your hips grind back against him instinctively, chasing his rhythm, making him go deeper. He responds with a guttural groan, his grip on your hip tightening almost painfully.
"That's it," he pants, his voice thick with emotion and desire. "Take it. Take all of me."
His mouth crashes against yours, a messy, desperate kiss. It's all teeth and tongue, a clash of spit and breath. He kisses you like he's starving, like he's trying to devour you whole.
You kiss him back just as desperately, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. His fingers continue to work your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.
"Cum for me," he growls against your lips. "I want to feel you cum around my cock."
And you do, letting yourself be completely consumed by him, by the overwhelming physical and emotional intensity of the moment.
✧ yeosang
He likes to see you.
That's why he sits up against the headboard, why his hands rest on your hips instead of guiding, why his eyes never quite leave your face. Like he's trying to take in every small shift, every breath, every flicker of feeling you let show.
You move over him slowly at first. Measured. Controlled. The feeling of him stretching you, filling you so completely, makes your own breath hitch, but you focus on him.
Your hands press lightly to his chest. You feel it immediately. His heartbeat. Fast. Too fast for how calm he looks.
"Baby, relax," you murmur softly, leaning down just a little, your voice brushing against his lips without quite kissing them. "I've got you."
His breath catches. It's subtle, but you feel it under your palms, the way his chest rises a little sharper, the way his fingers tighten at your sides before easing again.
Yeosang has never been afraid of loving you. But he still feels it deeply every time. Like it surprises him. Like it resets something inside him, over and over again.
"I know," he whispers, voice quiet, steady, but thinner than usual. "I just—"
He doesn't finish. He doesn't need to. Because you shift.
Just slightly at first. Your rhythm deepening, more deliberate, more intentional, just enough to pull him out of his head, to make him feel instead of think. You deliberately clench around him, and his reaction is immediate.
His breath breaks, head tipping back against the wood, lips parting on a soft, helpless sound.
"Wait—" he exhales quickly, hands tightening around your hips now, not to stop you, just to hold on. "Wait… slow—"
You don't stop right away. Not yet.
You lean down instead, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone, then another just below it, your voice warm against his skin.
"You feel good?" you murmur, softer now, but there's a tease tucked underneath.
He nods too fast. Eyes wide when he looks at you again, completely caught.
"Yeah— yeah, I do, I just—" his breath stutters, a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh slipping out. "I'm close… I don't— I don't wanna—"
You pause just enough to look at him properly, your breasts brushing against his chest with the movement.
"Do you want me to stop?" you ask, gentle but clear.
His head shakes immediately. Fast. Firm.
"No," he breathes, almost urgent despite how soft he sounds. His hands guide your hips without thinking, slowing you, setting the pace he needs. "No, just— slower… please…"
Something in your chest softens at that.
"Okay, okay," you whisper, a small smile in your voice as you ease your pace, slowing everything down until it's steady again. "Sorry, baby…"
Your hands settle back against his chest, grounding him, letting him breathe again. But as you move, you take his hands in yours, guiding them to your breasts. His eyes widen as his fingers instinctively close around them, thumbs brushing over your nipples.
"Touch me," you murmur.
He does, hesitantly at first, then with more confidence as you respond with soft moans. His touch becomes more deliberate, his thumbs circling your nipples until they're pebbled and sensitive.
But the damage is done. His composure slips completely.
When he looks at you again, his eyes are shining. Open, unguarded, like there's nothing left filtering what he feels.
"I love you," he says, the words slipping out like they've been sitting right there. "I've never felt this safe."
The first tear slips down, quiet and unguarded.
You don't stop. You don't react like it's something new, something fragile that might disappear if you touch it wrong. You just lean in, pressing a soft kiss beneath his eye, catching it before it falls further.
“I love you too,” you murmur, holding him a little tighter.
That does something to him. You feel it. The way his hands tighten on your breasts, the way his breath stutters again. Not overwhelmed this time, but softened, like your words sink deeper than anything else.
"You're doing so well… making me feel so good…" you add, gentler now.
That's all it takes. The filter drops. Completely.
His hands come alive, no longer careful, no longer measured. They move over you like he needs to learn you by touch, like memorizing you isn't enough unless he feels every inch, every shift, every reaction you give him. One hand continues to play with your breast while the other slides down your back, caressing your skin, memorizing every curve.
"Say it again," he breathes, voice lower now, thick with feeling.
You smile, brushing your nose against his. "I love you."
His eyes flutter shut, another tear slipping free, this time he doesn't even try to hold it back.
"I love you," he echoes, softer, more certain, like something inside him has finally unlocked.
You keep your pace slow now. Intentional. Every movement a reassurance instead of a push.
"You're so good to me," you whisper, your thumb brushing along his cheek. "So gentle… so sweet… I love seeing you like this."
He melts. A quiet, broken sound leaves him, his forehead tipping forward until it presses against yours, his breath uneven but steadying under your touch.
"I've never—" he starts, voice catching, then tries again. "I've never had this."
You brush your lips softly against his, barely there. "You have it now."
Another tear falls. But he's smiling this time. Soft. Open. Completely undone in a way that doesn't scare him anymore.
Because you're still there. Holding him steady. Still guiding him right to the edge while letting him feel everything and never once letting him fall alone.
✧ san
He pulls you into his lap like he's afraid of the space between you. Like even a breath of distance is too much.
Your knees are already planted on either side of him, the mattress dipping under your combined weight, but he doesn't let you adjust. Doesn't give you the chance.
His arms wrap around you immediately, tight, almost crushing, pressing you chest to chest until there's no clear line where you end and he begins. The force of his thrusts makes you bounce, his dick hitting that perfect spot inside you with every harsh upward snap of his hips.
"Closer," he murmurs against your lips.
You almost laugh. There's nowhere closer to go.
Still, you give it to him anyway.
Your arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him in as much as he's pulling you. The kiss that follows is messy, deep, already a little desperate. Like neither of you expected it to burn this fast.
Your teeth clash, tongues tangling as you moan into his mouth. It's clumsy. It's too much. It's perfect.
When you pull back just enough to breathe, he's already gone.
Eyes wet. Lashes clumped. Tears spilling freely down his cheeks like he never even tried to stop them.
"I love you so much it's stupid," he breathes, voice wrecked, edged with frustration at how big the feeling is. "You don't— you don't get it, I—"
His words collapse, swallowed as he chases your mouth again, unable to tolerate even the space between sentences.
You barely get a breath in before you're kissing him again. And again.
"San—" you try, voice shaking as your foreheads press together, noses brushing, breaths tangling.
But it doesn't calm him. It never does. Because for San, it's not about calming down. It's about feeling everything. Fully. Fiercely. Without restraint.
You don't realize you're crying too until he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hips finally slowing their punishing pace to something deeper, more deliberate.
And he notices instantly. His thumb swipes under your eye, startled. "You're crying," he whispers, softer for half a second. Just a flicker of tenderness before it twists into something deeper. "Is it me? Am I— am I doing this to you?"
You let out a shaky breath, half-laugh, half-sob. "You always do this to me."
Something in him sharpens at that. Not breaking, sharpening. His hands slide up your back, gripping you tighter, pulling you flush against him like he needs to anchor you there. His forehead presses to yours, cheeks brushing, tears mixing as your breaths fall into the same rhythm.
"Look at me," he murmurs, voice lower now, rougher, threaded with something that flips your stomach.
You try. You really do. But the way he's looking at you, it's too much. Your eyes drop, heat rising in your cheeks.
A soft sound escapes him. Almost a laugh.
"Love," he says, gentler now, nudging your chin up. "Don't hide. Look at me."
