✩ nsfw section ✩

❥ ot13 individual sections

❥ the seven deadly sins hyung line - @pochaccoups

❥ how svt prefer to get you off - @rubyreduji

❥ how svt spend valentine's day with their partner - @husbandhoshi

❥ seventeen and their favourite positions - @chimivx

❥ multiple svt members x reader

❥ double fucked (vernon & dino) - @rubyreduji

❥ leaderz line polycule (seungcheol, hoshi & jihoon) - @sluttywonwoo

❥ vernon fucking you while woozi watches (vernon & jihoon) - @rubyreduji

❥ melt an igloo (seungcheol & jihoon) - @woozivrsefactry

❥ siblings or dating (jeonghan & joshua)- @bitchlessdino

❥ brat (jeonghan & joshua) - @sunflowergyeomie

❥ untitled (seungcheol & jeonghan) - @mejaemin

❥ while he's gone (hoshi & vernon) - @100vern

❥ threesome with gyucheol (seungcheol & mingyu)- @svtswhorehouse

❥ rec (seungcheol & mingyu) - @hongcherry

❥ splashed (jeonghan & joshua) - @smileysuh

❥ gym rat!svt x reader

❥ gym crush! jihoon - @svtswhorehouse

❥ heavy lifting (mingyu) - @sknyuz

❥ Gym Rat Roommate!Seungcheol - @hoshifighting

YOUR HEAT BURNS THROUGH YOU LIKE A LIVING THING, TURNING YOUR INSIDES INTO LIVING HELL. Your skin feels too tight, pulling at the edges and cleaning to the sheets beneath you, the sticky surface of your body covered in a thin sheen of perpetual sweat. The only source of relief is Junhui's callused hand moving down your side, his light touch grounding. You shiver as his fingers graze your ribs, your stomach, your thighs, each point of contact only ramping up the furnace under your skin.

You whimper, unable to stop the sound from crawling up the back of your throat. You squeeze your thighs together, the ache so intense that you feel like the room is spinning - or maybe it is, you can't be sure, though it doesn't seem entirely likely.

"I know," Junhui coos, squeezing your thigh a little. "I've got you, baby."

Junhui’s face is close to yours - close enough that you can count each one of his dark, silky eye lashes. He’s pretty like this, his blonde hair falling across his forehead, slightly damp from the shower he’d taken with you earlier that morning. Your eyes trace the careful curve of his lips, landing on your favorite mole just above his pink upper lip. 

Junhui's scent wraps around you then, purposeful and warm to steady your pounding heart and elevated anxiety. He smells like cedar and the black tea he likes to drink in the morning, your brain fracturing a little through the haze of your heat at the familiarity of it.

The bed dips slightly and you glance toward the new weight, suddenly aware of Joshua. He sits with his legs folded beneath him, his dark eyes wide as saucers, bottom lip tucked between his teeth as his gaze darts between you and Junhui. He’s pretty even when he’s nervous, the softness of his face easing you with the sharpness of Junhui. His fingers twist in the sheets like he's unsure what to do with his hands, dark hair a little disheveled from running his hands through it too many times.

Junhui notices it too. Of course he does - he's an alpha. Though he's not the head alpha of this pack, there is very little that Junhui doesn't notice, and right now he's reaching for Joshua gently, an encouraging smile on his face.

"Shua," he murmurs. "Come here."

The beta only hesitates for a moment. You watch him with heavy eyes as he slides closer, the mattress shifting. It jostles you a little and you whine, but Junhui tuts at you gently, his other hand reaching to help Joshua settle near you. You immediately lean toward him, sliding your head across the bed to press it near his knee.

"She needs you," Junhui tells him. His hand restarts tracing patterns on your thigh and you nod, agreeing with him. You do need Joshua - desperately. "I'll show you, yeah?"

"I don't want to hurt her."

"You won't," Junhui assures him. "Like this."

Junhui slides his hand from your leg back up your body until he's cupping the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin of your scent gland. You shudder, feeling your heart flutter as your eyes go unfocused for a second. For a moment, all you can sense is Junhui's thumb against you, not quite scenting you but enough contact to make you press your forehead to Joshua's knee, panting.

"Touch her like this on the other side," Junhui murmurs. "She likes a thumb on her scent gland. You don't have to press. Just put some light pressure."

Joshua follows Junhui's lead, reading a hand to cup the back of your neck and tilt your head up. You look up at him, the light coming in from the window blinding you for a second until his face swims into focus. Joshua is pretty, the slope of his nose perfect and his full lips curling into a smile as his thumb swipes back and forth against your scent gland, making you trill.

It feels good, cedar and juniper twisting together as they settle on either side of you, the weight of them on the mattress making you sink further, their knees brushing your sides. You turn toward Joshua, seeking the calm balance of his cool palm and juniper scent while Junhui's warm cedar presses in.

"You're so warm," Joshua whispers.

"Heat," you croak. "Very hot."

Junhui chuckles. "Everything will be more intense for her right now." His fingers leave your neck to card through your hair, his nails scratching bluntly against your scalp. You melt into it with a soft sound and Joshua smiles down at you. "See? She reacts well. She'll tell you what she needs."

"Touch me," you beg, looking at Joshua through your lashes. "Please."

Joshua complies, his hand sliding down your arm slowly. The slow drag of his fingers over your skin feels like heaven, your eyes rolling back as you lose yourself to the touch. You feel yourself melt into the bed, his touch growing more confident until he's lacing his fingers with yours. You immediately give them a squeeze and he squeezes back, and when you glance at him again, you see the way he's softened a little, happy to be close to you.

"Kiss her," Junhui hums. "She likes that."

Joshua glances down at you and you nod eagerly, sliding up the bed a little to give him room. Hand still wrapped in yours, he leans down to brush his lips against yours. They're soft and questioning at first, barely more than a brush of lips until you make a desperate sound against him and surge forward, kissing him properly.

He complies, deepening the kiss as he lets go of your hand to cradle your head, angling your face toward him. His tongue presses the seam of your lips and you open up for him immediately, the warmth of his mouth and tongue inviting. He tastes like honey and something else sweet and addicting, your own hands coming up to pull him closer.

Kissing Joshua is different from kissing Junhui. Despite Junhui's steady and calm nature, he can be demanding, his kisses severe and consuming. This isn't that. This a languid press of mouths, the soft sweeping of Joshua's tongue along the ridge of your teeth, the bumping of his nose into yours until he's pulling away to catch his breath.

