I have a small announcement to make. Thanks to you, my inbox has been exploding lately, and I’ve noticed that most of the requests are for P1Harmony!
I absolutely love that, and I’ve decided to create a blog dedicated entirely to P1Harmony fanfiction.
You can find my blog here, including the masterlist, and I’d like to ask you to please send all requests for the P1Harmony boys to that blog from now on. I love you all and I’m so excited to keep writing for you 💌
warnings: NSFW, 🔞, workplace romance, SMUT, explicit content, jealousy, angst, power dynamics, friends with benefits trope
synopsis: After a grueling fourteen-hour shift at the HYBE building, a spilled container of gochujang and a sleepless, adrenaline-fueled argument are all it takes for the strict professional boundaries between you and Seventeen's leader to completely shatter.
word count: +10k
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This story is for my good friend @jcherrybloom who has a liiiitle thing for our leader, i hope you enjoy!!!!!!!
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The low, rhythmic hum of the studio’s air conditioning felt like it was drilling a hole straight through your skull. It was 1:15 AM. Your feet ached inside your sneakers, a dull throb that radiated up your calves, and your eyelids felt like they were lined with sandpaper. It had been a fourteen-hour workday at the HYBE building, and the final item on your grueling agenda was supervising S.Coups’ late-night Instagram Live.
Seungcheol sat in the ergonomic chair across from you, the harsh LED ring light reflecting in his dark, heavy eyes. He looked just as exhausted as you felt. His broad shoulders were slightly slumped, the usual high-energy idol persona tucked away under a plain black hoodie. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife; both of you had reached that volatile level of fatigue where even a heavy breath felt like a provocation.
"We go live in three, two..." You clicked the screen, giving him a curt nod as the red 'LIVE' badge flashed in the corner.
The transformation was instantaneous. Seungcheol straightened his spine, a warm, effortless smile breaking across his face as the viewer count skyrocketed into the tens of thousands within seconds.
"Hi, Carats," he greeted, his voice dropping into that smooth, comforting register he reserved for the fans. "Did you eat? I'm about to have a late dinner."
You quietly stepped out of the camera's frame, your face set in a tight, moody frown. Moving like a ghost around the studio, you set down the plastic containers of delivery food you’d prepped for him—a spread of jokbal and a side of spicy tteokbokki dripping in dark red gochujang sauce. You made sure the chopsticks were placed perfectly within his reach, your movements robotic and devoid of your usual warmth. You were just too tired to fake it.
For the next forty-five minutes, you stood in the shadows, leaning your shoulder against the soundproof wall. You watched him work. It was admirable, really, how professional he was. Despite the dark circles under his eyes and the tension you knew was knotting up his neck, he answered questions with boundless patience, laughed at fans' jokes, and ate the food with a practiced, camera-ready appetite. He was the perfect leader, the perfect idol.
But you? You were just a spent staff member ready to crawl into a hole and sleep for a week.
"Goodbye, Carats. Sleep well," Seungcheol murmured, waving at the screen before cutting the broadcast.
The second the connection severed, the idol persona vanished. Seungcheol let out a long, ragged, deep sigh that seemed to rattle his entire frame. He threw his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes, and brought both hands up to rub his face roughly. The exhaustion radiating off him was palpable.
You didn't say a word. Wanting nothing more than to clock out and flee the building, you immediately stepped forward to clean up. You grabbed the empty plastic containers, stacking them hastily.
"I'll take care of that," Seungcheol murmured, his voice thick and raspy from talking. He didn't open his eyes, but his hand shot out, his fingers brushing against your wrist to stop you. His grip was warm, a stark contrast to the chilly air of the room.
"It's fine," you said, your voice clipping the edges of the words. You pulled your wrist out of his touch, perhaps a bit too sharply. "I've got it."
Before he could protest further, you scooped up the stacked plastic and hurried out of the main studio room, heading down the short, narrow hallway toward the small kitchenette to toss the trash. You dumped the plastic into the bin with a loud, satisfying clack, leaned against the counter for exactly five seconds to breathe in the dark, and then turned around to head back.
You rounded the tight corner of the studio entryway at a brisk pace, entirely unprepared for the solid wall of chest that was suddenly right in front of you.
Smack.
You collided hard with Seungcheol.
A split second later, you felt something wet, thick, and warm splash violently across the front of your cream-colored sweatshirt. You gasped, stumbling back a step. You looked down. A massive, jagged streak of bright red gochujang sauce—the leftovers Seungcheol had apparently tried to clean up anyway—was smeared right across your chest, dripping down the fabric.
A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the hallway.
You slowly lifted your gaze, your eyes burning with a mix of shock and pure, unadulterated annoyance. Seungcheol was staring down at his own hands, which were holding the remaining lid of the container, a look of wide-eyed panic on his face.
"Wow," you breathed out, your voice dripping with heavy, venomous sarcasm. "Thank you so much, Seungcheol. That’s amazing."
Seungcheol’s head snapped up. The panic in his eyes instantly hardened into defensive frustration. He cursed under his breath, a low Korean expletive rolling off his tongue. "I was just trying to help," he pointed out, his voice rising, matching your hostile energy.
You let out a harsh, bitter groan, grabbing the stained fabric and pulling it away from your skin. "I literally just told you that I had it! What part of 'I've got it' didn't you understand?"
"Hey, I didn't see you coming around the corner!" he fired back, taking a step toward you. The sheer size of him usually felt comforting, but right now, with his chest heaving under his hoodie, it felt intimidating. He let out a sarcastic, mocking chuckle. "And I'm sorry for trying to be nice and not leaving every single piece of garbage for you to clean up."
"It's my job!" you snapped, your voice echoing off the narrow walls. Your heart was pounding, the fatigue turning into pure adrenaline. "I get paid to do this. So it would be really, really nice if you could just step back and let me do my fucking job!"
Seungcheol rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. He threw his hands up in the air. "Oh, give me a break! You think you're the only one who's tired? I have a job too, you know! And it's pretty fucking exhausting and draining. I would really appreciate it if you wouldn't bitch at me just because I wanted to do a nice thing!"
The word bitch ignited something volatile inside you. The weeks of overtime, the lack of sleep, the mounting pressure—it all converged into a single, white-hot point of rage.
"Just because you're an idol doesn't mean your stress is more important than anyone else's!" you hissed, stepping right into his personal space, tilting your head up to glare directly into his dark eyes. "You think the rest of us don't have breaking points? You think we don't get tired? You're not the only one suffering here!"
"I never said that!" he roared, his face flushing a deep crimson. "You're twisting my words because you're in a bad mood!"
"Because you ruined my clothes and you won't just listen!"
"You're acting like a spoiled little brat!"
"Oh, fuck you!" the words tore from your throat before your brain could filter them.
The universe seemed to grind to a sudden, terrifying halt.
The words echoed in the small hallway, vibrating with a raw, dangerous disrespect that a staff member should never direct at a senior artist.
Seungcheol froze entirely. The shouting stopped. His jaw went completely slack, his chest heaving as he stared down at you with an expression of absolute, stunned shock. For three agonizing seconds, neither of you breathed.
You pressed your lips together in a tight, hard line, the sudden realization of what you had just said crashing over you like a wave of ice water. Your stomach dropped. You had crossed a line. A massive one.
Seungcheol’s shocked expression slowly began to morph, his eyes narrowing as he took a slow, deliberate step closer, backing you up against the studio wall.
"What the fuck did you just say to me?"
He threw open the heavy door to the small, private staff bathroom at the end of the hall, pulling you inside with him. The door clicked shut, the lock turning with a sharp, definitive snap that seemed to seal the two of you away from the rest of the world.
The moment the lock engaged, Seungcheol turned on you.
There was no hesitation, no gentle transition from the screaming match to what came next. He lunged forward, crowding you against the cold tile wall, and slammed his mouth against yours.
It was a sloppy, bruising, completely aggressive collision of lips and teeth. A desperate gasp escaped you, which he immediately caught, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth with a fierce, possessive dominance that made your knees turn to water. It was the physical manifestation of every bit of frustration, resentment, and exhausting pressure that had been building up inside both of you all day. You weren't gentle, and neither was he.
You let out a muffled groan against his lips, your hands flying up to the hem of his heavy black hoodie. Your fingers clutched the fabric roughly, tugging at it, trying to get it out of the way because the heat radiating off his body was suddenly suffocating. You pulled the fabric up, your nails scraping against the firm, warm skin of his abdomen.
Seungcheol growled into the kiss, a low, guttural sound that vibrated directly into your chest. Impatient with your clumsy tugging, he broke the kiss just long enough to grip the fabric himself. With one violent, sweeping motion, he ripped the hoodie over his head and tossed it aside. It hit the floor somewhere near the stalls, forgotten instantly.
Now, his bare chest was pressed flat against you, his skin slick with a fine layer of sweat, his heart hammering like a trapped bird against his ribs. The sheer size of him, the broad span of his shoulders and the thick muscle of his arms, felt completely overwhelming in the cramped bathroom.
He didn't give you a second to breathe before his hands found the bottom of your cream-colored sweatshirt—the one still stained with the dark red gochujang sauce that had started this entire explosion. His large palms scraped up your sides, hauling the fabric up. You lifted your arms over your head, helping him rip the ruined garment off, and he discarded it just as carelessly as his own.
You were left standing in just your bra, the cool air of the bathroom hitting your skin for a split second before Seungcheol gripped your waist and lifted you completely off your feet.
You let out a sharp cry of surprise as he hoisted you upward, setting you down roughly onto the edge of the marble sink counter. The stone was freezing against the back of your thighs, a stark, shocking contrast to the burning heat of his body as he immediately stepped into the space between your legs, pinning you there.
He leaned over you, his hands gripping the edge of the counter on either side of your hips, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He bit down—not a gentle nip, but a hard, demanding mark right over your pulse point that had you arching your back, your fingers tangling desperately into his short, dark hair.
"You think you can just talk to me like that?" he muttered roughly against your skin, his breath hot and ragged. He bit down again, a little harder, before licking over the sensitive spot, making you shiver violently. "You think you're the only one losing your mind?"
"Shut up," you gasped out, your voice trembling but still laced with a stubborn edge of defiance. You pulled his head back up by his hair, forcing him to look at you. His eyes were completely dark, the pupils dilated so wide there was barely any brown left. "Just... shut up and fuck me."
A dark, breathless smirk flashed across his lips before he crashed back down onto you. The kiss was even more frantic this time, a chaotic mess of tongues and heavy breathing. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him as close as physically possible, your bare chests friction-locked against each other.
His hands left the counter, moving down to the button of your jeans. He unbuckled them with rough, impatient movements, tugging at the zipper until it gave way. He shoved the denim down your legs, and you kicked your sneakers off, letting the heavy pants pool around your ankles on the floor.
Without breaking the kiss, your own hands found the waistband of his sweatpants, pushing them down his hips along with his boxers. He stepped out of them blindly, kicking them away, his body completely bare now, hard and rigid and pressing directly against your inner thigh.
He broke the kiss, both of you panting heavily, the air in the small bathroom thick, humid, and heavy with the scent of sex and raw emotion. He looked down at you, his chest heaving, his gaze sweeping over your bare body with a fierce, predatory hunger.
"Cheol," you whispered, the anger completely draining out of you, leaving behind a desperate, aching need that was driving you crazy.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he brought his right hand up to his mouth. With a sharp, deliberate movement, he spit into his own palm, his eyes never leaving yours as he used the moisture to quickly lube himself, his fingers slicking over his length in a few agonizingly slow, heavy strokes. The visual was so intensely raw, so completely devoid of the polished idol persona the world knew, that a quiet whimper escaped your throat.
He gripped your thighs, pulling you right to the very edge of the marble sink. He positioned himself at your entrance, the blunt, burning tip of him pressing against your damp center.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice dropping into that gravelly, authoritative register that made your core throb.
You opened your eyes, locking your gaze with his.
Then, Seungcheol gripped your hips tightly and drove himself inside you in one deep, unyielding thrust.
A loud, broken gasp tore from your throat, your fingers clawing at his bare shoulders as he filled you completely. The sudden fullness was staggering, stretching you to your absolute limit, a deep, primal ache settling into your lower abdomen. He froze for a fraction of a second, his muscles trembling, a low, pained groan escaping his lips as your tight walls clamped down around him.
"Ah, fuck," he cursed, his voice completely wrecked. "You're so tight."
Before you could even adjust to the stretch, he began to move. He didn't ease into it. He started with a relentless, aggressive pace, his hips slamming against yours with a bruising force. Every thrust was deep, hard, and unyielding, the solid weight of his body driving you back against the large mirror behind the sink.
Thud. Thud.
The sound of your bodies colliding rhythmically filled the quiet bathroom, drowned out only by the frantic sound of your breathing. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder as he hammered into you. It was rough, almost angry, but it was exactly what you needed—a physical release for all the stress, the exhaustion, and the suffocating boundaries of your daily lives.
"Cheol—ah! Cheol, please," you cried out, your voice echoing off the tile walls.
He growled, lifting your legs higher onto his shoulders to give himself a deeper angle. He thrust into you with a newfound ferocity, each strike hitting your sweet spot with a punishing accuracy that had your head spinning. His hands left your hips, one moving up to cup your jaw, forcing your head back so he could kiss you again—a deep, messy, breathless kiss that tasted like sweat and desperation.
The pleasure was building too fast, white-hot and blinding, coiling tightly in your gut. You could feel the friction of him sliding inside you, the intense heat of his skin, the brute force of his movements driving you closer and closer to the edge.
"Hold on to me," he gasped against your lips, his pace turning frantic, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, and faster as he felt you tightening around him. "Hold on."
You dug your nails into his back, leaving red marks on his skin as a sudden, violent wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your vision blurred, and a loud, undone wail tore from your throat as your orgasm rippled through your entire body, your inner walls pulsing in tight, desperate waves around his length.
Hearing you break, seeing the complete surrender on your face, was the final straw for him. Seungcheol let out a loud, guttural roar, giving three more deep, frantic, bruising thrusts before he completely buried himself inside you. His entire body went rigid, the muscles in his back locking up as he came, spending himself deep within you with a heavy, shuddering sigh.
The silence returned to the bathroom, broken only by the sound of your loud, synchronized, ragged breathing.
You pulled your stained, gochujang-streaked sweatshirt back over your head with a quiet grunt, the cold fabric sticking uncomfortably to your skin. Every muscle in your body felt loose, heavy, and completely drained of the frantic energy that had fueled the last half hour. Across from you, Seungcheol was leaning against the sink, hooking his arms through the sleeves of his black hoodie and pulling it down over his broad chest.
The silence between you wasn't angry anymore, but it was thick with a new, sober reality. The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind the stark, unvarnished truth of what had just happened.
You zipped up your jeans, the metallic click sounding incredibly loud in the small space. Clearing your throat, you forced your voice to remain steady, businesslike, and entirely devoid of the emotion that had just wrecked you.
"We cannot tell a single soul about this," you stated firmly, looking up to meet his eyes through the mirror.
Seungcheol paused, adjusting the hem of his hoodie. He met your gaze in the reflection, his expression serious, the soft afterglow entirely replaced by his usual guarded composure. "I am well aware of that," he reminded you, his voice low and even.
"I'm serious, Seungcheol," you pointed out, turning around to face him fully, gripping the edge of the marble counter. "This could ruin everything. Your career, my job—all of it. It would be completely over."
He nodded slowly, a solemn look crossing his face as the weight of your words settled in. "I know. I won't tell a living soul. You have my word."
You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding and nodded in agreement. Wanting to put as much distance between yourself and the intimacy of the moment as possible, you gave a small, casual shrug. "Good. Because... this was just some stress relief anyway. Nothing more."
Seungcheol watched you for a beat, his dark eyes unreadable, before he gave a firm nod of concurrence. "Yeah," he added, a faint, wry smile touching the corner of his lips. "It was just a moment of absolute loss of control."
"Exactly," you agreed quickly, nodding again. "A one-time thing."
"It won't happen again," he affirmed.
"It won't."
The morning sun felt entirely too bright, filtering through the massive glass panes of the HYBE building and casting a relentless glare over everything. You had slept for barely four hours, your body aching in places you hadn't anticipated, a constant, physical reminder of what had transpired in the locked staff bathroom at two in the morning.
You had deliberately chosen a high-collared, oversized dark sweater today, despite the warm summer air outside. It was a tactical choice. The mirror in your apartment had revealed a faint, blossoming purple mark right at the juncture of your neck and shoulder—a bruise left by Seungcheol’s teeth in a moment of absolute, unbridled desperation. Just looking at it in the morning had sent a violent shiver down your spine, a cold jolt of adrenaline that had chased away the last remnants of your sleep.
Now, walking down the bustling corridors of the office floor with a cardboard cup of black coffee clamped in your hand, you felt like you were walking a tightrope. Every corner you rounded made your chest tighten. Every time the elevator doors slid open, your heart did a frantic, painful flutter against your ribs.
And then, it happened.
You were walking past the main choreography rooms when a door opened. A group of staff members spilled out, followed by a few members of Seventeen. Among them was Seungcheol. He was dressed in casual athletic wear—gray sweatpants and a loose t-shirt—his damp hair pushing back from his forehead. He was laughing at something Hoshi was saying, his shoulders relaxed.
But the moment your eyes involuntarily swept over the group, your entire body locked up. You tensed visibly, your shoulders squaring and your fingers tightening so hard around your coffee cup that the plastic lid creaked.
As if sensing the sudden shift in the air, Seungcheol’s gaze drifted away from Hoshi. His dark eyes locked onto you.
Your breath caught in your throat. For a fraction of a second, the busy hallway, the chatter of the staff, and the squeak of sneakers on the polished floor vanished. There was only the memory of those same dark eyes looking down at you in the dim light of the bathroom, wild and dilated with lust.
Panic seized you. You instantly tore your eyes away, staring hard at the floor, and quickened your pace. You walked past the group so fast you nearly tripped over your own feet, your gaze glued to the polished linoleum until you were safely around the next bend. Your heart was hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, and the heat rising in your cheeks was almost embarrassing.
It was just stress relief, you repeated to yourself like a mantra, your fingers trembling slightly as you took a sip of your lukewarm coffee. A one-time thing. It won't happen again.
But repeating the words didn't make your body forget the phantom feeling of his hands gripping your hips.
By 2:00 PM, you were sitting in one of the large, glass-walled conference rooms on the upper floors. The room was freezing, the air conditioning blasting a steady, cold draft that did absolutely nothing to cool the nervous sweat slicking the palms of your hands.
You had arrived early to set up the room, neatly arranging printed agendas, water bottles, and tablets for the staff and the artists. It was a routine, mundane task, one you usually did with your eyes closed, but today you found yourself meticulously aligning the water bottles just to keep your hands busy. Just to keep your mind from drifting.
Slowly, the room began to fill. The main performance directors, the head manager, and three other creative staff members took their seats at the long mahogany table. Then, the door opened again, and the members of Seventeen began to filter in.
You kept your head down, focusing intensely on the iPad in front of you, tapping the stylus against the screen as if you were deeply engrossed in updating the schedule.
"Alright, let's get started," the head manager announced, his voice booming in the quiet room as the heavy glass door clicked shut.
You sat on the left side of the room, tucked near the corner of the table where you could easily take notes on the upcoming promotional cycle. Across the wide expanse of the mahogany table, directly on the opposite side of the room, Seungcheol pulled out a chair and sat down.
You didn't look up, but you felt the exact moment he took his seat. The air in the room suddenly felt thinner, heavier.
"We need to review the behind-the-scenes shooting schedule for the upcoming music video," the manager continued, pulling up a presentation on the massive screen at the front of the room. "The hours are going to be demanding, and we need full coordination between the styling team, the managers, and the artists."
You forced yourself to focus. You raised your stylus and began typing notes, your fingers flying across the screen. Focus on the job. You are a professional. Last night didn't change that.
But then, you felt it.
It was a physical sensation, like a warm touch brushing against the side of your face. Someone was staring at you. You tried to ignore it, keeping your eyes glued to the digital document, but the intensity of the gaze was overwhelming.
Slowly, almost against your will, you lifted your head.
Seungcheol was sitting back in his leather chair, his arms crossed over his chest. He was pretending to listen to the manager, his head tilted slightly toward the screen, but his eyes weren't on the presentation.
They were on you.
Your eyes met, and the air left your lungs in a quiet, invisible gasp. There was no warmth in his expression, no soft smile—just that same intense, heavy, unreadable look he had given you before he backed you against the wall. His dark eyes flickered down to your high collar, lingering on the spot where he knew he had left his mark, before rising back to lock with yours.
You felt a small, defensive frown pull at your eyebrows. You quickly turned your head away, staring back down at your iPad, but the damage was already done.
The dam in your mind broke, and a flood of vivid, chaotic flashbacks rushed through your consciousness.
The cold marble of the sink pressing against your bare thighs. The rough, frantic taste of his mouth. The way his hands had felt—bruising and possessive—as he lifted you up. The low, guttural roar he had let out when he filled you, his body hot and trembling against yours.
A sudden, intense wave of heat bloomed in your chest, radiating outward until your skin felt flushed and overly warm. You felt a bead of nervous sweat trace down your spine. You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, and you had to grip the stylus tightly just to keep your hand from shaking.
You tried to take a deep breath, to ground yourself in the cold reality of the corporate meeting room, but your heart was racing so fast you were sure the person sitting next to you could hear it.
On the other side of the room, Seungcheol wasn't faring any better.
He had entered the room fully intending to keep his promise. He had told himself that last night was a lapse in judgment, an explosive release of built-up pressure that would never be spoken of again. He was the leader; he had a responsibility to his members, to the company, and to you.
But seeing you walk past him in the hallway, tensing up as if he were a ghost, had sparked a quiet, frustrating ache in his chest. And now, sitting across from you, seeing you try so hard to pretend he didn't exist, was driving him crazy.
His eyes drifted down your frame. He watched the way your fingers gripped the pen, remembering how those same fingers had clawed at his bare back, leaving angry red marks on his shoulders. He looked at the high collar of your sweater, his mind instantly conjuring the memory of how soft the skin of your neck had tasted, how you had cried out his name when he bit down on you.
He shifted slightly in his chair, his jaw tightening as a sudden, familiar heat pooled in his lower abdomen. The professional, composed exterior he worked so hard to maintain felt incredibly fragile in that moment. He wanted to get up, walk around the table, and drag you back into that dark hallway.
He was so deeply lost in the memory of the way your body had clamped down around his that he didn't even hear the manager call his name.
"Seungcheol? Do you think the choreography team needs an extra day for rehearsals before the shoot?" the manager asked, looking over at him.
Seungcheol didn't blink. His eyes were still locked on your flushed face, watching the way you bit your lower lip—a habit you had when you were nervous.
Sitting right next to him, Mingyu noticed the silence. He looked at his leader, then followed the line of his intense, unwavering gaze across the room, landing directly on you. Mingyu’s eyebrows raised in slight confusion.
Under the table, Mingyu nudged Seungcheol’s side with a sharp, heavy elbow.
"Hyung," Mingyu muttered in a low, teasing whisper. "Are you listening?"
The sudden physical contact broke the spell. Seungcheol blinked, his head snapping toward Mingyu. For a split second, a look of sheer, caught-red-handed panic flashed across his face before he quickly smoothed it over, clearing his throat.
"Ah, yes," Seungcheol said, his voice deep and slightly raspy, forcing a quick, professional nod toward the manager. "Sorry, I was just thinking about the blocking for the second verse. Yes, I think an extra day of rehearsal would be beneficial. It'll ensure the members are completely aligned before we get on set."
The manager nodded, satisfied with the answer, and turned back to the presentation, continuing his explanation of the logistics.
Mingyu gave Seungcheol a suspicious, lingering side-eye, but Seungcheol ignored him, keeping his face perfectly stoic. He kept his eyes trained on the manager, nodding at the appropriate times, acting the part of the perfect, dedicated leader.
But as the manager moved to the next slide, Seungcheol’s control slipped for just a fraction of a second. His eyes darted back across the room, catching your gaze one last time, a silent, burning promise that despite everything you both had said last night—this was far from over.
The next few days had been an exercise in sheer endurance. Every shared space at the HYBE building felt like a minefield. You had mastered the art of looking near Seungcheol without actually making eye contact, and he had spent his time throwing himself into practice, looking anywhere but at you. But the air between you remained thick, charged with the heavy, unresolved weight of what had happened in that bathroom.
On Thursday afternoon, you were finally alone. You had been tasked with organizing the main wardrobe styling room—a quiet, cramped space packed with racks of designer clothes, storage bins, and a leather sofa pushed against the back wall. The quiet was a relief. You sorted through hangers, focusing on the simple, physical task of restoring order to the chaos of the recent promotional cycle.
The heavy glass door clicked open.
You froze, a coat hanger clutched in your hand, as the familiar scent of his cologne drifted into the room. Seungcheol stepped inside, stopping abruptly in the doorframe when he realized you were the only one there. His broad frame practically filled the narrow entrance, his dark eyes instantly locking onto yours.
For a second, neither of you spoke.
"Hey," he said, his voice dry and carefully neutral.
You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat and forced your best, most practiced professional smile. "Oh hey."
"I was just looking for my leather jacket," he said, clearing his throat and gesturing vaguely toward the racks. "The black one from the shoot yesterday. I thought I left it here."
You looked down at your hands. Of all the garments in the room, you just happened to be holding his heavy, black leather jacket, the cool material draped over your forearm. You stepped forward, keeping your movements stiff and deliberate, and held it out to him.
"Here it is," you said quietly.
Seungcheol walked over, the distance between you shrinking until you could feel the heat radiating from his body. He reached out and took the jacket, his knuckles brushing against your fingers for a split second. A jolt of pure static electricity seemed to shoot up your arm.
"Thanks," he muttered, gripping the leather. He draped it over his shoulder, lingering for a fraction of a second before turning toward the door. "I'll... see you at the shoot tomorrow."
He was about to step out, his hand already reaching for the doorframe, when the sheer exhaustion of the past few days caught up to you. The tensing, the dodging, the constant, suffocating paranoia—it was too much. You couldn't live like this.
You let out a heavy, defeated sigh. "Seungcheol. Wait."
He stopped. Slowly, he turned back around, his expression guarded, his dark eyes searching yours.
"We can't go on like this," you said, gesturing weakly between the two of us. "We can't keep tiptoeing around each other every time we're in the same room. It's... it's exhausting."
A soft, genuine smile broke through Seungcheol's guarded expression, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he let out a quiet breath of relief. "Yeah," he admitted, running a hand through his dark hair. "It really is."
"We're both adults," you pointed out, trying to sound grounded, reasonable, and completely in control of your emotions. "We should be able to work with each other like we did before. Last week shouldn't have changed that."
"I agree," he said, taking a step back into the room, away from the door. "We always got along pretty well before... all of that. I want to go back to how things were. I miss having you around without all this weird tension."
A wave of relief washed over you. You smiled, feeling a genuine weight lift from your chest, and held out your right hand toward him. "Friends again?"
Seungcheol looked at your hand, a warm, soft smile spreading across his handsome face. "Friends again," he agreed.
He stepped close and gripped your hand. His palm was large, warm, and dry, wrapping completely around yours. You gave a firm, professional shake, intending to let go immediately and seal the boundary once and for all.
But neither of you let go.
The shake subsided, but his fingers remained wrapped tightly around yours. The casual smiles slowly faded from both of your faces. You looked up, your eyes locking with his, and the atmosphere in the wardrobe room shifted instantly, turning heavy, pressurized, and suffocating.
Your breath went shallow. Your heart began a wild, erratic rhythm against your ribs.
Seungcheol’s gaze dropped. He openly eyed you up and down, his eyes lingering on the curve of your lips, the column of your neck, and the way your chest was rising and falling with your rapid breathing. The professional boundary you had just tried so hard to build crumbled into ash in a matter of seconds.
Before either of you could think, before logic could intervene and remind you of your promises, the dam broke.
You stepped forward at the exact moment he pulled you in. You crashed against each other with a sudden, violent force. Seungcheol’s leather jacket hit the floor with a heavy thud as his hands gripped your waist, hauling you against him as his mouth slammed onto yours in a rough, desperate, completely unbridled kiss.
A quiet whimper of surrender escaped your throat, completely swallowed by the heat of his mouth. His tongue parted your lips instantly, claiming you with a hunger that had only grown after days of forced restraint.
You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, your bodies moving blindly in the cramped space. Clinging to each other like drowning people, you tumbled backward, your knees hitting the edge of the leather couch. You fell onto the cushions together in a tangled, breathless heap, the leather creaking loudly under your weight as Seungcheol hovered over you, his hands already tearing at your clothes.
What had started as a frantic, desperate collision in the wardrobe styling room quickly mutated into something rhythmic, addictive, and entirely unsanctioned. Over the next few weeks, the boundaries you had so carefully tried to construct didn't just blur—they melted away under the heat of a routine that was as thrilling as it was dangerous.
You and Seungcheol had officially entered a "coworkers with benefits" arrangement. Except, in the high-stakes, hyper-surveilled environment of the HYBE building, "benefits" required the tactical planning of a heist.
The thrill of it became a drug that fueled you both through exhausting, eighteen-hour workdays. The mundane, sterile halls of the company suddenly felt charged with a constant, simmering undercurrent of mischief. A brief, stoic nod in a hallway during the day was merely a prelude to what would happen hours later, tucked away in the shadows of the building.
One rainy Tuesday afternoon, the tension became too much to bear. You had been coordinating back-to-back meetings, and Seungcheol had been in intense dance rehearsals since 8:00 AM. When you crossed paths near the back elevators, the sheer, heavy hunger in his eyes told you everything you need to know.
Ten minutes later, you slipped quietly into a narrow, dimly lit janitor’s closet on the third floor.
The door had barely clicked shut behind you before Seungcheol’s large hands were on you, dragging you back into the cramped space. The scent of industrial pine cleaner and damp mops was completely overridden by the familiar, intoxicating warmth of his skin and the sharp tang of his cologne. He crowded you against a metal shelving unit, the plastic bottles of detergent rattling softly as his mouth crashed onto yours.
"Fuck i cannot wait ," he groaned against your lips, his voice deep and raspy.
You didn't waste time with words. The adrenaline of being in a high-traffic area, knowing a staff member could walk past the door at any second, had your heart hammering frantically against your ribs. You dropped to your knees on the cold floor, your hands immediately finding the drawstring of his gray sweatpants.
Seungcheol let out a low, shaky breath, his hands coming down to rest in your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as you pulled his sweatpants and boxers down past his hips. He was already semi-hard, throbbing and thick, radiating a heat that made your mouth water.
You looked up at him, a playful, challenging smirk on your lips before you leaned forward and took him into your mouth.
Seungcheol’s head snapped back, his eyes closing as a ragged, breathless groan escaped him. He gripped your shoulders, his knuckles turning white as you wrapped your lips tightly around his cock, sliding your tongue along the sensitive underside of his shaft. The thrill of the risk made you bold; you took him deeper, your throat wrapping around him, coaxing a deep, shuddering sigh from his chest.
"F-fuck," he hissed, his fingers tightening in your hair, guiding your movements in a slow, desperate rhythm. "You're so good at this."
He kept his ears tuned to the hallway outside, his body tensing every time he heard a distant footstep or the muffled beep of an elevator. The fear of getting caught, paired with the intense, wet heat of your mouth, pushed him to the absolute edge. After a few more frantic, deep strokes, he gently pulled back, his breathing ragged as he hauled you back to your feet.
"If you keep doing that, I'm going to come right here," he whispered, his eyes dark and wild. He turned you around, pressing your front against the shelving unit, and quickly readied himself. He drove into you from behind with a sudden, bruising force, his hand muffling your gasps as he rode you to a fast, silent, and incredibly intense climax that left you both trembling and clinging to each other in the dark.
But the closet was only for quick fixes. The real escape happened at your apartment.
Your place was small, slightly cluttered with work documents and half-unpacked tote bags, but it was the only place where the constant buzz of the industry finally went quiet. Because of his schedule and the risk of dispatch, Seungcheol only came over late, usually past midnight, wearing a nondescript black cap and a low-key windbreaker.
He would slide his shoes off at the entryway, toss his car keys onto your kitchen counter with a sharp clink, and immediately sink onto your couch with a heavy, unglamorous groan.
"Tell me you have something cold to drink," he muttered one night, his head thrown back against your cushions, his legs sprawling wide.
You walked over from the kitchen, tossing a canned soda directly onto his lap. He caught it with an easy, practiced reflex, cracking it open and taking a long swig.
"Rough day?" you asked, leaning against the arm of the couch, looking down at him.
"Manager went over the budget for the tour three times. My head is spinning," he said, rubbing his temples. He looked up at you, his eyes scanning your face, taking in the faint dark circles under your eyes. He reached out, his warm, heavy hand wrapping around your ankle, his thumb dragging lazy, soothing circles over your skin. "You look like shit, too."
"Thanks," you dryly replied, but you didn't pull away. Instead, you slid down onto the floor, resting your back against the base of the couch right beside his legs.
It was casual. You didn't do the whole domestic, cooking-together routine—most nights you just ordered takeout or ate convenience store snacks while sitting cross-legged on the rug. But as the weeks progressed, the space between you started to feel different. The sharp, volatile edge of the anger that had first brought you together was gone, replaced by a quiet, comfortable rhythm.
While waiting for your food to arrive, you’d find yourselves talking about the absolute absurdity of the company’s corporate culture.
"The creative director wants us to pitch 'futuristic retro' for the next concept," you said, rolling your eyes. "I literally spent two hours writing a proposal for a concept that makes zero logical sense."
Seungcheol let out a sharp, genuine laugh, his head dropping back against the cushion. "They do that to us all the time. Last year, they told us to make our choreography look 'sharp but messy.' What does that even mean? We just ignored them and did what we wanted anyway."
"Must be nice to have that kind of leverage," you murmured.
"It took us years to get it," he said, his voice dropping into a quieter, more serious tone. He reached down, his fingers gently tracing the collar of your t-shirt, his knuckles brushing against the bare skin of your collarbone. "But if you ever need me to 'accidently' complain about a concept to make your life easier, just let me know."
You looked up at him, a small, genuine smile tugging at your lips. "Is that the leader of Seventeen offering to abuse his power for a mere staff member?"
"Maybe," he murmured, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The casual, teasing atmosphere suddenly grew thick, the air between you turning heavy with a familiar, magnetic pull.
He didn't move fast. He simply slid off the couch, joining you on the floor. His large hands slid under the hem of your shirt, his palms hot against your bare waist as he pulled you onto his lap. You parted your legs to drape them over his thighs, your hands automatically wrapping around the back of his neck.
When his lips met yours, it wasn't the frantic, desperate collision of the staff closet. It was slow, heavy, and incredibly thorough. He tasted like the cold soda, his tongue tracing your lips with a lazy, possessive heat that made your breath hitch.
He pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it onto the floor, before his hands moved to the clasp of your bra. His fingers were steady, unhurried, as he laid you back onto the living room rug. He hovered over you, his bare chest pressing against yours, his gaze locked onto your face.
"You're getting too comfortable with me," he whispered, a quiet, gravelly observation as he unbuckled your jeans.
"Are you complaining?" you whispered back, your hips tilting up to meet his touch as his fingers slid between your thighs, finding you already slick and waiting for him.
"No," he growled, his head dropping to kiss your jaw, his lips dragging down to the sensitive skin of your neck. "I like it."
He readied himself, his movements smooth and deliberate as he entered you. A soft, breathless gasp left your lips, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as he began to move, a slow, deep, and incredibly intense friction that had you arching off the floor. It wasn't about burning off raw anger anymore; it was a slow burn, a steady, rhythmic connection that felt dangerously intimate. Every time he pushed deep inside you, his eyes stayed locked on yours, watching the way your expression softened, the way you clung to him not just for pleasure, but for support.
Afterward, when the sweat had cooled on your skin and you were both lying tangled in the sheets of your bed, the silence was different.
The frantic, electric rush of adrenaline that usually demanded you immediately look at the clock or start planning his quiet exit was entirely absent. Instead, a heavy, comfortable warmth settled over the room.