You shake your head faintly, overwhelmed. "San..."
"Look at me," he repeats, softer this time, but firmer.
When you finally meet his eyes, he stills. Like he needed that. Like he needed to see you seeing him.
"That's it," he whispers, breath unsteady. "That's my girl..."
And with those words, he resumes his pace, even harder than before. The sudden intensity makes you cry out, your hands flying to his biceps for balance as he pounds into you from beneath.
Your face burns instantly.
A small, broken smile tugs at his lips as another tear slips free. "See? You get shy… but you feel it too," he murmurs, voice dropping lower as he drives into you relentlessly. "I know you do. I can feel it—you're right here with me, you're—"
He cuts himself off with a trembling exhale, pulling you back into a kiss. Deeper now, less playful, more proof than words.
Your hands tighten in his arm, your whole body leaning into him, losing yourself in him just as completely.
"I love you," you whisper against his mouth, barely pulling away.
It wrecks him. A broken sound slips out as his arms lock around you tighter, pulling you impossibly closer. Like he's trying to erase the concept of space entirely.
"Fuck…" he exhales, voice shaking. "You don't know what you do to me… you make me feel like this, like I can't— like I can't get enough of you, like I need you everywhere—"
You turn your face slightly, flustered, breath uneven.
He laughs softly through it, chasing your lips again. "Don't hide," he murmurs. "You're so, so beautiful like this."
You whine softly, half embarrassed, half overwhelmed, but you don't pull away. Because you can't. Because he's right there, holding you like you're everything, like you're the center of whatever storm is building inside him.
His hands slide down to grip your ass, squeezing hard, nails digging into your flesh as he continues to pound into you, making you see stars with each precise thrust.
"I love you," he says again, quieter now, but no less consuming. "I love you so much it hurts."
You press your forehead to his, breathing him in, holding him just as tightly.
"I know," you whisper. "I feel it."
And that's all he needs. His name falls from your lips in fragments as the moment unravels again, his grip turning desperate, pulling you down into him. Every movement becomes more urgent, more emotional. Less about rhythm, more about closeness. About keeping you right there.
Your faces stay pressed together, lips brushing, breaths shared, tears still falling without either of you bothering to stop them. It's messy. Overwhelming. Real.
"I love you," he keeps repeating, like a mantra that refuses to fade, punctuated by his deep thrusts that have you moaning his name over and over.
And you answer him every time. Not just with words, but with the way you hold him, the way you stay close, the way you let yourself be just as undone as he is.
Neither of you tries to slow down. Or separate. Or breathe properly. Because right here, tangled between tears, kisses, and whispered confessions, it feels like you could live inside each other.
And neither of you would ever want to leave.
✧ mingi
He's already looking at you like you've undone him.
Completely.
You're above him, hands pressed to his chest, feeling the uneven rhythm under your palms. Too fast, too full, like his heart is trying to reach you before the rest of him can catch up. Like he's already overwhelmed. Like he's already gone.
His hair is a mess against the pillow, lips parted, breath soft and shaky.
The slow roll of your hips has him arching beneath you, a broken sound escaping his lips as you sink down, taking him deeper. The stretch is perfect, the way he fills you completely making your own breath catch.
"Baby…" you whisper, softer than the movement between you.
His eyes flicker up to you instantly, wide and glassy, like he's been waiting for that, waiting for you. It doesn't take much. It never does, not with you.
His hands slide up your sides, settling at your waist, not guiding, not controlling, just holding. Clinging, almost. Like he needs to feel you there, solid, real.
"I love you," he breathes, the words breaking as they leave him. Not smooth, not steady, just spilling out. "I— I love you so much, I can't—"
His voice catches completely this time.
He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, shaking his head faintly like he's overwhelmed by his own feelings. "I can't stop loving you… baby, I can't…"
It hits you straight in the chest.
Not new words. He tells you all the time, but never like this. Never like it's too much for him to hold.
Your hand moves instinctively, sliding up to cradle his face. Your thumb brushes under his eye just as the first tear slips free.
There it is. Not sadness. Just too much love, with nowhere else to go.
"Aww…" you murmur softly, fondness bleeding into your voice as you lean down, pressing a slow kiss to his lips. "My baby…"
He melts instantly. Actually melts. A quiet whimper slips out of him into your mouth, his hands tightening at your waist like he doesn't know what to do with himself except hold on harder.
"I love you," he repeats against your lips, softer now, like a confession he keeps rediscovering. "You feel so— so good, you're so—"
He cuts himself off with a breath that trembles, like the words can't keep up with the feeling.
You huff a small, affectionate laugh, brushing your nose against his. "You're so gone for me, huh?"
"Mhm—" he nods quickly, almost helpless, chasing your lips again. "Yeah, I am— I really am, I—"
He can't finish a single sentence. And you love it.
You slow everything down just a little more, keeping him right there in it, your hands steady on his chest, grounding him. Every movement deliberate, every touch a quiet reassurance.
His hips buck up instinctively, trying to drive deeper, faster, but you maintain your pace, torturously slow, savoring the way he trembles beneath you.
His head tips back slightly, eyes fluttering shut, breath breaking again as another tear slips free.
"Baby…" he whispers, voice fragile now, like he's holding onto you with everything he has. "You're so— you're so perfect, I— fuck, I love you…"
You can't help the soft laugh that escapes you, warm and adoring. He sounds so overwhelmed, so sweetly wrecked.
Your hand slides up from his chest to his throat, fingers wrapping around him loosely. Not choking, not squeezing, just a gentle pressure that has his eyes flying open, pupils blown wide with need. A silent promise of what he wants but won't ask for.
"Please," he whimpers, nails digging into your skin, scratching down your back as you continue your slow, torturous rhythm. "Please, baby, faster—"
You lean down, capturing his lips in a messy, spit-filled kiss, tongues tangling as you swallow his desperate sounds.
"I love you, Min."
The words are gentle. Certain. And they destroy him. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer. And every time he looks at you, it's the same expression. Wonder. Disbelief. Like he still doesn't understand how he got here. How he ended up with someone who holds him like this, who sees him like this.
Another tear slips down his cheek. You catch it with your lips this time.
"I love you, I love you—" he repeats, voice trembling, messy, overwhelmed. "You're mine, baby, you're— you're so good to me, so—"
He loses the sentence again, replaced by another shaky breath, another quiet whimper. That's when you finally give him what he needs, increasing your pace, riding him harder, deeper, faster.
His body arches off the bed, a choked cry escaping his lips as he spills inside you, hot and thick, triggering your own release that washes over you in waves. Your fingers slide into his hair, holding him there as you press soft kisses along his jaw, his cheek, catching the tears as they fall.
"I know," you murmur, smiling against his skin. "I know, baby."
You continue to move slowly, riding him through his orgasm, milking every last drop as he trembles beneath you, completely undone.
That's what does it. He pulls you down into him, arms wrapping around you tight, almost desperate. But not to take. Never to take. Just to stay. To feel. To exist in something that finally, finally feels safe.
And in between every breath, every fragile sound, every trembling exhale…
"I love you," he keeps repeating, like it's the only thing he knows how to say anymore. And maybe, right now, it is.
✧ wooyoung
It isn't planned. That's what gets to him.
The dishes are still drying behind you, the kitchen light too bright for anything that feels like this, your hands barely braced against the island before he's there, right behind you, pulling you back into him like he couldn't wait another second. Like he didn't even think.
He's already inside you, setting a rough pace from the start, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the quiet kitchen.
One hand tangles into your hair immediately, not gentle, not rough for show. Just firm, wrapping the strands around his fist, using it to guide your head just enough to make you feel him deeper. Closer. Present. In control.