"Perfect," Junhui says quietly. "See how much she needs you?"

Joshua nods, resting his forehead against yours. His pupils are blown wide, nearly swallowing the warm brown of his irises. His lips are pretty and pink, a little swollen from kissing you and you smile, leaning forward to steal another kiss, nipping his bottom lip gently. He laughs into your mouth, letting you steal as much of him as you want, your hunger insatiable.

When you pull back again, his eyes are still closed, his breathing heavier. "Tell me what to do, baby. What do you want?"

The words get stuck in your throat. Cedar and juniper clash in your thoughts, your body locked in the heat so fully that Joshua's words turn to a tangled mess when you try to process them, a frustrated sound working its way up your throat.

"Touch her," Junhui answers for you, sensing the frustration. "Sometimes she struggles to communicate. Just go with the flow and don't worry about being wrong. Your instincts know what to do."

Nodding, Joshua slides his hand from your face down your neck, his fingers lingering over the rapid flutter of your pulse before he drags them to your collarbone, lightly tracing the indents of Soonyoung's teeth from the night before. You arch into his touch, chasing it - craving it - and he makes a small sound of surprise, like he can't believe you need him this much.

"Good." Junhui's hand settles on your waist, keeping you anchored to the bed. "See how she responds? Keep doing."

Joshua listens to the alpha, his touch growing bolder. He leans down and kisses you again, deeper and hungrier and you let it consume you. His hand traces the curves of your body, his fingers curling slightly to drag the blunt edge of his nails down your hips. You moan into his mouth and he moans back, the sound of his despair echoed so acutely that it makes your thoughts turn cottony and thick, sticking together as you shiver.

"Please," you beg, your voice wrecked. "Please."

"Easy, baby," Junhui soothes, bending down to kiss your temple. His own hand slides down to your thigh where he grips you and opens you up, cool air hitting your soaked cunt. "Shua's going to take care of you. Aren't you Shua?"

"Yes," Joshua says, and his voice has dropped, gone rough around the edges in a way you've never heard before.

He kisses down your jaw and your throat, his lips soft, tongue darting out to taste you. You squirm but Junhui keeps you pinned, his hand on your hip and tight as Joshua's mouth finds the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder. He runs the flat of his tongue across the delicate skin there and you cry out as Junhui chuckles. You feel Joshua grin against your skin as he lingers there, sucking at your neck gently, the sensation shooting right through you and turning the pit of your stomach molten.

"Perfect," Junhui murmurs. He lifts the hand off your hip to press Joshua's shoulder. "Lower."

Joshua works his way down your body with his lips, tongue and teeth, each press of his mouth both a burn and balm. His mouth is hot against your sternum, your ribs, the soft skin of your stomach, each kiss like a brand. He's careful as he shifts down the bed and you feel your stomach flip when Junhui pries your legs wider while Joshua slides to his knees at the edge of the bed.

Junhui follows him down, moving to kneel behind Joshua. He wraps himself around Joshua's back, chest pressed close enough that he can hook his chin over Joshua's shoulder so he can murmur directly into the beta's ear. You can see the way Joshua relaxes slightly into Junhui's presence, leaning back into the alpha, turning to press his forehead against Junhui's neck briefly as he breathes him in.

"Start slow," Junhui murmurs, lips dragging against the shell of Joshua's ear. You stare at them between your legs, watching as Junhui's eyes drag up to yours, pupils blown and hungry. He reaches around Joshua, caging him in as he places his hands on your knees, spreading you wider. "She's sensitive, so anything you do will feel overwhelming. I recommend soft licks."

Nodding, Joshua leans forward, his breath ghosting across your inner thigh as he settles close. Your thighs twitch but his grip is firm, keeping you open for Joshua's hungry gaze.

You forget how to breathe, watching as your heart flutters like a humming bird trapped in a cage. Joshua follows Junhui's instructions exactly, dragging his tongue slowly and deliberately through your sticky folds. The sensation punches right through you, your back arching off the bed as a broken sound escapes you, voice cracking. Junhui's hands tighten on our knees, keeping you in place as Joshua's tongue circles your swollen clit.

"Take your time." Junhui nips Joshua's ear playfully and the beta moans, the sound vibrating through you. You twist your hips, the sensation overwhelming. "Hmm. She liked that."

Joshua nods, humming again. Your lashes flutter, heading pushing back into the mattress as his tongue works in long, slow strokes, occasionally using the tip of his tongue to circle your clit with just enough pressure to make you gasp before he dips back down to tease your aching hole. It makes the heat in your blood sing, his mouth soft and warm and wet and fuck.

"Suck gently," Junhui recommends. "That makes her lose it."

"Yeah?" Joshua asks, panting as he pulls away and looks up at you. His eyes are completely blown, lips glossy with your slick. He looks debauched, so different from the polished beta who likes to make you scones on Sundays. "Let me try."

Joshua's lips close around your clit and he sucks gently. The sensation is so intense you nearly sob, your hands coming up to hide your face as your entire body goes tight. He smiles against you, laughing a little as he fastens his mouth to your pussy, sucking in gentle tugs that make your entire bed spin on its axis while Junhui's thumbs stroke small circles on the inside of your knees.

"You're doing so good," Junhui whispers. "I bet she feels so good."

Joshua pulls back just enough to look up at you, his eyes dark and hazy, his lips and chin glistening. The sight of him on his knees with Junhui wrapped around him makes something in your chest crack open, your heart stopping and starting all over again as Joshua smirks and dives back in, confident and hungry.

"Tastes so fucking good," he mumbles, nose bumping your clit. "Could do this all the time."

"Let me taste," Junhui says and leans over Joshua's shoulder.

Joshua turns to face Junhui, letting the alpha steal a wet kiss that's all tongue. You stare, watching as Joshua submits easily to Junhui as the alpha sucks the taste of you right off Joshua's tongue. When they pull apart, Joshua is a little breathless as Junhui grins and glances at you, tongue swiping across the bottom of his lip.

"Delicious."

Junhui pushes Joshua's head forward then and the beta follows right back to your pussy, his tongue finding a rhythm that is slow and devastating, swapping back and forth between broad strokes and focused attention on your clit as he traces patterns that make you writhe.