Seungcheol lay on his side, his arm propped under his head, his dark eyes soft as he watched you trace the faint, fading scratches on his shoulder. He didn't pull away, nor did he make a joke to break the silence. Instead, his free hand reached out, his large palm settling gently against your waist, his thumb sweeping back and forth over your bare skin in slow, soothing strokes.
You shifted closer, resting your head in the crook of his shoulder. The movement was natural, completely devoid of the sharp hesitation that usually accompanied your post-sex routines. You listened to the steady, deep rhythm of his breathing, feeling the solid, calming rise and fall of his chest.
Seungcheol shifted slightly, wrapping his arm more fully around you to pull you flush against his side. He buried his face in your hair, letting out a long, quiet sigh that felt more like a surrender to the exhaustion of the week than a sigh of frustration. He didn't say a word, and neither did you. There was no need to analyze what you were doing, or to re-establish the rigid boundaries you had both agreed on weeks ago.
He simply pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head, his fingers gently tangling in your hair to massage your scalp. You closed your eyes, wrapping your hand over his chest, letting yourself sink completely into the quiet, unhurried comfort of his hold as the world outside your apartment window went completely still.
The relentless hum of the practice room’s ventilation system felt a little lighter the next day, but the air inside was no less charged.
You spent the late morning setting up the heavy-duty cameras on their tripods, positioning them at precise angles around the spacious, mirrored room. The members of Seventeen were in the middle of a grueling session, finalizing the intricate details of their new choreography. As a staff member on the creative and behind-the-scenes team, your job was to capture the raw, unfiltered sweat and effort that went into perfecting every single frame.
Once the music finally cut and the members collapsed into various states of exhaustion on the floor, the main choreographer waved you over.
"Let's review the playback," he called out, wiping his forehead with a towel.
You brought the tablet over, kneeling down on the polished wood floor as the choreographer, Seungcheol, Wonwoo, and a few of the other boys crowded around you to look at the screen. You hit play, watching the high-definition footage of the intense, fast-paced chorus.
"The transition in the center is clean, but the spacing on the left looks a bit tight," the choreographer muttered, tapping his chin.
You zoomed in on the center of the formation, where Seungcheol was leading the line with powerful, sharp movements that perfectly anchored the group.
"Actually," you spoke up, keeping your voice cool, professional, and entirely focused on the work. "I think the center looks incredibly solid. Seungcheol's timing is right on the beat here—it really carries the energy of the transition."
Beside you, you caught the subtle shift in Seungcheol's posture. He didn't look directly at you, but the corner of his mouth twitched, a secret, knowing smirk gracing his lips for a split second before he masked it with a professional nod.
"Yeah, Cheol-hyung's part is fine," Wonwoo quieted, leaning in closer to the screen with a slight, critical frown. His eyes were fixed on his own reflection in the video. "But my moves in the second half look stiff. I'm dragging behind the beat during the sweep. It looks bad."
You turned your head to look at Wonwoo, who was dressed in a simple loose tee, looking genuinely frustrated with his performance.
Shaking your head, you gave him a reassuring smile. "I don't think so at all, Wonwoo. You actually look really graceful there. The contrast between your fluid movement and the sharpness of the center makes the whole picture look more dynamic."
Wonwoo blinked, turning his head to meet your gaze. The tension in his shoulders seemed to bleed out a little at your encouragement.
"Really?" Wonwoo asked, a faint, appreciative tilt to his lips. "I felt like I was completely out of sync."
"Not at all," you assured him warmly, tapping the screen to replay the segment. "Look right here. Your arm placement is exactly where the styling team wanted it to be for the fabric flow. You're doing amazing, honestly. Just trust the footage."
As you and Wonwoo continued to talk quietly about his angles, you became acutely aware of a shift in the temperature beside you.
Seungcheol had stopped looking at the tablet.
He had his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyebrows pulling together in a subtle, heavy frown. He watched the easy, comfortable way you were interacting with Wonwoo, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly as you offered the younger rapper a bright, encouraging smile. The secret smirk he had worn just moments ago vanished entirely, replaced by a quiet, simmering irritation.
"Alright, let's take a fifteen-minute break before we run it again," the choreographer announced, clapping his hands and breaking the huddle.
The boys dispersed, some stretching on the floor while others headed toward the benches. You stood up, grabbing the cardboard crate of cold water bottles you had brought in earlier. You began walking around the room, handing them out to the exhausted members.
"Thank you," Dino murmured, eagerly taking a bottle.
You smiled, moving down the line. Wonwoo was sitting on the edge of a equipment chest, wiping his neck with a small towel. As you approached, you handed him a chilled bottle.
"For the 'stiff' dancer," you teased softly, keeping the mood light.
Wonwoo let out a low, dry chuckle, taking the bottle from your hand. "Hey, I'm just trying to keep my job. If I look bad, the creative team writes mean reports about me." He looked up at you, a playful glint behind his glasses. "Though, if you're the one writing them, maybe I can bribe you with some coffee."
A genuine laugh bubbled out of you, the sound light and clear in the noisy practice room. "I accept premium cold brews only," you retorted.
Just a few feet away, Seungcheol was leaning against the wall, sipping from an energy drink. He wasn't talking to anyone. His dark eyes were fixed entirely on you, tracking the way you laughed at Wonwoo’s joke, the easy, unforced warmth in your smile. The knuckles of his hand gripping his drink turned slightly white.
You turned around, finally making your way over to him. You pulled another cold water bottle from the crate and held it out to him, keeping your expression neutral and professional.
"Here," you said quietly.
Seungcheol didn't immediately reach for it. He stood there for a beat, his gaze dropping to the plastic bottle in your hand, then slowly rising to lock with your eyes. There was a heavy, challenging hesitation in his movement, a silent, stubborn resistance that made the simple act of taking a bottle of water feel like a power struggle.
You kept your hand steady, but inside, a sharp prick of irritation flared up in your chest. What is his problem? you thought, your eyes narrowing just a fraction.
Finally, after an agonizingly long second, Seungcheol reached out. His fingers brushed against yours—not with the gentle, lingering warmth of last night, but with a firm, deliberate grip as he snatched the bottle from your hand.
"Thanks," he muttered, his voice flat and devoid of any of the softness you had shared in your apartment.
You didn't say a single word. You simply gave him a curt, professional nod, turned on your heel, and walked away to finish clearing the camera equipment. But as you packed up the tripods, your mind was racing, the cold friction of his brief touch lingering on your skin like an irritation you couldn't scratch.
By 9pm the dancers, stylists, and managers had filtered out of the practice floor in exhausted waves, leaving behind the heavy, quiet emptiness of the late-night offices.
You sat in the corner of the dark waiting area, your bag slung over your shoulder, waiting. Your eyes were fixed on the door of the main practice room. You had paced your exit perfectly, lingering under the guise of organizing the final digital files until you knew for a fact that everyone else had headed down to the parking garage.
Finally, the heavy double doors swung open, and Seungcheol stepped out alone, a black gym bag hanging loosely from his shoulder.
You stood up, your sneakers quiet against the polished floor as you approached him. "Hey," you said softly, stopping a few feet away.
Seungcheol paused, his shoulders stiffening slightly before he looked at you. His face was entirely unreadable, his dark eyes hooded with fatigue. "Hey."
"I was thinking," you began, keeping your voice low, trying to bring back some of the easy warmth you’d shared in your apartment. "You should come over tonight. I can order that chicken you like, and we can just... eat something together. Unwind a bit."
Seungcheol didn't shift his weight. He didn't smile. He just stared at you, his jaw slightly set. "I'm busy tonight," he said, his tone dry and clipping the edges of the words.
You raised an eyebrow, a flicker of irritation sparking in your chest. "Busy?" you asked, tilting your head. "With what?"
He shrugged carelessly, adjusting the strap of his bag. "I have plans with Mingyu."
You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, looking at him with a flat, unimpressed expression. "Seungcheol, I know Mingyu," you pointed out, your voice dripping with quiet skepticism. "He is going to go back to the dorm, take a four-hour nap, wake up in the middle of the night, and cook himself some heavy, greasy food that's just going to give him a tummy ache. He does not have plans."
Seungcheol let out a low groan, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling as he let his head drop back.
"What is actually going on?" you demanded, stepping a fraction closer. "You've been acting incredibly strange the entire day."
He shrugged again, his expression flattening into a stubborn mask. "Nothing is going on. Everything is fine."
"It's obviously not fine," you pushed, refusing to let him slide past the conversation. You softened your voice slightly, trying to find the root of his frustration. "Are you still stressed about the rehearsal? Are you not happy with your performance on the playback?" You stepped into his line of sight, forcing him to look at you. "Wonwoo wasn't happy with himself either, and I told you—you looked amazing in the center. The choreo is perfect on you."
At the mention of Wonwoo's name, Seungcheol’s gaze instantly hardened. The lazy indifference vanished from his eyes, replaced by a sharp, cold light.
"Well," he spat out, his voice dripping with venomous sarcasm, "not everyone can be as amazing as Wonwoo."
You froze. The words hung heavily in the empty corridor, sharp and completely unexpected. You stared at him, your mouth parting slightly as the pieces of his bizarre behavior throughout the day suddenly clicked together in your mind.
You let out a breath, looking at him in utter, laughing disbelief. "Are you... is that why you're mad? Are you actually serious right now?"
Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. He didn't answer. Instead, his face flushed a deep, frustrated crimson, and he took a sharp step forward, clearly trying to push past you to reach the exit.
"No, wait," you said, stepping directly into his path, forcing him to halt. "Are you jealous? Or something?"
"I'm not jealous," he snapped immediately, his voice rising, a sharp, defensive frown marring his forehead. He scoffed, looking away toward the elevators. "It was just... it was honestly pretty cringe watching you and Wonwoo flirt in front of everyone like that."
A harsh, disbelieving laugh escaped your lips. "Flirt? Seungcheol, we weren't flirting at all! I was doing my job. I was reassuring an artist who was feeling insecure about his performance. Wonwoo and I are just coworkers."
Seungcheol went entirely still. He slowly turned his head back to you, his eyes burning as he repeated the word.
"'Coworkers,'" he said, his voice dropping into a low, mocking whisper. He took a slow, heavy step toward you, crowding your space just like he had in the hallway weeks ago. "You and I used to be 'just coworkers,' too."
You tilted your head, your eyes narrowing as you refused to back down. "You know exactly what I mean by that. Don't twist this."
Seungcheol’s bravado seemed to falter for a split second. He looked down at his feet, the heavy sigh he had been holding finally escaping his chest. The angry tension in his shoulders slumped, leaving behind a sudden, heavy exhaustion. He shrugged again, but this time, the gesture felt defeatist, not stubborn.
"Maybe..." he started, his voice quiet, almost vulnerable as he kept his eyes on the floor. "Maybe we made a mistake."
Your heart did a sudden, painful drop in your chest. "What?"
"By crossing the line," he murmured, finally looking up to meet your eyes. "Maybe we shouldn't have done it."
"Why?" you asked, your voice shaking slightly as a mix of hurt and sheer confusion rushed through you. "Why do you think that?"
Seungcheol opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He stared at you, his jaw working silently, completely unable to articulate the chaotic, possessive feelings that had been clawing at him all day. He looked lost, caught between the rules he wanted to keep and the intense, irrational grip you had on him.
You waited, but the silence stretched on, empty and frustrating.
Slowly, you shook your head in sheer disbelief, a bitter, cold feeling settling in your chest.
"You know what?" you said, your voice sharp and cutting. "Get your head out of your ass, Seungcheol. And call me when you actually know what you want, and when you actually have something real to say to me."
Before he could even attempt to find his voice, you grabbed the strap of your bag, adjusted it on your shoulder, and brushed past his arm. Your sneakers squeaked loudly against the floor as you marched down the hallway, leaving him behind without a single backward glance.
Seungcheol stood frozen in the middle of the empty corridor. The sound of your footsteps faded, followed by the distant, heavy clang of the exit door closing.
Left entirely alone in the dim light, he brought both hands up to his face, rubbing his skin roughly as a long, deeply frustrated sigh escaped his lips. He let his hands drop, staring at the empty hallway where you had just been, the heavy weight of his own silence pressing down on his chest.
synopsis | when you’re snowed in at a party and left stranded at your friend’s house for the night, you and intak are left to share a bed. and you’ve both been pent up with months of no action so… where else is the night supposed to go, really?
details | nsfw (MINORS DNI), smut, one bed trope, friends to fwb, mutual masturbation, grinding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, unprotected sex (don’t do it), creampie
⟡ length | 4.2k
requested by @blondechariot!
𓆩⟡𓆪 note || needy intak is my fave intak (also what do we think about the coloured title, keep it or trash it i honestly can’t tell)
You don’t expect Intak to be the one you’d be sharing your assigned bed with. But there he is scrolling through his phone, splayed out on the bed with his arm tucked behind his head and shirt riding above his jeans exposing a sliver of tanned skin.
You stop short at the door, a set of borrowed pajamas clutched in your hands. “Oh.”
Intak blinks up from his phone and stares at you for a short moment. “Oh.” He sits up quickly, the motion ruffling up his dark, floppy hair. “Was this supposed to be your room?”
“No,” you say, then quickly shake your head. “No, I mean yes. Well, all the rooms are full so they told me I’d have to share but I didn’t know who was going to be here.”
“Ah!” Intak quickly scampers to the side of the bed to make room for you. “Fine with me, come here.”
This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve fallen asleep with him. Granted, usually it would be curled up on the couch whether it be because you were too tired to drag yourselves home after a late party or falling asleep from watching a movie. But you’re grateful it’s him you’re sharing with. He’s been your friend for years now so sharing a bed with him wouldn’t be as awkward as it would be with anyone else at this party.
“It’s kind of a small bed,” he says, looking at the empty space he left for you, which really wasn’t much. The bed’s smaller than a double.
You just shrug, making your way into the room after locking the door shut behind you. “I don’t mind, really.” You say, dropping the tank top and shorts on the bed. “Do you?”
He quickly shakes his head with a dorky little smile. “Nah. Can we cuddle?”
The direct question gets a snort out of you. “Wow, you’re so single you’re fishing for cuddles from me?”
His lips turn down into an adorable little pout. “Low blow. It’s not like you’re any better than me.”
You scrunch your nose in distaste. “Well you didn’t have to bring it up, asshole.”
“You did it first!”
You groan. “Logic. Whatever,” you huff before reaching for the hem of the shirt you’re wearing.
You slip it off of your body and pick up the tank top you left on the bed. You see Intak quickly turn his head from the corner of your eye but you can’t really find it in yourself to care; he’s respectful enough that you know he won’t leer like a creep.
Though you can feel the weight of his attention on you as you change into the shorts. The clothes are a little small on you, exposing more of you than you’re used to, but they’ll do for the night.
When you look back at Intak, he’s got his head leaned back against the headboard with his eyes lasered on the ceiling. You also see the brushes of red on his cheeks and neck.
You laugh under your breath as you climb onto the bed, mirroring his position. The bed doesn’t allow any space between you; your shoulder presses right against his where you settle down in your spot.
“Don’t tell me that got you all bothered.” You can’t help but tease him; you’re always looking to get a reaction out of him. He makes it too easy sometimes.
He turns to you with a glare that has all the intimidation factor of a baby duck. “Hey, it’s been a long time, alright?” He states defensively. “And you know what you look like.”
Your lips pull into a wide grin at that and you see it clearly on his face when he immediately realizes his mistake. “Oh?” You ask, leaning into him. “What do I look like?”
He groans dramatically. “No, don’t do this again!” He cries, quickly shuffling down the bed and burying himself under the blanket.
You cackle, your hand finding his head over the blanket and patting it affectionately. “You’re just too easy, Taki.”
It’s a little cruel to consistently bring up that minuscule crush he had on you in freshman year back when you were dating that good-for-nothing brick-chewer (Intak’s words). But that was years ago and he’s far gotten over it and you know that by now. You just can’t help but to bring it up and hold it over his head, though. His reactions are always too cute.
When Intak still doesn’t come back out, you grab his head over the blanket with your hand and shake it. “I’m just messing with you. I’m aware of what I look like, I don’t blame you.”
He peeks out from under the blanket, letting just his glaring eyes be visible to you. “Don’t get a big head about it.”
“Nah.”
He rolls his eyes while you shuffle down to join him under the blankets.
But your mind has latched onto that tidbit of information and you can’t help but let your curiosity take reign. “So how long has it actually been?”
He blinks and pulls the blanket down to his shoulders. “What?”
“Sex.”
His brows raise at the blunt ask, the light blush returning to his cheeks. He worries his lip between his teeth as he looks up at the ceiling in thought. “…Seven months?”
You let out a low whistle. “Worse than me then.” He raises his brow at you questioningly and you answer his silent question with a, “Six.”
His nose scrunches. “Yikes.”
You both spend a moment in silent, mournful understanding.
“Are you going to sleep in your jeans?”
It takes a second for him to process, and when it does, he looks almost scandalized. “You don’t mind if I’m in my boxers?”
“No, it’s fine.”
He stares at you for a moment longer, considering, before you feel him shuffling around under the blanket. He works himself out of his jeans then drops them on the floor beside the bed.
You raise a brow at him. “You’re not even gonna fold it?”
He answers you with a pout. “You sound like Jiung.”
You groan, rolling onto your side to face away from him. “Don’t compare me to him. I’m no nagger like he is.”
You hear him giggle behind you and ruffle around as he settles in properly. You can feel the heat of him against your back, close enough to know but not enough to feel it. You don’t really think twice before you shift back and press your back into his side, seeking out the warmth. “You’re warm,” you mumble.
You feel him tense against you and you’re about to pull away, but then he’s turning over and slinging his arm around your waist, pulling you further into him. He’s turned so you’re against his chest now. “You’re warmer,” he says into the back of your head. “Like a portable furnace.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet you’re still around.”
You laugh and let your hand cover his cold and shaky one, before you let the heaviness of your eyes pull them shut. It silences after that and you’re lulled towards sleep by his steady breaths.
You’re about to drift off until you feel Intak start shifting behind you. He settles after a few seconds. But then he starts to shuffle about again. Stops. And then again, and you feel the warmth of his body detach from your back.
“Intak?” Your voice sounds drowsy even to yourself.
He freezes up behind you, his arm tense around you. “Sorry,” he says, and you’re not sure if you’re too tired but his voice sounds strained. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Something wrong?”
“No, nothing,” he says, too quickly.
You take it as it is, too tired to care, and shuffle yourself back into him again. But your eyes snap wide open when your hips press against his and you can feel his predicament against you.
He makes a choked noise at the contact, a sound that goes straight to your gut without your permission.
“Oh,” you say.
And then he’s quickly pulling away from you, scrambling out apologies. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he says in a panic but you’re quick to turn around and grab his arm before he could accidentally shove himself off the bed.
“Hey,” you say, yanking him back towards you. “It’s fine.”
He’s on his back with his eyes squeezed shut, lips parted as he takes deep breaths to try to ease himself down. “S-Sorry,” he says again. “Just give me a second, I’ll be good in a minute.”
He’s got the blanket clutched over his lap in a knuckle-white grip. You can’t help but giggle.
His eyes snap open to you, looking disjointed and offended. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No,” you say, a crooked grin on your lips. “You’re just cute.”
He groans, curling in on himself, pushing his knees up to his chest. “Nothing about this is cute! It’s embarrassing.”
“It’s not embarrassing,” you state as you pat his arm, the skin of his bicep warm against your palm.
Even that small touch gets a full body twitch out of him and you’re left taken aback by just how sensitive he is. He must be really pent up if all it takes is a little cuddle to set him off and a little bit of touch to get any reaction out of him.
But you’re no better. Because the sight of him like this, on his back left panting and flushed because he’s merely in your presence and from minimal contact with you? It fills you with a strange sense of thrill, one that feeds your insatiable curiosity and makes the tips of your fingers itch.
“Hey,” you say. His eyes on you again, big and round with shame and a heat that he’s visibly resisting, has you talking before you can think. “Let me help you.”
You can practically see his brain stutter behind his eyes as he blinks rapidly to process. “What?”
“Let me help,” you repeat. “You’re clearly struggling. Maybe—” You pause to actually think this time before you continue. “Maybe we can help each other out? I mean, we’re both struggling.” The words hang unanswered in the air as he continues to stare at you. “Actually, you don’t have to decide anything just yet but… Let me do this for you first?” You push yourself forward, let your hand slide down his arm to grasp the edge of the blanket he has clutched in his hand.
You think maybe he’s about to reject it when he still doesn’t respond, but then he lets that heat in his eyes pool in black desire along with a pleading eagerness that has the itch in your fingertips prickle stronger. “Yeah,” he breathes, moving his hand off of the blanket and uncurling himself, giving you way. “Please…”
You have to take a breath to settle the way your heart leaps at the polite plea. You give him a reassuring smile before you grab the blanket and slowly pull it aside.
The audible gasp that leaves your lips would surely get a laugh out of Intak if he wasn’t so muddled out by his growing arousal. But you can’t even bring yourself to care, because holy shit is he big, even through just the imprint of his dark boxers.
“Jesus, Intak,” you mutter, your hand moving towards him. You don’t touch him just yet, a little intimidated, but you let your fingers brush teasingly against the waistband of his boxers. “You've been hiding all this away from me?” You try to tease but your throat closes around the words.
He whines, whines, as his hips twitch under your feathery touch. “Please don’t tease me,” he begs, keeping those round eyes on you. Eyes that have your resolve cracking quickly. You figure tonight’s not the time to draw things out. Next time, you tell yourself, and you’re shocked to find yourself praying there is a next time.
You've never seen your friend in this state before but it’s scary how quickly you’re getting addicted to the sight of him. The thought reminds you just how horny you’ve been these past few months with no helping hand.
“I got you, baby,” you coo softly, then let your hand travel down to grasp him, getting a choked gasp out of Intak.
He’s thick and hot to the touch even through the fabric, and you can feel him twitch under your ministrations as you start to languidly palm at him.
Your eyes are fixed solely on his face that twitches and strains with pleasure. His teeth dig into the plush of his lower lip, his hands clutching the sheets at his sides, his eyes squeezing shut under the pleasure of your warm hand. He’s already squirming, his hips rolling up to press against your hand.
“Feel good?” You ask him, your voice already a little breathless.
He doesn’t speak, just nods eagerly as he blinks his eyes open and looks at you again. “More?” He asks you in a small voice, with a pointed grind against your palm. “Please?”
You smile at him despite the way he sends your head spinning with how submissive he’s being. You didn’t expect him to be this pliant in bed, but either you were severely wrong about him or he’s just severely horny.
Either way, you give into him. “Since you asked so nicely,” you say in a playful tone. He’s even more fun to tease like this.
You pull his boxers down to his thighs enough to expose him and the sight of him, long and red at the tip and leaking, has you clamping your thighs together.
You quickly wrap your hand around his tip, collecting the arousal before working your fist down to spread it. The moan Intak lets out at the first stroke is guttural, straight from the base of his ribs. “Fuck,” he whispers, his eyes fluttering closed as you start at a slow pace, fist tight around him. “Yes,” he gasps, his hips bucking up in mindless little rocks. “J-Just like that… Please…”
You can feel yourself throbbing with arousal at the sight, the sound, the feel of him as you stroke him at a steady pace, squeezing around his tip with every upstroke.
It’s not long before the pulsing between your hips gets unbearable as you watch him come undone with just your hand. You slide your free hand between your thighs, over the thin shorts, to press against your aching heat for some relief. It subsides just a little but it’s really not enough.
You catch Intak’s eyes zero in on the hand you have between your legs and you almost don’t hear him through the growing fog in your head.
“What?” You ask when you see his lips moving but don’t hear the words, your pace on his cock faltering.
His hand releases the sheets and reaches to brush against your wrist. “Let me,” he says again. His voice, rough with arousal, has another wave of heat pulsing through your core. The words have no better effect on you.
You find yourself nodding before you realize, your own hand falling aside to give him way as you shuffle closer.
He’s not as patient as you are. His hand is quick to pull your shorts down your hips, grumbling something about these fucking shorts before he’s shoving two fingers under the thin cotton of your panties and drawing tight, quick circles over your clit.
You gasp as the onslaught of hot pleasure bursting through your core at his frantic place. “Fuck, Intak,” you grunt before you pick up the pace on his cock to keep up.
He slides his fingers down to gather the arousal that pools at your entrance before he returns to circle your clit with it. But he seems to get a little distracted, reroutes to slide his fingers down to dip around in your folds just around your entrance after a few quick circles around your clit. He does this a few times, prods at your hole before returning to our swollen bud, a routine that has your hips squirming under his touch and your breaths stuttering. Eventually he slides down and settles to circle around your entrance before his middle finger slides into you in one smooth push.
“Shit!” You hiss, your walls clamping down on him. His finger is longer than your own and reaches depths of yourself you’ve been struggling to explore on your own.
He glances up at your face, sees the clouded lust there, before he starts to work the finger in and out at a steady pace. It’s not long before he’s working two fingers, then three fingers pumping into your cunt at a rapid pace to match the one you have on him.
You try to keep your focus on working his cock in your hand but the way his thick fingers crook inside of you and strokes your gummy walls has you panting and craving for more.
Your eyes are on him in your hand, leaking profusely and throbbing under your palm. Your walls squeeze around his fingers when the thought of having that inside of you flits through your mind. But the lines to all of this are starting to get blurry and you’re still wading through unknown waters.
But you need something.
So you pull your hand off of him and push at his hand inside of you. Intak retreats with a confused look as you pull off your shorts then get on your knees.
“Let me just—“ You can’t even get yourself to explain so you move to straddle his waist and push your panties aside to expose your cunt, letting yourself hover just over where his thick length lays on his stomach. You catch his wide eyes with your own pleading ones. “I won’t put it in. Can I just—“
You don’t get to finish before he has his hands on your hips and he pulls you down, your cunt landing flush on his cock.
You both moan in tandem at the contact. He’s hot and pulsing and solid between your folds, your arousal coating over him as you move yourself to slide up. The slow drag has a tremble roll through Intak’s body, his hands tightening on your hips.
“Keep going,” he says, nearly demanding as he looks up at you, eyes half lidded and glazed over with lust.
You comply and start at a slow pace, dragging yourself up and down on his cock, your slick coating the way. You let your clit catch against his tip with each drag, and it has both of you twitching and whining each time.
Your eyes stay firmly on his face, on his eyes that are on you but not present. They flutter, threaten to roll back with each slide of your warmth over his cock.
His hands start to move you at some point, picking up the pace as he gets impatient and gets pushed closer and closer to the edge.
“M’not gonna last,” he says through his breathy moans, frantic as his hips buck up against yours.
You can feel the coil in your gut starting to tighten too. “Me neither,” you mutter through grit teeth as you let him move your body for you, chasing the pleasure for both of you.
When he suddenly stops, you’re met with his dark eyes on the sight of himself prodding between your gushing folds. “Wha—” You yelp when you’re suddenly lifted off. Then you’re on your back and Intak is on top of you, hands gripping your thighs apart as he slots his cock back between your folds as he starts to thrust frantically, as if he were fucking you.
The look on his face is tight with desire and desperate as he stares down at you, eyes bearing down with clouded heat. His hips start to stutter, grunts tumbling from his lips. The tip of his cock catches against your entrance and the pressure there has your body jerking. Intak drops his head on your shoulder with a shuddering gasp as he lets himself linger there at your entrance for a moment. You think he’s about to push in and finally sate that ache growing in your core to be stretched and split open on his cock. But then he’s pulling back and letting himself resume just grinding himself between your folds.
The disappointment is almost overbearing but it quickly subsides with the stimulation on your clit driving your attention back to your impending climax.
You hear Intak whisper your name against your ear followed by a whimper. “Please,” he says before you feel his tip slide down from your clit and prod against your entrance again, purposefully this time.
Your hands grab onto his arms braced on either side of you, your core pulsing with the pressure of him right against your throbbing entrance. “Intak…” You want it, so badly, but you’re just not sure if it’s pushing things too far.
“Please, just—“ He drags himself back up and rubs over your clit, making you whine. “Just for a bit,” he pleads, then slides back down to your hole and pushes, just barely breaching inside, but the pressure is enough for your body to go taut with arousal and your mind go momentarily blank.
“Fuck,” you hiss, your walls clenching, practically begging to drag him inside. “Fuck, do it, Intak, just—“
You’re cut off with a gasp as he starts to push in. He stops when he’s got in just the tip and you’re about to push him all the way in yourself but then his body crumples on top of you with jerky movements as he lets out a strangled moan. You feel spurts of hot liquid shoot down your walls, pooling inside you and filling you with warmth.
His head lands on your shoulder with another strained moan as he pulses through his orgasm and you’re about to pull away but then he’s pushing all the way inside of you in a thrust so hard it has you bucking up the bed.
“Intak!” You cry in shock, your hands clawing into his back. It feels like he’s tearing you apart from the inside, a pain so sharp that it embers into pleasure.
He doesn’t respond, instead just starts fucking you at a pace that scrambles your insides and your head, still hard and throbbing inside of you despite just having come. He fucks his cum back into you, his fingers digging into your thighs to hold your legs down in a mating press.
He lifts his head from your shoulder and presses it against yours, eyes teary and so far gone as he looks down at you. “Can’t stop,” he says through whiny pants. “Don’t— don’t want to stop.” He looks overwhelmed and overstimulated, his entire body twitching with every thrust inside of you and trembling, yet he still pushes forward, still fucks into you despite the pain.
You don’t have the strength to respond through words, every sense knocked out of your head with each hard thrust. He stops, pulls out some, adjusts his angle, then starts fucking in again at an angle that has his tip abusing that gummy spot inside of you with a terrifying accuracy and has you barreling towards your orgasm.
You open your mouth to warn him but he shoves himself all the way in, deep enough that you feel him kiss your cervix, with a thrust so hard it has your orgasm ripping right out of you with a scream of his name.
You spasm and pulse around him as you come, creating a mess around his cock and over your thighs.
And yet, Intak still doesn’t stop. He pulls back and starts pounding into you again, tears catching onto his lashes as whimpers and gasps about how he’s still so hard, how you feel so good, how he just can’t stop, just needs a little bit longer, begs you to let him cum inside you again as he fucks into you with a vigour that has your soul practically lifting out of your body, asks you please like a broken record right up until he cums inside of you for a second time, just as intense as the first, and has you gushing around him once again with an orgasm that pulses through you unannounced.
All at once you both crumble and it’s like all motion ceases except your heavy breaths weaving into the thick air.
You’re not sure how long you lay there for with Intak splayed on top of you, still buried inside of you, the mess of you both trickling out and spreading down your thighs. You stare up at the ceiling as you slowly piece yourself back together from being fucked to tatters by your friend.
“Fuck,” you mutter as the realization of what’s just happened settle into the logical part of your brain.
Intak makes an acknowledging hum into your shoulder, still too liquid, still too gone to speak.
“Should’ve just come to you a while ago,” you wonder aloud.
He bristles at that and lifts himself up, the movements shifting him inside of you and leaving you shuddering from sensitivity. He winces as he slowly slides out of you, then drops himself beside you.
“You’re not mad?”
“I will be if we don’t get to do that again,” you answer simply.
There’s a playful grin playing on his lips as he rolls his head to peer at you, dark eyes twinkling. “That can be arranged.”
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⟢Summary⟢A flustered slip of the tongue during an interview leads to a late-night invitation to Room 704. Professional boundaries completely blur when Soul and Jongseob prove they share everything
The bright studio lights buzzed softly overhead, casting a crisp glow over the neatly arranged set. You smoothed down the front of your blazer, your heart doing a nervous little flutter against your ribs. As a digital journalist, you had interviewed your fair share of celebrities, but today was different. Today, you were interviewing P1Harmony.
You clutched your tablet tightly, taking a deep breath just as the door opened and the six members walked in, filling the room with their bright, chaotic energy. They looked effortless, styled to perfection for the upcoming social media feature you were hosting.
Before the cameras started rolling, the floor manager signaled that you had a few minutes to break the ice. You stepped forward, offering them a warm, professional smile that hid the absolute fan-girling happening inside your mind.
"Hello everyone, I’m so excited to have you here today," you greeted them, your voice steady despite the adrenaline. You paused, a genuine, slightly shy smile breaking across your face. "I have to admit, before we start, I’m actually a huge fan of your music. Unique has been on repeat for months."
The members instantly lit up. Keeho let out an appreciative "Oh, wow! Thank you!" while Jiung and Intak bowed slightly with grateful smiles. Right next to them, Soul caught your eye. He didn't say a word, but a soft, knowing smile spread across his face, his dark eyes sparkling with quiet amusement as he looked at you.
You chatted with the guys for another minute or two, exchanging light banter about their flight and how they were liking the venue. The initial awkwardness melted away, replaced by their surprisingly easygoing nature.
"Alright, everyone! We're rolling in thirty seconds!" the director called out, shattering the comfortable bubble.
Panic flashed through you for a split second. You quickly raised a hand to fix your hair, patting down a few stray flyaways and ensuring your microphone was perfectly clipped. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Jongseob and Soul exchange a quick, silent look. Jongseob nudged Soul’s shoulder, a subtle, amused smirk playing on his lips, while Soul simply tilted his head, his eyes lingering on you for a beat longer before they both turned their attention to the main camera.
"Three, two, one... and action!"
The interview went better than you could have ever anticipated. Your questions were sharp but engaging, moving away from the standard, repetitive prompts they usually faced. You brought up deep-cut B-sides, asked about their choreography creation process, and matched their chaotic energy with a charming, quick-witted attitude.
Theo laughed loudly at one of your jokes, and Keeho kept nodding in thorough appreciation of your research. Jongseob answered your questions with his characteristic eloquence, his eyes locked onto yours as he spoke, thoroughly engaged in the conversation. Every time you glanced at Soul, he gave you an enthusiastic nod or a funny little facial expression that kept you grounded and smiling. The chemistry between you and the group was palpable, the exact kind of magic a journalist always hoped to capture on screen.
"And cut! That was perfect, everyone," the director called out, breaking the spell. "We need to reset the cameras to get a few different coverage angles and B-roll shots. Give us about ten minutes. Everyone stay in your places if possible."
You let out a breath you felt like you’d been holding the entire time, your shoulders dropping in relief. You turned back to the boys, who were already relaxing back into the couch cushions.
"You guys did amazing," you said, genuinely impressed. "Thank you for being so easy to work with."
"No, thank you! Your questions were actually really cool," Jongseob replied warmly, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.
Wanting to keep the conversation flowing during the downtime, you tilted your head. "So, how long are you guys going to be staying in the city?"
"We're here for a full week, actually," Jiung answered, stretching his arms out over the back of the sofa. "We have a few more promotions, but we actually have a little bit of downtime scheduled too."
You nodded understandingly, a playful spark igniting in your chest. "Oh, nice! Are you guys actually going to have some fun in the city then, or just stay in the hotel?"
The boys chuckled collectively. Keeho raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin on his face. "We want to, but we don't really know where to go. Why, do you have some suggestions for us?"
You laughed, completely caught up in the relaxed, friendly atmosphere. Without thinking it through, the words tumbled out of your mouth with a playful shrug: "Oh, absolutely. Honestly, I'm up for anything."
The words hung in the air for a fraction of a second before the realization hit you like a freight train.
I'm up for anything.
In the context of suggesting tour locations, it was supposed to mean you were open to brainstorming any kind of activity. But spoken out loud to a group of handsome idols, in a dropped, casual tone? It sounded entirely, undeniably like an open-ended invitation. Or worse, a blatant flirtation.
Silence descended briefly over the couch.
Keeho’s eyes widened slightly in pure amusement. Intak smothered a laugh into his hand. You felt the heat instantly rush from the tips of your toes straight up to your face. Your cheeks flamed a bright, furious crimson, the intense warmth making your ears tingle.
"I—I mean!" you stammered, your professional composure completely evaporating. You waved your hands frantically in front of you, desperately trying to reel the words back in. "Activities! I meant activities! Like museums, or bowling, or—or restaurants! I am up for suggesting anything. Not—not the other thing!"
Jongseob burst into a bright, dazzling smile. He threw his head back for a brief second, his laugh ringing out clearly in the studio. He looked at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine delight at how thoroughly flustered you had become. He found your sudden loss of words incredibly endearing, a stark contrast to the incredibly poised journalist who had just run a flawless interview.
