Story of My Life

✧

✧ 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐤𝐣𝐢𝐧

Seokjin had always been the dramatic one, the member who could turn even the smallest inconvenience into a full theatrical performance.

But when it came to you, his secret love, that drama wasn’t just for show—it masked something much deeper. He was head over heels, the kind of love that kept him up at night thinking about your laugh, your voice, the way you looked at him when no one else was watching.

You two had agreed to keep it hidden for now, protecting the relationship from the intense spotlight of idol life. Still, every time someone else stole your attention, it hit him harder than he let on.

The backstage area buzzed with pre-concert energy. Staff members hurried around, stylists adjusted outfits, and the members stretched or reviewed last-minute details. Seokjin lounged against a table, flipping through his phone with practiced nonchalance, but his eyes kept drifting to you across the room.

You were chatting with one of the newer lighting technicians—a friendly, outgoing guy who had been making everyone laugh all week. The technician leaned in closer as he explained some technical detail, gesturing animatedly, and you smiled at him, nodding along.

Seokjin’s fingers paused on his screen. He forced a smile, but inside, irritation prickled. It’s just a conversation, he told himself. You’re allowed to talk to people.

Yet the way the guy’s hand brushed your shoulder lightly as he pointed something out on a tablet made Seokjin’s stomach twist. He cleared his throat loudly, but no one noticed. Fine. He could play this game.

“Wow, okayyyy, I see how it is,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to potentially hear if you were paying attention. You didn’t turn. The technician said something else, and you laughed again—that bright, genuine laugh that Seokjin usually earned with his dad jokes and cooking stories.

He pushed off the table, wandering closer under the pretense of grabbing a water bottle. “Guess I’m invisible now,” he added in a sing-song voice, dramatic and pouty, drawing a few amused glances from nearby staff. But his eyes stayed on you, sharp and needy.

Deep down, it wasn’t just theatrics. He genuinely felt the sting. He wanted your focus on him, your smiles directed at him, your time reserved for stolen moments in hotel rooms or quiet van rides where he could whisper how much he adored you.

The technician touched your arm again, this time resting his hand there a second too long while showing you a funny video on his phone. That was it.

Seokjin stepped forward with exaggerated flair, placing a hand on his chest like he’d been wounded. “Ah, I see the new lighting expert has taken over my role as the funniest person in the room. Should I just disappear into the background? Maybe become a stage prop?” His tone was light, teasing, but the undercurrent of real upset made his words sharper than usual.

The technician blinked, suddenly awkward, and pulled his hand back quickly.

You turned to Seokjin, catching the flash of genuine hurt behind his dramatic mask. The technician excused himself with a nervous chuckle, sensing the shift in atmosphere.

As soon as the two of you had a moment of semi-privacy near the edge of the room, Seokjin’s facade cracked further. He crossed his arms, lips pursed in that signature pout. “You like him more than me now? Be honest. I can take it. I’m just the handsome chef who makes you laugh and cooks your favorite meals at 2 a.m. No big deal.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, but before you could respond, he grabbed your hand and tugged you toward his private dressing room down the hall, closing the door firmly behind you. The lock clicked, sealing you both away from prying eyes.

The moment the world was shut out, Seokjin’s dramatic complaints melted into raw emotion. He pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in a tight back hug from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.

His breath was warm against your neck. “I hate this,” he whispered, voice dropping the playful tone. “I hate pretending I don’t care when someone else touches you or makes you laugh. I want all of it. Your attention, your time, your everything. It’s selfish, but I’m in love with you. Secretly, stupidly, completely.”

His hands roamed up your sides, pulling you closer against his chest. The clinginess kicked in hard—exactly as expected after his jealousy flared. He pressed a series of soft forehead kisses along your hairline, then turned you in his arms to face him. “You like me more, right? Tell me. I need to hear it.”

“Of course I do, Jin. Only you,” you reassured him, and that was all it took.

His mouth descended on yours in a kiss that started tender but quickly ignited with pent-up need. Seokjin kissed like he performed— with full commitment and flair.

His lips moved against yours hungrily, tongue teasing until you parted for him. He backed you toward the couch, never breaking contact, his large hands cupping your face as if you might vanish.

Clothes came off in a heated rush. He peeled your shirt away slowly, savoring the reveal of your skin, then shed his own to expose his broad shoulders and toned chest. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion and desire.

He laid you down on the couch, hovering over you, dropping more forehead kisses and soft ones along your collarbone. His hands explored everywhere—squeezing your waist, tracing your curves, gripping your thighs as he settled between them.

Seokjin took his time, despite the urgency of his jealousy. He kissed down your body, lingering at your breasts, sucking one nipple into his mouth while his fingers played with the other. You arched into him, fingers threading through his dark hair.

Lower, he went, until his breath ghosted over your core. He looked up at you with those expressive eyes, still a hint of that dramatic pout lingering. “This is mine. Only mine.”

His tongue delved in, licking a slow stripe through your folds before focusing on your clit with precise, teasing circles. Two fingers slid inside you, curling expertly as he worked you open. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending sparks up your spine.

Seokjin ate you out with the same dedication he put into everything—thorough, passionate, a little extra. He brought you right to the edge, then eased back, kissing your inner thighs while you caught your breath.

“Not yet,” he said, climbing back up your body. “I want to be inside you when you come. I want to feel how much you want me.”

He positioned himself, rubbing the thick head of his cock against your entrance, slick with your arousal and his saliva. With a deep push, he entered you, both of you groaning at the perfect fit.

Seokjin’s hips rolled slowly at first, savoring the connection, but jealousy still simmered beneath the surface. His pace quickened, thrusts becoming deeper and more insistent.

“Tell me again,” he panted between kisses, pinning your hands above your head with one of his. “You like me more, right? Say it while I fuck you.”

“I like you more—fuck, Jin, so much more,” you moaned, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper.

That spurred him on. He released your hands to grip your hips, angling you so every thrust hit that sweet spot inside. The room filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, your shared gasps, and his occasional dramatic whispers. “That’s right. No one else gets to make you feel like this. No technician, no staff, no one. Just me.”

He shifted positions, pulling you up so you straddled him on the couch. You rode him while he guided your movements with strong hands on your ass, thrusting up to meet you. His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking marks that would be hidden under your clothes later.

One hand slipped between you, thumb circling your clit in time with your bounces.

Pleasure coiled tight in your belly. Seokjin could feel you tightening around him. “Come for me, baby. Show me I’m the only one.”

Your orgasm hit hard, waves crashing through you as you clenched around his cock, crying out his name. Seokjin followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a long, satisfied groan.

His arms wrapped around you tightly in another back hug as you both came down, even while still connected.

For several minutes, he just held you like that, pressing forehead kisses to your temple, your cheeks, anywhere he could reach. The clinginess returned full force.

“I’m sorry for being dramatic out there,” he murmured, nuzzling your neck. “But I can’t help it. When I see someone else getting your smiles, it makes me realize how badly I want to tell the whole world you’re mine. Until then… stay close to me, okay? Lots of hugs like this. Lots of kisses. And always tell me I’m your favorite.”

You laughed softly, running your fingers through his hair. “You are my favorite, Jin. Dramatics and all.”

He smiled, genuine and warm now that the jealousy had been soothed by your touch. But he wasn’t done. After cleaning you both up gently, he pulled you back into his lap, hands wandering again. “Round two,” he announced with a playful wink. “I need more reassurance. And more of those sounds you make just for me.”

This time was slower, more intimate. He took you from behind while you leaned over the couch arm, his chest pressed to your back in a constant hug.

One arm wrapped around your waist, the other between your legs, rubbing you as he thrust steadily. He whispered praises and silly jokes mixed with love confessions, keeping things light even as pleasure built again.

By the end, you were both exhausted in the best way, tangled together on the couch with his arms securely around you. Seokjin’s dramatic jealousy had led to this—raw passion, tender aftercare, and a deeper bond strengthened in secret. He kissed your forehead one last time.

“Don’t forget who loves you most, even when I have to pretend I don’t in front of everyone else.”

The concert would start soon, and he’d be back to his charismatic, funny self on stage. But you would carry his touch, his words, and the quiet promise of more hidden moments like this.

✧

✧ 𝐘𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢

Yoongi didn’t need to raise his voice or put on a show for his jealousy to land like ice water down the spine. It was the silence that made it terrifying—the way his face stayed almost neutral, sharp eyes narrowing just a fraction, while the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

He was in love with you in the quietest, most consuming way possible. A love built on late-night studio sessions where words weren’t necessary, on shared headphones and fingers brushing under tables. You kept it secret because that was the only way it could survive right now. But secrets had a way of sharpening everything else, especially the possessiveness he rarely let show.

The green room hummed with the usual pre-show chaos. Staff adjusted mics, members chatted in low voices, and you stood near the couch talking to one of the tour photographers.

The guy was friendly, talented, and clearly interested. He leaned against the wall, camera slung around his neck, smiling as he showed you some shots from the previous night on his screen. “You always end up looking perfect in these,” he said, voice dropping a little. “The way the light hits you… I could shoot you for hours.”

You laughed politely, flipping through the images. Yoongi sat on the opposite couch, hood up, earbuds in but no music playing. His expression didn’t change. He looked half-asleep, legs stretched out, cap pulled low. But his gaze followed every movement.

The way the photographer stepped closer. The way his hand brushed your elbow to point at something on the screen. The way you smiled back—not flirtatious, but warm enough to twist something deep in Yoongi’s chest.

He didn’t speak. Not at first. His answers to the staff member asking about setlist changes became short, almost curt. “Yeah.” “Fine.” “Whatever works.” The calm shifted. People around him started glancing over, sensing the subtle change in the air without understanding why. Yoongi’s eyes stayed locked on you, dark and unreadable, tracking the photographer’s every gesture like a predator deciding exactly when to strike.

When the guy laughed at something you said and let his fingers linger on your arm, tracing a light path down to your wrist while complimenting your “natural presence,” Yoongi moved. No words.

No dramatic sigh. He simply stood, crossed the room in that slow, deliberate way of his, and slid an arm around your waist from behind. His hand settled firmly, fingers pressing into your side with quiet ownership. He pulled you back against his chest, chin brushing your shoulder for a brief second before he released you—but not really. His presence stayed right there, a wall of silent warning.

The photographer straightened immediately, mumbling something about checking equipment, and disappeared faster than expected. Yoongi didn’t smile. He didn’t gloat. He just looked at you once, eyes saying everything his mouth wouldn’t: We’re leaving. Now.

He guided you out with that same hand on your waist, touch deceptively light but impossible to ignore. Down the hallway to his private dressing room.

The door shut with a soft click. The lock turned. And then the real shift happened.

Yoongi leaned against the door for a moment, staring at you. Still silent. The jealousy didn’t explode out of him like it might with the others. It coiled, controlled, and burned hotter because of it. He crossed to you slowly, backing you against the makeup counter without touching you at first.

His hands finally came up, framing your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks with surprising gentleness before his grip tightened just enough.

“You let him touch you,” he said, voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. It wasn’t a question. “Laughed with him. Let him look at you like that.”

His lips crashed into yours before you could answer—slow, deep, devastating. Yoongi kissed like he produced music: layered, intentional, every movement building something heavier. His tongue slid against yours, claiming, while one hand dropped to your waist again, pulling your hips flush against him.

You could feel how hard he already was, pressed against your stomach.

He broke the kiss only to trail his mouth down your neck, sucking lightly at first, then harder, leaving marks that would hide under your collar. “Mine,” he breathed against your skin. No theatrics.

Just fact. His hands worked methodically, peeling your shirt off, then his own. The sight of his pale skin, slim but toned torso, and the faint lines of muscle made your breath catch. He lifted you onto the counter, stepping between your legs.

Yoongi’s possessiveness showed in the calmest, most intense ways. He didn’t rush. He unbuttoned your pants and dragged them down along with your underwear, eyes never leaving yours. When you were bare, he ran his palms up your thighs, spreading them wider.

Two fingers traced your entrance, feeling how wet you already were, before sliding in deep. He curled them slowly, perfectly, watching every flicker across your face.

“Eyes on me,” he murmured when your head tipped back. His free hand gripped your chin, forcing your gaze back to his. Those dark eyes held you captive while his fingers pumped steadily, thumb circling your clit with maddening precision.

The room filled with the wet sounds of his hand and your growing moans, but Yoongi stayed mostly quiet, only letting out low, controlled breaths.

He brought you right to the edge, then withdrew his fingers, ignoring your frustrated whimper. He freed himself from his pants, thick and flushed, stroking once before pressing the head against you.

One smooth thrust and he buried himself to the hilt, groaning softly into your neck. The stretch was perfect, overwhelming.

His hips rolled in deep, measured strokes. Not frantic—deliberate. Each thrust claimed you, reminded you exactly who you belonged to. One arm wrapped around your back, holding you impossibly close, while the other braced on the counter. Skin met skin in rhythmic slaps, but his voice stayed low.