You feel Joshua's hand slide up your thigh, guided by Junhui's grip on his wrist as he tentatively presses a finger into your wet heat. You gasp, feeling the stretch combined with the flutter of his tongue stealing the breath from your lungs. He curls his finger exactly as Junhui instructs, pressing against your front wall so that you see stars, cursing up at the ceiling as he drags you toward an orgasm.

His tongue works your clit in steady, rhythmic circles while his finger moves inside you, and the dual sensation builds and builds until you're lost in it, suspended in the feeling of an orgasm that waits and waits and waits until it finally breaks and rushes in.

You come hard, your pleasure suddenly having no start or end but a looping, endless twitching of thighs and clenching walls. You grit your teeth, unable to breathe for a few seconds until you finally gasp for air, body loosening slightly. Joshua's mouth is still on you but it's soft now, his tongue soothing and avoiding your clit, finger pressed deep as he sucks at you messily, making little sounds of enjoyment as he does.

"She's so fucking pretty when she comes," Junhui groans. "Fuck."

Joshua pulls back slowly, his lips and chin glistening, eyes dark and hazy as he looks up at you. His lips curl upward, pupils dilated as he presses slick-wet kisses to the sides of your thighs, leaving shiny marks as he goes. Junhui's hands leave your knees, your legs trembling a little as you let them fall open, your muscles turning to jelly.

Junhui reaches for Joshua. "Come here."

Joshua rises on shaky knees and Junhu catches him before he loses his balance, cupping the back of his neck to pull him to his feet and into a kiss. It's slow and deep, and you watch with your heart beating and fingers twisting into the sheets as Junhui gets a taste of you from Joshua's lips before pulling back. He wipes his thumb across Joshua's bottom lip and pops it into his mouth, humming.

"Tastes good." Junhui looks at you and his gaze darkens. "She needs more of you, Shua."

Joshua nods. "I want to give more."

"Slow," Junhui says, dropping his hands to the hem of Joshua's shirt to pull it over his head. The beta shivers and nods, a little dazed as Junhui's nibble fingers pull at the strings on Joshua's sweatpants next. "Slow and deep. She likes hard and fast the first day of heat - that's what Soonyoung took care of last night. Today we just need her to feel it."

Joshua nods, kicking off his sweatpants to crawl onto the bed, shuffling on his knees. You mouth waters at the sight of him, all tan and smooth from summer days spent at the pool, broad at the shoulder and perfectly tapered in the waist. His cock is heavy, the tip swollen with need as he makes a sound in the back of his throat when you reach for him.

He lets you grab his hands, pulling him down for a kiss that tastes like you. You don't mind, sliding your hands through his sweaty hair, nails dragging down the nape of his neck as he hums, pleased. The smell of him calms you down, pheromones soothing and making you sigh into the kiss, melting back into a state of calm as he settles between your legs.

Junhui shifts on the bed then, momentarily distracting you as you break away from Joshua's kiss. Junhui is kneeling on the bed, blonde hair disheveled in the low light. He's stripped down to his sweats, the hard planes of his stomach twitching as he crawls over, his dark eyes fixated on you. His shoulders are just as broad as the beta between your legs, but there's a predatory grace to the way that Junhui moves that makes him sharper.

Joshua makes room for him, sitting up on his knees as he pries you open further at the knees, your thighs stretching in protest. Cool air hits your cunt and you whine, but Joshua shuts you up as he rubs the fat head of his cock against your slick entrance, pressing just enough to stretch you but not enough to slide past. You let out a pathetic noise and he grins until Junhui growls.

"Don't tease her," the alpha warns.

Joshua goes pink in the cheeks, nodding. "Sorry."

Junhui huffs, bending down to cup your face and turn you toward him for a soft kiss. You preen under his affection, leaning toward him to kiss him back eagerly. He laughs, the sound buzzing through your lips and making your head spin as his tongue slides against yours just as Joshua grips your hips and presses his cock into your heat.

It's slow, but it steals your breath away anyway. You gasp against Junhui's mouth, breaking the kiss to glance at where Joshua is focused on sliding home, head ducked down to watch his cock disappear inside of you, his shoulders slick with sweat.

"Fuck," you hiss and Junhui smiles, placing wet kisses against your temple, teeth scraping lightly. "Feels so fucking good."

"Mhmm," Junhui agrees. His lips move to your jaw, sucking the skin there lightly before he licks down to your throat, tongue dancing around your scent gland. You go blank for a minute, vision whiting out until Joshua is pressed in to the hilt. "You're doing so good, baby. So perfect for Shua."

Joshua trembles slightly, tension thrumming through him as he fights to control himself. Where an alpha might start slamming into you, Joshua waits, the stretch and pressure of him pressing against your walls so good that you clench around him on instinct, making him let out a broken laugh.

"So tight, baby," he gasps. "So good."

Junhui hums in agreement, his kisses trailing to your collarbones. "Move now. Long, deep strokes."

Joshua listens, withdrawing slowly so that the drag of him against your walls makes you cry out. He pushes in just as deliberately, snapping his hips so the stroke is deep. It punches the breath from your lungs and you grab onto Junhui, who doesn't mind, letting you dig your nails into his arms and hands as he lavishes attention to the swells of your chest.

The rhythm Joshua sets is torturous, each stroke deep and measured that forces you to feel every inch of him, hitting that spot inside of you that has you mumbling his name, head falling to the side while your legs lock around his hip, keeping him going.

Junhui's hands on your body makes the pleasure spike, his palms sliding up your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts before cupping them gently, thumbs flicking over your nipples. You arch into his touch, moaning brokenly, overwhelmed by the feeling of both of them, their skin warm and scents tangled.

Long gone is the ache in your stomach, replaced only by swelling heat and pressure. Long gone is the too-tight skin and the feverish need to be touched, replaced by Junhui's hands and his warm mouth closing around a nipple, sucking and flicking with his tongue until you're nearly sobbing, hands tangling in his damp hair.

"So pretty," he mumbles against your chest. "Look at you taking Joshua so well. Does it feel good, baby? Does he fill you up the way you need/"

"Yes," you whine. "Yes, yes, yes, yes."

Joshua's pace stays steady and unhurried, each thrust making you tighten around him. You can feel how wet you are, slick dripping down the curve of your ass as he picks up his pace a little, feeling the way your orgasm is building, knowing you need to reach it. He grinds into you at the end of each stroke, hitting it just right that your vision starts to blur.

Junhui kisses up your chest, along your throat, finding your mouth again. He kisses you like he has all the time in the world, tongue sliding against yours in a lazy rhythm that mirrors Joshua's strokes. Being between them is overwhelming - Junhui's mouth on yours, his hands on your skin, Joshua buried deep inside you, his hands gripping your waist.

