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 💌
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!
I wanted to pass by and say I love your boog and they way you work like! Literally jumping from excitement everytime you post 😁
I would also like to ask if you are comfortable with doing Ateez reactions of how would they be with a very energetic/hyperactive gf! (I thought about it while listening to Super freak by Rick James, so something along with that?..)
Although it's totally okay n valid if you're not vibing with it! Thank you ^^ 🖤
pairing: Ateez x reader
warnings: slice of life moments, hyper reader, cute boyfriends core, delulu at his finest
The heavy bass of "Adrenaline" thudded through the floorboards, vibrating right up into the soles of your bare feet. You spun around the coffee table, an oversized hoodie swallowing your frame as you threw your hands in the air, completely lost in the rhythm of Ateez’s newest track. It was loud, energetic, and exactly what you needed to kickstart your morning.
You were right in the middle of attempting a dramatic rendition of the choreography when the bedroom door clicked open.
Hongjoong stepped into the living room, looking incredibly soft and thoroughly wrecked by sleep. His hair was a wild, multi-colored nest, sticking up in every imaginable direction. He squinted against the bright morning light flooding through the windows, one hand lazily scratching the back of his neck as he let out a massive, shoulder-shaking yawn.
Any other boyfriend might have been startled by a one-woman concert at eight in the morning, but Hongjoong was entirely used to you being a ball of pure, bouncy energy.
"Good morning, babe," he mumbled, his voice a deep, gravelly rasp that sent a little shiver down your spine. He didn't even try to stop you as you danced a circle around him. Instead, he just offered a sleepy, fond blink before steering his steps directly toward the kitchen in a desperate quest for caffeine.
Refusing to let the party end, you danced right after him, your hips swaying to the beat. As he reached for his favorite mug, you slid up beside him, singing along to his rap verse with exaggerated facial expressions. You grabbed his free hand, lifting it up and moving it enthusiastically to the rhythm.
Hongjoong didn't pull away. He just stood there, completely pliant, letting you pump his arm up and down like a loose noodle while he used his other hand to scoop coffee grounds into the machine. A tiny, amused twitch tugged at the corner of his lips, though his eyes were still half-closed.
When the machine started to hiss and drip, you stepped into his space, leaning in to press a warm, lingering kiss against his cheek. You giggled at the scratch of his morning stubble, resting your chin on his shoulder.
"I am absolutely obsessed with this song, Joong," you beamed, pointing a finger toward the living room where the chorus was peaking. "It's literally a masterpiece. I can't stop listening to it."
Hongjoong finally turned his head, looking down at you. The tired fog in his eyes softened into something incredibly warm and adoring. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him for a brief, sleepy hug, breathing in the scent of your shampoo.
"Is that so?" he murmured, a genuine, albeit exhausted, smile breaking across his face as he looked at your glowing expression. "Well, as long as you're happy, I'm happy. Even if it means being your backup dancer before my first cup of coffee."
Seonghwa
The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains, but you had absolutely no intention of leaving the cozy sanctuary of the mattress. You curled up on your side, scrolling mindfully through your phone, letting out a burst of giggles at a ridiculous TikTok video.
The bedroom door clicked open, and Seonghwa walked in, a bundle of fresh, crisp bedsheets cradled in his arms. He stopped at the foot of the bed, eyeing your messy, bundled-up form with a mixture of fondness and mild exasperation.
"Alright, sleepyhead, time to move," Seonghwa announced, his voice smooth but firm. "I want to change the sheets today. Up you go."
You peered over the edge of the duvet, offering him a bright, mischievous smile. Instead of getting up, you did the exact opposite. You spread your arms and legs out wide, starfish-style, firmly anchoring yourself to the center of the mattress. "No," you replied cheerfully, blinking innocently up at him. "I am one with the bed. The bed and I are one."
Seonghwa let out a soft chuckle, setting the fresh sheets down on the nearby chair. He walked over to your side, shaking his head. "Come on, be a good girl and get up," he coaxed, reaching down to grab the corner of the heavy duvet. He gave it a gentle tug, trying to slide it out from under you.
Refusing to surrender your fortress, you instantly relaxed every muscle in your body, making yourself as heavy as humanly possible. You pressed your weight into the mattress, giggling as his gentle tug did absolutely nothing to move you.
"Yah! Why are you suddenly weighing a ton?" Seonghwa laughed, his neat freak instincts battling his amusement. He gripped the duvet with both hands now, leaning back to pull a little harder. "Get up! You're making this so difficult!" he playfully yelled, a wide, handsome grin breaking across his face.
Seeing your chance to launch a counter-attack, you quickly flipped onto your stomach. You abandoned your phone, dug your fingers into the plush fabric of the duvet, and pulled back with all your might.
"Never!" you challenged.
What followed was a fierce, ridiculous game of tug-of-war. Seonghwa planted his feet, pulling back while laughing so hard his shoulders shook. You held on for dear life, using the leverage of the bed to match his strength. He wasn't actually using his full force, of course, entirely amused by your sudden bursts of determination.
Taking advantage of his laughter, you gave the duvet one sudden, massive yank.
The sudden shift in momentum caught Seonghwa completely off guard. With a gasp and a shout of laughter, his footing slipped, and he tumbled forward, crashing face-first right onto the soft mattress beside you.
Before he could even register what happened, you scrambled over him. You quickly climbed on top of his back, sitting securely on his waist, and threw your hands in the air.
"Victory!" you yelled out at the top of your lungs, a triumphant, proud grin on your face.
Seonghwa’s muffled laughter vibrated against the mattress. "Oh, is that how it is?" he wheezed, trying to wiggle his hips and shoulders free from your trap. But you braced your knees against his sides, leaning forward to pin his shoulders down with your hands, effectively trapping him beneath you.
"You're not going anywhere, Park Seonghwa," you declared, giggling as he turned his head to look up at you, his eyes crinkling with pure adoration despite his defeat. The bedsheets were definitely going to have to wait.
Yunho
The apartment was flooded with afternoon sunlight and the lively, upbeat rhythm of "Golden" by Huntrix. You had originally set out to do some deep cleaning, but the moment the track started playing, the dust rag in your hand was completely forgotten. It was simply impossible to sit still when a song that infectious was blasting through the speakers.
As the pre-chorus built up, you let the music take over entirely. You dramatically threw your hands into the air, tossing your head back as you belted out the lyrics at the top of your lungs. You twirled around the living room, your feet moving in a chaotic, joyful rhythm, turning the space between the couch and the coffee table into your own personal stage. You leaned into the drama of the track, closing your eyes and pouring your whole soul into the next big vocal line.
Right as you spun around to face the hallway, the click of the front door lock echoed over the music.
The door swung open, and Yunho stepped inside. He was carrying a plastic grocery bag, looking a little worn out from a long day of practice—until he took one look at you.
You froze mid-stride, one arm still pointing dramatically toward the ceiling and your mouth wide open on a sustained note. For a solid three seconds, the two of you just locked eyes. The silence between you was deafening, despite the loud music still pumping through the room. You felt a sudden flush of heat creep up your neck, wondering if you should just drop to the floor and pretend to be part of the rug.
Yunho blinked once. Then twice. A slow, mischievous grin began to spread across his handsome face, his bright eyes crinkling at the corners.
Instead of teasing you or asking what on earth you were doing, Yunho dropped his grocery bag onto the entryway floor. He didn't even bother taking off his jacket before he dived headfirst into the song. With the natural grace of a main dancer and the chaotic energy of a golden retriever, he threw his arms up, perfectly matching your previous dramatic posture, and leaped into the living room.
A shocked laugh burst from your chest, the embarrassment melting away in an instant. You didn't need to be told twice. You picked right back up where you left off, singing the lyrics out loud as Yunho joined in, his rich voice blending with yours in a loud, beautifully off-key duet.
He slid across the hardwood floor, grabbing your hands and spinning you around. You both burst into fits of giggles, but neither of you stopped moving. Yunho initiated a ridiculous, over-the-top partner dance, guiding you through a series of dramatic dips and theatrical turns that belonged on a Broadway stage rather than a cramped apartment living room. He was a ball of pure, radiating energy, his booming laughter echoing over the track as he hyped you up, acting as your ultimate backup dancer.
By the time the song started to fade out, the apartment was still a bit messy, the cleaning entirely abandoned. But as you leaned against Yunho’s chest, both of you breathless and laughing so hard your stomachs hurt, you decided the dust could wait. He wrapped his long arms securely around you, pressing a sweaty, happy kiss to the top of your head while the two of you swayed to the quiet static of the next track.
Yeosang
The bedroom was bathed in a dim, peaceful glow, the only illumination coming from the small bedside lamp. Yeosang was already tucked beneath the heavy duvet, his eyes half-closed as he drifted on the edge of sleep. The house was perfectly still—until the front door clicked open, followed by the frantic, rapid patter of your footsteps heading straight down the hallway.
Before he could even blink himself awake, the bedroom door flew open. You burst into the room, practically radiating a manic, late-night energy. You had just gotten back from the cinema after watching Mortal Kombat, and the high-octane action had your adrenaline pumping at an all-time high.
"Yeosang! Oh my god, you have no idea!" you gasped out, not even bothering to change out of your clothes.
With a joyful leap, you launched yourself onto the mattress. You scrambled over the covers and immediately straddled his lap, bouncing up and down with uncontrollable excitement.
"Ow, ow, wait—babe!" Yeosang let out a sharp, breathless laugh, his hands instantly flying to your hips to steady you as your enthusiastic bouncing accidentally crushed his legs. He winced playfully, his voice laced with heavy, late-night gravel. "I am so tired, please have mercy on my bones."
"I can't help it!" you whined happily, entirely unbothered by his protests.
Leaning down, you effectively pinned him to his pillow. You began to pepper his entire face with rapid-fire, enthusiastic kisses. You kissed his forehead, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, and his cheeks, your hair falling around his face like a curtain.
Yeosang giggled, a sweet, airy sound that escaped his lips as he tried to dodge your affectionate assault. The exhaustion in his eyes melted into pure, indulgent fondness. Realizing he wasn't going to get any peace until he intervened, he suddenly brought his arms up, wrapping them securely around your waist and locking you against his chest in a tight, inescapable hug.
"Okay, okay, that's enough fighting for tonight, fatality," he murmured, using his quiet strength to halt your bouncing.
"Hey! Let me go, I still have to tell you about the fight scenes!" you laughed, instantly trying to wiggle and squirm your way out of his iron grip. You twisted your shoulders and hips, but Yeosang just tightened his hold, a triumphant smile breaking across his handsome face.
"No way," he chuckled softly, his deep voice vibrating right against your ribs. "I am holding you hostage right here until you calm down and your battery runs out."
Realizing you were thoroughly trapped by your very sleepy, very determined boyfriend, you let out a defeated laugh. You stopped struggling and relaxed your weight completely against him, burying your face directly into the warm crook of his neck.
Your nose tickled the sensitive skin just beneath his jawline, and you intentionally exhaled a hot breath against his skin, making a little murmuring sound.
"Ah, wait, stop! That tickles!" Yeosang squirmed, letting out a higher pitched, genuine laugh as he tried to tilt his head away from your face. But he didn't loosen his arms around you for a second, instead burying his hand in your hair and pressing you closer. Within minutes, the hype from the movie began to fade, replaced by the rhythmic, soothing rise and fall of Yeosang’s chest as the two of you tangled your legs together under the sheets.
San
The quiet hum of the refrigerator was the loudest sound in the kitchen, save for the occasional soft clink of San’s shaker cup. He stood leaning against the counter, completely engrossed in his phone as he mindfully sipped his post-workout protein shake.
The peaceful atmosphere shifted the moment you strolled into the kitchen. You were in high spirits, loudly humming a cheerful melody that had been stuck in your head all morning. As you walked up to the fridge to scan for a snack, your fingers found the edge of the countertop, and you began to rapidly drum a complex rhythm with your nails against the marble surface.
The sharp clack-clack-clack immediately caught San’s attention. He raised his head, his dark eyes locking onto your moving fingers, tracking the upbeat tempo.
Feeling the weight of his gaze, you turned your head toward him. You offered him a bright, mischievous smile and immediately intensified your drumming, making it louder and faster just to tease him.
San let out a low, amused chuckle, lowering his shaker cup to the counter. "Did you have a little too much coffee today, hm?" he asked, his deep voice dripping with playful fondness.
You just shrugged your shoulders, your smile widening. "Maybe," you replied playfully, before turning your attention back to the fridge. You reached inside and pulled out a cup of your favorite fruit yogurt.
To actually eat it, you needed a spoon from the silverware drawer—which just so happened to be directly behind where San was standing. You strolled over to his side, but instead of asking him politely to move, you dropped your weight to one side and playfully nudged him out of the way with your hip.
The sudden bump caught him off guard, making him stumble half a step to the side. He burst into a rich, dimpled laugh, shaking his head at your antics. "Wow, okay. Someone is a little jokester today," he teased, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched you grab a spoon.
You giggled, peeling back the foil lid of the yogurt. You took a neat spoonful, savoring the taste, and noticed him watching you with an affectionate grin. Deciding to be nice—or so he thought—you scooped up another generous bite and held the spoon out toward him. "Want some?" you offered sweetly.
San’s eyes lit up. "Yeah, actually," he murmured, leaning his head forward and opening his mouth to accept the treat.
But at the absolute last second, just as his lips were about to close around the spoon, you quickly swiveled your wrist. You pulled the spoon back toward yourself and popped the yogurt into your own mouth, letting out a muffled, victorious laugh at the look of pure betrayal on his face.
San laughed out loud, a booming sound that filled the kitchen. He instantly tossed his phone onto the counter, his competitive switch flipping in a second. "Oh, that’s it. I’ve had enough of you," he warned, a dangerous, playful glint in his eyes.
Before you could even swallow, his large hand shot out and deftly snatched the yogurt container from your grasp, setting it safely on the counter. Realizing you were in deep trouble, you let out a squeal and tried to dart past him to run toward the living room.
You didn't even make it two steps. San’s quick reflexes kicked in; his strong arms wrapped securely around your waist, completely cutting off your escape. In one swift, effortless motion fueled by his gym workouts, he hoisted you up and flipped you right over his broad shoulder.
"San! Put me down!" you shrieked, laughing and dangling upside down against his back, your hands batting uselessly at his thighs.
He let out a wicked chuckle and gave your butt a firm, playful smack that made you gasp. "You are being so incredibly naughty today," San murmured, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling purr as he turned around to carry his prize out of the kitchen. "I think I might have to teach you some manners."
Mingi
The neon glow of the Burger King sign illuminated the dashboard as you pulled the car into a quiet spot at the edge of the parking lot. You threw the gear into park, the engine idling softly while the delicious, salty scent of fries completely filled the warm interior. You and Mingi had bypassed the entire adult menu for one specific reason: the King Jr. Meals. Neither of you cared about the food half as much as you cared about the plastic treasures waiting inside.
"Okay, okay, open them at the same time!" Mingi eagered, his deep voice bouncing with an almost childish excitement as he ripped into his paper bag. His long legs were cramped in the passenger seat, his broad shoulders practically shaking with anticipation.
You tore open your own bag and pulled out the clear plastic wrapping. Inside was a brightly colored plastic gadget with a spring-loaded trigger and a small pouch of soft, bouncy gummy balls. You loaded one into the chamber, your eyes widening in delight. "Oh, look at this! It’s a little gummy ball launcher!"
Mingi paused, looking down at his own toy—a simple plastic spinning top—and then looked over at your launcher. His lower lip instantly puffed out into a dramatic, exaggerated pout. "Yah! Why did you get the cool one?" he protested, his deep voice whining loudly. "Mine just spins! Yours actually shoots things! That's so unfair, let's trade."
"No way," you laughed, a mischievous glint entering your eyes. "To the victor go the spoils."
Before he could complain any further, you lined up your sights, aimed the little plastic barrel right at his chest, and pulled the trigger.
Thwack.
The soft gummy ball bounced harmlessly off his oversized jacket. Mingi let out a high-pitched, dramatic yelp, flinching back against the passenger door as if he had just been hit by an actual cannonball.
You burst into hysterical laughter, the sound echoing loudly inside the enclosed space of the car. The sheer joy of his reaction was too intoxicating; you quickly loaded a second gummy ball. "Target locked!" you cheered.
"Wait, wait! Don't you dare—"
Thwack.
This one clipped him right on the shoulder. You shrieked with laughter, completely hyped up on sugar and adrenaline, frantically reloading the launcher.
"Ah! Stop it! You're breaking the rules of the car!" Mingi playfully yelled, his deep, booming laugh blending with yours. He threw his hands up in front of his face, ducking his head down as you launched a third ball that bounced off his knuckles. "Stop! I’m a civilian! Have mercy!"
"Never!" you giggled, totally unstoppable now. You kept firing, the soft projectiles raining down on him in a chaotic barrage.
Mingi was laughing so hard his eyes were squeezed shut, his large frame shaking as he tried to shield himself behind his Burger King bag. Realizing defensive maneuvers were completely useless against your relentless assault, his expression shifted into a wide, competitive grin.
"Alright, that's it. You asked for it," he warned.
He hastily shoved his food box onto the dashboard out of harm's way, unbuckled his seatbelt with a loud click, and lunged across the center console. His massive frame completely overwhelmed your side of the car as his large hands reached out, trying to pry the plastic launcher from your grip. You squealed, trying to tuck the toy against your chest, but Mingi was laughing loudly in your ear, his long fingers tickling your sides as he fought for the ultimate prize.
Wooyoung
The tense silence in the living room was broken only by the aggressive, rapid-fire clicking of your laptop mouse. You were glued to the screen, your knuckles white as you gripped the edge of the desk. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, a chaotic mix of wild excitement and pure, unadulterated anxiety swirling in your stomach. The dreaded online queue bar was moving at a painful, agonizing snail's pace. You were trying to secure concert tickets, and it felt like a matter of life and death.
Wooyoung padded into the room, wearing a comfy pair of sweatpants, completely oblivious to the high-stakes battle taking place at the desk. He strolled right up to your side, leaning his weight against the back of your chair.
"Hey, what do you want to eat for dinner? I was thinking we could order that—"
"Shh!" you hissed dramatically, not even breaking eye contact with the glowing screen. You threw a hand up, frantically waving it in his direction to silence him. "Don't speak! Don't breathe! You'll throw off the Wi-Fi chakra!"
Wooyoung blinked, his handsome face twisting into a look of comical confusion. He tilted his head, peering over your shoulder at the screen. "The Wi-Fi chakra? Babe, what on earth are you—"
"I'm on to something! I'm almost in!" you interrupted in a strained, panicked whisper, your fingers hovering over the trackpad like a pianist about to play a masterpiece.
Suddenly, the screen flashed. The loading wheel vanished, and the seating chart popped up. It was your turn. Your eyes widened, and your survival instincts took over. With lightning-fast reflexes, you clicked on the best available seats, practically slamming your fingers onto the keyboard to type in your payment details before the timer could run out. You hit the final purchase button, holding your breath.
A fraction of a second later, a giant green checkmark appeared on the screen with the word: CONFIRMED.
A high-pitched, piercing scream ripped from your throat. You bolted out of your chair so fast it rolled backward into the wall. You spun around, grabbed a thoroughly startled Wooyoung by both of his upper arms, and began jumping up and down with unstoppable, manic energy. "I got them! I actually got them!"
Wooyoung didn't even know what concert you had just bought tickets for, but his chaotic, high-energy switch flipped instantly. The moment you started screaming, his eyes lit up, and a massive, bright grin broke across his face. He grabbed your hands tightly and immediately matched your excitement, jumping up and down with you, letting out his signature, high-pitched laugh and cheering at the top of his lungs.
"Ahhhh! Let's go! You did it!" he yelled, matching your volume perfectly as the two of you bounced around the room like a pair of toddlers on a sugar rush.
You were way too hyped to stay on your own two feet. Driven by pure adrenaline, you launched yourself forward, leaping directly into his arms and wrapping your legs securely around his waist.
Wooyoung caught you instinctively, his strong arms locking around your back to secure his prize. However, the sudden, flying momentum of your jump caught him completely off guard. He took one unstable step backward, his foot tangled in the rug, and his eyes widened in realization.
With a loud gasp and a dramatic shout, Wooyoung lost his balance entirely. The two of you tipped backward, crashing onto the carpeted living room floor in a chaotic tangle of limbs.
For a second, the room was quiet. Then, Wooyoung burst into a loud, breathless, wiper-blade laugh that shook his whole chest, his head falling back against the floor. You rolled slightly off him, burying your face in his shoulder as hysterical giggles washed over you. He wrapped an arm back around you, pulling you close against his side as you both lay on the floor, breathless, exhausted, and absolutely thrilled.
Jongho
The moment the heavy glass doors of the arcade slid open, a wave of bright neon lights, flashing screens, and a symphony of electronic chimes washed over you. The sheer scale of the place was staggering. Everywhere you looked, there were dance mats pulsing to booming beats, claw machines stuffed with plushies, and racing simulators with shaking steering wheels. You were literally vibrating with excitement, your eyes darting from one machine to the next as a rush of pure, overstimulated joy took over.
Jongho walked beside you at a much more grounded pace, his hands tucked casually into his jacket pockets. He looked around the flashing room, completely calm, until he felt a sudden, frantic tugging at his side.
You had gripped the fabric of his sleeve tightly, your knuckles almost white as you pulled him closer. "Jongho, oh my god, look at this place!" you squeaked, your voice pitching high with anticipation. "There are so many games! I don’t even know where to look. Look at the basketball ones! And the retro fighting games over there! Where do we even start? We have to play everything!"
Jongho looked down at your hands firmly anchoring you to his sleeve, and then up to your wide, glowing eyes. A low, incredibly deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, his handsome face softening into an amused grin.
"Calm down, breathe," he advised playfully, his voice a steady, soothing anchor against the chaotic noise of the arcade. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a freshly loaded game card, flashing it in front of your face with a teasing smirk. "We have plenty of time. Just promise me you won't go bankrupt in here in the first ten minutes. I'm not bailing your wallet out."
But his warning completely bounced off you. You weren't really listening anymore; your eyes had already locked onto a massive, brightly illuminated rhythm game just a few feet away, featuring giant flashing buttons and a pounding bassline.
"Look at this one!" you gasped.
Before he could even finish his sentence, you let go of his sleeve and bolted across the carpeted floor. You ran straight to the machine, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you stared at the demonstration screen. You spun around, waving your arms frantically to catch his attention. "Jongho! Come here, look at this! You have to show me how to play this one, come on!"
Jongho stood in the middle of the aisle for a brief moment, watching you bounce up and down in front of the flashing machine like a kid on a sugar rush. He slowly shook his head, a soft, helpless sigh escaping his lips, but the grin on his face gave him away entirely. His dark eyes crinkled at the corners with an undeniable warmth.
He absolutely loved seeing you like this. Jongho was usually the quiet, collected type, but your bright, unfiltered enthusiasm was entirely contagious. It brought out a protective, deeply affectionate side of him that he rarely showed so openly.
Ambling over to where you were waiting, he stopped right beside you, the neon pink and blue lights reflecting in his hair. "Alright, alright, I'm coming," he murmured fondly. He stepped up to the console, tapping the game card against the scanner with a confident swipe. "Step aside, let the professional show you how it's done."
maybe p1harmony and a reader who always feels cold even if already burritoed in a blanket/ temperatures being warmer outside or reader just simply teasing p1harmony by putting their cold hands onto them? :)
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The blue light of your phone screen was starting to make your head ache. You had checked the chat three times in the last ten minutes—still two grey checkmarks, still no reply. You were annoyed at him, but mostly, you were furious with yourself. You were a professional, a sought-after editor at one of the biggest labels in the world, yet here you were, sitting in the dark like a cliché, waiting for a man who couldn't be bothered to type five letters.
When the doorbell finally buzzed, the sound made you jump. You didn't rush. You took a slow breath, smoothed down your shirt, and pulled the door open.
Jay stood there, looking effortlessly cool in an oversized hoodie, his hair slightly tousled from a long day. He took one look at your rigid posture and the way your jaw was set, and he exhaled a sharp breath.
