★ ˙ ̟ ─── . “perv!127”.
| cw | perv behavior, masturbation, infidelity, alcohol consumption, stalking, fingering, oral (f), public sex, cockwarming, vouyerism, exhibitionism, pet names. | a/n | ill be honest, doyoung and haechan were my favorites, chat... btw i accidentaly posted this twice, i hate tumblr!! ANYWAYS, I HOPE I DID IT WELL (pls let me know, i have a hard time with this kind of thing)....
Mark really didn’t want to be like this, but he couldn’t help the dirty thoughts he had about his sweet girlfriend. It was getting harder and harder to control himself around you. You had decided to take things slow, to only move forward when you were both truly ready, especially you, since you were still a virgin. And maybe that was part of the reason behind his growing frustration.
Don’t get him wrong, he didn’t have some kind of fetish about virgins. The problem was that you acted in such unintentionally provocative ways, and it was torture for him not being able to do everything he wanted with you.
Like when you walked around the house without a bra, your hard nipples poking through your shirt, practically begging for his mouth. It was even worse when you hugged him, and he could feel them pressed against his chest. Or when you were cuddling and he had you as the little spoon—you'd shift around a little, rubbing your ass against his cock, forcing him to mentally sing every kind of anthem he knew just to keep from getting hard.
And, of course, even if he really, really wanted to throw you on the bed and make love to you until sunrise, he would only ever do anything when you allowed it. That's why he was forced to find other ways to relieve himself...
"Nothing really important happened today," your cheerful voice blessed Mark's ears through the phone as you began to rant about your day. "Oh, right, baby, I almost forgot! Did you know they opened a geek store two blocks from here?"
"Oh, really?" he replied, voice low and hoarse. "Had no idea," he added, keeping his answers short. Not because he didn't care, but because every word you said made his cock throb. He just wanted to listen.
His free hand clutched the phone tighter against his ear. The other moved slowly, rhythmically, stroking his hard cock. Your voice. Your laugh. The way you called him "baby" so sweetly, so innocently, with no idea that he was falling apart on the other side of the line.
"And I bought you a few Spider-Man editions, they're so beautiful!" you continued, excitement bubbling in your voice. "Ugh, it was supposed to be a surprise, but I just had to tell you!”
He bit his lip hard as his imagination ran wild, picturing how you'd sound moaning his name instead of talking about comic book stores, how your body would tremble beneath him, how your breath would catch when he whispered filthy things against your ear. The way your tight little voice would break when he slid into you for the first time...
“Fuck, babe,” he hissed, throwing his head back against the headboard, his hand moving faster now.
“Mark?” your voice wavered, a note of concern slipping in. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, beautiful… just—” he gasped, forcing his voice to stay steady, “keep talking. Don’t stop. Please,” it came out almost like a whine, needy, strained, like he was hanging onto every word you said just to survive the moment.
As much as Doyoung liked to think of himself as a gentleman, even he couldn’t deny how filthy his thoughts had become. He should be ashamed of himself—lusting after you, his sweet, married neighbor. But shame did nothing to stop him. If anything, it only made it worse.
And the best part? Your marriage was crumbling. He had watched it happen, had listened patiently as you poured your heart out to him, seeking comfort in his presence. He had played the role of the good neighbor, the trusted friend.
But deep down, he knew exactly what he was doing.
Because every time you sat beside him, eyes glossy with frustration, lips trembling as you vented about your husband, all he could think about was how easy it would be to slip his hand between your thighs and show you exactly how a real man would treat you. And the way you looked at him sometimes—soft, vulnerable, needy—only made it harder to hold himself back. Just like now, as he watched you waste yourself with yet another can of beer, despite his weak attempts to stop you.
It was just another one of those nights, sitting together, talking about life, about how lonely you felt even with a husband waiting at home. By now, Doyoung already knew how weak you were to alcohol, how easily your sharp words turned slurred, how your usual restraint melted into something softer, looser.
His eyes followed the way your fingers toyed with the rim of the can, your lips slick from the drink, parted just slightly as you blinked up at him with that hazy, unfocused gaze. He swallowed hard, shifting in his seat. He shouldn’t be thinking about how easy it would be to push you back against the couch, to let his hands roam lower, to have you sighing his name instead of that bastard’s.