"Shua." Joshua looks up, his hair sticking to his forehead as Junhui leans toward him. "Come here."

Joshua leans forward, still moving inside you, and Junhui catches him in a kiss. You watch through hazy eyes as they kiss above you, Junhui's hand cupping Joshua's jaw, guiding him. The sight of it makes you clench around Joshua and he moans into Junhui's mouth, making the alpha grin.

"She likes to watch," Junhui pants against Joshua's mouth. "Likes knowing how everyone belongs to one another." Junhui's hand slides down Joshua's chest to his hips where he squeezes. "Angle up. She needs it right here."

Joshua adjusts, his hands sliding under your thighs to lift them higher, and when he pushes in again the angle is devastating. He hits that spot inside you dead-on and you nearly scream, your whole body arching up off the bed.

"Dead on," Junhui says with a grin. He leans down again, his mouth finding your ear. "Feel that, baby? Feel how deep he is? He's going to take such good care of you. Going to fuck you slow and perfect until you come so hard."

"You're so wet," Joshua groans, his voice strained. "Fuck I don't know how to last."

"That's the heat," Junhui murmurs against your throat. "You can pick up pace. She's close. She's so good for you, yeah? Pretty little omega."

"Fuck yeah."

The praise makes you whimper, makes fresh slickness coat Joshua's cock in response, their approval making your body sing. Junhui kisses you again, deep and consuming, and you lose yourself in it until you feel Junhui's hands slide down between where Joshua fucks you, his fingers finding your clit. His touch is light, but combined with Joshua's relentless pace, it's enough to tilt you over.

Your orgasm hits you hard and you come with a strangled noise, body jerking upward as Junhui holds you down. Your hand clutch at Junhui's shoulders, nails digging into his skin and sliding down his arms. He doesn't mind, letting out a pleased sound as he and Joshua work you through your orgasm in tandem.

"That's it," Junhui murmurs. "Let go, we've got you."

Joshua groans above you, his rhythm faltering as you clench around him. "Oh fuck- I can't-"

"Come for her," Junhui says softly, and it's permission and command all at once.

Joshua's hips stutter forward one more time, burying himself as deep as he can go, and then he's coming with a broken moan. You feel the pulse of him inside you, the warmth flooding your core, and it draws another aftershock from your own orgasm. His whole body trembles, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, and the sounds he makes send you soaring, your omega preening at the way your beta loses control for you.

The three of you collapse together in a tangle of limbs and sweat-slick skin, Joshua slumping forward and catching himself on his forearms to avoid crushing you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breath comes in hot, ragged pants against your throat as Junhui shifts beside you, one arm sliding you to the side so Joshua can pull out and collapse next to you.

Joshua stays glued to your side, his legs tangled with yours as your joint fluids drip down your thigh. You ignore it, knowing Junhui will deal with it later like he's supposed to. For now, Junhui flops down next to you so you're pinned between them, and reaches over to run his hand down the back of Joshua's neck.

You turn your head to nuzzle into Junhui's chest, breathing him in, while Joshua presses soft kisses to your shoulder. Your heat has quieted to a low simmer, temporarily sated, and in its absence you feel the bone-deep exhaustion and the overwhelming desire to sleep right here between the two of them.

"You did good," Junhui tells Joshua, voice rough.

You feel Joshua's smile against your shoulder. "She's incredible. Both of you."

Turning to face him, you reach up to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging him down for a slow, sweet kiss. When you pull back, Junhui is watching you both with dark, intent eyes. Something shifts in the air - a change in the sharpness to his scent and face that makes your pulse quicken.

Junhui leans in, his hand sliding into your hair to angle your face toward him, and when he kisses you, it's deep and possessive, his tongue claiming as he pulls away with a sharp bite to your lower lip that makes you whimper.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he blurted. “Not like that. I was…tired. And scared. And then you hung up and…”

“You hung up first,” you said, but there was no venom in it. Just the fact of it.

His mouth twisted. “Right. I did. I panicked. I hate when you’re not here.”

“I turned my location off because I needed a minute,” you said. “Not because I was disappearing.”

He nodded too fast. “I know. I know now. I just…God, I spiralled. I kept thinking you were out there upset, and I put you there and…”

A stagehand waved from the wings, two minutes.

You put your palm flat on his chest. Felt his heart kick. “Cheol.”

He stilled.

“We’re not perfect,” you said. “But I’m here. I came.”

He swallowed. “Can we talk after? Really talk? Not…across a battlefield.”

“Yes,” you said. “After. No phones. No dramatic exits.”

A breath of a laugh broke out of him, surprised and grateful. “Deal.”

Another wave, one minute.

He leaned in, forehead touching yours. “I’m sorry,” he said again, quieter, like the apology belonged right between you and nowhere else.

“I know,” you repeated, and this time you let your hand find his jaw, thumb warm against the edge of his in-ear wire. “I’m mad, and I love you. Both can be true.”

His eyes softened. “I love you. I never doubt that part. I just…sometimes I don’t know how to hold it without squeezing too hard.”

“Then don’t squeeze,” you said. “Just hold.”

He let out a breath. The noise of the crowd swelled, a wave rolling toward shore.

“Go,” you said, giving his chest a gentle push. “Go do what you do. I’ll be right here when you come off.”

2️⃣ Jeonghan:

Ah, yes, petty fights if you’ve ever seen one. Not the door-slamming, plate-shattering kind with this one. Worse. The kind where he goes quiet. He doesn’t raise his voice, he just withdraws, face smooth as glass, and starves you of words until your own start curdling in your throat. And the worst part? He’s not blameless. He knows it. You know it. You’d spent the afternoon chasing him from room to room like a shadow begging its owner to turn around. Five hours ago, you finally gave up, snatched your keys, and walked out before you said something you couldn’t unsay.

Now, backstage, Jeonghan realizes he may have engineered his own undoing.

He’s a man of ritual and superstition. Every show, the same three things, exactly three sips of warm water; shoulder rolls, two forward, four back, and a text from you that reads, without fail, “I love you, you are the best.” Four years of concerts, and not one has started without that message.

Tonight, the cup is there. The shoulders roll. But his phone stays silent.

“Jeonghan, I’m telling you again,” his manager says, palm flat to his chest, stopping him mid-step. “You can’t go off now. You’re on in five.”