"Why the face?" he asked, his voice flat, as if your frustration was an inconvenience he hadn't scheduled for.
"How hard is it to answer a text, Jay?" you snapped, not moving an inch to let him in. "I’ve been sitting here the whole evening waiting to know if you were even coming."
He stepped past you anyway, forcing you to move back. "You know my schedule better than anyone," he reminded you, his tone condescendingly calm. "I can’t always be on my phone. We were in rehearsals and then meetings."
You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, your nails digging into your sleeves. "Funny. You had plenty of time to post on Instagram an hour ago. You were active, Jay. You just chose to ignore me."
Jay paused, then rolled his eyes so hard it felt like a slap. "Seriously? Are you really going to be bitchy the whole night over a social media post? I’m tired, I’m here now, can we just drop it?"
"No, we can't 'just drop it,'" you whispered, the disbelief hitting you like a physical weight. "Because you treat me like a footnote in your day. Just go home, Jay. Honestly. If it’s such a chore to be here, just go."
You didn't wait for his rebuttal. You turned your back on him, your vision blurring slightly with hot, angry tears, and walked into the living room. You stood by the window, staring at the city lights, waiting to hear the front door click shut.
Instead, you heard the soft thud of the door being closed from the inside.
Soft footsteps followed you. A moment later, you felt the heat of him before he even touched you. Jay stepped up behind you, his large hands sliding around your waist to pull you back against his chest. You remained stiff, your arms still crossed, but the sheer size of him always made you feel small.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that always bypassed your brain and went straight to your nerves. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your skin. "I'm sorry, okay? I’m an asshole."
He started to trail slow, lingering kisses from your jawline down to your shoulder. You squeezed your eyes shut, cursing the way your heart immediately hammered against your ribs. You wanted to tell him to fuck off. You wanted to tell him to go to hell and take his "tight schedule" with him.
But then he whispered "I'm sorry" again, his breath hot against your ear, and his hands moved to firmly press your hips back against him. The anger was still there, simmering under the surface, but the desperate need for him was louder.
You let out a shaky breath, your head tilting to the side to give him more access. You hated how easily he could undo you, but as he turned you around to face him, the look in his eyes told you that the talking was over.
The apology was forgotten, swallowed by the sudden, desperate friction of his mouth against yours. The kiss wasn't a reconciliation; it was a reclamation. Jay’s tongue tangled with yours in a way that felt like a challenge, his hands moving with a frantic hunger as they mapped the curves he’d kept at a distance all week.
He backed you up until your calves hit the edge of the sofa, but he didn't stop. With a swift, practiced motion, he hooked his fingers under the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, tossing it blindly into the shadows of the room. The sudden contact of the cool evening air against your skin made you shiver, but the heat of Jay’s body followed instantly.
He leaned down, his face burying into the crook of your neck. You let out a soft, broken gasp when you felt the firm pressure of his hand wrapping around the front of your throat. It wasn't enough to hurt, just a steady, dominant weight that forced your head back and made your pulse flutter erratically against his palm.
"Jay..." you breathed, your fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer even as you tried to catch your breath.
"You have no idea," he rasped, his voice a low, jagged vibration against your ear. He nipped at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before his breath hitched. "You have no idea how much I needed this. How good you are for me."
The words were the closest he ever got to being vulnerable, and they acted like a match to a fuse. He let go of your neck only to slide his hand down, gripping your waist so hard his knuckles went white, pulling you flush against the hard line of his cock.
He trailed a path of wet, bruising kisses down to your chest, his growl low and primal. Any lingering thoughts of the argument or the unanswered texts evaporated, replaced by the sheer, overwhelming reality of him. You weren't the editor and the idol anymore—you were just two people colliding in the dark, fueled by a tension that only he knew how to break.
"Don't stop," you whispered, your voice thick with a want that made him pull back just enough to look you in the eyes.
The emotional wall was still there, visible in the way his jaw remained tight, but the physical wall had crumbled completely. Without another word, he moved to the hem of your jeans, his intent clear as he crowded you further into the cushions.
Jay didn’t waste another second. He made quick work of them, tugging them down and tossing them aside before his hands returned to your waist to guide you back onto the cushions. You sank into the soft fabric of the couch, your breath coming in shallow hitches as he pulled his hoodie and shirt over his head in one fluid motion. In the dim light of the living room, the lean muscle of his chest and shoulders looked like sculpted marble, radiating a heat that made the air between you feel heavy.
He climbed over you, his weight a grounding, solid presence as he boxed you in with his arms. When his lips met yours again, the kiss tasted of salt and desperation. While his mouth kept you occupied, his hand slid beneath the lace of your panties, his thumb finding the sensitive peak of your clit with unerring accuracy.
You let out a loud, uninhibited moan against his lips, your hips jerking upward instinctively. Jay pulled back just enough to look down at you, a dark, satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"That's it," he praised, his voice a low, gravelly hum. "Let me hear how much you want this."
He didn't wait for an answer. He slid two fingers inside you in one smooth, deep stroke, catching you off guard. You let out a sharp yelp, your eyes snapping open as the sudden fullness stretched you. He didn't rush; instead, he began to move his fingers in a slow, deliberate curl, mocking the pace of the argument you’d had just minutes before.
He went back to your neck, his tongue swirling over the spot where your pulse was jumping frantically. "So loud for me," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "Good girl."
You clung to his bare shoulders, your nails scratching lightly against his skin as you panted desperately. The friction of his thumb against your clit combined with the steady, rhythmic stretch of his fingers inside you was driving you toward an edge you weren't ready for yet. You felt small beneath him, overwhelmed by the scent of his cologne and the raw power he was radiating, your body melting into the couch as he continued to praise you in low, broken whispers.
Just as the pressure began to coil into something unbearable, Jay abruptly withdrew. You let out a whimper of protest, your body feeling suddenly, agonizingly empty. He hovered over you for a heartbeat, staring down at you with dark, blown-out pupils, before he slowly brought his fingers to his lips and licked them clean, his gaze never leaving yours.
"I'm not done with you yet," he rasped, the edge in his voice making a shiver run down your spine. "Not even close."
He gripped your waist and flipped you onto your stomach with effortless strength. You felt the cool air hit your back for only a second before he was there again, his hands hooking under your hips and hauling them upward until you were on your knees, your chest pressed flat against the sofa cushions. Behind you, you heard the rustle of fabric and the heavy thud of his shoes hitting the floor as he stripped out of his pants and boxers.
Jay crowded your back, his heat radiating off him like a furnace. He leaned down, pressing his chest against your arched spine, and used one hand to guide the blunt, heavy tip of his length against your entrance. He didn't go in; he just teased you, dragging himself along your wetness in slow, agonizing circles that made you whine and scramble for purchase against the fabric of the couch.
"Jay, please," you begged, your voice cracking.
"You're so impatient," he murmured, and then, without warning, he delivered a sharp, stinging smack to the curve of your butt.
The shock of the sting made you gasp, your back arching even further, and in that moment of total surrender, he drove into you in one deep, forceful thrust. You let out a strangled scream of pleasure as he filled you completely, the sheer size of him stretching you to the limit.
He didn't give you time to adjust. He immediately began to move, his hands locking onto your hips to anchor you as he hammered into you with a primal, rhythmic intensity. Each thrust was a heavy, wet thud that rattled your breath out of your lungs. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his growls becoming more frequent, more animalistic, as the "emotionally unavailable" idol disappeared, replaced by a man who was claiming every inch of you in the most honest way he knew how.
The air in the room was thick with the scent of sweat and desperation. Jay’s movements were no longer calculated or cool; they were frantic, fueled by the friction of your bodies and the lingering heat of the fight. With every heavy, punishing thrust, the couch groaned and creaked beneath you, the sound a sharp percussion to your loud, uninhibited moans.
He reached forward, his fingers tangling in your hair to yank your head back, exposing the line of your throat. He pressed his face against your ear, his breath coming in ragged, guttural grunts that made your skin prickle. You were completely at his mercy, pinned between his heavy frame and the cushions, unable to do anything but take the relentless rhythm he was forcing upon you.
Jay’s hand slid down between your bodies, his fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing it with a rough, demanding pressure. The dual sensation of him filling you and the friction of his thumb was too much.
"You're gonna come for me," he ordered, his voice a low, vibrating command in your ear. "Do it now."
The authority in his voice snapped the final thread of your control. Your internal muscles clamped around him in a tight, pulsing rhythm as you cried out, your vision blurring as the climax crashed over you. He didn't slow down; instead, he growled at the sensation of your walls twitching against him.
He released your hair and shoved your shoulders down, forcing your face into the cushions as he began pistoning into you with renewed ferocity. He was chasing his own edge now, his thrusts coming so fast and deep that you could feel the vibration in your very bones.
Just as he reached the breaking point, he let out a choked, primal sound. He gripped your hips one last time, pulling himself out with a wet, heavy slide. You felt the sudden absence of him, but only for a second, before you heard the frantic sound of him jerking himself off behind you.
With a low, final groan, he spent himself across your back, the heat of him hitting your skin in a series of thick, messy pulses. He collapsed against you immediately afterward, his heavy chest heaving against your spine, the only sound in the room the frantic ticking of the clock and your shared, broken breathing. The distance was gone for now, replaced by the heavy, temporary silence of a physical truce.
You were still slumped against the cushions, your lungs burning as you fought to catch your breath. The heat of him was still cooling on your skin when you felt his lips press a deliberate, lingering kiss to your shoulder blade. The tenderness was fleeting, though; a second later, he delivered one final, sharp smack to your butt that made you jump.
"Stay there," he murmured, his voice returning to that cool, controlled register.
He disappeared into the bathroom, and you heard the sound of running water. A minute later, he returned, dropping a warm, wet cloth onto your lower back. He didn't offer to clean you himself; instead, he started picking his clothes up from the floor, pulling his boxers and jeans on with the practiced ease of someone used to dressing in a hurry.
"Heading out?" you asked, your voice sounding raspy even to your own ears. You used the cloth to wipe yourself down, keeping your back turned so he couldn't see the flicker of vulnerability in your eyes.
Jay paused, a small, dark chuckle escaping him as he pulled his hoodie over his head. "And leave you like this? That would be kind of an asshole move, wouldn't it?"
You let out a dry, humorless huff, finally sitting up and wrapping a discarded throw blanket around your shoulders. "You are kind of an asshole, Jay."
He didn't get angry this time. He just tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips as he checked his reflection in the hallway mirror. "Fair enough," he conceded, nodding at you. "You hungry? I'll pay. Let’s order that cheese tteokbokki from the place near the studio. You know, the one with the extra spicy sauce? It’s amazing."
The silence that followed was heavy. You felt a familiar, cold lump form in your throat as you stared at him.
"Jay," you said quietly, your voice flat. "I'm lactose intolerant."
He stopped mid-scroll on his phone, looking up with genuine surprise. "Huh, really? Since when?"
You swallowed heavily, the weight of the realization hitting harder than any argument they’d had earlier. You had told him. You’d told him when you first started seeing each other, you’d told him when you went out for coffee three months ago, and you’d told him during that late-night edit session last month.
"Since forever," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.
The "situationship" suddenly felt a lot more like a one-way street. He knew exactly how to make your body react, how to command the room, and how to apologize just enough to stay in your bed—but he didn't know the most basic things about you. Or worse, he didn't care enough to remember.
Jay rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically awkward. "Right. Sorry. My bad. We’ll... we'll find something else then."
But the appetite you’d worked up was gone, replaced by the stinging reminder that while he was on top of you, he was the only thing in your world—but even when he was looking right at you, you were barely a blip in his.
A few days later
The dim glow of the dual monitors was the only light in the small editing suite, casting a cool, blue tint over everything. You sat slumped in your ergonomic chair, the hum of the hard drives filling the silence. On the screen, a raw file of Jay from a recent shoot was frozen in high definition. You were supposed to be retouching the lighting, but you found yourself staring at the curve of his mouth—the same mouth that had whispered apologies into your skin just nights before.
You leaned your head back against the headrest, the ceiling tiles becoming a blur as your thoughts circled the drain of the last few days.
You thought about your phone, currently face-down on the desk. You hadn't checked it in an hour because you already knew what was there: nothing. No "How’s your day?", no "Sorry about the tteokbokki." Just the same hollow silence that followed every one of his departures. You thought about the coldness in his eyes when you’d passed him in the cafeteria earlier—a look so detached it made you feel like a stranger he’d never even touched.
But then, your mind betrayed you. It drifted to the way the air in your apartment seemed to thicken the moment he walked in. You remembered the feeling of his weight on top of you, the primal growl in his chest, and the way he’d praised you when you finally broke. He made you feel alive in a way that was terrifying and addictive. When you were together, the world felt small and intense, like a private universe where only the two of you existed,
You sat there, spinning slowly in your chair, caught between two versions of the same man. One Jay was a phantom who left you on read and forgot basic facts about your life—like the fact that his "perfect" dinner suggestion would literally make you sick. The other Jay was a storm of passion who made your heart race just by walking into a room.
You looked back at the screen, your finger hovering over the mouse. You were an expert at fixing images, at smoothing out the rough edges and making everything look seamless. But as you stared at Jay’s unedited face, you realized you couldn't retouch a personality. You couldn't edit out the emotional distance or the way he kept you at arm's length.
Was the pleasure worth the constant, low-grade ache of being ignored? You closed your eyes, the silence of the studio suddenly feeling very heavy. You knew this situationship was a gamble, and right now, it felt like you were the only one putting anything on the table.
The rhythmic clicking of your mouse was the only sound in the room until the heavy door creaked open, spilling a sliver of hallway light across the carpet.
"Still here?"
The voice was smooth, familiar, and carried a natural warmth that Jay’s rarely did. You spun your chair around to see Heeseung leaning against the doorframe. He looked tired—dark circles under his eyes and his hair messy from wearing headphones—but he still managed a soft, inquisitive smile.
"Lots of things to do," you said with a non-committal shrug, gesturing vaguely at the dozens of open tabs on your screen. "What about you? Why are you roaming the halls at this hour?"
"Recording ran late," he said, stepping fully into the room. He rubbed the back of his neck, the movement pulling his oversized sweater tight across his shoulders. "Just finished. The studio started feeling a bit like a prison, so I thought I’d take the long way out."
"Well, don't let me keep you," you said, offering him a tired but genuine smile. "Get some sleep. Good night, Heeseung."
He let out a low, melodic chuckle, tilting his head to the side. "Wow. Cold. Are you trying to get rid of me already?"
You laughed softly, the tension in your shoulders finally starting to dissipate. "I just assumed you’d want to go home and collapse into a bed like a normal person."
Instead of heading for the door, Heeseung walked deeper into the suite. He pulled a spare rolling chair over and sat down, spinning it once before settling in beside your desk.
"I don't actually have any plans," he stated, a playful glint in his eyes. "And now that you mentioned it, I think I might stay and annoy you for a while. You look like you could use the company."
He laughed—a bright, easy sound that cut through the heavy atmosphere you’d been drowning in. You shook your head in disbelief, but you couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips.
"I’m serious, I’m a very busy woman," you joked, though you didn't move to turn back to your monitors.
"I’m sure," he teased, leaning back and looking at the frozen image of Jay on your screen with a curious expression. "But even busy women need a break. So, what are we working on? Or should I just start telling you dad jokes until you kick me out?"
For the next hour, the heavy weight of the "Jay-dilemma" finally lifted. You walked Heeseung through some of your favorite projects, showing him how you could subtly shift the mood of a photo just by tweaking the shadows or saturating a single color. He was an easy audience—quick with a joke and genuinely impressed by your eye for detail. The studio, which had felt like a pressure cooker minutes ago, was now filled with the sound of your shared laughter.
"You know," Heeseung said, leaning in to look at a particularly striking landscape you'd edited. "With these skills, you could really pimp up your Instagram. You'd have a million followers by next week."
You laughed, shaking your head as you closed the file. "I’m an editor, Heeseung, not an influencer. I prefer being the one behind the lens, thanks. There’s no need for me to have a curated feed."
He shrugged, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "Fair enough. But you could at least use it to edit your dating profiles. You’d be the most sought-after match in Seoul."
The laugh died in your throat, replaced by a dark, dry chuckle. "Yeah... dating apps are definitely off the table right now."
Heeseung’s expression shifted instantly. He picked up on the change in your tone, his eyebrows lifting in genuine intrigue. He spun his chair slightly closer. "Off the table? Does that mean you're already seeing someone?"
The question hung in the air. You hesitated, your fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against the armrest of your chair. "It’s... very complicated," you finally admitted, the words feeling heavy.
Heeseung leaned back, nodding slowly. "It’s always 'complicated,' isn't it? That’s the universal code for 'he’s not treating me right.'"
You let out a sharp, surprised breath at his bluntness. "Is it that obvious? The guy I’m seeing... he’s kind of an asshole, to be honest."
Heeseung chuckled, though there was a trace of sympathy in his eyes. "Then why do you keep seeing him?"
You sighed deeply, looking at your hands and nodding to yourself. "I’ve been asking myself that same question all day. I don’t really have a good answer."
The mood in the room dipped, the lightheartedness from before threatening to vanish. Heeseung noticed the way your shoulders slumped and the distant look in your eyes. He wasn't the type to push when he saw someone hurting, so he smoothly steered the conversation away from the edge.
"Well," he said, clapping his hands together once to break the silence. "If he’s an asshole, he clearly doesn't deserve your brain space tonight. Forget about him. Did I ever tell you about the time Sunghoon tried to cook for the whole group and nearly burnt down the dorm because he forgot how a toaster works?"
You looked up, caught off guard by the sudden shift, and couldn't help but let out a small, relieved snort. Heeseung launched into the story with dramatic hand gestures and perfect comedic timing, determined to keep that tired, sad look off your face for as long as he could stay.
The following days at HYBE were a masterclass in emotional whiplash. Every time you spotted Jay in the corridors, your body went rigid. He was a master of the "professional mask," moving past you with a cool, focused gait that suggested you were nothing more than another piece of office furniture. He didn't even flicker an eye in your direction.
In contrast, Heeseung became your lighthouse. Whenever he saw you, his face brightened. You found yourself lingering in the breakroom just a little longer if he was there, trading inside jokes and laughing about the absurdities of the industry. With Heeseung, everything felt light and effortless—the complete opposite of the heavy, suffocating tension that defined your "thing" with Jay.
Yet, despite the cold shoulder in the office, Jay’s name still lit up your phone at night.
"Are you awake?" he’d text at 1:00 AM. Or he’d call, his voice low and tired, talking about his day as if he hadn't spent the previous eight hours ignoring your existence. You’d stay on the line, but you were distracted, your mind looping back to the same question: Why am I doing this?
On Thursday, you decided to try one last time to ground the relationship. You’d invited Jay over for a proper dinner. You went to the grocery store, carefully selecting ingredients that were lactose-free, determined to prove that someone in this dynamic was capable of paying attention.
By 7:00 PM, the table was set. By 8:30 PM, the food was cold. By 9:45 PM, you were sitting on the couch, staring at your reflection in the black screen of your television.
You had sent three texts.
“Food is almost ready, when are you leaving the studio?”
“Jay? Everything okay?”
“I’m going to start eating. Let me know if you’re coming.”
The silence was deafening. You felt a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with food—it was the raw, stinging humiliation of being stood up by someone who claimed to want you. You curled up on the sofa, pulling a blanket over your shoulders, your eyes burning with frustrated tears. You eventually drifted into a light, restless sleep, the kind where every car passing outside makes you twitch.
A sharp buzz on the coffee table jolted you awake.
Your heart gave a pathetic little leap as you grabbed the phone, squinting against the brightness of the screen.
Jay: Wont make it tonight. Dont wait up.
No "I’m sorry." No explanation. Just a dry, clinical sentence that felt like a door slamming in your face.
The contrast was so sharp it physically hurt. You stared at Jay’s message—those seven cold, clinical words—until they blurred. It wasn't just the fact that he wasn't coming; it was the casualness of it, the complete lack of regard for the time and effort you’d poured into the night. You felt like a fool, standing in your kitchen surrounded by the scent of a meal he’d never taste.
Then, your phone buzzed again.
It was a notification from Instagram. You swiped it open, expecting another blow, but it was just a reel from Heeseung—a chaotic video of a cat failing a jump, captioned with: “This reminded me of Sunghoon trying to be cool today.”
A small, genuine breath of laughter escaped your nose. Without really thinking about it, your thumb hovered over his name and you hit the call icon.
"Well, hello there," Heeseung greeted you, his voice bright and full of a natural energy that immediately started to pull you out of the dark. "Did the cat video change your life, or are you calling to tell me my humor is broken?"
You swallowed hard, trying to keep the wobble out of your voice. "Actually, I’m calling because I’m a victim of my own cooking. I got stood up and now I have way too much food sitting on my counter."
There was a brief pause on the other end, the playful tone softening just a fraction into something more attentive. "Stood up? On a Thursday? That’s a crime against humanity." He cleared his throat. "So, is that a subtle invitation, or are you just gloating about your feast?"
A real chuckle finally broke through your frustration. "Don't make me repeat myself, Heeseung. It’s pathetic enough the first time."
Heeseung laughed, a warm, melodic sound that made the quiet apartment feel a little less empty. "Say no more. Give me twenty minutes. I’m already grabbing my jacket."
"Wait, really? You're not busy?"
"I told you," he said, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. "My schedule is surprisingly flexible when there's good food and even better company involved. See you soon."
As the line went dead, you looked back at the trash can where you’d almost dumped the rest of the meal. You quickly pulled the containers back out, your heart racing for an entirely different reason. For the first time in a long time, someone was actually rushing to get to you, rather than finding an excuse to stay away.
When the doorbell rang, the sound didn't make you tense up for once. You opened the door to find Heeseung standing there, still in his practice clothes but wearing a grin that made him look completely refreshed.
"The delivery service has arrived," he joked, patting his stomach. "Except I’m the one being delivered to the food."
The atmosphere in the apartment shifted the second he stepped inside. It felt lighter, warmer, and—most importantly—easy. You sat down at the small dining table together, and even though you’d had to reheat the meal, Heeseung ate like it was a five-star banquet.
"This is incredible," he said between bites, nodding enthusiastically. "You actually made this from scratch?"
"I did," you said, picking at your own plate. "I had to heat it up, though. It sat out for a while so it's probably a bit dry now."
"Doesn't matter," he dismissed, waving a chopstick. "It’s delicious. Better than anything I’ve had all week."
The conversation flowed without any of the jagged edges you were used to. You joked about work, laughed about a trainee’s recent mishap, and for a while, the empty seat where Jay should have been didn't feel quite so glaring.
After dinner, you both migrated to the couch. You reached for a bottle of wine you’d originally bought for the evening and poured two glasses. The dim living room light and the soft hum of the city outside created a cocoon of comfort. But as the wine began to settle, the playful energy softened into something more intimate and quiet.
Heeseung leaned back against the cushions, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. He looked at you, his gaze steady and surprisingly observant.
"So," he said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. "What actually happened tonight? With your... date?"
You felt the familiar sting of disappointment prick at your chest, but looking at Heeseung, it felt safe to speak. You looked down at your fingers, tracing the rim of your glass.
"He just... didn't show," you said, your voice small. "Again. I spent the whole afternoon cooking, making sure everything was exactly how he liked it. I sent him texts, waited for hours... and then I got a one-sentence message telling me not to wait up. No apology. Nothing."
You didn't mention Jay's name, and you didn't mention that the person you were talking about was just a few floors away from you at the office every day.
You didn’t just stop at the dinner; you let everything out. You told him about the exhaustion of living in the "in-between," the way the coldness every day made you feel small, and the frustrating reality that despite it all, you were addicted to those brief moments of intensity that made you feel alive. You ranted about the texts left on read and the constant, nagging feeling of being an afterthought.
When you finally ran out of breath, you let out a long, shaky laugh and leaned your head back against the couch. "God, I’m so sorry. You came here for food and I’ve turned you into my personal therapist. That was... a lot."
Heeseung reached out, his hand briefly covering yours on the cushion before he pulled back, giving you space. "Don’t apologize. Honestly, it’s fine. I’m a good listener."