He pulls back slightly, forcing your spine into a deeper arch that has you crying out.
"Stay like that," he murmurs, voice low, edged with that familiar teasing lilt.
But there's something under it. Something tighter.
His other hand finds your hip, fingers pressing in, holding you there like he doesn't trust you not to move. Like he doesn't trust himself if you do. With each thrust, he uses his grip on your hip to pull you back into him, meeting his movements halfway, making the impact harder, deeper.
You notice it. Of course you do. The way his breathing stutters. The way his grip lingers a second too long before easing, then tightening again.
"I love you so much I'm actually crying, fuck."
It slips out of him like it startled him. Like he hates that it did.
You turn your head just enough to look back, and there it is. That smirk he always wears. Still there. Still cocky. Still him. But his eyes betray him completely. Wet. Bright. Tears already slipping down like he didn't even try to stop them.
He looks wrecked. For a second, he just stares at you. Like he's waiting for you to laugh. To call it out. To make it smaller.
You don't.
A soft laugh escapes you anyway, warm, fond, wrapped in something that only makes him feel worse in the best way.
"Look at you," you tease gently, voice lilting. "Getting all soft on me."
He huffs out a breath that almost turns into a laugh, head dropping forward for a second, forehead pressing between your shoulder blades like he needs to hide there. He doesn't stop moving though, his hips maintaining their relentless rhythm.
"Shut up," he mutters, but it's weak. Not sharp. Not convincing. His fingers tighten in your hair again, pulling just enough to make you gasp. "Don't act like you don't like it."
"I do," you say easily, softer now. "I love it." A beat. "I love you."
That's what trips him. You feel it instantly. The way he stills inside you, just for a second. The way his breath catches like he didn't expect that to land there.
"Yeah?" he says, quieter, almost like he's testing it.
You reach back, finding his wrist, squeezing.
"Yeah."
Silence stretches thin and fragile. Then he exhales, long and shaky, his forehead still pressed into your back like he's holding himself together there. For a moment he lets himself feel it. And then, he snaps back. Hard.
"Fuck," he breathes, lifting his head again, voice dropping, that edge sliding right back into place like armor. He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your spine, teeth grazing your skin between each thrust. "You're really trying to ruin me today, huh?"
Your smile curves, softer now. Knowing.
"You were already gone."
A quiet, breathless laugh leaves him. This one sticks, even as another tear slips free. He bites down on your shoulder blade, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to leave a mark.
"Say that again." he mutters, grip tightening at your waist, pulling you back into him like he needs to prove something.
You glance back at him, steady. "You're gone for me."
Something in his expression shifts. Not softer. Sharper.
"Yeah," he says, voice lower now, rougher, threaded with something that makes your stomach flip. "Yeah, I am."
His hand slides from your hair to your waist, nails digging into your skin as he drags them back up, leaving tingling trails in their wake, then back into your hair, pulling just enough to make your back arch even more.
"Look at you," he pants softly, almost mocking, almost reverent. "Got me crying in the middle of this… over nothing."
"It's not nothing," you murmur.
He lets out a short, disbelieving breath. "We're in the kitchen."
You smile. "And?"
Another tear slips down his cheek. He laughs through it. Wrecked, a little breathless, completely undone even as he tries to act like he isn't.
"Fuck," he mutters again, shaking his head faintly. "You do this to me and then act innocent…"
"I am innocent," you shoot back lightly.
He leans in closer, voice dropping right by your ear, grip tightening again. Possessive now, intentional. His free hand slides around to your front, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that make you clench around him.
"No," he murmurs. "You know exactly what you're doing."
You clench around him again, harder this time.
"That's what I thought," he adds, softer, almost pleased, even as his thumb brushes your skin in a way that betrays how much he's feeling.
"I love you," he says again, this time quieter. Realer. No performance.
You don't hesitate.
"I love you too."
That's what steadies him. His hold shifts, firmer, more grounded, less frantic. Like he's decided to stop fighting it and just use it.
His forehead dips forward again briefly, lips brushing your back. Not hiding this time, just there, before he straightens, breath evening out just enough.
"Yeah," he exhales, quieter, but stronger now. "Yeah, you do."
The smirk returns. Not fake this time. Just layered over everything else. He holds you tighter. Playful, messy, emotional Wooyoung still intact, but fully, undeniably yours.
✧ jongho
You notice it before he does. The shift.
Jongho is always steady. Solid in a way that makes everything around him feel quieter, safer.
Even now, with his weight over you and your legs hooked over his shoulders, his presence is the same. Firm, grounded, controlled. Unshakable. He drives into you with a powerful, relentless rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin loud and echoing in the room, a raw testament to your shared desperation.
But his eyes…They give him away.
You feel it in the way his hand finds yours, fingers threading through instinctively. The grip is strong, familiar, but there's something under it. A faint tremor. Not weakness. Just pressure. Too much of it.
Your fingers tighten around his. You don't ask. You don't interrupt. You just stay, meeting his powerful thrusts with your own rising need.
His gaze drops briefly to your joined hands, then lifts again, landing on your face like he's checking. Like he's waiting to see if you'll make this into something bigger than it is.
You don't. You just look at him. The same way you always do.
That's what breaks it. A tear slips free.
Just one at first, quiet as a secret, trailing down the side of his face before he can stop it. His breath stutters, barely noticeable to anyone else.
But not to you. Never to you.
For a split second, something flickers across his expression. Uncertainty. Maybe even a hint of embarrassment. Like he doesn't recognize himself like this. Like he doesn't know what to do with it.
So you decide for him. You don't react. You don't soften into pity. You don't look away. You hold his gaze like this is allowed. Like this is normal. Because it is.
Your thumb brushes lightly against his hand, a quiet reassurance. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to hide.
His breath leaves him slowly, like something in his chest finally loosens.
"I love you," he says.
It's low. Deep. Certain. And somehow more honest than anything you've ever heard from him. He punctuates the declaration with a particularly deep thrust that makes you cry out.
Another tear follows, then another, still quiet, still contained. He doesn't look away this time. Doesn't try to hide it. He just lets it happen, like if he stays locked on you, he won't lose whatever control he has left.
You let him. You don't rush to answer. This isn't about filling the space. This is about holding it.
Your hand squeezes his again, a little firmer now, your legs shifting just enough to hold him closer. Not pulling, not demanding, just there. Matching him. Meeting him exactly where he is.
His movements don't lose their strength. If anything, they become more deliberate. More focused. Like everything he's kept locked away is being poured into this, into the way he holds you, the way he stays close, the way he doesn't pull back.
"I love you," he repeats, softer this time, voice brushing over the words like he's still getting used to saying them out loud.
You could answer right away. You want to. The words sit warm and ready on your tongue. But this moment is his.
So instead, you lift your hand, guiding it gently to his cheek, thumb brushing just beneath his eye, catching the next tear before it falls too far.
No fuss. No pause. Just quiet care.
His eyes close for half a second at the touch, leaning into it without thinking. When they open again, there's no hesitation left. Just him.
Then, with a sudden shift of power, he changes your position. He presses your thighs to your chest, folding you into a deep mating press.
The new angle is devastating, and you gasp as he resumes his relentless pace, now grinding against you with each thrust, hitting even deeper than before. Your free hand claws at his back, nails digging into his skin, leaving red trails in their wake.
"Look at me," he demands, his voice rough and strained.
You force your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. His face is flushed, sweat beading on his forehead, his eyes dark with a mixture of lust and something deeper, something tender that's at odds with the brutal way he's fucking you.