“Please,” Jeonghan says, trying to keep his voice even and failing. “I know she’s here. Just two minutes. I need to find her.”

“She’s not,” the manager replies, already glancing at the clock. “I checked the guest list twice. She didn’t check in. Shoes on. Now.”

Jeonghan exhales, the sound short and sharp. He swallows his third sip of water like it’s a dare, shoves his feet into his shoes, and snatches a mic from a staff member with a muttered “Thanks.”

On the lift, lights humming underneath, the arena thundering above like weather, he stares at the metal grate as if it might blink first.

“Stage face.” Joshua says lightly, squeezing the space between Jeonghan’s shoulder blades. “Whatever it is, park it for three hours.”

“I am really not in the mood for motivational speeches, man…,” Jeonghan mutters, not looking up.

The lift rises. The roar swells. The first note hits, and habit takes the wheel. Jeonghan smiles on cue, sings on pitch, moves cleanly through the choreography, but he’s moving through fog. The crowd is a blur of lightsticks and glittered signs. He hits mark after mark like the floor is telling him where to go.

Three songs in, “Rock with You” crackles in his ear, and the left catwalk calls him like it always does. He goes, feet finding the rhythm his heart can’t. He makes himself look, really look, into the crowd, scanning faces and posters and hands.

And there you are.

You’re pressed against the barrier with your best friend clinging to your elbow, hair a little messy like you ran here, eyes bright and stubborn. You’re jumping to be seen, a poster rattling in your grip. The letters are crooked, the marker is too light in places as if the ink gave up halfway through, and the message is ridiculous and perfect: “I love you, you are the best.”

His mouth opens on a silent laugh. His shoulders, rigid for hours, loosen like a knot finally working free. He stops dead on the catwalk, and for a split second, the world funnels down to you and a sign that was clearly made ten minutes ago on a piece of poster board stolen from someone’s convenience store.

Your eyes catch his, and the annoyance you’ve been feeding all evening dies without ceremony. He doesn’t need the text. He’s reading it twelve feet away.

He mouths, slow enough for you to catch it, ‘I love you more.’

3️⃣ Joshua:

Joshua wasn’t the kind of guy who yelled. Even when you were wrong, and he knew you knew it, he didn’t raise his voice. He just… left. Not with his feet. With his eyes. The room would still hold his body, but he’d be gone, somewhere colder, somewhere you couldn’t reach. That was the worst part of fighting with Joshua, the way his quiet could make you feel like the smallest person on the planet. And he knew it.

Two days since the stupid argument, two days of clipped texts and swallowed words, and the scene kept looping in his head as he sat under the bright bulbs of the makeup mirror. The artist dabbed eyeshadow along his lids, he barely blinked.

“With or without?” someone asked behind him.

“Huh?” Joshua snapped back to the room, blinking at his reflection.

“With or without the glasses,” Hoshi said louder, pointing at the sunglasses perched on Joshua’s head like a second thought.

“It’s pitch black outside,” Joshua muttered, twisting in his chair. “Why on earth would I wear sunglasses?”

“Goddamn, you still got your panties in a bunch?” Cheol drawled from the next chair, eyes never leaving his own mirror. He adjusted his in-ear monitors like they’d personally offended him.

“I’m fine,” Joshua said, too quickly.

“Mhm.” Cheol went back to smoothing a flyaway strand, the unimpressed kind of “mhm” that meant he didn’t believe a word.

The room kept moving without Joshua. Stylists darted past with lint rollers and garment bags, a stagehand counted down minutes in a steady, rising voice. Someone laughed too loud by the door. He tried to care about the set list, the timing, the blocking, but his mind kept snagging on the last thing he’d said to you, and the way your face had fallen right before you shut the door.

Forty minutes later, the real countdown started echoing through the hallways. Joshua stood, suddenly all fingers and panic. His shirt, for reasons known only to the shirt, refused to cooperate.

“I swear to God, if this…” He yanked the hem, careful and not careful all at once. The collar snagged his mic wire. “…stupid shirt…”

He wrestled it over his head and felt his carefully shellacked hairstyle protest. A warm hand landed lightly on his bicep.

“Stop,” you said.

He froze. When he lowered the shirt, you were right there. No mascara tracks, no storm left in your eyes, just a soft focus he hadn’t earned yet. You didn’t meet his gaze. You adjusted the mic pack, unfastened the top button with steady fingers, then slid the shirt over his shoulders so it didn’t disturb a single gelled strand.

“There,” you murmured, smoothing the fabric over his chest with a tight-lipped smile “, See you after the show.”

You turned on your heel, already leaving, already taking air with you. Two days of radio silence clawed at Joshua’s throat. He moved before his brain could talk him out of it, slipping into step beside you as staff scrambled around, calling cues and carrying headsets like life preservers.

“I’m sorry,” he said, breath catching as someone clipped his transmitter in place.

You didn’t slow. “I’m sorry too.”

“I was dumb.” Hands swept over him, powder here, tape there, and still he kept his eyes on you. “I hate it when I get like that. I know I… leave.”

“You don’t leave,” you said, finally glancing at him. “You vanish while standing right in front of me. It hurts.”

“I know.” He swallowed.

A stage manager hustled by, counting down, “Three minutes! Three!”, and then someone tugged at Joshua’s waistband to hide a wire. He caught your hand before it fell back to your side and held it, quick and secret.

He exhaled, the closest thing to relief he’d felt in forty-eight hours. “I love you,” he whispered, the words almost lost under the thud of bass through the floor.

“I love you too.” You gave him a tiny, conspiratorial wink, as if it were a shared joke that love could be this loud and this delicate at once.

“Final checks!” someone called. A makeup artist floated in with a sponge, reaching for his mouth.

“Wait,” Joshua said, catching the artist’s wrist with a gentle apology in his eyes. He turned back to you, cupped your face like he could anchor himself to something softer than adrenaline, and kissed you. Not a timid hallway peck, something sure and grounding.

He let you go, just far enough. He nodded to the makeup artist. “Okay. Now I’m ready.”

4️⃣ Jun:

“I need to take your phone, Jun.” His manager’s hand was already outstretched, steady and impatient, waiting for him to drop it before stepping onto the stage.

Jun stared at the screen a second longer than he should have. Letting go felt harder than it usually did, harder than it ever had, especially when he still hadn’t heard from you. In a few seconds, he’d be logged off from the world for over four hours, cut off completely, and the silence scared him more than the crowd ever could.