He took a slow sip of his wine, his expression thoughtful. "Look, you already know he’s treating you like shit. You’re a smart woman; I don’t need to tell you that. But maybe..." he paused, choosing his words carefully. "Maybe you should stop thinking about what you want in the heat of the moment and start thinking about what you actually deserve in the long run."
You looked at him, genuinely caught off guard by the depth in his voice. "Wow. You’re surprisingly wise, Lee Heeseung."
He let out a boyish laugh, the tension breaking for a second. "I have my moments." But then, he sat up straighter, his gaze becoming laser-focused. "I’m serious. You don't deserve to be a 'maybe' or a 'later.' You deserve someone who shows up. Someone who remembers the small things. You’ve got plenty of men out there who would fall for you in a heartbeat if you just gave them the chance."
You let out a bitter, sarcastic snort, shaking your head. "Yeah? Name one. Give me an example of one of these mysterious men."
Heeseung didn't hesitate. He didn't laugh. He just looked at you, his eyes soft and incredibly steady.
"How about me."
The word was quiet, but it hit the room like a physical weight. You froze, your glass halfway to your lips, your heart suddenly hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You looked at him, searching for a punchline or a sign that he was joking, but Heeseung just tilted his head and offered you a warm, genuine smile—the kind that reached his eyes and stayed there.
The silence that followed his confession was thick, punctuated only by the distant hum of your refrigerator. Heeseung watched the play of emotions across your face, and after a moment, he let out a soft, breathy chuckle.
"Was that too much?" he asked, though he didn't look like he regretted a single word. "I didn't mean to short-circuit your brain."
You shook your head slowly, finally finding your voice. "No... I’m just surprised. I didn't think..."
"What?" Heeseung interrupted gently. He shifted his body fully toward you on the couch, his arm resting on the backrest behind your head. "You’re gorgeous, you’re incredibly funny, and honestly? I love having you around. Being in the studio with you is the highlight of my day lately. Why would it be so hard to believe that I’d fall for you?"
You felt the heat creep up your neck, a genuine blush staining your cheeks. You took a quick, nervous sip of your wine, the cool liquid doing nothing to settle the sudden flutter in your stomach. You looked back at him, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm. "Are you... are you actually serious? Or is the wine talking?"
Heeseung reached out, his fingers grazing your forearm as he leaned forward to set his glass on the coffee table. "The wine is barely touched," he stated, his voice dropping into a serious, grounded tone. "I have no reason to lie to you. I meant what I said."
As he pulled back, you found yourself fixated on the way his movements were so deliberate, so steady. Your gaze dropped to his lips for a fraction of a second—a subconscious slip that didn't go unnoticed. Heeseung caught the look, his own expression softening as he searched your eyes.
The air between you felt charged, a magnetic pull that was the polar opposite of the chaotic, jarring energy you shared with Jay. With Heeseung, it felt like an invitation rather than a demand.
You felt your body moving before your mind could catch up. You slowly started to lean in, your heart beating so loudly you were sure he could hear it. Heeseung didn't hesitate; he met you halfway, his hand sliding up to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheekbone with a tenderness that made your breath hitch.
When your lips finally met, the kiss was soft and tasting of red wine. It was tentative at first, an exploration of a new boundary, but as Heeseung tilted his head to deepen the contact, it became firm and sure. It wasn't the rough, desperate collision you were used to; it was warm, lingering, and felt like a promise being kept.
The air in the living room shifted from comfort to a sudden, electric heat. When you pulled apart for that brief second, the look in Heeseung’s eyes wasn't cold or distant; it was filled with a clear, burning admiration that made your skin tingle. You didn’t give him time to overthink it—you leaned in again, and this time, the kiss was a collision of months of repressed tension.
You reached out, your fingers tangling in the soft fabric of his shirt to pull him flush against you. Heeseung groaned into your mouth, his tongue sweeping against yours with a newfound hunger. He started to pull back, his chest heaving. "Wait, I want to—"
You didn't want to talk. You didn't want to analyze. You wanted to feel something that wasn't an ache. You cut him off by straddling his lap, your knees sinking into the soft cushions on either side of his hips. His hands immediately found your waist, his grip firm and grounding as you captured his lips again.
The make-out session turned frantic. You tugged at the hem of his shirt, and he helped you, pulling it over his head and tossing it somewhere toward the kitchen. You followed suit, your own shirt discarded in the shadows. Heeseung’s breath hitched as he looked at you, his palms sliding up from your waist to cup your face with a reverence that felt almost foreign to you.
"You are so beautiful," he whispered, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones as if he were trying to memorize the feeling of you.
You didn't have words, only a small, breathless smile before you leaned down to kiss the junction of his neck and shoulder. Heeseung let out a low sound, his hands sliding down to your thighs. With one powerful motion, he stood up, lifting you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your chest pressed against his bare skin, feeling the steady, frantic thrum of his heart against your own.
He carried you into the bedroom, the moonlight through the curtains casting long, silver shadows across the sheets.
Heeseung laid you onto the mattress, but the gentleness of the movement vanished the moment his body crowded over yours. He captured your lips in a kiss that was deep and hungry, a far cry from the soft exploration in the living room. This was a man who had been waiting for this moment, and he wasn't holding back anymore.
His mouth left yours to trail a path of searing kisses down your neck and across your collarbone, his breath hitching as he took in the scent of your skin. He reached for the clasp of your bra, his fingers steady as he helped you out of it, tossing it aside without looking. He hovered over you for a heartbeat, his eyes dark as they took you in, before he dipped his head to kiss the swell of your breasts. When he flicked his tongue over your nipple, a sharp jolt of electricity shot straight to your core, and you let out a broken moan that echoed in the quiet room.
"You’re perfect," he rasped, his voice a low vibration against your skin.
He continued his descent, his kisses mapping your stomach until he reached the button of your jeans. He made quick work of your denim and lace, sliding them down your legs until you were completely bare beneath him. Heeseung settled between your knees, looking up at you with a silent, questioning intensity. You gave a small, desperate nod, and that was all the permission he needed.
He gently pulled your legs apart, draping them over his shoulders to give himself better access. He started with agonizingly slow, soft licks along your inner thighs, teasing the sensitive skin until you were squirming beneath him. Then, he finally dived in.
The first contact of his tongue was firm and wet, making your hips buck off the bed. Heeseung groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding up to grip your waist, anchoring you as he began to eat you out with a focused, rhythmic passion. He was thorough, his tongue swirling over your clit in broad, heavy strokes before narrowing down to a flicking, frantic pace that had you gasping for air.
He sucked at you deeply, his thumbs spreading you open so he could taste every bit of your response. The sensation was overwhelming; he was so attentive, so careful to catch every moan and every shiver, driving you toward a peak that felt like it would shatter you. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as the coil in your gut tightened, the world narrowing down to the heat of his mouth and the steady, unwavering devotion of his touch.
He was relentless, his tongue moving with an expert rhythm that left you breathless. He switched between long, sweeping licks and a sharp, focused sucking at your clit that sent white-hot sparks behind your eyelids. Your fingers dug into the mattress as you moaned his name, your hips arching uncontrollably. He let out a low, satisfied hum against your skin, his movements growing more intense and desperate as he felt your internal muscles begin to tighten around the phantom sensation of him.
The climax hit you like a physical wave, and you let out a loud, broken moan as your body convulsed. Heeseung didn't pull away; he stayed right there, his tongue continuing to swirl gently through your peak to ride down the high with you.
When he finally looked up, his lips were slick and his eyes were dark with a hunger that made your heart skip a beat. He began to crawl up your body, peppering your stomach with soft, lingering kisses.
You didn't want to wait a second longer. You sat up, your breath coming in jagged hitches as your hands fumbled desperately with the leather of his belt. Heeseung watched you, a small, breathless smirk playing on his lips as you finally managed to undo the buckle and shove his pants and boxers down his legs.
The moment you reached out and wrapped your fingers around his length, he let out a guttural, strained groan, his head falling back as his eyes fluttered shut. You began to stroke him, your thumb grazing the tip as you watched the way his muscles corded in his neck.
Leaning forward, you pressed a trail of wet, lingering kisses across his lower stomach and up to his chest, feeling the frantic, heavy thrum of his heart. Heeseung reached down, his fingers tangling in your hair as he watched you, his breath hitching every time your hand moved. He looked completely undone by your touch—a raw, honest vulnerability that was a far cry from the cold distance you’d grown used to.
He gently pushed you back onto the mattress, his hands lingering on your shoulders as he followed you down. He kissed you again, a deep, slow connection that felt more like a conversation than a demand. When he pulled back just an inch, his forehead remained pressed against yours, his breath mingling with your own.
"Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice thick with a mix of restraint and desire. "I want you to be absolutely sure."
"I am," you assured him, your voice steady despite the frantic beating of your heart. "I really want this, Heeseung."
A small, genuine smile touched his lips—a look of relief and warmth that made you feel safe even in the heat of the moment. "Condom?"
You nodded and reached into the drawer of your nightstand, pulling out a small foil packet. He took it from you with a quiet "thank you," his movements careful and deliberate as he rolled it on. There was no rush, no frantic grabbing; he remained completely attuned to you the entire time.
Heeseung moved back between your legs, his eyes locked on yours. He grabbed your right leg, hooking it firmly over his hip to open you up to him. As he guided himself to your entrance, he paused for a heartbeat, giving you one last chance to breathe before he pushed inside.
You let out a long, shaky moan as he filled you, the sheer depth of the sensation making your eyes flutter shut. Heeseung let out a low, primal growl, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he waited for you to adjust to his size. He stayed still for a moment, simply breathing you in, his chest heaving against yours.
Then, he raised his head, bracing himself on his forearms so he could look directly into your eyes. He waited until you met his gaze before he began to move. His first few thrusts were slow and agonizingly deep, his eyes never wavering from yours as he watched every flicker of pleasure cross your face. It wasn't just a physical act; it felt like he was seeing you, truly seeing you, with every rhythmic slide of his body against yours.
The rhythm changed as Heeseung found his stride, his thrusts becoming faster and more urgent. You clung to his shoulders, your nails digging slightly into his skin as you threw your head back, your moans echoing in the quiet bedroom. He leaned down, burying his face in your neck and kissing you sloppily, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that promised a mark would be there tomorrow—not as a brand of possession, but as a reminder of the heat.
Every time he drove into you, he let out a low, guttural grunt that vibrated through your entire chest. You started to meet his pace, arching your back and tilting your hips to take him even deeper. The friction was becoming unbearable in the best way possible.
"Heeseung," you gasped, your voice breaking as you pressed your chest against his. "You feel... god, you feel so good."
He let out a strained moan, his hands sliding from the mattress to your waist. With a sudden, powerful surge of energy, he gripped your hips and hauled you upward. You let out a startled yelp that melted into a moan as he pulled you into a sitting position, making you straddle his lap while he remained firmly inside you.
The new depth was staggering. Heeseung wrapped his arms around your back, anchoring you as he began to move you up and down on him. The control was shared now, a frantic, rhythmic dance of skin on skin. You reached out, cupping his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you.
As you looked deep into his eyes, the breath left your lungs for a reason that had nothing to do with the sex. In the dark, hooded depths of his gaze, you didn't see the "emotionally unavailable" walls Jay always kept up. You didn't see a man who was using you as a distraction or someone who was already planning his exit.
In Heeseung’s eyes, there was a raw, unwavering presence. He was there—fully, completely with you. The contrast was a physical ache in your chest; where Jay was a storm that left you shivering in the cold, Heeseung was a fire that invited you in to stay warm. He looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, his expression open and vulnerable even as he hammered into you with a desperate, masculine need.
The friction between you reached a fever pitch, the air in the room thick with the sound of your combined breathing. You leaned back, your spine arching as you gave him full access, and Heeseung didn't miss a beat. He buried his face in your chest, his mouth hot and demanding against your skin as he continued to drive upward, his hands on your hips guiding your frantic pace.
His movements turned rougher, more primal, as he chased the end. You felt the familiar coil in your gut snap, and you let out a loud, long moan that filled the room, your internal muscles clenching around him in a tight, rhythmic pulse. The sheer intensity of coming while looking down at him, seeing the way he was completely focused on your pleasure, made it feel twice as powerful as any time before.
Heeseung let out a guttural, choked-off growl, his eyes snapping shut as he followed you over the edge. He gripped your waist so hard his knuckles turned white, his body shuddering as he spent himself into the condom.
For a few long seconds, the only sound was the frantic thumping of your hearts against one another. Heeseung pulled you back down, kissing you breathlessly, his lips tasting of sweat and salt. He gently guided you back down onto the mattress, shifting his weight so he was hovering over you, his arms braced on either side of your head.
The silence that followed was soft, a stark contrast to the storm of a few minutes ago. Heeseung lowered his head, pressing a series of lingering, tender kisses to your collarbone. When he finally looked up, his eyes were clear, soft, and searching yours with a genuine concern that made your chest ache.
"Are you okay?" he whispered, his voice raspy and barely audible.
No coldness. No immediate move to get dressed. No distance.
You reached up, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw before pulling him down for a gentle, lingering kiss. "I'm okay," you breathed against his lips. "Better than okay."
He let out a small, relieved sigh and collapsed beside you, pulling the duvet over both of your tangled bodies. He didn't say anything about leaving, and for the first time in months, you didn't feel the need to ask.
The blue light of your phone was blinding in the pitch-black room. You squinted, your brain foggy with sleep, as the device rattled against the nightstand for the fourth time. Beside you, the mattress shifted. Heeseung made a soft, contented sound in his sleep, his arm tightening instinctively around your waist as he pulled you closer into the warmth of his chest.
You carefully unpried his hand and grabbed the phone. Your heart sank when you saw the notifications: 12 missed calls, 8 texts. All from Jay.
Suddenly, the phone vibrated again—an incoming call. You took a shaky breath and answered, your voice thick with sleep. "Hello?"
"Open the door," Jay’s voice came through the line, low and slightly strained.
You blinked, looking at the clock. 4:15 AM. "What? Jay, are you serious?"
"I’m in front of your door. Just open up for a second."
You let out a long, heavy sigh. Part of you wanted to tell him to go to hell, but the shock of him actually showing up—after ignoring you all night—won out. You slid out of bed, shivering as the cold air hit your skin. You spotted Heeseung’s discarded shirt on the floor and threw it on, the fabric smelling like his cologne and the warmth of the previous night.
Heeseung stirred but didn't wake, his breathing deep and even.
You walked down the hallway and pulled the front door open. Jay was standing there, leaning against the doorframe. He looked exhausted, his hair messy and his eyes bloodshot, but when he saw you, his expression softened into a rare, apologetic smile—the kind he usually only used when he knew he’d pushed you too far.
"I know it's late," he started, his voice dropping into that familiar, persuasive hum. "I just... I finished late and I felt bad about the text. I wanted to see you."
You didn't move. You didn't smile back. You just stood there, the oversized shirt hanging off your shoulders, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. Your face was like stone, the memory of the cold dinner and the clinical "don't wait up" text still burning in your throat.
Jay’s smile faltered as he took in your coldness. His eyes traveled down, noticing for the first time that you weren't wearing your own clothes. He frowned, his gaze lingering on the broad shoulders of the shirt that clearly didn't belong to you.
"What exactly do you expect me to do right now, Jay?" you asked, your voice ringing hollow in the quiet hallway.
He shifted his weight, his eyes searching yours for the usual softening, the usual surrender. "Can I just come in? Let’s talk about this inside."
"No," you said firmly.
Jay let out a short, dry chuckle of disbelief, his head tilting back. "Are you serious? You're really going to leave me standing out here in the hall like this?"
You raised an eyebrow, the irony of his words hitting you like a physical force. "You say that like it's a difficult thing to do. You’ve made it seem pretty easy lately."
He winced slightly, the apology in his eyes flickering with a hint of genuine frustration. He let out a long, weary sigh. "Look, I'm sorry. I already said it. It’s been a crazy week, the schedules have been relentless, and I just—"
Relentless. The word echoed in your head. You thought about Heeseung, who had been in the same meetings, the same recordings, and the same rehearsals, yet had found the energy to show up at your door with a smile and a funny video.
"Everyone had a crazy week, Jay," you said, your voice steady. "You can't expect me to be that naive anymore. You can't just flip a switch when you're bored or lonely and expect me to be waiting."
He took a step toward you, closing the gap until you could smell the familiar scent of his expensive cologne—a scent that used to make your heart race, but now just felt like a warning. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your wrist as he tried to take your hand. "I don't think you're naive. I know I messed up tonight."
You pulled your hand back sharply, tucking your arms even tighter across your chest. "You can't come in."
Jay’s jaw tightened, his ego finally starting to bruise. "Why not? Give me one good reason why you’re acting like this."
"I'm not alone," you said simply.
Jay paused, then let out a soft, mocking laugh. He shook his head, looking past you into the dark apartment. "Right. Nice try. Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?"
You didn't say a word. Instead, you reached back and gripped the handle, pulling the door open just wide enough for him to see past the entryway and into the bedroom.
In the dim silver moonlight, the silhouette of a man was clearly visible under your duvet. Heeseung was still fast asleep, his back turned to the door, his frame taking up a significant portion of the bed. From this angle, his face was hidden, but there was no mistaking the presence of someone else in your space.
Jay’s face froze. The smug, persuasive look vanished, replaced by a sudden, jarring emptiness. He stared at the bed for a long beat, his throat working as he swallowed hard.
"Huh," he finally breathed out, the sound barely a whisper. He looked back at you, his eyes wide with a shock that bordered on total disbelief. It was the first time you had ever seen him truly speechless.
"It’s four in the morning, Jay," you said, your voice devoid of any warmth. "I'm going back to bed."
Before he could find his voice, before he could ask who it was or try to argue his way back into your life, you stepped back and shut the door. The click of the lock echoing in the hallway felt like the final period at the end of a very long, very painful sentence.
You leaned your back against the wood for a moment, closing your eyes and exhaling a breath you felt like you’d been holding for months. Then, you turned around and walked back to the bedroom, slipping back into the warmth of the bed where Heeseung was waiting, blissfully unaware of the storm that had just passed.
The mattress dipped as you climbed back under the covers, the cool air from the hallway clinging to your skin for only a second before Heeseung’s warmth enveloped you again. He stirred, his voice thick with sleep as he reached out to pull you back into his space.
"Everything okay?" he murmured, his eyes barely opening as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear.
"Yeah," you whispered, the word feeling lighter than it ever had. You leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips before nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. The scent of him—something steady and real—grounded you. "Just someone at the wrong door. Go back to sleep."
He hummed, a low vibration of contentment against your collarbone, and tightened his hold on you. Within minutes, his breathing evened out again, steady and calm.
Outside, the hallway was silent, save for the hum of the building’s ventilation. Jay hadn't moved. He remained rooted to the spot, staring at the grain of your wooden door as if he could still see through it to the image of the man in your bed.
His hand was still half-raised, as if he’d been about to knock again, but his fingers were frozen. The disbelief was a physical pressure in his chest, a jarring realization that the "situationship" he thought he controlled had vanished while he wasn't looking.
He had spent months building walls, convincing himself that keeping you at a distance was the only way to stay in power. He had assumed you would always be there—waiting, cooking, answering his late-night calls. He had treated your affection like a resource that would never run out.
But as he stood there in the dim light of the corridor, his heart began to do something weird. It wasn't the sharp sting of a bruised ego; it was a heavy, sinking ache that started in his throat and settled deep in his lungs. For the first time, the "emotionally unavailable" mask felt suffocatingly heavy.
He realized, with a sudden and terrifying clarity, that he hadn't just lost a girl he could call when he was lonely. He had lost the only person who actually bothered to see him behind the idol persona.
Jay let his hand drop to his side, his shoulders slumping. He looked down at his shoes, the apology he had practiced now feeling hollow and useless. He had finally shown up, but he was exactly one person and one night too late.
Turning slowly, he began to walk toward the elevator, each step feeling heavier than the last, leaving the quiet hallway behind.
I always see fun fics of reader messing with the guy while he’s busy (I.e giving him a bj under desk while he’s gaming or in a meeting) I think it could be fun if we see Stray kids x reader where it’s switched. Idk what exactly but yea. Hope that’s okie!
The air in the living room was thick, heavy with the scent of his cologne and the frantic heat radiating between your bodies. You were straddling Chan’s lap, your knees dug into the soft cushions of the sofa as you pressed yourself flush against him. It was messy and desperate; your lips crashed against his in a rhythm that felt like drowning, and neither of you wanted to be saved.
Chan’s large hands were everywhere—clutching your waist, sliding up your spine, pulling you so close that you could feel the frantic thud of his heart against your own. He broke the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. You felt a shiver race down your spine as you reached for the silver pull of his sweater’s zipper. With a sharp tug, you slid it down, revealing the hard, sculpted lines of his chest. Your fingers grazed his warm skin, and he let out a low, vibrating growl of approval.
He began to bunch the fabric of your shirt in his fists, intent on discarding it, when a sharp, rhythmic chirping cut through the silence.
Chan grunted against your pulse point, his grip tightening. "Ignore it," he muttered, his voice a gravelly command.
You tried. You really did. But the phone was relentless, buzzing against the coffee table like a trapped insect. On the fourth consecutive ring, you pulled back just enough to glance at the display. Your heart sank.
"It’s my boss," you whispered, breathless.
Chan groaned, his head falling back against the sofa cushions as you playfully pushed him away to create some distance. He looked disheveled, his blonde hair mussed and his lips swollen, eyes dark with a mix of frustration and lingering heat. You answered the call, trying to steady your voice.
"Hello? Yes, this is—"
"I need you to cover the night shift," your boss barked through the receiver, his voice loud enough for Chan to hear. "Someone called out. I need you here in an hour."
You rolled your eyes, a wave of annoyance washing over you. "Sir, it’s my day off. I have plans."
Chan watched you, leaning back with his arms spread across the top of the sofa. He began to gesture wildly, mouthing for you to tell the man to fuck off, his expression a mix of mockery and impatience. You suppressed a smirk, trying to remain professional while your boss continued to drone on about 'teamwork' and 'responsibility.'
A mischievous glint suddenly sparked in Chan’s eyes. The irritation vanished, replaced by a slow, predatory grin. He leaned forward again, crawling back into your space. Before you could protest, his lips found your collarbone, trailing wet, searing kisses up to your ear.
"I really don't think I can make it," you told your boss, your voice wavering as Chan’s tongue flicked against your pulse point. You shot Chan a warning glare, but he didn't care. If anything, the challenge only fueled him.
His hand drifted down, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of your jeans. With a deft flick of his wrist, he popped them open. You felt the cool air hit your skin for a split second before his warm palm slid inside your denim, his fingers finding the silk of your underwear.
He didn't hesitate. His hand delved deeper, his thumb finding your folds and stroking firmly.
You let out a sharp gasp, catching yourself at the last second. "I—" You coughed violently to cover the sound, your face flushing a deep crimson. "Sorry, I have a bit of a cold."
Chan’s smirk was visible against your skin. He began to rub your clit in slow, deliberate circles, his touch agonizingly perfect. You bit your lip so hard you tasted copper, your knuckles turning white as you gripped the phone.
"Well that's too bad," you blurted out, interrupting your boss mid-sentence. "I'm not coming in. Goodbye."
You threw the phone blindly onto the floor and turned your full attention to the man beneath you. Chan looked up at you, his dark eyes hooded and brimming with triumph.
"What took you so long, baby?" he asked, his voice a velvety purr.
You opened your mouth to retort, to tell him exactly how much of a menace he was, but the words died in your throat. Without warning, he plunged a finger deep inside you. Your head snapped back, a loud, uninhibited moan breaking the silence of the room as you finally let go.
Leeknow
The apartment was quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator, until Minho kicked the front door shut with his heel. He had been gone since dawn—rehearsals, fittings, and meetings stretching into a grueling fourteen-hour day. All he wanted was the warmth of your skin and the familiar comfort of your bed.
When he pushed the bedroom door open, he found you sprawled across the mattress, your legs kicked up and a phone pressed to your ear. You were deep in conversation with your best friend, laughing at some piece of gossip. When your eyes met his, you beamed, blowing him a dramatic kiss and holding up a single finger: wait a second.