"I'm gonna cum," he pants, his rhythm becoming erratic. "Cum with me, baby. Please."
His words are your undoing. The coil in your stomach snaps, and you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of intense pleasure. Your body convulses beneath him, your inner walls clamping down around his dick.
That's all it takes. With a loud, broken moan, he buries himself impossibly deep inside you and stills. You feel the hot pulse of his release as he cums, filling you completely.
He collapses against you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, both of you panting heavily, your bodies slick with sweat. For a long moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing, both of you trying to come down from your high. His face is buried in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.
Finally, he shifts, propping himself up on his elbows to look at you. His eyes are soft now, the desperate intensity replaced by a warm, gentle glow.
"I should say it more," he mutters, voice low, almost to himself. "I think it all the time. I just—" He exhales, jaw tightening faintly. "—keep it in."
"Then don't," you say, simple and even, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
His eyes flicker at that, searching your face again, trying to find if you mean right now or something more.
You don't look away.
"I'm right here," you add, quieter but just as steady. "You can say it whenever you want."
That's it. No extra weight. No careful phrasing. Just truth, given to him the same way he gave his.
You see it land in the way something in his expression loosens, like a grip he didn't realize he was holding finally eases. He leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips, not to hide, not to escape, just to stay close, to hold onto something real while everything inside him settles into place.
"I love you," he says again, and this time it's stronger, not louder, just more certain, like he's not holding it back anymore.
"I know," you murmur. Then, just as steady, "I love you too."
He exhales, long and grounded, his forehead dipping briefly toward yours before he presses a lingering kiss there, quiet, soft, like he's sealing the moment instead of breaking it.
And through it all, your hand never leaves his. Holding. Steady. Letting him be strong and soft and seen all at once.
featuring — ateez members x gn!reader ( masterlist )
summary — an imagine of what the ateez boys are like when they have a crush on you (moments where their feelings shine)!
contents — fluff, no warnings.
hong ⊹ joong
hongjoong is one who tries to play it cool, but his crush on you is increasingly obvious through the little things he does.
it starts with how he’ll always offer to help you with your creative projects. “need help brainstorming ideas?” he’d casually ask, even if he was buried in deadlines for ateez’s next album. when you hesitated, worried about wasting his time, hongjoong would reassure you with his signature grin. “don’t worry. creative energy comes back tenfold when i’m around you.”
then there are his thoughtful gestures. during a movie night with the group, you mentioned offhandedly that you loved a specific snack from a bakery across town. the next day, hongjoong casually hands you a bag of those snacks, acting as if it was no big deal. “i passed by the bakery on my way here,” he said, but you caught the faint blush creeping up his neck when you thanked him with a warm smile.
his crush shines brightest during practice sessions. if you stop by the studio, hongjoong will suddenly become hyperaware of your presence. he’ll glance your way between moves, a small smile tugging at his lips whenever he caught your gaze. his energy would shift — he’d dance with more precision, his voice more vibrant as he rapped or sang, almost as if trying to impress you.
one evening, after practice, you complimented him. “you’re so dedicated, hongjoong. it’s inspiring to watch.”
hongjoong froze for a moment before chuckling softly, scratching the back of his neck. “it’s easy to work hard when the right person’s watching.” his words slipped out before he could stop them, and he quickly looked away, his cheeks burning red.
you laughed, your voice light and teasing. “who’s the lucky person?”
hongjoong’s lips quirked up into a smile, but he didn’t answer directly. instead, he picked up his notebook and pretended to jot something down. “maybe you’ll figure it out one day.”
seong ⊹ hwa
seonghwa’s crush on you is evident in the way he pays attention to the smallest details about you. while others might call him a perfectionist, with you, it wasn’t just about doing things well — it was about making sure everything he did for you was flawless.
whenever the group invited you over, seonghwa will quietly take charge of ensuring the space was comfortable for you. “the lighting’s too harsh,” he’d mutter, adjusting the lamps until they cast a warm glow. if he knows your favorite snacks, he’ll make sure they were prominently placed on the coffee table. “oh, these? i just picked them up randomly,” he’d lie, hiding how he’d gone out of his way to find them.
his crush also comes through in his protectiveness. if you were out together with the group, seonghwa is the one subtly checking to make sure you were warm enough or have a drink in hand. one rainy evening, you forgot your umbrella, and seonghwa immediately offered his. “i don’t mind getting wet,” he said, though you noticed how he pulled his jacket tighter around himself as he walked beside you.
during a late-night karaoke session, seonghwa’s feelings slipped through his usually calm demeanor. when it was his turn to sing, he chose a ballad — a soft, emotional song about unspoken love. his eyes flicked toward you as he sang, the raw emotion in his voice making your heart skip a beat.
afterward, you clapped enthusiastically. “that was beautiful, seonghwa. you put so much feeling into it.”
he smiled shyly, looking down at his lap. “it’s easier to feel a song when there’s someone… special in mind,” he admitted softly, his voice barely audible over the music.
yun ⊹ ho
yunho’s crush on you is impossible to miss, given his naturally outgoing and playful personality. he isn’t shy about spending time with you, often using humor and charm to mask how nervous he actually is around you.
he’ll find excuses to be near you during group hangouts. if you are sitting on the couch, yunho will plop down next to you, grinning as he stretched his long legs. “hope you don’t mind me stealing some of your personal space,” he’d tease, his tone light but his gaze lingering on you just a second too long.
yunho’s crush is also evident in his habit of subtly showing off around you. whether it is effortlessly spinning a basketball on his finger or nailing a complex dance move during practice, he’ll always glance your way afterward to see if you were impressed. when you compliment him, his grin will widen, and he’d laugh it off. “ah, it’s nothing. just a little something i’ve been practicing.”
one day, while the group was playing video games, yunho handed you the controller and coached you through the game. “here, press this button — no, not that one!” he laughed as your character stumbled on-screen. his hand covered yours briefly to guide you, and you couldn’t help but notice the slight flush on his cheeks.
later that evening, yunho found himself alone with you as the others stepped out. “i have fun when you’re around,” he said suddenly, his usual playful tone replaced with sincerity.
“me too,” you replied, smiling warmly at him.
for a moment, yunho considered confessing, but instead, he just grinned and nudged your shoulder. “good. then i’ll keep making sure you have fun.”
yeo ⊹ sang
yeosang’s crush on you isn’t as overt as some of the others — it is in the quiet moments, the subtle glances, and the small gestures that spoke volumes if you were paying attention. he isn’t the type to shout his feelings from the rooftops, but that doesn’t mean his emotions aren’t strong.
he always seems to notice the little things about you. if you mention being cold, yeosang will quietly drape his jacket over your shoulders without a word. when you compliment a particular drink once, he makes a mental note and starts bringing it to you whenever he has the chance. “i thought you might like this,” he’ll say casually, but his lips would twitch into a small, satisfied smile when you accept it with a grin.
yeosang’s crush would shine through during group activities. if you are participating in a game or challenge, he’ll subtly cheer you on, his quiet encouragement just for your ears. “you’ve got this,” he’d say, his tone calm but sincere, his eyes lighting up when you succeed.
one evening, while everyone was busy chatting, you caught yeosang watching you. when you met his gaze, he quickly looked away, his ears turning pink. later, he approached you with a hesitant smile. “you look really happy tonight,” he said softly.
you laughed lightly. “i am. it’s nice being here with everyone.”
yeosang’s expression softened. “it’s nice when you’re here, too,” he admitted, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t catch it. before you could respond, someone called his name, and he quickly excused himself, leaving you wondering if you’d heard him correctly.
san ⊹
san’s crush on you is impossible to miss — he wears his heart on his sleeve, and his feelings shine through in everything he does. he isn’t shy about being affectionate, always finding ways to be close to you, whether it is playfully slinging an arm around your shoulders or giving you a big, warm hug just because he can.
he was your biggest cheerleader, always hyping you up no matter what. “you’re amazing, you know that?” he’d say with a bright smile, his eyes sparkling with genuine admiration. if you ever doubted yourself, san was the first to reassure you. “you’ve got this. i believe in you more than anyone else.”
san’s crush also manifested in his protectiveness. if you were out together, he’d instinctively walk on the side closest to the street or make sure you were comfortable. one time, when someone made an offhand comment that upset you, san was quick to defend you, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a rare intensity. “hey, watch it,” he said firmly, his jaw tight as he stood by your side.
during a quiet moment at a group hangout, san handed you a small, handmade bracelet. “i made this for you,” he said, his cheeks tinged with pink.