You were usually backstage by now. A quick kiss for luck, a quiet smile just for him, a few painfully unfunny jokes shared with the others. Familiar things. Comforting things. But tonight, you weren’t there. And worse, he didn’t even know when he’d see you next, not with the way the coming weeks were packed.

He knew how this looked. He knew he messed up.

It wasn’t intentional, not really. He’d landed hours earlier than planned and thought, stupidly, that he could surprise you. One good moment carved out of a chaotic schedule. But idol life didn’t leave room for nice plans. What was supposed to be an early return to Seoul for a last-minute podcast recording turned into you discovering, through the internet, of all things, that your boyfriend had lied about when he was coming home.

That was the part that hurt the most. Not the lie itself, but the way you found out. And Jun knew better than anyone how much you hated that.

“I am so screwed,” he muttered as the stage elevator doors slid shut behind them.

“Could’ve been worse,” Minghao replied calmly.

Jun let out a helpless breath and leaned back against the metal rail. “She’s not even gonna talk to me after this,” he said. “It’s so fucking stupid.” His eyes fell shut like that might make it disappear.

“All you’re doing right now is making it worse,” Minghao said, eyes still on the script in his hands. “Your mood isn’t gonna magically fix itself like this. And you’ve still got a whole concert to get through.”

“I know, but it feels like I made her think I don’t care,” Jun said quietly, fingers fidgeting with the mic. “Do you know how much it hurt when I called her after filming and it went straight to voicemail?” His voice wavered despite himself. “Or when I got here and the driver told me she refused the pickup and told them to leave without her?”

For the first time, Minghao glanced up at him. “Apologize later,” he said simply. “Focus now.”

The elevator jolted, began its ascent, and suddenly the arena exploded, screams, light, sound crashing over him all at once. The world demanded everything from him, whether he was ready or not.

Time stretched painfully thin. Each song dragged, each transition felt heavier than the last. It was like the universe knew exactly what he was waiting for and decided to be cruel about it.

When the concert finally ended, Jun had never moved faster in his life.

He grabbed his phone the second he was allowed to, heart pounding as he unlocked it. Part of him expected the notification bar to be empty, just like when he’d left it hours ago. No messages. No calls. Nothing.

The other part of him, stupidly hopeful, prayed for anything.

His breath caught when he saw it.

A video. From you.

It was a short clip of him onstage earlier, lights blazing behind him, a small pink heart added in the corner. His chest tightened so hard it almost hurt. He didn’t think, he just called you immediately.

It rang twice.

“Hello?” Your voice cut through the backstage noise, soft and familiar, and it nearly broke him.

“I’m so sorry,” Jun rushed out. “Y/n, I swear I’m the stupidest person on the planet, I’m so sorry, I can’t even…”

“Hey. Hey,” you interrupted gently, firm in that way you always were. “Breathe. You’re tripping over your own words.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” he said, resting his forehead against the cold, damp wall. “I thought I could surprise you, pick you up after filming. Everything ran over schedule, and I couldn’t get to you. I should’ve told you.”

“It was stupid,” you said quietly.

The silence that followed pressed down on him, heavy and unmistakable.

“I know,” he whispered, fingers tightening around his phone. “I’m really sorry. I wish I’d told you. Thank you for coming. I really wanted to see you.”

“I left early,” you said. He could hear the TV murmuring in the background. “Didn’t want to get stuck in traffic.”

“I really thought you wouldn’t,” he admitted.

There was a pause, then your voice softened.

“Come home, Jun.”

The tension in his chest finally loosened, warmth flooding in like relief he hadn’t dared to expect.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he said with a deep, shaky sigh.

5️⃣ Hoshi:

“If it’s so freaking stupid, then why did you even come?” Hoshi’s voice slices through the waiting room, sharp enough to make the air stand still.

You’re sitting on one of those stiff wooden chairs, laptop open on your knees, the click-clack of backstage chaos muted now that the room has gone quiet. Hoshi stands by the door, already half in his sound-check outfit, hand gripping the handle like he’s holding himself back from saying more.

“Babe…” you whisper, pushing yourself up from the chair.

“No. Don’t ‘babe’ me.” His jaw tightens as he pulls the thin door halfway open. “I have a concert to finish. This is my job, Y/N.”

“I know,” you say, softer than intended, but he’s already put three long strides and a wall between you.

“No, you clearly don’t.” He lets out a dry laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be doing my head in about how annoying it is that you have to sit in ‘stupid random rooms’ while I’m freezing my ass off on stage.”

He doesn’t wait for your reply. He slips out, letting the door close behind him, taking every bit of warmth with him.

You blink, and suddenly the argument feels like it had exploded out of nowhere. Twenty minutes ago you were just venting, complaining about how your degree is eating every spare second and how you’re stuck studying anywhere you can. You weren’t attacking him. You were tired and overwhelmed, and he was the one person you thought you could unload on.

But you hadn’t read the room. You knew he was stressed today, that’s why you’d come early, laptop and textbooks in tow. What you didn’t account for was how sensitive Soonyoung becomes when he’s anxious about a performance. One stray spark, and everything went up in flames.

Three hours pass before you admit he isn’t coming back. Not between rehearsals. Not between sets. Not even just to peek in. So you gather your things and slip out quietly to find a better spot before the concert starts.

Meanwhile, thirty minutes later, Hoshi finally comes back to his senses. He returns expecting you there, hunched over your laptop, hair falling in your face, looking up at him with that soft smile you always give him, even when you’re exhausted.

Instead, he finds an empty room. An empty chair. An empty space where you should be.

His stomach drops straight to the floor.

He realizes, fully and painfully, that he snapped at you for nothing. The epiphany had already hit halfway through sound check, but now the guilt settles in like ice. And if performing a four-hour show is hard while stressed, try doing it with a knot of shame sitting permanently in your throat.

Hoshi scans the crowd at least fifteen times during the concert. He double-checks the VIP box so often the cameras probably think he’s doing a bit. Each time he doesn’t find even the tiniest glimpse of you, another crack forms in his chest.

By the time the final encore ends and he steps off the backstage elevator, he’s running on autopilot. Sweat clings to him, clothes sticking to chilled skin. His heart is hammering, not from the choreography, but from dread.

The moment he pushes through the rolling door into the main hallway, his thoughts are racing at a hundred kilometers per hour, until his eyes land on you.