Minho didn't move. He stood in the doorway, his leather jacket still on, and let out a long, exaggerated pout. He pointed to his chest and then to his watch, his eyes narrowed. "I am not a man who likes to wait," he mouthed silently, his expression shifting into that signature cat-like mischief.
You rolled your eyes and playfully snatched a pillow from behind your head, hurling it at his face. He caught it with a smirk, tossed it aside, and stropped over to the bed. He plummeted onto the mattress beside you, his weight making you bounce. Instead of settling, he began to trail his long, nimble fingers along the exposed skin of your thighs, tickling the sensitive flesh just beneath the hem of your shorts.
You swatted his hand away, hissing a silent "stop it" while trying to listen to your friend on the other end of the line. Minho didn't flinch. He bit his lower lip, a dark glint flickering in his eyes as he sat up. With a sudden, assertive movement, he grabbed your ankles and pulled your legs apart, sliding his body into the space between them.
You quickly pressed the mute button, glaring down at him. "Minho, what are you doing? I’m almost done."
He reached up, wiggling his eyebrows with a devastatingly handsome grin. "Go back to your call, Jagi," he whispered, his voice dropping into a husky register. "Ignore me. I’m just going to keep myself busy."
Before you could process the warning, his hands moved with lightning speed. In one swift, practiced motion, he hooked his thumbs into the waistbands of your shorts and underwear, dragging them down your legs and tossing them toward the foot of the bed. You let out a sharp, strangled gasp, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"Back to the phone," he commanded, his voice muffled as he laid down on his stomach between your thighs.
Timidly, you unmuted the call. "Sorry, I’m here... yeah, go on," you managed to say, your voice an octave higher than usual.
Minho began to pepper soft, dry kisses along the inside of your thighs, his breath hot against your skin. You were trying to focus on your friend’s story about her boss, but your focus shattered when Minho suddenly surged forward. He swiped his tongue in one long, bold stripe right through your center, tasting you with a deliberate, wet pressure.
You jolted, your hips bucking off the bed, and a high-pitched squeal escaped your throat.
"Wait, what was that?" your friend asked, sounding confused. "Are you okay?"
"I—I just saw a huge spider!" you lied breathlessly, your hand flying to grip Minho’s soft hair as he let out a dark, vibrating chuckle against your thigh. "It’s fine, I got it."
Minho didn't give you a chance to recover. He dove in, his mouth wide and eager as he began to eat you out with a ruthless intensity. He wasn't being gentle; he was hungry, his tongue swirling and flicking against your clit with a rhythmic precision that made your toes curl into the sheets. He made low, guttural grunts of satisfaction, the vibration of his throat humming against your sensitive flesh.
The sensation was overwhelming. You gripped his hair tighter, your knuckles white, trying to keep your breathing steady so your friend wouldn't hear the wreck you were becoming. Minho showed no mercy, his hands sliding under your glutes to tilt you up, exposing you further to his relentless tongue.
"I... I don't feel so good," you whimpered into the phone, your voice trembling as a wave of heat built in your gut. "I think I need to lay down for a second. Can I call you back?"
The moment the call disconnected, you threw the phone aside and let out a loud, unrestrained moan that echoed off the walls.
Minho pulled back for a fraction of a second, looking up at you with glistening lips and a teasing smirk. "How rude," he scolded, though his voice was thick with desire. "Hanging up on your friend like that."
"Shut up," you gasped, arching your back as you pushed his head back down. "Don't you dare stop."
Minho winked at you—a flash of pure, unadulterated Lee Know—and dove back in to finish what he started.
Changbin
The bedroom was heavy with the scent of salt and exertion, the silence only broken by the frantic, ragged sounds of your breathing. Changbin collapsed beside you, his massive chest heaving, his skin slick with a sheen of sweat that made him shimmer under the dim lamplight. You felt the bed frame groan under his weight as he rolled onto his back, one arm thrown over his eyes.
"You are fucking crazy," you gasped, your voice strained and thin as you tried to find your lungs. Your heart was still hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, the echoes of your climax still pulsing through your nerves.
Changbin let out a low, gravelly chuckle that vibrated through the mattress. He turned on his side, his dark, blown-out pupils locking onto yours before he pulled you into the heat of his body. He hugged you tight, his powerful arms making you feel small and cherished, and began to kiss you with a deliberate, slow intensity. Each press of his lips was a claim, a lingering promise that made your toes curl all over again.
"I don't even think I'm finished," he murmured against your mouth, his voice a deep, rough velvet. "Not even close."
You let out a soft laugh, wrapping your arms around his thick neck, ready to sink back into the haze. But then, the sharp, intrusive trill of your phone cut through the intimacy. You groaned, the sound muffled against his shoulder.
"Let it go to the mailbox," he whispered, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "Don't move."
You obeyed, letting the ringing fade until the automated greeting kicked in. The room was quiet for a heartbeat before the speaker crackled to life. It was your coworker, sounding stressed. "Hey, sorry to bother you so late, but I just sent over that important file. I really need you to check the figures before the morning meeting. It's urgent."
You sighed, your head falling back against the pillow as Changbin climbed back on top of you. He didn't seem to care about the "urgency" at all. He settled his weight between your thighs, his chest brushing against your breasts as he began to pepper sloppy, wet kisses down the length of your neck.
"Bin, wait... this is kind of important," you muttered, though your hands were already wandering over the hard muscles of his back.
He pulled back just an inch, his eyes hooded and dark with a stubborn sort of possessiveness. "Is it more important than me?"
"No," you breathed, shaking your head, "but just give me a second. If I don't look at it now, he'll keep calling."
You reached over to the nightstand, grabbing your phone and squinting at the bright screen. Changbin, however, was not a man who appreciated being put on hold. He let out a huff of annoyance and decided that if you were going to work, he was going to make it impossible.
He slid one hand down, his fingers finding your slick, swollen entrance with ease. You let out a shaky moan, the phone trembling in your hand as he pushed two fingers inside you.
"Changbin," you warned, but it came out as a whimper.
"Keep reading your email, jagi," he whispered, leaning down so his lips were mere millimeters from your ear. He began to describe, in graphic, filthy detail, exactly what he wanted to do to you next—how he wanted to feel you break, how he wanted to hear you scream his name until your throat was raw.
The words were so dirty they made your face flush hotter than the physical contact. You tried to focus on the spreadsheet on your screen, but your vision was blurring. He added a third finger, stretching you open, his thumb finding your clit and pinning it with a firm, rhythmic pressure. His kisses became sloppier, hungrier, his tongue swirling against your collarbone.
"I... I'm typing," you lied, your breath hitching as he increased the pace of his hand. Your fingers flew across the digital keyboard, firing off a three-word response to your coworker that was likely riddled with typos, but you didn't care.
With a final, desperate swipe, you tossed the phone across the room. It landed somewhere on a pile of discarded clothes. You reached up, grabbing Changbin’s face and forcing him to look you in the eyes. You were flushed, breathless, and completely undone.
"You have my full attention now," you chuckled, your voice dropping to a provocative challenge.
Changbin’s expression shifted instantly, a predatory growl rippling from his chest. "Thank god," he stated, his voice thick with intent.
In one fluid, powerful motion, he grabbed your waist and flipped you onto your stomach. You gasped as your face pressed into the pillow, your hips arched up toward him. You felt the heavy weight of him settle behind you, his hands gripping your hips with a bruising strength as he prepared to show you exactly how "not finished" he truly was.
Hyunjin
The textbooks spread across the mahogany desk felt like they were written in a foreign language. You leaned your head in your hands, the glow of the desk lamp making your eyes ache. It was 11:00 PM, and the complex theories of your upcoming exam were currently nothing more than a blur of ink and frustration.
A soft rustle of silk announced Hyunjin’s presence. He had been painting in the other room, but as he walked past to get a glass of water, he paused. He noticed the way your shoulders were hunched, the silent tension radiating from your spine. He leaned down, his long, dark hair brushing against your temple as he pressed a tender, lingering kiss to your cheek.
"How is the studying going, my love?" he murmured, his voice like liquid velvet.
You let out a long, pathetic groan, tilting your head back to look at him. "It’s going horribly. I’ve read the same paragraph six times and I still don't know what it means. I can’t focus."
Hyunjin didn't offer the platitudes of a typical boyfriend. Instead, he leaned in closer, inhaling the scent of your shampoo at the crook of your neck. He began to pepper soft, butterfly kisses along your jawline and the sensitive skin behind your ear.
"Hyunjin," you sighed, your eyes fluttering shut despite your best efforts. "Don't distract me. If I fail this, it’s on you."
He let out a low, melodious chuckle that vibrated against your skin. "Distract you? No, I’m going to help you. I have an idea."
He stood up and pulled your chair back, gesturing for you to rise. Once you were standing, he sat down in your place and patted his thighs. "Sit. Straddle me."
Intrigued and already feeling the heavy pull of his gaze, you obeyed. You sank onto his lap, your knees framing his hips. Hyunjin’s hands immediately settled on your waist, his thumbs rubbing small, grounding circles into your skin.
"We’re going to play a game," he whispered, his eyes dark and shimmering with a sudden, playful intensity. "I’ll ask you the questions from your flashcards. For every right answer, you get a reward. A very specific one."
"And what’s the reward?" you asked, your voice wavering as his hands moved to the first button of your silk blouse.
"Answer correctly, and you’ll find out," he countered. He glanced at the top card on your desk. "Question one: Define the primary catalyst in this chemical process."
You bit your lip, forced to dig through the fog in your brain. You gave the definition, your voice steadying as the information clicked. "Correct," he praised, his voice dropping an octave.
As promised, he undid the first three buttons of your blouse, parting the fabric to reveal the lace of your bra. He leaned forward, his lips grazing the swell of your breast before he hooked a finger under the lace, pulling it aside to press a searing, open-mouthed kiss to the soft skin. You let out a low groan, your hips involuntarily grinding against his crotch, feeling the heavy heat of him beneath his slacks.
"Eyes on me," he commanded softly, pulling back. "Second question: What is the third step of the synthesis?"
Your mind was reeling from the feel of his mouth on you. You stammered, offering a guess that you knew, halfway through, was incorrect. Hyunjin’s smirk widened.
"Wrong answer."
Before you could protest, his hand swung in a swift, sharp motion, landing a firm smack against your ass. The sound echoed in the quiet room, a stinging heat blooming across your skin. You yelped, your eyes widening, but the shock was quickly replaced by a sharp spike of arousal.
"Focus, jagi," he chuckled. "Third question: Name the three variables that affect the outcome."
You answered quickly this time, the adrenaline from the sting clearing your head. "Perfect," he whispered. He leaned in, his tongue swirling around your nipple before he took the sensitive peak into his mouth, sucking firmly.
A high-pitched whimper escaped you, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer. He tasted you with a slow, agonizing rhythm that made your insides turn to liquid.
He pulled away just as you were reaching for him, his breath coming a little faster now. "If you get the next two questions right," he murmured, his hands sliding up your inner thighs, "you get the extra reward. The one we both want."
You didn't have to ask what it was. You could feel him hardening significantly beneath you, a rigid promise pressing against your center. You nodded, your heart racing, suddenly the most motivated student in the world.
Han
The afternoon sun filtered through the bathroom window, casting a warm glow over the marble countertop where your array of cosmetics lay scattered. You were trying to focus on your eyeliner, but Jisung had spent the better part of the last three hours acting like a literal shadow. He’d been unusually clingy, alternating between burying his face in your neck and tickling your sides until you were breathless from laughter.
As you leaned closer to the mirror to perfect a wing, you felt the familiar heat of his body pressing into your back. His large hands slid around your waist, moving upward until he was cupping your breasts through your thin camisole. He let out a low, vibrating hum against the sensitive skin of your shoulder, his nose brushing against your ear.
"Jisung, honey, I love you, but leave me alone for ten minutes," you laughed, trying to keep your hand steady. "I have to be ready by six."
"You smell so good," he grunted, his grip tightening slightly as he ignored your plea. "Like vanilla and something sweet. I actually can’t help myself."
As he pressed closer, you felt the unmistakable, rigid length of his erection poking against your lower back. A small gasp escaped you, a shiver of anticipation racing down your spine. You knew he wanted your attention, and usually, you’d give in instantly, but a streak of mischief took hold. You wanted to see how far his "clinginess" would go if you challenged him.
"Fine," you said playfully, tilting your head back to look at his reflection. He looked back with wide, dark eyes. "You can do whatever you want, Jisung. But I’m not stopping. I’m going to finish my makeup."
Jisung froze, his eyebrows shooting up in genuine surprise. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face—the kind of look that promised trouble. "Anything I want?"
"As long as I can keep working," you challenged.
Before you could blink, he moved. He dropped to his knees behind you with an athletic grace that caught you off guard. You felt his hands catch the waistband of your jeans and your lace panties, tugging them down to your mid-thigh in one authoritative motion.
"Wait! What are you doing?" you squeaked, clutching the edge of the sink as the cool air hit your skin.
"Just following orders, jagi," he murmured, his voice muffled by your skin. "You do your makeup. I’ll do this."
He reached up to spread your legs a little wider, and you let out a shaky breath as you felt him press a row of hot, lingering kisses to the soft flesh of your buttocks. Then, without a second’s hesitation, he surged forward, his tongue darting out to lick a wet, bold stripe from the base of your opening all the way up to your clit.
The shock of it was so intense that your hand jerked, and your mascara wand clattered into the sink. You gasped, your knees buckling for a second before you braced your weight against the vanity. Jisung let out a muffled chuckle against your folds, clearly enjoying your reaction, before he settled in. He began to lap at you greedily, his tongue working with a frantic, desperate energy that mirrored his clinginess from earlier.
"C-Jisung, wait," you cursed, your head falling forward as his tongue swirled around your most sensitive spot. The sensation was overwhelming; he was relentless, his hands reaching around to grip your hips and pull you even tighter against his face.
"Keep going," he teased, his voice vibrating through your body. "You’ve still got the other eye to do."
You tried to reach for your eyeshadow brush, your fingers trembling violently. You managed to pick it up, but just as you touched it to your eyelid, Jisung executed a sharp, flicking motion with his tongue that sent a jolt of pure electricity through your nerves. You cried out, a loud, uninhibited sound that echoed off the bathroom tiles.
"You’re killing me," you whimpered, your vision swimming as the pleasure began to peak. "I can’t... I can't think."
Jisung pulled back for a fraction of a second, his chin glistening, a look of pure triumph in his eyes. "Do you want me to stop? I can go back to just hugging you."
"Don't you dare," you hissed, abandoning the makeup altogether and reaching back to thread your fingers through his messy hair, forcing his head back down. "Don't you dare stop."
He laughed—a dark, satisfied sound—and dove back in, making sure that by the time you left the house, the only thing "done" would be you.
Felix
The bedroom was dimly lit, the only significant light source being the glow from your laptop screen. You were sprawled out on your stomach, chin resting in your palms, completely mesmerized by the dramatic confrontation unfolding on Love Is Blind. One of the contestants was midway through a tearful monologue, and you were holding your breath, waiting for the inevitable fallout.
The door creaked open, and Felix padded into the room. He was wearing an oversized hoodie that made him look soft, but his eyes were sharp and focused on you.
"Hey, what are you so focused on?" he asked, his voice a deep, resonant hum that usually made your heart skip.
"Shh!" you hissed, not even looking up. You pointed a frantic finger at the screen. "Felix, be quiet! She’s about to say no at the altar. I can feel it."
Felix let out a rich, melodic laugh, the sound bubbling up from his chest. He walked over to the bed and leaned over you, peering at the screen with a skeptical eyebrow raised. "You’re still watching this? You know it’s mostly scripted, right?"
"It’s not scripted, it’s emotional research," you countered playfully, finally glancing at him. "Now hush. All my friends are going to be dissecting this in the group chat tomorrow, and I cannot be the only one who missed the drama."
Felix rolled his eyes, but he didn't leave. Instead, he crawled onto the mattress behind you. You felt the bed dip under his weight as he settled between your legs, his chest pressing against your lower back. He began to trail soft, lingering kisses along the curve of your neck, his lips cool against your heated skin.
"Why don't you focus on me instead?" he whispered, his voice dropping into that subterranean register that vibrated through your very bones. "I’m much more interesting than a bunch of strangers in pods."
You let out a shaky chuckle, your eyes still glued to the laptop. "I know you are, Lix, but this is important. Give me twenty minutes."
"Twenty minutes?" he repeated, a hint of a challenge in his tone. He shifted, his hand sliding forward to wrap gently around the front of your throat. It wasn't tight, just a soft, possessive weight that made your breath hitch. "Maybe you should tell your friends tomorrow about how good your boyfriend satisfies you instead of talking about people who can't even see each other."
You started to reply, but the words died in your throat when his other hand disappeared beneath the hem of your shirt. His palm was warm as it slid up your stomach, finally cupping your breast. He squeezed firmly, his thumb finding your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra and rolling it with a steady, agonizing pressure.
"Felix..." you moaned, your resolve beginning to crumble.
"Just keep watching," he murmured into your ear, his breath hot and smelling of mint. "Don't mind me. It's important, remember?"
He began to grind his hips against your rear, the heavy, hard ridge of his arousal pressing perfectly into the dip of your lower back. Each slow, rhythmic slide of his crotch against you sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to your core. He leaned down, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he began to whisper—a low, filthy stream of consciousness detailing exactly how he was going to strip you bare and keep you awake until the sun came up.
You tried to look at the screen. You really did. On the laptop, the bride was crying, but all you could feel was the friction of Felix’s denim against you and the way his fingers were now deftly unhooking your bra. You felt yourself getting wetter by the second, your body betraying your interest in the "altar drama" for the very real drama happening on your bed.
When Felix’s hand slid down to the waistband of your shorts, his fingers dipping inside to find the soaked silk of your underwear, you reached out and slammed the laptop shut with a definitive click.
The room went dark, save for the moonlight. You flipped over onto your back, your breath coming in short, needy gasps as you looked up at him. Felix was hovering over you, a triumphant, beautiful smirk playing on his lips.
"Ditching the show?" he asked innocently, his deep voice dripping with mock surprise.
"Shut up," you breathed, pulling him down by his hoodie. "You win. Just get these clothes off me."
Seungmin
The past week had been a relentless test of Seungmin’s legendary patience. Driven by a surge of hormones, you had been a whirlwind of clinginess—interrupting his practice sessions for sudden hugs, whispering suggestive things during his quiet reading time, and generally making it impossible for him to focus on anything that wasn’t you. He had taken it all with a quiet, observant smirk, but the glint in his eyes suggested he was merely biding his time.
The opportunity for "retribution" arrived on a lazy Tuesday afternoon. You were pacing the bedroom, your phone pressed to your ear as you chatted animatedly with your sister about your upcoming beach holiday.
"I was thinking the blue bikini, but honestly, maybe I should just buy a new one," you said, gesturing with your free hand.
Seungmin was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his elbows. He didn't say a word; he simply watched you. His gaze was heavy, traveling from the hem of your loose shorts up to the curve of your waist, his head tilting slightly like a predator calculating the distance to its prey. You noticed the intensity of his stare and, feeling bold from a week of successful teasing, you paused to wink at him before continuing your sentence.
Seungmin didn't blush. He didn't even smile. He simply reached out and caught your wrist, slowly pulling you toward him until you were standing flush between his spread thighs.
"Wait, what was that? Sorry, I got distracted," you told your sister, your heart beginning to race. You looked down at Seungmin, mouthing, What are you doing?
He leaned in, his nose brushing against your stomach, and mouthed back a single, chilling word: Payback.
Your eyes widened, and you instinctively reached for the 'end call' button, but Seungmin’s hand moved faster. He caught your fingers, shaking his head firmly. "Stay on the call," he whispered, his voice a low, dangerous vibration.
Confused and suddenly very breathless, you obeyed. You tried to pick up the conversation about hotel bookings, but your voice wavered when Seungmin leaned forward and pressed a searing, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh. Before you could protest, his hands hooked into the waistband of your shorts and underwear. In one fluid, practiced motion, he dragged them down to your ankles.
"I—uh, yeah, the hotel has a pool, I think," you stammered, your knuckles turning white as you gripped the phone.
Seungmin didn't give you a moment to recover. He hooked his hands behind your knees and pulled you backward onto the mattress. You gasped, your hands flying out to steady yourself on his broad shoulders. He laid flat on his back, but instead of pulling you to his chest, he maneuvered your body until you were straddling his face.
The first touch of his tongue was a revelation—wet, hot, and incredibly precise. You let out a muffled sound, somewhere between a sob and a moan, and clamped your hand over your mouth.
"Are you okay? You sound out of breath," your sister asked, oblivious to the fact that Kim Seungmin was currently spreading you wide with his fingers and burying his face in your center.
"Just... doing some... squats," you managed to choke out, your hips bucking involuntarily as he swiped his tongue across your clit.
Seungmin was merciless. He knew exactly how to make you lose your mind. He used his hands to hold you open, giving him total access as he greedily lapped at you, his tongue swirling in deep, firm circles. You found yourself riding his face, your body moving in a frantic rhythm that you couldn't control. Every time you tried to focus on the holiday plans, he would flick his tongue or hum against your sensitive flesh, sending a fresh wave of electricity through your spine.
You were writhing on top of him, your head thrown back against the headboard, tears of frustration and pleasure pricking your eyes. You were at his absolute mercy.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silent torture, Seungmin reached up. He didn't stop his tongue, but his hand found your phone, and he deftly swiped to end the call.
He pulled back for a second, his lips glistening and his eyes dark with triumph. "Good girl," he rasped, his voice thick. "You stayed so quiet."
"You're a demon," you gasped, your chest heaving.
"Maybe," he whispered, a dark smirk tugging at his mouth. "But I'm your demon."
He didn't wait for a response. He dove back in, this time with a fierce, aggressive hunger that made your previous week of teasing feel like child's play. He was no longer just taking revenge; he was taking everything.
Jeongin
The kitchen was filled with the savory, heavy steam of a beef stew simmering in a cast-iron pot. You were leaning over the stove, a wooden spoon in one hand and a tattered recipe card in the other, squinting at the measurements. You weren't exactly a natural in the kitchen, and your skepticism was growing with every pinch of salt you added.
The soft scuff of socks on the hardwood floor announced Jeongin’s arrival. He didn’t stay at the doorway; instead, he drifted toward you like a moth to a flame.
"What are you making, jagi?" he asked, his voice smooth and youthful, yet carrying that underlying depth that always made your heart flutter.
"I’m trying a new stew recipe," you murmured, stirring the thick liquid. "I’m not sure if I’m doing it right, though."
Jeongin leaned over your shoulder, taking a deep breath of the rising steam. "It smells amazing," he assured you, his voice dropping an octave as he pressed a lingering kiss to the apple of your cheek. His lips didn't pull away immediately; they trailed a path of fire toward your ear. "But you smell even better."
You felt a shiver race down your spine, your grip on the wooden spoon tightening. "Jeongin, stop. I’m busy. If I don't pay attention, I'll burn the bottom."
"Don't mind me," he whispered, though his actions suggested the exact opposite.
He stepped closer, closing the small gap between your bodies until you could feel the radiant heat of his chest against your back. His hands, usually so gentle, began a slow, deliberate journey downward. They traced the curve of your ribs, skimming over the fabric of your shirt until they settled firmly at your waist. With a low grunt, he pulled you backward, pressing your hips flush against his.
The moment you felt the unmistakable, rigid length of him hardening against your backside, a soft gasp escaped your lips. You tried to focus on the bubbling stew, but the rhythmic motion of your hand became erratic.
"You have this effect on me," he rasped, his breath hot against the sensitive skin of your neck. "Every time I see you like this, I just... lose it."
He didn't stop there. His hands abandoned your waist, sliding upward with a sudden, predatory speed. He reached underneath your arms and cupped your breasts, giving them a harsh, possessive squeeze that forced a loud, uninhibited moan from your throat.