“No one else gets this,” he whispered against your ear, biting the lobe. “No one else hears you moan like this. No one else feels how tight you get when I’m inside you.” His pace increased gradually, still controlled, but the jealousy fueled every snap of his hips. He angled just right, hitting that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes.

You clutched his shoulders, nails digging in. “Yoongi—”

“Say it,” he demanded quietly, voice dark. “Tell me who you belong to while I fuck you.”

“You. Only you.”

That seemed to break something in his restraint. He lifted you off the counter, turning you around and bending you over it. Your hands braced on the cool surface as he entered you again from behind, deeper this way.

One hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, the other reached around to rub your clit in tight circles. His chest pressed to your back, lips against your shoulder as he thrust harder, faster, but still terrifyingly silent except for the occasional low groan.

The orgasm built like a wave you couldn’t escape. When it crashed over you, your walls clenched around him, legs shaking. Yoongi followed moments later, burying himself deep and coming with a quiet, shuddering breath, filling you completely.

He stayed inside you for a long minute, arms wrapped around your waist, face pressed to your back.

Finally, he pulled out carefully, cleaning you both with a warm cloth from the side table. He didn’t speak much even then. Just pulled you into his arms on the small couch, holding you against his chest.

His fingers traced slow patterns on your bare skin—possessive, soothing. The silent jealousy had morphed into this: quiet intensity, the kind that wrapped around you like smoke.

“I hate it,” he said eventually, voice barely audible. “Seeing someone else flirt with you. Touch you. Makes me want to pull you away every single time. I know we can’t say anything yet. But you’re mine. In every way that matters.”

You turned in his arms, kissing his jaw. “I am yours, Yoongi. Always.”

He nodded once, eyes softening just a fraction. But the possessiveness lingered. His hand slid down to grip your thigh, pulling you closer. “Good. Because we still have time before soundcheck.”

His lips found yours again, slower this time, but no less hungry.

The second round was different—slower, face to face on the couch, your legs wrapped around his waist as he moved inside you with those same deep, claiming strokes. He kept his forehead against yours, eyes locked, forcing you to feel every emotion he rarely voiced.

When you came again, whispering his name like a prayer, he followed, spilling into you once more with a quiet curse.

Afterward, he held you tightly, pressing soft kisses to your temple. No dramatic declarations.

No over-the-top clinginess. Just Yoongi—silent, steady, and terrifyingly in love. The kind of love that didn’t need noise to be felt in your bones.

He helped you dress eventually, adjusting your clothes so the marks he left stayed hidden.

When you stepped back into the hallway, his expression had returned to that neutral calm. But his hand brushed your lower back one last time, a secret reminder.

The mood around him stayed shifted for the rest of the evening. Short answers. Watching eyes. And when anyone got too close to you again, that arm found your waist without a word.

Because Yoongi’s jealousy didn’t roar. It simply took what was his, quietly, completely, and left no room for doubt.

✧

✧ 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤

Hoseok was sunshine personified—bright smiles, infectious laughter, and that endless energy that lit up every room he entered. But when jealousy crept in, especially over you, the person he was secretly, deeply in love with, that sunshine didn’t disappear. It just burned hotter, more focused, until it consumed everything else.

He tried so hard to play it cool, to keep things light and fun like always, because that was his role. The one who kept morale high. The one who made everyone feel at ease. But with you, his ult, his hidden heart, the mask slipped faster than he could catch it.

The backstage lounge was alive with pre-rehearsal chatter. Members stretched, stylists touched up makeup, and you were standing near the snack table talking to one of the new choreographers—a charismatic guy who’d been brought in for a fresh routine. He was funny, confident, and clearly drawn to your energy. He demonstrated a quick footwork move, laughing as you tried to copy it, his hand lightly steadying your waist for balance.

“See? You’ve got natural rhythm,” he said, eyes lingering a second too long. “We should practice together sometime. I could teach you a lot.”

Hoseok, who had been sipping water across the room while chatting with staff, felt the shift instantly. He forced a wide smile, the one that usually lit up stages worldwide, and sauntered over with his signature playful bounce. “Yah, what’s this? Stealing my favorite dance partner?” he teased, voice bright and sing-song.

But the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. It tightened at the corners, turning a little sharp. His laugh when the choreographer joked back sounded forced, almost brittle.

He tried again, keeping it playful. “Careful, she might outshine you on stage if you teach her too well!” Another laugh, but it fell flat even to his own ears.

Deep down, it wasn’t funny. Not when this guy had his hand on your waist. Not when you were smiling at someone else the way Hoseok wanted you smiling at him in every stolen moment—those quiet van rides, late-night texts, and hidden hotel nights where he whispered how much he adored you. You were his secret, his everything, and watching someone else flirt so openly made his chest ache with a need he couldn’t voice publicly.

The choreographer chuckled and touched your arm again, leaning in to say something quieter. That was the breaking point. Hoseok’s playful facade crumbled in an instant. He moved smoothly but decisively, sliding right beside you. One arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you firmly against his side. His other hand found yours, fingers intertwining tightly.

He rested his chin on top of your head, nuzzling in just enough to make his claim crystal clear without words. The warmth of his body enveloped you, that familiar mix of cologne and stage energy that was so distinctly him.

“Actually,” Hoseok said, voice still light but edged with something deeper, “we have some partner work we need to go over. Right now.” His smile stayed plastered on for the choreographer, but his grip on you tightened. Everyone in the room could see it—you two were close. Very close.

The choreographer got the message, nodding awkwardly and stepping back with a quick excuse about checking the stage layout.

As soon as the guy was out of sight, Hoseok didn’t let go. If anything, he held you tighter. His arm around your shoulders became a full embrace, chin still on your head as he swayed you gently side to side like you were dancing to music only he could hear. “I hate that,” he murmured into your hair, voice dropping the playful tone. “I try to act cool, but seeing him touch you… it makes me want to pull you away and keep you all to myself. You’re my person. My favorite. I need everyone to know how close we are, even if we can’t tell them everything yet.”

He guided you down the hallway to his private dressing room, never once releasing your hand. The door closed behind you, and the lock clicked. In the quiet space, Hoseok’s energy shifted completely.

He turned to you, eyes soft but burning with that mix of love and jealousy. “You know you’re my ult, right? My everything. I can’t stand the thought of someone else thinking they can have even a piece of you.”

His hands cupped your face tenderly, thumbs brushing your cheeks, before he kissed you. It wasn’t rushed—it was deep, passionate, full of all the affection he poured into every performance. Hoseok kissed like he danced: with soul, with fire, with every part of himself.

His tongue moved against yours in perfect rhythm, drawing soft sounds from you that made him smile against your lips.

Clothes disappeared between heated kisses and wandering hands. He peeled your shirt off slowly, worshipping every inch of skin he revealed with his mouth. “So beautiful,” he whispered, voice husky.

His own shirt came off next, revealing his toned dancer’s body, lean muscle honed from years of powerful performances. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the wide couch.

Hoseok laid you down like you were precious, but his touches grew more urgent. He kissed down your neck, sucking gentle marks along your collarbone—marks only the two of you would see.

His hands explored your curves, squeezing your hips, tracing your thighs as he removed the rest of your clothes. When you were bare beneath him, he took a moment just to look, eyes full of adoration. “Mine,” he said softly, almost reverently. “All mine.”

He settled between your legs, mouth hot and eager as he tasted you. His tongue moved with expert precision—playful flicks on your clit mixed with deep, languid strokes that had you gripping his hair. Two fingers slid inside you, curling in that way he knew drove you crazy, matching the rhythm of his mouth. Hoseok moaned against you, the vibrations sending sparks through your body.

He looked up at you the whole time, eyes locked, making sure you felt exactly how much he needed this.

But he didn’t let you finish that way. He wanted to be closer. Needed it. Hoseok climbed back up, shedding the last of his clothes, his cock hard and flushed with need.

He rubbed the tip against your entrance, teasing just enough to make you whimper, before sliding in deep with one smooth thrust. The feeling of him filling you completely drew matching groans from both of you.

He started slow, rolling his hips in that fluid, dancer-like motion, grinding deep. One hand held yours above your head, fingers still intertwined, while the other caressed your face. “Look at me, baby,” he breathed, forehead resting against yours. “I need you to see how much I love you. How crazy you make me.”

The pace built gradually, thrusts becoming more powerful, more possessive. Skin met skin with rhythmic slaps, the couch creaking softly beneath you. Hoseok’s usual playfulness returned in little ways—he nipped at your lip with a small smile, whispered silly-sweet things between moans—but the jealousy fueled an intensity that made everything hotter. He shifted you onto your side, lifting one leg over his shoulder so he could go even deeper, hitting that perfect spot with every stroke.

“You feel so good,” he panted, sweat glistening on his skin. “No one else gets this. No one else gets to hold you, touch you, love you like I do.” His free hand slipped between you, thumb circling your clit in tight, perfect patterns. The combination sent you spiraling fast.

When you came, it hit like a wave—walls clenching around him as you cried out his name. Hoseok followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a long, throaty moan, hips stuttering through the pleasure. He collapsed gently on top of you, careful not to crush you, arms wrapping around you in the tightest hug.

Even in the afterglow, the clinginess stayed. He pressed kisses all over your face—forehead, cheeks, nose, lips—while still inside you. “I’m sorry I got jealous,” he whispered, nuzzling your neck.

“But I can’t help it. You’re my ult, my sunshine, my reason for smiling even on hard days. I need the world to see how close we are, even if it’s just through little things like holding your hand or resting my chin on your head.”

He pulled out eventually, cleaning you both with gentle care before pulling you into his lap. The second round came naturally, slower and sweeter this time. You rode him on the couch, his hands guiding your hips as he looked up at you with pure adoration.

He sat up midway, arms around your waist in a full embrace, mouths meeting in messy kisses while he thrust up to meet you. More forehead kisses, more whispers of love, more of that special energy only Hoseok could bring.

Afterward, tangled together and breathing softly, he kept you close. Fingers tracing patterns on your back, chin resting on your head again. “Promise me something?” he asked quietly. “No matter who flirts or how hard we have to hide this… you’ll always come back to me like this.

Let me hold you, love you, remind you that you’re my favorite person in the entire universe.”

You smiled, kissing his jaw. “Always, Hobi. You’re my ult too.”

Hoseok’s bright laugh returned, genuine this time, as he hugged you tighter. The jealousy had faded, replaced by warmth and certainty.

He would go back out there soon with his playful energy, but everyone would still see it—that extra closeness, the way his arm found your shoulders so naturally, the protective glint in his eye. Because when it came to you, Hoseok didn’t just love quietly. He loved with his whole heart, his whole body, and everyone nearby would feel it.

✧

✧ 𝐉𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧

Jimin carried his heart in his eyes. That was what made his jealousy so devastating—not loud or possessive in a flashy way, but a quiet ache that turned those expressive eyes softer, almost glassy, like the light inside him had dimmed. He was deeply, secretly in love with you, the kind of love that bloomed in stolen glances during rehearsals and whispered confessions in the dark of hotel rooms.

You kept it hidden because the world demanded it, but that only made moments like this cut deeper. He wasn’t angry. He was hurt. The kind of hurt that made him question everything.

The waiting area backstage before the showcase was filled with the usual energy—stylists rushing with last-minute fixes, members warming up their voices, and low chatter bouncing off the walls. Jimin sat on a low couch, legs tucked under him gracefully, scrolling through his phone. But his attention wasn’t on the screen. It was on you, across the room, talking to one of the backup vocal coaches.

The guy was kind, experienced, and had a gentle way of speaking that clearly put you at ease. He laughed at something you said, leaning in slightly as he offered tips on a tricky harmony, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder in encouragement.

Jimin’s smile, the one he’d been holding for the staff earlier, faltered. His eyes softened, the usual sparkle dulling into something quieter, more vulnerable. He looked away for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek, but his gaze kept drifting back. Do they make you happier than I do? The thought crept in uninvited. Am I bothering you lately? Maybe I’ve been too clingy in our secret texts. Maybe you need someone who doesn’t have to hide. His fingers tightened around his phone, but outwardly, he stayed composed—almost too still, too quiet. The members noticed the shift; Jungkook asked if he was okay, and Jimin just nodded with a small, forced curve of his lips.

When the coach’s hand lingered on your arm a second longer while demonstrating a breathing technique, Jimin couldn’t stay seated. He stood gracefully, crossing the room without fanfare. No dramatic words, no tight smiles like Hoseok might use. Just a gentle touch—his hand slipping into yours, fingers intertwining as he tugged you lightly toward him. “Hey,” he said softly, voice barely above a murmur. “Can we talk for a minute?” His eyes met yours, pleading in that subtle way only you could read. The coach sensed the moment and stepped back with a polite nod.

Jimin led you down the hallway to his private dressing room, his hold on your hand never loosening. Once inside, with the door closed and the world locked out, the overthinking spilled quietly from him. He turned to you, eyes even softer now, almost misty. He didn’t let go of your hand, instead pulling it up to press against his chest so you could feel his heartbeat—steady but a little faster than usual.