You’re standing there with his mother, laughing over something on your phone, face lit up with the kind of smile he’d convinced himself he’d ruined for the night.

“Thank God,” he breathes, barely audible, before he breaks into a full jog.

You don’t even have time to look up. Suddenly, you’re wrapped in a tight, sweaty embrace, pulled flush against him as he buries his face on top of your head.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, voice cracking, kissing your hair again and again, quick, frantic, apologetic. “I was so rude. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Babe, we’re okay,” you mumble into his chest, voice muffled by his damp shirt.

“Where were you?” he asks, loosening the hug just enough to see you but not enough to actually let go.

“I was in the box with your parents.” You cup his freezing cheeks with your warm hands. “God, Soonyoung, you’re ice cold.”

“You almost gave me a heart attack,” he says dramatically, lower lip jutting out. “I thought I’d died of a broken heart.”

“Actually,” you start, reaching for your phone, “my resident doctor said that’s…”

“Just shut up, idiot,” he laughs, lifting your chin with one cold hand and kissing you before you can finish.

6️⃣ Wonwoo:

You and Wonwoo had always fought the same way, your temper flaring fast and loud, his patience trying to match your pace, always half a step behind. It usually ended with you going quiet, a self-imposed silence you stretched for as long as you could manage. You knew it was childish. You knew it bordered on unfair. Sometimes it even left you wondering if you asked too much of his patience, if taking up that much emotional space made you difficult to love.

But this time, this time, it really was his fault. And you were allowed to be mad.

It was 7 p.m., halfway through their Seoul concert, and you were seated in the VIP box with family members and a few partners of the other members. The bass thumped through the stadium, the cheers rising and falling like waves, but you barely registered any of it. You stayed rooted to your chair, jaw tight, tongue pressing firmly into the inside of your cheek as if holding everything back physically might keep you from unravelling emotionally.

Two hours earlier, Wonwoo had said it, that he found it a bit pathetic that you still got so nervous. After all these years together, after countless shared meals and backstage hellos with the other girlfriends, you still hovered near him, still needed his presence as an anchor. You knew his words hadn’t come from malice. His intentions were clumsy, not cruel. But stress turned him blunt to the point of carelessness, and you had taken the full impact of that, again.

Across the stadium, Wonwoo stood under blinding lights, smiling wide as he moved in sync with the rest of the members. To anyone watching, he looked carefree, electric, fully in his element. But even as he laughed into the mic, he knew what waited for him once the music stopped. An apology. One he owed you badly.

“Why are you looking like that?” Cheol murmured through a smile, leaning in close enough that the audience wouldn’t notice.

“Not the moment,” Wonwoo muttered back, careful with his lips. He was painfully aware of the hundreds, maybe thousands, of eyes on them.

“Then stop acting like something’s wrong,” Cheol replied, patting his back before dancing off to the other side of the stage like nothing had happened.

By the time they reached their final goodbye, you weren’t in the VIP box anymore. You were backstage now, standing beside his dad and brother, bouquet in hand as tradition dictated. Your chest felt tight, like anticipation and frustration were tangled together somewhere beneath your ribs.

Less than five minutes later, he appeared.

Sweat clung to him, his hair falling messily onto his forehead, glasses slightly fogged from the sudden shift in temperature. He looked exactly like he always did after a show, exhausted, glowing, adrenaline still humming under his skin.

You expected the routine. A hug for his dad. Mingyu bursting in with a loud joke. A long, solid embrace with his brother. And then you, a quick kiss, familiar and grounding.

But he changed direction at the last second.

Before you could even process it, his arms were around your torso, still moving forward, making you stumble back a step or two with him. He looked down at you, eyes soft, almost apologetic, the kind of look you knew too well.

“I was rude,” he said quietly.

You scoffed under your breath. “Oh. So now you’re self-aware?”

“Stress got the best of me,” he replied, calm, steady. No defensiveness this time.

“Not an excuse,” you shot back, arms still hanging stiffly at your sides.

“I know.” His voice softened further. “But you know I love having you around. I call you when I’m at the grocery store, even when you’re literally waiting for me in bed.” He laughed shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Y/N. That was really dumb of me to say.”

He reached up, gently brushing your bangs behind your ear, his touch tentative, as if he was giving you room to pull away.

“I’ll have to think about it,” you said, even as you felt the walls you’d built starting to crumble, piece by piece.

“Come on,” he murmured, dipping his head slightly until his nose brushed yours. “I missed you.”

“That’s not fair,” you whispered, a lazy smile betraying you as his breath warmed your lips. “You’re not playing fair.”

“Mmm,” was all he answered before his lips finally met yours, slow, apologetic, and familiar. You tasted salt from his sweat, warmth from his skin, and the last traces of the pettiness that had filled the space between you just hours ago, dissolving completely.

7️⃣ Woozi:

Two stubborn people with matching egos and a tendency to misfire in communication are a recipe for unnecessary tension. Anyone who’s seen you and Woozi argue would say the same: it starts small, escalates fast, and somehow lasts way longer than it ever needed to.

Woozi has always been the type who can feel an argument brewing before you even open your mouth, someone who already knows the solution before the problem fully forms. He loves you with a kind of quiet certainty that threads through every part of his life.

But the past two weeks had stretched both of you thin. Him on tour across three time zones, you flying out for a conference, barely catching each other awake. Silence settled where the comfort used to be. And then that Dispatch article, him at dinner with a female co-star, which he had mentioned in passing, but you hadn’t truly heard because you were both exhausted. You blocked him in a moment of pride and irritation, and by the time he tried reaching out, he didn’t have the energy to push harder. Not then. Not while performing, traveling, barely sleeping.

Now it was the night of their encore show in Seoul. He knew you’d flown home last night, he saw the ring camera notification light up, and it gnawed at him that you still hadn’t unblocked him. He’d tried twice today to stop by your apartment, but both times, you weren’t home. The not knowing was eating him alive.

“If it makes you feel better…” Dino says around a mouthful of egg sandwich, “my girlfriend tried calling her too. Went straight to voicemail.”

“Yeah, she turned her phone off,” Woozi mutters, exhaling hard as he scrolls through Instagram without really seeing anything.

“I think this is the longest I’ve seen you two go without talking,” Joshua adds, sliding behind him and squeezing his shoulders in sympathy.

“Petty ass fight,” Woozi mumbles, eyes glued to his screen as if he stared long enough, you’d appear.