“you made this?” you asked, surprised.
he nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, i thought it’d suit you.”
when you put it on and smiled at him, san’s grin stretched from ear to ear, his heart practically melting at how radiant you looked.
min ⊹ gi
mingi’s crush on you is both endearing and awkward — his feelings make him nervous, but he can’t help the way he lights up whenever you were around. he’ll stumble over his words sometimes, his usual confidence replaced with a shy energy that only seems to surface when he is with you.
“hey, uh… how’s it going?” he’d ask, his voice a little higher than usual. if you teased him about being nervous, mingi would laugh it off, scratching the back of his head. “me? nervous? nah, i’m just… uh, thinking about something.”
his crush shows in the way he always tries to make you laugh. whether it is cracking silly jokes, pulling exaggerated faces, or doing a random dance move, mingi loves seeing you smile. “there it is!” he’d say triumphantly whenever you laugh, his own laughter following shortly after.
one time, while the group was practicing, you walked into the room, and mingi immediately straightened up, putting extra energy into his moves. he’d steal glances at you between steps, his lips quirking up into a proud grin when he noticed you watching.
later, when everyone was taking a break, mingi handed you a water bottle. “you must be thirsty after watching us, huh?” he joked, though his cheeks flushed as you accepted it.
“thanks, mingi. you’re really thoughtful,” you said with a warm smile.
his eyes widened slightly, and he looked away, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “ah, it’s nothing. i just… i like making you happy.”
mingi’s honesty caught you off guard, but before you could respond, he jumped up, clapping his hands. “alright! back to practice!” he said, his voice a little too loud, clearly trying to cover up his embarrassment.
woo ⊹ young
wooyoung’s crush on you is impossible to miss — it radiates from him in the way he teases you, how his voice softens when he says your name, and the subtle yet intentional ways he finds to touch you. he is naturally flirty, but with you, his charm carries an extra layer of sincerity that he can’t hide no matter how hard he tries.
“are you blushing? don’t tell me you’re falling for me already,” he’ll tease, his signature grin lighting up his face. but the moment you tease him back, wooyoung’s confidence would falter just slightly. “i’m not blushing,” he’ll mutter, averting his gaze while his cheeks turn a telltale shade of pink.
wooyoung always finds ways to include you in the group’s activities, dragging you into dance challenges or asking for your opinion on his outfits. once, during a karaoke night, he deliberately picked a romantic ballad and sang it while making exaggerated gestures toward you, earning playful groans from the others. “what? i’m just serenading my biggest fan!” he’d joke, though the way his eyes linger on yours betrays his true feelings.
but beneath all the playfulness, wooyoung’s crush revealed itself in quieter, more thoughtful moments. when he noticed you were tired, he’d bring you snacks or offer you his jacket. “you take care of everyone else so much,” he said softly one evening, placing a warm drink in your hands. “let me take care of you for once.”
it was during one of these moments that his feelings slipped through more clearly. you had been talking about your day when wooyoung suddenly blurted out, “you’re seriously incredible, you know that?” he froze for a second, realizing what he’d said, and then quickly tried to cover it up with a laugh. “i mean, obviously — anyone with eyes can see it.”
though he tried to act nonchalant, the way he looked at you told a different story — one of someone utterly smitten and hopelessly drawn to you.
jong ⊹ ho
jongho’s crush on you is quieter but no less meaningful. he isn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but his actions always speaks louder than words. if he had a crush, it would show in the way he pays attention to you — remembering the little things you say, noticing when you are feeling off, and always being there to lend a hand.
“here,” he’d say, handing you your favorite drink before you even asked for it. when you looked at him in surprise, he’d shrug, a faint smile playing on his lips. “you mentioned it once. i thought you’d like it.”
jongho often finds himself stealing glances at you, his gaze softening whenever you aren’t looking. if you catch him, he’ll quickly look away, his ears turning red. “i wasn’t staring,” he’ll insist, his tone calm but the slight awkwardness in his voice betraying him.
when the group is together, jongho will naturally gravitate towards you, whether it is sitting next to you or offering to help you carry something. one time, during a group outing, you struggled to open a bottle, and jongho immediately stepped in. “give it here,” he said, easily twisting the cap off and handing it back to you.
“thanks, jongho,” you said, smiling up at him.
he nodded, his expression unreadable, though his ears were tinged pink. “it’s nothing. i just didn’t want you to hurt your hand.”
despite his reserved nature, jongho’s crush shines through in the rare moments he let his guard down. during a casual conversation, he suddenly said, “you’re different from anyone i’ve ever met.”
the comment caught you off guard. “different how?”
he hesitated for a moment before meeting your eyes, his gaze steady but gentle. “just… special. in a good way.” his words were simple, but the weight behind them made your heart flutter.
though he isn’t one for grand gestures, jongho’s quiet devotion and thoughtfulness makes it clear just how much he cares — without him ever having to say the words outright.
notes: i am so soft for them, it’s not a joke anymore
anon who request roommate to fwb ateez here! lol i would love it to be headcanons please. sorry for not being clear on my request.
hope you have a lovely day!
dw about it, i got you!! thank you sm for clarifying! hope this is okay :))) (i'm so sorry that sone of these are WAYYYYY longer than the others, i kinda had no ideas for some of them 😭)
roommates to fwb with ateez
pairing' ot8 x reader
genre' i have no idea??? fluffy and angsty at parts
warnings' obviously very very suggestive. no smut, but pls do not read if under 18, mentions of a bad breakup
a/n' i just wanted to say on this post before anyone requests it, i do not write actual smut, and this is probably the farthest i would go in terms of writing nsfw. not just bc i have a lot of mutuals who are minors, but bc im just not comfortable with doing that ❤️ (also, im so sorry that some of these are much longer than the others)
⚝hongjoong
you and hongjoong hadn't known each other for very long; you were looking for a roommate while in grad school, and one of your friends told you that his friend was also looking for a roommate
you were hesitant about moving in with a stranger- especially a man. but after you met him at a café before deciding to move in together, you decided that he seemed harmless enough.
given that you two had almost opposite schedules, you hardly ever saw each other, but on the occasions you did, it was mostly in the evening, when you both were too tired to really function.
you two mostly stayed out of each other's way, but on one occasion, when you were passing by each other while getting ready in the morning, and he suggested the idea of having dinner together at home since you were both free that night.
it was awkward at first, making dinner with hongjoong. even though you'd been roommates for a few months at that point, you really didn't know much about each other.
as soon as dinner was finished, you suggested that the two of you crack open a bottle of wine, which quickly turned into two, which turned into three.
the next morning, you woke up mortified in hongjoong's bed. you had definitely not intended to sleep with your roommate. with him still sleeping, you hastily grabbed your clothes and tiptoed back to your own room to get ready for your first class.
when you came back home that evening, he was lounging on the couch, scrolling through netflix. with the bottle of aspirin and large glass of water on the table in front of him, you could tell he was still recovering from the previous nights several bottles of wine.
when he saw you awkwardly standing in the doorway, he invited you over to sit down on the couch. you two watched a show you didn't recognize for maybe a half an hour.
you woke up in his bed again the next morning.
there wasn't much discussion about what you two had going on. you two still hardly saw each other, and it was mutually decided that this would be a strictly casual thing. with you going to school and working part time, and him being in the studio almost 24/7, it wasn't like there was much room for it to turn into a serious thing.