“I saw you with him,” he whispered, voice gentle but laced with that hurt. “The way he made you laugh… it was nice. Really nice. Do they make you happier than I do? Be honest with me. I can take it, I think. But lately I keep wondering if I’m bothering you. If all these secret moments, the late calls when I can’t sleep, the way I always want you close… maybe it’s too much. Maybe you need space.”

His free hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, touch feather-light, as if afraid you might pull away. Those beautiful eyes searched yours, vulnerable and open in a way he rarely showed the world. Jimin melted when he felt loved, but right now, the jealousy had him unraveling in the softest, most heartbreaking way.

You reassured him immediately, cupping his face and telling him how much he meant to you—how no one compared, how his attention was your favorite thing. The words worked like magic. His shoulders relaxed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he leaned into your palm. “Really?” he breathed, voice cracking just a little. And then he melted completely, stepping closer until his body pressed against yours, arms wrapping around your waist in a needy embrace. “I need you,” he murmured against your neck. “Show me I’m still your favorite.”

The kiss started tender, almost hesitant, like he was afraid to ask for too much. But as you deepened it, pouring reassurance into every brush of lips and tongue, Jimin came alive. His hands roamed your back, pulling you impossibly closer, fingers tracing the curve of your spine with familiar reverence. Clothes came off slowly, between soft kisses and whispered affirmations. He peeled your shirt away like unwrapping something precious, lips following the path of exposed skin—collarbone, shoulder, the dip between your breasts.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, eyes drinking you in. His own shirt slipped off, revealing the lean, sculpted lines of his dancer’s body, skin glowing under the warm lights. He lifted you onto the vanity table, stepping between your legs, hands gentle but sure on your thighs. “Tell me again,” he asked softly, forehead resting against yours. “That I’m the one you want.”

“You’re the only one, Jimin. Always.”

That was all he needed. He kissed you deeply, tongues sliding together as his hands explored. He cupped your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they peaked under his touch, drawing quiet gasps from you. Lower, his fingers trailed, slipping between your legs to find you already wet for him. Two slender fingers eased inside, curling slowly, perfectly, while his thumb brushed your clit in lazy circles. He watched your face the entire time, eyes soft and locked on yours, feeding on every moan like it was oxygen.

“Please,” you breathed, and he nodded, removing his fingers to free himself. His cock was hard, flushed, curving beautifully as he stroked it once before pressing against your entrance. He slid in slowly, savoring every inch, both of you sighing at the connection. Jimin’s hips rolled in fluid, graceful thrusts—deep and unhurried, like a dance only the two of you knew. One arm wrapped around your back, holding you close, while the other braced on the table.

“Feel me,” he whispered, voice husky with emotion. “I’m yours too. Completely.” His pace stayed tender at first, but reassurance turned the heat up. He buried his face in your neck, sucking soft marks as his thrusts grew firmer, hitting that spot inside you that made your toes curl. You clung to his shoulders, nails lightly scratching his back, and he shivered in pleasure.

He pulled back to look at you again, eyes half-lidded but shining. “I was scared for a second… that maybe someone else could make you smile bigger. But this—us—it’s everything.” The vulnerability mixed with desire made it intensely intimate. He shifted you slightly, angling deeper, one hand slipping between you to rub your clit in time with his movements. The build was slow, overwhelming, until you came with a soft cry, clenching around him, pulling him over the edge too. Jimin moaned your name quietly, spilling deep inside you, hips stuttering as waves of pleasure washed over him.

He stayed inside you for a long moment, holding you tightly, foreheads pressed together as breaths mingled. Then the melting happened fully—soft kisses all over your face, gentle hands cleaning you both with a warm towel from the side counter. He carried you to the small couch, curling around you like a koala, legs tangled, arms secure around your waist. “Thank you,” he murmured, nuzzling your hair. “For always making me feel wanted. I get so scared sometimes that I’m not enough in all this hiding.”

“You’re more than enough,” you reassured him again, fingers carding through his hair. He practically purred at the touch, eyes closing in contentment.

The second round came naturally, slower and even more emotional. You straddled him on the couch, sinking down onto him inch by inch while he gazed up at you like you hung the stars. His hands guided your hips, but gently, letting you set the rhythm. Every roll of your body drew soft praises from him—“So good… you feel perfect… I love you like this.” He sat up midway, chest to chest, arms wrapped fully around you in a tight embrace as he thrust up to meet you. Mouths met in lazy, deep kisses, tongues dancing as pleasure built again. When you both came this time, it was together—whispers and shudders, bodies trembling in sync.

Afterward, Jimin kept you in his lap, tracing invisible patterns on your skin, chin resting on your shoulder. The hurt jealousy had dissolved into pure, warm affection. He was quiet again, but this time it was peaceful, content. “I don’t want to go back out there yet,” he admitted with a small smile. “Just a little longer like this. You make everything better.”

He would return to the others soon, eyes bright once more, that charming stage persona slipping back into place. But the secret marks on your skin, the way his hand would brush yours a little longer than necessary, and the soft glances only you understood—they would remind everyone, subtly, that his heart was already claimed. Jimin’s love was like that: not loud, but profound. And when reassured, he gave it back tenfold, melting completely into the person who made his world feel right.

✧

✧ 𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠

Taehyung felt everything deeply. Love, joy, sadness — and especially jealousy. Out of all the members, no one burned with it quite like he did. You weren’t dating. Not officially. You had never put a label on whatever this was between you: stolen kisses in the studio after midnight, fingers brushing under tables, late-night talks where he called you his soulmate in that low, sincere voice of his. But the lack of a title didn’t stop the fierce possessiveness that surged through him every time someone else got too close to you. If anything, it made it worse. Because without a label, he had no real right to feel this way — yet he felt it all the same.

The green room before the soundcheck was lively. Members sprawled across couches, staff moved around with tablets and cables, and you were sitting on the arm of a chair talking to one of the new international staff members — a tall, friendly guy who had been helping with translations. He was charming in an easy way, laughing as he showed you something on his phone. Taehyung sat across the room, legs spread wide, wearing an oversized hoodie, but his usual boxy smile was nowhere to be found.

Instead, his dark eyes were locked on you. Brows slightly furrowed. Lips pressed into a straight line. He didn’t even realize how obvious it was until Jungkook nudged Jimin and both of them started smirking.

“Hyung, you’re staring again,” Jungkook teased quietly, loud enough for the others to hear. “Looking like someone kicked your puppy.”

Taehyung blinked, trying to school his expression into something neutral, but it was too late. The frown was already there, deep and sulky. His gaze flicked back to you immediately. The staff guy leaned closer to show you another video, his hand resting casually on the back of your chair. Taehyung’s jaw tightened. That should be him. Sitting next to you. Making you laugh like that. Being the only one allowed in your space.

He stood up suddenly, long legs carrying him across the room without thinking. The members watched with knowing grins — they had seen this side of Taehyung more than once when it came to you.

“Hey,” he said, voice deep and a little rough as he stopped right beside you. He didn’t even acknowledge the staff member at first. His eyes were only on you. “Come sit with me instead.”

You looked up, catching the unmistakable sulk in his expression. The staff guy paused mid-sentence, suddenly aware of the heavy aura surrounding Taehyung.

“I was just—” you started, but Taehyung was already gently taking your hand, fingers wrapping around yours with quiet determination.

“Please?” he added, softer this time, but the jealousy was written all over his face. Big brown eyes, slight pout, shoulders a little hunched like the weight of watching you with someone else actually hurt him physically. The staff member cleared his throat awkwardly and found an excuse to leave.

The second you let Taehyung pull you over to the couch and sit beside him, his entire mood shifted. The frown melted away. That beautiful boxy smile broke across his face like sunshine after rain. He immediately draped one long arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his side, chin resting lightly on your head. Soulmate behavior. Like the universe had clicked back into place now that you were close again.

“Much better,” he murmured happily, voice low enough for only you to hear. His fingers played with the sleeve of your shirt, absentmindedly tracing patterns. The members exchanged amused looks but didn’t comment further.

But the jealousy hadn’t disappeared. It had simply been redirected into need.

A little while later, when the room cleared out slightly, Taehyung leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “Come with me for a minute.” No room for argument. He took your hand again and led you to his private dressing room, locking the door behind you with a soft click.

The moment you were alone, the intensity returned. He backed you against the wall, hands framing your face as he stared down at you with those soulful eyes.

“I hate it,” he confessed, voice husky. “I know we’re not… official. But seeing him next to you, making you laugh, touching your chair like that — it drives me crazy. You’re mine in here.” He pressed a hand over his own heart. “You feel like my soulmate. Even if we haven’t said the words yet. I get so jealous I can’t hide it.”

His kiss was deep and consuming, the kind only Taehyung could give — passionate, emotional, like he was pouring his entire soul into it. Tongues moved slowly, tasting, claiming. His large hands slid down your body, gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him so you could feel how hard he already was.

Clothes came off with urgent but reverent touches. He peeled your shirt away, kissing every inch of skin he revealed, whispering how beautiful you were, how no one else should ever get to stand that close to you. When he removed his own hoodie and shirt, revealing his broad shoulders and toned chest, you couldn’t help but run your hands over him. He shivered under your touch.

Taehyung lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the couch and laying you down. He hovered over you, eyes never leaving yours as he removed the rest of your clothes. “So perfect,” he breathed, kissing down your stomach until he reached your core. He took his time, tongue moving in slow, sensual strokes, savoring you like fine wine. Two long fingers pushed inside you, curling gently while his mouth focused on your clit. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending pleasure shooting through your body.

But he didn’t let you finish there. He needed to be closer.

Rising up, he freed himself, thick and flushed, and rubbed the tip against your entrance. “Look at me,” he whispered. The eye contact was intense as he pushed in slowly, stretching you open inch by inch until he was buried deep. Both of you groaned at the feeling.

His thrusts started deep and rhythmic, hips rolling in that smooth, artistic way of his. One hand held yours above your head, fingers intertwined, while the other cradled the back of your neck so he could keep kissing you. “You’re mine,” he panted between kisses, even though you weren’t officially. “Even if the world doesn’t know yet. Tell me you feel it too.”

“I feel it, Tae. Only you.”

That reassurance made him melt and burn at the same time. His pace picked up, thrusts becoming harder, more desperate. The jealousy that had been simmering all afternoon poured out in every movement — possessive but full of love. He shifted you so your legs wrapped higher around his waist, going deeper, hitting that spot that made you see stars.

When you came, clenching tightly around him and moaning his name, Taehyung followed right after, burying his face in your neck as he spilled deep inside you with a low, broken groan. His body trembled against yours, arms wrapping around you tightly like he never wanted to let go.

Even after, the clinginess stayed. He cleaned you gently, then pulled you into his lap, arms locked around your waist, chin on your shoulder. “I know I get too jealous,” he admitted quietly, pressing soft kisses to your temple. “But I can’t help it. You’re my person. My soulmate. Watching someone else get your attention feels like losing a piece of myself.”

You stayed like that for a while, his hands gently stroking your back, mood completely bright again now that he had you all to himself. When desire built once more, the second round was slower, more intimate. You rode him on the couch, his hands guiding your hips while he looked up at you with pure adoration. He sat up to kiss you deeply, chest to chest, whispering sweet nothings and jealous little confessions between moans.

By the time you both finished again, you were tangled together, breathing softly. Taehyung kept you close, refusing to let go just yet. “Stay with me a little longer,” he murmured, voice warm. “I need more of this. More of you.”

He would go back out there soon with that signature boxy smile, acting like nothing happened. But everyone would notice how his eyes followed you, how he found excuses to sit next to you, how his hand always seemed to find yours when no one was looking too closely. Because Taehyung’s jealousy wasn’t subtle — it was obvious, deep, and rooted in a love so strong it didn’t need a label to feel real.

He was the most jealous for a reason. You were his soulmate. And he would keep reminding you — and everyone else — of that fact, one stolen moment at a time.

✧

✧ 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤

Jungkook tried so hard not to care. He really did. He told himself a thousand times that you weren’t officially his, that the secret moments you shared—late-night gym sessions where he’d spot you, quiet studio cuddles, and stolen kisses behind closed doors—didn’t give him the right to feel possessive. But he cared the most. Out of everyone, no one’s heart twisted quite like his when someone else flirted with you. It made his ears burn red, his usual bright energy go quiet, and his big doe eyes stay glued to you like you were the only thing in the room.

The backstage lounge before the final rehearsal was buzzing. Members were scattered around, some playing games on their phones, others stretching or chatting with staff. Jungkook sat on the floor against the couch, pretending to scroll through his camera roll, but his attention was locked across the room where you stood talking to one of the young backup dancers. The guy was energetic, funny, and clearly interested. He kept leaning in, demonstrating a move and laughing when you tried it, his hand brushing your arm more than once.