Beside him, Soul didn't laugh out loud. Instead, he leaned back into the cushions, crossing his arms over his chest. His dark eyes locked onto yours, slowly eyeing you up and down with a slow, deliberate smirk spreading across his lips. It wasn't mean; it was purely playful, a silent acknowledgment that he thoroughly enjoyed watching you squirm under his gaze.
You shook your head in sheer embarrassment, burying your face in your hands for a brief second to hide the blazing red color of your skin. You could hear the boys chuckling softly at your reaction, their teasing but gentle nature making the moment a hundred times more intense.
"Oh my god," you muttered under your breath, completely mortified.
Desperate for an escape route, you whipped your head around toward the camera crew, who were still adjusting a tripod a few feet away.
"Can we—can we please continue production?" you called out, your voice a little higher than usual as you pleaded with the crew. "Whenever you guys are ready! We are good to go over here!"
Jongseob’s bright smile didn't fade, and Soul’s smirk only deepened as they watched you try to regain your footing. You took another deep breath, fanning your face with your tablet, knowing that no matter how professional the rest of the shoot went, you were never going to live this down in their memories.
The quiet hum of the air conditioner was the only sound filling your hotel room as the evening stretched on. The desk lamp cast a warm, focused glow over your open notepad, where messy scribbles detailing the highlights of the day’s interview were scattered across the pages. By all professional accounts, the feature was going to be a massive success for your outlet. The chemistry had been perfect, the answers were fresh, and the raw footage looked incredible.
Yet, instead of focusing solely on your article outline, you found your fingers hovering over your laptop trackpad, clicking through YouTube. You told yourself it was for additional research—just ensuring your background context was entirely accurate. But as a video clip of P1Harmony from a recent variety show started playing, you knew you were lying to yourself.
Your eyes kept drifting to two specific members.
You watched the way Jongseob spoke, his quick wit and sharp intellect evident even in casual games, always carrying himself with an articulate, grounded grace that you had felt firsthand earlier that afternoon. Then the camera panned to Soul, who was doing something entirely unbothered and chaotic in the background, making the rest of the members burst into laughter.
The memory of the studio downtime flashed vividly in your mind. You remembered the exact shade of crimson your face had turned when those words—I'm up for anything—had slipped out of your mouth. More than that, you remembered the way Jongseob’s eyes had crinkled into a brilliant, breathless laugh, and how Soul had simply leaned back, tracking your flustered movements with that slow, amused smirk.
A sudden wave of heat rushed to your cheeks. You caught your reflection in the darkened window pane of your hotel room, realizing with a jolt that you were sitting alone in the dark, blushing at the mere thought of them.
"Get a grip," you muttered to yourself, snapping the laptop screen shut.
The walls of the room suddenly felt a little too close, the silence a little too loud for an overthinker's mind. You knew that if you stayed up here, you would spend the next three hours overanalyzing a five-minute interaction until you completely lost your mind. You needed a distraction. You needed background noise, moving bodies, and a change of scenery to ground you back into your professional reality.
Deciding that the hotel lobby would be the perfect sanctuary, you packed your laptop, charger, and notepad into your bag.
The elevator ride down was quick and quiet. When the doors slid open, the ambient atmosphere of the lobby instantly washed over you. It was a sophisticated, dimly lit space with high ceilings, plush velvet armchairs, and a low murmur of conversation coming from a few scattered guests and the hotel bar. It was exactly what you needed—enough life to keep your thoughts from drifting, but quiet enough to let you focus.
You scanned the room and settled on a small, secluded table tucked near a large architectural pillar, offering a bit of privacy while still keeping you in the middle of the ambient space. You set up your laptop, opened your notepad, and neatly laid out your pens.
A waiter approached a few minutes later, and you ordered a glass of white wine, hoping it would help soothe the lingering tightly wound energy from the afternoon.
For the next hour, your plan worked flawlessly. The ambient noise of clinking glasses and muted footsteps provided a steady rhythm for your thoughts. You fell into a productive flow, typing out paragraphs, structuring the flow of the social media post, and selecting the best quotes from Keeho and Jiung. You took occasional sips of your wine, barely noticing as the glass emptied while your word count grew.
You were right in the middle of a sentence when the waiter quietly reappeared at the edge of your table. Without a word, he reached down, picked up your empty glass, and smoothly replaced it with a fresh, full one.
You blinked, looking up from your screen in surprise. A amused chuckle escaped your lips. "Oh, thank you, but I haven't ordered another one yet. Did you already expect me to need a refill?"
The waiter offered a polite, knowing smile and shook his head. "Actually, this isn't from the house. It's from a gentleman."
Your brow furrowed slightly, a sudden prickle of curiosity making you sit up a little straighter. You glanced around the immediate area, but the nearby tables were mostly empty or occupied by couples. "A gentleman? From who?"
The waiter gave a small, non-committal shrug, keeping his professional demeanor. "He didn't leave a name or a message, miss. He simply paid for the premium pour and asked me to serve it to you."
"Oh. Well... thank you," you murmured, still entirely bewildered.
Once the waiter bowed and walked away, you stared at the pale golden liquid swirling in the glass. A part of you felt a momentary flash of caution, but looking around the upscale, highly secure hotel lobby, you figured it was likely just a harmless, old-school gesture from someone who had noticed a journalist working late.
You picked up the glass and took a cautious, slow sip.
Your eyes widened slightly. It was entirely different from the house wine you had ordered first. It was crisp, perfectly chilled, with complex notes of stone fruit and a subtle, refined sweetness that lingered elegantly on your palate. It was, without a doubt, incredibly good.
"Well, whoever he is, he has expensive taste," you whispered to yourself.
Shrugging off the mystery, you set the glass down and turned your attention back to your laptop. The deadline wasn't going to meet itself, and the high-quality wine provided an excellent fuel source for your writing.
Time slipped away. Outside the expansive glass windows of the lobby, the twilight hues of deep blue completely melted into a pitch-black night, illuminated only by the distant city streetlights. The lobby grew quieter, the crowd thinning out until only a few night owls remained.
Your eyes began to burn from the harsh glare of the monitor. Sensing that you were hitting a wall, you decided it was time for a proper break. You saved your document, leaned back heavily against the cushioned back of your chair, and interlocked your fingers to stretch your arms above your head. Rollings your shoulders, you carefully rubbed your eyes with the palms of your hands, letting out a long, tired sigh.
"You look like you're working harder than a CEO."
The voice was low, smooth, and laced with a distinct, charming cadence that sent an immediate shockwave straight down your spine.
Your hands dropped from your face, and your eyes snapped open.
Standing right in front of your table, with his hands casually slipped into the pockets of an oversized black hoodie, was Soul. The warm lobby lighting caught the sharp angles of his face, and that familiar, quiet smirk was playing right on his lips.
A genuine, startled smile instantly broke across your face, your heart doing that familiar flutter all over again. "Well, well, well...What are you doing down here?"
He let out a soft huff of a laugh, tilting his head as he looked down at you. "We are staying in this hotel. The whole team."
You blinked, a laugh bubbling up from your chest as you realized how foolish you must have looked. "Oh, right. Of course. Wow, what a funny coincidence. I had no idea the agency booked us into the exact same place."
Soul’s eyes drifted from your face down to the table, specifically landing on the premium glass of wine sitting right next to your laptop. The corners of his mouth tugged upward a fraction more, a knowing glint appearing in his eyes. He nodded toward the glass. "You like it?"
The piece of the puzzle clicked into place so fast it practically made your head spin. Your jaw dropped slightly, your eyes widening in sheer surprise as you looked from the glass back up to him. "Wait... you got this for me?"
Soul shrugged, a uniquely casual gesture, but the playful spark in his expression gave him away. "I ordered it. But..." He paused, his smirk widening just a bit as he delivered the punchline. "...Jongseob picked it out for you. He said you looked like you needed something better than the house standard."
A breathless chuckle escaped you, a soft warmth blossoming in your chest that had absolutely nothing to do with the alcohol. The thought of the two of them noticing you down here, let alone discussing what kind of wine you would prefer, made that familiar blush threaten to creep back up your neck. You quickly took a sip to hide your reaction, clearing your throat lightly.
"Well, please tell him he has phenomenal taste. It’s amazing. Thank you both."
You hesitated for a fraction of a second. Your professional instinct told you to wrap up the conversation, wish him a good night, and go back to your room before you made a fool of yourself again. But looking at him standing there, completely relaxed and stripped of the intense idol persona, you found yourself entirely unwilling to let the moment go just yet.
You shifted slightly in your seat, gesturing with a tilt of your head toward the empty velvet armchair directly across from you.
"Do you... want to sit down for a second? Keep a lonely journalist company while she takes a break?" you asked, keeping your tone light, playful, and entirely clear this time, ensuring there was no room for misinterpretation.
Soul’s smile softened, losing a bit of its guarded edge. "Sure," he said simply.
Without a shred of hesitation, he pulled out the heavy chair and slid onto the smooth fabric, crossing his legs and resting his forearms on the edge of the table, entirely entering your space.
You tilted your head, resting your chin on the palm of your hand as you looked across the small table at him. The dim, warm lighting of the lobby caught the sharp lines of his jaw and the relaxed, almost sleepy look in his eyes.
"So," you began, your tone curious but casual. "How come you’re down here completely by yourself? Where are the others?"
Soul shrugged, leaning back and resting one ankle over his opposite knee. "I like having time to myself sometimes. It’s quiet."
"Are you guys together twenty-four-seven?" you asked, a faint smile playing on your lips.
He nodded, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. "Pretty much. Always."
You let out a soft whistle, genuinely impressed. "Wow. I mean, I love my friends, but that has to get incredibly annoying from time to time."
Soul chuckled, nodding in agreement. The conversation flowed naturally from there, drifting into a surprisingly deep discussion about the absolute necessity of privacy, the concept of 'me time,' and how incredibly grounding it was to just be completely alone with your own thoughts after hours of being under flashing lights and surrounded by shouting crowds.
"Do you live alone?" Soul asked suddenly, his dark eyes locking onto yours with genuine interest.
"Yeah, I do," you nodded, taking a small sip of your wine. "I actually used to live with my ex, but we broke up because he turned out to be a complete asshole, so I moved out." You froze, the words hanging in the air. A wave of embarrassment hit you as you realized what you had just casually blurted out to a global pop idol. You cleared your throat quickly. "Uh, wow. I don't know why I just told you that."
Soul’s eyes sparked with pure amusement, a low laugh vibrating in his chest. "It’s okay. Are you dating again now?"
You shook your head quickly, wanting to steer the topic far away from your disastrous romantic past. "God no, definitely not. Honestly, my job is the most interesting part of my life right now."
Soul tilted his head, his smirk returning as he looked you over. "I doubt that. You seem pretty cool. And interesting."
The unexpected, direct compliment sent a sudden, dizzying rush of heat straight to your cheeks. You felt yourself blush under his steady gaze and looked down at your glass, clearing your throat. "Well... thank you. I appreciate that."
He leaned a little bit forward, resting his forearms on the dark wood of the table, bringing his face just a fraction closer to yours. "Can I ask you something? Earlier, before the cameras started rolling... did you really mean it when you said you were a fan? Or did you just say that to gain our sympathy?"
You looked at him, your eyes widening in mock offense as you playfully gasped. "Excuse me? I am absolutely a genuine fan! Killin' It was practically my entire personality for months."
Soul laughed, the sound rich and relaxed. "I figured. But you’d be surprised how many journalists claim they love our music, and then during the actual interview, they have absolutely no idea who we are or what we do."
"Well, I am definitely not like that," you assured him, a proud smile on your lips.
Soul wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Oh yeah? Then who is your bias?"
You burst out laughing, instantly shaking your head. You picked up your wine glass, taking a deliberate, slow sip to buy yourself time, entirely refusing to crack under the pressure. "Nice try. I am absolutely not answering that."
"Come on," he teased, his voice dropping into a low, playful whine. "You can tell me. I won't tell anyone."
"No way," you laughed, setting the glass down. "My lips are sealed."
Soul watched you for a moment, analyzing your expression before he leaned back with a knowing nod. "It’s probably Theo or Jiung anyway. It’s always them."
You raised an eyebrow. "Are they the fan favorites?"
He nodded simply. You shrugged, tapping your fingers against the stem of your wine glass. "I mean, they're great. They're pretty cool. But..." You paused, a sudden stroke of boldness taking over as you looked him straight in the eyes. "...they're not really my type."
Soul’s gaze sharpened, his smirk widening as he locked his dark eyes onto yours. "Oh? Then what is your type?"
You paused, the weight of his intense look making your heart skip a beat. You thought about it for a second, swirling the remaining wine in your glass. "I guess I like guys who aren't afraid to take risks. Someone who is exciting, unpredictable, and loves to try new things."
Soul nodded slowly, a dark, incredibly knowing smile curving his lips. The sudden shift in the atmosphere made you blush all over again, the heat intense against your skin. Needing to deflect, you cleared your throat quickly and leaned forward. "Alright, your turn. What’s your type?"
Soul let out a loud laugh, immediately shaking his head. "No. I’m not answering that."
"Hey! That's not fair!" you laughed, but before you could protest further, Soul raised a hand to signal the waiter. He ordered a drink for himself, and the brief interruption allowed the thick, sudden tension between you to settle back into a slow burn.
When the waiter returned and placed the amber liquid in front of him, you found yourself staring at Soul’s hands—strong, veins faintly visible against his skin as he wrapped his fingers around the glass. Soul lifted the drink, but before taking a sip, he looked up and met your gaze. He nodded at you, a knowing smirk on his face.
"You have a question burning on your tongue, don't you?" he noted dryly.
You smirked back, waiting patiently until he took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink. "I do, actually. Do you guys ever... go on dates? With girls?"
Soul paused, lowering his glass. He looked at you through his thick lashes. "Define 'date.'"
You shrugged, leaning your chin on your hand again. "You know. The usual. Going to a nice restaurant, or seeing a movie together."
Soul let out a soft sigh, his expression turning a bit more serious, though the playful edge never fully vanished. "It’s not that easy. At all."
"I get that," you murmured, your voice softening. "Do you have specific rules you have to follow?"
He nodded, a wry smile touching his lips. "A ton of rules. So many."
You leaned a little closer across the small table, your voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Are you drunk enough to tell me what they are?"
Soul smirked, his eyes dropping briefly to your lips before rising back to meet your gaze. He took another sip of his drink, the amber liquid glistening on his bottom lip. "Nice try. But I can tell you a few."
He spoke quietly, explaining the strict protocols, the carefully coordinated exits, the constant surveillance, and the absolute necessity of keeping their private lives entirely separate from the public eye. As you listened to him speak, your journalist brain completely shut off, replaced by a deep, visceral fascination. There was something undeniably magnetic about the world he lived in.
"Doesn't all that secrecy... make it even more exciting?" you asked softly, leaning in closer, your eyes locked onto his. "The thrill of not getting caught?"
Soul’s smirk deepened, a dangerous, dark glint flashing in his eyes as he nodded. "Yeah. It is kind of exciting."
The air between you grew heavy, thick with a sudden, charged current that made the rest of the lobby completely fade into the background. You felt a bold, reckless urge take over, driven by the wine and the intense pull of his presence.
"Have you ever had a secret affair?" you whispered, your voice thick with a sudden, quiet tension. "One that even your members didn't know about?"
Soul didn't answer right away. Instead, his gaze dropped from your eyes, slowly tracking down the length of your neck, lingering on the exposed collarbone beneath your slightly loosened blazer, before rising back up to look deep into your eyes. The deliberate scrutiny sent a heavy, burning ache straight to your core.
"There is nothing my members don't know about me," he said, his voice dropping an octave, smooth and completely steady.
You raised an eyebrow, your breathing hitching slightly at the intensity in his tone. "Really? You must share absolutely everything with each other then."
Soul nodded, leaning forward just enough that you could catch the faint, expensive scent of his cologne. He looked deep into your eyes, his gaze heavy and unblinking. "We really do. We share everything."
A sudden, sharp wave of arousal hit you like a physical wave, making your core throb tightly. The implicit weight behind his words, combined with the raw, intense way he was looking at you, made your throat go completely dry. He wasn't just talking about secrets; the dark, possessive look in his eyes hinted at something much deeper, a shared boundary that felt entirely thrilling and incredibly dangerous.
You swallowed heavily, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached for your glass and took another sip of wine just to give yourself something to do. "That... must be difficult," you managed to say, your voice a little breathier than before. "To not have anything completely for yourself."
Soul tilted his head, his smirk turning into something much more predatory and confident. "I don't mind sharing," he murmured, his voice velvety soft. "But if I want something... I get it."
The sheer, unadulterated confidence in his words made your breath catch in your throat. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, a warm, heavy sensation settling deep in your lower stomach. Soul clearly noticed your visceral reaction; his eyes tracked the sharp intake of your breath, and a satisfied, devastatingly handsome smirk spread across his lips as he slowly leaned back into his seat, giving you space to breathe.
The silence that followed was thick, suffocatingly hot, and filled with an unspoken tension that felt entirely electric. You cleared your throat, desperately trying to regain a shred of your professional composure, though your hands were still warm.
"You... really are a complex man," you said, offering a weak, slightly breathless smile.
Soul let out a soft laugh, the sudden tension breaking just a fraction. "Sorry if I overshared."
"No!" you answered immediately, the word leaving your lips far too quickly, far too eagerly. You looked deep into his eyes, your gaze intense. "It's fine. Really."
Soul froze for a fraction of a second, visibly startled by how fast and intensely you had responded. Then, a slow, incredibly wicked smirk curved his lips, his eyes practically dancing with amusement at how thoroughly caught you were.
Realizing exactly how transparent you had just been, you instantly looked down at your hands, your face burning a furious, bright red as you cursed yourself internally for being so obvious.
Soul chuckled softly, the sound low and private. He lifted his glass and drank the remaining amber liquid in one smooth swallow. He set the empty glass down with a soft click and slid his hands back into the pockets of his hoodie as he stood up from the plush chair.
"I've wasted enough of your time," he said smoothly, looking down at you. "You should get back to your work."
"Right. Work," you murmured, looking up at him, your heart still racing.
"Good night," he said, offering a polite tilt of his head.
He turned and began to walk toward the elevators. But after only a few steps, he paused. He turned around one last time, his dark eyes locking onto yours across the dimly lit lobby, completely holding you captive.
"Room 704," he said, his tone dry, factual, and entirely deliberate.
Without waiting for a response, he turned back around and walked into the waiting elevator, the doors sliding shut behind him.
You sat frozen at the table, the ambient noise of the hotel lobby slowly rushing back into your ears. Your heart was beating incredibly fast, a wild, erratic rhythm thumping against your chest as you stared at the empty elevator bank. The text on your laptop screen was a complete blur. Your skin felt electric, the heavy, lingering ache between your thighs serving as a vivid reminder of the dangerous invitation he had just left hanging in the air.
Your rational brain desperately tried to kick in, screaming about professionalism, boundaries, and the absolute chaos that would ensue if anyone found out. But your body was entirely deaf to the warning. The raw, intense affect his words had on you had created a heavy, throbbing ache deep in your core that you couldn't ignore. Your thoughts began to malfunction, short-circuiting under the sheer weight of temptation.
Before you could consciously decide to stop yourself, you felt your legs moving. You were up from your seat, packing your laptop away in a daze, and walking toward the elevator bank.
Your palms felt slick and sweaty against your bag. Step by step, the reality of what you were doing pressed down on your chest. When the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, you stepped inside. Your hand hovered over the glowing panel, your fingers trembling violently just inches away from the buttons. You pulled back for a split second, a sudden wave of panic hitting you. What am I doing?
But then you remembered the wicked, predatory smirk on his face when he told you he gets what he wants. You bit your bottom lip hard, leaned forward, and firmly pressed the button for the 7th floor.
The ride up was agonizingly fast. When the doors slid open, the quiet, carpeted hallway of the residential floor stretched out before you. You took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling your legs go completely shaky beneath you as you forced yourself to walk down the corridor.
701... 702... 703...
You stopped in front of Room 704. Your heart was hammering so loudly against your ribs you were certain he could hear it from the other side. Raising a trembling hand, you softly knocked against the heavy wood.
For a second, there was silence. Then, the latch clicked. Your breath hitched sharply in your throat as the door slowly swung inward.
Soul stood in the entryway. He had shed his oversized hoodie, now wearing only a tight black tank top that clung to the broad slope of his shoulders and exposed the lean, toned muscles of his arms. His dark eyes instantly locked onto yours, completely unreadable but intensely focused. He slowly eyed you up and down, taking in your flushed cheeks and shallow breathing, before a faint, knowing smirk touched his lips.
"Do you want to come in?" he asked, his voice a low, raspy murmur.
You hesitated, the final boundary of your professional life hanging in the balance. But looking at the sharp lines of his collarbone and the dark promise in his eyes, the answer was already decided. You gave a slow, tight nod and stepped past him into the dimly lit room.
The heavy door clicked shut behind you, the sound final and absolute. The only light came from the city skyline filtering through the sheer curtains of the window, casting long, dramatic shadows across the bed and the walls.
You turned around to face him, clutching your bag tightly against your front like a shield. The silence between you was suffocatingly thick, charged with an electric tension that made your skin tingle.
"This is probably a huge mistake," you admitted softly, your voice barely a whisper in the quiet room.
Soul raised a single eyebrow, his smirk widening just a fraction as he leaned back against the closed door, crossing his arms over his chest. "You can still leave."
You didn't answer. You couldn't. Your feet felt glued to the floor, your gaze locked onto his mouth.
Seeing your silence, Soul’s expression darkened into something incredibly intense. He lowered his arms and slowly, deliberately, began walking toward you. The sheer magnetism of his stride made your breath catch. Instinctively, you took a step back, then another, until your heels hit the baseboard and your back bumped softly against the wall.
Soul didn't stop until he was standing completely in your personal space, his heat radiating against your skin. He raised his arm, planting his palm firmly against the wall just over your head, effectively trapping you between his body and the hard surface. He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his dark eyes burning into your soul.
"Why did you follow me into my room?" he murmured, his breath brushing warm against your cheek.
You swallowed heavily, your hands dropping to your sides as you looked up at him. "I took your words down there as an invitation."
Soul nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to your mouth before rising back to your eyes. "It was."
A breathless, nervous laugh escaped your lips, your heart racing at his blunt honesty. "So... what are you going to do now?"
Soul’s eyes darkened completely, his focus shifting entirely to your lips. He tilted his head, a dangerous, heavy heat settling over his features. He nodded faintly toward your mouth, his voice dropping into a husky, commanding whisper.
"Take a guess."
The sheer, intoxicating confidence of his words shattered the last bit of your restraint. You bit your lip, let out a soft whimper, and leaned heavily against his chest, completely erasing the distance between you as you crashed your lips against his.
Soul let out a low, rough growl into the kiss, his restraint instantly snapping. His hand moved from the wall, gripping the back of your neck with a firm, possessive hold to tilt your head, deepening the kiss with a fierce, burning hunger. His tongue slid easily past your lips, claiming your mouth in a deep, bruising rhythm that left you entirely breathless.
You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, pulling yourself flush against him. The feeling of his hard chest pressing against your breasts sent a sharp, agonizing wave of arousal straight down to your thighs. You moaned softly into his mouth, your hips instinctively shifting forward, seeking the hard ridge of his desire through his clothes.
Soul groaned at the contact, his free hand sliding down your waist, his long fingers gripping your hip tightly, bruising your skin as he pulled you even tighter against him, grinding his hips firmly against yours. The friction was so intense, so perfect, that your knees went weak, your body completely melting under his touch as he thoroughly dominated the space between you.
Soul took advantage of your sudden breathless surrender, his strong fingers sliding up your wrists. With one smooth, deliberate motion, he raised your hands over your head and pinned them firmly against the wall.
You gasped into the kiss at the sudden loss of control, and he used the opportunity to deepen it, intensifying the friction of his lips and tongue against yours. He poured everything into the kiss, an aggressive, consuming rhythm that made your head spin and your vision blur in the darkened room. A violent shiver racked your body. You instinctively tried to free your wrists, twisting your hands, but his grip was iron clad. He easily kept them pinned, holding you entirely at his mercy.
A choked whimper escaped your throat. Soul finally pulled back a fraction, his chest heaving as he pressed his warm forehead against yours. His dark eyes were black with desire in the shadows, his breath hot against your face.
"Is this what you were talking about down there?" he rasped, his voice a deep, gravelly vibration.
Before you could form a word, his lips slid down your jawline, pressing a hard, searing kiss directly to the sensitive skin of your neck. You arched into his touch, your breath hitching as his teeth grazed your skin.
"The thrill of not getting caught," he reminded you, his voice a velvety whisper against your pulsing vein.
You squeezed your eyes shut, your hands twitching in his grasp as he slid lower, pressing an open-mouthed kiss right over your collarbone. He nipped at the skin there, making you gasp, before he murmured against your collarbone, "You knew exactly what you were doing when you came up here."
"I didn't—" you tried to protest, your voice weak and breathless, but he instantly cut you off.
He caught your lips in another devastating kiss, his hand shifting to cup your jaw. He captured your bottom lip between his teeth, softly biting down and pulling it with a slow, agonizingly hot tension, teasing you until your entire body felt like it was on fire. The sheer intensity of the sensation flooded you with a sudden burst of adrenaline. With one strong, desperate flick of your wrists, you wrenched your hands free from his grip.
Before he could react, you planted your palms firmly against his chest and pushed him backward.
Soul stumbled back a step, the back of his knees hitting the edge of the mattress. He dropped heavily onto the side of the bed, his hands resting on the sheets behind him. He looked up at you through his dark bangs, a thoroughly amused, wicked smile spreading across his face as he watched you breathe heavily, your hair beautifully disheveled.
You looked down at him, your chest heaving as the raw arousal throbbed heavily between your thighs. "I already completely fucked up," you stated, your voice thick with desire.
Soul tilted his head, his smirk deepening as he repeated your exact words back to you, throwing your own challenge right back into your face. "You already fucked up. So... what are you going to do now?"
The bold challenge was the final straw. You stepped forward, closing the distance between his parted knees. Slowly, deliberately, you lifted your leg and straddled his lap, sinking your hips down onto his thighs. Soul’s hands instantly gripped your waist to steady you, his thumbs digging into your skin. You leaned down, burying your fingers into his hair and gripping his face firmly.
"Take a guess," you rasped against his skin.
You crashed your mouth roughly against his again.
Soul let out a fierce growl, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulled you down hard against him. The kiss turned completely feral, a rough, aggressive clash of lips and teeth as you both fought for dominance. He shifted his hand from your waist, his long fingers sliding up your chest until his palm wrapped firmly around the front of your throat. He squeezed it lightly, just enough to restrict your breath for a split second.
You let out a sharp gasp into his mouth at the pressure, your core throbbing violently, while Soul let out a low, dark growl of satisfaction at your reaction.
He tore his mouth from yours, attacking your neck with fierce, bruising kisses. His free hand roamed heavily up and down your body, sliding under your blazer, tracing the curve of your waist and the flare of your hips, his touch growing entirely possessive and demanding. You tilted your head back, exposing your throat to him completely, your hands gripping his shoulders as you instinctively ground your hips down against his, feeling the thick, rigid length of his erection pressing hard against your center through your clothes.
Soul groaned loudly against your skin, his grip on your throat loosening into a heavy caress. "Do you remember..." he whispered roughly, his lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath your ear, "...me telling you that I don't mind sharing things?"
A broken whimper was the only answer you could manage, your mind completely consumed by the overwhelming friction of your bodies. Soul smirked against your skin, clearly loving the absolute mess he had made of you.
Knock. Knock.
The sharp, loud sound against the heavy wood of the hotel door shattered the silence.
You instantly froze on his lap, your heart stopping for a terrifying second before it began to hammer in pure, cold panic. Your eyes went wide as you looked down at him, your body rigid. But Soul didn't even flinch. He remained completely relaxed beneath you, his hands resting casually on your hips, his breathing steady.
You looked at him bewildered, your chest rising and falling rapidly. "Soul," you hissed in a panicked whisper. "Someone is at the door."
Soul simply licked his lips, his dark eyes sparkling with a terrifyingly calm amusement. He tilted his head toward the door, a slow, devastating smirk spreading across his face.
"Go open it," he murmured.
Your jaw dropped. "Are you crazy?" you whispered frantically, glancing toward the door and back to him. "If someone sees me in here—"
"Are you scared?" he challenged softly, his voice dripping with playfulness as his hands slid slowly up your thighs, his fingers brushing dangerously close to your burning core.
You let out a frustrated huff, your mind racing, still entirely skeptical and terrified of the professional ruin waiting on the other side of that wood. Soul noticed your hesitation. He leaned forward, pressing his hard chest back against yours, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He pressed a slow, wet kiss to your skin, his thumb tracing a slow circle on your hip.
"Open it," he whispered against your skin, his voice a low, seductive promise. "I'll reward you if you do."
A soft, helpless moan escaped your lips at the promise, the sheer thrill of the danger spiking your arousal to an unbearable pitch. Slowly, reluctantly, you untangled yourself from his lap. Your legs felt like jelly as you stood up, quickly smoothing down your rumpled clothes and running a frantic hand through your hair. You took one last, breathless look back at Soul. He was leaning back on his elbows on the bed, looking entirely unbothered as he winked at you.
You swallowed the lump in your throat and walked toward the door, each step feeling like a walk toward a firing squad. Your hand shook as you reached out, unlocked the latch, and pulled the door open just a few inches.
Your breath hitched sharply, completely freezing in your throat.
Standing in the brightly lit hallway was Jongseob. He was leaning casually against the doorframe, a sleek, premium bottle of wine held loosely in one hand. The moment the door opened, his dark eyes locked onto yours. A slow, incredibly knowing smirk spread across his lips as his gaze deliberately raked up and down your disheveled appearance—taking in your flushed face, swollen lips, and the slightly wrinkled fabric of your blazer.
Your jaw went completely slack, your voice trapped in your throat as the realization of what Soul meant by sharing crashed over you in a devastating wave.
Jongseob tilted his head, his smirk widening into a handsome, wicked grin as he looked past you into the darkened room, then back to your stunned face.
"Am I late?" he asked smoothly.
He didn't look rushed or surprised; instead, he caught your gaze, holding it with a soft, entirely deliberate smirk that sent a fresh jolt of adrenaline straight to your toes. You watched him cross the small entryway and casually set the premium bottle of wine down on the sleek dresser.
Left alone at the open threshold, you looked out into the empty, dimly lit hallway of the hotel. The quiet corridor represented safety, your professional life, and an easy escape route. You could just walk out right now. But as you stood there, the thick, heavy heat pulsing inside your lower stomach completely took over, melting away the last shred of your hesitation.
Slowly, you let the door swing shut, the lock clicking into place with a definitive snap.
You walked back into the main room, crossing your arms as you looked between the two of them. Soul was still lounging back on the bed, looking like a pleased cat, while Jongseob was standing by the dresser.
"So," you began, trying to inject a bit of your journalistic sharpness back into your tone despite your racing pulse. "Is this your thing? One of you lures the victim into his room while the other one waits outside to join in?"
Jongseob and Soul immediately exchanged a quick, highly amused look. Jongseob reached for the wine bottle, effortlessly cracking the seal and opening it with a practiced ease. He tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours as he poured a small amount into a glass.
"You don't exactly seem uninterested," he pointed out, his voice smooth and laced with a quiet confidence that made your skin tingle.
You eyed him up and down, taking in the sharp lines of his jaw and his effortless posture, before your gaze drifted to the bottle. "Is that the same wine you ordered for me downstairs?"
He nodded, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Soul texted me and told me that you liked it."
A sudden warmth bloomed in your chest. You tried to stop yourself from smiling—wanting to maintain at least a little bit of mystery—but you failed miserably. To hide it, you quickly looked down at your feet, biting the inside of your cheek.
When you looked back up, Jongseob was watching you, his expression softening into something incredibly intense. "You had my attention from the exact moment you walked into the interview today," he said softly.
You raised an eyebrow, a sarcastic, playful edge returning to your voice. "Oh, really? And how many girls have you told that already?"
Jongseob let out a rich, genuine chuckle, shaking his head. He stepped away from the dresser, slowly closing the distance between you. "See? This is exactly one of the reasons why we think you're so interesting."
From the bed, Soul leaned forward, his voice a low, raspy murmur. "She is bold."
"Sharp and clever, too," Jongseob added, stopping just inches away from you. The proximity was intoxicating. He raised a hand, his long, warm fingers brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face, his touch agonizingly gentle. "You're not an idiot. You know how things work."
A violent shiver racked your body under his light touch. Jongseob’s gaze dropped to your mouth, and he let his index finger slide slowly over your bottom lip, tracing the sensitive skin that Soul had just bitten minutes prior. The contrast of his cool finger against your burning skin made your breath hitch.
He leaned in just a fraction closer, his eyes dark. "You call the shots now," he murmured, his thumb lightly pressing against your jawline. He nodded slightly toward the closed door behind you. "You can leave. No one is stopping you."
You looked over at the door, the final boundary, and then looked right back up into Jongseob's intense stare. Instead of backing away, you reached past him, your hand wrapping around the neck of the open wine bottle. Keeping your eyes locked directly with his, you lifted the bottle and took a slow, deliberate sip straight from it. The rich, complex flavor flooded your senses, fueling the reckless fire in your veins.
You lowered the bottle, a bold smirk playing on your swollen lips as you nodded. "The wine really is incredibly good."
From behind you, Soul let out a low huff of a laugh. "I told you. Jongseob has amazing taste."
You turned your head slightly to look at Soul, who was now watching the two of you with a heavy, hooded gaze. "Jongseob might have good taste," you pointed out, your voice dropping into a teasing, sultry purr, "but apparently he has no manners. Because he completely interrupted us."
Soul’s smirk deepened into something wicked, his eyes flashing with delight as he glanced up at his member. "I agree."
Jongseob chuckled softly, not bothered by the callout at all. Step by step, he moved behind you, his large, warm hands settling firmly onto your waist. The heat of his palms burned through your blazer. With a slow, deliberate pressure, he gently turned your body around until you were facing the bed again, completely presenting you to Soul.
"Just act like I'm not even here," Jongseob whispered against the shell of your ear, his breath sending a wave of goosebumps down your neck.
When you opened your mouth to say something, to protest the sheer, overwhelming sensation of being caught between the two of them, Jongseob squeezed your waist tightly, his thumbs digging into your hips.
"Don't worry," he promised, his voice dropping into a dark, husky rasp that vibrated straight through your spine. "I will get my turn."
He gave you a gentle, firm push forward. Your shaky legs moved automatically, bringing you right to the edge of the bed. Soul smoothly stood up, his tall, lean frame towering over you as he stepped directly into your space, completely blocking out the rest of the room. His hands came up, his long fingers instantly tangling into your hair, tilting your face up to his.
Behind you, you could hear the soft rustle of Jongseob’s clothes as he watched, his heavy presence lingering just a few feet away. He leaned in one last time, his voice a gravelly, commanding whisper in your ear.
"For now... only focus on Soul."
You bit your bottom lip hard, a broken, needy whimper escaping your throat as the sheer, explicit thrill of the moment completely consumed you. Looking up into Soul’s dark, hungry eyes, you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck and slowly leaned in, crashing your lips against his once again.
The kiss shifted, the frantic, bruising urgency from before melting into something agonizingly slow, deep, and heavy with passion. Soul’s lips parted yours with a smooth, deliberate rhythm, his tongue sweeping inside to taste you fully, making your head swim.
Behind you, Jongseob watched the two of you with dark, unblinking eyes, his breathing turning shallow. His large hands slid up from your waist, his long fingers hooking into the lapels of your blazer. He dragged the fabric slowly down, sliding it off your shoulders. Your body reacted automatically to his touch; you let your arms slip free from the sleeves, letting the jacket drop carelessly to the floor. Underneath, you wore a thin, soft shirt, and Jongseob let his bare fingertips trace a slow, burning path up your exposed arms while Soul continued to thoroughly consume your mouth.
With a gentle but firm pressure, Jongseob gathered your wrists behind your back, holding them loosely in one of his hands. He leaned his forehead against the back of your shoulder, looking past you at Soul, his voice a low, rough exhale.