⚝seonghwa
you and seonghwa had been friends for years and years when you mentioned to him in passing that you were looking for a new roommate after your previous one had moved out. he immediately offered to move in, and you, slightly desperate and knowing that he would be a respectful roommate, agreed immediately.
it was comfortable living with seonghwa- he often made his own food and cleaned his own dishes, except for on Fridays when you had "roomie night" where you two made dinner and watched a movie together.
you and seonghwa had been friends for so long, and now that you two were roommates, you might have gotten a little bit too comfortable with each other. having only one bathroom, you two quickly had gotten comfortable using the bathroom while the other was in the shower.
at first it was just a joke that you had made in passing- the idea that you and seonghwa could shower together in the mornings to save time. but one morning when you were running late, you pounded on the bathroom door while seonghwa was in the shower. begging him to hurry up so you could take one.
instead, seonghwa told you to just hop in, and you being desperate to get to work on time, closed your eyes and agreed. nothing happened, seonghwa was respectful, keeping his eyes above your shoulders, and he even helped you wash your hair.
every now and again, whenever one of you was running late, you would just hop in the shower with the other, but of course it was just casual. as casual as showering together could be. it had started to become comfortable, even.
one night, while seonghwa was in the shower, and you had just gotten home from a ten hour work day. all your muscles were sore, your hair was greasy, and all you wanted was to take a hot shower. you heard the water running from the bathroom, and without much thought, you knocked on the door and asked seonghwa if you could hop in.
it was casual at first- as everything between you two was. you mentioned your sore muscles, and he offered to wash your back. one thing led to another, and before you knew it, he was in your bed with his arms around you.
the next morning, you two had a long discussion about it, and decided to keep it casual. both of you were focused on your careers, and didn't have much time to put into anything romantic.
⚝yunho
one thing i know for certain is that yunho would not be able to keep up being friends with benefits for long. he's too soft and romantic for that life. you two had been friends for a couple years, and decided to move in together after you graduated college and were looking for a job.
at first, he thought he could do it. you two had slept together the first time the night you had moved in together. you took shots in celebration, and got a little tipsy. you two had always gotten a little handsy with each other when you drank together.
the next morning, you told him that while you enjoyed yourself, you didn't want anything serious, but wouldn't be opposed to doing it again if you were both feeling it. he quietly agreed. although he was maybe a little heartbroken, he understood that you wanted to focus on your career before getting into anything serious.
with every time you two slept together, he fell a little bit more in love. he felt bad for not telling you, but he figured that you were both enjoying yourselves, so why ruin it?
one morning, he woke up before you, and while he gazed at you in your sleep, his arms still wrapped around you, he decided to tell you that he couldn't do it anymore.
he told you that night when you had come home from work, and to his surprise, you told him the same.
yay, you're in love!
⚝yeosang
yeosang had moved into your apartment after you had broken up with your boyfriend. you had been together for four years, and after he moved out, you needed someone else to help split the rent.
you and yeosang hadn't known each other for a very long time, but you were comfortable enough with each other.
you mostly stayed out of each other's way, but still hung out from time to time.
one night, you and yeosang were hanging out in your room while you were lamenting about your breakup and how long it's been since you were intimate with anyone, and before you knew it, you were on top of yeosang with his hands gripping your thighs
it was a mutual decision to keep it a friends with benefits type relationship, neither of you were really emotionally available for a real relationship at the time.
⚝san
the single most respectful man in the world.
when you two first moved in together, bro was so scared that he would accidentally walk in on you nakey or smth. he would knock on literally every door he entered, even if there would be no reason for him to??? like, why are you knocking on the pantry door???
you actually thought he was a little weird for it at first, but after time you started finding it cute
like, really cute.
like, "ooh i want him so bad" type cute
one day you were doing your skincare in your shared bathroom with the door cracked open, and san, as he always did, knocked before entering, startling you and causing you to accidentally rub your face wash in your eye (this actually happened to me istg i can still feel it stinging)
when he came in you were just like, "bro idec if you see me naked atp, just stop knocking on every damn door"
he did relax and stop knocking incessantly after that. which was all well and good until HE DID walk in on you changing
you didn't really care tbh, you took it as an opportunity to be like, "alright, tension's too high. let's smash 🙏"
after that, he was much more comfortable just walking in 🤞
⚝mingi
you and mingi had actually been fwb at one point before you moved in together, but he decided it was too messy and a little weird for the rest of your friend group
but after he moved in with you after your old roommate got married, you two just kinda fell back into it
istg, mingi is a lot more romantic than yall think he is 😞🤞 he acts all freaky, but he's a loverboy at heart
one day about three months into you two living together, you guys got a little drunk and while you were making out on the couch, he was like "i love you :3"
which left you like 🤨⁉️ like, huhhh????
when you brought it up to him the next day, he tried to pretend like he didn't remember saying anything like that, but you can see right through that silly boy ☝️
after a bit of picking at it, he finally told you that the reason he broke off your old situation was bc he was falling in love with you. omg 😞❤️
obviously you love him too, bc who wouldn't?
⚝wooyoung
you and wooyoung didn't know each other at all before he moved in. one day, your old roommate moved out, and he was just kinda there??? apparently, your old roommate had made the arrangement for him to be the replacement without you knowing
you didn't mind, really. wooyoung seemed harmless enough. maybe a little weird?
you didn't see him much at the start, he was pretty much always working. you work from home, so you were always there when he was- but when he was home, he kind of just immediately went to bed.
one morning, you walked into the kitchen while he was making breakfast, and he was just like, "hi :]" and gave you a plate of eggs and toast.
he didn't have work that day, so you two kinda just like, hung out??? you didn't have much work to do, so when you were done, you came back out to the main room and he was just watching tv, so you sat down next to him
the tension was PALPABLE, he was wearing a black tank top and sweatpants and you were STARING
he kinda just turned to you and was like, "i'm hot, you're hot, let's smash."
you were taken aback, but like, he's so right.
yes, he's freaky
⚝jongho
honestly, you and jongho were roommates for a few years before your fwb thing started
you had a boyfriend for a while, and then even after you broke up, it was probably about six months before you and jongho slept together for the first time
your breakup with your boyfriend was messy. your relationship had been deteriorating for a long time, but neither of you wanted to admit it. so one night, he kind of just exploded at you and left and didn't come back. until about half a year later
he showed up to yours and jongho's apartment unannounced and said he wanted his stuff back. once you said that you threw it all out months ago, he started screaming and yelling at you, and jongho had to physically drag him out
when jongho came back in, he was heaving and sweating, and looked reeeeally good. and when you two made eye contact, it was all over. you kinda just like, pounced on each other.
you decided to sleep with jongho mainly bc you knew it would've pissed your ex off so bad if he knew. he always hated the fact that your roommate was a guy. you did like jongho a lot, you'd been friends and roommates for years, you just never realized how attractive he was until he kicked that dickhead to the curb
after that, you two rarely slept together tbh. it only ever really happened when one or both of you had a shitty day and needed to take your frustration out on something.