Jungkook’s ears turned pink, then bright red. He pressed his lips together, trying to look unbothered, but his eyes never left you. That should be me,his brain repeated like a mantra. Making you laugh. Touching your arm. Standing that close. He stayed silent, jaw tight, fingers gripping his phone a little too hard. The members noticed. Jimin nudged Taehyung with a smirk, whispering something that made them both glance at Jungkook’s obvious struggle.

When the dancer stepped even closer, placing a hand on your waist to “correct your posture” while showing another step, Jungkook couldn’t stay back anymore. He stood up, ears still flaming, and crossed the room with that effortless athletic grace. Without a word, he slid right beside you, one arm wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you gently but firmly into his chest.

His other hand found yours, fingers intertwining tightly. To everyone else, he acted completely normal—casual smile, soft “hey” like he was just joining the conversation—but his body told a different story. His thumb stroked the back of your hand, and his fingers rested possessively on your waist, right where the other guy’s hand had been.

The dancer got the hint quickly, mumbling something about warming up and backing away. Jungkook’s ears were still red as he kept you pressed against him, chin resting lightly on top of your head for a second before he pulled back just enough to look normal. But inside? His brain was a mess of cute, jealous thoughts. Mine. Should be me. Only me

A few minutes later, when the room thinned out, he leaned down, voice low and a little shy. “Come with me?” He didn’t wait for a full answer, just gently tugged you toward his private dressing room, hand still holding yours the entire way. The second the door closed and locked, the shy act cracked open.

Jungkook turned to you, ears still tinged pink, big eyes soft and vulnerable. “I know I’m not supposed to care this much,” he admitted quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re not even… you know. But seeing him touch you like that? It makes me crazy. That should be me. Only me.”

His jealousy was the cutest thing in the world—those wide eyes, the way he tried so hard to play it cool but failed adorably, the soft pout forming on his lips. You smiled and stepped closer, cupping his face. The reassurance made him melt instantly. Jungkook leaned into your touch like a puppy, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he pulled you into a tight hug, arms wrapping fully around you.

The kiss started sweet, almost shy, but quickly deepened with all the pent-up emotion. Jungkook kissed like he did everything else—with full commitment and passion. His hands roamed your back, pulling you flush against his strong body as his tongue moved against yours. He walked you backward until your legs hit the couch, then gently laid you down, hovering over you with those sparkling eyes.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, voice husky but still carrying that adorable nervousness. He helped you out of your shirt, then removed his own, revealing the sculpted muscles he worked so hard for. His hands were gentle as he explored your body, kissing down your neck, across your collarbone, and lower, sucking soft marks that made you shiver. When he reached your waistband, he looked up at you for permission, ears still faintly red.

Once you were both bare, Jungkook settled between your legs, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs before his tongue found your core. He was eager and attentive, licking and sucking with focused dedication, two fingers sliding inside you and curling just right. He moaned softly against you, the vibrations making your back arch. His free hand reached up to hold yours, fingers intertwined again—like even here, he needed that connection.

But he didn’t let you finish that way. He wanted to be closer. Jungkook climbed back up, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his lips. He stroked himself a few times, then lined up and pushed in slowly, groaning your name as he sank deep. The stretch was perfect, his thickness filling you completely. He stayed still for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, breathing shakily.

“That should be me,” he whispered again, almost like he couldn’t help it. “Only me touching you. Only me making you feel good.”

His thrusts started deep and steady, hips rolling with that powerful athletic control. One hand stayed laced with yours above your head while the other gripped your thigh, holding you open for him. Jungkook’s jealousy melted into the sweetest, most intense lovemaking—every movement full of adoration and quiet possessiveness. He buried his face in your neck, kissing and nibbling as his pace gradually quickened.

“You feel so good,” he panted, voice adorably breathy. “So tight… so perfect. I get so jealous because I like you so much. Like… really like you.”

The confession made your heart flutter. You pulled him closer, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. Jungkook’s thrusts grew faster, deeper, hitting that spot inside you repeatedly until you were moaning his name. His hand slipped between you, thumb rubbing your clit in perfect circles. When you came, clenching hard around him and trembling, he followed right after with a cute, broken moan, burying himself deep and filling you with warm spurts.

He collapsed gently on top of you, careful not to crush you, arms wrapping around your body in the tightest hug. His ears were still pink as he nuzzled into your neck, pressing soft kisses everywhere he could reach. “Sorry if I was too obvious out there,” he mumbled, voice muffled against your skin. “I tried not to care… but I care so much. You’re my favorite person.”

The aftercare was pure Jungkook—sweet and attentive. He cleaned you both carefully with a warm towel, then pulled you into his lap on the couch, arms locked around you like he never wanted to let go. He kept playing with your fingers, intertwining them over and over, chin resting on your shoulder.

The second round came naturally, slower and even cuter. You straddled him, sinking down onto his cock while he looked up at you with those big, sparkling eyes full of affection. His hands guided your hips gently, but he let you set the pace, whispering praises and little jealous confessions between kisses. “No one else gets to hold you like this… only me, right?” He sat up halfway, chest pressed to yours in a warm embrace, thrusting up to meet you as you rode him.

The closeness made everything more intense. When you both came again, it was with soft moans and foreheads pressed together, bodies trembling in sync.

Afterward, Jungkook refused to let you move, cuddling you tightly against his chest, one hand stroking your hair. His jealousy had turned into the fluffiest, warmest afterglow. “Can we stay like this a little longer?” he asked, voice shy but hopeful. “I just… I like having you close. Makes me feel better.”

He would go back out there soon, acting cool with that signature Jungkook confidence, but everyone would notice the little things: how his hand always found yours, how his eyes followed you protectively, how his ears turned pink whenever someone got too friendly. Because when Jungkook got jealous, it wasn’t scary or dramatic—it was the cutest thing in the world.

A big, strong guy reduced to blushing ears and needy hugs, all because he cared the most.

And deep down, you loved every second of it.

© stlllle — 2O26

You shrugged. “I think it’s an interesting topic.”

“I was literally about to beat that level,” he muttered, pointing at the paused screen. “And you want me to sit here and analyze the philosophy of choking?”

“Well, you can still play,” you teased, nudging his arm. “I can talk while you game.”

He gave you a long, unimpressed look before picking up the controller again. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Think about it,” you continued, grinning at how flustered he was. “Why do we want to give up control like that? What does it say about our trust in each other?”

Heeseung groaned, pausing the game again and dropping the controller onto his lap. “You’re seriously not going to stop until I answer, are you?”

“Nope,” you said brightly, leaning closer to him.

His eyes closed briefly as he let out another sigh. When he opened them again, there was a glint of amusement in his gaze. “Fine,” he muttered, setting the controller aside completely. “If you want to talk about trust and control or whatever, I guess we can do that. But just remember—you brought this on yourself.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, and despite his initial exasperation, you could tell he was starting to enjoy this. He leaned toward you, resting his forearm on his knee, and smirked. “Alright, philosopher. Let’s hear it.”

You blinked, slightly taken aback by his sudden shift in attitude. “Wait—are you actually interested now?”

Heeseung’s smirk grew. “No,” he said flatly, crossing his arms, “but you’re clearly not gonna let this go. So go ahead, hit me with your big philosophical choking theory.”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at how serious he looked. “Okay, well, I think it’s not just about the physical act, you know? It’s about trust. You’re giving someone that much control over you, and you have to fully trust them not to hurt you. That’s kind of beautiful, don’t you think?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Beautiful?”

You shrugged. “Yeah. It’s like a dance—one person leads, the other follows, but only because they trust that the other person knows exactly when to stop. It’s not just primal. It’s… intimate.”

Heeseung snorted. “Intimate,” he repeated, shaking his head. “You’re really turning choking into some kind of love poem?”

“I’m just saying!” you protested, throwing up your hands. “It’s more than just physical. Don’t you ever think about why we’re into the things we’re into?”

He let out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, not really. I just figured you liked it rough sometimes.”

You couldn’t help but grin at how casually he said it. “Well, yeah, but it’s not just that. It’s the trust. The dynamic. That feeling of giving up control in a safe way. Don’t you ever think about what that means?”

Heeseung looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a dramatic groan, he reached for his controller again. “I think it means I’m never gonna get to finish this game if you keep talking.”

You laughed, lightly swatting his arm. “You’re such a dork.”

“And you’re overthinking everything,” he shot back, though there was no real bite in his tone. “But fine. If it means that much to you…” He paused, his gaze flickering down to your lips before he leaned in closer, just barely brushing against you. His voice dropped slightly as he added, “Maybe I’ll show you exactly what trust feels like later.”

Your breath hitched, the teasing smirk on his face making your pulse race.

He pulled back quickly, though, laughing as he turned back to his game. “But only if you let me beat this level first.”

Heeseung’s fingers lingered against your jaw, his thumb moving in slow, deliberate circles along your cheekbone. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, flickered over your face, lingering on your parted lips. He was watching—reading you—taking in every shaky breath, every nervous flick of your gaze, every small movement that gave you away.

“You like this, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice lower now, a velvety, teasing hum. His lips hovered just inches from yours, and you could feel his breath ghosting over your skin. Close, but not close enough.

Your pulse jumped. He wasn’t even touching you properly yet, and somehow, he had you completely at his mercy. “You’re the one making me wait,” you managed to whisper, though your voice lacked the teasing edge you intended.

Heeseung chuckled softly, the sound deep and knowing. His grip tightened slightly, his fingers sliding down the column of your neck, grazing your collarbone before settling just above your waist. He held you there, his touch grounding but unhurried—like he was savoring the anticipation, like he knew exactly how worked up you were and was in no rush to give you what you wanted.

“That’s because I like seeing you like this,” he admitted, his tone smooth and unbothered, yet threaded with something darker. “All needy. Barely keeping it together.” His thumb dipped slightly, brushing against the waistband of your shorts before retreating—just enough to make you twitch under his touch.

Your breath hitched, and his smirk grew.

“You keep talking about trust,” Heeseung continued, his fingers toying lazily with the fabric at your hip. His movements were slow, agonizingly slow, as if daring you to break first. “But you already know you trust me.”

Your body leaned into him instinctively, searching for more, but his grip tightened just enough to hold you still. “Then prove it,” he whispered against your jaw, his lips finally making contact. “Let me do everything.”

The words sent a shiver through you.

His mouth moved down, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his tongue tracing the faintest heat against your skin before he pulled back—leaving you aching for more. His other hand slid under the hem of your shirt, fingertips grazing over your ribs before drifting lower. Every touch was calculated, purposeful. Just enough to make your stomach tighten, just enough to make you want to beg.

But you didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, you dug your fingers into his shoulders, holding onto him as if he were the only thing tethering you to reality. Heeseung chuckled again, the sound vibrating against your throat.

“You’re holding on so tight,” he murmured, his voice dipping even lower. His lips hovered just beneath your ear. “Afraid I’ll let go?”

You swallowed hard. “No,” you whispered.

His teeth grazed the sensitive spot on your neck, just barely. “Then stop thinking,” he ordered softly. “Just let me take care of you.”

Your breath came quicker now, your body already burning with anticipation. And Heeseung—Heeseung could feel it.

His smirk deepened as he pulled back slightly, dark eyes flickering over your face. He was still taking his time, still making you wait. His fingers skimmed lower, trailing along the waistband of your shorts once more before slipping underneath.

You gasped softly, your fingers tightening against his skin.

Heeseung grinned, satisfied. “That’s better,” he murmured. “Now let’s see just how much you really trust me.”

And then, finally—finally—he gave you exactly what you needed.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠

Jay was so patient with you.

Your husband spoiled you endlessly, let you crawl into his lap whenever you wanted, kissed you lazily even when he was exhausted, and held you close like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. But tonight? Tonight, he was actually trying to work.

You should’ve let him.

But then, you didn’t.

Instead, you climbed into his lap without warning, straddling him like it was the most natural thing in the world. He froze immediately, hands still hovering over his MIDI keyboard, his body going stiff beneath you.

You could feel his exhale against your neck. Slow, steady, knowing.

“…Bored?” he asked finally, his voice warm but very clearly suspicious.

You hummed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Not really. Just wanted to sit here.”

Jay let out a slow suffering sigh, but his hands settled on your waist instinctively. “Baby, you know I’m—”

“Can I ask you something?” you interrupted, tilting your head.

His fingers drummed absentmindedly against your back. “Okay…” He gave you a very skeptical look. “Is it normal?”

You pursed your lips, pretending to think. “I’d say so.”

Jay narrowed his eyes slightly, still not trusting you one bit. “Go on.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his jaw before whispering, “Why do you think I like sitting on your face so much?”

Jay’s entire body locked up.

His grip on your waist tightened immediately. His lips parted slightly, his pupils dilating as his brain fully shut down.He blinked once. Twice.

“…What?”

You smirked. “Do you think it’s about power? Like, I like being in control? Or do you think it’s more about trust?”

Jay just kept blinking.

You could see the exact moment his brain tried and failed to process what you had just said. His brows furrowed slightly, his jaw tensing.

“…Are we really having this conversation right now?”

You grinned. “Yes.”