"You were right," Jongseob breathed, his dark eyes fixed on the flush of your skin. "She really is beautiful."
Soul pulled back from the kiss, a soft, breathless smile curving his wet lips as he looked up at you. "Did you hear that?" he murmured, his thumb lightly stroking your cheek.
You let out a soft, helpless chuckle, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs. Soul slowly sank down onto his knees on the carpet right in front of you. Your breath hitched as his hands moved to the waistband of your pants. His fingers were steady and deliberate as he popped the button and slowly slid the zipper down. He gripped the fabric, pulling your pants down your shaky legs, leaving you standing in just your shirt and panties.
You looked down at him, your chest heaving, when suddenly you felt Jongseob’s free hand wrap entirely around your front, pulling your back flush against his chest. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, his voice dropping to a wicked, gravelly whisper.
"Soul could barely wait to get you up here," Jongseob murmured, his grip on your waist tightening possessively. "He told me you made him so incredibly hard during the interview. Every time you smiled at him."
You let out a sharp gasp, a needy whine tearing from your throat as Soul’s hands suddenly gripped the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, squeezing them firmly. Soul leaned forward, burying his face against your lower stomach. His lips pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses across your skin, his tongue swirling out to softly lick over the warm flesh just below your navel.
A deep groan vibrated against your skin as Soul rasped out, "You smell incredible. So sweet."
Jongseob smiled against your skin, his lips tracing a path up your neck to the sensitive spot just beneath your jaw. He nipped at the pulsing vein there, whispering roughly, "I bet she tastes even better."
Soul’s dark eyes snapped up, locking directly with yours from his position on his knees. He bit his bottom lip, a predatory, intense glint in his gaze as his thumbs hooked into the elastic edges of your panties.
"I'm going to find out," he murmured.
Slowly, deliberately, he slid the lace down your hips, exposing your burning, aching core completely to the cool air of the room.
Soul peppered the soft skin of your inner thighs with open-mouthed, teasing kisses, his breath hot against your trembling flesh. The raw sensation sent a violent spike of heat straight to your core, and you instinctively flexed your arms, twisting your wrists within Jongseob’s firm grip behind your back.
Jongseob let out a low, vibrating chuckle against your ear, his chest rumbling against your shoulder blades as he tightened his hold. "Look at you," he purred, his voice dripping with smooth, wicked amusement. "You can't wait either, can you?"
Soul let out a low curse under his breath, his dark eyes locked on the space between your thighs. He reached out, his long, warm fingers sliding slowly through your soft folds. He swiped upward, coating his fingertips in your slickness.
"She is absolutely soaked," Soul stated, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly register as he rubbed his damp thumb against your sensitive bundle of nerves.
Jongseob let out a soft hum, playfully teasing you as his lips grazed your jawline. "Is that true? Are you that turned on by us?" He gently cupped your chin with his free hand, turning your head toward him so you had to look into his dark, blown-out pupils. "Look at me. Soul is going to have a taste of your pretty pussy now. Are you ready for him?"
A desperate, broken whine tore from your throat. Instead of answering with words, you instinctively bent your hips forward, your core arching toward Soul’s face in a silent, needy plea for friction.
Jongseob’s smirk widened, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he looked down at his member. "That is definitely a yes."
Soul chuckles, the sound deep and completely satisfied. Moving with a swift, confident grace, he reached up and hooked his strong arm under your knee, lifting one of your legs and draping it firmly over his broad shoulder. The sudden shift in balance made your foot leave the floor, and your weight bumped heavily back against Jongseob's solid chest.
Jongseob immediately wrapped his arm securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him to steady you. "I've got you," he promised roughly against your neck. "Don't worry."
With your body completely open and vulnerable, Soul didn't hesitate for another second. He used his long fingers to spread your folds wide, exposing your glistening center completely. His eyes locked onto yours one last time before he leaned in and dived right in with his mouth, burying his face against your burning core.
Soul started to greedily eat you out, his tongue lapping at your slick folds in broad, wet strokes before he narrowed his focus, poking and swirling the sharp tip of his tongue directly against your swollen clit. The sudden, intense friction made your entire body jolt. You let out a loud, uninhibited moan that echoed through the quiet room, your hips jerking helplessly as you pressed yourself firmly back against Jongseob's solid frame.
Jongseob didn't hesitate. He leaned forward and swallowed your loud moans, capturing your mouth in a rough, sloppy kiss. It was entirely different from Soul’s precise, sensual style—Jongseob was demanding and breathless, his tongue tangling with yours aggressively, matching the frantic pulse of the room. You moaned loudly against his lips, completely overloaded by the dual sensations.
While keeping you pinned to his mouth, Jongseob’s free hand slid down your front, his fingers tangling into Soul’s hair. He gripped the back of Soul's head and firmly pressed his face even closer against your soaking core.
Jongseob pulled back just a fraction, his lips brushing yours as he mumbled, "Does that feel good? Tell me."
You could only let out a soft, fractured moan as an answer. Jongseob smiled, a dark, dangerous look crossing his features as his hand tightened in Soul's hair. "I'm not sure if that's enough for you yet," he murmured playfully.
Soul easily took the hint. His movements instantly got more intense. He increased the speed, applying more pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves, his tongue flattening out to lap at you rhythmically while his fingers slid deep inside your tight, soaking heat.
The overwhelming sensation shattered your restraint. You let out a loud scream, your head tossing back against Jongseob’s shoulder.
"Good girl," Jongseob praised against your ear, his voice husky and rough. He felt your muscles contracting, your arms flexing wildly in his grip as you tried to free your wrists. "What's wrong? Do you want to move?"
You kept moaning and whining in pure pleasure, completely helpless as Soul grunted against your wet skin, literally fucking you with his tongue. He was relentless, his jaw working hard as he drank your sweetness, his fingers pumping inside you in a fast, wet rhythm that had you completely on the edge of a devastating climax.
Jongseob let out a heavy, ragged sigh against your ear, his breath burning hot. "Your moans are so pretty," he rasped, his eyes fixed on the sight of Soul’s wet mouth working between your thighs. "I cannot wait to see what kind of sounds you're going to make when it's finally my turn."
Your whole body tensed violently at his words, the thought of what was coming sending a shiver straight to your core. Soul looked up through his lashes, his eyes dark and completely blown out as he caught you looking down at him. He didn't stop, keeping his tongue glued to your clit as your walls began to ripple with the first waves of an impending orgasm.
You gasped for air, your chest heaving, your fingers twitching behind your back. Soul kept going, his pace punishing, driving you deeper into the pleasure.
Jongseob watched the two of you, his pupils completely swallowing the irises of his dark eyes. He tightened his grip on your waist, his own breathing incredibly heavy as he looked down at Soul.
"Soul," Jongseob choked out, his voice thick with a sudden, uncontrollable edge of impatience. "You might have to hurry up down there. I'm getting impatient."
When the words left Jongseob’s mouth, a sudden, fierce spike of desire and stubbornness flared within you. You gasped for air, your chest heaving, and loudly said, "No."
Both men froze. Soul stopped his wet, punishing movements against your core, looking up at you through his dark fringe with a look of pure, unadulterated confusion. Behind you, Jongseob’s grip on your wrists loosened just a fraction, his head tilting as he stared at the side of your flushed face.
You tried desperately to control your ragged breathing, blinking through the haze of pleasure. You turned your head slightly, catching Jongseob’s dark gaze. "You said... I call the shots now," you reminded him, your voice breathy but entirely firm.
Jongseob and Soul exchanged a long, silent look, a heavy tension hanging between them. You didn't give them time to debate. You lowered your gaze down to Soul, who was still kneeling between your thighs, his lips glistening and wet with your slickness.
"I want you to fuck me," you told him directly.
Soul’s eyes went completely pitch-black. A dangerous, thrilled expression washed over his features. He smoothly stood up from the floor, his tall frame looming over you as he brought his hands up to cup your face, his long fingers burying into your hair. His thumbs stroked your burning cheeks, tilting your head up.
"Repeat that," he rasped, his voice dropping into a demanding, gravelly whisper. "Say it again."
Instead of answering with words right away, you leaned forward, crashing your lips against his in a deep, bruising kiss that tasted heavily of yourself and the wine. When you finally pulled back, your eyes were locked onto his, entirely unblinking.
"Haku Shota," you called out, using his full name, the syllables heavy and deliberate on your tongue. "Fuck me."
Soul let out a low, feral growl that vibrated straight through your chest. He instantly let go of your face and reached down, grabbing the hem of his black tank top and ripping it over his head in one fluid, aggressive motion, tossing it blindly onto the floor. His bare chest was lean and beautifully defined, his muscles taut as he breathed heavily.
"I might regret sharing you," he rasped, his eyes raking over your body with a sudden, intense possessiveness. "Because with you talking like that... I want you all to myself."
Behind you, Jongseob let out a low, amused chuckle. He slowly, deliberately let go of your arms, his warm fingers sliding off your wrists. He stepped back a couple of inches, a relaxed but incredibly dark smirk on his face. "Get what you want," he murmured to you.
The very moment your arms were free, you practically lunged at Soul. Your hands dropped to his waist, your fingers trembling with a mix of adrenaline and needy desperation as you unbuckled his belt and tugged roughly at the button and zipper of his pants. Soul didn't just stand there; his lips clashed against yours again, his hands gripping your waist to steady you as you both greedily made out, tongue tangling with tongue in a frantic, messy rhythm.
"How do you want me?" Soul groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip the flesh of your ass.
"I want to ride you," you rasped against his lips, your core throbbing in agonizing synchronization with his breath.
Soul moaned loudly at the words. He reached down, quickly pushing his pants and his boxers down past his hips. He stepped out of his clothes and climbed back onto the mattress, moving with an effortless grace before he lay flat on his back, his hard, rigid length standing proudly against his stomach.
You immediately moved to climb onto the mattress, intending to straddle his lap, but Soul’s strong hands caught your waist, stopping you in your tracks.
"No," Soul murmured, his voice tight with restraint. "I want Jongseob to see exactly what you're doing to me."
With a firm, unyielding grip, he turned your body around, positioning you so your back was to his chest, forcing you to face Jongseob, who was still standing at the edge of the bed, his arms crossed and his pupils completely blown out as he watched the display.
"Sit down," Jongseob ordered softly, his voice a low, commanding rumble that made your core twitch with a fresh wave of wetness.
You slowly climbed onto Soul’s lap, your knees framing his hips. As you hovered over him, you could feel the blistering heat of his hard length pressing directly against your aching entrance from underneath.
Jongseob stepped closer, the fabric of his clothes brushing against your bare knees. He looked down at you, his gaze heavy. "Lift up your arms," he ordered.
You obeyed automatically, raising your hands over your head. Jongseob reached down, gripping the hem of your thin shirt and smoothly sliding it up and off your body, leaving you sitting there in nothing but your bra. His eyes lingered on your exposed skin, a low hum of appreciation escaping his throat. "Beautiful," he murmured, before his gaze snapped back to your eyes. "Take it off, too."
You reached behind your back, unhooking the clasp with practiced ease, and let the bra slip off your shoulders, baring your breasts to the cool air of the room.
The moment the lace fell away, Soul instantly sat up behind you. His bare, warm chest pressed flush against your sensitive back, his body heat completely enveloping you. He wrapped his long arms around your front, his large hands cupping your breasts firmly, his thumbs immediately finding your stiff nipples and rolling them. You let out a breathless gasp, your head falling back against his shoulder.
"I won't come inside you," Soul rasped in your ear, his voice tight and heavy as he nipped at your earlobe. "Remember the rules I told you about downstairs? We keep it safe."
You nodded frantically, your mind completely fried by the sheer sensory overload of Soul’s hands on your chest and Jongseob’s dark eyes tracking every single movement from the edge of the bed.
Soul let out a dark chuckle and lightly tapped your hip, a silent command. "Rise up a little."
You pushed up onto your knees, hovering inches above him. Soul reached down between your bodies, his warm fingers gripping his own length and positioning the broad, slick tip right at your tight, soaking entrance. You let out a sharp gasp before he even moved, the sheer heat of him threatening to push you over the edge.
Soul didn't wait. His hands flew up to your waist, his grip tightening until his knuckles turned white, and with one firm, unyielding downward pull, he made you sit completely down on him, burying his length deep inside your burning heat.
Your eyes went wide, the sudden, overwhelming stretch of him filling you completely making your breath catch in your throat. The sheer fullness was dizzying, and your body instinctively tried to cave forward under the weight of the pleasure. But before you could fall, Jongseob’s strong hands shot forward, catching you firmly by your forearms and keeping you upright.
Behind you, Soul let out a harsh, ragged curse that vibrated directly against your spine. He slapped your bare ass with a sharp, stinging crack, making you gasp into the quiet room. "Fuck," he hissed against your neck, his voice dangerously low. "You are so incredibly tight."
He buried his face between your shoulder blades, peppering the heated skin with bruising, open-mouthed kisses. "I know I should take my time with you," he rasped, his hips twitching beneath yours as your walls clenched tightly around him. "But the way you are squeezing me right now... I want to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk tomorrow."
Jongseob let out a low, warning growl from the edge of the bed, his grip tightening on your arms. "Hey," he scolded, his eyes dark as he glared at Soul. "Don't ruin her. Remind yourself that I get to have her as well."
Soul chuckled darkly against your skin. He slowly drew his hips back, nearly pulling all the way out, before he pushed firmly back inside you, bottoming out against your core. The deep, heavy sensation made you release a fractured breath you didn't even know you were holding. Your knees shook on the mattress, and you desperately held onto Jongseob’s strong arms for dear life while Soul stayed buried inside you, letting your body stretch out and adjust to his size.
Jongseob’s gaze dropped to where your fingers were digging tightly into his skin. He licked his lips, a predatory smile spreading across his face. "You better be careful," he warned, his voice dropping into a husky purr. "Holding onto me like that is going to give me some very bad ideas."
Before you could answer, Soul started to move. He established a controlled, agonizingly deep pace, his hands gripping your hips to guide your body as you bounced rhythmically in his lap. Every upward and downward thrust hit your sweet spot perfectly, making your head roll back against Soul’s chest as continuous waves of friction flooded your senses.
Even through the haze of Soul’s punishing rhythm, your gaze flicked up to Jongseob. Driven by a sudden, shameless surge of greed, you let go of his arms and reached forward, your fingers hooking tightly into his belt loops. You pulled him firmly toward the edge of the bed, demanding his proximity.
Jongseob let out a rich, surprised chuckle as your trembling fingers went straight for his belt buckle. You let out a loud, broken moan as Soul thrust deeply into you, but you didn't stop, aggressively shoving down Jongseob's pants and revealing the thick, rigid shape of his length pulsing beneath his dark boxers.
"Look at you," Jongseob pointed out, his voice thick with arousal as he looked down at your frantic movements. "You really are greedy, aren't you?"
Behind you, Soul chuckled and slapped your ass again, the sound loud in the dark room. "I knew it already!" he called out, his pace picking up just a fraction, matching the sudden increase of chaotic energy. "She's trouble."
Jongseob reached forward, his long fingers tangling into your disheveled hair, gently tilting your head back so you had to look up at him. "Are you really that desperate for two cocks?" he mockingly asked, a wicked, beautiful smirk on his face.
As a direct answer, you leaned your head forward. Without a shred of hesitation, you swiped your tongue right along the fabric of his boxers, tracing the thick, burning outline of his length through the cloth.
Jongseob let out a loud, guttural groan, his hips twitching forward into your mouth at the sudden contact. Just as he did, Soul delivered a particularly hard, unforgiving upward thrust from behind, hitting your cervix. A high-pitched, desperate whimper tore from your throat, your core clenching violently around Soul’s length.
Jongseob cursed lowly, the visual and physical overload finally breaking his calm composure. He ripped his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor, his chest heaving as his eyes turned entirely feral.
"Fine," he growled, his voice a dark, possessive promise as he reached for the waistband of his underwear. "If you want it that way, let's do it your way then"
The moment the fabric of Jongseob’s boxers dropped, Soul reacted with a sudden, possessive surge of dominance. He surged forward, flattening his bare chest completely against your back, pinning you securely against his frame. He wrapped his large hand firmly around the front of your throat, applying just enough commanding pressure to force a helpless, echoing moan from your lips.
With you securely trapped in his grip, Soul didn't slow down; he picked up the pace, pumping up into your soaking core with a heavy, wet friction that had your thighs trembling violently on the mattress.
Jongseob stepped onto the mattress, dropping onto his knees directly in front of your face. His thick, fully erect length was pulsing in the dim light, glistening with pre-cum. He locked eyes with Soul, giving him a tight, knowing nod of mutual understanding.
"Open your pretty mouth for him," Soul hissed in your ear, his voice a gravelly, demanding rasp against your skin as he delivered another deep, punishing thrust from behind.
Driven entirely by the explicit thrill of the moment, your lips parted instantly, your tongue rolling forward in anticipation.
Jongseob let out a low, ragged praise, his eyes darkening to a completely black void as he leaned over you. He gripped the base of his length and deliberately slapped the hot, sensitive tip across your tongue, coating it in his heat. He let out a breathless, disbelieving chuckle, his hips twitching. "Fuck," he muttered, looking between your blown-out pupils and his dick. "I could literally come just from the sight of this."
Without making you wait another second, Jongseob guided his rigid shaft forward, shoving it deep into your mouth. A low, guttural groan tore from his chest as your tight, wet heat enveloped him.
The intoxicating taste of him sent a shockwave straight to your lower stomach. You instantly closed your lips tightly around his thick girth, suctioning your cheeks as you rhythmically began to bob your head, taking him as deep down your throat as you could manage.
The double penetration was completely overwhelming. Behind you, Soul let out a fierce, breathless grunt. He attacked the side of your neck, pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses against your skin while his hands dug bruisingly into your hips, aggressively fucking up into you with a relentless, driving force that had you completely caught between them.
They kept using you like that, completely dominating your body in the shadows of the hotel room. By all accounts, you were an absolute mess—your hair was tangled, your skin was slick with a mixture of sweat and pre-cum, and your breath was hitching in frantic, broken gasps. But you loved every single second of it. The taboo thrill of being sandwiched between the two idols, completely at their mercy, had elevated your arousal to an almost painful pitch.
They continued to take turns with you, filling every available space. Jongseob kept a steady, deep rhythm in your mouth, his hands resting heavily on your shoulders to guide your head, while Soul ruthlessly rode you from behind, his hips slamming against your ass with a wet, heavy rhythm that shook your entire frame. They showered you in filthy, possessive praise, their low grunts and whispered compliments echoing in the quiet room as their hands roamed over your exposed, hypersensitive skin.
Suddenly, Soul let out a harsh, strangled gasp. He felt the internal muscles of your walls violently twitching, clamping down around his rigid length with an intense, involuntary suction.
"Jongseob," Soul choked out, his voice thick and strained as he gripped your hips with white-knuckled intensity. "She's-... she's clamping down on me so hard. I think she’s about to cum for us."
Jongseob, who was right in the middle of a deep push into your mouth, froze. He slowly pulled his slick, dripping length out of your lips with a soft pop. Instead of backing away, he shifted his weight on his knees, dropping lower until his face was perfectly on eye level with yours. His breathing was incredibly ragged, his chest heaving as he reached out and cupped your flushed, sweaty cheeks in his large palms.
"Look at me," Jongseob commanded softly, his dark eyes burning into yours. "Are you about to come for us? Right now?"
You could barely form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. Your mind was completely fried. You simply nodded your head eagerly against his hands, your eyes pleading and unfocused.
Seeing your confirmation, Soul didn't hesitate. He let out a feral growl and instantly fastened his thrusts, abandoning all restraint. He pounded up into you with a fast, merciless, and punishing speed, making your body bounce violently in his lap. The brutal, rapid friction against your G-spot was too much to bear.
Your eyes rolled back into your head as the intense pressure peaked. Right at that exact second, Jongseob leaned forward and caught your lips in a rough, bruising kiss, his tongue sliding inside to claim your mouth one last time.
You let out a muffled, desperate moan straight into his mouth as your orgasm finally snapped. Your internal walls clamped down on Soul in tight, violent waves, sending a blinding rush of pure ecstasy straight through your spine that left your entire body trembling helplessly in their hold.
Tears of pure, overwhelming pleasure leaked from the corners of your eyes, tracking warm paths down your flushed cheeks. Your head fell back against Jongseob's shoulder as a high-pitched, broken whine tore from your throat, your entire body shivering violently in the aftermath of the intense climax.
Soul reacted instantly. The clamping friction of your release had pushed him right to his absolute limit. He let out a harsh, guttural grunt as he gripped your hips and pulled his rigid length completely out of your soaking heat with a wet, heavy slide. Before you could even process the sudden loss of warmth, his strong hands caught your shoulders, and he threw you back onto the mattress, flipping you onto your back.
You collapsed into the plush sheets, your legs dangling weakly off the edge of the bed as you gasped for air, your chest heaving.
Soul didn't waste a single second. He straddled your leg, leaning over your body like a predator. His face was flushed, his jaw tight, and his dark hair was completely disheveled as he gripped his own thick, pulsing length. He began to roughly and aggressively jerk himself off right above you, his breath coming in heavy, ragged pants. His veins stood out sharply against his neck and arms as his stroke quickened, his gaze locked entirely on your exposed, messy body.
"Fuck," he hissed under his breath, his voice a deep, gravelly vibration that made your core twitch all over again. "You are so fucking hot."
He threw his head back, his eyes snapping shut as his body went completely rigid. With a loud, breathless groan, he came heavily all over your bare stomach and breasts, the thick, white heat splashing across your skin.
As his breathing slowed, Soul instantly leaned down, pinning your wrists to the mattress on either side of your head. He crashed his mouth against yours, kissing you passionately and deeply, his tongue tasting the lingering sweetness of the wine and yourself on your lips.
Your lips moved together in a slow, deep rhythm that felt entirely grounding after the absolute chaos of your release. Soul let out a soft sigh into your mouth, one of his hands leaving your wrist to gently brush his thumb beneath your eyes, wiping away the wet tracks of your tears with an unexpected, tender care.
When he finally pulled back, a thick strand of saliva connected your lips before breaking. Both of you were panting heavily, your chests rising and falling in sync. You could feel the sticky, cooling weight of his release resting heavily against your bare skin, a stark, visceral reminder of exactly what you had just done. Soul looked down at you, his previous predatory edge completely melting away as he flashed you a gentle, surprisingly sweet smile that made your heart skip a beat for an entirely different reason.
Before you could say a word, the heavy mattress dipped significantly behind him.
Jongseob’s shadow loomed over the two of you as he crawled closer. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, a low, teasing sound as his dark eyes locked onto your disheveled form.
"Sorry to ruin your little moment, Soul," Jongseob murmured, his voice a deep, gravelly rasp that immediately brought the heavy tension back into the air. He wrapped his hand around Soul’s shoulder, a firm, possessive squeeze. "But I have to remind you... we are not done yet."
The two men shifted with an effortless, synchronized coordination that made it clear they truly did share everything. Jongseob reached out, his strong hands sliding under your armpits to gently but firmly lift you up into a sitting position on the tangled sheets. Soul smoothly slid down the mattress, positioning himself directly behind you once again.
You found yourself nestled securely between Soul’s parted legs. He didn't waste a second, his bare chest flattening against your back while his long arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his heat. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips softly kissing the bruised skin beneath your ear, his breath tickling your sensitive skin.
In front of you, Jongseob’s gaze darkened as he took in the sight. He reached forward, his large hands wrapping around your ankles. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled your legs apart, spreading them wide across the mattress so he could settle down entirely between them.
He leaned forward, hovering over your open lap. His eyes tracked the trail of Soul's release marking your skin, his lips curling into a wicked, devastatingly handsome smirk.
"Look at what a complete mess Soul made of you," Jongseob taunted softly, his voice dropping into a low, hypnotic purr that made your core throb tightly all over again.
He slid down further onto his stomach, propping his weight up on his elbows so his face was perfectly at eye level with your swollen, glistening core. The cool air of the room hit your soaking center, completely exposing you to his intense, heavy gaze.
Jongseob reached out, his thumb lightly stroking the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, making your muscles twitch. He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a terrifyingly confident promise.
"I'll be gentle," he whispered, his hot breath brushing directly against your folds. "At least... for the first few minutes."
You gasped loudly at the heavy promise in his voice, the sound bouncing off the walls of the quiet hotel room. Jongseob’s smirk only deepened, his dark eyes locking onto yours for a fraction of a second before he flicked his gaze up to Soul, giving a tight, commanding nod.
"Spread her open for me," Jongseob ordered, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.
Soul didn't hesitate. His large, warm hands slid down from your waist, wrapping firmly around the undersides of your thighs. With a smooth, unyielding pressure, he lifted and spread your legs even further apart, pinning your knees back so that your swollen, glistening core was completely bared to Jongseob.
Jongseob licked his lips, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of how thoroughly worked over you already were. He leaned in closer, the tip of his nose brushing against your damp skin before he began pressing featherlight, open-mouthed kisses against your sensitive outer folds. He gave you slow, teasing kitten licks, tasting the sweetness Soul had left behind, all while letting out low, vibrating hums of praise directly against your flesh.
"So wet for us," he murmured, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.
You let out a broken moan, your hips involuntarily twitching against the mattress the moment the flat of his tongue made direct contact with your clit. The sharp spike of pleasure made your toes curl. Behind you, Soul let out a low huff of a laugh, his bare chest vibrating against your back.
"Look at how sensitive she is," Soul chuckled, his fingers tightening slightly on your thighs to keep you perfectly still. "You barely touched her and she's already shaking."
Jongseob pulled back just a millimeter, his lips wet and a dark, wicked smile playing on his face. "She can take more," he told Soul confidently, his eyes locking onto yours to watch your reaction. "Can't you?"
Before you could even try to process a breath, Jongseob dived back in, officially starting to eat you out. His technique was entirely different from Soul’s aggressive, greedy style—Jongseob was agonizingly precise and much slower, using long, deliberate upward strokes of his tongue to map out your anatomy. He knew exactly what he was doing, applying just the right amount of pressure to your clit before swirling his tongue around your entrance, driving you absolutely insane with the controlled rhythm.
You whined desperately, a high-pitched, needy sound tearing from your throat. The slow torture was too much to handle; losing all control, you instinctively arched your hips forward, pressing your dripping core flat against Jongseob's face, practically begging for more speed.
Jongseob let out a fierce, muffled growl against your wet skin at your boldness, his hands shooting up to grip your hips tightly to lock you in place while Soul kept you spread completely open from behind.
He lapped at your swollen clit with broad, heavy strokes, occasionally pausing to press soft, open-mouthed kisses against your sensitive inner thighs, sucking gently on the skin until you were completely delirious.
Your entire body began to shake violently against the mattress. The desperate, building pressure in your lower stomach was turning into absolute torture.
"Please," you sobbed out, your voice cracking as you looked down at his head between your legs. "Please, Jongseob, give me more. Faster."
Jongseob let out a low, vibrating coo against your wet flesh, his lips brushing your folds as he spoke. "No way," he murmured, his voice thick with a dark, satisfied confidence. "Soul already had his fun with you. I’m in absolutely no rush to finish."
To prove his point, he applied just a little bit more direct pressure with the flat of his tongue, swirling it slowly over your most sensitive bundle of nerves. A high-pitched gasp tore from your throat, and you writhed helplessly underneath him, your hips jerking upward in a useless attempt to force a faster rhythm.
Soul, feeling the violent tremors racking your body, let out a soft, low growl into the shell of your ear. His hands tightened on your waist, and he began to slowly, rhythmically rut the thick, rigid length of his cock against the cleft of your ass. The dual friction—Soul’s hard heat sliding against you from behind and Jongseob’s wet, precise tongue working you from the front—shattered the last shred of your sanity.
Losing all sense of caution, your hand flew forward, your fingers burying deep into Jongseob’s soft, dark hair. You fisted the strands tightly, desperately trying to pull his head closer, trying to force more friction, more speed, anything to break the agonizing plateau he was keeping you on.
But Jongseob was unyielding. He let out a muffled grunt into your core at the tight grip on his hair, but he stuck firmly to his controlled, torturous pace, deliberately withholding the fast release you were begging for. He kept lapping, kept sucking, building the tension until the pleasure became blinding.
Suddenly, your vision began to spark with literal stars. The pressure exploded.
Your core violently clamped down as a devastating wave of ecstasy hit you. You sat abruptly up, your back tearing away from Soul’s chest as you let out a loud, uninhibited scream that echoed off the hotel walls. Your walls convulsed in tight, powerful ripples, and your climax crashed over you so intensely that you came fluidly and heavily all over his face.
Jongseob didn't back away. He stayed right there, his eyes closing as he took the full force of your release, letting out a low, deeply satisfied groan against your soaking skin.
Your head was completely blurry, your vision swimming with static as you slowly began to come down from the overwhelming high of your orgasm. Your muscles felt like liquid, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.
Jongseob didn't give you a moment to recover. He slowly crawled forward, his lips pressing a trail of hot, wet kisses up the inside of your thigh, over your stomach, and up your chest until he was facing you again. His face was flushed, his jaw tight, and your release glistened on his cheeks and chin, making him look dangerously handsome. He reached down, hooking his large hands under your knees to softly wrap your legs around his waist, the broad, blazing hot tip of his length poking directly at your wet entrance.
"Look at me," he ordered, his voice a low, gravelly command.
You forced your heavy eyelids open, your unfocused gaze locking onto his dark, blown-out pupils.
"Open your mouth," he murmured. The moment your lips parted in a breathless gasp, he leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue sliding inside to claim your mouth in a slick, heavy rhythm. Simultaneously, he reached down between your bodies, guiding his rigid shaft forward, and smoothly slid himself all the way inside of you.
You flinched sharply at the sudden, deep fullness, a muted whine caught in the back of your throat as he stretched your walls out all over again. Your hands flew to his bare back, your fingers digging tightly into his shoulder blades to ground yourself.
Jongseob let out a low groan into the kiss, praising you against your lips. He began to move, establishing a slow, agonizingly soft rhythm, his hips rolling into yours in deep, heavy humps that made your core throb.
From behind you, Soul moved closer. He reached his long arms around your waist, his warm palms sliding up to firmly knead your bare breasts, his thumbs rolling your sensitive nipples. Soul leaned his chin on your shoulder, looking over at his member.
"How does she feel?" Soul asked, his voice a raspy, quiet rumble in the dark room.
Jongseob groaned loudly, his head dropping into the crook of your neck for a second as he delivered a deeper thrust. "Fuck... she really feels amazing. So tight."
You let out a long, trembling sigh of pure pleasure, your fingers clenching against Jongseob's back. Hearing your surrender, Jongseob’s eyes darkened completely. He sped up his movements, his thrusts losing their softness as he gripped your thighs, lifting your legs even higher up his waist to alter the angle and drive himself deeper. He leaned down and captured your lips in another bruising kiss, letting out low, vibration hums against your mouth with every heavy push.
He pulled back just an inch, his index finger reaching up to wipe over your bottom lip again, his touch possessive. His pace turned punishing. He began to fuck you harder, the sheer force of his upward thrusts driving your back firmly against Soul's solid chest behind you.
Soul let out a harsh curse as your bodies collided, his hands tightening on your breasts to keep you steady against the impact.
Jongseob’s breathing turned into ragged pants, his chest heaving against yours. He looked down into your dazed eyes, his jaw clenched. "Can you give me one more?" he rasped, his hips relentlessly pounding into you. "Can you come again for me?"
You could only let out a desperate, broken whine, your head shaking as the overwhelming tension began to coil tightly in your stomach all over again.
Jongseob let out a low, wicked chuckle, his grip on you tightening. "Don't whine now," he encouraged roughly, his voice a hot temptation. "Seconds ago you were begging me to go faster. Show me how much you want it."
He sat up a little straighter, shifting his weight. With a swift, powerful movement, he lifted your right leg and draped it firmly over his broad shoulder, completely opening you up. His hands locked onto your hips in a brutal, possessive grip, and he began pounding into you with unfiltered force, his rigid length hitting your sweet spot with a wet, echoing rhythm that completely shattered whatever was left of your thoughts.
With your leg slung high over Jongseob’s shoulder, your body was completely tilted, causing your ass to rub rhythmically against the thick, rigid length of Soul’s erection with every single downward movement. The wet, sliding friction between your skin and his heat made Soul let out a loud, breathless moan right against the back of your neck. He tightened his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his chest to maximize the contact while Jongseob relentlessly pounded into you from the front.
Your moans became louder, turning into frantic, uninhibited cries that filled the dark hotel room. Jongseob looked down at your undone expression, a wicked, triumphant smirk carving his lips.
"Like that?" he rasped, his chest heaving as he caught you looking up at him. "Is that what you want?"
He didn't wait for an answer. His pace turned entirely animalistic, losing all remnants of his previous restraint. He drove his hips forward in deep, heavy, and unforgiving thrusts that bottomed out completely against your core, making the mattress shake.
"Good girl," he growled out, his voice thick and rough with desire. "Look at you, taking all of me while Soul holds you. You’re so fucking greedy."
You completely lost the ability to speak. Helpless under the sheer weight of the pleasure, your hands moved frantically against his bare skin, your nails scratching desperate red tracks down his back as you tried to find any sort of leverage. You tilted your head back, burying it against Soul’s shoulder as your breathing fractured into shallow, desperate gasps.
Jongseob kept pistoning inside of you, his jaw clenched tightly, his eyes completely pitch-black in the shadows. "I'm not stopping," he growled, a dark, possessive promise sliding from his lips as he hit your sweet spot with a punishing precision. "I won't stop until you come again for me."
You let out a broken whine, a sob of pure ecstasy tearing from your throat. Behind you, Soul took advantage of your exposed, arched position. He reached down, his fingers aggressively pinching your stiff nipples, rolling them tightly between his thumbs, while he leaned his lips directly against your earlobe, whispering filthy, explicit things about how wet you were and how beautifully you were taking his member's cock.
The double stimulation was completely overwhelming. Your internal walls began to violently twitch and spasm, locking down around Jongseob’s shaft like an iron vice.
Jongseob felt the intense, suffocating contraction and let out a guttural roar, delivering three more brutal, deep, and punishing thrusts that hit you right in the center of your desire.
Your whole body instantly went rigid. Your toes curled, your fingers fisting tightly into his back as your consciousness completely shattered. You came for the third time, a loud, echoing cry tearing from your lips as your vision exploded into absolute white, your entire frame shivering violently as you completely dissolved under his touch.
The moment your walls stopped their violent, rhythmic clenching around him, Jongseob let out a harsh, ragged breath. He didn't let you rest for a single second. With an aggressive, sudden grip on your hips, he pulled your body abruptly down the bed, dragging you out of Soul's grasp until you were lying flat on your back on the rumpled sheets.
Before you could even blink through the haze of your third orgasm, Jongseob shifted, kneeling directly over your face. His chest was heaving, his skin slick with sweat as he looked down at you with a dark, completely consumed expression. He reached down, his long fingers firm against your jaw as he tilted your head back, and without a word, he shoved his thick, throbbing cock deep inside your mouth.
A muffled gasp was cut off in your throat. Your hands flew up to grip his thighs as he began to pace himself against your lips, driving his length down your throat with a desperate, heavy urgency. You opened wide, your tongue wrapping entirely around him, sucking on him as deeply and greedily as you could manage while his hips slid smoothly against your face.
The wet, frantic friction of your mouth was the final straw for him. Jongseob’s jaw clenched tightly, his eyes snapping shut as his movements turned fast and erratic. With a loud, guttural moan that echoed off the walls, he finally broke, his hips locking forward as he came intensely down your throat.
You gaged a little at the sudden, thick warmth filling your mouth, but you didn't pull away. You kept your lips sealed tightly around him, swallowing every single drop of everything he was giving you until he was completely spent. He thrust a few more slow, shallow times into your mouth, letting out a soft, breathy sigh, before he slowly pulled out, a thin string of saliva connecting his tip to your swollen lips.
"Good girl," he panted heavily, his voice a low, rough whisper as he looked down at your messy, undone state. "You took that so perfectly."
You collapsed back against the pillows, your whole body literally twitching and spasming in violent, uncontrollable aftershocks. Your muscles felt like absolute water, your breathing completely shallow and ragged as the residue of three intense orgasms kept your skin entirely hypersensitive.