(this is one of the cases where you two would most definitely end up dating)
ateez with a clingy and affectionate drunk partner
⇀ genre fluff
⇀ style reactions/headcanons
⇀ warnings reader is drunk, lots of physical affection (kisses, hugs, lap sitting, cuddling, etc)
note requested by @nnnarchives
seonghwa
no matter how many times you’ll get like this around him, he always seems surprised and will ask if you’re okay
cooing over you and babying you so much it makes everyone around you both sick
makes sure you’re drinking water or eating by bribing you with kisses and just smiles so adoringly when you announce that you finished the whole glass of water and are ready for your reward
eventually he catches you starting to doze off on his shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around his bicep as he chats softly with the person across from you both
he excuses himself quickly to usher you both home, where he’ll give you all the cuddles you could ever want
hongjoong
his reaction would be very situational
if you’re around other people, he will be so shy and probably ask if you want to leave because its just hard for him to handle you and control his darkening blush at the same time
if you’re alone he is soaking up all of the attention, absolutely ready to do anything you want and continually reminding you how pretty/beautiful/cute/sexy you are
if he’s also drunk then he just melts into the attention, encouraging you by asking for head scratches, laying in your lap, or falling asleep on your shoulder
any which way, he’s a blushing mess by the time you start dozing off, ready to call it a night
yeosang
he’s so blushy and giggly which of course only makes you cling tighter
giving you so many head pats while you hang off his arm but sort of doesn’t know what to do with himself
probably asks if you want to leave the function early because he wants to just pull you into his arms and cuddle you back but doesn’t feel like he can when you’re outside the bubble of your apartment
he’s going to be a little stiff but i promise he loves it, he just doesn’t know if you want him to be affectionate back unless you clearly tell him
yunho
literally so in love with you
he would find your drunk behavior so adorable and actively encourage you to sit in his lap or wrap your arms around his waist
you don’t even have to ask for kisses, he’s already peppering them all over your face
will just hold your face in his hands and stare at you so lovestruck as you pout, wanting more kisses
san
he’s the type to be oblivious to any increase in physical affection without verbal confirmation or acknowledgment from you, it’s not that he doesn’t appreciate it he just feels it to be so natural to who he is as a partner
when he does notice your drunken behavior, he’s immediately melting and pulling you into his arms, basically smothering you
this is when you get giggly san to make an appearance
if you’re in public, it immediately feels like you’re in your own bubble, just the two of you, as he matches all your affection with some of his own, the world around you melting away
if you’re at home, it might turn into something very domestic like sharing a dance in the middle of the kitchen or rambling about what the future has in store for you while wrapped in each others arms
mingi
he is literally so happy, his cheeks will hurt from smiling by the end of the night
he’s always worried about making you uncomfortable with initiating physical contact so for you to be the one initiating and doing so often, he is just ecstatic
if you get distracted or wonder away for a moment, he will subtly try to get your attention back and pretend that he’s surprised when you go back to clinging onto him
if you catch on to how much he’s liking the affection his ears will be red immediately as he drops his head into the crook of your neck to hide from your gaze, only giving you better access to pepper kisses against his cheek
wooyoung
he always matches your energy
so sorry to anyone in the general vicinity but you’ve just become the couple that will not separate from each other
will lean into you and tap his cheek as an invitation to give him a kiss
if you aren’t sitting on his lap, he’s sitting on yours
he enjoys enabling your behavior when you get like this but will also lightly tease, because the only thing he loves more than you clingy is you pouting at him, demanding more kisses as repayment
jongho
he’s definitely going to take the opportunity to tease you
he knows what you want but he’s going to pretend he has no clue and make you clearly say that you want to kiss him or even just hold his hand
don’t let his fake obliviousness fool you of course, he’s absolutely enamored by you and your affection, he just has a reputation to uphold, especially around his members
so he’s going to pretend like your kisses and hugs are annoyances, distractions from the conversation he’s trying to have with someone, but really he’s melting on the inside
but don’t worry, he’ll be sure to return your love once you’re out of the public eye
↼ ateez masterlist
note i had fun writing this, thank you for the request!
author's note : : these are just my headcanons! they may differ from yours, so don't take them srsly <3
KIM HONG JOONG : : acts of service & words of affirmation
Buys you random little gifts, but they're always oddly specific. "I saw this tiny screwdriver and thought of you." Why? Who knows. But it's cute.
Writes you long, heartfelt messages at 3 AM. Half of them are deep, meaningful confessions, the other half are just him ranting about a new song he’s working on.
Fixes things around your place without you asking. One day, your lamp was flickering, the next day, it’s perfectly fine. You never saw him do it. He just… did.
Will absolutely hype you up over the smallest things. "You made toast?? honey, that’s incredible. You’re amazing. A genius."
If you say you’re stressed, suddenly there’s food, a blanket, and maybe even a PowerPoint presentation on why you should relax.
When he’s busy, he’ll send you voice memos instead of texts. Half the time, they’re just sleepy “I miss you” whispers. The other half, they’re chaotic and full of background noise because the members won’t stop yelling.
Steals your hoodies, not because he needs them, but because they “smell like you.” Refuses to give them back.
If he writes you a song, don’t expect a chill reaction when he plays it for you. You must listen intensely. You must tell him it’s amazing. He will be staring at you the whole time to catch your reaction.
Will drop the most romantic, poetic compliments out of nowhere. Then five minutes later: “You walk kinda funny. It’s cute.”
Tries to act like a cool, composed boyfriend but will malfunction if you kiss his forehead or hold his face. Expect a flustered, giggling mess.
PARK SEONG HWA : : acts of service & physical touch
Always fixing your hair or adjusting your clothes like a mom. “Hold still.” tucks a strand behind your ear, smooths out your shirt, fixes your entire life while he's at it.
If you’re tired, you will have a blanket on you within seconds. Where did it come from? How did he get it so fast? No one knows.
Randomly builds you tiny LEGO creations and presents them like they’re priceless artifacts. “This… is a cat. For you.” You must act impressed. It is important.
If you’re sad, he won’t ask what’s wrong right away. Instead, he’ll silently bring you snacks, fix your hair, and maybe start building a LEGO set next to you. A subtle "I’m here" in brick form.
Has a sixth sense for when you need comfort. Doesn’t ask, just pulls you into his arms and gently pats your back like a supportive grandma mother.
If you’re feeling down, suddenly your favorite snacks, a warm drink, and a soft, reassuring hand on your shoulder appear. Magic? No. Just Seonghwa.
Will randomly grab your hand and play with your fingers while talking, like it’s second nature.
You get sick? Oh, he’s going full caretaker mode. You are not lifting a finger. You are not allowed to argue. You are going to rest, and he will spoon-feed you if necessary.
If you fall asleep near him, he will sit there and just quietly admire you like a soft, lovestruck fool. Might brush his fingers through your hair. Might smile to himself. Might just stare like a cute little weirdo.
If he ever scolds you, it lasts 10 seconds before he’s hugging you again. “I’m serious, you need to take care of yourself.” pulls you into his chest “But I love you so much.”
JEONG YUN HO : : physical touch & quality time
Will randomly tackle-hug you out of nowhere. You could be peacefully drinking water, and boom—hug ambush. You just have to accept your fate.
Loves holding your hand but never just normally. It’s always swinging, squeezing, or playing some random hand game he just made up on the spot.
If you’re walking together, expect random piggyback rides. You don’t even have to ask. One second you’re on the ground, the next you’re on Yunho’s back, and he’s acting like it was your idea.