Jay let out the deepest sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “I—what? Why?”

“Because it’s an interesting question.”

His hands slid down to your hips, gripping firmly. “Baby, I was literally working. And you just decided now was the best time to talk about why you like—”

“It’s psychology, Jay.” You lifted your hips slightly before settling back down, just enough to feel the way his breath hitched beneath you.

Jay’s fingers flexed, hard. His grip on you tightened instantly. His jaw clenched, visibly trying to keep it together.

“…You’re actually insane,” he muttered.

“But you love me,” you teased, shifting slightly again.

Jay inhaled sharply, his patience visibly wearing thin. “Okay,” he muttered, voice lower now. “You want an answer?”

You nodded, biting back a smirk.

His fingers traced slow, lazy circles against your hips. “I think,” he murmured, his tone dipping into something dangerous, “you like it because you know I’d stay there for hours if you let me.”

Your breath hitched.

Jay’s smirk deepened, his hands gripping tighter now. “Because you like having me at your mercy. Because you like seeing me fall apart underneath you.”

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

He leaned in, his lips just barely brushing against yours. “But if you wanna talk about trust,” he whispered, “then let’s test it.”

Before you could react, he rolled his hips up into you.

A sharp gasp left your lips as the friction sent a rush of heat straight to your stomach. Jay’s smirk didn’t fade. If anything, it grew as his hands guided you—slow, lazy movements, just enough to tease.

“Still wanna keep talking?” he asked, voice all silk and sin.

You barely managed to swallow. “I—”

He rolled up again, his grip tightening.

You whimpered.

Jay chuckled, leaning in until his lips brushed against your ear. “That’s what I thought.”

His hands guided you over him again, the friction sparking a dangerous kind of heat between your legs, your thighs trembling slightly as you gripped his shoulders. You could feel everything. The way he fit against you perfectly, the heat of his body radiating through the thin layers between you.

Jay’s lips brushed your jaw, his voice a low murmur. “I want you to feel it.”

You barely managed a reply before he rocked you down against him again, harder this time. A choked moan left your lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your body already burning.

Jay’s hands didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down.

His lips curled against your ear. “See?” he whispered. “You don’t even need my mouth to fall apart.”

You let out a desperate, broken noise, gripping onto him as your stomach coiled tighter and tighter, the slow, deliberate grind of his hips sending waves of heat through you.

“You wanted to talk about trust?” Jay muttered. “Then trust me. Let go.”

And then, he pushed up into you just right.

Your body gave in instantly, the sharp, overwhelming pleasure ripping through you too fast to stop. You trembled in his arms, your breath catching, your nails biting into his skin as you came right there, just from the way he moved you.

Jay let out a low groan, his hands gripping your waist as he kept you steady through it, watching you come undone in his lap.

And when you finally slumped against his chest, shaky and breathless, he just chuckled, his voice filled with pure satisfaction.

“That,” he murmured, lips pressing against your temple, “is the real answer to your question.”

𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧

Jake was completely at peace.

Sprawled across the couch, his laptop open in front of him, he was deep into some ridiculously long YouTube documentary about deep-sea fishing. His head was resting comfortably against the couch cushions, his arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other settled comfortably around your waist. You were leaning into his chest, tucked perfectly against him, the warmth of his body pressing into yours as he absentmindedly traced slow, light circles over your stomach.

It was comfortable. Domestic.

It was also about to be completely ruined.

He hadn’t even realized what he had done, how carelessly he had set himself up for failure, until it was far too late. Because when you walked in, when you settled so easily into his lap, nuzzling into him like you belonged there, he greeted you without thinking.

“Hi, my angel.”

The moment the words left his lips, his entire body tensed.

The realization hit him immediately.

A slow, creeping pause settled between you, as if even the air had stilled. His fingers froze mid-trace against your stomach. His breath hitched, sharp and slow, and you—you little menace—smiled. Sweetly.

Jake blinked once. Then twice. He swallowed hard, his grip on you tightening slightly. His brain was already trying to calculate how to undo his mistake, how to steer this moment back into something safe.

But it was too late.

His breath came slower now, more measured, more cautious. “Wait…” he murmured, his voice tinged with immediate regret.

You tilted your head up, still smiling. “Can I ask you something?”

Jake let out a slow, suffering sigh. “Oh, here we go.”

You ignored him, shifting slightly in his lap, settling in closer. “Why do you think dirty talk is so powerful?” you asked, your tone almost innocent. “Do you think it’s more about power dynamics? Or is it psychological?”

Jake’s entire body locked up.

Every single part of him—his hands, his breath, the subtle rise and fall of his chest—all of it stopped.

Like a deer caught in headlights, his fingers, which had been resting lazily on your stomach, stiffened completely. His jaw went tight. His chest barely moved.

Then, after a long, long moment of absolute silence, he sucked in a slow, sharp inhale.

His head tilted back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if asking the universe why it had forsaken him.His hands dragged down his face, his frustration so tangible you could almost taste it.

“…What the fuck.”

You giggled. “It’s a valid question.”

Jake turned his head so slowly it was almost painful, his eyes narrowed in pure disbelief. “No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s fucking not.”

Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, gripping your waist like he was trying to ground himself. “Baby,” he said, his voice so strained, “I was watching a fishing video.”

“And now we’re talking about something even more interesting,” you chirped, shifting in his lap just slightly.

Jake’s fingers flexed instantly. His grip on your waist tightened.

He exhaled through his nose again, sharper this time. “You are actually the worst,” he muttered, his jaw clenching.

You grabbed his hand, lifting it to your lips.

Jake immediately stopped breathing.

You kissed his fingertips softly, the warmth of your lips pressing against his skin before slowly, purposefully, slipping two of them into your mouth.

Sucking.

Jake let out a low, shaky breath. His entire body tensed.

His hand, which had been resting casually on your stomach just seconds ago, was now twitching in your grasp, his fingers pressing lightly against your tongue, his pulse quickening beneath your fingertips.

“…What are you doing?” he asked, voice dangerously lower.

You pulled his fingers out with a soft pop, tilting your head. “Getting them wet.”

Jake’s pupils dilated instantly.

His breath hitched as he swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His entire system was malfunctioning.

“For what?” he finally croaked, voice hoarse.

You guided his hand back down, slipping it beneath your waistband.

Jake’s breath hitched violently.

“Oh, fuck.”

His fingers twitched, and his entire body went rigid.

You turned your head slightly, your lips brushing his jaw. “Go on, Jakey.”

Jake let out a low, shaky exhale. “You are—” He cut himself off, sucking in a breath.

Then, after a second of pure hesitation, his fingers finally moved.

A soft whimper escaped you, and Jake lost it.

His arm tightened around your waist, his lips brushing against your temple. “You wanna talk about power?” he whispered. “Let’s test it.”

His fingers pressed deeper, teasing, purposeful, unhurried. He was taking his time, dragging the moment out just to see how long you could last.

Your hips jerked slightly, seeking more, but Jake just chuckled darkly.

“Patience, angel,” he murmured, so smug. “Since you wanted a full analysis, I think it’s only fair I take my time.”

His fingers dipped lower, spreading you apart as he dragged his touch through your slick. His movements were infuriatingly slow, feather-light strokes that had your thighs tensing instantly.

Jake hummed, his breath warm against your ear. “Shit, baby. You’re already this wet? Just from that?”

You bit your lip, breathing uneven.

His fingers stilled. “Use your words.”

You swallowed hard. “Y-yeah, Jakey.”

Jake let out a low groan, his lips pressing to the side of your neck. “Fuck. I should’ve known. My needy girl just loves being talked to, huh?”

You nodded quickly.

Jake chuckled darkly, his fingers suddenly pressing deeper, rubbing slow, deliberate circles.

Your breath hitched, your legs tensing.

“You’re so easy to ruin,” he muttered, his tone filled with pure, filthy amusement.

His fingers picked up the pace, dipping inside you before pressing back up to rub exactly where you needed. Your hips jerked helplessly, a soft moan spilling from your lips as you gripped his arm for support.

Jake smirked. “Oh, you love this, don’t you?”

And then, he ruined you.

His fingers pressed deep, rubbing fast, relentless, filthy, perfect. His free hand tightened around your stomach, holding you down against him as you squirmed helplessly.

Jake groaned, his voice low and pleased. “That’s it, angel,” he murmured. “Just like that. Let me feel you.”

Your stomach tightened as the pleasure crashed over you too fast to stop.

And when it was over, when you were spent and shaking in his arms, Jake just smirked, bringing his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean.

“Philosophy lesson’s over, angel,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Now you’re just mine.”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧

Sunghoon had one simple goal: take a shower, relax, and get some goddamn peace.

But no. That was never an option when it came to you.

The second you waltzed into the bathroom, planted yourself on the closed toilet lid, and smirked up at him like you had something evil brewing in that brain of yours, he should’ve just turned around and walked straight out.

But instead, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he peeled off his shirt, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He should’ve ignored you.

But then—

“Babe, have I told you that you look suuuuuuper sexy right now?”

His fingers froze mid-motion on the waistband of his sweatpants. His entire body stiffened. Slowly, too slowly, he turned to look at you, his jaw already clenching.

He squinted, suspicious. “What do you want?”

You gasped, so dramatically, placing a hand over your chest like you were some old-timey actress in distress. “Why do you assume I want something?”

Sunghoon exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. He knew you. He knew exactly where this was going.

Your grin widened. “Can I ask you something?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “No.”

“You haven’t even heard it yet!” you pouted.

Another sigh. "Fine. What?"

You tilted your head, studying him like he was a puzzle you were trying to solve.

And then—you ruined his entire night.

"Why do you think I like it so much when you fuck me in the shower?"

Silence.

A long, painful, unbearable silence.

Sunghoon just stood there, blinking, processing, trying to comprehend the absolute nonsense you had just said.

Then, without a single word, he turned to the shower wall and banged his head against the tile.

"Are you fucking serious?"

You burst into laughter, delighted. "What? It's a valid question!"

His jaw clenched. His fists curled at his sides. He inhaled deeply, through his nose, struggling for self-restraint.

His patience was hanging by a thread.

“Why,” he muttered, voice painfully flat, "why the fuck would you ask me that right now?"

You shrugged, still grinning. “Just curious.”

His eyes narrowed. “No, you’re not. You’re trying to start shit.”

You giggled. “I’m not! I just think it’s interesting.”

Sunghoon dragged a hand through his hair, his muscles tensing, his biceps flexing slightly in frustration. “I hate you .”

"No, you don't," you chimed, voice way too smug.

Sunghoon tilted his head back against the tile, exhaling sharply, as if praying for patience.

And then, you made it worse.

You stretched, arching your back slightly, batting your lashes up at him, letting the steam from the running shower kiss your skin.

"You're so dense sometimes," you teased, voice syrupy-sweet, laced with pure mischief.

Sunghoon’s head snapped toward you instantly.

His eyes darkened. His fingers twitched.

You smirked. "Maybe I just want you to fuck me in the shower."

That was it.

That was the final straw.

Sunghoon full-body froze.

For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe.

And then, his patience snapped.

In two quick strides, he was in front of you, gripping your wrist and yanking you up onto your feet. His other hand grasped the back of your neck, tilting your head up until your breath hitched.

His eyes? Dark. Sharp. Absolutely wrecked.

His thumb brushed along your jaw, teasing, firm, unforgiving.

"Say that again."

Your stomach flipped violently.

His grip on your waist tightened.

You smirked. "Maybe I just want you to f—"

You never got to finish your sentence.

Sunghoon grabbed you, lifted you effortlessly, and carried you straight into the shower.

Your scream of protest barely made it out before the water crashed over both of you, drenching you instantly.

And then—

"WAIT—LET ME TAKE MY BRA OFF FIRST!"

Sunghoon froze.

His grip on your thighs tightened slightly.

Then, slowly—so painfully slowly—he lifted his head, staring at you like you had just spoken a completely different language.

“…What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You whined, struggling in his grip, water dripping down your face. "Hoon, it's new! I don't wanna get it wet!"

Sunghoon let out the most exasperated laugh, shaking his head like he was physically restraining himself from throwing his head back in frustration.

"Baby. It’s just a bra.”

Your jaw dropped. "It is NOT just a bra!"

Sunghoon groaned, tilting his head back, breathing deeply like he was trying to find the strength to not completely combust.

Then, after a beat, his grip on you changed.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he muttered, voice darker now, rougher, wrecked beyond belief.

Then, before you could even react, his mouth latched onto your collarbone, biting, teasing.

Your protest turned into a sharp gasp.

His hands slid up your soaked body, fingers hooking under the bra straps, dragging them down, his teeth grazing against your skin.

And then, he sucked.

Hard.

Your breath hitched violently, your back arching instinctively.

Sunghoon groaned against you, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud, teasing, tugging. His grip tightened, pressing you further into the tile.

"You're whining about a bra, but you're already falling apart," he muttered against your skin.

Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, legs trembling in his grasp. "H-Hoon—"

He grinned against your skin, completely in control now, completely in his element.