But fuck, you were making it so damn hard to be a good man.
“Dodo, am I not pretty?” Your innocent, slurred words snapped him out of his thoughts. You stared up at him through those drunken, doe-like eyes he couldn’t help but adore, making his heart skip a beat.
“What?” He quickly answered, voice tight, though his mind was already spiraling, his chest constricting. “Of course you are.”
But then, you leaned in just a little too close, your breath almost mingling with his, your face just a few inches apart, utterly unaware of the effect you had on him.
“Do you really think so?” Your pout deepened, and you seemed to search his gaze for reassurance, making him want to devour you.
He gulped, his throat dry. “Y-yes, I do,” he breathed, his voice shaking as he fought to keep his composure. “You're gorgeous. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”
And God, he meant every word, even if it was laced with thoughts he knew he shouldn’t have. He moved his hand up to your shoulder, slowly, appreciatively, letting his fingers glide down your arm, feeling the way you unintentionally shivered under his touch.
So responsive. So soft.
You were so close now, your breath warm against his skin, your lips parted ever so slightly. It wouldn’t hurt if he showed you just how much he liked you, right?
His palm cupped your face, thumb grazing your cheekbone, and his heart skipped a beat when you leaned into his touch without hesitation—so trusting, so unaware of the thoughts racing through his head.
Without a second thought, he found himself closing the gap, pressing his lips against your soft, pliant ones.
You tensed for a brief moment, as if processing what was happening, and even made a weak attempt to pull away—but he wasn’t having that. His grip tightened, holding you in place, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to keep you right where he wanted.
And the second his tongue slipped past your lips, tasting the lingering bitterness of alcohol, you melted.
Fuck, you had no idea what you were doing to him. And you also had no idea what you were doing at all.
You were drunk, completely out of yourself, vulnerable in a way that made his chest tighten and his cock throb. If you were kissing him so eagerly, pressing your body against his so willingly, he could probably do anything he wanted to you right now, and you wouldn’t even think to stop him.
His hand trailed lower, fingers caressing your jaw before slipping down to your neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his touch. His fingertips danced along the neckline of your clothes, toying with the fabric, brushing ever so slightly over your breasts.
Then, just to tease, he tugged at your bra over your clothes, watching how it pulled against your skin. The soft whine that slipped from your lips between kisses had his mind sinking into a hazy fog of lust, but at the same time, it snapped him back to reality.
He pulled away, breathless, watching as you panted softly. You looked so out of it, yet so content, and before he could say anything, you were already leaning in again, chasing his lips for another kiss. He let it happen, just for a second, just to feel you melt into him again, before he forced himself to stop. His hands found your shoulders, gripping them firmly as he gently pushed you away.
Not like this. Not tonight.
“Doyoung…” you whined in protest, a pout forming on your lips.
He bit his lower lip. You were really testing him.
“You’re too drunk, darling,” he murmured, forcing a weak smile as he brushed his thumb across your cheek, trying to keep himself in check. “I’m taking you home, hm?”
It killed him to say it, to pull away when you were right there, pliant, eager, looking at him like he was the only man in the world. But no matter how much he wanted you, he wanted you sober even more. He wanted you to remember, to crave him just as much when your mind was clear.
So, for now, he would be good.
Yuta couldn’t help it, he just loved to tease you. You were his cute, pretty makeup artist, always working so hard to make his already striking face shine even brighter on stage. Which meant you were around him all the time. And if you weren’t? Well, he made sure to personally request you. Only you. After all, you were the best at what you did.
His sharp eyes roamed over your face intently, catching every little reaction—the way you nervously pressed your lips into a thin line, how your brows furrowed slightly, and how your hands trembled as you carefully dabbed the brush against his skin.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice filled with amusement. “Why are you shaking so much?”
The question was laced with mock innocence, but you knew better. Especially with his hand resting high on your inner thigh, fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns against your skin, rubbing up and down as if he had all the time in the world.
You didn’t know exactly when this whole thing started, but by now, it had become a regular occurrence—Yuta all over you, always touching, always whispering filthy things in your ear when no one was looking. His hands would linger too long, his gaze would darken with something unmistakable, and no matter how many times you tried to put an end to it, he always had a way to pull you right back in.