Will not let you sit far away from him. Couch? You’re cuddling. Bed? Also cuddling. Park bench? Yep, still cuddling.
Video game nights are serious business. He’s either lovingly teaching you how to play or completely destroying you while giggling. No in-between. If you somehow beat him? He will demand a rematch… and then probably hug you out of pride.
If you’re sad, he’s not even gonna ask what’s wrong—he’s just scooping you up into the biggest, warmest bear hug until you feel better.
Will happily let you rest your head on his lap, but be warned: He will play with your hair the entire time. Might even braid it.
If he’s really happy to see you, he does this little excited bounce before pulling you into the tightest hug, like a human golden retriever.
Plans the most fun, chaotic dates. Bowling, arcade nights, trying weird food together—he just wants to make memories with you.
Loves when you lay on his chest because, and I quote, "I like when you can hear my heartbeat." Absolute softie.
KANG YEO SANG : : quality time & words of affirmation
Will not say “I love you” a million times, but when he does? Oh, you feel it. Soft voice, deep eye contact, maybe even a little forehead touch.
Quality time with him is just existing together. No pressure, no big plans. Just sitting next to each other, watching something, sharing snacks.
Will randomly hit you with the most sarcastic, dry joke ever. You’ll be laughing, and he’s just sitting there, straight-faced. "Glad you find me funny." Sir, please.
Zones out mid-conversation. Not because he’s bored—his brain just buffers sometimes. You’ll say something, and he’ll just stare at you for five seconds before snapping back like, "Huh? No, I heard you. Keep going."
Subtly hypes you up. "You look good today." "I knew you’d do well." Just drops these little compliments so casually, but they always hit so hard.
If you ever doubt yourself, suddenly he’s your personal motivational speaker. “You’re smart. You’re capable. You’ve got this.” And the way he says it? You believe him.
Will sit through anything you like just to spend time with you. You wanna rewatch your comfort show for the 10th time? Cool. He’s there, probably holding your hand, occasionally making fun of the plot.
If he really loves you, he’ll let you win at games… once. Just once. After that? No mercy.
Not the biggest on PDA, but if you grab his hand first? Oh. Oh, he likes that. Might even squeeze it a little tighter.
If he ever teases you, congrats—he loves you. If he really loves you, he’ll tease you, then immediately follow it up with a soft “I’m just kidding” and a little smile.
CHOI SAN : : physical touch & words of affirmation
Hugging you is basically his full-time job. Standing? Hug. Sitting? Hug. Breathing? Hug. You are simply never escaping.
Whispers the sweetest things when he hugs you. “I missed you.” “You’re so cute.” “You feel like home.” Sir, please. Have mercy.
Will hold your face when he talks to you, like you’re the main character in a drama. It’s unnecessarily romantic. You might will pass out.
Always touching you somehow. Hand on your knee, arm around your shoulder, playing with your fingers—just constant soft contact.
If you’re ever sad? He will not stand for this. Immediate forehead press, deep eye contact, and the most heartfelt pep talk of your life.
Dramatically runs to you when he sees you after a long day. Might pick you up. Might spin you around. Might make an entire scene.
Loves holding hands, but only if he can swing them dramatically or squeeze them when he’s excited.
If he compliments you, it’s never basic. “You’re not just beautiful, you’re breathtaking.” Sir, we are in a grocery store.
Will flirt with you like he’s in a K-drama. The teasing smirk, the soft voice, the intense stare—it’s a lot to handle.
If he’s tired, you are now his personal pillow. He will lay on you, snuggle into you, and refuse to move. You have no choice but to accept your fate.
SONG MIN GI : : words of affirmation & quality time
Tells you he loves you at least 10 times a day. In the morning? “I love you.” Randomly while eating? “I love you.” Right before he falls asleep? Mumbled “love you” with his face smushed into the pillow.
Sends the longest, softest texts ever. You say “I miss you,” and suddenly, you’re getting a whole essay about how much you mean to him.
Quality time = just being near you. You don’t even have to talk. He just likes existing in the same space, vibing, maybe playing on his phone while you do your thing.
Will gas you up for literally anything. “WOW. You made pasta?? That’s crazy. A chef. A legend.” Sir, it’s instant ramen.
Hypes you up even when he’s half asleep. You could be telling him about your day while he’s dozing off, and he’ll still mumble, “That’s so cool, honey… you’re amazing…” before passing out.
If he’s excited, you’ll know. He cannot contain his feelings. Full body reactions, giant smiles, maybe even some hand flailing. He’s just so happy to be with you.
Tells you random deep thoughts out of nowhere. You’re chilling, and suddenly he’s like, “You know, you’re my favorite person.” No lead-up. Just pure feelings.
If he misses you, he is NOT subtle. Calls you, texts you, maybe even sends you a video of him pouting. “When are you coming back? I’m suffering.”
Loves when you sit next to him. Doesn’t matter if you’re watching a movie, eating, or doing nothing.
If you ever doubt yourself, oh boy. Immediate Mingi TED Talk. “What? No. You’re amazing. The best. I don’t accept this negativity.”
JUNG WOO YOUNG : : physical touch & acts of service
Touchy? Understatement. This man is attached to you at all times. Hugging, leaning, holding your face—your personal human koala.
Loves annoying you affectionately. Pokes your cheek, ruffles your hair, steals your food—then grins like a gremlin when you glare at him.
Acts like he’s your personal butler. "Sit down, I got it." Next thing you know, he’s cooking for you, fetching your blanket, and making sure you drink water.
Cooks for you just to show off. "Try this. Isn’t it the best thing you’ve ever eaten? Tell me I’m amazing." Yes, chef.
Lowkey competitive with acts of service. If you do something sweet for him, he must outdo you. You got him coffee? Now he’s making you a whole meal.
Back hugs. Constantly. Cooking? Back hug. Brushing your teeth? Back hug. Breathing? You guessed it—back hug.
Lays across your lap like a spoiled cat. Just flops down dramatically, waiting for head pats.
If he sees you struggling with something, he’s already fixing it. “No, no, don’t worry, I got it.” And boom—it’s done.
Randomly grabs your hand and swings it like a kid. No reason. Just happy.
Will absolutely tease you, but the moment someone else does? “Hey. That’s MY person. Be nice.” Protective but in a playful way.
CHOI JONG HO : : acts of service & words of affirmation
Quietly does things for you without making a big deal about it. Your phone was dying? Now it’s charging. You left your jacket on the chair? Now it’s folded. You didn’t even see him do it.
Tells you to take care of yourself, then does it for you anyway. “You should eat.” Five minutes later, he’s handing you food.
Lifts heavy things for you without saying a word. Even if you’re totally capable, he’s already carrying it. Just let him have this.
If you’re feeling down, expect the most comforting words of all time. No fluff, no exaggeration—just pure, genuine belief in you.
Roasts you lightly but follows it up with the softest compliment. “You’re kind of a disaster.” pause “But you’re my disaster.”
Pays attention to the little things. If you offhandedly mention liking a snack, guess what? It’s now stocked in your kitchen.
Doesn’t initiate PDA a lot, but if you hug him first? He melts. Might even squeeze you tighter and mumble, “You smell nice.”
Refuses to let you struggle. Can’t open a jar? Handled. Need help carrying bags? Already done. Minor inconvenience? Not on his watch.
Casually drops the deepest compliments ever. “I think you make people feel safe.” Sir, what am I supposed to do with that?
Acts like he doesn’t care when you baby him, but secretly loves it. You ruffle his hair? He rolls his eyes but doesn’t move away. You call him cute? Cue the ear blush.
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