As you lay there, a sudden, hot, and viscous sensation began to trail slowly down the bare skin of your back. You let out a weak whine, realizing that behind you, Soul had been watching the entire display from the mattress. The visual of you taking Jongseob had pushed him over the edge for a second time, and he had quietly, intensely come all over your back, the thick heat of his release sliding down your spine.
Jongseob slowly shifted his weight, collapsing onto his side next to you on the bed. Still breathing heavily, he leaned over and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your flushed, sweaty cheek, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you close. On your other side, Soul crawled forward, his bare chest warm against your side as he reached out with a surprisingly gentle hand, carefully brushing the damp, sweaty strands of hair out of your face so he could look down into your dazed eyes.
It took a few agonizingly sweet minutes before the room stopped spinning enough for you to find your voice again. You lay trapped between them, your chest still rising and falling in erratic, shallow gasps. Looking from Jongseob’s dark, hooded gaze to Soul’s quiet, self-satisfied smirk, you let out a breathless laugh that sounded more like a wheeze.
"You two... completely ruined me," you gasped out, your voice hoarse and raw from screaming.
Soul chuckled, the low sound vibrating pleasantly against your side as he leaned over you. He reached down, his long fingers idly tracing the sticky, cooling trail of his dried cum across the bare skin of your stomach. "We sure messed you up," he murmured, his dark eyes sparkling with a wicked, unbothered pride. "Look at you. You're still shaking."
"Hey, don't look at me like that," Jongseob interjected smoothly, a playful, lazy grin spreading across his face as he propped his head up on his hand. He nudged your hip gently. "I had the absolute decency to come inside your mouth. Soul's the one who turned you into an art project."
You let out a long, heavy sigh, a genuine smile breaking through your exhaustion even as your thighs violently twitched and shuddered against the tangled sheets. The reality of your situation—lying naked and covered in fluids between two global pop icons—finally settled in, bringing a sudden, lingering doubt to your mind.
You cleared your throat, looking between them. "So... do you want me to leave now? Back to my room?"
Soul and Jongseob instantly burst into a unified, rich laugh that echoed softly in the quiet room. They looked at each other, then back down at you, their expressions filled with genuine disbelief.
"Do you really think that low of us?" Jongseob asked, a teasing edge to his voice. He reached out, his strong arm sliding under your neck to pull you firmly against his bare chest, burying his face in your neck. He pressed a warm, lingering kiss directly into your shoulder blade, his voice a gravelly, dark whisper against your skin. "The night is still going on. We aren't sending you anywhere."
Soul slid closer as well, his long legs tangling with yours under the sheets, his warm chest pressing against your side as he hovered over your face. "We were just getting started," he assured you, his dark eyes holding a heavy, terrifyingly exciting promise of what was to come once you recovered.
Your lower stomach tightened with a sharp, familiar throb of arousal at his words. You bit your bottom lip hard, your hands moving automatically—one reaching up to fist into the soft hair at the back of Soul’s head, while your other hand slid down to rest flat against Jongseob's warm, defined chest.
"If that's the case," you rasped, your eyes shifting between them, "I think I really need to take a shower first. I am a complete mess."
Soul’s smirk widened into something thoroughly wicked. He gave a slight, knowing nod across your body toward Jongseob before looking back down into your eyes, his voice dropping into a low, smoky temptation.
"Go ahead," Soul murmured, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your jaw. "You can pick who gets to join you first."
You let out a soft, breathless laugh, completely captivated by the dangerous game they were playing with you. Instead of answering with words, you tightened your grip on the back of Soul’s neck and pulled him down into a deep, desperate kiss, your tongue sliding past his lips to taste him all over again, while beside you, Jongseob’s large hand began to possessively and gently stroke the soft curve of your waist, waiting patiently for his turn.
A few weeks had bled by since that unforgettable night, and the dizzying adrenaline of the hotel room had finally settled into a quiet, electric hum in the back of your mind. You sat at your office desk, the mundane glow of your dual monitors casting a sterile light over your face as you lazily scrolled through your upcoming schedule and digital calendar. It was a completely normal Tuesday morning—until a sudden shadow fell over your desk.
"Got a delivery for you," the office postman muttered, sliding a surprisingly heavy, sleek cardboard package onto your desk.
"Oh, thank you," you murmured, pulling the box closer.
You spun it around, your eyes scanning the cardboard for a return address or a corporate logo, but the sender section was completely blank. Raising an eyebrow in mild suspicion, you grabbed a pair of scissors and sliced through the packing tape, peeling the flaps back.
Your breath instantly caught in your throat.
Nestled securely in protective foam was a pristine glass bottle of premium white wine, a vibrant, silk red bow tied neatly around its neck. You didn't even need to read the label to know exactly what it was. It was the exact same rare vintage that Jongseob had ordered for you in the lobby—the same bottle he had carried into Soul’s bedroom. A sudden, helpless smirk played on your lips, and you let out a soft chuckle to yourself, your fingers idly tracing the silk of the red bow as a wave of phantom heat rushed across your skin.
"Hey, great work on that feature, by the way!"
The sudden voice made you jump slightly. You looked up to see your managing editor leaning over the partition of your cubicle, holding a mug of coffee and beaming at you with thorough appreciation.
"Oh, thanks," you said, quickly shifting your posture to look professional, though your heart was suddenly beating a little faster.
"No, seriously, the engagement metrics on the P1Harmony social media package are through the roof," your boss praised, shaking her head in press. "Management is thrilled. You really must have done something right during that shoot, because their agency just reached out to us this morning. The group explicitly requested you to host their next exclusive interview when they return to the city next month."
Your jaw went slightly slack, a mixture of genuine surprise and sudden, thrilling panic flaring in your chest. "They... requested me again?"
"Exclusively," your boss nodded with a smile, tapping her coffee mug against the desk. "Keep doing whatever it is you're doing. It’s working. I’ll send the calendar invite over later!"
With a final proud nod, she turned and walked back toward the executive offices. You sank back into your office chair, a breathless, stunned laugh escaping your lips. Keep doing whatever it is you're doing. If only she knew.
Once the coast was clear, you turned your attention back to the open box. You carefully lifted the heavy wine bottle out of its foam casing, and as you did, a small, matte-black card fluttered out from underneath, landing softly on your desk notepad.
Your fingers trembled slightly as you picked it up and flipped it over. Inside, written in a remarkably neat, elegant script, was a short message:
We heard you told Soul that we aren't really your type. We think it’s only fair that we get a chance to change your mind next month. See you soon.
— T & J
Your cheeks instantly flamed a bright, furious crimson, the intense warmth making your ears tingle as you stared at the elegant ink. T and J. Theo and Jiung.
Soul and Jongseob hadn't just kept a secret from the rest of the group. True to their word, they really did share everything with each other.
You bit your bottom lip hard, a soft, helpless whine caught in your throat as you closed the card and hid it away in your desk drawer. Looking back at your digital calendar, which was now flashing with a brand-new confirmation notification for next month's interview, a shiver of pure, explicit anticipation racked your entire body. You buried your face in your hands, shaking your head in a mix of utter embarrassment and deep, visceral excitement as you finally realized exactly what kind of beautiful, chaotic trap you had just gotten yourself into.
Hi! I have so many smut ideas sooo Seventeen fic where you have been dancing around each other for a bit and there’s a lot of tension. You play a game like strip poker and they lose it and haul you to their room Xx
pairing: Joshua x female!reader
warnings: Smut, Mdni, rough sex, protected sex, lots of tension
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Keep in mind...
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The bass from the living room thudded straight through the floorboards, vibrating up the legs of the mahogany poker table in the corner of the den. The party was loud and crowded, but inside this small pocket of the room, the world had shrunk down to the size of a green felt tabletop, a pile of plastic chips, and five people.
You leaned back in your leather chair, a slow, easy smile playing on your lips as you stacked your chips into neat little towers. To your immediate left sat Hoshi, who was currently staring at his cards with a look of intense, comedic concentration, his eyebrows knitted so tightly they almost met. Next to him was Jeonghan, swirling a glass of wine with an unbothered, dangerous smirk, while Mingyu sat on your right, nervously organizing his chips by color for the tenth time.
And directly across from you sat Joshua.
He looked entirely too comfortable, his tailored shirt unbuttoned slightly at the collar, a glass of whiskey resting near his right hand. For months, there had been an invisible wire stretched taut between the two of you—a strange, thrilling tension that lived in the lingering eye contact and the sharp banter that felt a little too charged to be entirely innocent. Tonight, that wire was practically humming.
"Are you going to bet, or are you just going to admire your chips all night?" you teased, casting a playful glance around the table before your eyes finally landed on Joshua.
"I'm just giving you a moment to prepare yourself," Joshua replied, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. His dark eyes locked onto yours with a smooth, low purr that cut right through the distant chatter of the party. "You seem awfully confident for someone holding a pair of twos."
"A pair of twos?" You let out a soft, mocking laugh, carefully maintaining your perfect poker face. "Please. I've been reading you like an open book all night, Shua. You're bluffing, and your left eyebrow always twitches when you do it."
"Hey! No flirting at the table, it’s distracting," Hoshi complained, tossing two blue chips into the center with an aggressive flourish. "I'm raising. I have a feeling. A tiger feeling."
"Your tiger feeling is going to get you bankrupted, Hoshi," Jeonghan murmured smoothly. He didn't even look at his cards before sliding a tall stack of chips forward. "I'll see your raise and double it. What are you going to do?"
You didn't hesitate. You matched Jeonghan's bet, adding an extra red chip just to spice things up. "I'm staying in. And I'm taking all of Mingyu’s chips next."
"Hey! Why me?" Mingyu whined, looking genuinely betrayed as he glanced between his cards and your unreadable expression. "I didn't even do anything! Joshua, protect me, she's being mean."
Joshua chuckled, a rich, quiet sound. He didn't look away from you as he casually tossed his own chips into the pot. "You're on your own, Mingyu. She's ruthless tonight. But let's see if she's willing to put her money where her mouth is."
As the dealer turned over the flop, the game grew more intense. You proved to be a force to be reckoned with, blending sharp wit with an impenetrable demeanor. When Hoshi tried to bluff with a loud, dramatic declaration of victory, you calmly called his bluff and swept the pot.
"Ah! I knew it! She's a witch!" Hoshi yelled, throwing his hands in the air. He stood up, dramatically knocking his chair back. "That's it, I'm going to the dance floor. This table is cursed." He waved a hand in farewell and vanished into the crowd.
"One down," Jeonghan chuckled, tapping his fingers against his glass. He looked at you, then at Joshua, his sharp eyes tracking the heavy silence that passed between the two of you as Joshua dealt the next hand. Jeonghan’s smirk widened, sensing the thick atmosphere. "You know what? I think I've made enough trouble for one night. My glass is empty anyway."
Jeonghan casually slid his remaining chips over to Joshua’s side of the table with a wink. "Have fun, kids." He stood up, leaving only three of you.
"Wait, Jeonghan, don't leave me alone with them!" Mingyu pleaded, but it was too late.
The next round was brutal for the tall blonde on your right. You dropped subtle, misleading comments that threw Mingyu completely off his game, while Joshua sat back, completely captivated by your tactics. Every time you made a bold claim, Joshua’s eyes would light up with a dangerous amusement.
On the final card of the hand, you allowed a tiny, calculated smirk to touch the corner of your lips—a deliberate crack in your armor to bait them.
"Oh, no. That smile means death," Mingyu muttered, staring at his meager stack of chips. "I fold. I'm folding! I'm not losing my dignity to you two." He pushed his cards away, stood up, and sighed. "I'm going to find Hoshi before he breaks something."
Suddenly, the noise of the party seemed to fade into a dull, unimportant murmur. The three chairs around you stood empty.
Joshua slowly gathered the deck of cards, his long fingers adeptly shuffling them with a crisp, rhythmic snap, snap, snap. He paused, holding the deck in one hand as he raised a single, dark eyebrow. He looked around the empty table at the vacated seats of Hoshi, Jeonghan, and Mingyu, then brought his gaze back to you. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face.
"Well, well," Joshua stated, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a weight that hadn't been there when the others were present. "It looks like it's only the two of us now."
You swallowed hard, but you didn't let the sudden spike in your heart rate show. Instead, you tilted your chin up, matching his expression with a confident smirk of your own. You leaned forward, resting your chin in the palm of your hand. "Scared?"
"Terrified," he mocked gently, sliding two cards toward you and two toward himself with practiced ease. "Let's see what you've really got when you don't have an audience to hide behind."
You picked up your cards, shielding them from his view. A pair of kings. A phenomenal starting hand. You kept your face absolutely blank, looking from the cards straight into his eyes. "I don't need an audience to beat you."
"We'll see about that." Joshua placed the remaining deck down. "Ante up."
Without the buffer of your friends, the atmosphere between you became thick, almost breathless. Every word spoken felt heavier; every glance lasted a second too long. It wasn't just about poker anymore. It was a battle of wills, a playground for the unspoken tension that had been building between you for months.
By the time the 8th round of the night arrived, the chip stacks were nearly even. Joshua dealt the cards. You picked yours up—an ace of spades and a king of spades. An incredible hand with massive potential.
Joshua checked his cards, his expression unreadable for a split second before that familiar, dangerous amusement returned to his features. "Your move."
"Let's make this interesting," you murmured, pushing half of your remaining chips into the center. "Fifty."
"I'll see your fifty," Joshua said, sliding his chips forward. He turned over the first three community cards—the flop. A ten of spades, a jack of spades, and a two of hearts.
Your heart did a violent flip against your ribs. You were one card away from a royal flush. You looked up at Joshua, deliberately letting a tiny, nervous flicker cross your eyes before clamping down on it. It was the ultimate bait.
Joshua caught the flicker. He leaned in a fraction of an inch closer, his eyes narrowing playfully. "Sensing some hesitation," he teased, his voice a low rumble. "Is the pressure finally getting to you?"
"In your dreams, Joshua," you shot back, keeping your tone slightly breathless, playing the part.
He turned over the fourth card—the turn. A queen of spades.
You had it. The royal flush. An unbeatable hand. An overwhelming rush of adrenaline flooded your system, but you locked it down. You stared at the felt, biting the inside of your cheek, letting a tense silence stretch between you for several long seconds.
"I'm all in," you suddenly whispered, pushing the entirety of your chip stack into the center of the table, the plastic clattering loudly in the quiet den.
Joshua froze for a moment, his gaze dropping to the mountain of chips, then rising to your face. He searched your features, trying to find the lie. The teasing banter evaporated, replaced by a raw, electric focus that made it hard for you to breathe.
"All in," he repeated, a breathless smile tugging at his lips. "You're either holding the best hand of your life, or you are the most reckless player I've ever met."
"Guess you'll have to pay to find out," you challenged, your voice dropping to a murmur.
Joshua stared at you for a long, agonizing moment. The eye contact was heavy, burning with a heat that had nothing to do with the cards on the table. Slowly, he reached out and pushed the rest of his chips into the center, meeting your bet completely. "I'm paying," he murmured.
With a flourish, Joshua turned over the final card—the river. A useless three of clubs. It didn't change a thing.
"Show me," Joshua commanded softly, his eyes locked onto yours, refusing to look down at the table.
You slowly reached for your cards. With a deliberate, agonizingly slow movement, you flipped them over one by one, revealing the ace and king of spades alongside the ten, jack, and queen on the board.
Joshua finally broke eye contact to look down at the table. He stared at the royal flush for a full three seconds. A low, breathless laugh escaped his lips, and he shook his head in pure, unadulterated admiration.
"A royal flush," he breathed, looking back up at you, his eyes shining with a mixture of disbelief and utter fascination. "You absolute menace. You had me completely fooled."
"I told you," you said, finally letting out the breath you had been holding, a triumphant, brilliant smile breaking across your face. "I'm a very good poker player."
Before you could gather the massive mountain of plastic chips, you paused, taking a moment to look around the dim den. The chaotic energy of the party had settled into a quiet hum. The chairs where Hoshi, Jeonghan, and Mingyu had been sitting were still empty, and a quick glance toward the hallway revealed that the remaining guests had either left or gone to bed.
You blinked, a little surprised by how quickly time had slipped away. "Huh, where did everyone go?"
Joshua let out a low, rich chuckle, leaning back in his chair as he spun a single chip between his fingers. "I think we scared everyone off. You were looking pretty lethal there for a second."
You smirked, sliding your gaze back to him, and nodded slowly. The heavy, magnetic pull between you hadn't faded; if anything, the empty room made it feel twice as loud. "Maybe. So... do you want to go for another round?"
Joshua took a deep breath, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at your massive pile of winnings. He shook his head with a rueful smile. "I don't know. I really can't afford to lose even more money to you tonight. You’ve stripped me of my bankroll."
You eyed him up and down, your gaze lingering on the slight opening of his collar. A sudden wave of confidence washed over you, fueled by the adrenaline of the win. "Well," you jokingly suggested, leaning your chin on your hand, "you could always give me your last piece." You gestured slightly toward his tailored shirt.
Joshua’s eyes darkened with instant amusement. He chuckles, the sound deep in his chest. "Oh, is that how we're playing now?"
Without breaking eye contact, his long fingers reached up to his collar. Slowly, deliberately, he loosened another button of his shirt, letting the fabric part just enough to reveal a hint of his collarbone. He leaned forward, a lazy smirk on his lips. "Happy now?"
You thought for a second, humming quietly as you looked at the small patch of bare skin. Then, you slowly shook your head. "No," you stated, your voice dropping to a teasing murmur. "I want the whole shirt."
Joshua raised an eyebrow, the smirk widening into something a little more dangerous. "Bold. Alright, let's see if your luck holds out."
He dealt the cards quickly, the tension at the table shifting from casual banter to something thick and breathless. You played your hand carefully, but your mind was entirely occupied by the man across from you. When the final cards hit the table, you revealed a pair of queens.
You smiled in pure victory, looking up at him. "Looks like it does."
Joshua didn't look upset at all. He smirked, slowly getting up from his leather chair. The movement was unhurried, agonizingly smooth as his fingers moved down the front of his shirt, undoing the remaining buttons one by one. He shrugged the fabric off his shoulders and tossed it onto the empty chair next to him.
Your eyes immediately raked over his body. The dim, warm light of the den caught the lean, defined lines of his chest and abdomen. He was built beautifully, far more toned than his usual soft cardigans let on. You felt a sudden spike of heat in your throat and cleared it, trying to keep your poker face intact, though your cheeks were definitely warming up.
Joshua noticed. He nodded at you, a knowing spark in his eyes as he sat back down, completely unbothered by his bare chest. He reached for the deck. "My turn. Same stakes?"
"Same Stakes," you agreed, your voice a little tighter than before.
This time, the cards weren't on your side. Joshua played ruthlessly, his eyes locked onto yours, reading every tiny shift in your posture. When he put down his cards, he revealed a flush, completely crushing your hand.
He leaned a little forward across the green felt, his bare chest inches from the center of the table. His dark eyes burned into yours as he reminded you of the terms, his voice dropping to a low, husky register. "Remember...the whole piece"
Your heart hammered violently against your ribs. You smirked, refusing to back down from the challenge. Slowly, you reached up to your shoulders. Your fingers hooked beneath the straps of your top, and with one fluid, deliberate motion, you pulled it over your head and threw it aside, leaving you in just your bra.
Joshua’s gaze dropped instantly. His eyes swept over the exposed skin of your shoulders, the curve of your waist, and the lace of your bra. For a split second, his perfect composure cracked—a dark pink flush crept up his neck, coloring the tips of his ears. He swallowed hard, taking a deep, heavy breath to steady himself.
The air between you was thick enough to cut with a knife. You leaned forward, resting your forearms on the table, entirely aware of how close you were now.
"So," you asked softly, your voice practically a purr. "Do you want to keep playing, Joshua?"
Joshua stared at your lips, then raised his eyes to meet yours. He gave a slow, deliberate nod, his voice thick with a sudden, raw intensity. "Yes. Let's keep playing."
The green felt of the poker table was entirely forgotten now, buried under the discarded layers of your clothes. The game had degenerated into a slow, intoxicating countdown. Two rounds later, the stakes had stripped away almost everything. Joshua sat across from you clad only in his dark boxers, his lean, muscular frame fully exposed to the warm, dim light of the room. You were down to just your lace bra and sheer black tights, your skin humming with the chill of the room—and the intense heat radiating from him.
You leaned forward, placing your final cards face-up on the table with a soft clatter. A full house.
"I won again," you murmured, a slow, provocative smirk spreading across your face.
Joshua looked down at his own cards, then back up at you. A low, breathless laugh escaped him, and he faked a heavy sigh, tossing his useless hand into the center. But the defeat didn't reach his eyes. His gaze darkened, heavy and intensely focused as it locked onto yours.
"Well," Joshua stated, his voice dropping to a gravelly, low register that vibrated straight through you. "I guess I have to go all in now."
You tilted your chin up, your eyes tracking the sharp line of his jaw. "What's the matter, Joshua?" you asked, your tone dripping with playful provocation. "Are you chickening out now?"
Joshua huffed, a dangerous, amused sound. Instead of reaching for the deck, he slowly got up from his chair. Standing at his full height, completely bare save for the cotton of his underwear, he looked devastating. He didn't hesitate as he walked around the perimeter of the mahogany table, his bare feet silent against the hardwood floor until he stopped right beside you.
You turned around in your leather chair, gripping the armrests as you eyed him up and down. Up close, the heat radiating off his body was palpable. You could see the slight rise and fall of his chest, the defined lines of his abs, and the heavy tension in his shoulders.
He smirked down at you, catching the way your eyes lingered on him. "Do you want to do it?" he asked softly, leaning in a fraction of an inch.
You raised an eyebrow, refusing to let him see how much your heart was hammering against your ribs.
"You won fair and square," Joshua whispered, his gaze dropping to your lips before rising back to your eyes. "You deserve your prize."
Your breath caught. You glanced past his shoulder, taking a quick look around the empty, silent den just to assure yourself that the rest of the members were still sound asleep.
Joshua caught the movement and let out a quiet chuckle, a teasing spark igniting in his eyes. He leaned down, his face inches from yours. "What's wrong? Are you chickening out now?"
You huffed, irritated by how easily he could flip the tables on you. "Never," you breathed.
Slowly, you stood up from the chair. The sudden proximity was dizzying. Standing face-to-face, the tips of your breasts nearly brushed against his bare chest. The scent of his cologne, mixed with the faint warmth of whiskey and clean skin, enveloped you completely. You looked him dead in the eyes, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm in the space between you.
Slowly, deliberately, you reached out. Your hands were steady, but your skin tingled as your fingers made contact with his hips, brushing gently against the elastic hem of his boxer shorts. Joshua’s breath hitched, his abdomen flexing instinctively under your touch.
You didn't break eye contact as your thumbs hooked into the waistband. With an agonizingly slow, downward motion, you began to push the fabric down his hips. Your fingertips grazed the smooth skin of his thighs, tracking lower and lower until the boxers pooled around his knees, leaving him completely naked before you.
Your gaze finally dropped, taking in the full, uninhibited sight of him, before you looked back up to his face.
Joshua smirked, completely unbothered by his vulnerability, his eyes burning with a raw, predatory hunger that made your knees weak. You bit your lip, your composure fracturing just a little under the sheer weight of his undivided attention.
"Your prize," Joshua murmured, his voice a dark, rough whisper as he stepped completely out of the discarded fabric, closing the final inch of distance between your bodies.
He lunged forward, his hand cupping the back of your neck to tilt your head up as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was aggressive, a sudden release of the tension that had been winding tighter and tighter all evening. You met his energy instantly, parting your lips with a breathless gasp and wrapping your arms tightly around his neck, pulling him into you.
The make-out session was rough and urgent, a tangle of teeth, tongues, and desperate breaths. Joshua’s hands gripped your bare waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulled your body flush against his. The heat between you was blinding.
With a low growl into the kiss, Joshua hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly. Your instinct kicked in immediately; you wrapped your legs firmly around his waist, locking him close as he stepped forward and pressed you down onto the edge of the mahogany poker table. The cool green felt beneath you contrasted sharply with the scorching heat of his skin.
He broke the kiss only to drag his lips down your jawline, buried his face in the crook of your neck, and began kissing the sensitive skin there with fierce, biting pressure. You let out a soft, broken moan, your fingers knotting in his dark hair as a shiver rushed straight down your spine. His hands ran hungrily up and down your body, tracking the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist, and sliding up to the bare skin of your ribs.
Desperate for more contact, you slipped your hands up to your shoulders and eagerly pulled down the straps of your bra, baring your chest to him. Joshua felt the shift instantly. Without lifting his lips from your throat, his hands slid around to your back, his long fingers finding the clasp of your bra and releasing it with a single, practiced twist.
The fabric fell away, and Joshua paused for a fraction of a second, his breath hitching as he looked down at you. Then, his eyes darkened further, and he leaned back down, kissing his way across your collarbone and down to your chest greedily.
You tilted your head back, your eyes closing as a gasp escaped your lips. The feeling of his mouth, hot and wet against your skin, sent a jolt of pure electricity through you. You arched your back slightly into his touch, your hands gripping his bare shoulders tightly, pulling him closer and deeper into you.
Joshua pulled back for a fraction of a second, his chest heaving as he stood between your wrapped legs. He looked you dead in the eyes, his gaze dark, heavy, and completely stripped of his usual gentle demeanor. Then, he leaned down and claimed your lips again, his mouth hot, demanding, and utterly consuming.
As the kiss deepened, you slid your hand down between your bodies. Your fingers brushed against his hip before wrapping firmly around his cock. He was entirely hard, pulsing with heat in your palm. You gave him a few slow, deliberate strokes, your thumb frictioning against the tip. Joshua instantly stiffened, a low, ragged curse breaking through the kiss as he groaned directly into your mouth, his grip on your hips tightening until his knuckles turned white.
The sound of his undoing only fueled your own desperation. Wanting him closer, you raised your hips slightly off the green felt and reached down, trying to claw the sheer black tights away from your skin. But your movements were too slow for him.
Joshua caught your wrists, pinning them momentarily before his hands descended to the waistband of your tights. With a sudden, violent surge of adrenaline, his fingers dug into the fabric, and he ripped them completely apart down the center with a loud, sharp rreeeech.
You gasped in shock at the sudden burst of cool air, your eyes widening, but the shock quickly melted into a breathless, heated chuckle when you saw the raw, aggressive hunger burning in his features. "Impatient, Shua?" you teased, your voice trembling.
"Shut up," he growled affectionately, though there was no real heat behind the words—only pure desire.
He leaned back in, catching your lips in another bruising kiss that tasted like whiskey and unbridled want. While his mouth held yours captive, his large hands slid under your thighs, lifting and parting them wider. Slowly, deliberately, Joshua guided your back down until you were lying flat against the mahogany table, your hair sprawling across the green felt, completely exposed and entirely at his mercy.
Joshua slowly rose back up, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, checking every feature of your face to make sure you were completely with him. The dark intensity in his eyes was mesmerizing. Slowly, deliberately, he sank onto his knees on the edge of the leather chair, putting himself right between your thighs. He reached out, his large hands sliding under your calves, and lifted your legs up, hooking them securely over his broad, bare shoulders.
The position left you completely open, your core aching with a heavy, throbbing heat. You gripped the edge of the mahogany table, watching him intently, your breath coming in shallow gasps.
Joshua didn’t rush. He leaned forward, pressing a row of slow, bruising kisses along the sensitive inside of your thighs, working his way upward. When he reached the center, he let his tongue swipe lazily across the skin just surrounding your aching heat, deliberately avoiding the one spot you desperately wanted him to touch.
"Joshua," you groaned out, a mix of pleasure and pure frustration coloring your voice as you gave his shoulder a weak shove. "Stop teasing me. Seriously."
A rich, muffled chuckle vibrated against your inner thigh. "Who's teasing?" he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and damp.
Before you could reply with another scold, Joshua caught you completely off guard. He leaned in and dived straight between your thighs, his tongue burying deeply into your slick, swollen center. You let out a loud, high-pitched gasp, your fingers instantly flying to his hair, gripping the dark strands as he began eating you out with a fierce, ravenous hunger.
His tongue moved with a wicked, demanding rhythm, lapping up your sweetness and tracing the sensitive folds while his thumb pressed firmly against your clit. The sheer intensity of it had your hips lifting off the felt table instinctively, completely helpless under the masterful, aggressive contrast of his mouth.
Joshua kept going, his movements growing faster and more demanding as he drank you in. His hands wandered up the smooth skin of your torso, tracking the curve of your waist before settling firmly over your bare breasts. He kneaded the soft flesh, his thumbs sweeping over your tight nipples in a rhythm that matched the wicked strokes of his tongue. A low, vibrating hum escaped his throat, echoing directly against your sensitive core and sending a devastating wave of pleasure straight to your lower stomach.
You threw your head back against the green felt, your eyes closed tight as you moaned desperately into the quiet den. Your fingers clutched his hair, alternately pulling him closer and pushing him away as the friction pushed you closer and closer to the edge.
Just as the tension in your thighs tightened and you felt yourself right on the precipice of a shattering climax, Joshua abruptly stopped.
A choked gasp left your lips at the sudden loss, your eyes flying open to find him already moving. He didn’t let you linger in the frustration; he crawled up the mahogany table, positioning his heavy body right over yours. He kissed his way up your abdomen, your ribs, and your collarbone until he finally reached your lips, capturing them in a greedy, breathless kiss that tasted completely of you.
Driven by pure, frantic need, you nudged your hips upward against his thigh, wordlessly begging for the friction. You pulled back just enough to look into his dark eyes, your voice a breathless, trembling rasp. "Condom."
Joshua’s eyes flared, and he nodded eagerly. He shifted, nearly tumbling off the table as he reached blindly toward the floor, fumbling through the messy pile of his discarded clothes. Within seconds, his fingers closed around his pants, and he fished a small, square foil wrapper out of the pocket.
You let out a soft chuckle, raising an eyebrow at how quickly he had retrieved it. "Always prepared, Shua?"
Joshua caught your look and rolled his eyes with a breathless, handsome smile. He quickly ripped the foil open with his teeth. "I was kind of hoping something like this would happen," he admitted softly, his voice thick with desire as he rolled the protection into place. "Can you blame me?"
Your chuckle melted into a soft smile, and you reached up, wrapping your arms securely around his neck to pull him back down into your space. Your hips canted upward, aligning perfectly with his.
"I don't blame you at all," you whispered, your eyes locking onto his with a final, fiery spark of provocation. "Now stop talking and finally get to it."
Joshua let out a low, rough growl, his fingers deft but hurried as he rolled the condom into place. He didn't waste another second. Pushing you firmly back down onto the green felt of the table, he hovering over you, his chest heaving as he locked his dark eyes entirely with yours. There was no more teasing, no more playful banter—just an overwhelming, electric hunger.
Slowly, deliberately, he guided his length to your slick entrance and slid deeply into you in one smooth, unyielding motion.
A simultaneous moan tore from both of your throats, the sudden, intense fullness catching you completely off guard. The heat of him filling you made your hips tilt upward instinctively. Joshua didn't give either of you time to adjust; he instantly started moving, setting a hard, demanding pace that sent a sharp jolt of pure pleasure straight through your core.
The mahogany table creaked softly beneath your weight as he slammed into you, each thrust deep and uncompromising. Grunts and breathless curses echoed in the quiet den, the friction between your bodies generating a blinding heat. You clung onto his bicep-strained arms for dear life, your nails digging into his skin as the sheer force of his movements rocked you against the felt.
Leaning forward, Joshua captured your lips in a messy, bruising kiss, smothering your breathless cries before dragging his mouth down to the column of your neck. He bit and sucked at the sensitive skin there, his breath hot and ragged against your ear.
Desperate for even more weight, you lifted your thighs and hooked your legs higher around his waist, locking him in. The change in angle allowed him to drive even deeper, hitting a sweet spot that had your toes curling.
"Ah—fuck, Joshua," you cursed out loud, your voice a trembling, desperate rasp as you tossed your head back. "You feel so good. So damn good."
A wicked, triumphant smirk touched his lips at your undoing. Joshua looked down at you, his eyes burning with absolute devotion and lust as he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, and beautifully ruthless.
"You're so tight for me," he praised, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated against your skin. He reached up, his large hand gently caressing your neck, his thumb tracing your jawline to keep your eyes locked on his. "Look at you. You take all of me so perfectly."
He drove into you again and again, his bare hips crashing against yours with a relentless, intoxicating rhythm that pushed both of you closer and closer to the absolute edge.
The ambient noise of the party had entirely vanished, replaced by the frantic, echoing sound of your skin meeting his in the quiet den. The green felt of the poker table was wrinkled beneath you, a silent witness to a game that had completely consumed both of you. Joshua’s movements were unyielding, his rhythm beautifully brutal as he drove into you, over and over, pushing you further into a state of mindless, breathless pleasure.
Every sensation was magnified. The cool air of the room on your bare skin, the absolute heat of his body pressing down on yours, and the deep, stretching fullness of him filling you completely. You were losing your grip on reality, your mind spinning with the sheer intensity of it.
Desperate for a tighter grip, you reached up and wrapped your arms securely around his broad shoulders, burying your face in the crook of his neck. You locked your fingers behind his back, pulling your upper body flush against his chest. Joshua caught the cue instantly. With a low grunt of exertion, his large hands slid under your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he lifted you effortlessly into a sitting position on the very edge of the mahogany table.
The change in position was staggering. Now, you were eye-to-eye, your legs locked tightly around his waist, your core tilted perfectly to receive him. Joshua didn't miss a beat. He stepped closer, pinning you to the edge, and resumed his relentless pace.
You didn't just take it; you met his hard thrusts with your own hips, tilting yourself upward, riding the wave of his momentum. Every time your bodies crashed together, a sharp, electric jolt shot straight up your spine. The friction was incredible, a sweet, agonizing torture that was winding the coil in your lower stomach tighter and tighter.
Joshua leaned in, his lips finding yours in a messy, desperate kiss. It was a clash of tongues and heavy breathing, both of you starving for air but refusing to break the connection. As he drove into you again, harder this time, your internal muscles clamped down around him in a tight, involuntary spasm.
Joshua broke the kiss with a sharp, ragged growl, his eyes snapping open. "Fuck" he choked out, his voice deeper and rougher than you had ever heard it. He felt the way you were tightening around his length, the exquisite friction nearly pushing him over his own edge.
Your moans were getting louder, echoing off the mahogany walls of the den. Terrified that a stray sound might wake Hoshi, Jeonghan, or Mingyu down the hall, you quickly buried your face back into the crook of his neck. You pressed your lips against his warm skin, sucking and kissing his pulse point to silence your own desperate cries, turning your loud moans into muffled, trembling whimpers against his collarbone.
The feel of your mouth on his neck sent Joshua over the edge of composure. He let out a deep, rolling moan of his own, the sound vibrating directly against your chest. He moved harder, his bare hips slamming against yours with a relentless, punishing speed. The table creaked beneath you, but neither of you cared. The world had shrunk down to this exact rhythm.
Wanting to control the depth, to feel every single millimeter of him, you slid your hands down his back. Your fingers tracked the firm muscles of his spine, sliding down until your hands gripped the smooth, tight flesh of his buttocks. You dug your fingers in, using your grip to guide him, pulling him even deeper into you with every downward stroke.
Joshua’s breath hitched at the gesture. He stopped his frantic movements for a split second, bracing his forearms on either side of your thighs on the table. He pulled back just enough to look you dead in the eyes.
His face was flushed, his hair damp with sweat and falling into his eyes, his pupils completely blown out with lust. He looked entirely undone, stripped of the polite, gentle idol persona, leaving only a man completely captivated by you.
"Are you... close?" Joshua rasped, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a broken, breathless chain.
You could only nod, entirely out of breath, your chest heaving against his. Your head rolled back slightly, a desperate, broken sigh escaping your lips. "Yes... Joshua, please."
A dark, triumphant look flared in his eyes. "Good," he whispered fiercely.
He instantly sped up his movements, abandoning all restraint. He drove into you with a frantic, blinding speed, his thrusts hitting your sweet spot with terrifying accuracy. The pleasure was too much, too intense to bear. You felt the familiar, tidal wave of a release gathering at the base of your spine, threatening to break through.