If you so much as hinted at resistance, he’d play his favorite card: the resignation threat. A single word from him could shatter your career, and he made sure you knew it. He never said it outright, never needed to. The smirk on his lips, the way he leaned in just a little too close when reminding you how irreplaceable you were—it was all part of the game.
But the worst part? Unlike what you had once believed, everyone knew. Even the other members. And yet, not a single one of them ever tried to stop it.
“Y-Yuta, can you please not do this here?” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. Nervous eyes flickered around the room, scanning for any sign that someone might be watching, that someone might care. But no one seemed to pay either of you any attention.
Yuta, on the other hand, wasn’t even pretending to care. His gaze dipped, zeroing in on the teasing hint of cleavage right in front of him as you leaned in closer to check his face. The position gave him the perfect view, and he took his time, shamelessly drinking it in, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“What? Now you’re trying to say this is my fault?” he raised a brow, looking up at you with that smug, knowing smirk. “You’re the one who chose to wear this skirt. You’re practically begging for me to touch you.”
Never mind the fact that he was the one who forced you wear it in the first place—telling you how pretty you looked in it, how it suited you so well. The truth was, he just loved the view. Loved watching the way your legs looked in that tiny thing, loved how you had to move carefully to keep from showing too much.
“I am not,” you shot back firmly, glaring at him, which only made him chuckle. He loved when you showed your claws—when you tried to act defiant, even when you both knew how easily he could break that act.
His hand moved up slowly, deliberately, until his fingers brushed against your clothed cunt. The sudden contact made you gasp, your body freezing in place as heat bloomed through you.
“Really?” he mused, voice dripping with amusement as he pressed just a little harder. “Because your body’s telling me something very different.”
It’s just a natural response, you told yourself, trying to cling to any shred of defiance. You wanted to snap back at him, but instead, a soft, helpless moan slipped past your lips.
Yuta smirked. He had already pushed your panties to the side, his fingers slipping inside you with ease, stretching you just enough as he pumped them in and out at a slow, teasing pace.
Your eyes darted around the room again, panic bubbling in your chest, but no one seemed to notice—or maybe they were just pretending not to. You bit down hard on your lower lip, desperately trying to stifle your sounds, only to earn a low hum of satisfaction from him.
“Let’s do this,” he mused, his foxy grin widening. “If I make you cum, you’re gonna be my personal stress relief tonight. Got it?”
Jaehyun had a girlfriend, one he claimed to love deeply, but he knew he was being a scoundrel. Still, he blamed it on biology, on a man’s natural urges. It wasn’t his fault that you, his girlfriend’s best friend, had been haunting his thoughts since the very beginning of his relationship.
He tried to be a good boyfriend, really, he did. But every time you were around, laughing, teasing, flashing that mischievous smile his way, it became harder to pretend. Harder to act like he didn’t imagine you beneath him, under him, taking him in ways his girlfriend never could.
Maybe it was wrong, but how could he be blamed when you were the one constantly in his head, you were the one who made his cock twitch with just a glance? It wasn’t his fault that every touch, every brush of your skin against his, sent a jolt straight through his body.
It wasn’t entirely his fault that he found himself slipping into these desperate habits to satisfy his twisted desires. He hated himself for it, for feeling this way, but the guilt wasn’t enough to stop him.
He couldn't resist the forbidden thrill of sniffing your panties every time he slept over at your place (he thanked God that you and his girlfriend were roommates) and taking a few of them with him so he could use them later. Not only that, but he really loved to peek at you in the shower. It was nice to see the way you touched yourself- even if it wasn't sensual, he just really liked watching you and imagining what it would be like if he were the one touching you like that.
And he didn't know you left the door unlocked on purpose, knowing he would be there—just like tonight.
You had chosen the perfect time, late at night, when his sweet little girlfriend was fast asleep, and you knew exactly who was watching you through the narrow crack in the door.
"Enjoying the view, huh?" you said, catching him completely off guard. He froze in place. "I know you're there, Jaehyun. Not gonna come in? I've been waiting for you."