He licked a slow stripe over your nipple, sucking it into his mouth again.

Then, with a groan that sent heat pooling between your thighs, he sighed against your skin.

His mouth was fixated on your chest, his hands squeezing, kneading, his lips sucking bruises into your soft skin. His teeth scraped lightly, tongue flicking, mouth warm and wet as he groaned against your body.

His grip on your thighs tightened, pressing you further into the cool tile, the contrast of heat and cold making your breath hitch. He was obsessed, hyper-focused, like he was trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

And then—you ruined him all over again.

Between sharp gasps and breathy whimpers, you let out a teasing, mock-thoughtful hum.

"Hoon… if you had to choose, my tits or me… which one?"

Sunghoon’s movements completely stopped.

His teeth grazed over your nipple, pausing mid-bite. His fingers flexed against your waist, gripping you tighter. His breath stalled.

Then—so, so slowly—he lifted his head.

Water dripped from his soaked hair, running down his sharp jaw, over his kiss-swollen lips, and down the defined slope of his collarbones. His eyes flickered up, meeting yours—dark, dazed, completely wrecked.

And then, he let out the most exasperated groan of his life.

"Are you actually insane?"

You giggled, wiggling slightly in his grasp. “It’s a simple question.”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you in place. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes.

And then—just to make you suffer, he exhaled slowly, dragging his hands over your curves, squeezing your waist, before moving right back up to your chest.

His thumb brushed over your nipple lazily, teasing, deliberate. Then, he leaned in again, mouth hovering right over your skin, his breath warm, smirking against you.

"Hmm," he murmured, mock considering. "That’s actually a really hard choice, baby…"

Your stomach flipped violently.

He tilted his head, exhaling sharply through his nose, like he was really thinking about it. "I mean," he continued, squeezing your breasts again, licking a slow, teasing stripe over the sensitive skin, "on one hand, your tits are literally perfect."

His tongue flicked over your nipple, making your breath stutter.

"So soft, so fucking pretty, fit right in my hands," he groaned, his voice dropping lower, hungrier.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders. "Hoon—"

"But," he interrupted, grinning against your skin, pressing another wet, open-mouthed kiss, his teeth nipping at the skin right above your breast.

"You’re also really cute."

You snorted, shoving at his shoulder. "Really cute? That’s the best you’ve got?"

Sunghoon grinned, squeezing your thighs tighter. "I’m literally worshiping you in the shower, and you’re worried about my choice of words?"

You huffed. "You didn’t answer the question."

Sunghoon pulled back slightly, tilting his head, mock-considering again. Then, with zero shame, he muttered, "Honestly? …I might have to choose the tits."

Your jaw dropped. “HOON!”

He broke instantly, laughing against your skin, his grip on you tightening as you squirmed against him.

"I’m kidding, I’m kidding!" he choked out between laughs, pressing hot, teasing kisses back over your chest, dragging his tongue across every inch of skin he could reach.

Then, as he pulled you even closer, mouth ghosting over your ear, voice dripping with amusement and something darker, something heavier, he murmured—

"Don’t worry, baby."

He nipped at your earlobe, grinning against your skin.

"I’d never survive without you."

And then, he sank back down, lips wrapping around your nipple again, sucking deep and slow, like he was tasting something addictive.

This time, he looked up while he did it.

His big, dark eyes locked onto yours, wide and intense, watching every tiny shift in your expression. The moment your lips parted on a shaky moan, his grip tightened on your waist, his tongue flicking deliberately against the peak before closing his lips around it again, sucking harder.

His eyes never left your face.

Every time you gasped, every time your brows furrowed slightly in pleasure, he noticed. His breath came out faster, rougher, his pupils blown wide as if he was getting off on watching you unravel.

He pulled off with a wet pop, lips pink and glossy, tongue swiping over them as he tilted his head.

“Fuck.”

His voice was wrecked. Raspy. So deep it sent a sharp pulse straight through your core.

“You look so pretty when I do that,” he murmured.

His mouth was right back on you, sucking even harder, his eyes heavy-lidded, unwavering.

His fingers kneaded your other breast, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers, his hips pressing forward, pinning you completely against the tile.

The look on his face was pure hunger.

"I swear, I could do this forever, baby."

His voice was low, hoarse, slurred around his next breath. His thumb brushed over your nipple, teasingly slow. His lips pressed soft, wet kisses down the swell of your breast, dragging his teeth slightly as he went.

And then, as if the realization just hit him, he let out a soft groan, his head dropping briefly against your chest.

"God, I hate you," he muttered, his breath warm against your skin.

You let out a breathless laugh. "Yeah?"

Sunghoon lifted his head, grinning slightly, but his eyes were still dark, still drunk off you.

Then, with zero hesitation, he leaned down, kissing between your breasts, nipping lightly at your skin, before whispering—

"But I love your tits. I can’t live without them."

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨

Sunoo was thrilled.

Not because of the movie playing on his laptop, not because he had finally gotten comfortable on the couch with his oversized blanket. No.

He was thrilled because you had just turned to him, eyes glinting with curiosity, and asked—

“Why do you think I like being praised so much?”

Sunoo blinked once.

Then, his entire face lit up.

“Oh, finally! A topic I actually care about!”

You snorted immediately. “What does that mean?”

Sunoo sat up straight, pulling the blanket off his shoulders like he was preparing for a TED Talk. “It means I have thoughts.”

Your lips twitched. “You’ve thought about this before?”

"Obviously." His tone was borderline offended. “Baby, do you realize how much you fish for compliments? If I don’t tell you you’re pretty at least three times a day, you start getting restless.”

You gasped, scandalized. “I do NOT!”

Sunoo arched a brow.

You pouted. “…Maybe a little.”

He grinned, smug. “See? And that’s why I already have a theory.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Alright, genius. Enlighten me.”

Sunoo’s eyes practically sparkled.

“It’s because you like validation, but not just any validation—you like earned validation.”

Your brows furrowed. “Go on.”

Sunoo tilted his head, clearly enjoying this way too much. “See, if I tell you you’re beautiful just because, you’ll accept it—but if I tell you that you’re beautiful because you just made me lose my mind in bed? That’s what gets you going.”

You froze.

Sunoo smirked immediately. “Ohhh, I’m right, aren’t I?”

You swallowed. “…Continue.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice turning softer, smoother. “You don’t just want to hear that you’re good at something—you want proof. You want me to tell you how good you are, how perfect you are, while I’m literally falling apart because of you.”

Your entire body felt like it was heating up.

Sunoo’s eyes gleamed. “You want to be the best. You want to feel like you’re irreplaceable.”

You bit your lip, suddenly very aware of how close he was getting.

And then, as if he was reading your mind, he smiled sweetly, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“You like being praised because you like knowing you’re ruining me.”

Your breath hitched.

And Sunoo caught it immediately.

His smirk turned positively sinful. “See? I told you I was right.”

You swallowed, trying to recover, but the knowing glint in his eyes had you spiraling. “Okay, fine. Maybe you have a point.”

Sunoo grinned, entirely too satisfied.

Then, just to push you further, he tilted his head, watching you closely. “Do you want me to prove it?”

Your entire body shivered.

And that was all the confirmation he needed.

Sunoo was still sitting, his posture perfectly relaxed, but his eyes? His eyes told a different story. They were dark, glinting with something sharp, something playful, something completely devastating.

And you?

You were fully spiraling.

Your breath hitched, barely noticeable, but Sunoo caught it immediately. His lips twitched into the softest smirk, like he was already celebrating his victory.

Then, with the slowest, most deliberate movement possible, he reached forward, his fingers brushing against your chin, tilting your face up slightly.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he mused, voice velvety smooth, teasing.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “I—I’m just…” You swallowed. “Thinking.”

Sunoo smirked. “Mm. Thinking.”

And then, without warning, he closed the space between you.

The first kiss was soft, teasing, just a hint of pressure. Just enough to make your breath stutter.

But then?

Then he tilted his head slightly, deepening it—just barely.

And that was your first mistake.

Because the second your body melted into him, the second your fingers gripped onto his sweater slightly, he smiled into the kiss—fully in control, fully aware of the power he had over you.

His hand slid up your jaw, fingers pressing lightly at the hinge, guiding you into the kiss the way he wanted.

Slow. Controlled. Completely devastating.

When he finally pulled back slightly, his lips were already kiss-swollen, his breath uneven.

But his eyes?

Smug. So, so smug.

“You like it when I take my time, don’t you?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

Your stomach flipped violently.

Sunoo grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

And then, before you could even respond, he was on you again.

This time, no hesitation, no teasing.

Just deep, soul-stealing kisses, his lips moving against yours slow and deliberate, as if he was savoring every second.

His free hand slid down, gripping your waist, pulling you closer, until you were practically pressed against him.

You let out a soft, breathless sound, and that was all it took.

Sunoo groaned softly against your lips, his fingers tightening on your waist as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss even further.

His tongue traced along your bottom lip, slow, unhurried, teasing, and when you gasped softly, he swallowed the sound immediately, taking full control of the kiss.

And just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he pulled away—just barely, just enough to make you chase his lips.

His breath fanned against your mouth, his lips grazing yours as he whispered—

“See, baby?”

His fingers slid along your jaw, tilting your chin up slightly, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You love it when I praise you.”

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧

It had been one of those weeks. Jungwon was exhausted, and all he wanted was a night of uninterrupted sleep. But you had other plans.

You’d been tossing and turning beside him for nearly half an hour, sighing loudly, shifting closer and closer as if waiting for him to acknowledge you. He didn’t. He stayed still, kept his eyes shut, and prayed you’d get tired and fall asleep.

Instead, you whispered, “Jungwon?”

He ignored you.

“Jungwon,” you tried again, your voice sweet and teasing.

A sharp sigh escaped him, and finally, he muttered, “What.”

You smiled, pressing yourself closer. “Can we talk about something?”

“No,” he said flatly, eyes still closed.

“But it’s important.”

“It’s never important.” His voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge to it.

“You don’t even know what it is yet,” you said, undeterred.

Jungwon opened his eyes just enough to glare at you. His expression was entirely unamused, but the annoyance in his face was matched with a weariness that made his sharp tone almost flat. “Fine,” he muttered. “What is it?”

You bit your lip, trailing your fingers lightly over his stomach. “It’s about sex.”

He stilled, his hand twitching against the blanket. “…What about it.”

“I’ve been thinking,” you said, drawing out your words as you brushed your nails down his chest, “about why I always want you to fuck me until I cry.”

His jaw clenched, his body going rigid. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Then, with an exaggerated exhale, he rolled over and faced the wall.

You gasped. “Oh my God. You’re actually ignoring me?”

“Yes.”

“But I need you.”

“You always need me.”

“And you love it.”

Jungwon let out the heaviest sigh you’d ever heard. After another moment of silence, he rolled onto his back again, dragging a hand down his face. His eyes were half-lidded, heavy with exhaustion and exasperation.

“You have no self-control,” he muttered.

You grinned. “Mhm.”

He shook his head. “No, because let’s really talk about this. You’re constantly like this. Always touching me, always saying things like that. Do you have any idea how impossible you make my life?”

You giggled softly, your fingers moving lower. “I do.”

“That wasn’t a compliment,” he said, narrowing his eyes at you.

“But you love me.”

“…Unfortunately.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience hanging by a thread. “I have been told I have a very high sex drive, but baby, I do not have the facilities to go three times a day. I have things to do. I need sleep. I need to—”

His voice cut off mid-sentence as he noticed where your hand had gone. His gaze dropped, and his lips parted slightly as he registered the slow, deliberate circles you were making against yourself.

“Are you seriously doing that right now?” he asked, his voice low and clipped.

You smirked, letting out a soft moan. “Mhm.”

Jungwon’s jaw tightened. His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling it away. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, his voice quiet and controlled. “You really have no shame, do you?”

His free hand trailed down to your thigh, pausing just at the edge of your hip. “You’ve made my life difficult every single day this week. And now you’re doing this.” His fingers brushed against you lightly, making you shiver. “Fine. If you’re going to be this much of a problem, then count every single time you’ve made things harder for me.”

“Count?” you repeated, your breath catching.

“Count,” he ordered, his voice calm but firm. He paused just long enough for you to hesitate before delivering a sharp slap against your center.

You gasped, your back arching slightly at the sudden sting.

“One,” you murmured, your voice unsteady.

Jungwon hummed softly, satisfied. “Good. Now keep going. Let’s start with Monday—when you woke me up two hours early because you were ‘bored.’ I told you to wait until I was actually awake, but you just wouldn’t stop until I gave in.”

Another slap.

“Two.”

“Tuesday,” he continued, his voice still low and even, though his grip on your wrist remained firm. “I had a meeting, and you climbed onto my lap, whispering in my ear, making it impossible to focus. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

The slap that followed was harder this time, the sharp sound echoing through the room.

“Three.”

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady on you. “Wednesday. I was trying to work, and you walked in wearing that shirt you know drives me insane. You didn’t even have a reason—just stood there, stretching, pretending not to notice what it did to me.”