"Joshua, I'm—I'm coming," you warned him, your voice a high, trembling gasp as you gripped his shoulders so tightly your knuckles turned white.
Joshua nodded, his jaw clenched tightly as he delivered three more heavy, deep thrusts. "Come for me," he demanded, his voice a commanding, low rumble against your ear. "Come on. Let me feel it."
That was the final push you needed. The coil inside you snapped violently, and you fell over the edge into a shattering climax. Your internal muscles locked onto him, pulsing around his length in tight, rhythmic waves of pure ecstasy. You cried out, a muffled, high-pitched sob against his shoulder as you clung to him like a lifeline, your entire body trembling uncontrollably as the release washed over you.
Joshua didn't stop. He looked down at the point where your bodies were joined, his chest heaving as he took in the sight. In the dim light, he saw how incredibly wet you were, your slickness coating his thighs and glistening on his skin.
The visual completely broke him. Seeing exactly what he had done to you made Joshua go absolutely feral.
A guttural, primal sound escaped his throat. He gripped your hips with bruising force, locking you in place on the edge of the table, and began pumping into you with a raw, desperate fury. He was completely blind to everything else, his mind entirely consumed by the tight, pulsing heat of your climax.
It only took a few more frantic, unyielding thrusts. With a final, deep shove that buried him as far inside you as he could possibly go, Joshua stiffened. A loud, ragged groan tore from his throat as he came, his length pulsing violently inside the condom as he spilled himself for you.
His strength left him all at once, and he collapsed forward, pressing his heavy, sweaty body completely against yours. He buried his face in your hair, his chest heaving at a frantic pace as your hearts beat in a synchronized, chaotic rhythm against each other. Your legs were still wrapped loosely around his waist, both of you completely spent, tangled together on the edge of the poker table in the absolute silence of the night.
The frantic racing of your hearts slowly began to ease, the heavy, synchronous thudding against each other calming into a gentle rhythm. Joshua raised his head from your shoulder, his chest still heaving slightly as he looked down at you. The sharp, feral intensity in his dark eyes had softened into a warm, incredibly tender expression. A soft, lazy smile touched his lips, thoroughly content.
"You okay?" he whispered, his voice still beautifully raspy.
You managed a breathless nod, a small smile breaking across your face. Carefully, Joshua braced his hands on the mahogany felt and slowly pulled out of you. You let out a soft, involuntary sigh at the sudden loss of his warmth, instantly missing the weight of him.
You sat up on the edge of the poker table, winced slightly at the new soreness in your thighs, and brushed your messy hair back from your face. Taking a slow look around the dark, quiet den, you looked down at the floor where your clothes lay scattered in a chaotic trail.
"Well," you murmured, turning your eyes back to him as he cleaned himself up. "Where are we supposed to sleep now? Pretty sure the guys occupied the other rooms."
Joshua tied off the condom, tossed it into the small wastebasket by the desk, and turned back to you with a knowing grin. He nodded towards the large, plush leather couch on the other side of the room. "The couch is definitely big enough for the two of us."
"Perfect," you breathed. You slid off the table, your knees feeling a bit like jelly as your feet hit the hardwood floor. You reached down and picked up your underwear. You couldn't help but let out a quiet giggle as you put on your panties, noting that the lace was a little bit ripped along the hip from his earlier impatience. You cast a teasing glance his way, but he just shrugged with a satisfied smirk.
You bent down again to look for your top, shaking it out once you found it buried under Hoshi's abandoned chips. Meanwhile, Joshua slid his boxers back on, pulling the dark fabric up over his hips.
Leaving the rest of the ruined clothes and the mountain of poker chips on the table for tomorrow morning, the two of you padded quietly over to the couch. Joshua settled into the corner of the cushions first, stretching his long legs out, and you immediately followed, curling your body directly into his side.
Joshua didn't hesitate to wrap his broad arm securely around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his bare chest. He rested his chin lightly on top of your head, exhaling a long, deeply satisfied breath.
For a few moments, there was only the quiet hum of the house and the comfort of your tangled limbs. Then, Joshua’s grip tightened just a fraction, his thumb tracing a slow, soothing circle on your bare arm.
"You know," he confessed softly, his deep voice vibrating right against your back, "I've thought about doing that for a very long time."
You smirked into the dark room, a warm, fuzzy feeling blooming in your chest as you nestled closer into his neck. "Yeah?" you murmured teasingly. "Me too, Shua. Me too."
Joshua let out a low, rich chuckle, the sound warm against your skin. You both settled deeper into the plush cushions, pulling a stray throw blanket up over your bodies. The heavy, lingering tension that had stretched between you for months was finally gone, replaced by a deep, peaceful comfort. Within minutes, wrapped securely in each other's arms, you both drifted off to sleep.
Is all of it X reader? Or do you take like fic ideas with the members only? Not memeber x member! Just general ideas ? No matter love your blog anyways ! Just curious! Xx
Oh wow that is an interesting thought 🫢
You mean Like only a scenario for one member without anyone else? Huh….i might actually want to try that 😃
Heyyyyy hope you're doing good I had a small request? A woozi x reader but reader is in a toxic relationship? Woozi loves reader and tries to help them? Obviously u don't have to do this but if you did that would be amazing:) thank you have a wonderful dayyyyy ❤️
pairing: Woozi x female!reader
warnings: toxic relationship, secret crush, friends to lovers trope, mentions of blood and slight violence
The bass from the speakers in your living room vibrated through the floorboards, a steady, thumping heartbeat that filled the spaces between the laughter and chatter of your friends. Your apartment was packed, the air warm and smelling of mixed drinks, perfume, and the savory scent of delivery food. It was your birthday, and by all accounts, it was a good party.
Yet, you found yourself tucked into the far corner of your own couch, seeking a moment of quiet.
"Look who is hiding," a soft, familiar voice murmured beside you.
You looked up to see Jihoon—Woozi, as the world knew him, but just Jihoon to you—sliding onto the cushion next to yours. He held two glasses of red wine, offering one to you with a faint, comforting smile.
"I'm not hiding," you lied, accepting the glass and taking a grateful sip. "I'm just observing. Absorbing the reality of my fading youth."
Jihoon let out a soft, melodic laugh, the sound easily cutting through the ambient noise of the room. He leaned back against the cushions, swirling his wine. "Fading youth? Please. You’re acting like you just hit eighty. You’re just getting started."
"It feels like eighty," you groaned, resting your head against the back of the couch. "Work has been an absolute nightmare lately. I swear my boss thinks I have thirty hours in a day. I spent all of yesterday staring at spreadsheets until my eyes literally blurred. I woke up this morning and found a gray hair, Jihoon. A genuine, silver strand of despair."
He laughed again, the crinkles forming around his eyes in that way you had always found incredibly endearing. "One gray hair does not mean you’re old. It means you’re stressed. And your boss is an idiot, we already established this three months ago when he made you work through the weekend."
"True," you sighed, a genuine smile finally breaking across your face. Jihoon always knew exactly how to ground you. He had this effortless way of listening, of making your mundane, everyday complaints feel valid and heard. For a few minutes, you completely forgot about the weight in your chest, losing yourself in the easy, familiar rhythm of your banter. You talked about his latest studio sessions, about a ridiculous reality show you had both watched, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.
Then, Jihoon glanced around the crowded room, his eyes scanning the faces near the makeshift bar in your kitchen before settling back on you.
"So," he said softly, his tone shifting into something a bit more cautious. "Where is your boyfriend? I haven't seen him all night."
The mention of your boyfriend acted like a sudden splash of cold water, snapping you out of your comfortable bubble. You felt the smile slip from your face for a fraction of a second before you quickly forced it back into place. You looked down at your wine glass, tracing the rim with your thumb.
"Oh. He’s... he’s just running late," you said, trying to keep your voice light, though it sounded hollow even to your own ears. "He had to work late tonight. Some big project deadline."
Jihoon nodded quietly. He didn't say anything right away, but you saw the subtle shift in his expression—the way his jaw tightened imperceptibly, the way his eyes darkened just a fraction. Beneath the calm exterior he always maintained, a familiar, sharp sting flared up in his chest. It was a phantom pain he had grown painfully used to over the past year.
He hated your boyfriend. He hated him with a quiet, burning intensity that he kept locked away behind a wall of professional stoicism and friendly smiles. He hated him because he had the one thing Jihoon wanted more than anything in this world—you—and he didn't even have the decency to cherish it.
It wasn't the first time your boyfriend had been late. It wasn't the first time he had canceled, or forgotten, or made you feel like an afterthought. Jihoon had sat through a dozen phone calls where you cried quietly, making excuses for a man who didn't deserve your loyalty. It took every ounce of Jihoon's self-control not to reach out, take your hand, and tell you that if you were his, he would have crossed oceans to be there before the party even started. He would have been the first person to wish you a happy birthday at midnight. He wouldn't have let a damn project keep him away from you tonight.
But Jihoon couldn't say any of that. Because he was your best friend. And boundaries were the only things keeping him in your life.
So, he just took a slow, deliberate sip of his wine, swallowing down the bitter taste of his own unspoken feelings. "Right. Work. On a Friday night. On your birthday."
Sensing the unspoken judgment in his tone, you instantly went on the defensive, a knee-jerk reaction you had developed over the last few months to protect both your relationship and your own pride. You knew it was incredibly rude of him to be late. Deep down, a part of you was humiliated that your boyfriend hadn't shown up to your own birthday party yet while all your friends were here. But you couldn't bear to admit that out loud.
"It’s really fine, honestly," you said quickly, your words tumbling out a little too fast as you tried to smooth it over. "His team has been under a lot of pressure lately, and he's trying to get a promotion. It’s actually a really big deal for his career. I told him it was okay if he missed the beginning of the party. It’s just a casual get-together anyway, it’s not like it’s a formal dinner or anything. I don’t mind."
Jihoon kept his eyes on you as you spoke. He watched the way your eyes flickered nervously, the way your fingers tightened around the stem of your glass. He knew you were lying. He knew you minded. He knew you were hurting, but he also knew that if he pushed too hard, you would close off completely.
So, he forced a polite, understanding nod. He managed to tilt his lips upward into a passable imitation of a supportive friend. "Yeah. No, I get it. Career stuff is tough. It’s good that you’re supportive of him."
He didn't get how anyone could prioritize a spreadsheet over you. He didn't get how a man could know you were waiting for him, looking beautiful in your birthday outfit, and not run red lights just to get to your front door.
An uncomfortable silence stretched between you for a moment, heavy with the weight of the things neither of you was saying. You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling suffocated by the couch and the sharp, perceptive gaze of the boy next to you. You needed a distraction.
"Right," you muttered, setting your half-empty wine glass down on the coffee table. You pushed yourself up from the couch, smoothing down your clothes. "Well, since almost everyone is here, I think I'm going to go ahead and take out the cake. No use waiting around forever, right? I'll be right back."
"Sounds good," Jihoon said softly.
He stayed on the couch, his eyes locking onto your retreating figure as you wove your way through the crowd toward the kitchen. The smile dropped from his face the moment your back was turned. He let out a long, heavy sigh, the sound lost beneath the blare of the music, and leaned his head back against the wall.
From his vantage point on the couch, he could see directly into the kitchen. He watched you open the refrigerator, your shoulders slumping the moment you thought no one was looking. The bright, energetic birthday girl persona you had been wearing all night vanished, replaced by a quiet, exhausting sadness. You stared into the fridge for a long time, not moving, just breathing.
Jihoon's heart ached so intensely it physically restricted his breathing. He clutched his wine glass a little tighter. He wanted so badly to walk into that kitchen, close the refrigerator door, wrap his arms around you from behind, and whisper that he was sorry. He wanted to apologize on behalf of the idiot who didn't appreciate you, and he wanted to promise you that he would spend the rest of his life making sure you never looked that lonely again.
He closed his eyes for a brief second, fighting the urge. Just stay a friend, he reminded himself, a mantra he had repeated a thousand times. If you tell her, you lose her.
When he opened his eyes again, you were pulling the cake box out of the fridge. You set it on the counter, taking a deep breath and plastering that bright, fake smile back onto your face before turning around to grab the candles.
The candles on your birthday cake flickered, casting a warm, golden glow across the faces of your friends gathered in the tight circle of your living room. Everyone was singing, their voices loud and beautifully out of tune as they cheered for you to blow them out. Jihoon stood just a few feet away, singing along with a gentle smile, his eyes fixed entirely on you.
You forced yourself to laugh, clapped your hands, and blew out the candles in one breath. The room erupted into cheers, and someone shoved a plastic knife into your hand to cut the first slice. You smiled through it all, nodding and thanking your friends, but as you looked down at the frosting, a heavy, familiar lump formed in your throat.
Your boyfriend had missed it. He hadn't even been there to see you blow out the candles.
You quickly blinked back the sudden sting in your eyes, handing out plates of cake and acting like everything was perfectly fine. You laughed at someone’s joke, offered Jihoon a slice—which he took with a quiet, knowing look—and kept up the facade of the happy birthday girl.
It was nearly thirty minutes later when the front door finally clicked open.
You turned your head instantly, your chest tightening as your boyfriend stepped into the apartment. He loosened his tie, looking tired but entirely unfazed by how late it was. He walked straight over to you, offering a casual smile.
"Hey, happy birthday," he said, leaning down to plant a quick, fleeting kiss on your cheek before pulling away to look around the room.
You forced a smile, though it felt incredibly fragile. "Hey. You're really late. You missed the cake cutting and the singing."
He just shrugged, shifting his weight. "Ah, sorry about that. Work ran way over. Besides, it's just a cake. You’ll have more birthdays."
The words hit you like a dull slap to the face. Your smile faltered, a deep frown marring your features. Before you could even process the casual dismissal, his face lit up with a grin that you hadn't seen on him in weeks. He grabbed your shoulders, his excitement palpable.
"But listen, you won't even care when you hear the news," he told you, his voice brimming with pride. "I got it. I finally got the big promotion. The VP signed off on it right before I left the office."
The heavy weight in your chest shifted slightly, replaced by a genuine wave of relief and happiness for him. You knew how hard he had worked for this, how many late nights he had pulled. "Oh my god! Really? That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you."
You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. For a brief second, the tension left your body. You wanted to believe that this success would mean things would finally go back to normal between you two.
He hugged you back, patting your spine before pulling away and keeping an arm slung casually around your shoulders. He looked out at the crowded apartment, a smug satisfaction settling over his features. "Yeah, it’s huge. Come on, let’s grab a drink. We’re gonna celebrate this tonight."
Your smile completely froze on your face.
The warmth from the hug evaporated, replaced by a sudden, icy realization. You stopped in your tracks, pulling out from under his arm to look up at him. "Wait. What do you mean?"
He blinked, looking down at you. "What do you mean, what do I mean? We’re celebrating the promotion."
"Tonight?" your voice was barely a whisper, a mix of disbelief and hurt swirling in your chest. "You... you want to celebrate your promotion? On my birthday party?"
He groaned, rolling his eyes so hard it made your stomach twist. He let out an exasperated sigh, waving his hand dismissively. "Oh, come on. Don't be so dramatic. Why does it have to be a separate thing? Everyone’s already here, there’s alcohol, and it’s a good thing for both of us. Don't ruin the mood."
"I'm not being dramatic, I just thought tonight was supposed to be about—"
"I'm gonna go grab a beer," he interrupted, completely cutting you off as he looked past you toward the kitchen. "I see Tyler over there, I need to tell him the news."
Without waiting for your response, without even looking at the expression on your face, he walked right past you, leaving you standing entirely alone in the middle of your own living room.
You stood frozen, your mouth slightly open, the words you wanted to say dying in your throat. A suffocating wave of humiliation washed over you. You could feel the eyes of your guests on you, or at least, it felt like everyone was watching your relationship crumble in real-time. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying desperately to keep your composure, staring at the floor to hide the tears that were suddenly threatening to spill over.
From his spot across the room, leaning against the wall with a fresh drink in his hand, Jihoon hadn't missed a single second of the exchange.
He had watched the exact moment your boyfriend walked in. He had watched the way your face fell, the way he carelessly shrugged off missing your birthday milestones, and the way your entire posture stiffened when he dismissed your feelings. Jihoon’s grip on his glass tightened so hard his knuckles turned white. A dark, dangerous anger flared in his chest, a roaring heat that made him want to cross the room and rip him away from you. He saw the exact look of absolute defeat on your face when he walked away from you.
As your boyfriend made his way toward the kitchen to boast about his career, his path took him directly past Jihoon.
He paused, noticing the Seventeen producer standing there. he offered a wide, arrogant grin, raising a hand in a cheerful greeting. "Hey, Jihoon! Man, good to see you. You gotta hear this, I just got the—"
Jihoon didn't let him finish. He didn't smile, he didn't raise his glass, and he didn't offer a single ounce of the warmth he usually maintained for the sake of politeness. He simply stared at him, his eyes cold, dead, and entirely unbothered.
"I know," Jihoon muttered, his voice dropping into a flat, icy tone that cut straight through the upbeat music.
He didn't say congratulations. He didn't ask how he was. He gave him a single, microscopic nod that was more an act of sheer obligation than actual respect, his expression completely blank.
Your boyfriend blinked, caught off guard by the sheer hostility radiating off the shorter man. The smile stumbled on his face, an uncomfortable chuckle escaping his throat. "Uh... okay. See you around."
He quickly hurried past him, the bravado slipping from his shoulders for just a moment.
Jihoon didn't even bother watching him go. The second he was out of his space, Jihoon’s eyes snapped right back to you. You were still standing there, looking so small, trying to swallow down your hurt.
You swallowed the lump in your throat, forced your shoulders back, and took a deep, stabilizing breath. You couldn't break down at your own party. Taking a random empty cup from a side table just to give your hands something to do, you stepped back into the crowd, desperately trying to play it cool.
You hadn't even taken three steps before Jihoon intercepted you. He slipped into your line of sight, his dark eyes scanning your face with a fierce, quiet intensity.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice low enough to be kept between the two of you, but laced with an undeniable undercurrent of concern.
"Yeah," you said quickly, nodding a little too vigorously as you gave him a bright, empty smile. "Yeah, of course. Totally fine. Just, you know, a lot of people here. I'm great."
Jihoon didn't look convinced—not even for a second—but before he could push any further, your boyfriends booming voice echoed from the center of the living room, drawing everyone’s attention.
"Hey, everyone, listen up for a second!" He called out, raising his beer bottle in the air. He had gathered a group near the couch and was practically glowing under the spotlight. "I just wanted to share some huge news. As of about an hour ago, I am officially the new Senior Project Manager. The youngest one the firm has ever hired!"
A chorus of cheers and polite applause broke out. He grinned, soaking it in, launching into a loud, self-aggrandizing speech about the hours he had logged and the executives he had impressed. He was completely dominating the room, successfully turning your birthday party into his personal corporate victory gala.
Jihoon watched the light drain from your eyes as you stood on the periphery of your own celebration. The anger in his chest, which had been simmering all night, finally boiled over. He wasn't going to let your boyfriend do this to you.
Stepping forward into the circle of guests, Jihoon spoke up. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a sharp, commanding weight that instantly cut through his bragging. "Well, that's great. But honestly, if we're talking about hard work, we should really be talking about the birthday girl." Jihoon turned his body toward you, directing everyone's eyes back to where you stood. "You've been pulling insane hours all month. Frankly, you deserve a massive promotion too, considering how much you hold your team together."
A few of your friends murmured in agreement, nodding. A small, genuine spark of gratitude warmed your chest. You looked at Jihoon, a soft, relieved chuckle escaping your lips. "Oh, thank you, Jihoon. I mean, it's been stressful, but I've really been trying to push for that lead role next quarter, so hopefully—"
"Oh, please," Your boyfriend chimed in, letting out a loud, mocking laugh that instantly derailed your sentence. He shook his head, looking around at your friends as if sharing a joke. "Let's be real here. She doesn't even work half as hard as I do. Staring at spreadsheets for a few hours a day isn't exactly the corporate ladder, babe."
The room went dead silent.
You froze, the remaining color draining from your face. The sheer condescension in his voice, delivered so casually in front of everyone you cared about, was the final straw. You snapped your head up, glaring at him with a look of pure, unadulterated anger. The humiliation turned into a burning fuse. You had completely had enough.
Without saying a single word, you spun on your heel and walked straight down the hallway, slamming your bedroom door shut behind you.
An incredibly tense, suffocating awkwardness settled over the living room. Your friends looked down at their drinks, visibly uncomfortable, shifting their weight in the painful silence.
Jihoon stood entirely still. He closed his eyes for a long, heavy second, his chest rising and falling as he tried to rein in the absolute fury roaring through his veins.
"Oh, come on," Your boyfriends voice rang out, followed by a dismissive chuckle as he waved his hand toward the hallway. "I was just joking. You guys know how sensitive she gets about work stuff. She's being dramatic."
That was it. The final thread of Jihoon's self-control snapped.
Jihoon slowly opened his eyes, the warmth entirely gone from them, leaving behind a cold, lethal focus. He turned around, his gaze locking onto your boyfriends smug, unbothered face. Jihoon didn't yell. He didn't warn him. He simply took two swift, decisive steps forward, wound back, and drove his fist squarely into his jaw.
The impact resounded with a sickening crack.
Your boyfriend stumbled backward, his legs tangling as he collided with the edge of the coffee table before collapsing hard onto the couch. He groaned, immediately clutching his face as dark red blood began to rapidly stream from his nose, dripping over his fingers and down his expensive shirt.
Jihoon stood over him for a fraction of a second, completely unbothered. He calmly brought his hand up, casually rubbing his knuckles to dull the sharp ache in his fist, his expression entirely stoic.
Around the room, gasps and shocked exclamations broke out. A few people rushed over to your boyfriend, while others just stared at Jihoon with wide, terrified eyes, completely stunned that the usually quiet, composed producer had just leveled a man in the middle of a living room.
Jihoon didn't offer an apology, a defense, or even a second glance at the man bleeding on the sofa. He completely ignored the whispers and the shocked stares of the crowd. Turning away from the chaos, he walked calmly down the quiet hallway, his eyes fixed solely on your closed bedroom door.
The bedroom door clicked open with a gentle, hesitant creak.
You were sitting on the edge of your mattress, your hands tightly gripping the fabric of your blanket. The moment you heard the door move, you flinched, your head snapping up. Seeing Jihoon slip into the room, you instantly brought your palms to your cheeks, quickly wiping away the stray tears before plastering on a fragile, breathless smile.
"Hey," you said, your voice cracking slightly before you cleared your throat. "I'm sorry for just running out like that. It was really immature. Give me just a minute, okay? I'll be back out there."
Jihoon offered you a tired, incredibly gentle smile. He didn't look angry, or shocked, or impatient. He just shook his head slightly, stepping further into the quiet sanctuary of your room. "Nah. Don't apologize. And you don't have to go back out there if you don't want to."
You let out a dry, humorless huff, looking away from him. "Well, I wouldn't want to interrupt the main event anyway. It’s his show tonight."
Jihoon let out a soft huff of his own, walking over to the bed. He sat down next to you, leaving just enough space between your shoulders so you wouldn't feel crowded, though you could feel the comforting warmth radiating off him. He stared ahead at the opposite wall for a moment before he spoke, his voice dropping into a quiet, heavy register.
"Do you really enjoy being with him?"
The question hung in the quiet air, stripping away all the noise from the living room. You hesitated. The automatic defense mechanism that usually fired up in your brain didn't activate this time. The shield was gone. You looked down at your hands, your fingers tangling together, and let out a quiet, raspy breath.
"No," you whispered.
Jihoon shook his head in absolute disbelief, a soft, pained sigh escaping him. He turned his head to look at your profile. "Then why are you still with him?"
You let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh, staring hard at your knuckles. "That is a very good question, Jihoon. And it’s really not an easy one to answer." You shook your head, the weight of the last few months suddenly crashing down on you. "History, I guess. Comfort. Fear of being alone. Take your pick."
"He's a fucking asshole," Jihoon said firmly, his usual polite filter completely gone. "He only thinks about himself. He doesn't see what he has, and he treats you like an afterthought on the one day that's supposed to be entirely about you."
You swallowed hard, nodding quietly. There was no point in arguing anymore. The truth was laid bare between you, and you couldn't keep lying to your best friend—or to yourself. "Yeah. Can't argue with that." You let out a deep, exhausting sigh, slouching your shoulders. "This was supposed to be my day."
"It still is," Jihoon assured you softly, his voice taking on a fierce, protective edge. "It’s still your birthday. Don't let him ruin it. Don't let him take this away from you."
You turned your head to look at him, the sincerity in his eyes making your chest ache in a completely different way—a warm, grounding kind of ache. A genuine smile finally touched your lips. "Thank you, Jihoon. Thank you for always trying to help me."
He smiled back, a little bit of his usual playful demeanor returning as he shrugged his shoulders. "Well... I guess that must be my job."
You chuckled softly, the tension in your face easing. But as your eyes traveled down to where his hands rested on his knees, the laughter died in your throat. You frowned, leaning closer. The knuckles on his right hand were already starting to swell, turning a angry, mottled shade of purple and blue.
"What happened to your hand?" you asked, reaching out instinctively to touch his wrist, a look of deep concern crossing your features.
Jihoon quickly pulled his hand back, brushing it off with a casual wave of his left. He didn't want you focusing on the violence in the other room. He nodded toward the bedroom door, trying to redirect your attention. "It’s nothing. Come on, let's go grab something to drink. Together."
You hesitated, but the thought of a drink—and the comfort of having him by your side—won over. "Okay," you accepted softly.
You both stood up from the bed, smoothing out your clothes. Jihoon reached for the doorknob and pulled the door open, stepping out into the hallway with you right behind him.
But you didn't even make it three steps.
Walking directly past your room toward the bathroom was your boyfriend. He had a thick wad of bloody tissues clamped firmly against his nose, his eyes watering, and his entire face twisted into a pathetic, pained grimace. He groaned under his breath, completely ignoring the two of you as he shuffled past, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.
You froze in your tracks. You looked at his bleeding nose. Then you looked down at Jihoon's bruised, swollen knuckles.
Suddenly, one and one came together in your mind. Your eyes went wide, and you snapped your gaze up to Jihoon, your jaw dropping in absolute shock.
Jihoon caught the exact moment you realized what had happened. He let out a heavy, defeated sigh, his shoulders slumping as he braced himself for your anger. He immediately started stammering out an explanation, his hands coming up defensively. "Look, I'm sorry. I already know what you're gonna say. I was way out of line, I shouldn't have done that, I just—"
You completely cut him off.
Stepping forward, you caught his jacket, pulled him down slightly, and pressed your lips firmly against his.
Jihoon froze. His entire brain short-circuited, his eyes wide in absolute shock as the world around him completely ceased to exist. The apology died in his throat, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air as the soft, desperate warmth of your lips grounded him.
Before his mind could even process the reality of what was happening, you pulled back just an inch. You brought your hands up, gently cupping his face, your eyes soft and incredibly bright as you looked into his stunned features.
"Thank you," you whispered genuinely.
A dark, crimson blush instantly crept up Jihoon's neck, flooding his cheeks. The fierce, confident producer was entirely gone, replaced by a flustered, stuttering boy. He swallowed hard, his eyes darting around your face before he managed to stammer out a quiet, breathless, "You're... you're welcome."
A beautiful, radiant smile broke across your face—the first real smile of the entire night. Without giving him another second to overthink it, you slid your fingers down to his uninjured left hand, intertwining your fingers with his.
Holding his hand tightly, you turned and led him out of the hallway, stepping back into the living room together, leaving the past behind you.
Hi! You can pick the idol(preferably from seventeen) but idol x reader where they make a bet with each other of who has more restraint. So they go a week without sex and the both try to act as sexy as possible to get the other to crack ✨
pairing: Choi Seung-cheol x female!reader
warnings: established relationship, tension, Jeonghan being himself, smut, nsfw, eheheheh
The morning light in the Seventeen dorm kitchen was soft, but the atmosphere was anything but quiet. You were pressed firmly against the edge of the counter, your fingers tangled in Seungcheol’s messy bedhead while his hands gripped your waist, pulling you so close there wasn't an inch of air between you. He tasted like mint toothpaste and desperation, his lips moving against yours with a breathless, needy hunger that made you forget you were in a communal living space.
You let out a soft, helpless giggle into the kiss when his thumb stroked the bare skin just beneath the hem of his oversized hoodie, which you had stolen that morning. He groaned, leaning his forehead against yours for a brief second before capturing your lips again, deeper this time. You were freshly dating and completely head over heels for each other, entirely trapped in a blissful, dizzying bubble of puppy love where every glance led to a smile and every touch caught fire.
"Oh, for fucks—can you two please get a room? Or at least wait until I’ve had my coffee?"
Jeonghan’s voice cut through the haze, heavy with a dramatic groan. He was leaning against the doorway, massaging his temples with one hand while holding an empty mug in the other.
You flushed, pulling back just enough to laugh, though Seungcheol didn’t let go of your waist. Instead, he just nuzzled your neck, burying his face in your shoulder with a muffled chuckle.
"Seriously," Wonwoo chimed in, walking past the three of you to open the fridge. He looked incredibly unbothered, but there was a teasing glint in his eyes. "Have you two actually gone a full twenty-four hours without fucking since you started dating?"
You opened your mouth to give a confident yes, but then you paused. You thought back to yesterday morning’s quick, wet encounter in the steaming shower, followed by the breathless, passionate hours spent locked in his bedroom last night while the rest of the dorm was asleep. Your face burned as the realization hit you.
Seungcheol lifted his head, exchanging a quick, wide-eyed look with you. He cleared his throat, a sheepish smile spreading across his face as he looked at his members. "Okay, maybe not recently. But I mean...you know we are freshly dating...so cut us some slack."
"You're like animals," Jeonghan sighed, pouring his coffee. "Worse than animals. Because animals actually stop."
"Woah!" Seungcheol huffed, pulling you tighter against his side in a protective, albeit playful, gesture. "We are perfectly capable of keeping our hands to ourselves. I have an incredible amount of self-control." He looked down at you, a mischievous spark in his dark eyes as a smirk played on his lips. "Don't know about y/n tho..."
Your jaw dropped. You gasped in pure shock, swatting his chest. "What the fuck?"
"What?" he laughed, his dimples flashing as he tried to dodge your hand.
"You are the one who jumps me the second we enter a room!" you argued, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Who dragged me into the shower yesterday? Who locked the bedroom door last night before I could even take my shoes off? You initiate everything!"
"Me?!" Seungcheol let out a dramatic huff of disbelief, tossing his head back. "I am a gentleman! You look at me with those puppy-dog eyes and I'm just catering to your needs, babe."
"Yeah right," you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest and pouting. "You have zero self-control when it comes to me."
Jeonghan set his mug down on the counter with a sharp clink, a devilish grin spreading across his face. The look in his eyes instantly signaled trouble. "Well, since you both think you're the master of restraint, why don't we put it to a test? A bet."
Wonwoo leaned against the counter, suddenly very interested. "A bet?"
"Yeah," Jeonghan said, stepping closer. "Let's see who can go the longest without cracking. No kissing, no touching, and absolutely no sex. The first one to initiate anything physical loses. If Seungcheol loses, he has to buy the entire team dinner for a week. If y/n loses... well, she has to admit Seungcheol was right"
You and Seungcheol exchanged a sharp, challenging look. The playful spirit evaporated, replaced by the fierce streak of competitiveness you both possessed. You looked at his lips, remembering how incredibly soft they were, how good it felt when he took control. But the smug look on his face made you snap.
"You're on," you said, tilting your chin up defiantly.
"Fine by me," Seungcheol countered, stepping back and raising his hands in the air to prove he was already starting. "Get your wallet ready, Jeonghan, because I'm going to win this easily."
The quiet of the evening finally settled over the dorm, but inside Seungcheol’s bedroom, the air was thick with a brand-new kind of tension. As you both brushed your teeth and got ready for bed, the fierce competitiveness from earlier hadn't faded one bit. If anything, the reality of what you had actually agreed to was finally starting to set in.
"They really think we’re just gonna crumble, don't they?" you said, grabbing a hair tie from his nightstand. You shook your head, a scoff escaping your lips. "Jeonghan looked so smug. It’s actually insulting how little discipline they think we have."
Seungcheol laughed, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it into the laundry hamper. "Right? I'm the leader of this group. I manage twelve chaotic guys on a daily basis. If I can handle them, I can handle a little bit of restraint. They really underestimate us."
"Exactly," you agreed confidently, though your eyes involuntarily flicked down to his bare chest. You quickly looked away, clearing your throat. "We're going to nail this. Easy."
"A walk in the park," he echoed.
With your shared indignation fueling your resolve, you both slid under the heavy duvet. Out of habit, you turned onto your sides to face each other, the space between you just a few short inches.
Seungcheol propped his head up on his hand, his eyes scanning your face before naturally drifting downward. The sleep top you were wearing had a low scoop neck, and because of the way you were lying on your side, your breasts were pressed and squeezed together, creating a soft, prominent swell of cleavage right in his line of sight. His breath hitched slightly, his dark eyes darkening as his gaze lingered on the exposed skin.
You didn't notice his sudden internal panic because you were having a minor crisis of your own. Your eyes were locked onto his upper body. The way he was propping himself up caused his biceps to flex prominently, the hard muscle shifting beautifully beneath his skin. His shoulders looked impossibly broad in the dim light, and you suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and trace the lines of his arms.
Neither of you said a word, but the sudden, heavy silence in the room spoke volumes. The easy confidence from a few minutes ago vanished, replaced by the jarring realization that this was going to be infinitely harder than either of you had anticipated.
The gravity of the situation hit fully when you both instinctively leaned inward, your faces drawing closer out of pure, deep-rooted habit. Your lips parted slightly, expecting the familiar, comforting warmth of a goodnight kiss.
Suddenly, Seungcheol froze. Your eyes snapped open, your lips hovering barely an inch away from his.
The rules of the bet flashed in both of your minds like a neon warning sign: No kissing. No touching. The first one to initiate anything physical loses.
Seungcheol blinked, a look of sheer, panicked restraint crossing his features. He abruptly pulled his head back, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to break the magnetic pull. Wanting to salvage the moment but terrified of breaking the rules, he awkwardly extended his arm and gave the top of your head two stiff, robotic pats.
"Goodnight," he choked out, his voice a little tighter than usual.
Before you could even process the ridiculousness of the head-pat, he swiftly turned his back to you, pulling the covers up to his shoulders and leaving a cold, frustratingly wide gap between your bodies.
The next morning, the morning sun poured through the bedroom window, but Seungcheol was nowhere near ready to face the day. Instead, he was propped up against his pillows, completely frozen as he watched you get ready.
Usually, this was his favorite part of the day—he’d normally sneak up behind you, wrap his heavy arms around your waist, and bury his face in your neck while you brushed your hair. But today, the strict rules of the bet kept him firmly anchored to the mattress, and the restraint was already starting to wear him thin.
He didn't miss a single movement. His eyes tracked you like a hawk as you stood in front of his full-length mirror, sliding out of his oversized hoodie. When you pulled a tight, cropped baby tee over your head, his gaze locked onto the smooth expanse of your midriff and the soft curve of your waist. He swallowed hard, his eyes slowly traveling down the length of your legs as you stepped into a pair of fitted jeans, the denim hugging your hips perfectly.
Every little action felt like a personal attack on his sanity. You reached up to tie your hair back, the action lifting your chest and exposing the elegant line of your throat. Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching so hard it ached. A heavy, familiar heat flared in his gut, and he realized with absolute certainty that if this went on for another twenty-four hours, he was going to lose his mind.
He was at his breaking point, and it was only 9:00 AM.
If I can't touch her, he thought, a devious, competitive smirk slowly replacing his look of desperation, then I'm just going to have to make her break first. He knew exactly what buttons to push. If he couldn't initiate the physical contact, he would just have to become so irresistibly distracting that you would completely forget about Jeonghan, the bet, and your own discipline, and throw yourself at him.
The psychological warfare had officially begun.
By the time you unlocked the front door of the dorm later that afternoon, your shoulders were tense from a long day at work, and your mind was entirely consumed by thoughts of Seungcheol. The lingering frustration from the morning had followed you all day, and you were desperately looking forward to a moment of peace.