He was stunned to be caught-stunned even more by what you said.
He hesitated only for a moment before stepping inside, welcomed by a wave of warm, damp steam that kissed his skin.
Even better—he now had a perfect view of you, not through a crack in the door, but all of you. He swallowed hard.
"Oh, you're this happy?" you teased, a playful smile dancing on your lips as your eyes dropped to the bulge in his sleep shorts, the soft, thin fabric doing nothing to hide just how excited he was.
"It's not like I can help it," he muttered, his eyes slowly roaming over every inch of your body, licking his lips like a starving animal eyeing a taste of something forbidden.
That made you laugh, "Come here, come," you beckoned him with a finger, his gaze lifting to meet yours. "I'll take care of it for you."
He knew exactly what that meant. It was written all over your eyes, your voice-and, of course, in the very situation he found himself in.
He bit his lip, casting a quick glance toward the door. His girlfriend was asleep just a few steps away.
"...Are you sure?"
"I'm giving you the chance to fuck me. You don't want that?"
He didn't think twice to answer, "Fuck, of course I do."
In an instant, his clothes were gone, and he stepped under the shower with you. His hands found your waist immediately, pulling you against him with a kind of hunger he didn't bother to hide. His hard cock pressed against your stomach as his hands wandered all over your body, fingers gliding, gripping, worshipping the feel of your wet, heated skin. It hit him all at once: this was real. He was really touching you.
“You have no idea how long I've been needing you," he nibbled on your neck, kissing his way up toward your mouth, searching for a kiss.
"Oh, believe me, I know," you whispered back, meeting his lips, feeling the desperate way his tongue moved against yours, barely holding back from reacting to your teasing.
"I'm going to fuck you so good," he said, squeezing your ass firmly. "I promise."
Okay, it’s not that he was stalking you. Jungwoo was just… preparing himself. Making sure he knew exactly what you liked, what you disliked, so that when he finally approached you, he wouldn’t embarrass himself and lose his chances with you.
Of course, that meant he had to figure out which places you frequented, who your friends were, what kind of things made you smile. It was all just research. Necessary steps to ensure everything would go perfectly between you two.
Not only that, he also ended up making sure you were safe. After all, the world was full of dangerous things, especially for someone as precious as you. So, really, watching you wasn’t just about getting closer. It was about protecting you. Making sure you got home safely, ensuring no one suspicious lingered too close, even subtly steering you away from places that didn’t seem right.
Learning your habits, memorizing the way you moved, keeping you safe—well, wasn’t that just proof of how much he cared?
Jungwoo couldn’t help but let a passionate sigh escape from his lips as he watched you try on the new lingerie you bought. He had noticed it the first time he ever saw you changing, that bad little habit of yours. You never closed your curtains. It was almost like an invitation, like you wanted him to see.
Of course, he couldn’t let you keep doing something so dangerous. He’d have to remind you (when he finally gathered the courage to meet you) that you shouldn’t be so careless. That there were people out there with bad intentions, people who could hurt you.
You were lucky that he was the one watching you, and not someone else.
Nonetheless, he couldn’t do much more than enjoy the view.
His mouth nearly watered at the sight of you in that delicate blue bra and lacy panties. God, you had such impeccable taste, it suited you perfectly, just the way he’d imagined. And, oh, he had imagined it. The moment he saw you pick it up in the store, he knew it would look divine on you.
His heart and cock throbbed in unison, so pleased, so grateful. He didn’t even need to rely on his imagination tonight, you were right there, unknowingly putting on a perfect show just for him. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to reach for you, to touch, to feel, to claim. But for now, he had to be patient. Good things come to those who wait, right?
You shifted slightly, turning to the side to admire yourself in the mirror, and the movement nearly sent him over the edge. The way the fabric hugged you, the way your hands ran along your own body, adjusting the straps, smoothing the lace—it was almost too much.
Jungwoo bit his lip, his breath heavy as he palmed himself through his pants, his eyes glued to you like a starving man. You were so unaware, so innocent in your little routine, completely oblivious to the fact that someone was appreciating you more than even you appreciated yourself.