Another slap, this one leaving you breathless.

“Four.”

“Thursday,” Jungwon continued, his tone remaining measured. “I came home late, exhausted, ready to collapse. But you were waiting in bed, saying you couldn’t sleep, that you missed me, that you needed me—like I didn’t have the right to rest after a long day.”

The next slap made you whimper, and you barely managed to whisper the number.

“Five.”

“And Friday,” he said, his voice calm and thoughtful, as though he were simply recounting facts. “You walked in while I was on the phone, saying the filthiest things in my ear, completely throwing me off.”

Another slap, another gasp, another quiet number.

“Six.”

Jungwon smirked faintly, his expression unreadable as he leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “Six times,” he murmured. “Six times this week you’ve pushed me too far. I wonder how many more it’ll take before you finally learn.”

And then, without warning, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your neck before he parted them. A single strand of saliva dripped from his mouth, landing directly where his hand had just been. The warmth of it sent a shiver through you, and your thighs instinctively shifted.

Jungwon watched your reaction, his gaze dark. “You don’t listen,” he muttered, his thumb moving to spread the wetness over your heated skin. “But that’s fine. I’ll just have to remind you again.”

With that, he leaned down further, his mouth finding its way to your skin. His lips pressed lightly, his tongue dragging along the sensitive area. And when he finally took you in his mouth, the warmth, the pressure—it was too much. Your breathing quickened, your hands clenching the sheets as he worked, his actions slow, deliberate, and relentless.

Jungwon pulled back slightly, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. He glanced up at you, his expression still composed, though his eyes burned with intensity. “You’ll count properly next time,” he said quietly, his tone steady, “or we’ll just keep going until you do.”

𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢

The private court was quiet, except for the sound of sneakers skidding across the pavement, the steady rhythm of the basketball bouncing, and the occasional swoosh of a perfect shot hitting the net.

It was almost peaceful.

Almost.

Because you were bored out of your mind.

At first, you had been entertained—watching Riki drip with sweat, his muscles flexing subtly under his shirt, his jaw clenched in focus as he moved effortlessly across the court. You could’ve sat there for hours.

But now?

Now you were kicking at the pavement, sprawling yourself dramatically across the bench, watching him ignore you like it was his job.

You sighed loudly. "Ni-ki."

“Mmm.” He didn’t even glance at you, lining up another shot.

You huffed. "I’m bored."

“Okay,” he said, still not looking.

Your eye twitched. “That’s it?”

He smirked slightly, dribbling the ball lazily. “What do you want me to do? Call the circus to entertain you?”

“I don’t know,” you grumbled, watching as he effortlessly sunk another shot before catching the ball again.

Riki finally turned, spinning the ball in his hands, giving you the laziest grin. “You literally begged to come watch me play.”

“Yeah, because I thought you'd be entertaining,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Instead, I’m just sitting here, staring at you running around in circles.”

He grinned. “So basically, you just like watching me be hot.”

You snorted. “I mean… yeah.”

Riki’s smirk widened. “I knew it.”

You rolled your eyes, but then, an idea hit you.

A terrible, wonderful, completely deranged idea.

“Actually,” you started, stretching your arms above your head, watching him carefully, “I have a question.”

Riki blinked, dribbling absently. "Why do I feel like this is about to be something weird?"

You ignored him. “Why do you think I like it so much when you spit in my mouth?”

Silence.

Riki’s hands literally stopped moving. The ball bounced off his foot and rolled away.

Very, very slowly, he turned to stare at you, expression completely blank.

“…I’m sorry?”

You grinned. “Like, psychologically. What do you think it means?”

His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

Nothing came out.

You waited. Smiling. Expectant.

Riki exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

You gasped, mock-offended. “That’s rude! It’s a normal question!”

“That is not a normal question!” He threw his hands up, fully spiraling now. “Who the hell sits courtside, watches their boyfriend play basketball, and then just—just casually wonders about the deeper meaning of spit kinks?!”

You shrugged, completely unbothered. “I just think it’s interesting.”

Riki rubbed his temples like you were giving him a migraine. “Jesus Christ.”

Then, after a long pause, he squinted at you. “…So, do you actually want an answer?”

You grinned. “Obviously.”

Riki groaned, shaking his head. "You're actually insane."

But then—he actually thought about it.

“…Okay, fine.” He crossed his arms, looking at you like you were a science experiment. "You like being spit in because you’re gross."

You rolled your eyes. "Okay, Mr. Psychology Degree."

He smirked. "No, seriously. It’s the ownership thing, isn’t it? It’s about control. You like it because it’s filthy and degrading, and that’s what gets you off."

Your stomach flipped violently.

Riki caught it immediately.

His grin widened. "Ohhh, that’s totally it."

You crossed your arms, trying to play it cool. “I—maybe. Continue.”

He tilted his head, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “It’s primal, isn’t it? Something about me doing something so demeaning, but you still loving it. Like you’d take anything I give you.”

Your thighs pressed together involuntarily.

And of course, Riki saw.

His smirk turned wicked.

"You like it," he murmured, stepping forward, bouncing the basketball once before letting it roll away.

Your back straightened. “I never said that.”

"You didn’t have to," he said smoothly.

Then, before you could react, he grabbed your wrist, yanking you up from the bench effortlessly.

You let out a surprised squeak, your hands instinctively pressing against his chest.

"Riki—"

"Shh," he murmured, backing you up until your spine hit the court wall.

Your pulse skyrocketed.

His arms caged you in, his body pressed just barely against yours, not touching but close enough that you could feel his warmth.

"So," he mused, tilting his head, his eyes flicking between yours. "You like it when I’m in control, huh?"

Your breath caught.

Riki grinned, teasing. "What was that thing you said earlier? You like it when I spit in your mouth?"

Your face burned. "I didn’t say I liked it—"

"Oh, no, no, baby," he murmured, leaning in, lips ghosting over yours, breath hot and sweet. "You love it."

You whimpered.

Riki’s grin widened. "Should I prove it?"

Your stomach flipped so hard you nearly collapsed.

And before you could answer, his hand tilted your chin up, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

His eyes darkened, lips parting slightly as he ran his thumb along your tongue.

"Open," he murmured.

And when you did?

He spat, slow, deliberate, watching with parted lips as it slid over your tongue.

And then, just to make it worse, he whispered—

"Swallow, baby."

Your head spun.

And before you could even process what was happening, his lips crashed against yours.

The kiss was hot, messy, completely unhinged.

His hands slid down, gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him, until you were trapped between his body and the cold wall of the private court.

You gasped softly, and Riki swallowed the sound immediately, deepening the kiss just enough to make your legs weak.

"See?" he muttered against your lips, his voice dripping with amusement.

"You just like letting me win."

Then, with zero hesitation, his hands slipped lower, gripping your thighs.

And before you could say another word, he lifted you effortlessly, pinning you against the wall completely.

"I don't like to be woken up," he started lazily, "but if it's you waking me up with kisses like this..." he pulled you further into his embrace, "then it’s okey."

You looked up, cheeks flushed due to warmth of candles and the fireplace breathing through your apartment. His heart fluttered at the sight. Softness bloomed through his veins, his eyes, though still heavy with drowsiness, now shimmered with fondness and affection.

You kissed his chin, "I'm glad you're giving your girlfriend this privilige," you giggled. His eyes softened even more. "Always,” he whispered more to himself than to you.

"Let's go to-" you yelped when Heeseung pulled you back to him as you were about to lift yourself up from his body.

"Hee-" You were cut off by a kiss on your lips. You sighed softly, his hand tilting your head so he could aim your soft lips accurately. Your body melted into his all over again.

“You forgot to kiss me here.” He mumbled against your lips, eyes twinkling mischievously.

The warm glow across your cheeks deepened. “You’re so annoying,” you whispered back, ears getting hot and lips brushing his. “Let’s get ready for bed, silly.”

In bed, your head rested on Heeseung’s chest, now clothed in pyjamas and not his hoodie and sweatpants anymore. The comfortable and warm weight of your body on his soothed him steadily to sleep.

And when it suddenly disappeared, he groggily stirred awake. “Where you goin’?” His hand lazily reached out for you though you already had slipped away from his reach.

“I’m just getting a glass of water, baby,” you whispered, leaning down to press a kiss on the arch of his eyebrow. “Go back to sleep.”

He responded with a gibberish “hurry up” before his consciousness slowly slipped away. Even though he looked dead to the world, his subconscious was still alert to every sound from you. The footsteps tapping down the stairs, the light switch clicking, the cabinet door closing.

But then there was absolute silence.

A frown appeared on Heeseung’s face. He was still way too gone to actually wake up, but his instincts couldn’t ignore your ongoing absence. Unconsciously, he purred into his pillow in distress, his face burying in it as his arm stretched towards your side of the bed.

Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed through the house. You ripped the door open, but your boyfriend was now fast asleep.

“Oh my god! Heeseung! Wake up! You gotta see this!” You began as you crawled on the bed towards him. You shook him gently by his shoulders.

He grunted, face burying even further into his pillow.

“Baby, baby! Wake up!”

“Hm.”

“Baby, please~” You tried to lift him up, of course it was an unnecessary attempt — he didn’t budge one bit.

“Heeseung! You’re not gonna believe it! It’s snowing outside!”

“Hm?”

“It’s snowing!”

“M-hm.” He grunted in fake acknowledgment.

“Baby, please, you need to see it! It looks so beautiful!” You laid on top of him as you nestled your head next to his. “Please, please, please.”

“Mhmmm…” he grunted again, almost inaudible this time.

“Please~!” Your hands cupped his face. “Baby, please, wake up.” You pouted. Genuine hurt cracked through your voice. How could you enjoy the first snowfall of the year without your boyfriend? “You have to watch it with me…”

A quiet, frustrated whimper elicited from your throat. Defeated, you rested your head on his chest.

He was way too exhausted. He worked so much and so hard. There was no chance he would wake up after the back to back concerts he just had. For some reason, it brought tears to your eyes.

“Stupid boyfriend…” you pouted quietly, childishly, as you rubbed your face into his chest like a cat.

And somehow, his eyes fluttered open. “Hm?”

You were too lost in your tears, wetting his pyjama shirt and softly sniffling that you didn’t notice him stirring awake.

His hand flew up to your head in worry. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying, pretty?” His voice was deep and rough.

You gasped, head shooting up, “you woke up! Oh my god, Heeseung! You won’t believe this! It’s snowing outside!”

He blinked for a moment. Then a low chuckle escaped him, clearly taken by surprise, “yeah? That’s why you’re crying?” He gently pushed your hair behind your ear. His thumb swiped at the corner of your eye. You shook your head, but the stubborn tears managed to fill your eyes yet again.

“Then why is my big girl crying? Hm?”

“I- I don’t know.” You felt so silly. He’d definitely laugh at you if you told him.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just continued to stroke your cheekbone as he gazed at you with the softest eyes.

“You thought I died or something?”

You gasped a wet laugh. “What? No!” You slapped his chest.

A lazy smile spread across his face. Suddenly, he sat up and leaned against the headboard. He pulled you on his lap and cradled your head against his chest. His naked chest was peeking out of his unbuttoned shirt as he wrapped his arms around you trying to shield you from the cold world. Or anything that was making you cry. He pressed a kiss on your forehead and started rocking you slowly as if you were his baby.

“You said it’s snowing?” He asked after a while. He always talked to you very softly and cautiously, but whenever you were crying and vulnerable he became even more gentle. As if he was afraid you would break if he wasn’t careful enough.

You nodded frequently against his chest, doe and shimmery eyes glancing at him.

“Yeah?” He chuckled under his breath. He couldn’t help but find you so cute, so adorable at this moment. His heart squeezed in adoration. His hand cupped your soft cheek, stroking it gently.

For a while, he just gazed at you softly, taking his time to caress you and soak you in. He pressed a kiss on your forehead. Your eyes fluttered at his soft lips loving you, his kiss lingering on your skin even after he separated.

“You wanna watch the snowfall?” His voice was tender, as if he knew what and what not to say when you’re all vulnerable in his arms.

“Oh, yes!! Please, please, please!!” You nodded eagerly and quickly stood up. You took his hand to drag him towards the door and basically pulled him out of the sheets.

You were determined to share the most beautiful sight with the love of your life.

“Wait-“ he halted, tugging you back, his hair messy in the cutest and sleepiest way, “wait. Where are you going? Baby-“ he was so amused by your antics, “we have a window here, pretty.”

“Oh- No! We have to go downstairs, the view from the living room is a lot better!” You pulled him with you without any hesitation. His big and firmer hand wrapped around your smaller, soft one. His heart swelled up. He didn’t dare to protest, you were just the cutest being so he let you lead him to wherever your heart desired.

You gasped dramatically once you stood in front of the window. “Look at the view, Seungie!” You let go of his warm hand and pushed the curtains away to show him more of the view.