The wooden spoon clattered against the side of the pot. Your knees felt weak, and your instincts took over. You leaned your head back against his shoulder and began to move your hips in a slow, desperate grind against him. The friction of his denim against your thin leggings was maddening.
Jeongin let out a sharp, hissed curse, his fingers digging into your skin as he matched your pace. The kitchen was no longer filled with the scent of stew; it was thick with the scent of sudden, overwhelming lust. He began to thrust his hips forward, a frantic, heavy dry-humping that had you both gasping for air. The sound of the bubbling pot was drowned out by the sounds of your bodies colliding and the ragged hitch of your breathing.
"Turn it off," Jeongin commanded, his voice raw and shaking. "Turn off the stove, now."
Fumbling blindly, your hand reached for the dial, clicking it into the 'off' position. The sudden silence of the burner seemed to amplify the chaos between you.
The second the flame died, Jeongin didn't waste another heartbeat. He spun you around in his arms, his eyes dark, blown-out, and filled with a hunger that made your breath catch. Before you could even speak, he hooked his large hands under your thighs and hoisted you up. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms locking behind his neck as he hiked you higher, pinning you against the edge of the counter with a look that promised you weren't going to be eating dinner for a very long time.
The morning sun bounced off the corrugated metal roofs of the military base, casting a sharp, cinematic light over the courtyard. You adjusted your camera strap, your fingers trembling slightly—not from the chill, but from an electric hum of anticipation that had been building for eighteen months. Today was the day.
Standing behind the designated line with a small cluster of families and press, you kept your lens trained on the doorway of the administrative building. Then, he appeared.
Namjoon stepped out into the light, dressed in his crisp fatigue uniform, his beret sitting perfectly atop his short hair. He looked broader, his posture more disciplined, carrying an air of quiet authority that made your heart skip a beat. Beside him, an officer handed him his official discharge papers. This was it. The final formality.
You didn't waste a second. You brought the viewfinder to your eye and began clicking away, capturing the way his jaw set in a serious line as he shook hands, the way he stood at attention one last time, and the sunlight catching the gold lettering on his uniform.
Namjoon, ever the professional, was doing his best to maintain the "cool soldier" persona. He kept his expression stoic and his movements precise, aware that cameras were on him. However, his gaze eventually drifted toward the crowd, searching, until it locked onto yours.
He saw you—lens pressed to your face, snapping photos with the fervor of a dedicated fansite master. He tried to keep a straight face, but you saw the exact moment his "cool guy" facade crumbled. A deep, rosy flush crept up his neck and flooded his cheeks. He looked away quickly, adjusting his grip on his papers, but the tips of his ears were bright red. He was clearly embarrassed by your blatant adoration, yet he couldn't stop the tiny, dimpled twitch at the corner of his mouth.
When the formalities finally concluded and the soldiers were dismissed, he began walking toward the exit gate. You didn't wait. Shoving your lens cap on, you grabbed the massive bouquet of blue hydrangeas and white roses from the bench beside you.
"Joon!" you called out, your voice breaking through the chatter of the crowd.
He looked up, and this time, he didn't try to hide the grin. You ran to him, the heavy bouquet bouncing in your arms, and met him just as he cleared the gate. You shoved the flowers into his hands, the fragrant blooms nearly obscuring his face.
"Congratulations, Sergeant Kim!" you beamed, breathless.
Namjoon let out a low, vibrating chuckle, looking down at the overflow of petals in his arms. "You really went all out, didn't you?" he teased, his voice raspier than you remembered.
Before he could say another word, you reached up, cupped his face, and kissed him. It wasn't a shy greeting; it was deliberate, firm, and filled with the year and a half of longing you had tucked away in letters and short phone calls.
He stiffened in surprise for a split second—mindful of the public eye—but then he melted. He shifted the flowers to one arm, looping his free hand firmly around your waist. He pulled you flush against him, leaning his forehead against yours. The "cool soldier" was gone, replaced by the man who looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. He looked down at his boots, smiling shyly as he tucked his chin into the space above your shoulder.
"I can't believe you're actually here," you whispered, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart through the thick fabric of his jacket. "I finally got you back. I’m so happy, Joon. I’m so incredibly happy."
He leaned in, his lips lingering against your cheek in a soft, tender caress that made your eyes flutter shut.
"I'm happy too," he murmured against your skin, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction, as if confirming you weren't a dream. "More than I know how to say. Let’s go home."
Jin
The air outside the military base was thick with a mixture of humidity and the kind of high-voltage nervous energy that only a Kim Seokjin homecoming could produce. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, practically vibrating. Beside you, Jungkook was busy adjusting his bucket hat, looking equally restless, while Taehyung leaned against a nearby railing, scrolling through his phone but tapping his foot at a frantic tempo.
"Deep breaths," Taehyung teased, though his own boxy grin betrayed his excitement. "You’re going to vibrate right out of your shoes before he even walks through the door."
"I can’t help it!" you laughed, your voice pitching higher than usual. "It’s been five hundred and forty-eight days. I’m allowed to bounce."
A hush fell over the small gathering of officials and press as the doors of the administrative building swung open. There he was. Jin emerged, looking startlingly sharp in his uniform. His shoulders, which had always been impressively broad, seemed to have expanded even further under the weight of his service. He moved with a newfound, rigid discipline, standing perfectly straight as he received his discharge papers from his commanding officer.
He was the picture of military professionalism. He didn't slouch, he didn't scan the crowd, and his expression remained stoic and focused. You watched him through the viewfinder of your phone, snapping photos as fast as your thumb would allow. He looked like a lead actor in a high-budget war drama—untouchable and stern.
Then, the official ceremony concluded. As the cameras of the press corps flashed in a rhythmic strobe, Jin’s eyes finally drifted toward the small group of familiar faces. His gaze found yours, and for a fleeting second, the soldier disappeared. His left eye dipped into a quick, sharp wink—a classic, cheeky Seokjin move that felt like a secret code just for you.
You let out a startled, joyful laugh. "Worldwide Handsome is back!" you yelled out, the familiar phrase echoing across the paved lot.
The effect was instantaneous. Jin’s stoic mask crumbled, and he let out a stifled, windshield-wiper giggle, ducking his head for a moment to hide the bloom of pink on his cheeks. He shook his head at you, but the grin spreading across his face was unmistakable.
The moment he stepped past the final checkpoint and was officially a civilian again, you didn't give him a chance to settle. You took off at a dead run. Jin dropped his duffel bag just in time to brace himself as you launched your body at him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and hooked your legs firmly around his waist, the momentum nearly knocking him back.
He caught you effortlessly, his powerful arms locking around your thighs to hold you steady. "Oof! Someone missed me," he laughed, the sound muffled by your hair as he buried his face in your neck.
He squeezed you so tightly you could feel the brass buttons of his uniform pressing into your skin, a physical reminder that he was actually there—solid, warm, and real. He pulled back just enough to capture your lips in a deep, breathless kiss that tasted like relief and new beginnings.
When he finally pulled back to catch his breath, he didn't put you down. Instead, he gave you a mischievous look, his eyes sparkling with that familiar vanity you had missed so much.
"So," he began, his voice dropping into that confident, silky tone. "Be honest. Did you get a good picture of me? Was the lighting hitting my face perfectly? I worked hard to maintain my visual status even in the trenches."
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, but you couldn't stop the laughter from bubbling up. "Oh my god," you groaned, though your heart was overflowing. "You’ve been a civilian for two minutes and you’re already worried about your angles?"
"It’s a full-time job being this beautiful," he retorted, his dimples deepening.
You didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, you reached out and squished his cheeks between your palms, bunching his face up until his lips puckered. You looked at him—really looked at him—noticing the slight tan from his time outdoors and the spark of joy in his eyes.
"I don't care about the pictures," you whispered, before pulling his squished face back down to yours for another long, lingering kiss. "I just care that you're home."
Yoongi
The silence of Yoongi’s apartment was a stark contrast to the chaotic energy that usually surrounded the other members' returns. There were no flashing cameras, no crisp uniforms, and no military bands. Because he had served his time in the public sector, his final day was quiet—a simple clock-out, a few polite bows to colleagues, and a long drive home in his own car.
You sat on his plush velvet sofa, your fingers twisting together. You had his favorite meal simmering on the stove, the scent of spicy stew filling the entryway, but your focus was entirely on the sound of the front door. You knew him better than anyone; you knew that a crowded gate with cheering fans would have been his personal nightmare. He needed the quiet. He needed to be just Min Yoongi again.
When the electronic lock finally hummed and the door clicked open, you stood up so fast your knees brushed the coffee table.
Yoongi stepped inside, looking casual in an oversized black hoodie and a baseball cap pulled low. He looked tired, his shoulders slumped with the weight of the last eighteen months, but the moment he saw you standing in the middle of the living room, the exhaustion seemed to evaporate.
He didn't say a word at first. He just stood there by the door, dropping his keys on the entryway table. Then, a slow, gummy smile spread across his face—the one he usually reserved only for the rarest moments of pure relief. He chuckled softly, a low rasp that vibrated in the small space, and slowly raised his arms out to his sides, creating an open invitation.
"Well?" he teased, his voice heavy with amusement. "Go ahead. Get it over with."
You didn't need a second invitation. You let out a small, breathless squeal and sprinted across the hardwood floor. You collided with him so hard he had to take a step back to steady himself, your arms winding tightly around his neck.
"You're back! You're finally, officially back!" you cried, your voice muffled by his shoulder.
Before he could even respond, you pulled back just enough to start peppering his face with kisses. You started with his forehead, moved to his eyelids, the tip of his nose, and then his cheeks. You were relentless, your lips moving in a frantic rhythm of joy.
Yoongi groaned loudly, scrunching up his face and closing his eyes tight. He tilted his head back, acting as though the barrage of affection was a grueling endurance test. "Ah, stop, stop," he complained, though his hands had already found their home at the small of your back, holding you close. "You're getting spit everywhere. It’s too much."
You knew his "pained" expression was a total lie. You could feel the way his chest was shaking with silent laughter and the way he leaned into every single kiss despite his protests.
"I don't care," you murmured against his cheek, giving his skin one more loud, exaggerated smooch.
He finally managed to catch your wrists, laughing properly now as he looked down at you. "You act like I’m a hero returning from the front lines of a century-long war," he pointed out, his dark eyes sparkling with a warmth that made your heart ache. "I was just at an office, y/n. I had a desk. I went to lunch at noon. It wasn't that dramatic."
"I don't care about the drama," you countered, reaching up to smooth his hair where his hat had ruffled it. "I care about the fact that you don't have to go back tomorrow. Or the day after. You're free, Yoongi. You’re completely mine again."
The playful teasing in his expression softened instantly. The air between you shifted from lighthearted to something deep and grounded. He let out a long, shaky exhale, as if he was finally letting go of a breath he’d been holding since his enlistment date.
"Yeah," he whispered, his voice dropping into a tender register. "I guess I am."
You leaned in, your forehead resting against his. "I love you. So much."
Yoongi didn’t hesitate this time. He slid his hand up to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you into a deep, passionate kiss. It wasn't the quick, playful peck from before; it was slow and hungry, a silent thank-you for waiting, for the letters, and for being his safe harbor. When he finally pulled away, he tucked your head under his chin and hugged you so tightly it felt like he was trying to merge your two heartbeats into one.
"I love you too," he murmured into your hair. "Now, please tell me that’s food I smell, because I’m starving."
J-Hope
The air outside the military training center was buzzing, but for you, the world had narrowed down to a single point of focus. You stood near the barricade, the bright October sun glinting off the massive, iridescent balloon bobbing above your head. It was a chaotic explosion of color—swirls of neon pink, orange, and gold—tied to your wrist with a shimmering ribbon. It was loud, bright, and slightly ridiculous, which made it the perfect welcome for the man of the hour.
Inside the gates, the ceremony was in full swing. You spotted him immediately. Hoseok stood in the front rank, his uniform pressed to perfection, his back as straight as a professional dancer’s line. He was the picture of military excellence, his expression carefully locked into a mask of stoic professionalism. He looked every bit the respected sergeant, a leader who had spent the last eighteen months guiding younger recruits with a firm but kind hand.
Yet, you knew him better than the rank on his chest. You watched as his eyes scanned the crowd during a brief pause in the proceedings. When his gaze finally landed on you—and more importantly, the giant, shimmering balloon dancing in the wind—you saw his jaw tighten as he fought back a smile.
You didn't play it cool. You waved your free arm frantically, jumping slightly on your toes. For a split second, the "Military" facade cracked. Hoseok’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and he gave you a quick, sharp wave back—a frantic flick of the wrist that was purely Hobi—before snapping his hand back to his side to regain his composure. The flush of excitement on his face was visible even from a distance.
When the final orders were barked and the soldiers were officially dismissed, the atmosphere shifted from rigid to jubilant. Hoseok didn't just walk toward the gate; he moved with that familiar, rhythmic bounce in his step, his face finally breaking into a blinding, heart-shaped smile that outshone the sun.
You stepped forward as he cleared the final checkpoint. Before he could even say hello, you were in his space, the balloon trailing behind you like a celebratory comet.
"Hoseok!"
He laughed, a bright, melodic sound you had ached to hear in person, and opened his arms wide. You crashed into him, the balloon string tangling briefly around your shoulders as you hugged him with everything you had. He smelled of crisp air and the faint, clean scent of the soap he’d used that morning.
He didn't waste a second. He cupped your face with his hands—calloused now from his service, but still so gentle—and pulled you into a passionate kiss. It was a breathless, swirling reunion that made the rest of the world melt into a blur of green uniforms and camera flashes. He pulled you flush against his chest, his arms winding around your waist as if to anchor himself to the reality of being home.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes immediately went to the balloon. He reached up, batting at it with a delighted, childlike giggle. "What is this? It’s so bright!"
"I spent twenty minutes in the shop trying to decide," you laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder. "I had to pick between a massive flower bouquet or this. I figured flowers would wilt, but this... this just felt more like you."
Hoseok’s eyes sparkled as he grabbed the ribbon, tugging the balloon closer so he could admire the way it caught the light. "I love it. It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I needed."
He looked down at you then, his expression softening into something profoundly tender. He reached out, his thumb slowly caressing your cheek, tracing the line of your smile. The adrenaline of the ceremony was fading, replaced by a quiet, solid certainty.
"You don't have to wait anymore," he whispered, his voice dropping into that warm, soulful tone that always made your heart flutter. "You have me back now. For good."
You smiled, your eyes stinging with a few happy tears as you leaned up to kiss him again. "I know," you breathed against his lips. "And I'm never letting you go again."
Taehyung
The Seoul traffic had been an absolute labyrinth of red brake lights and stalled buses, and with every passing minute, your heart hammered harder against your ribs. You had planned this morning down to the second, wanting to be the first thing Taehyung saw when he regained his freedom. Instead, you were sprinting down the sidewalk, lungs burning, as the distant roar of a crowd told you the ceremony had already concluded.
When you finally reached the perimeter of the military base, a sea of cameras and fans blocked your path. You stood on your tiptoes, frantically searching through the gaps in the crowd. There he was.
Taehyung stood in the center of a cleared space, looking like a dream in his black Special Duty Team uniform. The rugged, tactical gear suited him almost too well, emphasizing his broad shoulders and the sharpened, mature lines of his face. He was holding several bouquets of flowers, shifting his weight with a practiced ease as he posed for the official photographers. He looked every bit the stoic, elite soldier—composed, breathtaking, and slightly distant.
"Excuse me, sorry, please let me through!" you muttered, gently but firmly weaving your way through the throng of people.
You pushed past a final row of reporters and reached the front of the barricade. "Taehyung!" you called out, waving your arms with an enthusiasm that bordered on frantic.
The change in him was instantaneous. His professional, "model" gaze snapped toward your voice, and the moment he locked onto you, his entire face transformed. That signature boxy grin broke across his features, radiant and wide, instantly erasing the hardened edge of the SDT soldier. He looked at the security guards standing near the gate and pointed toward you, gesturing urgently.
"Let her through," he commanded, his deep voice carrying a tone of quiet authority that made the guards move immediately. "That’s her. Let her in."
The crowd parted, and the security detail stepped aside to create a narrow path. You didn't walk; you ran. Taehyung dropped the bouquets onto a nearby bench just in time to catch you as you collided with him.
His arms, stronger and more solid than you remembered, wrapped around your waist and hoisted you upward. He let out a rich, velvet laugh, burying his face in the crook of your neck for a heartbeat before pulling back to capture your lips in a deep, soul-searing kiss. It was a kiss that tasted of months of longing and the sheer relief of finally being together without a countdown clock hanging over your heads.
"Where were you?" he murmured against your lips, his eyes sparkling with a mix of adoration and mischief. He kept his hands firmly on your hips, pulling you back in for another quick peck. "I was standing out here like a fool, looking for you in the crowd. I thought maybe you’d forgotten which day it was."
"The traffic was a nightmare, Tae! I tried to get here earlier, I swear," you panted, your hands flying up to rest on his chest, feeling his muscles and the steady, fast thrum of his heart underneath. "The whole city decided to block my way today."
Taehyung clicked his tongue, playfully scolding you with a wag of his finger. "A nightmare? On the most important day of my life? I should give you extra duty for being late, Soldier," he teased, though he was pulling you even closer as he spoke, his eyes roaming over your face as if he were trying to memorize every detail he’d had to view through a screen for so long.
You laughed, the sound bright and airy, and threw your arms back around his neck. "I'm sorry! I'll make it up to you, I promise."
You didn't wait for his reply before pulling him back down into a desperate, lingering kiss. You grabbed the fabric of his uniform, pulling him against you as if you were trying to close every millimeter of space between your bodies. Taehyung hummed into the kiss, a low sound of pure contentment, his fingers digging into your waist as he finally let out a long sigh of relief.
He leaned his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your skin. "It's okay," he whispered, his boxy grin returning. "You're here now. That’s all that matters."
Jimin
The air was crisp and clear, but the heat radiating from your own skin had nothing to do with the weather. You stood at the very edge of the barricade, clutching a bouquet of peonies and baby’s breath so large it practically obscured your vision. However, the real showstopper wasn't the flowers; it was the custom-made oversized t-shirt you had donned for the occasion. It featured a high-definition, zoomed-in photo of Jimin’s face from a particularly dramatic live performance, surrounded by glittering pink hearts and the words “PROPERTY OF THE NATION’S PRIDE” in bold, obnoxious font.
You saw him before he saw you. Jimin stood amongst his fellow soldiers, looking incredibly sharp and impossibly lean in his uniform. He had always possessed a natural grace, but the military had added a layer of grounded strength to his silhouette. He moved with precision, his face a mask of polite, professional calm as he posed for the official military photographers and the swarm of press. He looked every bit the decorated soldier, serene and untouchable.
Once the cameras began to lower and the formal dismissal echoed through the yard, you didn't hold back. You hoisted the massive bouquet high and waved your free arm like a lighthouse signal. "Jimin-ah! Over here!"
His head snapped toward the sound of your voice. His eyes lit up instantly, that famous crescent-moon eye smile appearing before he even took a step. But as he drew closer and the details of your outfit came into focus, his pace faltered. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening as they landed on the giant, glittering version of his own face plastered across your chest.
Jimin let out a high-pitched, melodic peal of laughter, immediately bringing his hands up to cover his eyes in sheer, delightful embarrassment. He shook his head, his shoulders quaking as he doubled over for a second, unable to process the sheer audacity of your fashion choice.
"Oh my god," he groaned, though the grin on his face was wide enough to reach his ears. He jogged the rest of the distance to the gate, the security guards stepping aside as he reached for you.
"What is this?" he asked, his voice a velvety rasp as he pointed a finger at the shirt, still giggling. "Is this what you’ve been doing while I was away? Commissioning wearable art of my pores?"
You laughed loudly, the sound bubbling up from a place of pure joy. "I wanted to make sure you knew exactly who was waiting for you," you teased. You stepped into his space, the flowers acting as a fragrant barrier between you until you shoved them into his arms.
"Welcome home, Jimin," you whispered. You reached up on your tiptoes and hugged him deeply, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He felt solid and warm, his arms dropping the flowers slightly so he could wrap them around your back and squeeze you tight. You pulled back just enough to pepper his cheek with a series of soft, lingering kisses, feeling the heat of his blush beneath your lips.
Jimin hummed, a sound of pure satisfaction, and leaned his head against yours. He adjusted his hold, pressing you firmly against his chest, his eyes trailing down to the ridiculous shirt once more.
"You're unbelievable," he murmured, his gaze softening as it moved back to your face. He reached out, his thumb tracing your jawline with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. "Even in... that... you look absolutely gorgeous. I’ve missed this face so much."
You chuckled, leaning into his hand. "Just the face? Or the shirt?"
A slow, devious smirk spread across his lips—the look that told you the idol was back and the soldier was officially off-duty. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear so his voice was a private vibration.
"I desperately want to go home with you right now," he whispered.
You pulled back slightly, eyebrows raised in a playful challenge. "Oh? And why is that? Do you need a nap?"
Jimin’s smirk deepened, his eyes darkening with a familiar, playful spark. He tugged you closer by the waist, his voice dropping an octave. "I want to get home so I can help you get rid of this shirt in the best way possible. It's a distraction, don't you think?"
You felt your own face heat up as you rolled your eyes, but you couldn't stop the smile from breaking. "That sounds like a really good idea," you breathed, catching his hand and interlacing your fingers with his. "Let’s go home then."
Jungkook
The hallway was a blur of motion as you sprinted toward the full-length mirror near your front door. You checked your watch—the digits felt like they were mocking you. You were already behind schedule, and the thought of Jungkook standing at that gate, looking for your face in the crowd and finding it missing, made your stomach do nervous somersaults.
"Hair, okay. Jacket, straight. Phone, keys, bag," you chanted under your breath, a frantic litany of a woman on a mission. You shoved your feet into your shoes, nearly tripping in your haste, and grabbed the door handle. You threw it open with enough force to rattle the hinges, your head already down as you adjusted the strap of your bag over your shoulder.
A large, solid shadow was standing right in your path, blocking the exit.
"Sorry! Excuse me, I’m in a massive rush, I have to—" You didn't even look up, trying to sidestep the figure to reach the stairs. You took three steps down the flight, your mind already calculating the fastest driving route to the base, before your brain finally registered the sensory details your eyes had ignored.
The scent. It was the familiar, crisp scent of his favorite cologne mixed with the faint, metallic tang of the outdoors. And the boots—heavy, polished military boots that definitely didn't belong to your neighbor.
You stopped dead in your tracks. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Slowly, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, you turned around.
Jungkook was standing in your doorway. He wasn't at the base. He wasn't behind a gate. He was right there, dressed in his uniform, his black beret tucked under the epaulet of his shoulder. He looked leaner, his jawline sharper than ever, and his eyes were dancing with a mischievous, sparkling light that was quintessentially him.
A high-pitched, shocked scream ripped from your throat—a sound of pure, unadulterated disbelief. You didn't even think; you simply lunged. You took the stairs two at a time, launching yourself at him with such force that he had to plant his feet firmly to keep from being knocked over.
Jungkook let out a hearty, boisterous laugh, his strong arms instantly snapping around you. He hoisted you up, your feet dangling off the floor as he crushed you against his chest. The fabric of his uniform was rough against your skin, but the heat radiating from him was the most comforting thing you’d felt in eighteen months.
"What are you doing here?!" you shrieked into his neck, your hands clutching the back of his jacket as if he might vanish if you let go. "The ceremony! The gate! I was—I was just leaving to get you!"
He pulled back just an inch, his nose brushing against yours, that boyish, bunny-toothed grin plastered across his face. "Surprise," he whispered, his voice vibrating with triumph. "I got processed out early and hitched a ride. I wanted to see the look on your face when I showed up at the door. I’d say it was worth the extra effort."
"You little shit!" you scolded, hitting his shoulder weakly even as tears of relief pricked at your eyes. "You didn't tell me! I’ve been a nervous wreck all morning! I thought I was going to be late!"
"You're not late," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips. "You're right on time."
You didn't give him the chance to tease you further. You leaned in and kissed him deliberately, a long, deep, and demanding kiss that channeled every ounce of the longing you’d kept bottled up since the day he’d enlisted. Jungkook groaned softly into the kiss, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulled you even closer, his fingers digging into your jacket.