Hearing the muffled sound of running water, you headed down the hallway and stepped into his bathroom just to wash your hands. Right as you were lathering the soap, the water clicked off, and the glass shower door swung open.
Seungcheol stepped out into the steam, completely naked, water droplets glistening on his broad shoulders and running down the defined ridges of his abs. He paused when he saw you, completely unbothered by his lack of clothes, and simply greeted you with a casual, cool nod. "Hey."
You deliberately kept your eyes glued to the sink, focusing entirely on rinsing the soap from your fingers. "Hey."
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a smug, knowing smirk spread across his face. He leaned one shoulder against the tiled wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "What's wrong? Why aren't you looking at me?"
"You know exactly why," you muttered, grabbing a plush towel from the rack. Instead of using it, you tossed it straight at his chest. "Put a towel on, Cheol."
He let out a low, rumbling chuckle, catching it easily. He didn't wrap it around his waist right away, though. Instead, he began to slowly, deliberately dry himself off, making sure to flex his arms and back muscles with every movement, putting on a full show in the small, humid bathroom.
You tried your absolute best to ignore him, turning to face the mirror to fix your hair, but your resolve was wearing dangerously thin. You bit your bottom lip hard, your heart hammering against your ribs when he suddenly took a step closer into your personal space.
He reached across you to grab a hairbrush from the counter, and in the process, he deliberately brushed past you. The heat radiating off his body was overwhelming, and for a split second, his damp, bare chest pressed flat against your shoulder.
You froze, the electric spark of his skin making your breath hitch. You slowly looked up, meeting his dark, mischievous eyes in the mirror's reflection before turning around to face him directly. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"
Seungcheol just shrugged, a picture of pure innocence as he ran the brush through his damp hair. "What? I'm just going on with my day like usual. I need to brush my hair, babe."
Your gaze involuntarily slipped downward, tracking the path of a stray water droplet sliding down his collarbone, over his pectoral muscle, and disappearing below the towel now loosely slung around his hips. Your breath turned shallow, your throat suddenly feeling incredibly dry. He was entirely too close, and the primal urge to just wrap your arms around him and give up was screaming in your ear.
Seungcheol noticed your hesitation instantly. His expression softened into something darker, heavier with desire. He raised a single eyebrow, and before you could register the movement, he reached out and gently caught your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to his.
His touch was warm, sending a shiver straight down your spine. "Do you want to tell me something?" he murmured, his thumb lightly brushing your lower lip. "You look like you have something to say."
You were right on the edge. The temptation to lean in and kiss the smug look right off his face was nearly impossible to resist. Your eyes flicked to his lips, and you actually started to lean into his touch.
But at the last possible second, a flash of pure stubbornness saved you. You caught yourself, snapping out of the trance.
With a defiant glare, you brought your hands up and pushed against his firm chest, forcing him back a step. His fingers slid off your chin as you braced yourself. "Nice try, Choi Seungcheol. But your little tricks aren't going to work on me."
Seungcheol didn't look disappointed at all; instead, he threw his head back and let out a rich, delighted chuckle, thoroughly entertained by your resilience.
You rolled your eyes, quickly turning on your heel to march out of the bathroom before he could try anything else, your heart pounding wildly as his laughter followed you down the hall.
The next afternoon, a handful of the members were gathered in the living room, completely locked into an intense gaming session. The air was filled with the frantic clicking of controllers, shouted commands, and Mingyu groaning in frustration at the TV screen. Seungcheol was sitting on the edge of the couch, seemingly focused on the game, but the moment you walked into the room, his eyes immediately tracked your movement.
He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual as he paused his button-mashing for a split second. "What are you doing?"
"Just getting a snack," you replied breezily, flashing him a sweet, entirely innocent smile before disappearing into the kitchen.
When you walked back out a minute later, you were holding an ice cream bar. You took your time slowly unwrapping the plastic wrapper, making sure the crinkling sound drew his attention. Once the wrapper was off, you took a slow, deliberate lick of the ice cream, your eyes flicking up to meet Seungcheol’s over the top of the couch.
You strolled over to stand just a few feet away from where he was sitting. Acting completely clueless, you tilted your head and pointed toward the TV screen. "So, what game are you guys playing anyway? Who's winning?" You took another slow, rhythmic lick, your tongue swirling around the melting edges.
Across from you, Seungcheol swallowed heavily. His grip on the controller tightened until his knuckles turned white, and his entire posture went rigid. He tried to look back at the screen, but his eyes kept darting back to your lips.
Then, right on cue, a stray drop of ice cream escaped and landed directly on the back of your hand.
"Oh, shoot," you muttered, cursing under your breath just loud enough to catch his attention.
Instead of grabbing a napkin, you slowly brought your hand up to your mouth. Keeping your eyes locked dead on Seungcheol, you languidly licked the melted drop straight off your skin.
Seungcheol visibly shifted in his seat, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek. He let out a ragged breath through his nose, desperately trying to force his attention back to the game while Hoshi yelled something about a sniper in the background. Seungcheol was fighting for his life, and you knew it.
Satisfied with the absolute havoc you had just wreaked on his sanity, you flashed him a triumphant smile. "Well, have fun gaming, boys," you said cheerfully, turning on your heel to head back into his bedroom.
As you closed the bedroom door behind you, you were practically vibrating with victory. You knew him inside and out; there was absolutely no way he could resist that. You sat on the edge of the bed, kicking your legs back and forth, confidently expecting the door to fly open at any second.
And indeed, exactly ten minutes later, the doorknob turned.
The door pushed open and Seungcheol stepped into the room. You immediately uncrossed your arms, leaning back onto your elbows with a massive, smug victory smirk plastered across your face. You were ready to hear him say the words. Ready to hear him admit defeat.
But Seungcheol didn't look defeated at all. In fact, he walked right past the bed toward his closet, a huge, dazzlingly bright smile on his face. He pulled a thick, oversized sweatshirt off a hanger and slid it over his head.
He turned around, adjusting the collar, and beamed at you with pure, unadulterated innocence. "Man, the AC is blasting out there. I got so cold!"
Before you could even process what was happening, he gave you a cheerful little wave, turned right back around, and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him.
The smirk instantly vanished from your face. Your jaw dropped in disbelief, a hot wave of frustration rushing to your cheeks. You snatched up one of his pillows and threw it violently at the closed door.
Over the next few days, the atmosphere in the dorm degenerated into an outright cold war. The initial playful, competitive spark evaporated completely, replaced by a deep, agonizing frustration. You and Seungcheol were used to being practically glued at the hip—constantly sharing secret smiles, stealing quick kisses in the hallways, and finding any excuse to lock yourselves away in his bedroom. Now, the forced distance was taking a massive toll. Every attempt to make the other break had failed miserably, and the constant, unresolved tension was driving you both up the wall.
By day four, the honeymoon phase of the bet was officially dead. You were both in a thoroughly foul mood, radiating a grumpy, volatile energy that had the other members actively avoiding you in the house.
That evening, you were standing in front of the bathroom mirror, aggressively brushing your teeth. You were still annoyed about the ice cream incident, your shoulders tense as you stared at your reflection. The bathroom door pushed open, and Seungcheol slouched inside, looking equally exhausted and miserable. He didn't even look at you as he reached across the counter to grab the tube of toothpaste.
He squeezed it, but nothing came out. He squeezed harder, flattening the plastic roll until he managed to scrape a pathetic, microscopic smudge onto his toothbrush.
Seungcheol stopped, staring at the empty tube. He slowly turned his head to glare at you, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Wow. Thank you so much for leaving some for me. Truly generous."
You spit into the sink, rinsing your mouth quickly so you could snap back. "Oh, please," you scoffed, crossing your arms and glaring right back at him. "You know exactly where the new tubes are kept in the cabinet. Last time I checked, you have two perfectly healthy arms. Use them."
Seungcheol let out a loud, frustrated huff, tossing the empty tube into the trash can with entirely too much force.
"Oh, boohoo," you mocked immediately, mimicking his exact tone and tossing your head back.
He shot you a warning look through the mirror, his jaw clenching as he ripped open a new box of toothpaste. The air in the small room was thick with unspoken irritation and a heavy, thrumming desire that neither of you wanted to admit was fueling the anger.
You both finished brushing your teeth in a heavy, suffocating silence, the only sound being the violent splashing of water as you rinsed your faces. Without another word, you turned on your heel and marched back into his bedroom, Seungcheol following closely behind you like a dark cloud.
You both climbed into bed, immediately turning your backs to each other. The silence between you was sharp, the wide gap in the middle of the mattress acting as a bitter boundary line. But the residual anger from the bathroom was still humming in your veins, making it impossible to sit still.
You shifted restlessly, the fabric of your shorts rustling against the sheets. "Move over," you muttered into the dark, your voice dripping with irritation. "You're taking up the entire bed."
Seungcheol didn't move an inch. "Are you serious right now?" he scoffed into his pillow. "Ninety-nine percent of this mattress already belongs to you. I'm practically hanging off the edge."
"I don't care. Move," you insisted. To emphasize your point, you shifted backward, deliberately shoving against him with your ass to push him over.
Seungcheol let out a sharp hiss, his patience instantly wearing thin. "Stop being such a brat."
"I'm not being a brat, you just need to—"
Before you could finish your sentence, Seungcheol abruptly rolled over to face your back. The sudden movement caught you off guard; as you shifted to shove him one more time, your ass moved directly against his crotch.
The heat of the contact was instantaneous. Seungcheol’s instincts took over before his brain could stop him, and his large hand shot out, gripping your waist with a firm, bruising force to stop you from moving.
You froze. The room went dead silent, save for the sudden, ragged sound of your breathing. Because of how he had turned, you were now pressed firmly against him, his heavy hand anchored squarely on your hip. Through the thin fabric of your clothes, you could feel the unmistakable, thick outline of his length pressing directly into the cleft of your backside.
His fingers dug deeper into your skin, his grip trembling slightly from the sheer effort it took not to tear your clothes off. "Don't move," he rasped, his voice incredibly deep, rough, and completely undone.
A heavy, aching shiver ran straight down your spine. The strict rules of the last four days suddenly felt distant, utterly trivial compared to the overwhelming urge pooling low in your stomach. You bit your lip, closing your eyes in the darkness, and deliberately defied him. You slowly, languidly circled your hips against him.
Seungcheol let out a low, animalistic growl at the friction. Beneath your touch, you felt him instantly harden, surging into full, thick readiness against you. Goosebumps erupted across your skin. The sheer thrill of breaking him sent a wave of heat straight to your core, leaving you dripping.
Suddenly, Seungcheol wasn't trying to stop you anymore. His restraint shattered into pieces. He shifted closer, his heavy chest pressing flat against your back as he began to move with you, softly but firmly grinding his crotch right against your ass.
A helpless, needy moan escaped your lips. You tilted your head back slightly, your ear catching the sound of his shallow, ragged breaths fanning over your exposed neck. The friction of your clothes rubbing together was agonizingly perfect, a slow, torturous tease that was driving you both insane.
You began to dry hump each other in the dark, the pace picking up as the desperate need for friction took over. Loud gasps and breathless moans filled the quiet bedroom. Desperate for more, you reached your hand back blindly, tangling your fingers in the fabric of his shirt to pull his hips even tighter against you.
Seungcheol grunted, his thrusts becoming harder, hungrier, completely losing himself in the rhythm. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He began slathering soft, wet kisses along your shoulder before sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin right beneath your jaw, biting down just hard enough to make you whimper.
You threw your head back against his shoulder, your core throbbing violently as you neared the edge from the pure friction alone.
The sound of your surrender was the final straw. Seungcheol’s patience snapped entirely. In one swift, aggressive motion, his hand wrapped around the waistband of your shorts and tugged them down your legs along with your underwear. He didn't waste a single second—he grabbed your shoulder, roughly rolling you over onto your back beneath him, and came down to trap your mouth in a fierce, bruising kiss.
Meanwhile, out in the living room, the atmosphere was significantly quieter. A few of the members were sprawled across the couches, the dim glow of the television illuminating their faces as a movie played in the background. Hoshi was half-asleep against a pillow, and Wonwoo was minding his own business, completely invested in the plot.
Suddenly, a distinct, muffled moan echoed down the hallway, slicing right through the audio of the film.
It was followed immediately by a sharp, rhythmic thud. Then another. Within seconds, the heavy wood of Seungcheol’s headboard was slamming against the shared bedroom wall with a frantic, unyielding intensity that shook the quiet apartment.
Wonwoo froze, his eyes staring blankly at the TV screen before he let out a deeply exhausted, long-suffering sigh.
Across the room, Jeonghan didn't look bothered at all. In fact, a slow, incredibly smug smirk spread across his face. He calmly paused the movie, turned his head toward Wonwoo, and extended his open hand, casually wiggling his fingers.
Wonwoo reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled stack of bills. He tossed them across the coffee table, shaking his head in utter defeat. "They were so close," he muttered, resting his chin in his hand. "It was day four. They just had to make it three more days."
Jeonghan scooped up the cash, counting it with a dark, thoroughly amused chuckle. He pocketed the money, looking toward the hallway where the muffled noises were only getting louder.
"I told you," Jeonghan said, leaning back against the cushions with a triumphant grin. "There was absolutely no way those two were lasting a week."
Helloo! Hope you had a great weekend! I had a skz x s/o where maybe she tries to cook a Korean dish for the first time and maybe it goes wrong but they still find it endearing.
Also want to say hope you’re doing well! Spring is soo busy but remember to drink water and get some good rest! <3
pairing: Stray Kids x reader
warnings: reader being a bad cook, some fluff, established relationship, slice of live, this is literally me and my boyfriend
Funfact about me, I absolutely HATE Spring and Summer. I got allergies, pale skin, red hair and sweat like a BITCH so yea....I need my Autumn and Winter back...
The scent of toasted sesame oil filled the apartment, a comforting wave of warmth that you hoped would instantly wash away the exhaustion of Chan’s twelve-hour studio session. You stood by the stove, admiring your masterpiece. The japchae looked picture-perfect—glass noodles glistening, vibrant bell peppers and spinach tossed throughout, and tender strips of beef. You had spent the last two hours meticulously prepping every ingredient. You were absolutely bursting with pride.
When the digital lock on the front door beeped, your heart did a happy little flip.
"I'm home," Chan called out, his voice heavy with fatigue as he kicked off his shoes. He trudged into the kitchen, his shoulders slouched beneath his oversized hoodie, but the moment his eyes landed on you—and the beautifully set table—his entire face lit up.
"Tadaaa!" you beamed, hands clasped behind your back. "I made dinner."
Chan’s jaw dropped slightly, a soft, dimpled smile spreading across his face. "Wha—you did this for me? Sweetheart, you shouldn't have." He walked over, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck. "It smells incredible. I'm actually starving."
"Sit, sit!" you urged, gently pushing him into a chair. You scooped a generous portion of the noodles into his bowl and handed him a pair of chopsticks, watching him with wide, expectant eyes.
Touched by your sweetness, Chan’s eyes softened. "Thank you, love. Let's eat."
He lifted a large tangle of noodles, blew on them slightly, and popped them into his mouth.
As he chewed, his internal gears ground to a screeching halt. The expected balance of sweet and savory never came. Instead, an absolute tidal wave of pure, unadulterated sodium hit his tastebuds. You had somehow managed to use a catastrophic amount of soy sauce. It tasted like a block of salt dissolved in the ocean.
Chan froze. His jaw locked mid-chew as his brain frantically calculated how to swallow the culinary weapon without gagging.
"How is it?" you asked, leaning forward on your elbows, practically vibrating with excitement. "Is it good? It's my first time making it!"
Chan looked up. He saw the pure joy radiating from your face, the hopeful sparkle in your eyes, and the sheer pride in your smile. His heart melted entirely. There is absolutely no way I can ruin this for her, he thought.
Forcing his throat to work, he swallowed the bite with superhuman effort. He didn't even wince. Instead, he forced a bright, breathtaking smile to his face and reached out to squeeze your hand.
"Oh Wow" Chan said, his voice entirely sincere despite the dehydration rapidly setting in. "This is amazing. Seriously, it's so good. I could eat this every day."
Your smile widened, a joyful flush creeping up your cheeks. "Really?thank god. Well luckily I made enough."
As you turned to grab a glass of water, Chan took a deep breath, steeling himself for round two. His kidneys were going to hate him tomorrow, but looking at your happy face, he decided it was worth every single bite.
Leeknow
Minho knew exactly what your kitchen track record looked like. He had seen you accidentally set off the smoke detector while making toast and fully understood that "cooking skills" was a phrase that didn't belong anywhere near your resume.
So, as he stood by the front door adjusting his jacket, ready to head out for a long day of schedules, he didn't expect any culinary send-offs. But just as his hand touched the doorknob, you called out his name, hurried down the hallway, and thrust a small, wrapped bento box into his hands.
"I made you lunch," you announced, a tiny, nervous flush creeping up your neck. "For your break later."
Minho stared down at the box, his eyebrows raising in genuine surprise. A slow, amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He looked up at your expectant face and felt a sudden rush of affection. "You did?" he asked softly. He stepped closer, wrapping one hand around your waist to pull you in. "Thank you. I'll make sure to eat every bite." He leaned down, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips before heading out into the morning chill.
Hours later, the dance studio fell quiet as the group finally took a lunch break. While the other members ordered takeout, Minho sat on the floor, leaning his back against the mirrors, and pulled your bento box out of his bag. He unclipped the lid, highly intrigued by what you had managed to create.
When the lid came off, a quiet chuckle escaped his throat.
It was a beautiful, chaotic mess. You had clearly attempted to make a classic gimbap and a side omelette, but the execution had gone slightly rogue. The omelette was completely torn apart, looking more like a jagged jigsaw puzzle than a side dish. The gimbap rolls hadn't survived the journey either; they had broken apart completely, causing the seasoned rice, colorful vegetables, and seaweed to spill out and mingle into a disorganized heap at the bottom of the container.
Minho smirked in sheer amusement, shaking his head. He could practically see you in the kitchen, frantically trying to roll the seaweed and losing the battle against the sticky rice.
Picking up his chopsticks, he scooped up a chaotic mouthful of the deconstructed lunch. It wasn't exactly a culinary masterpiece—the rice was a bit too mushy and the seasoning was entirely uneven—but as he chewed, his smirk softened into something incredibly fond. It tasted like your effort, and to him, that was the best part. He ate every single bite, enjoying the mess thoroughly.
Once the container was completely spotless, Minho snapped a quick photo of the empty box. He opened his chat with you, attached the picture, and typed out a message: Completely cleared it. Literally the best lunch I’ve ever had, jagiya. Thank you.
Changbin
You knew the absolute fastest way to Changbin’s heart was through a plate of fried chicken. It was his ultimate comfort food, so you had spent hours scrolling through recipes, determined to master the perfect crispy, golden crunch all on your own. It turned out to be a lot harder than the internet videos made it look. After a chaotic battle with popping oil and flour splatters, you finally managed to salvage two chicken drumsticks, presenting them proudly on a plate the moment he walked through the door.
"Ta-da!" you announced, holding the dish out to him. "I made your favorite."
Changbin blinked, his eyes dropping to the plate. He took a mental step back. Instead of the beautiful, honey-gold crust he usually drooled over, the two drumsticks were a deep, unmistakable shade of charcoal. The outer skin was completely burned to a crisp, looking more like campfire embers than dinner.
He looked back up at you. The initial pride in your expression was already crumbling, replaced by a tense, nervous twitch of your lips. You bit your lower lip, your fingers tightly gripping the edge of the plate as you watched him, practically holding your breath.
Changbin’s heart completely melted. He knew how terrifying hot oil could be, and the fact that you had braved the kitchen just to make him his favorite food meant everything to him. There was no way he was going to let your hard work go to waste.
"Wow, you made this for me?" Changbin beamed, his loud, bright voice instantly filling the room to cut through the tension. He grabbed one of the drumsticks without a second thought. "I'm so lucky."
He took a large, brave bite. It was exactly what he expected—a heavy, bitter wave of burnt carbon, followed by a slightly dry interior. It was definitely burned. But as he looked at your wide, anxious eyes, he forced his throat to swallow and immediately let out a loud, theatrical hum of pure delight.
"Oh, wow!" he exclaimed, widening his eyes and nodding vigorously as he chewed. "Babe, this is so good! The crunch on this is incredible. It’s got that deep, smoky flavor, you know? I love it!"
The sheer relief that washed over your face was instantaneous. Your shoulders dropped, and a massive, radiant smile broke across your lips. "Really? You don't think it's too dark?"
"Are you kidding? It's perfect," he lied smoothly, taking another huge bite to prove his point, completely ignoring the bitter aftertaste.
Unable to contain your happiness, you threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. "Thank you! I was so scared I ruined it." You pulled back just enough to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his cheek, and then another right on his lips.
Changbin grinned into the kiss, happily holding you close. His tastebuds were suffering a little, but seeing you this happy made it the best fried chicken he had ever had.
Hyunjin
The front door clicked open, and Hyunjin stepped into the apartment, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension from his workout. He was wiping a stray bead of sweat from his forehead with his towel when a sweet, powdery scent caught his attention. Intrigued, he followed the aroma into the kitchen and stopped in his tracks, a surprised smile immediately gracing his lips.
There you were, standing at the counter, completely covered from hands to apron in white cornstarch.
"What's all this?" Hyunjin asked, leaning against the doorframe with an amused glint in his eyes.
You looked up, a smudge of flour on your cheek, and beamed. "I'm making strawberry mochi! I've always wanted to try it, and the video looked so easy. It didn't seem like it would be that hard."
Hyunjin let out a soft chuckle, crossing his arms as he watched you attempt to handle the sweet rice dough. It was clearly putting up a fight. The dough stretched wildly, sticking to your fingers and refusing to cooperate as you frantically tried to dust more starch over the sticky mass. You let out a frustrated huff, blowing a stray lock of hair out of your eyes.
"Well," Hyunjin said smoothly, stepping closer to the counter. He tilted his head, a playful smirk playing on his lips. "If you happen to need a professional taste tester for your creations, you know I'm always available."
Your eyes lit up at his offer. "Really? Perfect timing, because the first one is actually done!"
With an excited flourish, you carefully scooped up your first masterpiece and held it out to him on a small plate. Hyunjin looked down at it, and one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows cocked upward. It didn't exactly look like the plump, round mochis from a cafe. It was remarkably flat, spreading out sideways on the plate, and it looked so intensely sticky that he wondered if it might permanently glue his jaws together.
He hesitated for just a fraction of a second, looking from the sad little blob of dough back to your eager, hopeful face. He couldn't possibly say no to you.
"Alright" Hyunjin murmured, picking up the flat confection. It stretched precariously between his fingers as he lifted it to his mouth and took a brave bite.
The texture was an immediate challenge—it stuck to the roof of his mouth instantly—but the real shock was the flavor. You had clearly gone completely overboard with the sugar. It was an overwhelming, blinding wave of pure sweetness that made his teeth ache. It tasted like straight syrup.
Hyunjin froze for a brief moment, his throat working hard as he forced himself to swallow the sugary bomb. He managed to keep his expression perfectly neutral, smoothing out his features before looking back down at you.
"How is it?" you asked, leaning in close, practically vibrating with anticipation.
"It's really good," Hyunjin lied flawlessly, offering you a warm, brilliant smile that reached his eyes. "Very sweet. You did a great job for your first try."
A huge, triumphant smile broke across your face. "Yes! I knew I could do it!" Entirely reassured, you turned back to the counter, instantly re-energized and humming a little tune as you began tackling the next stubborn piece of dough.
Hyunjin quietly reached for a glass of water, watching you with an incredibly fond smile. His teeth were still ringing from the sugar rush, but seeing you so happy made it entirely worth it.
Han
Jisung had been practically living at the studio lately, burying himself under an endless mountain of tracks and lyrics. Yet, no matter how exhausted he was, he always made sure to come home and give you his undivided attention, never letting his grueling schedule get in the way of your relationship. Deeply grateful for his constant effort, you decided to surprise him with his absolute favorite comfort food: dwaeji galbi. You spent the entire afternoon marinating the pork ribs, making sure the kitchen smelled like a high-end Korean BBQ restaurant by the time his key turned in the lock.
"Babe, I'm home," Jisung murmured, dropping his backpack onto the floor with a tired sigh. But the moment he walked into the dining room and saw the spread, his eyes went wide. The grilled ribs looked absolutely picture-perfect—perfectly caramelized, glistening under the warm light, and garnished neatly with sesame seeds.
"Surprise!" you smiled, pulling out a chair for him. "You’ve been working so hard lately, so I wanted to make you something special."
Jisung’s chest tightened with pure affection. He was so deeply touched by the gesture that for a second, he just stared at you, a soft, vulnerable smile breaking across his face. "You did all this for me? Wow... thank you, jagiya. It looks incredible." He eagerly sat down, picked up a succulent piece of meat with his chopsticks, and popped it into his mouth.
He chewed once, and his entire world stopped.
Something had gone horribly, catastrophically wrong with the marinade. Instead of the sweet, savory harmony of garlic, soy sauce, and pear puree, a bizarre, jarring taste exploded across his tongue. It was like a confusing mixture of straight baking soda and an accidental overdose of vinegar. It was practically inedible.
Jisung froze mid-chew, his eyes widening in subtle panic. He glanced across the table at you, expecting a warning, but you were completely oblivious. You happily picked up a rib, took a bite, and chewed with a content, relaxed smile. Apparently, your tastebuds were entirely forgiving today, or you were just caught up in the joy of the moment.
Suddenly, you caught him staring. You paused, leaning forward on your elbows with an expectant, bright grin. "How is it? Is the marinade okay?"
Jisung’s internal survival instincts kicked into high gear. He couldn't possibly break your heart or ruin this beautiful moment after you had spent hours cooking for him. Forcing his jaw to move, he swallowed the disastrous bite with a heroic effort.
Instantly, a bright, dimpled smile plastered across his face. He quickly reached for another piece of meat, stuffing it into his mouth to prove his enthusiasm. "Mmm! It's delicious!" he mumbled around the food, nodding his head vigorously. He gave you a thumbs-up, continuing to chew through the awful flavor while making enthusiastic noises. "Seriously, babe... so good. You're the best."
Your smile widened into a radiant, happy beam, completely satisfied with his reaction. As you turned to grab a side dish, Jisung took a quick, desperate gulp of his drink, bracing himself for the rest of the meal. It was a culinary disaster, but seeing the pure happiness on your face made every terrible bite worth it.
Felix
You usually ruled the kitchen with absolute confidence, so when you announced that you were stepping out of your culinary comfort zone to surprise Felix, he was absolutely thrilled. He knew you were a fantastic cook, but you had never attempted a Korean dish before. The moment he walked through the door and smelled the rich, simmered sauce, his eyes lit up with pure excitement.
"I made tteokbokki!" you announced proudly, placing a steaming bowl of bright red rice cakes right in the center of the table. "I wanted to make something traditional for you."
Felix beamed, his beautiful smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as he sat down. "Wow, honey! It looks so good," he praised, genuinely touched by the effort you had put into learning a dish from his culture. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation, picked up his spoon, and scooped up a generous rice cake drowned in the thick, crimson sauce. "Let's taste it!"
He popped the rice cake into his mouth.
The reaction was instantaneous. The moment the sauce hit his tongue, Felix’s eyes widened in sheer shock. It wasn't just spicy; it felt like a literal solar flare had ignited inside his mouth. The heat tore through his throat, making his eyes water immediately. You hadn't just made it spicy—you had created a biological hazard.
"I wanted to make sure it had a nice kick," you explained proudly, leaning forward with a bright, satisfied grin. "So I used a whole lot of gochujang and an extra heavy handful of gochugaru to give it that rich color!"
Felix’s throat locked up. He let out a sharp, choked cough, his hand flying to his mouth as he desperately tried to process the volcanic heat. He swallowed heavily, the spicy paste burning a painful trail all the way down to his stomach. His chest heaved slightly as he tried to regain his composure, his ears rapidly turning a bright shade of pink.
He managed a tight, strained nod, his voice a full octave lower than usual. "Yeah... cough... I can definitely tell, love."
You blinked, tilting your head as you noticed the tears welling up in his eyes. "Oh, wait. Is it okay? Do you like it?"
Felix coughed again, a soft, breathless sound as he frantically grabbed his water glass. But looking at your hopeful, eager face, he couldn't bear to let you think you had failed. He took a quick sip, forced the burning sensation down, and flashed you a dazzling, reassuring smile despite the sweat breaking out along his hairline.
"I love it," he wheezed out, pointing at the bowl with his spoon to emphasize his praise. "It's great, sweetie. Really... really flavorful. Best tteokbokki ever."
Your face instantly illuminated with joy, entirely missing his internal battle. "Yay! Go ahead, eat as much as you want!"
As you happily reached for your own plate, Felix took a deep, silent breath, preparing his burning tongue for round two. He was going to need an entire carton of milk after this, but seeing the sheer happiness on your face made the fiery sacrifice worth every single bite.
Seungmin
The rich, bubbling sound of a stew drew Seungmin away from his book and toward the kitchen. As he stepped over the threshold, a highly unusual aroma hit his nose. It was unmistakably kimchi jjigae, but there was a strange, unidentifiable undertone to it that made his internal alarms go off.
"What are you up to?" Seungmin asked, leaning his shoulder against the counter as he watched you diligently stir the pot.
You looked up, your face flushed from the heat of the stove, and gave him a bright, triumphant smile. "I'm making dinner! I found this recipe on tiktok that made it look so easy, so I decided to finally give it a try."
Seungmin hummed softly, stepping closer to peer into the pot. The color looked right, but the scent wafting up was definitely peculiar—almost sweet in a way that traditional kimchi jjigae should never be. Seungmin opened his mouth to say something, but seeing the pure excitement in your eyes, he quietly closed it. He didn't want to rain on your parade before you even finished.
A few minutes later, you turned off the burner and proudly ladled a generous portion of the steaming stew into a bowl, setting it right in front of him with a flourish. "All done! Try it, try it!" you urged, folding your hands beneath your chin as you watched him with absolute anticipation.
Up close, Seungmin instantly noticed that something had gone terribly wrong. The broth lacked its characteristic depth, and a strange sheen floated on top. He picked up his spoon, dipped it into the soup, and took a cautious sip.
His face remained completely blank, a testament to his incredible self-control. It was awful. It tasted like someone had tried to make stew using ketchup and a random assortment of spices instead of proper ingredients. It was sweet, sour in the wrong way, and entirely lacking flavor.
"Well?" you asked, leaning in closer, practically vibrating with hope. "How is it?"
Seungmin hesitated for a brief second, his mind scrambling for the right words. Instead of answering right away, he set his spoon down and offered a calm smile. "Hey, can you show me that recipe you found? I'm just curious about the ingredients they used."
"Sure!" You unlocked your phone and handed it over, pointing at the screen. "See? It has thousands of views."
Seungmin scanned the page, and it took everything in him not to scoff out loud. The recipe was absolute bullshit. It called for regular cabbage, apple cider vinegar for "acidity," and a massive spoonful of sugar. It wasn't a traditional recipe at all; it was a culinary crime.
You tilted your head, noticing his quiet focus. "You don't like it."
Looking up from the screen, Seungmin saw the sudden touch of worry in your eyes. His heart softened instantly. He deleted any sarcastic comments from his brain, smiled bravely, and reached out to gently squeeze your hand.
"No, I really do like it," he lied smoothly, his voice warm and entirely reassuring. "The effort you put into this is amazing, jagiya. But hey... how about we cook it together next time? I can show you the recipe I always use, and we can make it the traditional way."
Your worry instantly evaporated, replaced by a happy nod. "I'd love that!"
As you happily reached for the bowls, Seungmin secretly breathed a sigh of relief. His tastebuds were going to suffer through this meal, but the prospect of teaching you the right way next time made it completely worth it.
Jeongin
Jeongin was entirely accustomed to the fact that your presence in the kitchen usually resulted in a disaster. He never minded it, of course; he was always perfectly content to pull out his phone and order takeout, or simply beg Minho to whip up a meal for the two of them. But lately, you had started to feel a lingering sense of guilt about it, so you decided it was finally time to take matters into your own hands.
When Jeongin unlocked the front door and walked in, the first thing he noticed was you standing by the stove. A playful, dimpled grin instantly broke across his face.
"Hey, did you get lost in there?" he called out, leaning against the kitchen counter with an amused sparkle in his eyes.
You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head as you stirred a frying pan. "No, I didn't get lost. I actually want to start cooking from now on. I can't rely on delivery apps forever."
Jeongin blinked, genuinely surprised by your sudden determination, but a warm wave of affection rushed through him. "Really? Wow, okay. I’m impressed."
"I decided to start with something simple," you proudly announced, gesturing to the stove. "Egg fried rice. Look, I even plated some for you!"
With a flourish, you handed him a small plate. Jeongin leaned down and took a breath. He had to honestly admit to himself that it smelled pretty good—savory, warm, and comforting. Genuinely excited, he scooped up a large spoonful and popped it into his mouth while you turned your back to him to grab a fork from the drawer.
He started to chew, but his teeth instantly hit something incredibly hard and sharp. A loud, distinct crunch echoed in his mind.
Jeongin froze. Moving his tongue with practiced stealth, he managed to maneuver the foreign object to the front of his mouth and subtly pulled it out with his fingers. He looked down. It was a jagged, unmistakable piece of eggshell. His eyebrows furrowed in a brief frown, but the moment he heard your footsteps returning, he quickly flicked the shell into the trash can.
"So, how did I do?" you asked, handing him the fork, your eyes wide and shining with hopeful anticipation.
Jeongin quickly plastered a bright, reassuring smile on his face. He didn't want to crush your new culinary confidence on day one. Instead of speaking, he held up a enthusiastic thumbs-up. He carefully kept his jaw completely still, strictly avoiding any actual chewing so you wouldn't hear the ominous grinding of the remaining eggshells still hidden in the rice.
"Oh, awesome!" you beamed, visibly relieved. You grabbed your own spoon, eyeing the frying pan. "Let me try some too—"
"Wait!" Jeongin jumped forward, his voice a little muffled as he gently grabbed your wrist to stop you. He swallowed the crunchy bite with an intense effort. "You know what? The guys at the dorm are absolutely starving today. I should really give the rest of this to them as a gift. How about I cook something special just for you tonight?"
You blinked, a bit confused but incredibly touched by his thoughtfulness. "Oh... wow, really? That's so sweet of you, Jeongin."
"Of course, honey," Jeongin smiled, mentally apologizing to his members while feeling incredibly relieved that he had just saved your teeth from your own creation.
I wanted to drop by and say that your angst fics really touch my soul. Especially the established relationship angst.
As someone with parents who have a rocky relationship, reading and re-reading them really fills me with some hope that maybe not every relationship is unsalvageable. Maybe, I'll find someone who can accept my flaws and love me as I am.
So, thank you. Truly.
Okay so this actually made me tear up a Little….
I am so glad that my blog is a Safe Space for You and it’s welcome for EVERYONE!!!
my Relationship with my parents is Not easy as well and I always found comfort in writing or reading other peoples fanfiction so yea I get it❤️
I‘m sending you so much love and am incredibly proud of you, no matter what is going on in your life Right now, You Are beautiful, You are brave and only deserve the best ✨⭐️💖
Can I ask for something like Seventeen members, how are dating reader,and she, as a famous singer, makes a dedication at a very big show or at a famous event for them, like her singing "Die with a Smile"??🙃tyy
pairing: Seventeen x idol!reader
warnings: secret relationship, lots of fluff, some heartache, protective reader, wholesome shit hehehe
The bass from Seventeen’s closing track was still vibrating through the floorboards of your boots as you stood in the wings of the stage. Through the gap in the heavy velvet curtains, you watched Seungcheol—S.Coups to the thousands of screaming fans in the arena—walk off the main stage. He was breathless, sweat glistening under the harsh stadium lights, his chest heaving as he laughed at something Mingyu said.
As he neared the artist seating area, his eyes subtly swept the backstage perimeter. For a fraction of a second, his gaze locked onto yours. He didn't wave. He didn't smile. He just gave a tiny, barely perceptible nod that only you would recognize. You've got this, it meant.
Then, the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, introducing your solo stage. A roar went up from the crowd. Taking a deep breath, you stepped out into the blinding light.