“Isn’t it so beautiful??” You awed with bright, sparkling eyes, hands on the cool glass as you watched the snowflakes dancing in the air.

Heeseung leaned against the big window, arms crossed as he hummed. His sleepy, sluggish demeanour was a huge contrast to your excited, giddy one. He sighed heavily, his head resting on the glass as the coolness seeped into his skin.

You whipped your head at him, “it’s so beautiful, isn’t it??” You tried again after he didn’t give an answer. He nodded lazily, barely managing to keep his eyes open. His eyes shifted to you, lingering on your bare arms and the way your body was trembling almost unnoticeably. But never unnoticed by him.

A disappointed, accusatory frown appeared on your face, “you’re not even looking, baby.”

A yawn escaped from his mouth as he lazily stretched his arms. He then pulled you into his embrace. His head rested comfortably on your shoulder as his arms wrapped around around your waist. Your hands automatically rested on his firm forearms. He pressed a soft kiss on your shoulder before rubbing his face against it, his movements were sluggish and lazy.

“ ‘m lookin” he mumbled against the crook of your neck. He looked up and kissed your cheek, arms tightening around you. One hand rubbed your chilled, naked arm, “ ‘s pretty”. He lingered a kiss on your neck. “So pretty,” he repeated before he rested his chin on your shoulder, his face half buried in your hair and neck.

You giggled excitedly, “I know!! The snow is soooo pretty.”

Heeseung chuckled under his breath and pressed himself further against your back, wrapping you even tighter in his arms.

“Really pretty,” he hummed.

He definitely wasn’t talking about the view. Matter of fact, when he had you in his arms like this, he couldn’t care less about some snow.

You let out an existed gasp, an idea striking you. You turned in his embrace. “Babe! Let’s go outside! The snow is still untouched, oh my god- this will be so fun!”

His eyebrows raised in surprised, “huh?”

“Please, please, please! A snowfall during the night is the best thing to experience!! You gotta trust me on this one!” Suddenly, you unwrapped yourself from his arms. You already made up your mind that you were going out with your boyfriend. At midnight. In the cold.

“Wait-“ his hand caught you before you were out of reach. “Baby-“ he chuckled softly, tired eyes flickering with amusement. “We can’t go outside- it’s midnight, baby.” His other hand wrapped around your waist.

“But that’s the point! You have to experience the first snowfall of the year outside. And during night it’s even more beautiful!”

“Baby-“ he pulled you closer to his chest, his hand cupping your cheek. His thumb glided over your cheek as he shook his head subtly, “it’s very late-“

“But that’s the fun part-! Look it’s even full moon-!”

He shook his head yet again, “babygirl… I gotta go to sleep…”

Your shoulders sagged visibly, “oh-“

His tired eyes continued to look at you with the fondest expression. “We gotta sleep, hm? It’s late. I have work tomorrow.” He kissed your forehead, “we can do this another time. Let’s go to bed for now.”

Your heart tightened at that. Another time.

That’s what he always told you.

Always ‘another time’.

Always ‘I have no time’.

Always ‘I’m too tired’.

Your throat tightened painfully. You always have work. The words lingered on your tongue. But you held yourself back.

He is tired. Don’t be selfish. You reminded yourself.

You blinked your eyes repeatedly before he could notice. You merely nodded, feeling already hopeless and defeated.

When you were settled back in your bed, you somehow managed to lie furthest away from him. Usually, you would always have some kind of closeness when falling asleep — hands intertwined, bodies spooning, legs tangled together, his hand on your waist, or your feet nestled between his legs — whatever it was, your bodies were always touching.

At first, he didn’t think much of it — sleep already fogging his mind as soon as his head hit the pillow.

“Love you, pretty. G’night.” He murmured sleepily. Your back was facing him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to answer him because of the painful lump forming in your throat. You couldn’t shift closer to your boyfriend. Not because you were mad at him, of course not — he never gave you a reason to be angry at him. But you couldn’t help but feel hurt. The pain in your heart was just hurting too much. And you knew that as soon as you get in his warm embrace you would start crying.

Suddenly, his strong arm wrapped around your waist and swiftly pulled you across the bed to his chest. He buried his face in your hair, “I said I Iove you, baby.” He repeated in a low tone.

Your lips began to tremble. A single teardrop slid down your temple. He pressed a gentle kiss on your shoulder, “why’re you not answerin’? My princess ‘s already sleepin’?” His hand splayed across your stomach, your back resting warmly against his chest. “Hm?” You shook your head.

“What’s the matter, baby? Are you mad at me?” Your heart ached at his soft tone. It hurt you even more to hear that he thought you were mad at him.

You shook your head again, mumbling a wet, “‘course not.”

“Then tell me what’s wrong. Why’s my pretty princess not answering me?”

And that’s all that it took. You turned around in his embrace and just started sobbing. His warmth and gentle way with you were enough for you to break.

His doe eyes widened, “why, why, why??” His arms tightened immediately in a protective manner as you buried your face in his chest, your shoulders shaking.

“What- baby, baby. What’s wrong?? Why are you crying??” That made you cry even more. Causing his heart to ache even more. “What’s wrong??”

“I- I hate your j-job.” You choked on your tears, he couldn’t even understand it.

“What?” The crease between his eyebrows intensified.

“I hate your job!” You repeated louder, though it was muffled by his chest.

“What-?” He laughed softly, his hand came up to caress your head as the other spread out on your back protectively. “You hate my job? Why?”

“Cause- cause-“ you hesitated, “you’re constantly tired and sleepy!”

His heart melted in real time. “Awww~ baby…” he laid his cheek on your head. “Is this why you were crying earlier too?”

You nodded against his chest, pouting. “I saw the snow and came to tell you because I wanted to watch the snowfall with you, but- but you weren’t waking up no matter how much I tried. And it- it makes me so sad to see you so exhausted, and- and work so hard that- that you’re too tired to do stuff like that with me. We-we already spent so little time together and whenever we’re together you’re just too tired and just sleeping. I- I hate that job of y-yours. I- I hate seeing you so- so tired and exhausted.” You hiccuped, your tears stained his shirt as you clutched onto it tightly.

He caressed your hair, trying to calm you down. He cooed, “I’m sorry, baby.” He kissed your forehead. You snuggled further into him in response. “I’m sorry for not waking up. I didn’t know you loved the snow this much.” You shook your head at that, “no, Heeseung. It’s not about the snow- it’s- it’s about-“ you couldn’t explain any further, not finding the words as you sobbed loudly.

His arms tightened around, wanting to ground your trembling body. “Baby…” he murmured worriedly.

“Shh…” he hushed in your ear, “it’s okey, it’s okey. Let it out, hm?” He patted your back soothingly. His heart ached so painfully seeing you so upset. He had never seen you this distraught, he knew that there must another reason — you were hiding something else from him.

“Baby…” he kissed your temple, mumbling against it, “it’s okey, I’m here. Hm? I’m here.” He didn’t understand why but somehow that made you cry even harder, your tears didn’t seem to have an end. He couldn’t bear to listen to it any longer, his heart was tearing at every sob.

He cupped your cheek to tilt your face to him. “Hey, hey, hey, baby. What’s wrong? Why are you crying so much…? You’re breaking my heart, babygirl.” He kissed your swollen eyelids, one by one. Then your reddish nose, followed by a kiss on your forehead. “Don’t cry… please.” You sniffled softly, slowly calming down due to his gentle kisses and soft tone. He always spoke so gently with you.

“What’s wrong, princess? Did something else happen?” He tried, his hand caressing your cheek as the other held you close to him. You hiccuped under your breath, trying to calm down. You shook your head in denial, but he saw right through you. He tilted his head softly, doe eyes waiting patiently for you. Your lower lip jutted out as the corners of your lips went down.

“Come on, princess. Tell me. You need to tell me what’s making you upset.” He pecked the corner of your sad lips.

You hesitated for a moment. “A few days ago…” you started, he nodded immediately, his bambi eyes encouraging you, “I mean- a few nights ago, I had a dream-“ your eyes filled with tears, “I dreamed that you- that you left- left me.” A sob left your mouth, the tears blurred your vision again. His eyebrows furrowed instantly.

“I dreamed that you left- left me. Out of nowhere. It was so sudden and unexpected. In my dream, I woke up to text messages from you where you said that you had other dreams and that being with me was getting in your way of achieving them.” You hiccuped, the pain resurfaced saying it out loud like that. Your voice became timid: “You told me that our relationship was holding you back from chasing your dreams.”

“Oh princess…” he buried your wet face in his neck. But you continued: “And then you told me that you’re too tired to balance a career and a relationship and that- that you love your career… more than me-“ you sobbed louder towards the end.

He patted your trembling body, “hey… it was just a dream. Hm? Just a dream, my princess. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes became glassy, he couldn’t bear the imagination of leaving you. Hearing you talk about it ripped his heart apart into million pieces.

He kissed the top of your head as you wetted his neck, sobbing and sobbing. “I’m not leaving you, princess. Never.” His hand smoothed over your trembling back, the other never leaving the back of your head, “it was just a dream...”

“But- but it felt so real.” You sobbed.

“I know. I know.” He murmured against your temple, lips lingering there to soothe you. “But I’m here. You’re in my arms. I’m never leaving you.” He pulled away a little to look at your tear streaked face. “I hate seeing you cry like this.” He spoke as he wiped the tears away. “That Heeseung in your dream? He is stupid, okey? He is not me,” he kissed your forehead, “never will be me. He is just a foolish idiot who doesn’t know how precious you are.” He kissed your flushed cheeks.

“You mean it?” Your small voice trembled. Doubt evident.

“Of course.” He answered firmly. “You’re my beautiful princess, alright? The most precious possession I own. I could never be so stupid and leave you behind, do you understand?” You nodded against his neck. “I love you so much, my angel.” He caressed your hair, “I will never leave you. I promise. You have no idea how much I depend on you. I can’t imagine a life without you. Never.”

His throat tightened, “I know it gets exhausting to date me. I know it’s not easy. I don’t have an ordinary life. But if I tell you you’re all I have, then I’m begging you to believe me. I promise it will get better. Our relationship will not stay like this forever. There are better days ahead. Days where I won’t be as busy anymore. And I’m truly, truly grateful that I have such a patient and understanding partner. I truly am.”

He grasped your hand and kissed your knuckles one after another. He then rested your intertwined hands on his chest, right above his heart.

“And I want you to know one thing: There are many things I want to achieve in life. Many dreams that have yet to be fulfilled. But there is not a single dream of mine that doesn’t have you in it. There’s no future for me without you. A future without you simply doesn’t exist.”

The lump in your throat appeared once again. Your eyes met his though your vision was blurry, yet again.

“Promise?” Your voice was rough from crying so much.

“I promise, angel.” He hook your pinky with his own and pressed a kiss on it. “Pinky promise,” he whispered.

You nodded, blinking your teary eyes as you settled on his chest again, seeking comfort.

“I love you so much, princess. More than you can ever imagine.”

You nodded against his chest, tightening your own arms around his torso, afraid he might disappear.

“I love you too, Heeseungie.” You rapsed, exhaustion now catching up to you.

Heeseung’s heartbeat underneath you lulled you steadily and quickly into sleep, your eyes fluttered shut.

His hand rested on your cheek, thumb drawing circles on it before he pressed a good night kiss on your forehead. After a while of caressing your cheek and patting your back, he spoke again:

“I promise, tomorrow, before I leave for work we will play in the snow, okey? We can build a snowman together.”

Silence answered him.

When he glanced down, he realized that you were already knocked out on his chest. He chuckled under his breath.

“Look at you, princess. Knocked out in under a minute. You were fighting your sleep, hm? My tired baby…”

He pulled the cover over your shoulders, making sure you were snuggled in so that no cold could reach you.

“Sweet dreams, princess.”

It didn’t take long for him to quickly follow you into the world of dreams.

⋆.˚✮☽☯︎☾✮˚.⋆ ⋆.˚✮☽☯︎☾✮˚.⋆ ⋆.˚✮☽☯︎☾✮˚.⋆ ⋆.˚✮☽☯︎☾✮˚.⋆ ⋆.˚✮☽☯︎☾✮˚.⋆

Sooo… i started writing this in September last year after they finished the Walk the line tour. It somehow feels off to post this now because… yk… he’s not that busy anymore with touring/high demanding schedules so it feels kinda off and not suitable anymore. But I’m cleaning up my drafts so I had to force myself to finish this. Tbh I don’t like the ending, it feels forced and unrealistic — what do you guys think? I put some elements from our current situation… ts hurt like hell, but I had this urge to put it in the fic for some reason. I was about to make a sad ending bc I’m not feeling a happy ending with what’s going on irl but idk… I thought maybe this will comfort someone. Perhaps I don’t like this happy ending because irl we will be stuck in this nightmare forever and will never wake up from it and will never be told that this was all a dream, that he never left us, that he’s still in enhypen, and we are still engenes to him… we will never have this kinda happy ending, yeah maybe that’s the reason why I don’t like it 🫠 dang…

Pls comment!! I love reading them

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