When he finally let you catch your breath, he kept his forehead pressed against yours, his thumbs tracing idle patterns on your hips. He leaned back just enough to scan your outfit, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face.
"You know," he rumbled, his voice dropping into that low, confident tone he used when he was feeling particularly bold. "You look incredible. I mean, I knew you’d be pretty today, but wow. I’m a lucky guy."
You laughed, the sound shaky with leftover adrenaline, and buried your face in his chest for one more tight hug. You could hear the steady, rapid thrum of his heart, mirroring your own.
"Okay, enough standing in the hallway," you said, reaching back and fumbling for your door handle. You swung the door open and grabbed his hand, tugging him back toward the threshold. "Get inside. You’re home now, and I’m not letting you back out that door for at least a week."
Jungkook chuckled, following you into the warmth of the apartment with a look of pure, unbothered contentment. "Whatever the lady commands," he teased, kicking the door shut behind him.
I recently received a request that touched me deeply because it draws attention to a very important topic: violence against women, or rather violence (whether physical or mental) in relationships.
I believe it is so important to give a voice to every woman who has experienced any kind of abuse and to encourage her.
I suffered from this myself, and it took me three years to break free.
I have found an international hotline where anyone who needs help can reach out. Please help me share this and give courage to everyone whose voice has been taken away. You are not alone.
(The Request is here for anyone who wants to read it)
Oh! I had an idea for a stray kids react to you admitting your last ex never got you to climax idk if you’ve done this or not but hope that’s an ok idea Xxx
pairing: Stray Kids x female!reader
warnings: light smut, past relationships, suggestive themes, sexual dissatisfaction, boys being BEASTS and smug as hell
The rain drummed a steady, rhythmic beat against the windowpane of the darkened bedroom, but inside, the world was warm and smelled faintly of Chan’s expensive cologne and clean linen. You were tangled together under the heavy duvet, your head resting in the crook of his neck while his arms acted as a protective cage around you.
Chan was in one of his particularly clingy moods. He kept pressing soft, lingering kisses to your temple, your cheek, and the tip of your nose, his lips moving with a tenderness that made your heart ache. Every time he pulled back, he had that soft, dimpled smile on his face that always made you melt.
You let out a bubbly giggle, reaching up to squish his cheeks between your palms. "You are the absolute cutest person on this planet, Christopher Bahng. Do you know that?"
He chuckled, but then his brow furrowed into a playful frown. He tried to pull back to look at you with faux indignation. "Cute? No, no. I’m not always cute. I can be very sexy and hot when I want to be."
You laughed, the sound muffled against his chest as you patted his shoulder condescendingly. "Oh, I know. You're very diverse, Channie. A man of many talents."
"I'm serious!" He sat up abruptly, hovering over you with his arms braced on either side of your head. The shift in posture made his biceps flex, the fabric of his black t-shirt straining against his broad shoulders. "I am not a little puppy. I am a big, strong man."
You felt a flutter in your stomach at the shift in his energy. You bit your lower lip, your eyes tracing the sharp line of his jaw before you reached up, hooking your fingers into the collar of his shirt to pull him back down for a deep, searing kiss. "You are indeed a big, strong man," you purred against his lips. "I’ve got excellent taste, after all."
He huffed a laugh, his ego sufficiently stroked, but his smirk took on a bit of a sharp, competitive edge. "I’d say so. I’ve seen a picture of your ex, and you definitely upgraded."
You let out a long, weary sigh, your eyes rolling toward the ceiling. "God, tell me about it. He really was something... and not in a good way."
Chan’s smirk widened into something more mischievous. He leaned down, his nose brushing against yours. "Oh yeah? How bad are we talking? How long did he even last? Ten seconds?"
You shook your head, laughing at the absurdity of the memory. "No, actually, he lasted a long time. He just... had absolutely no clue what he was doing. It was a lot of movement with zero results." You paused, a dry smile on your face. "Honestly, he didn't even make me come. Not once."
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Chan froze, his entire body going rigid. The playful glint in his eyes vanished, replaced by a look of genuine, unadulterated horror.
"Wait," he whispered, his voice dropping an octave. "What? Not even once?"
You nodded casually, though his intense reaction was starting to make you chuckle. "Nope. It's fine, though! I’ve got you now."
Chan took a deep, shuddering breath as if he were processing a national tragedy. He looked at you with such profound pity that you almost felt bad for yourself. "That is... that is a crime," he muttered, his voice thick with resolve. He shook his head as if trying to physically dislodge the thought of your dissatisfaction from his brain. "I am going to erase every single one of those memories. I’m going to make sure you forget he even existed."
You wiggled your eyebrows at him, a silent challenge dancing in your eyes. "Aw really?"
In one fluid, powerful motion, Chan gripped your thighs and pushed your legs apart, settling his weight firmly between them. He leaned forward until his lips were hovering just an inch from yours, his gaze dark and focused.
"I’m going to start right now," he promised, his voice a low, gravelly vow. "And believe me, you aren't going to be thinking about anyone else for a very long time."
Leeknow
The house party was a blur of muffled bass, flashing neon lights, and the clinking of glasses, but in the corner of the velvet couch, the air felt thick with a different kind of tension. You leaned your head back against the cushion, the ice in your cup rattling as you gestured wildly with your free hand.
"I’m telling you, Minho, he was one mean son of a bitch," you spat, the bitterness of the breakup still sharp on your tongue. "He treated me like I was an afterthought for a year, and then he had the audacity—the sheer nerve—to cheat."
Lee Know sat beside you, his long legs crossed comfortably, looking entirely too composed for someone surrounded by chaos. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, a sharp, feline smirk playing on his lips. "I mean, look at the guy," Minho remarked, his voice laced with that signature dry wit. "I knew he was a loser the moment I saw his shoes. You can’t trust a man with taste that bad. He looked like he was perpetually confused by how doors work."
You let out a dry, jagged laugh, taking a long sip of your drink. "It’s not even just the cheating. It’s the effort. He put way more work into the affair than he ever did into us. He took her on fancy trips, bought her jewelry... and the kicker? He couldn't even make me cum. Not once in fourteen months."
Minho’s hand froze mid-air. He turned his head slowly, his dark eyes widening in genuine disbelief. He let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "Are you kidding me? Are you actually serious right now?"
"I wish I were," you huffed, leaning your shoulder into his. "It was just... a lot of heavy breathing and disappointment."
Minho scratched the back of his head, letting out a low whistle. "That is genuinely insane. I mean, I knew he was a clown, but that’s just embarrassing." He shifted his weight, his knee brushing against yours as he looked toward the crowded dance floor. "With me, that’s never been an issue. I can make any woman come. That’s just standard procedure."
You tilted your head, looking at him with a mix of amusement and skepticism. "Are you bragging to me right now, Lee Minho?"
He didn't look away. Instead, he let out a low chuckle and shrugged, his expression radiating a quiet, dangerous confidence. "I’m not bragging if it’s a fact. I just know what I’m doing. Some people have the instinct; others clearly don't."
You shook your head, trying to dismiss the sudden heat rising in your chest, but his words were playing on a loop in your mind. You looked at his hands—steady, elegant, and strong—and then back at his face. "So you’re saying you can really make any woman come?"
"Yes," he said, his voice flat and certain.
You raised a challenging eyebrow. "Every single time?"
He nodded again, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes with an intensity that made your breath hitch. You swallowed heavily, the alcohol in your system making your skin feel sensitive to the cool air of the room. "Must be nice," you whispered, the words coming out more breathy than you intended.
Minho watched you for a moment, then took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink. He set the glass down on the side table with a soft clack. The playful mockery was gone, replaced by a focused, predatory stillness.
"Want me to prove it to you?" he asked.
The bluntness of the question caught you off guard. Your eyes widened, searching his face for a joke, but he was dead serious. There was no smirk, just a dark, burning curiosity. A slow, daring smile began to spread across your face as you leaned in closer, your voices now a private murmur beneath the thumping music.
"Wow, cocky much huh" you teased, though your heart was hammering against your ribs.
Minho leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his voice a low, vibrating growl that sent a shiver straight down your spine.
"I’m all in for a challenge, baby," he whispered, his hand sliding firmly onto your thigh, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to let you know exactly what kind of trouble you were getting into. "Let's go find a room and see if you still think I'm joking in ten minutes."
Changbin
The blue-tinted light from the television flickered across the living room, casting long shadows over the two of you as you sat on the plush velvet couch. You were tucked into Changbin’s side, his arm draped comfortably over your shoulders, while a critically acclaimed indie flick played on the screen. The movie had been slow-burning, but it had suddenly pivoted into a remarkably intense, lingering sex scene.
The actress on screen let out a guttural moan, her head tossing back against the pillows. Beside you, you felt Changbin’s chest rumble as he tilted his head, his dark eyes fixed on the screen with a look of genuine analytical curiosity.
"I’ve always wondered about scenes like this," he mused, his voice low and raspy in the quiet room. "I can’t tell if she’s actually that good of an actress or if she’s having an orgasm for real. It looks... convincing."
You let out a soft chuckle, shifting your weight to look up at him. "That’s the secret, Binnie. You’d be surprised how good of an actor a woman can be when the situation calls for it."
Changbin’s eyebrows shot up. He turned his head, looking down at you with a mix of surprise and a hint of a challenge. "What? You’re saying it’s that easy to fake? Just like that?"
You shrugged, a small, wry smile playing on your lips. "It’s easier than you’d think. Sometimes it’s just the path of least resistance."
He let out a short, incredulous laugh, his hand sliding from your shoulder to the small of your back. "Please tell me you haven’t actually had to do that. That sounds exhausting."
You sighed, the memory of your past relationship surfacing like a bad hangover. "Actually, I have. My ex... well, he was absolutely useless in bed. It was like he was following a manual written in a language he didn't speak. I ended up faking it every single time just to get it over with."
The room went silent for a moment, save for the cinematic moaning from the TV. Changbin’s expression shifted from amusement to a deep, furrowed frown. He shifted his body, turning fully toward you.
"Every time?" he repeated, his voice dropping into that deep, serious register that always made your pulse quicken. "Did he even make you come once? Like, for real?"
You shook your head slowly, a bit embarrassed by the admission. "Not once. Not even close."
Changbin let out a long, heavy sigh, shaking his head in disbelief. "Man, that is tough. I actually feel bad for you," he mumbled, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns against your waist. He looked genuinely bothered by the idea of you being left unsatisfied for so long.
He stayed quiet for a second, his gaze dropping to your lap before snapping back up to meet yours. A slow, confident smirk began to spread across his face—the kind of look that reminded you that beneath the gym-bro exterior and the rap persona, he was a man who took immense pride in everything he did.
"Well," he said, his voice dropping to a velvety growl. "The good news is you won’t ever have to worry about that with me."
Your heart skipped a beat. You felt a flush of heat creep up your neck as you cocked an eyebrow, trying to maintain your composure. "Oh? Is that right? You sound very sure of yourself, Seo Changbin."
He didn't blink. He just smiled back—a steady, unwavering expression that radiated heat. "100 percent."
You felt your cheeks burn, and you had to bite your lower lip to keep from grinning like a fool. The "tough guy" aura he usually carried was being replaced by something much more intimate and predatory.
You both turned your attention back to the movie, but the atmosphere had shifted irrevocably. The air between you felt charged with electricity. You tried to focus on the plot, but every few minutes, you’d catch him glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, his gaze lingering on your throat and your mouth. You found yourself doing the same, your eyes tracing the thick muscles of his forearms and the way his thighs filled out his sweatpants.
The movie was still playing, but neither of you was watching anymore. You were just waiting for the first person to move.
Hyunjin
The bedroom was bathed in the soft, amber glow of a few stray candles, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. The air was thick with the scent of vanilla and the heavy, intoxicating pull of desire. Hyunjin was draped over you, his long, slender frame a graceful weight that you welcomed with open arms.
His movements were slow, almost poetic, as he rained soft, sloppy kisses across your jawline. He was meticulous, treating your skin like a canvas he intended to memorize. Every time his lips brushed against your pulse point, a shiver raced down your spine, leaving you breathless.
"You are so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a low, melodic vibration against your skin. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark hair falling over his eyes in silken strands. His thumb traced the curve of your lower lip, his gaze heavy with adoration. "Has anyone ever told you how breathtaking you are? Every inch of you is perfect."
He didn't wait for an answer. His lips wandered down the column of your throat, trailing heat toward your collarbone. He peppered your skin with praises, his voice a constant stream of worship that made your head spin. You couldn't help but let out a broken moan, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck as you arched your back, writhing instinctively beneath him. Every touch of his long fingers, every press of his damp lips, felt like it was set to a higher frequency than anything you’d ever experienced.
Hyunjin paused, his breath hot against your skin. He felt the way your body reacted to him—the desperate friction, the way your breath hitched in your chest. He propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at you with a curious, almost feline intensity.
"You're so sensitive tonight," he whispered, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Did your ex ever make you feel like this? Did he appreciate you the way you deserve?"
A dry, breathless laugh escaped you as you looked up at him, your eyes hazy with lust. "No," you admitted, your voice trailing off as you shook your head against the pillow. "Not even close. Honestly? He didn't even make me come once."
The atmosphere in the room fractured. Hyunjin froze, his body going perfectly still. He raised his head, his eyes widening as he processed the words. The softness in his expression sharpened into something darker, something more competitive and fiercely protective.
"Wait," he said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, silken register. "Are you serious? In all that time, he never...?"
You bit your lip, a bit flustered by the sudden intensity of his gaze, and nodded. "Never. He was... well, he wasn't you."
Hyunjin let out a long, slow sigh, a sound of pure disbelief. He shook his head, his jaw tightening. "That’s a waste," he muttered, his voice thick with a new kind of resolve. "A literal crime against art."
He leaned back up, his face inches from yours, and captured your lips in a kiss that was no longer just gentle. It was deliberate, deep, and demanding, tasting of promise and possessiveness. When he pulled back, his eyes were burning, locked onto yours with a focus that made your toes curl.
"I’m going to make you feel so good, you'll forget his name," he whispered against your mouth, his hand sliding down to grip your hip with a firm, steady pressure. "You have no idea what I’m going to do to you. I’m going to make sure you remember tonight for the rest of your life."
A smirk played on your lips as you felt the heat of him pressing closer. "Is that a promise, Jinnie?"
"It’s a guarantee," he breathed. He returned to his movements, his kisses becoming hungrier, his hands more confident, as he began to show you exactly what you’d been missing.
Han
The living room was a mess of empty snack bowls and half-drained cans. You were sprawled on the floor with Han and a few of the other guys, the atmosphere buzzed with the chaotic energy of a "Never Have I Ever" game that had taken a sharp turn into the personal.
"Never have I ever," Minho began, a devilish glint in his eyes as he looked around the circle, "had multiple orgasms in one session."
The room went momentarily quiet. You looked down at your hands, then back at the group, clearing your throat. "Does it count if I... you know, did the work myself?"
Han, who had been leaning back on his elbows, sat up so fast he nearly knocked over his drink. He let out a sharp, incredulous chuckle. "Wait, what? Are you saying your ex wasn't able to give you multiple?"
You took a slow, deliberate sip of your drink, the liquid cold against your throat as you braced for the confession. "Multiple? Han, the man didn’t even make me come once."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to sink through the floorboards. The guys looked at each other in genuine, wide-eyed shock. Han just stared at you, his mouth slightly agape, looking like you had just told him the sky was neon green.
"You’re lying," he deadpanned, his voice rising in pitch. "No way. Not even once? In how long? Two years?"
"Two years of absolute silence," you confirmed with a shrug, trying to play it off as a joke even though the memory was a bit dismal. "It’s the truth. I had to become a DIY expert."
The game fizzled out shortly after that, the mood having shifted into a strange mix of pity and disbelief. Twenty minutes later, you headed into the kitchen to find some water, your head a little light from the alcohol. You didn't hear Han follow you until you felt the heat of his presence behind you.
"I’m still thinking about what you said," he said, his voice dropping into that lower, raspier register he usually reserved for the recording studio.
You jumped slightly, turning to see him leaning against the counter. He looked at you with a furrowed brow, his eyes dark and focused. "I seriously cannot believe he was that incompetent. Like, did he even try? Did he have a map? A compass?"
You laughed, leaning back against the sink. "I think he just had a lot of confidence and very little skill, Jisung. It’s fine. It’s in the past."
Han let out a long, heavy breath, shaking his head. "It’s not fine. That’s a tragedy." He moved past you to open the fridge, his shoulder brushing firmly against yours. The contact was brief, but it sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core. He grabbed a bottle of water, but he didn't move away.
"You know," he hummed, his voice vibrating right next to your ear as he lingered in your space, "that wouldn’t happen with me. Ever."
You felt your heart skip a beat. You turned your head slowly, finding him much closer than you expected. His gaze was locked onto yours, intense and unblinking. You let a slow, daring smirk crawl onto your lips. "Oh? Is that so? You seem very confident."
"I am," he whispered, his eyes dropping to your mouth. He slowly pushed the fridge door shut, the soft thud echoing in the quiet kitchen. He boxed you in against the counter, his hands gripping the edge on either side of your hips. "I take my work very seriously. All of it."
You reached up, your fingers grazing the hem of his oversized hoodie. "So, Jisung... hypothetically, how many orgasms could you give a woman?"
He let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated in his chest, his smirk mirroring yours but with a much hungrier edge. He leaned down, his nose brushing against yours, the scent of him—woodsy and sweet—enveloping you.
"Hypothetically?" He breathed the word against your lips, his hand sliding up to cup your jaw, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip. "It depends on how many you can handle. I’m happy to keep going until you literally can’t speak."
The air in the kitchen suddenly felt ten degrees hotter. He didn't pull away; instead, he pressed his body closer to yours, letting you feel the truth behind his words. "So," he murmured, his voice a delicious growl. "How much do you want tonight?"
Felix
You were tucked firmly under Felix’s arm, the warmth of his body radiating against your side as you both stared at the glowing screen of your phone. You were mindlessly scrolling through TikTok, the blue light reflecting in Felix’s wide, sparkling eyes as he rested his chin on your shoulder.
A video popped up on your feed—a nutritionist discussing the physiological benefits of intimacy. "Did you know?" the woman on screen asked. "Regular orgasms are actually linked to lower cortisol levels and better cardiovascular health. It’s basically nature’s medicine."
Felix let out a deep, melodic chuckle that vibrated right through your ribs. His voice, always deeper in the quiet of the night, rumbled against your ear. "See? I’ve been telling you I’m just looking out for your health," he teased, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. He nudged you playfully. "Does the video say how many are recommended? For science, obviously."
You giggled, turning your head to look at him. His freckles were scattered like stars across his nose, and his expression was full of that signature, mischievous charm. You reached up, bopping his nose with your finger. "Don't worry, Lix. You’re already giving me the perfect dose every single day. My heart has never been healthier."
Felix winked at you, a smug, playful grin spreading across his face. He leaned back against the headboard, pulling you closer into his chest. "I’m glad to hear I’m so effective. I bet your ex wasn’t nearly as dedicated to your medical well-being as I am."
You let out a dry, short laugh, the mood shifting slightly as the memory flickered through your mind. "Dedicated? Felix, that man wasn’t even able to give me one. Not once in the entire time we were together."
The room went deathly silent. You felt the muscles in Felix’s arm go rigid. Slow as a horror movie reveal, he turned his head to look at you. His jaw had gone completely slack, his mouth hanging open in a perfect 'O' of pure, unadulterated shock.
"What?" he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. He looked at you with such intense horror you would have thought you'd confessed to a crime. "Wait—not even one? Ever?"
You shrugged, trying to keep the tone light despite his dramatic reaction. "Nope. It was a lot of effort for zero payout. Seriously, Lix, close your mouth, you'll catch flies."
"I... I didn't even think that was possible!" he stuttered, his eyes wide and shimmering with a mix of pity and disbelief. He sat up, his hands fluttering as if he wanted to reach out and comfort you for a tragedy that happened years ago. "How? How do you even—I mean, it’s not that hard to just pay attention! I’m actually offended on your behalf."
You couldn't help the boisterous laugh that escaped you. You leaned up, pressing a lingering, sweet kiss to his heated cheek. "It’s okay, sunshine. Relax. That was then, and I’ve got you now. You more than make up for the deficit."
Felix huffed, a determined, fiery look replacing the shock in his eyes. He didn't just lean down; he moved with a sudden, graceful purpose, hovering over you and trapping you between his arms. The playful boyishness was gone, replaced by that intense, focused version of Felix that always made your heart skip beats.
He captured your lips in a deep, searing kiss that tasted of resolve. When he pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours, his voice was a low, gravelly hum that sent heat straight to your toes.
"That is a dark chapter of your life that we are officially closing," he vowed, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones. "I’m going to make up for every single second that guy fucked up. You’re never going to have to 'DIY' your health ever again, I promise you that."
You smirked, sliding your hands up his chest to lock behind his neck. "Is that so?"
"Count on it," he breathed, his eyes darkening as he lowered his head to the crook of your neck, his lips already starting to deliver on his promise.
Seungmin
The dorm was unnervingly quiet, the kind of silence that only exists at three in the morning when seven exhausted idols are finally dead to the world. You, however, were wide awake. The breakup was still a dull ache in your chest, and the guest room—though comfortable—felt too still.
You padded into the kitchen, the cold tile floor biting at your bare feet. You didn't bother with the lights; the soft glow of the refrigerator was enough as you scouted for a distraction. You settled on a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream, leaning against the counter and digging in with a plastic spoon.
"The heartbreak diet?"
You nearly dropped the container as a shadow detached itself from the doorway. Seungmin was standing there, clad in oversized pajamas, his hair a messy nest that suggested he’d been tossing and turning just as much as you had.
"Scared the shit out of me, Seungmin," you whispered, clutching the ice cream to your chest.
"Sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He walked over, leaning against the counter beside you. "I couldn't sleep either. My brain wouldn't shut up."
You offered the tub toward him, the spoon still sticking out of it. He didn't hesitate, taking a bite and nodding his thanks. For a few minutes, you just shared the bucket in a comfortable silence, the cold sweetness of the ice cream grounding you.
"Chan told me what happened," Seungmin said eventually, his gaze fixed on the darkened living room. "He’s worried about you. Are you doing okay?"
You let out a long, weary sigh. "I’m getting there. It’s just... looking back, I realize how much I was settling for. We had so many problems I just tried to ignore because I didn't want to be alone."
You talked for a while—quiet, honest snippets of a relationship that had slowly drained the life out of you. You told him about the arguments, the lack of support, and the sheer exhaustion of trying to fix someone who didn't want to be fixed.
"And honestly?" you added, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "Not even the sex was good. It felt like a chore. I ended up faking an orgasm every single time just so he’d feel accomplished and leave me alone."
Seungmin let out a soft, dry chuckle, though there was a genuine note of pity in his eyes. "Every time? That sounds like a lot of acting work for zero commission."
You took another bite of ice cream, the cold numbing your tongue. "Tell me about it."
He scraped the bottom of the tub, catching the last bit of melted chocolate. "Has a man ever made you come, in general? Or has it always been a solo mission?"
You shook your head slowly, staring at the empty container. "Only I was ever able to. I started to think maybe I was just broken, or that the movies were lying to everyone."
Seungmin nudged your shoulder with his, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're not broken. You were just dealing with an amateur."
The conversation drifted back to lighter things as you rinsed the spoon and threw the empty tub away. The weight in your chest felt a little lighter, the late-night honesty acting as a balm. You both started to head back toward the hallway, the floorboards creaking under your feet.
As you reached the door to the guest room, Seungmin stopped. He turned to look at you, his hands shoved deep into his pajama pockets. The sleepy haze in his eyes had been replaced by something sharper, more deliberate.
"You know," he said, his voice a low, steady hum that seemed to vibrate in the narrow hallway. He shrugged one shoulder with casual, devastating confidence. "My door is always open. You know, if you ever want to find out what it's like when someone actually knows what they're doing."