As if the universe really wanted to test his self-control, you let out a little sigh and pouted, clearly dissatisfied with something. His stomach clenched. What’s wrong, sweetheart? Don’t you see how fucking perfect you are?
Then, you did something that nearly made him lose it. You reached behind you, unclasped your bra, and let it slide down your arms. His cock jolted in happiness inside his pants when he caught a glimpse of your chest, your beautiful breasts gracing his eyes. He could barely contain the desire to press his lips to them, to suck and taste you so badly.
He was sure he could cum just like that, just at the sight of you. That’s why he had to look away, his cheeks burning in embarrassment, his heart hammering against his chest. But even as he turned his head, his body refused to obey. His eyes flickered back to you, drawn to every movement, every little shift of your body. Fuck. You had no idea, did you? No idea how much you tormented him, how badly he wanted, needed you to see him.
He swallowed hard, his hand gripping his thigh as if that would ground him, stop him from doing something stupid. He desperately needed you to acknowledge his existence. To look his way. To notice him. Just once.
But he knew this wouldn’t happen. At least, not yet.
Johnny always knew how to talk his way into anything, and with you, it was no different.
You trusted him, he made you laugh, always knew the right thing to say, always had a comforting tone, a clever joke, a witty excuse. You never really noticed how often he got away with things no one else would dare.
Like the way he’d casually barge into your room while you were changing.
It happened more than once, always with him claiming it was an accident, but somehow never looking particularly surprised. If you were trying on new clothes, he’d flash you a grin and say how amazing you looked, how the outfit suited you just right. If you were in your underwear, he’d murmur that you looked stunning like that, like it was the most natural compliment in the world.
And if you were naked… He’d let his eyes shamelessly roam, taking in every inch before offering you a cocky smile. He’d only leave when you scrambled to the door and slammed it shut, his muffled voice on the other side teasing, “You’re so fucking hot, you know that?”
And somehow, he always got away with it. Maybe because, deep down, you liked the attention. The way his eyes lingered on you. The way his charming smile could so easily cloud your judgment, sweeping your thoughts away from the obvious implications of his behavior.
And when he invited you over, you hadn’t expected to walk in on that. You froze in the doorway, gasping in surprise the moment your eyes landed on him—hand wrapped around his cock, stroking himself slowly. You turned around on instinct, heart pounding with embarrassment.
But he didn’t look the least bit flustered. In fact, the small smile on his lips said he’d planned this.
“Oh,” he said casually, his voice laced with amusement, “you’re here already.”
“Yeah, I—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—you know!” you stammered, unable to string a proper sentence together.
“Don’t worry,” he chuckled, and you heard the wet sound of his hand moving faster. A soft groan slipped from him. “You came in at the perfect moment.”
You swallowed. “W-what?”
“Come on,” his tone low and teasing. “Look at me, baby. Don’t you wanna see what you do to me?”
There was a pause, the air thick with tension. And slowly, curiosity, shameless curiosity, won. You turned your head, just enough to see him biting his lower lip, his fist moving faster, eyes locked onto yours like you were the one touching him.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with praise as he threw his head back, pumping himself faster. It was so much easier with you right there, just a few steps away, no need for imagination this time. You were real, watching, and that alone had him melting. “Fuck,” he groaned, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I’m gonna cum… just for you.”
And so he did, hot spurts of cum painting his hand as your name slipped from his lips in a satisfied moan. His body shuddered, breath heavy, and when he opened his eyes again, they landed right on you.
You were still standing there. Still watching. Eyes wide, lips parted, your thoughts written all over your face.
“So… are you gonna keep watching or help me out?”
Taeyong isn’t much obvious about it. To anyone watching, he just seems like the perfect, overly sweet boyfriend, the kind who couldn’t imagine living without you.
And really, he is the best. Caring, loving, sincere. Honest about almost all his feelings. He’s all affection, always holding you close, always cuddling you like you’re the most precious thing in his world, peppering your face with kisses like he’s addicted to your skin. And that clingy, affectionate side? It’s the perfect cover for how perverted he really is with you.
His hands are always on you. Always.
When you’re curled up together on the couch watching a movie, his fingers will start innocently enough, tracing light circles on your stomach, pretending to be casual. But they always wander higher. Just under your breasts at first, staying there long enough that it starts to feel normal. Harmless.