As the first retro, soulful chords of Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars’s "Die with a Smile" echoed through the arena, a genuine smile broke across Seungcheol’s face over in the artist section. He settled back into his chair, entirely unbothered by the fan cameras trained on him.
His mind immediately drifted back to four nights ago.
You had been sitting on the floor of his living room, surrounded by crumpled sheets of paper, your head resting against his knee. You were drowning in anxiety, completely overwhelmed by the pressure of the upcoming award show.
"I don't know what to sing, Cheol," you had groaned, your voice laced with exhaustion. "The company wants something high-energy, but I want to do something that feels... real. I practiced 'Die with a Smile,' but my vocals feel too raw. I'm insecure about pulling off those belts live. What if I ruin the mood?"
Seungcheol had combed his fingers through your hair, tilting your face up so you had to look at him. "Hey. Look at me," he had murmured, his voice a steady anchor. "You could never ruin the mood. Your voice is built for that song. It’s raw, it’s beautiful, and it shows exactly who you are as an artist. Sing it. For me, if you can't do it for yourself yet."
Now, watching you center-stage under a single, dramatic spotlight, he felt a swell of immense pride tighten his chest. You hadn't listened to the company. You had listened to him. More importantly, you had listened to yourself.
"If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you," your voice rang out, crystal clear and brimming with a powerful, emotional depth that instantly hushed the roaring crowd.
Seungcheol leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. He didn't care if the cameras caught the soft, besotted look on his face. Let the netizens speculate. In that moment, as you hit the soaring chorus with effortless, breathtaking control, he was just a man completely captivated by his girl. You weren't holding back; you were pouring every ounce of your soul into the microphone, radiating a newfound confidence that made you absolutely luminous.
When the final note faded and the arena erupted into a deafening standing ovation, you bowed gracefully. But just before you walked off, you looked straight toward the artist section, your eyes finding his one last time. Seungcheol clapped proudly, a brilliant, private smile on his lips, knowing that your victory tonight was entirely your own.
Jeonghan
The glowing green light of the television illuminated the quiet living room as Jeonghan sat on the couch, his eyes pinned to the screen. The music broadcasting channel was currently showing a video package detailing your transition from girl group member to solo artist. Jeonghan leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly under his chin. He knew exactly how much blood, sweat, and tears had gone into this transition. He also knew how terrified you were.
For weeks, you had been a bundle of raw nerves. Leaving the comfort of your former group meant standing on stage completely exposed, with no members to share the spotlight or cover a missed line. Your late-night phone calls to him had been filled with a desperate, suffocating anxiety.
"What if I fuck it up, Jeonghan?" you had whispered one night, your voice trembling over the line. "What if everyone hates me without my group? What if I'm just not enough on my own?"
Jeonghan had listened patiently, his voice a soothing balm over your spiraling thoughts. "You are more than enough," he had insisted softly, yet with absolute certainty. "You parted ways because you outgrew that box. You are incredibly talented, and your voice deserves to fill the whole room by itself. You’re going to be amazing, I promise you."
Now, the broadcast cut to the live stage. The set was beautiful, dimly lit with soft, ethereal blues, but as the camera zoomed in on your face before the music started, Jeonghan’s heart clenched. He could see it immediately—the subtle tightness in your jaw, the slight tremor in your fingers holding the microphone, and the sheer, unadulterated fear swimming in your eyes. You looked like you wanted to run away. “Come on,” he breathed at the screen, wishing he could reach through the glass. “You can do this.”
On stage, the pressure was deafening, the silence before the track started feeling like a physical weight. Your mind raced with every worst-case scenario. But just as panic began to close up your throat, Jeonghan’s voice echoed in your memory from their last rehearsal meetup.
"When it gets too loud inside your head, do the three-five-three," he had told you, taking your hands and demonstrating. "Inhale for three seconds, hold for five, exhale for three. Focus only on the numbers. Nothing else exists."
Standing under the suffocating heat of the stage lights, you closed your eyes for a split second. You took a deep breath in. One, two, three. You held it, letting the stillness anchor you. One, two, three, four, five. You exhaled slowly. One, two, three.
Watching the TV, Jeonghan saw your shoulders visibly drop. He noticed the exact moment your chest expanded in that specific, measured rhythm, and a brilliant, proud smile broke across his face. You were doing his trick.
When your eyes opened, the terror was gone, replaced by a quiet, fierce determination. The instrumental swelled, and you raised the microphone. The first note that left your lips was flawless, rich with emotion and perfectly on pitch. Jeonghan leaned back against the couch cushions, his smile widening as you completely commanded the stage, proving to the world—and to yourself—what he had known all along.
Joshua
The chaotic energy of the variety show set was in full swing, with cameras panning across the brightly lit stage. Joshua adjusted his cue cards, flashing his signature gentle smile at the camera as the staff gave the signal. As the special MC for today’s episode, he was doing a fantastic job keeping the energy high, but inwardly, his focus was entirely locked on the girl group standing across from him—specifically, on you.
When you first arrived in Korea, the language barrier had felt like an insurmountable wall. You had been so quiet during early broadcasts, terrified of making a mistake and being misunderstood. That was until Joshua stepped in.
He lost count of how many nights the two of you had spent huddled over text books in his living room. He had been so incredibly patient, sitting with you for hours, breaking down tricky pronunciations, and gently correcting your sentence structures over cups of warm tea. “Don’t be afraid of making mistakes,” he’d always tell you, his voice soft and encouraging. “Your confidence is the most important part.”
Now, it was time for the interview segment. Joshua looked down at his cue cards, smoothly transitioning to the next topic.
"We heard that your group’s latest comeback features a lot of complex storytelling," Joshua said, turning his gaze toward your group. He intentionally directed the question toward your side of the lineup, offering a subtle, reassuring blink. "Could you explain the main concept of the title track for the fans watching at home?"
Usually, your leader would step up to answer, but this time, you took a small step forward and raised your microphone. Joshua’s heart did a sudden, nervous flip, but he kept his professional smile perfectly in place.
You took a small breath and began to speak. Your Korean was fluent, smooth, and beautifully articulated. You explained the intricate theme of the album without a single stutter, perfectly placing the honorifics and even naturally using a complex idiom that you and Joshua had practiced just three nights ago. You didn't just stumble through it; you spoke with absolute, dazzling confidence.
A massive, proud grin broke across Joshua’s face before he could even think to suppress it. His eyes crinkled into crescent moons, completely captivated by how effortlessly you were shining. Realizing he was smiling a bit too intensely for a regular MC, he quickly coughed into his hand to compose himself, remembering the strict rule that no one could find out about your relationship.
"Wow," Joshua chimed in, his voice brimming with genuine admiration as he nodded enthusiastically. "Your explanation was incredibly clear. And if I can just say—your Korean pronunciation is absolutely perfect! You must have studied so hard."
The other hosts and your members nodded in agreement, praising your growth, completely oblivious to the hidden meaning behind his words.
You looked directly at Joshua, a polite, idol-standard smile on your face, but your eyes danced with a shared, playful secret. "Thank you so much" you replied, your voice sweet and formal. "I had a really great teacher."
Joshua bit his lower lip to hide the goofy smile threatening to return, his chest swelling with an overwhelming sense of pride as he moved the show along, secretly wishing he could just take you in his arms right then and there.
Jun
The heavy red velvet curtains and flashing cameras of The Shadow’s Edge premiere had been bittersweet. While you were incredibly proud of Jun landing the lead role in the highly anticipated thriller, it had broken both of your hearts that you couldn't stand by his side on the red carpet. You had been forced to watch the livestream from your couch, cheering him on in secrecy while he walked the press line alone, looking breathtaking in his tailored black suit.
A few weeks had passed since the release, and the movie was completely dominating the box office. Tonight, having a rare free evening in your dorm, you decided to start an Instagram Live to chat with your fans.
Setting your phone against a stack of books on your desk, you watched the viewer count rapidly climb into the tens of thousands. Comments flooded the screen in a colorful, dizzying blur. You smiled, waving at the camera, and began answering a few casual questions about your day, your skincare routine, and your upcoming schedules.
Then, a comment caught your eye: What is your favorite movie right now? Any recommendations?
A genuine, irrepressible smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You leaned a bit closer to the screen. "Ah, my favorite movie right now?" you mused, pretending to think about it for a second to keep up appearances. "I actually went to the cinema recently to watch The Shadow’s Edge. Have you guys seen it?"
The chat instantly erupted with excitement, the mention of the hit film sending the fans into a frenzy.
"It is seriously so amazing," you continued, your eyes shining with genuine pride as you spoke. "The plot twists completely threw me off, and the cinematography is stunning. But honestly, Juns acting? Wow. He completely transformed for the role. The emotional range he showed in the final climax scene actually made me cry a little bit in the theater. If you haven't watched it yet, you are seriously missing out. Go see it!"
You spent another two minutes passionately gushing about the film’s pacing and Jun's performance before smoothly transitioning to a question about your favorite snacks, keeping the interaction completely natural.
After another twenty minutes of chatting, you waved goodbye to your fans and ended the livestream. The second the screen went dark, you tossed your phone onto the bed and let out a long breath, stretching your arms.
Before you could even stand up, your phone buzzed with a KakaoTalk notification. You picked it up, and a sudden flush of heat rushed to your cheeks when you saw Jun’s name flash across the screen.
Jun: So, I’m your favorite movie? 😉
You bit your lip, a bright smile spreading across your face as you quickly typed a reply.
You: I said the MOVIE was my favorite. Don't get ahead of yourself, Wen.
A few seconds later, your phone buzzed again.
Jun: Mm, right. But you spent three whole minutes talking about how amazing I am. I watched the live, jagiya. You looked beautiful. Jun: Since you loved my performance so much, maybe I can give you a private, exclusive screening of the director's cut this weekend? Just the two of us. I promise the front-row seats are excellent.
You burst out laughing, your chest swelling with warmth as you squeezed your pillow to your chest, the disappointment of the missed red carpet completely melting away.
Hoshi
Dating Hoshi was like being strapped into a roller coaster that only went up. Your relationship was a whirlwind of late-night dance studio dates, shared takeout on his living room floor, and fits of breathless, uncontrollable laughter. You had so much fun together, but a quiet, mutual ache always lingered in the background—the reality of being idols meant keeping your love entirely in the dark. You both desperately wanted to hold hands in public or shout your affection from the rooftops, but the industry rules kept you firmly behind closed doors.
Knowing how much the secrecy sometimes weighed on him, you decided to take matters into your own hands. If you couldn’t tell the world you were his, you could at least send a loud, clear signal that only he would truly understand.
A few days later, you were scheduled as a guest on a popular daytime talk show. As you walked onto the brightly lit set, the cameras caught every detail of your outfit. You looked effortlessly chic, but the real star of your ensemble was the small, luxury designer purse clutched in your hand. It was adorned with a bold, distinct tiger-stripe pattern.
Miles away in Seventeen's dorm, Soonyoung was curled up on his couch, a bowl of cereal in his lap, his eyes glued to the television screen. The moment you stepped into frame, he nearly choked on his milk. He stared at the tiger-print purse, his jaw dropping slightly.
On screen, the interview progressed smoothly, filled with bright laughter and promotions for your upcoming projects. Toward the end of the segment, the main host leaned forward, gesturing toward the couch where your belongings sat.
"I have to ask," the host said with a warm smile, "that purse is incredibly eye-catching! It’s a very bold choice. Is there a special reason you picked the tiger pattern today?"
You let out a soft laugh, glancing down at the bag before looking right into the main camera lens—right into Soonyoung’s eyes.
"Ah, yes!" you beamed, your eyes crinkling with genuine happiness. "I’ve just been really drawn to tigers lately. Honestly, the tiger has become my absolute favorite animal. They have so much fierce energy on the outside, but I think they're actually just big, warm, lovable cats once you get to know them. I wanted to bring a little bit of that tiger power with me today."
Back in the dorm, Soonyoung was completely frozen. Then, a massive, radiant smile broke across his face, pushing his eyes into those familiar, adorable lines. He clutched his chest, his heart hammering against his ribs. He knew exactly what you were doing. To the rest of the world, it was just a cute, quirky fashion statement. But to the man who literally breathed, slept, and lived the "Horanghae" tiger lifestyle, it was the loudest declaration of love you could possibly make.
You were telling him, and anyone else who really looked, exactly who you belonged to.
He felt a sudden wave of emotion wash over him, deeply touched that you would risk using a national broadcast just to make him feel secure and loved. He grabbed his phone off the coffee table, his fingers flying across the keyboard to text you before the show even cut to a commercial break.
Hoshi: HORANGHAE!!! 🐯🧡 I see you, jagiya! You are the cutest person on this entire planet. Come over right after your schedule, I cannot wait!!!
Wonwoo
The red carpet of the end-of-year award show was a dazzling, chaotic symphony of flashing cameras, blinding spotlights, and the deafening cheers of thousands of fans. You stood with your group, posing gracefully for the wall of photographers, but your peripheral vision was entirely focused on the group currently stepping onto the platform right next to yours. Seventeen.
Even in the amidst of the madness, your eyes automatically sought out Wonwoo. He looked devastatingly handsome, dressed in a sharp, tailored velvet suit that accentuated his tall frame. And, as always, his signature wire-rimmed glasses were perched neatly on the bridge of his nose.
Because you knew him better than anyone, you knew how easily those lenses got smudged, and how much it secretly annoyed him. That was why, buried deep inside your glamorous evening purse, sat a small stash of pre-moistened lens cleaning wipes. You carried them everywhere, a quiet habit born out of pure love, just waiting for the moments you could slip them into his hands in secret.
As the interviewers wrapped up your segment, your group began to walk off the main stage, cross-paths with Seventeen as they moved to take their places. The proximity was thrilling and terrifying.
As you passed each other, Wonwoo’s eyes met yours. It was a fleeting, stolen glance, but the warmth in his sharp gaze made your stomach flip. You were so busy trying to look casual while maintaining eye contact that the strap of your small clutch slipped right out of your fingers.
The purse hit the polished floor with a sharp clack, bursting open. Lipstick, mints, and a dozen individual, foil-wrapped glasses wipes scattered across the floor, right at Wonwoo’s feet.
"Ah, let me help you," a deep, smooth voice murmured.
Before the security staff could even react, Wonwoo smoothly knelt down, his long fingers instantly reaching for the items. You dropped to your knees as well, your heart hammering against your ribs as you desperately gathered your things, hyper-aware of the cameras just meters away.
Wonwoo’s hand closed around three of the lens wipes. He paused, looking at the familiar packaging, and then looked up at you. Because his back was to the main media wall, no one could see the sudden, profound softening of his expression. His eyes crinkled behind his frames, filled with an overwhelming, breathless adoration. He knew instantly why you had them. He didn’t need to say a word; his gaze conveyed a universe of gratitude and affection.
Your face flushed a deep, violent crimson under your makeup. Panic sparked in your chest, and you scrambled for a cover story, speaking just loud enough for the nearby staff to hear.
"Ah, thank you so much" you stammered, frantically snatching the remaining wipes from his hand. "My manager... he always loses his glasses wipes, so I have to carry them around for him. He's so clumsy! Thank you!"
You stuffed everything back into your bag, gave a quick, formal bow, and practically sprinted toward the backstage exit, your heart thumping wildly.
Wonwoo stood up slowly, adjusting his suit jacket with effortless grace. He watched your retreating figure, a small, completely helpless smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against his glasses case, his chest swelling with the sweet, irreplaceable warmth of knowing how deeply you cared for him.
Woozi
The dim ambient light of Studio Universe had been the backdrop to your love story. Long before any romantic feelings were spoken aloud, you and Jihoon had been bound together by chords, harmonies, and late-night deadlines. He had taken you under his wing, guiding you through the intricate maze of songwriting, teaching you how to structure a bridge and how to find the exact word that would make a listener’s heart ache. Somewhere between the hundreds of crumpled lyric sheets, the shared takeout containers, and the soft humming of melodies at 3:00 AM, the professional boundary had blurred into a deep, passionate, and fiercely protected secret relationship.
Tonight was the culmination of all those sleepless nights. You were standing center stage at a prestigious music broadcast, debuting the title track that the two of you had painstakingly crafted together.
Jihoon sat in the VIP artist section of the audience, surrounded by other idols and industry professionals. Outwardly, he was his usual stoic self—expression unreadable, arms crossed over his chest, looking every bit the serious, discerning producer. But inwardly, his pulse was racing. He knew every single breath, every ad-lib, and every emotional crescendo of this song. He had helped build them.
The stage lights dimmed to a deep indigo, and the soft piano instrumental began to filter through the massive stadium speakers. You raised the microphone, your voice cutting through the silence, rich and steady.
Jihoon watched you intently. He could hear his own musical influence woven into the track, but you had made it entirely your own. You sang with a vulnerable intensity that completely captivated the room.
Then came the bridge—the emotional climax of the entire piece. As the music swelled, you reached the exact line that Jihoon had spent three consecutive nights agonizing over. He had rejected dozens of drafts, pacing the floor of his studio, determined to find a lyric that would carry the absolute weight of a soul-baring confession. When he finally wrote it, he had whispered it to you in the dark, testing how it felt on his tongue.
"Even if the melody fades, I will remain your song."
When you sang that specific line, you didn't just hit the high note flawlessly; you poured so much raw, explosive passion into it that the crowd collectively gasped. You squeezed your eyes shut, your voice trembling with a beautiful, fierce emotion that mirrored exactly what the two of you felt for each other in secret. You were singing his words, but you were giving them life.
A sudden, sharp wave of emotion hit Jihoon right in the chest. He felt a lump form in his throat, deeply touched by how much care and reverence you had put into his hard work. In that split second, he wanted nothing more than to stand up, walk onto that stage, and pull you into his arms.
But he couldn't.
Catching himself, Jihoon dug his fingernails into his palms, forcing his face to remain completely neutral. He subtly cleared his throat, blinking rapidly to dispel the sudden warmth in his eyes, ensuring the nearby cameras saw nothing but a polite, professional senior monitoring a colleague's performance.
When the final note echoed away and the audience erupted into thunderous applause, Jihoon clapped along, his movements measured and controlled. But beneath the stoic producer facade, his heart was soaring, completely overwhelmed by the beautiful, secret language you had just spoken to him in front of thousands of people.
Seokmin
Every single day, it seemed to get a little bit harder to keep your relationship under wraps. Dokyeom was a man made of pure sunshine and loud, uncontainable affection; hiding how much he adored you went against his very nature. He wanted to hold your hand while walking down the street, loud-laugh at your jokes in public, and scream his love from the rooftops. Instead, you were limited to rushed late-night car dates, hushed phone calls, and tiny, private tokens of affection.
One of those tokens was a ridiculously cheesy, bright red plastic heart keychain. He had won it for you at a shooting gallery during a rare, heavily disguised late-night trip to a local funfair. It was cheap, slightly scratched, and had a tiny, goofy smiley face painted on it. Dokyeom had laughed when he handed it to you in the back of his manager’s car, calling it a placeholder until he could buy you something proper.
He had absolutely no idea that you had hooked it onto your primary set of keys the very next morning, and that it hadn't left your side since.
A few weeks later, your group was scheduled for an international flight. The airport departure hall was a chaotic sea of flashing cameras, shouting fans, and aggressive paparazzi pushing through the barriers to get the perfect shot. You moved through the terminal smoothly, keeping your head down, politely bowing to the media. At one point, you reached into your tote bag to pull out your passport, inadvertently pulling your keys out with it. For a few long seconds, you held your passport and your key ring in the same hand, entirely unaware that a high-powered camera lens had zoomed in directly on your fingers.
By the time your flight landed a few hours later, the internet had already exploded.
Dokyeom was sitting in Seventeen's dressing room between schedules, mindlessly scrolling through his phone, when he saw your name trending on social media. His heart did a nervous flip—parapazzi news was always a gamble—and he quickly clicked the hashtag.
Instead of a scandal, he was met with a massive, high-definition close-up photo of your hand holding your passport. Hanging prominently from your keys was the cheap, bright red plastic heart. The internet was spiraling. Fans and media outlets alike were flooded with captions like: "Who gave her the heart?" "Is it a gift from a secret lover?" and "Look how cherished that scratched little keychain is!"
Dokyeom stared at the screen, his chest suddenly feeling incredibly tight. A massive, radiant smile split across his face, his eyes welling up with sudden, overwhelming emotion. You had carried it everywhere. You had cherished his silly, cheap gift so much that you risked carrying it through a media storm.
He couldn't wait a second longer. He practically bolted out of the dressing room, ducking into a quiet, empty stairwell to call your number.
The second you picked up, his voice came rushing through the line, bursting with pure, ecstatic happiness. "Jagiya!" he gasped, completely unable to contain his excitement. "Are you seeing this? I'm looking at the airport photos right now!"
You let out a soft, embarrassed giggle over the line. "Oh no... you saw them? I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to let the cameras catch it, I just—"
"No, don't be sorry!" Dokyeom interrupted, his voice dropping into a tone of such profound, tender adoration that it made your chest ache. He rested his head against the concrete wall of the stairwell, a tear of pure happiness slipping down his cheek. "I’m the happiest guy in the world right now. You actually kept it? You carry my silly little heart with you everywhere?"
"Of course I do," you whispered softly. "It's a piece of you."
Dokyeom squeezed his eyes shut, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs, deeply touched by a love that felt far too big to keep hidden away much longer.
Mingyu
Keeping a relationship under wraps when you were dating Kim Mingyu was an Olympic-level sport. The man was a towering, golden-retriever-coded force of nature who naturally drew every camera and spotlight in the room. You loved his loud, affectionate personality, but the strict unspoken rules of the industry meant your romance was confined to the quiet safety of his apartment. Still, you couldn't resist a little bit of mischief, and when you were asked to perform a special solo cover stage at the upcoming end-of-year award show, you knew exactly how to stir the pot.
You chose Shania Twain’s iconic country-pop anthem, "That Don't Impress Me Much." When you told Mingyu your song choice a week prior, he had enthusiastically cheered, even helping you practice the dramatic, sassy hip-sways in his living room, completely oblivious to the trap you were setting for him.
Tonight was the night of the event. The arena was packed to the rafters, and the artist section was fully occupied. Mingyu sat with the rest of Seventeen, looking effortlessly handsome in a tailored navy-blue velvet suit.
When the stage lights flushed into a sultry, vibrant pink and the familiar, driving bassline of the song kicked in, Mingyu leaned forward, his eyes locked onto you. You strutted out onto the main stage wearing a stunning, modern leopard-print outfit, radiating an undeniable, powerhouse confidence.
Mingyu was instantly mesmerized. He watched you in absolute awe, a proud, goofy smile fixed on his face. The way you commanded the stage, the effortless vocal control, the playful smirk directed at the audience—he was completely captivated by his girl. He nudged Seungkwan next to him, silently bragging with a proud nod, completely captivated.
Then came the famous spoken-word interlude.
The music dropped into a pulsing rhythm, and you slinked down the runway toward the center stage, directly in front of the artist seating area. You raised your microphone, leaning your head to the side with a perfectly rehearsed, unimpressed expression.
"Okay," you drawled into the microphone, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "So you're Kim Mingyu?"
The entire stadium went utterly dynamic for a fraction of a second before erupting into a deafening, chaotic roar of cheers and screams. The sudden, unexpected shoutout sent a shockwave through the artist section.
Down in his seat, Mingyu froze. His jaw dropped, his eyes widening to the size of saucers. Within a heartbeat, a furious, deep crimson blush rushed up his neck and flooded his entire face, turning his ears bright red. Completely overwhelmed and utterly embarrassed, he burst into a breathless laugh and immediately covered his face with both hands, trying to shield himself from the sudden onslaught of fan-cameras zooming in on him.
The rest of Seventeen went wild, jumping up, laughing, and aggressively teasing him, shaking his shoulders while he hid behind his hands, completely flustered.
Through the gaps of his fingers, Mingyu peeked back up at the stage. You stood right at the edge of the catwalk, looking directly down at him. With a flawless, mischievous grin, you caught his eye and gave him a slow, deliberate wink before turning on your heel to slide back into the final chorus.
Mingyu lowered his hands, a helpless, totally besotted smile spreading across his lips despite his violently burning cheeks. His heart was hammering wildly against his ribs, utterly defeated and completely head-over-heels for the girl who had just boldly claimed him in front of the entire world.
Minghao
The quiet stillness of the night had finally settled over the dorm, offering Minghao a rare, peaceful sanctuary from his hectic schedule. He was curled up in his bed, the room completely dark save for the soft, ambient glow radiating from his tablet screen. With a quiet sigh of relaxation, he pulled up YouTube, letting his mind drift as he mindlessly scrolled through his feed to unwind before falling asleep.
That was when a specific thumbnail caught his attention. It was a high-definition video of your solo stage from an music broadcast a couple of days ago. Because the two of you went to absolute extremes to keep your relationship hidden—knowing how fiercely protective the industry could be—he hadn't been able to watch your performance live.
Curious and eager to see you, he tapped on the link.
As the music started playing through his headphones, a soft, incredibly warm smile spread across Minghao’s face. He leaned back against his pillows, completely captivated. He had always deeply respected your artistry, but watching you now, he was in absolute awe of your stage presence. The way you commanded the stage, the sharp fluidity of your movements, and the effortless grace in your choreography was mesmerizing. You moved like water, elegant yet powerful. He felt a swell of immense pride tighten his chest, quietly admiring just how incredibly talented his girl was.
But as the camera zoomed in for a tight, dramatic close-up during the song's bridge, Minghao’s smile suddenly faltered. He blinked, shifting closer to the screen.
"Wait a minute..." he murmured to himself.
He tapped the screen to pause the playback. Using his fingers, he pinched and zoomed in directly on your collarbone. Underneath the intricate layers of your stage outfit, resting delicately against your skin, was a very familiar piece of jewelry. It was a vintage, uniquely carved silver pendant chain—one of his absolute favorite necklaces, a piece he had been frantically searching for in his closet just last week.
Minghao let out a breathy, stunned chuckle, shaking his head in utter disbelief. You had boldly worn his jewelry on a nationally broadcasted music show, right under the noses of your stylists, your managers, and millions of viewers. To anyone else, it was just a chic accessory that matched your concept. But to him, it was a silent, beautifully daring declaration that a piece of him was right there on stage with you. A wave of profound, tender warmth rushed through him, deeply touched by the clever, risky gesture.
He couldn't just leave it at that. A mischievous glint entered his eyes as he grabbed his smartphone off the nightstand and dialed your number, knowing your schedule had just wrapped up.
The line clicked open after a few rings. "Minghao? Are you still awake?" your soft voice came through the speaker.
"I am," Minghao replied, his tone deliberately teasing as he tried to suppress his smile. "And I actually just figured out a mystery tonight. I was watching your stage video just now, jagiya."
"Oh! Really?" you sounded suddenly shy, yet excited. "Did you like it?"
"I loved the dancing. You looked absolutely incredible," he said softly, before letting out a playful, dramatic sigh. "But I do have one question. Do you have a habit of stealing your boyfriend’s favorite things, or is this a new hobby of yours? I’ve been looking for that silver necklace for days."
You let out a gasped, breathless laugh on the other end, completely caught. "You noticed? I missed you so much during promotions, I just wanted to keep a piece of you close to my heart while I was on stage."
Minghao’s heart did a soft, helpless flip at your confession. He looked back at the paused video on his tablet, his eyes softening completely. "You're lucky you look so beautiful in it," he murmured, his voice brimming with pure, unadulterated affection. "Keep it. It looks much better on you anyway."
Seungkwan
Dating Seungkwan for over a year had been the most rewarding, beautiful experience of your life, but it certainly didn't come without its hardships. As two active idols, the burden of the hidden relationship had started to weigh heavily on both of you. You both hated the constant whispering, the separate cars, and the inability to simply hold hands while walking through a park. You wanted to scream your happiness to the world, but the industry constraints kept you firmly locked behind closed doors.
Determined to find a loop-hole, you decided to claim him in the most creative, subtle way possible. If you couldn’t hold his hand in public, you would wear your love right where everyone could see it.
The next day, you went online and tracked down a delicate, custom silver necklace featuring a tiny, beautifully detailed tangerine pendant. To the casual observer, it was just a cute, refreshing summer accessory. But to you, to Seungkwan, and to anyone who knew his Jeju roots and his famous nickname, it was the ultimate, unmistakable symbol of Boo Seungkwan.
A few days later, while waiting in the styling room before a music broadcast, you took a bright, high-definition selfie in front of the vanity mirror. You angled your head just right, ensuring the lighting caught the tiny tangerine pendant resting perfectly against your collarbone. You posted it to your official social media account with a simple caption: "A little bit of sunshine for today’s stage! ☀️🍊"
Within minutes, the post exploded. Your fans completely flooded the comment section, leaving thousands of messages. They absolutely adored the look, with comments like, "The necklace is so cute! Where is it from?" "Our orange fairy!" and "That pendant matches her bright energy so perfectly!" totally dominating the feed. You smiled to yourself, locking your phone and heading out to the stage, knowing your mission was accomplished.
Later that evening, you finally returned to your apartment, exhausted but content from a long day of promotions. You had just changed into comfortable loungewear when a soft, familiar knock echoed through your front door.
You unlocked it and pulled it open, and your breath hitched slightly.
Standing in the dimly lit hallway was Seungkwan. He was wearing an oversized black hoodie, his cap pulled low, but his face was fully visible—and he was sporting a massive, incredibly smug smirk. He didn't say a word at first. He just leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes twinkling with an absolute, undeniable fondness.
"Can I help you, Boo?" you teased, a playful smile tugging at your lips.
Seungkwan finally let out a soft, breathy chuckle, stepping inside your apartment and closing the door behind him. He reached out, his warm fingers gently catching the chain of the very necklace you were still wearing, lifting the tiny tangerine slightly.
"So," he murmured, his voice dropping into a tender, deeply affectionate tone as he looked down at you. "A little bit of sunshine, huh? I saw the photo you posted earlier, jagiya."
Your cheeks flushed a pretty pink. "Did you like it?"
"Like it? The group chat literally erupted because of you," Seungkwan laughed, pulling you closer by your waist. The smirk faded, replaced by a expression of such profound, overwhelming gratitude that it made your heart ache. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. "The fans are all talking about how much they love your new accessory. But I know who it really belongs to. Thank you for showing them, even if they don't quite get it yet."
Vernon
The distance was starting to feel like a heavy, physical ache. With Vernon currently stationed in New York working on a highly anticipated solo project and you wrapped up in your own intense promotional cycle back in Seoul, you hadn't seen each other in over a month. The massive time difference only made things more complicated. You strictly kept up your routine of calling each other every single night, waiting until his morning matched your late evening, but staring at a pixelated face on a smartphone screen just wasn't the same as holding his hand. You missed his quiet, steady presence more than you cared to admit.
One quiet afternoon in Seoul, you found yourself with a rare couple of hours of downtime in your dorm. Missing the interaction with people, you decided to start an Instagram Live to chat casually with your fans.
Sitting cross-legged on your bed, you watched the viewer count surge into the thousands within seconds. Comments began scrolling past in a dizzying, multicolored blur. You waved warmly at the camera, answering random questions about your favorite music playlists, what you ate for lunch, and how you kept your energy up during busy days.
Then, a comment flashed near the bottom of the screen: What are your plans for the summer break? Are you going to travel?
You paused, tapping your chin thoughtfully as you stared at the lens. A tiny, wistful smile tugged at the corners of your lips as your mind immediately drifted to a certain half-Korean rapper currently walking the streets of Manhattan.
"My summer plans?" you mused aloud, leaning a bit closer to the phone. "Well, if the company gives me a few days off after promotions wrap up, I think I'm actually going to head over to New York."
The chat instantly went wild, fans aggressively typing out recommendations and asking if you were going to film a travel vlog.
"Yeah, New York is just absolutely amazing," you continued, your eyes softening with a genuine, deep-seated nostalgia as you spoke. "The energy there is completely unmatched. It’s been a while since I last visited, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. I really miss the city itself... but honestly, I think I miss the people there the most. There's someone very special over there that I just can't wait to see."
You kept your tone perfectly casual, making it sound like you were simply referring to a distant friend or family member, but the subtle warmth in your voice was undeniable.
Halfway across the world, inside a sleek recording studio in New York City, Vernon was taking a short coffee break. He was leaning back in a leather chair, his phone propped up against the mixing console, watching your live broadcast with a completely captivated expression.
When those words left your lips, his heart did a sudden, violent flutter against his ribs. A slow, incredibly brilliant smile spread across his face, his usual cool and unbothered demeanor completely melting away. He looked down at his lap, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as a wave of profound, sweet relief washed over him. You were talking about him. In front of hundreds of thousands of people, you had just admitted how much you missed him.
The moment your live stream officially ended, Vernon didn't waste a single second. He unlocked his phone, his fingers flying across the screen as he sent you a text, his chest swelling with an overwhelming sense of anticipation.
Vernon: New York misses you too, jagiya. Especially the people. Vernon: I'm counting down the days until you get here. I'll buy you the best pizza in the city the second you step off the plane. I love you.
Dino
The energy on the set of the popular variety show was loud and fast-paced, with the cameras capturing the bright banter between Seventeen and your own girl group. You were seated on the second row of acrylic chairs, keeping a polite, idol-standard smile plastered on your face. But inwardly, your attention was entirely focused on Chan, who was sitting across the stage. Keeping your relationship a complete secret meant you couldn't even sit next to him, but you always kept him in your line of sight.
As the show progressed, however, your bright mood began to sour. The main MC, a veteran comedian known for his sharp tongue, had decided to make Chan his primary target for the episode.
"Ah, Dino-ssi," the MC scoffed with a dismissive wave of his cue cards after Chan finished explaining a funny story. "Is that really the best the maknae of Seventeen can do? The story was a bit flat, wasn't it? You've been in the industry for over a decade, but you still talk like a nervous rookie."
Chan immediately laughed it off, bowing politely and clapping his hands in his signature, high-energy way. "Ah, I'll try harder next time!" he promised, his voice bright, but you noticed the subtle, brief tightness around his eyes.
You clenched your jaw, your fingers tightening around the microphone in your lap. You knew how incredibly hard Chan worked, how much pressure he placed on himself as Seventeen’s youngest, and how deeply he cared about his variety show performances. The MC didn't stop there. Over the next fifteen minutes, he repeatedly cut Chan off, made snide remarks about his dancing style, and casually picked on him under the guise of "good-natured teasing."
At one point, the MC turned his attention to your group. "Now, let's talk to a group with real variety sense," he praised heavily, looking directly at you. "You recently went viral for your sharp wit on another show. What do you think is the secret to keeping an audience entertained without being boring?"
You took a slow, deliberate breath, your eyes flashing with a quiet, fierce protectiveness. You smiled sweetly, raising your microphone.
"Well," you began, your voice dripping with an innocent, sugary charm. "I think the most important thing is to make sure everyone on set feels respected. It's actually really easy to just pick on the youngest person in the room for a cheap laugh, but true talent comes from lifting everyone up together. Don't you agree? It takes a lot of experience to realize that respect is much funnier than just targeting one person."
The studio floor went completely silent for a fraction of a second. It was a perfectly wrapped, incredibly subtle shade, delivered with such a flawless smile that the MC couldn't even look angry without appearing defensive.
Down in his seat, Chan’s breath hitched. A sudden, deep blush rushed up his neck and colored the tips of his ears. He looked down at his shoes, a helpless, totally captivated smile breaking across his face. He knew exactly why you had risked saying that.
Breaking the tension, Seungkwan and Hoshi immediately burst into loud, dramatic laughter, clapping enthusiastically. "Wow! That was so sharp!" Seungkwan cheered, assuming you were just being a bold, entertaining guest. The other members laughed along, taking the comment with great humor, completely oblivious to the fact that you had just publicly defended your boyfriend.
The MC quickly laughed it off, coughing into his hand and moving the topic along with a newfound caution. You lowered your microphone, catching Chan’s eye across the studio. He gave you a tiny, incredibly grateful nod, his eyes shining with a warmth that made your heart swell, completely proud to be yours.
There is this huge Anime Convention in my Hometown this weekend and I’m preparing my costume and my hair for it and it really takes a lot of time ❤️ but after I’m done I will keep writing I promise!