Your breath hitched. You stared at him, your brain scrambling to catch up with the sudden shift in his tone. He didn't wait for a response, didn't let the silence become awkward. He just gave you a final, unreadable look, turned on his heel, and disappeared into his room, leaving you standing in the dark with your heart suddenly racing.
Jeongin
The air in the room was heavy and sweltering, thick with the scent of spent adrenaline and tangled sheets. You lay flat on your back, your chest heaving in a desperate attempt to pull air into your lungs. Your vision was still swimming with bursts of white light, your nerve endings humming with the aftershocks of an orgasm so intense it had felt like your soul was leaving your body.
Beside you, Jeongin was in a similar state, his skin slick with sweat and his dark hair plastered to his forehead. He propped himself up on one elbow, a lopsided, triumphant grin stretching across his face as he watched the way your body still gave the occasional, involuntary shiver.
"Are you alright over there?" he asked, his voice coming out as a low, raspy velvet. "I didn't break you, did I?"
You let out a breathless, jagged laugh, finally finding the strength to turn your head toward him. "You’re absolutely insane, Jeongin. You’re actually a menace."
His smile widened, chest puffing out with a pride that was both adorable and incredibly attractive. "I’ll take that as a compliment," he murmured. He leaned over, capturing your lips in a kiss that was surprisingly passionate for someone who had just put in that much physical effort. It tasted like salt and desperation, and you melted into it, your fingers curling into the damp sheets.
As he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, you felt a sudden urge to be honest. "You know," you whispered, a bit shyly, "that was actually my first time."
Jeongin pulled back abruptly, his eyes wide with genuine surprise. "Wait, really? I thought you said you and your ex—"
"No, no," you interrupted, a soft chuckle escaping you as you reached up to brush a stray hair from his eyes. "I mean, that was my first orgasm... that I didn't have to do myself."
The silence that followed was comical. Jeongin’s expression went from surprise to a look of absolute, unmitigated disbelief. He actually blinked a few times, as if trying to process a complex math equation.
"Are you kidding me?" he asked, his voice rising an octave. "What about your ex? You guys were together for a while!"
You rolled your eyes, a dry smile on your face. "He had absolutely no clue how to handle a woman, Jeongin. It was like he was trying to start a fire with two wet sticks. He just... never got there. I eventually just stopped expecting it."
Jeongin sat up fully, looking at you in a state of pure shock. "That is... that’s a tragedy. That’s actually horrifying. Why did you never tell me that before we started?"
You chuckled and shrugged, the cool air of the room finally starting to soothe your heated skin. "I don't know. I didn't really think it mattered. I figured it was just how things were."
"It matters!" he groaned, the sound vibrating deep in his throat. He looked at you with a new, fierce intensity in his gaze—a mixture of possessiveness and a burning desire to fix every mistake your past had left behind. "I can’t believe you were settling for that."
Before you could respond, he shifted his weight, moving with a sudden, predatory grace as he rolled himself back on top of you. He pinned your wrists gently above your head, his body a warm, solid weight that immediately reignited the fire in your belly.
"Well, consider that era officially over," he growled, his lips hovering just a fraction of an inch above yours. He nipped at your bottom lip, a promise in every movement of his hips against yours. "I’m going to make sure you never have to think about 'good enough' ever again. That was just the beginning, baby. We’re going to be here a long time."
You gasped as his mouth found the sensitive skin of your neck, your eyes fluttering shut as he began to show you exactly how much more he had in store.
Hiii!!!! I have a request! A Theo or Jiung fic where the reader accidentally encounters her toxic ex public and then he starts bothering her everyday with something new until he does something unexpected (like show up at home unexpectedly and enter inside like he used to when they were dating) but instead this time Theo/Jiung were at home and the reader didn't tell the member cause they didn't wanna cause any trouble but it clearly backfired. Protective Theo or Jiung with like a side the reader never saw
OMG I love this idea!!!! This sounds soo good, please do me a favour and hand in this request here because from now on, this is my p1harmony blog and i will post every fanfiction on here :)
if reqs are still open could you write an imagine for ot6 piwon where the oc asks their help to relieve their pain during their period cause i read that sexual intercourse even masturbating can help with reducing cramps
pairing: P1Harmony x female!reader
warnings: period sex, NSFW, +18 content, period cramps, oral sex, unprotected sex, too much realism, swollen body parts, just pain....
The kitchen light hummed, a low, buzzing drone that felt like it was vibrating right through your skull. You didn’t care. You were currently folded over the cold marble island, your forehead pressed against the stone and your fingers white-knuckled as they gripped the edge. Every few seconds, a fresh wave of cramps rolled through your abdomen, sharp and unforgiving. It felt like someone was wringing out your internal organs like a wet rag.
You heard the familiar rhythm of footsteps before you saw him. Keeho drifted into the room, probably looking for a late-night snack, but he stopped short when he saw your slumped form.
A low, melodic chuckle vibrated in the quiet air. "Babe? What are you doing? You look like you’re trying to merge with the furniture."
"Don't," you groaned, your voice muffled by the counter. "I'm dying. This is the only position where I don’t feel like I’m being stabbed."
His amusement softened into something warmer. He walked over, the scent of his cologne—something clean and expensive—cutting through your misery. He placed a large, warm hand on the small of your back, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles over the fabric of your shirt. The heat was an instant balm.
"Poor thing," he cooed, though the teasing tilt was still in his voice. He leaned down, mirroring your posture and pressing his chest against your back as he hugged you from behind. He was a solid, comforting weight, shielding you from the rest of the world. One hand slid beneath you, splaying across your lower stomach where the pain was most concentrated.
He began to rub, applying a firm, rhythmic pressure that seemed to melt the knots in your muscles. A long, shaky moan of relief escaped your throat, your body finally losing some of its rigid tension.
Keeho paused for a fraction of a second, a sharp smirk pulling at his lips near your ear. "Hey," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, "don't make sounds like that if you want me to keep being a 'good guy' right now."
You let out a weak, breathy chuckle, shifting your hips slightly against him. "Honestly? Keep going. The endorphins might actually be better than the ibuprofen at this point."
The atmosphere in the kitchen shifted instantly. The playful domesticity evaporated, replaced by a sudden, heavy tension. Keeho didn't pull away. Instead, he pressed a lazy, lingering kiss to the sensitive skin of your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point. You felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold marble.
"Is that a challenge?" he whispered.
His hand, which had been so gentle moments ago, began to wander. It crept downward, slipping past the waistband of your sweatpants until his palm was pressed firmly against the mound of your heat. You hissed, your back arching instinctively as he began to rub your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear. The friction was intense, a sharp contrast to the dull ache of the cramps.
"Does that feel good?" he asked, his breath hot against your skin.
"Yes," you panted, your head rolling to the side. "I'm just... I’m so sensitive right now."
He let out a dark, satisfied sound—half-laugh, half-growl. "Good. You want to try it for real?"
You turned your head back over your shoulder, looking at him with clouded eyes. The pain in your stomach was still there, but it was being pushed to the background by a mounting, thrumming Need. "Do it," you challenged, your voice barely a whisper. "Please."
Keeho didn't need to be told twice. He was efficient and focused, his movements quick as he tugged your sweats and panties down your legs. You kicked them away, feeling the cool air hit your skin before he was there to cover you again. You heard the frantic sound of his own belt being undone, the rustle of denim as he freed himself.
He stepped back for a heartbeat, guiding your hips back toward him. When he pushed into you, he did it slowly, his hands gripping your waist to steady you. You let out a loud, unrestrained moan that echoed off the kitchen tiles. Keeho let out a hissed curse of his own, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder.
"God, you're so tight," he rasped, the words sounding strained. He stayed still for a moment, letting your body adjust to the invasion, his fingers digging into your hips. "You okay? I don't want to hurt you."
"I'm fine," you gasped, reaching back to find his hand and squeezing it. "Don't stop."
He didn't. He withdrew almost all the way before snapping his hips forward, the contact loud and rhythmic in the silence of the apartment. Every strike was precise, hitting the spot that sent white-hot sparks behind your eyelids. The world narrowed down to the sensation of him filling you, the friction of his skin against yours, and the way his breath hitched every time you cried out his name.
The cramps were gone—or if they weren't, you couldn't feel them anymore. You were seeing stars, your fingers scratching at the marble counter as Keeho drove you further and further into the haze, his pace turning desperate and hungry until neither of you could breathe.
Theo
The evening air in the bedroom was cool, but you felt like your body was radiating a feverish heat. Every month was a battle, but this time, the primary target wasn't just your lower abdomen—it was your chest. Your breasts felt heavy, hard, and painfully tight, as if the skin was stretched to its absolute limit. Even the sensation of your soft silk nightgown brushing against your nipples felt like sandpaper.
Wincing, you reached for the front of your nightgown. Your fingers felt clumsy as you undid the first three buttons, letting the fabric fall away to relieve the suffocating pressure. A long, shaky sigh escaped your lips as the cool air hit your skin, offering a fleeting second of relief. You climbed into bed carefully, moving like you were made of glass, and settled under the duvet.
Theo was already propped up against the headboard, a book discarded on his lap. The moment you slid in beside him, his gaze dropped. His eyes darkened as they landed on the soft swell of your breasts peaking out from the unbuttoned silk, the pale skin looking flushed and sensitive.
He let out a low, melodic chuckle that vibrated in the quiet room. "Trying to tell me something, babe? Or are you just trying to seduce me into an early grave?"
You let out a frustrated groan, leaning your head back against the pillow. "Don’t even joke, Theo. They feel like they’re actually about to explode. I can’t even move without wanting to scream."
His expression shifted instantly, the teasing glint replaced by a look of genuine, soft concern. He set his book on the nightstand and shifted closer, his presence warm and grounding. He leaned over and pressed a tender, lingering kiss to your cheek, his thumb skimming your jawline.
"I’m sorry, love," he murmured, his voice dropping into that soothing, honeyed register he only used for you. "What can I do? Tell me how to help."
You shrugged helplessly, looking down at yourself. The areolas were darker, the skin taut and shimmering under the bedside lamp. "I don't know. They're just... so sensitive. Everything hurts."
Theo’s eyes followed your gaze. He slowly licked his lips, a subconscious gesture of focus, and reached out. "Can I?"
You nodded tentatively. He moved with agonizing slowness, his large hand hovering for a second before he gently cupped the underside of your right breast. You hissed, your body tensing as the initial contact sent a jolt of sharp sensitivity through you.
"Shh, I've got you," he whispered, his eyes locked on yours. "Just trust me. I’m going to be so careful."
He began to move his palm in slow, deliberate circles, lifting the weight slightly to ease the pull on your chest muscles. His touch was firm enough to provide support but light enough not to bruise. As he worked, he used his long fingers to trace the outer edges, gradually spiraling inward until he was circling your nipple. He didn't pinch or pull; he simply applied a steady, rhythmic pressure that seemed to drain the stagnant ache away.
Your eyes fluttered shut. A soft, broken moan caught in the back of your throat. "Oh... Fuck... that actually feels so good."
"Does it?" He leaned in, his nose brushing against your temple. He moved his other hand to your left breast, mirroring the motion. The dual sensation was overwhelming in the best way possible. The sharp pain was being replaced by a heavy, thrumming heat that started in your chest and began to sink lower.
Theo noticed the change in your breathing, the way your hips gave a tiny, involuntary twitch beneath the covers. He leaned down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear before he caught the lobe between his teeth in a soft nip. "You know I can always find a way to make you feel good," he rasped. "Even when you’re feeling like this."
He shifted his body, sliding down the bed until he was positioned between your legs. He kept his hands on your breasts, his thumbs now rhythmically brushing over the peaked tips, sending lightning bolts of pleasure straight to your core. To steady himself, he hiked one of his muscular thighs up, tucking it firmly against your crotch.
The friction of his pajama pants against your sensitive center was the final catalyst. You gasped, your hands flying up to grip his wrists as you began to instinctively rub yourself against the solid weight of his leg.
"That’s it," Theo encouraged, his voice a low growl of approval. He didn't stop the massage, his fingers kneading the swollen tissue with expert care. "Move for me, love. Let it out."
The dull, throbbing ache of your period was fading into the background, eclipsed by the sheer intensity of the pleasure he was grounding into you. You arched your back, your nightgown falling further open as you lost yourself in the rhythm. Each circle of his palms and each thrust of your hips against his thigh made the world blur. The tension that had been coiled in your chest for days finally began to unfurl, leaving you breathless, flushed, and finally, blissfully free of the pain.
Jiung
The hardwood floor of the living room was beginning to feel like a racetrack. You paced from the window to the kitchen island, then back to the TV stand, your arms wrapped tightly around your middle. Every few steps, a sharp, twisting cramp would hit, making you hitch your breath and pick up the pace.
Jiung was sprawled on the couch, trying to focus on a book, but his eyes kept darting up to follow your frantic silhouette. Finally, he let the book thud onto his chest and let out a long, huffing breath.
"Babe, you’re making me dizzy," he said, his voice a mix of amusement and genuine concern. "What are you doing? Are you trying to pace a hole through the floorboards?"
"I'm working out," you snapped, though there was no real heat in it—just the irritability of someone whose uterus was currently auditioning for a horror movie. "I read online that physical activity releases endorphins and helps get rid of cramps. So, I’m moving."
Jiung let out a dry, melodic laugh, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees. "Walking from the fridge to the couch is not a workout, sweetheart. That’s just… wandering. If you want results, you should be jogging or lifting some weights. Get the heart rate up."
You stopped dead in your tracks and glared at him, your hand pressing into the sharpest point of the pain. "I am not going for a run, Jiung. I feel like I’m being hollowed out with an ice cream scoop. I just want the pain to stop."
He stood up then, his movements fluid and confident. He crossed the room until he was standing directly in your space, his shadow looming over you. There was a challenge in his dark eyes. "Look, if you’re going to do something to fix the problem, you should do it right. Why waste time on something that isn't working?"
You rolled your eyes, letting out a frustrated huff. "Fine, Mr. Fitness. Suggest something then. It has to be an actual workout, it has to be fun, and it has to make me forget that my insides are on fire. What do you have?"
Jiung didn’t answer immediately. He simply raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. A slow, predatory smirk curled the corners of his lips—the kind of look that usually meant you weren't going to be getting any sleep.
You were currently pressed flat against the mattress on your stomach, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the friction of Jiung’s body. He was draped over your back, his heavy weight pinning you down in a way that oddly helped the pressure in your abdomen. He didn't waste time with gentleness; he reached down, gripping your hips with bruising force, and tilted your pelvis up to meet him.
When he drove into you from behind, the sensation was so sudden and so intense that a loud, unrestrained moan tore from your throat. It wasn't the dull, nagging ache of a cramp; it was a sharp, flooding heat that drowned out everything else.
"Is this... active enough for you?" Jiung rasped against the shell of your ear, his voice thick with exertion.
He didn't wait for an answer. He began to take you roughly, his movements jagged and powerful. Every time his hips snapped against yours, you felt the vibration deep in your bones. You buried your face in the pillow to muffle your screams, but eventually, you gave up, arching your back and begging him.
"Jiung, please... don't stop. Don't stop, it feels so good," you pleaded, your fingers clawing at the headboard.
A low, guttural groan escaped him, a sound of pure, unadulterated want. His grip on your waist tightened, his knuckles turning white as he increased the pace. He was relentless, pushing you further into the mattress with every heavy, rhythmic thrust. The blood was pumping through your veins, your heart hammering against your ribs, and for the first time all day, the cramps were a distant memory, replaced entirely by the stars dancing behind your closed eyelids. He was right—this was definitely the better workout.
Intak
The bedroom floor was a battlefield of discarded pillows and tangled blankets. You were currently twisted into a modified "Cobra" pose, your spine arched and your breathing shallow as you tried to stretch out the agonizing knots in your lower abdomen. When that didn't work, you shifted into a wide-legged child’s pose, forehead pressed against the carpet, wishing the floor would simply swallow you whole.
The door creaked open, and Intak’s presence immediately filled the room. He didn’t say anything at first; he just leaned against the doorframe, a lopsided, amused grin spreading across his face as he watched you struggle through your makeshift gymnastics routine.
"Are we trying out for the circus, or did I miss a memo about an evening yoga retreat?" he asked, his voice dripping with playful affection.
You let out a muffled groan into the carpet. "Don’t. I saw this TikTok earlier," you muttered, reaching out one shaky hand to grab your phone and sliding it toward him. "It’s a series of yoga and gymnastic stretches specifically designed to alleviate period cramps. It looked so promising in the video."
Intak crouched down, glancing at the screen for a second before looking back at you. "And? Is it working? Are you a healed woman?"
With a dramatic, weary sigh, you collapsed out of the pose and rolled onto your side, curling your knees toward your chest. "No. It’s a scam. I’ve tried every life hack in existence today. Heat pads, ginger tea, weird stretches... nothing is touching this." You paused, staring blankly at the wall. "I even tried masturbating earlier because everyone says orgasms help, but I couldn't even get into the right mood. I just felt like a bloated potato."
Intak’s playful expression faltered, his lips pulling into a slight pout. He shifted, crawling closer to you on the floor. "Wait. You masturbated? When?"
"Earlier, when you were out at practice," you said, closing your eyes. "Why do you sound offended?"
"I'm not offended, I'm just... hurt," he teased, though his eyes were darkening with a different kind of intensity. He reached out, his large, warm palm coming to rest on your hip. "Why didn't you just wait for me to come home? Why didn't you come to me for help?"
You opened one eye, looking at him in genuine confusion. "Intak, I'm on my period. I'm grumpy and I’ve got a tampon in. I didn't think you'd want to deal with any of that." You let out a dry laugh. "But honestly, you're right. If an orgasm is the only thing that's going to save me from this pain, you're definitely the professional who should be handling the job."
Intak’s hand didn't move. Instead, his fingers began to slide slowly, deliberately, across the bare skin of your thigh where your shorts had ridden up. "You think a little string is going to stop me?" he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, husky register that always made your heart skip. "I've told you before, babe. I don't care. If you're hurting, let me fix it."
He sat up on his knees, moving to position himself between your legs. The smirk on his face was pure confidence. "Take them off," he commanded softly. "Pants and panties. Now."
You blinked, the sudden shift in energy making the dull ache in your stomach recede behind a wave of anticipation. You did as he asked, kicking the fabric away. You felt a surge of heat as you sat there, the small white string of your tampon the only thing left. "Intak, seriously? You’re really going to do this?"
"I'm going to make you feel better," he whispered, winking at you. "Now stay still."
Instead of pulling you toward him, Intak lay flat on his back on the carpet. He reached up, his hands firmly grasping your waist, and began to maneuver you. You realized his intent a second before it happened, your breath catching as he pulled you over him until you were straddling his chest, your core positioned directly over his face.
"Sit," he urged, his hands guiding your hips down.
The moment his hot breath hit your sensitive skin, you let out a strangled cry. Intak didn't hesitate. He dived in with a desperate, hungry energy, his tongue swirling and flickering against your clit with expert precision. He ignored the string entirely, his focus solely on the bundle of nerves that was currently screaming for attention. He wasn't being shy; he was eating you out with a ferocity that made your toes curl into the carpet.
The sensation was overwhelming. The dull, heavy throb of the cramps was instantly obliterated by the sharp, electric pulses of pleasure he was coaxing out of you. He used his fingers to spread you wide, his tongue deep and relentless, circling and lapping at you in a way that made your vision blur.
You leaned back, supporting yourself with your arms behind you, your head falling back as you let out a loud, uninhibited moan. "Intak... oh my god, Intak!"
He let out a muffled growl against your skin, his hands moving to your butt to pull you even tighter against his face. The suction was incredible, and the rhythm of his tongue was so fast it made you see stars. The internal pressure of the tampon seemed to amplify the sensations, making every flick of his tongue feel twice as intense. The pain was gone, replaced by a mounting tension that felt like a coiled spring in your chest. You were vibrating, your whole body focused on the incredible, messy, perfect way he was taking care of you. In that moment, TikTok didn't have a single hack that could compete with him.
Soul
The kitchen was filled with the savory aroma of the dinner Soul had carefully prepared, but the steam rising from your plate only made you feel more nauseous. You sat slumped in your chair, the heavy ceramic fork feeling like a lead weight in your hand as you lazily poked at a piece of roasted vegetable, moving it from one side of the plate to the other without any intention of eating it.
Soul, who had been eating with his usual quiet focus, paused and tilted his head. His sharp eyes scanned your face, noting the way your brows were drawn together. "You’ve been rearranging that carrot for five minutes," he pointed out, his voice soft but observant. "What’s wrong? Is it the food?"
You let out a long, weary sigh and finally dropped the fork. It hit the plate with a dull clatter. "No, the food is amazing, Soul. I just… I don’t feel good." You leaned back, resting your hands over your lower stomach. "I’m so bloated I feel like I’m wearing a corset made of lead, and the cramps are just… constant. It’s making me feel miserable."
Soul’s expression softened instantly. He reached across the table, his long, slender fingers catching your hand and squeezing it gently. "I’m sorry, babe. Is there anything I can do? Do you want a heating pad? Or maybe I should go get those specific snacks you like?"
You shook your head, a small, frustrated pout forming on your lips. "No, nothing helps. I feel like I’m about to explode. Everything is just… swollen and uncomfortable. I feel like a giant balloon."
Soul’s gaze dropped for a fleeting second, his eyes ghosting over the front of your shirt where your chest was visibly fuller, pushed up against the fabric. A small, boyish chuckle escaped him. "Everything is swollen, huh? I mean… I’m not exactly complaining about the view."
You let out a loud groan, though a tiny, reluctant laugh bubbled up despite your pain. "Soul! I’m in agony and you’re staring at my boobs. I feel absolutely awful and ugly right now. My skin feels weird, I’m puffy, and I just want to crawl into a hole."
Soul didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he stood up, his chair scraping quietly against the floor. He walked around the table with that effortless, feline grace of his and stopped behind your chair. He leaned down, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and burying his face in the crook of your neck.
"You’re not ugly," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin, sending a localized shiver through you that temporarily distracted you from the dull throb in your uterus. "You’re absolutely beautiful. And honestly? Seeing you like this… soft and a little flushed? It’s really hot."
You scoffed, tilting your head back to look at him. "You’re just saying that because you’re a good boyfriend. You’re totally kidding."
Soul pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his expression uncharacteristically serious. There was a spark in his gaze that hadn't been there a moment ago. "I never kid about that. You’re gorgeous." He let his hands slide down from your shoulders to your waist, his thumbs grazing the bottom of your ribs. "Actually, I have a method in mind. It would prove exactly how attracted I am to you, and it’s scientifically proven—mostly—to help with the pain."
You looked at him in confusion, your brain still a bit foggy from the discomfort. "A method? What are you talking about?"
The quiet hum of the apartment was replaced by the sound of rhythmic, heavy breathing and the soft rustle of sheets. Soul’s "method" was far more vigorous than a heating pad, and infinitely more effective.
You were lying back on the bed, your legs draped over his shoulders as he knelt between your thighs. The cool air of the room felt incredible against your overheated skin. When Soul leaned forward, his hands flat on the mattress on either side of your head, he drove into you with a deep, slow thrust that seemed to reach the very center of the ache.
A sharp gasp escaped you, your fingers flying up to cling desperately to his biceps. You arched your back, a loud, broken moan vibrating in the air. "Oh god, Soul… you feel… you feel too amazing. Stop," you gasped, though your hips were already rising to meet his next move. "Wait, don't stop. Fuck."
Soul let out a low, guttural sound of satisfaction. He began to move with a steady, punishing rhythm, each thrust calculated to hit exactly where you needed it most. The internal pressure was a perfect counter-balance to the cramping, turning the pain into a heavy, throbbing pleasure that made your head swim.
He paused for a second, his hair damp with sweat and falling over his eyes as he looked down at you with a proud, slightly dazed smirk. "So," he panted, his voice ragged. "Am I a genius or not? Is the pain gone?"
You reached up, fistting your hand in the collar of his shirt and pulling him down until his face was inches from yours. Your pupils were blown wide, your breath coming in short, jagged bursts. "Shut up, Soul," you rasped, your voice thick with need. "Just shut up and fuck me."