Until suddenly he’s full-on groping you with a calm look on his face like it’s just another act of love. And you’ve gotten so used to it, you barely even flinch anymore.
Whenever you take a bath, he insists on joining you, always under the excuse of helping you clean up or giving you a "five-star spa experience" with his so-called massage service. It’s all about relaxing you, he says. Just a way to help you unwind.
But the truth is, he just wants full access to your body, to touch you anywhere he wants, whenever he wants. And really, he does love you, so much it borders on obsession. He needs you close, always.
And when you sleep together? You curl up on his chest, soft and warm, pressing against him like you belong there. You're so close he can feel every part of you… and most nights, he ends up cumming in his pants, silently, helplessly, just from the way your body molds into his.
Sometimes, he just can’t hold himself back.
There are nights he wakes you up, his body burning too hot, need pressing hard against his patience. His arms wrapped around you, chest to your back, lips brushing your ear.
“Can I please just put it in?” he whispers, voice soft and breathy, a desperate little whine that trembles with restraint. He presses a kiss to your neck, soft and pleading, while his hard cock grinds lazily against your ass through his briefs.
And how could you ever say no to him? So you just sigh softly, pull your shorts to the side, and let him slip inside you without another word. The sound he makes, a choked, relieved groan, almost teary in its intensity, is absolutely priceless.
Does Haechan usually enjoy a bit of a chase? Absolutely. He liked the tension, the teasing. But with you… there was something different. Something addictive about the way you melted for him with just a little push, the way you were so, so easy for him and only him.
He couldn’t explain it. Maybe he didn’t even want to. All he knew was that with a little persistence, a little pressure, he'd have you right where he wanted, squirming under his touch, your body giving in to him in the most satisfying ways.
You were genuinely his favorite plaything, he loved to mess with you.
You weren’t even in a relationship, but he made it clear to everyone that you were his—hence the reason why you never managed to find a romantic partner.
Donghyuck sabotaged every single potential candidate for that spot in your life. He made a point of being extra clingy the moment someone interested in you entered the room: he’d hold you by the waist the entire time, pull you into a hug, cover your face with kisses, and slip his tongue into your mouth in a messy kiss. Even if you tried to resist all his attempts, you always gave in in the end.
It was so easy, it was almost refreshing.
If he wanted to pull you into a corner in a public place just to fuck you, all he’d have to do is ask sweetly and you’d already be lifting your skirt for him to take you from behind. If he wanted to eat your pussy for breakfast, he’d just need to walk into your room, crawl under your covers, and find his feast between your legs. If he wanted to film you giving him the best blowjob of his life, all he’d have to do is promise to make you come until you couldn't take it anymore.
He also had a little habit of leaving pieces of himself everywhere. Whether it was cumming in your panties or wiping himself off on your pillow, he loved the thought of you surrounded by him, even when he wasn’t there.
Sometimes he’d jerk off while you were in the shower, moaning your name into your bedsheets and finishing all over your favorite pair of underwear, then toss them casually back into your drawer, knowing you’d find them later. Or worse: he’d tell you to wear them, right before you went out, watching closely as you hesitated… then slipped them on anyway, embarrassment all over your face as his cum stuck to your skin.
“Now, pull your leg up, cutie," he murmured, kneeling down in front of you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“But, Hyuck—” your voice trembled as you glanced around the library. It was full, and this corner wasn’t nearly as hidden as he made it seem. “We’ll get caught…”
“We won’t,” he said confidently, already lifting your leg and hooking it over his shoulder. He pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses along your thigh, voice dripping with sweetness. “Just be quiet for me, baby.”
“But still—”
“Please,” he breathed, and before you could respond, he kissed your clit, firm and full, enough to make you jolt and suck in a gasp. “Just wanna eat you.”
You bit your lip hard, casting one last panicked glance around the room. No one seemed to notice. No one had any idea what was happening behind the stacks.
When your eyes met his again, you didn’t speak, just gave him that look, the one that said “hurry up” without a single word. That smirk of his spread lazily across his lips before he finally dipped his tongue between your folds.
You were his. Not because you said yes, but because you never said no.
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