Soul chuckled, a dark, vibrant sound that rumbled in his chest, and he was more than happy to obey. He increased the pace, his movements turning rougher and more desperate, ensuring that by the time he was finished, the only thing you’d be feeling was the aftershocks of him.
Jongseob
The kitchen was filled with the aggressive clinking of a spoon against a ceramic mug, a sound that resonated like a war drum. You were currently standing over the stove, glaring at the kettle as if your sheer animosity could make the water boil faster. Every time a fresh wave of cramps twisted in your gut, your mood plummeted another several levels. You had already snapped at Jongseob for "breathing too loudly" in the living room and for "looking at you with too much sympathy."
You knew you were being a nightmare, a whirlwind of hormone-induced irritability, but you couldn't stop. You were a raw nerve, and the world was sandpaper.
"You’re going to break the mug if you keep stirring it like that."
The voice came from the doorway, calm and steady. You whirled around, tea bag dripping onto the counter, your eyes narrowed into slits. "Maybe I want to break the mug, Jongseob! Maybe the mug is the only thing in this house that isn't annoying me right now!"
Jongseob didn’t flinch. He remained leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked you up and down—slowly, deliberately—with that sharp, analytical gaze that usually meant he was three steps ahead of everyone else in the room. He didn't look annoyed; he looked like he was solving a puzzle.
"So," he said, his voice dropping into a lower, more serious tone. "How bad is the pain, really?"
You blinked, the fire in your eyes flickering with confusion. "What? What are you even talking about?"
He pushed off the doorframe and took a slow step into the kitchen. "I’m talking about the fact that you’ve been a total bitch for the last four hours. And since I know you aren't actually a mean person, that leaves two options: either you’ve suddenly gone absolutely insane, or those cramps are actually killing you."
The silence that followed was heavy. You opened your mouth to snap back something about his choice of words, but the anger suddenly deflated. Your shoulders slumped, and the spoon fell back into the tea with a final, pathetic clink.
"It’s the second one," you admitted, your voice small and strained. "It’s killing me. Everything from my lower back to my knees just feels like it’s being crushed. I’m sorry. I know I’m being awful."
Jongseob’s expression softened instantly. He didn’t say 'I told you so.' He simply walked up to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into a firm, grounding hug. You melted into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck, the scent of his hoodie acting like a sedative for your frayed nerves.
"I’m sorry," you whispered into his skin. "I’m such a jerk today."
He let out a low, melodic chuckle, his hand coming up to stroke the back of your head. He pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up, pressing a lingering, sweet kiss to your lips. "It’s fine, babe. I can handle a little bitchiness if it means I get to take care of you. The only thing that matters right now is how we’re going to make you feel good again."
You looked at him through your lashes, your heart beginning to thrum for an entirely different reason. "And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"
Jongseob didn’t answer with words. A wicked, predatory smile spread across his face—the look he got when he was about to win. He began to walk forward, forcing you to back up until the small of your back hit the edge of the kitchen counter. He didn’t stop until he was flushed against you, his heat radiating through your clothes.
He leaned in, his lips finding the sensitive cord of your neck. He didn't go for gentle; he started kissing you sloppily, his tongue grazing your skin as he sucked a dark mark just below your ear. You let out a shaky breath, your hands finding his shoulders for balance.
While his mouth kept you distracted, his hand wandered downward. He didn't hesitate, sliding his palm past the waistband of your sweatpants. You let out a sharp gasp of shock, your back arching as his fingers found the fabric of your panties.
"J-Jongseob," you panted, your head rolling back.
"Shh," he murmured against your skin, his voice a dark vibration. "I told you, I know you too well."
He found your clit through the thin lace, his thumb starting a slow, rhythmic rub that made your knees turn to water. He knew exactly the kind of pressure you liked—firm enough to drown out the internal ache of the cramps, but steady enough to build a slow, torturous fire. He pressed his body weight into you, pinning you against the marble counter as he increased the pace.
The friction was perfect. Every circular motion of his thumb sent a jolt of electricity through you, effectively short-circuiting the pain signals from your uterus. You let out a long, uninhibited moan, your fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie.
"That’s it," he whispered, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he felt you begin to tremble. "Focus on me. I'm going to make you feel so much better than that tea ever could."
He didn't let up, his hand moving with a focus that was borderline clinical but entirely devoted to your pleasure. The kitchen light seemed to dim as you closed your eyes, the world narrowing down to the heat of his mouth on your neck and the relentless, perfect friction between your legs. By the time he was done, you wouldn't even remember why you had been angry in the first place.
synposis: staying over at the seventeen dorms for the first time was supposed to be sweet, but your restlessness leads to a risky game of "staying quiet" while wonwoo sleeps just a few feet away.
I don't know if you guys noticed but I need this man in a religious way...I just love him soooo much!!!! I had this dream last night so I got lots of inspiration
The dorm was quieter than you had expected, save for the rhythmic hum of the air conditioner and the distant, muffled sound of Seungkwan’s laughter echoing from the living room. You lay stiffly under the heavy duvet, staring up at the dark ceiling.
To your left, Mingyu was a mountain of warmth, his breathing deep and steady. Just a few feet away, across the narrow gap between the beds, you could make out the silhouette of Wonwoo. He was a still shadow, presumably dead to the world, though the mere thought of him being right there made your heart race with a mix of shyness and nerves.
It was your first night staying over, and the "new bed" syndrome was hitting you hard. You shifted onto your left side, the mattress creaking ever so slightly. Too loud, you thought, freezing in place. Five minutes passed. You rolled onto your right side, the duvet rustling like parchment paper. You let out a long, frustrated sigh, the sound cutting through the silence of the room.
Frustrated with your own restlessness, you turned back toward Mingyu. The pale moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft silver stripes across his face. He looked breathtakingly peaceful—his sharp features softened by sleep, his plush lips slightly parted.
You leaned in closer, drawn by the irresistible pull of his presence. As you bridged the gap, his scent hit you: a clean, heady mix of expensive woody cologne, fabric softener, and that distinct, warm "Mingyu" smell that always made your knees weak.
Giving up on the idea of personal space, you slid across the sheets until your chest pressed against his arm. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, your nose brushing against his warm skin. You took a deep, shaky breath, letting his scent fill your lungs like a sedative.
Suddenly, a low, vibration rumbled against your cheek.
"Mmm... hajima..."
A soft, breathy giggle escaped Mingyu’s lips. The contact of your nose and breath against his neck was clearly tickling him. He stirred, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks before he slowly blinked his eyes open.
"Y/N?" he whispered, his voice thick and gravelly with sleep. He didn't pull away; instead, he instinctively wrapped a heavy, muscular arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. "Can't sleep, baby?"
You shook your head against his skin, the movement friction-soft against his neck. "No," you whispered, your voice tinged with exhaustion. "I’m wide awake."
Mingyu hummed, the sound vibrating through your chest. He tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you even closer into his personal space. "I’ll just cuddle you until you pass out, then," he suggested, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"God, no," you huffed, though you didn't pull away. "You're like a human radiator. You're way too warm for this."
He let out a soft, melodic laugh that sounded incredibly rich in the quiet room. He pulled back just an inch, wearing a look of mock betrayal. "Too warm? People pay for this kind of heating, y/n. You’re breaking my heart."
You rolled your eyes and turned onto your back again, staring up at the shadows of the ceiling. A frustrated huff escaped your lips as you realized your brain was still running at full speed. Mingyu shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. He leaned in, his hair tickling your forehead, and pressed a lingering, tender kiss to your cheek.
"Do you want me to get up?" he asked, his voice a soothing velvet. "I can make you some tea? Or get you a glass of water?"
You shook your head again, your mind racing through every sleep meditation trick you knew, none of which were working. Seeing your distress, Mingyu didn't say another word; he simply hooked his arm under your neck and pulled you back into his side, tucking your head right back into that sweet spot between his shoulder and his jaw.
"Just try to relax," he murmured. "Take in my scent again. It usually calms you down."
You let out a soft, low groan, finally relaxing as the familiar fragrance enveloped you. "It’s not fair," you stated, your voice muffled by his skin. "How do you smell this good? Even after a long day?"
A smug, satisfied smile spread across his face. Feeling a sudden surge of affection—and a little bit of delirious frustration—you began to pepper tiny, light kisses along the column of his throat.
Mingyu let out a long, shaky sigh, his head tilting back to give you better access. "Y/n..."
"You smell so good," you mumbled against his pulse point, the heat of his skin radiating into your lips. "I could literally eat you up."
He chuckled, a low sound of amusement, but the sound died in his throat when your kisses intensified. You stopped the light pecks, instead pressing your open lips firmly against his neck. The kisses became slower, deeper, and wetter, your tongue darting out to taste the salt and warmth of his skin. You felt his breath hitch, his hand on your waist squeezing tightly as the quiet of the dorm suddenly felt a lot more charged.
The friction of your hips against his sturdy leg sent a jolt through the silence, the rhythmic movement making Mingyu’s breath hitch violently. He let out a suppressed, guttural groan, his large hand sliding from your waist to your hip, his fingers digging into your skin to anchor you—or perhaps to keep you from moving quite so dangerously.
He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice a frantic, heated whisper. "Y/n... stop," he breathed, though his grip suggested otherwise. "Wonwoo is right there. He’s literally three feet away."
You didn't care. The restlessness had transformed into a different kind of energy entirely. You gave a nonchalant shrug against his chest and leaned back in, your lips finding that sensitive spot just below his ear. As you moved harder against his thigh, you felt the unmistakable change in him—the steady hardening of his muscles and the heat radiating through his sweatpants.
Mingyu’s head hit the pillow with a soft thud, his jaw tightening as he bit his lower lip to stifle a mounting moan. His eyes went wide when your hand began a slow, deliberate descent.
Your fingers brushed the waistband of his shorts before settling over the growing heat of his bulge. When you began to massage him through the soft fabric, his back arched slightly off the mattress. He looked down at your hand, then up at you, his dark eyes clouded with a mix of shock and intense desire.
"You're crazy," he rasped, his voice cracking. "Seriously, you've lost your mind."
You responded with a slow, feline smirk, your eyes locked onto his as you increased the pressure. You began to stroke him—long, firm movements that had him grasping the bedsheets with his free hand. Mingyu watched you, his chest heaving as he fought to keep his breathing quiet, his face flushing a deep crimson.
Under your palm, he grew fully, achingly hard. He was completely at your mercy now, trapped between the risk of his roommate waking up and the intoxicating sensation of your hand rhythmically tracing his length.
The heat between you was suffocating now, far more intense than any "radiator" warmth you had complained about minutes prior. You slipped your hand beneath the elastic waistband of his pants, your palm finally meeting his bare, searing skin. As your fingers curled around him and began a slow, rhythmic glide, Mingyu’s eyes fluttered shut, his head falling back into the pillow.
You leaned over him, your lips ghosting over the shell of his ear. "It’s exciting, isn't it?" you breathed, your voice a barely-audible vibration. "Being forced to stay so quiet... even though I want to hear exactly what kind of sounds you'd make for me."
Mingyu let out a strangled, muffled groan into the crook of his shoulder, his knuckles turning white where he gripped the duvet. You didn't slow down. Instead, you leaned closer, your chest brushing his arm. "Just imagine," you whispered wickedly, "how hard it’s going to be for me to stay quiet when you’re finally deep inside me, fucking me right."
His eyes snapped open, dark and blown wide with heat. He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling in a desperate plea for strength as your pace quickened, your thumb grazing the sensitive tip of his length.
Reaching out with your free hand, you found his large, trembling hand and guided it toward you, pressing it firmly against your chest. His fingers instinctively curled, squeezing your breast through your shirt, his thumb rubbing circles over your nipple as he matched your rhythm with his own desperate touch.
"Be quiet for me, Gyu," you teased, your voice a playful, dangerous challenge. "Can you do that? Just for me?"
As if to test his resolve, your fingers drifted lower, your touch shifting to tease and roll his balls. The sudden, grounding sensation broke his composure. His mouth fell open, a silent gasp escaping him as he let out a hissed curse under his breath. He squeezed your chest harder, his body coiling like a spring, his gaze darting nervously toward Wonwoo’s bed before snapping back to you with a look of pure, unadulterated want.
The lingering tease finally snapped Mingyu’s restraint. He lunged forward, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss that was anything but quiet—it was filthy, hungry, and desperate, the sound of your lips clashing muffled only by the proximity of your bodies. His tongue swept into your mouth, claiming you with an intensity that made your head spin.
"My turn," he rasped against your lips, his voice a low, vibrating growl.
His hand abandoned your breast, sliding down the curve of your stomach with frantic purpose. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your sleep shorts and shoved them down past your hips in one fluid motion. You gasped into the kiss when his large, warm palm finally made contact with your bare thighs, his fingers immediately finding the slick heat between your legs.
As he began to slide two fingers through your drenched folds, a sharp shiver raced up your spine. You let out a soft, involuntary whimper, your back arching off the mattress.
"Shh," he whispered, a dark, triumphant smirk playing on his lips. He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his thumb beginning to rub lazily, agonizingly slow circles over your swollen clit. "Remember what you said? You have to stay quiet, y/n. Don't wake Wonwoo up."
Before you could retort, his other hand reached up, roughly tugging the straps of your top down to your elbows until your breasts were bared to the cool room air. He didn't give you time to feel the chill. He leaned down, burying his face against your chest, his tongue swirling playfully around your nipple before he took the peak into his mouth, sucking firmly.
The dual sensation of his mouth on your breast and his fingers now sliding deep inside you made your world narrow down to a single point of pleasure. You let out a muffled moan, your fingers tightening around his length as you resumed the jerking motion, your pace matching the rhythmic thrust of his fingers.
The mattress creaked rhythmically under the weight of your movements. Mingyu’s breathing was heavy and ragged against your skin, his fingers curling inside you to find the exact spot that made your toes curl. Every time you tried to cry out, he would press his mouth back over yours, swallowing your moans as the friction between your hand and his cock brought him closer and closer to the edge.
The friction of his fingers inside you and your hand tight around him was becoming a delicious torture. You leaned into his ear, your breath hot and erratic, and whispered the only thing that mattered anymore. "Please, Gyu... fuck me. Now."
A low, dark chuckle vibrated in his chest. He pulled his hand from between your legs, the slick sound of the movement echoing in the silent room. He cupped your jaw, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip as he looked at you with eyes that were practically black with heat. "Right here? With Wonwoo right across from us?" he murmured, his voice a challenge. "Is that what you want?"
You nodded frantically, your eyes pleading. He let out a sharp, hissed curse, the sound of his control finally snapping completely. "Fine. Turn around," he ordered, his voice thick and authoritative.
You scrambled to obey, rolling onto your stomach and propping yourself up on your elbows. Behind you, you heard the rustle of fabric as he shoves his shorts and boxers down to his knees. The second you felt his bare skin against your back, you instinctively arched, pressing your ass firmly against his heavy, aching heat.
"Shh, fuck..." Mingyu scolded in a heated whisper, his hand coming down to swat your hip lightly. "Don't be so greedy, y/n You're going to get us caught."
He moved between your knees, his large hands gripping your hips to steady you. You felt the broad, blunt head of him graze against your opening, dragging through the cream you’d made for him. He didn't sink in right away; instead, he teased you, sliding up and down your folds until you were whimpering into the pillow, your fingers clutching the bedsheets.
"Mingyu, please," you breathed.
Finally, he nudged your legs a little wider with his knees. He leaned his weight forward, his chest pressing into your back as he slowly, deliberately pushed inside. You felt every inch of his impressive girth stretching you open, filling the void until your breath caught in your throat. He stopped for a moment when he was buried deep, letting out a long, shaky groan against the back of your neck.
"You're so tight," he rasped, his hands digging into your waist as he prepared to move. "Don't make a sound."
The moment he began to pull back and thrust forward, the world outside that twin-sized mattress ceased to exist. You rolled your eyes back, your vision blurring with white-hot pleasure as he set a slow, punishing pace. He reached down, his large palm molding over the curve of your ass, kneading the flesh firmly. The sting of his grip combined with the fullness of him inside you made a broken whimper escape your lips.
"That's it," he hissed, his voice dropping into a dark, gravelly register. "Take it all."
His other hand moved upward, his fingers spanning the front of your throat. He didn't squeeze hard, just enough to provide a light, grounding pressure that sent your heart hammering against your ribs. With that tether established, his demeanor shifted. The gentle giant was gone; in his place was someone much rougher, much hungrier.
He began to drive into you with jarring force, the headboard of the bed giving a rhythmic, terrifyingly audible thud against the wall with every impact. "So nasty," he muttered against your skin, his teeth grazing your shoulder. "Making me do this with him right there... you have no idea how much trouble you're in."
You nodded frantically, your hair splaying across the pillow as he nipped at your earlobe and trailed sloppy, wet kisses down your neck. Spurred on by the friction, you began to tilt your pelvis back, meeting his heavy thrusts with a desperate rhythm of your own.
A strangled, high-pitched moan caught in Mingyu's throat. He buried his face in the crook of your neck to muffle the sound, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Stop," he warned, his voice straining. "Don't move like that. I'm already right on the edge."
Sensing his vulnerability, a spark of playful defiance flared in your chest. You looked back over your shoulder, a dazed, cocky smirk playing on your lips despite the way he was stretching you out.
"Why, Gyu?" you whispered breathlessly, your hips giving another deliberate, grinding swirl against him. "Is it too much for you to handle?"
Mingyu let out a sharp, incredulous chuckle that sounded more like a growl. "Too much? You have no idea," he rasped. As if to prove his point, he abandoned all pretense of gentleness, his thrusts becoming hard and punishing. He drove into you with a raw, primal force that knocked the breath from your lungs, making you choke out a loud, muffled moan into the pillow.
He reached underneath your body, his fingers finding your swollen clit again and rubbing it with a frantic, expert friction that had your vision swimming. "Such a good girl," he hissed against your ear, his voice trembling with the effort to stay quiet. "Taking all of it so well. You love this, don't you? Being filled up while your boyfriend’s roommate is right there?"
"Yes I love it," you whimpered, your fingers digging into the mattress as he pinned you down, his weight crushing you in the best way possible. His movements became frantic, a desperate blur of heat and friction that felt like it was set to ignite.
Then, just as the tension reached a breaking point, he pulled out with a wet, echoing slide. You let out a soft cry of protest, but he ignored it, grabbing your waist and flipping you back onto your back.
"I want to look at you," he breathed, his hair disheveled and his eyes dark with a terrifying intensity. "I want to see your face when you break."
You groaned, your hands reaching up to grab the zipper of his hoodie. You jerked it down, baring his broad, muscular chest to the moonlight. Your palms roamed over his heated skin, feeling the frantic thud of his heart against his ribs. You arched your back, pulling him down by his neck to kiss him deeply, your tongues tangling in a messy, desperate exchange.
Mingyu let out a low, vibrating moan into your mouth as he positioned himself between your thighs once more. He didn't hesitate this time; he lunged forward, entering you in one deep, soul-shattering thrust that was harder than anything before. Your eyes snapped open, locking onto his, as the rhythm started again—faster, deeper, and completely reckless.
The room seemed to shrink around you as the friction reached an unbearable peak. Mingyu buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he fought to suppress a roar. You arched your back, your legs locking around his waist to pull him even deeper, while your fingers dug into the hard muscles of his back. Your nails left stinging red crescents in his skin, but he didn't flinch—he only drove into you harder.
You muffled your frantic screams against his bare shoulder, the scent of his sweat and cologne acting like a drug as you spiraled toward the edge.
"I'm close," he hissed, his voice breaking, a desperate huff of air hitting your ear. "Y/n, I'm... I'm gonna come."
"Do it," you whispered, your voice a wrecked, breathless plea. "Come for me, Gyu. Right now."
With a final, bone-deep thrust that felt like it reached your very soul, his body jolted. A low, gravelly "Fuck" escaped his lips—the loudest sound he’d made all night—as he collapsed against you. He crashed his mouth against yours in a bruising, possessive kiss, swallowing the high-pitched sob of your own release as your internal muscles clamped down around him in tight, rhythmic waves.
You clung to him, your hands trembling as you held his heavy body against yours, riding out the aftershocks of the most intense orgasm you’d ever experienced. The only sound in the room was the frantic, synchronized thudding of two hearts and the ragged, heavy gasps for air.
After a long minute, Mingyu slowly pushed himself up on his forearms and pulled out of you.
The sudden absence of his heat was jarring, but before you could even catch your breath, Mingyu was moving with a focused, primal energy. He slid down the bed, his large frame settling between your trembling thighs. Your eyes widened in the dark as he dipped his head, his lips finding your sensitive, swollen center with devastating precision.
The sensation of his tongue swirling against you, tasting the messy evidence of his own release and pushing it back deep inside you, sent a violent jolt of electricity straight to your brain. You arched your back, your mouth falling open to let out a piercing scream of pure overstimulation—but Mingyu was faster.
He lunged upward slightly, shoving two of his long fingers into your mouth to bridge the gap. You bit down on them instinctively, your scream turning into a muffled, desperate whimper against his knuckles.
"Shh," he vibrated against your skin, his voice muffled by your inner thighs.
He didn't slow down. He began to eat you out with a ferocity that bordered on aggressive, his tongue flickering over your clit before he leaned in to suck the tiny nub into his mouth. The suction was intense, rhythmically pulling at you until your entire lower half felt like it was humming.
You twisted beneath him, your hips bucking in a desperate attempt to find more friction or to escape the sheer intensity of it. Your hands flew out, grasping blindly at the rumpled bedsheets, the headboard, and eventually the thick, silken strands of his hair. You gripped his head, pulling him closer, your knuckles white as you fought the urge to thrash.
Mingyu was relentless. He hummed against you, the vibration adding another layer to the torture, as he alternated between long, sweeping licks and sharp, concentrated sucks. He was making sure you felt every single nerve ending, driving you back up a second mountain before you had even descended from the first. Under the rhythmic pressure of his mouth and the silencing weight of his fingers in your mouth, you felt your muscles begin to coil again, tighter and more desperate than before.
The second climax hit you like a physical wave, more violent than the first. Your body stiffened, your toes curling into the mattress as your vision went white. To keep from waking the entire building, you clamped your teeth down on Mingyu’s fingers, sucking on them desperately as your hips stuttered in a frantic, silent rhythm.
Mingyu let out a muffled, satisfied moan against your core, his tongue working even harder to lap up every drop of your release until you were practically limp against the pillows.
He moved slowly, deliberately, sliding his fingers out of your mouth with a wet pop before crawling back up your body. When his face was finally inches from yours, he looked like a man possessed—lips swollen, hair a mess, and eyes shining with a dark, triumphant glow. You reached up, pulling his head down for a deep, messy kiss. As the taste of your own salt and his musk filled your mouth, you let out a long, shaky moan that vibrated between your joined lips.
Mingyu pulled back just an inch, a smug, breathless chuckle escaping him. "So," he whispered, his voice still a gravelly wreck. "Think you'll be able to sleep now, or do you still have too much energy?"
You let out a low, airy laugh, your chest still heaving. You reached up, tracing the line of his jaw with a playful shrug. "I don't know, Gyu," you teased, your voice dripping with mischief. "Maybe we should go for a second round. You know, just to be absolutely sure I'm tired enough."
Mingyu’s eyes widened playfully and he started to let out a rich, quiet laugh—but it was cut short by a voice that definitely didn't belong to him.
"For the love of God," Wonwoo’s voice echoed from across the room, dry as sandpaper and heavy with exhaustion. "Please don't. I'm begging you. Some of us have a 6 AM call time and I've already heard enough to last me a lifetime."
The silence that followed was deafening for exactly three seconds.
You and Mingyu froze, eyes locked on each other in the dim light. Then, the absurdity of it all crashed down. Mingyu buried his face in your neck, his shoulders shaking with silent, hysterical laughter, while you pressed your hand over your mouth to stifle the giggles that were bubbling up in your throat.
"Sorry, hyung!" Mingyu finally wheezed out, his voice cracking as he pulled the duvet over both of your heads, hiding your shared, breathless laughter in the dark.