“Petty ass fight?”

Your voice cuts clean through the room. The whole group freezes, and Jihoon’s head snaps around so fast it looks painful.

There you stand, cold from the outside, warmer from anger, looking directly at him. And he can’t decide if he wants to run to you or brace for an explosion.

“That’s what you tell them?” you continue, stepping inside the threshold of the dressing room. “That we’re fighting because of some petty argument? Not because you went to dinner with another woman while I was out of town?”

Silence folds over the room like a blanket no one asked for.

Jihoon swallows. Hard. “Let’s not do this here,” he says quietly, quiet but firm, and heads toward the hallway. You follow, footsteps sharp against the concrete.

The makeshift corridor beneath the stage is freezing, and every breath you take comes out visible. Jihoon stands a few feet away, hands balled in his pockets, eyes never leaving you.

“I missed you,” he says softly.

“Why did you stop by my place?” Your voice wavers, but your stare doesn’t. “My neighbours saw you there. Twice.”

“You’re my girlfriend, for fuck’s sake, Y/N.” He lets out a humourless laugh. “You blocked me like we’re in high school.”

“You went out to dinner with another woman, and I had to learn about it through Dispatch.” You step closer, jabbing a finger into his chest once, sharp, accusing. “That makes me feel like you’re treating us like some high school fling.”

Jihoon inhales, eyes flicking down for a moment. He knows this is the worst possible moment, right before a concert, right after weeks apart. He also knows he loves you more than he loves being right.

So he does the one thing guaranteed to break the spiral.

“You’re embarrassing yourself right now,” he murmurs, not cruel, just honest, and he gently removes his hands from his pockets, reaching for your wrists. One by one, he lifts your hands and places them around his waist, holding them there. Holding you there.

The closeness steals the fight right out of the air. His eyes roam your face like he’s relearning it, and suddenly you feel both exposed and wrapped up in something warm.

“You know I’m in love with you,” he says, forehead dipping toward yours, voice barely more than breath. “So don’t second-guess it again.”

He presses a soft kiss onto your cold lips, lingering.

YOON JEONGHAN — 윤정한

HONG JISOO — 홍지수

WEN JUNHUI — 文俊辉

KWON SOONYOUNG — 권순영

JEON WONWOO — 전원우

LEE JIHOON — 이지훈

seungcheol : man would be a little flustered when you told him he texted you while he was drunk. tons of thoughts went through his mind—what did i say? how did i say it? how did you feel when i texted you? and his embarrassment gets even worse once you show him the text.

jeonghan : i feel like he'd be embarrassed at first but once he saw the texts he's like, oh well it's not that bad. so it's chill for him🤷‍♀️ he's a little grateful he didn't say anything weird to you once you actually picked him up with joshua sitting next to him that night.

joshua : he'd first say sorry for bothering you and asking you to pick him up when it was his own fault that he got so drunk.. then he would die from embarrassment the moment you told him he texted you. no, he doesn't want to know what he said. yes, he cleared the chat right away so he'd forget about it.

junhui : "i don't know what you're talking about," he says. but his ears are as red as tomatoes. jun is aware of how he gets whenever he's drunk—that's why he always keeps his phone away from him whenever he starts to drink—because he doesn't want to accidentally text someone while drunk. now that it happened between you and him, he wishes you'd forget about it.

soonyoung : a little embarrassed but mostly doesn't care cs he gets to make out with you in the car, lol. 10/10 experience, he said, would try it again. he says that it feels great to have someone take care of him when he's drunk. "i would definitely get sooo drunk that you'd have to pick me up again." he says with a stupid grin on his face.

wonwoo : was he even drunk? well, he was a little tipsy, to say the least. wonwoo was never one to drink alcohol much anyway. he knows his limits when it comes to them—but he didn't expect you'd be the one getting drunk instead. he sighs a lot—not expecting he'd take care of eleven drunk men+his own partner that night.

jihoon : he's traumatized. jihoon doesn't drink much—nor at all, honestly. and it's because he's not great at handling them. he gets red-faced easily, and that's why he brings his own drink of choice to these kinds of gatherings. he didn't expect he'd accidentally drank from soonyoung's glass, however—which resulted in his face immediately turning red. ah, who's idea was it to even put his coke right next to soonyoung's beer?! oh, right. it was his. and now he has twelve men+his own partner laughing about it in his face (affectionately).

YOON JEONGHAN ; 윤정한

sweetie, your nickname ; but on special occasions : feather

truly, i think he likes shortening your name or even using your nickname when he finds out about it. he also like to use sweetie because of how it is so common on his tongue now, you can hear the whine in his voice when he calls you sweetie. but feather? jeonghan definitely calls you feather when you two are laying down on the grass to cloud watch while holding hands. a soft and gentle feeling.

"that cloud looks so much like you, feather. it's kind of pretty."

JOSHUA HONG ; 홍지수

dear, honey ; but on special occasions : gem

his voice is soo soft whenever he calls you dear, it's as if it's in your middle name and he just prefers it while talking, and wrapping his arms around you. honey is when he is the most playful and also uses it whenever he apologizes for being too teasing. that’s not the only thing, joshua calls you gem whenever you two are alone, kissing each other on the lips while whispersing loving words to each other.

"just a little moment with you, my beautiful gem, i just want you."

WEN JUNHUI ; 文俊辉

your nickname, dear ; but on special occasions : star

your nickname is one of his favorite parts about your name, whenever he’s out with you or sees things that remind him of the two of you. he absolutely becomes shy when he calls you dear, loves the way he could hold you close leaving kisses on your cheek as he says it. in times where he becomes just so mesmerized by you, junhui calls you star, always shining and full of sparks.

"little star, have i told you that you look awesome tonight?"

KWON SOONYOUNG ; 권순영

honey, sweetie ; but on special occasions : blossom

ever since his honey baby song, all i have been thinking about is how he would totally call you honey when he is feeling all lovey-dovey with you. sweetie is definitely on more romantic occasions where he doesn’t cling around but instead becomes super sweet, especially forehead kisses! soonyoung loves calling you blossom in every moment simply because he loves how much you still surprise him.

"hi my beautiful and pretty blossom! want me to hold your hand? i kind of want to."

JEON WONWOO ; 전원우

dear, sweetie ; but on special occasions : night

dear or dearest, to him, he is forever someone he finds he wants to adore. sweetie, however is his definitely more playful side, you can tell with the slight grin and the kiss on the corner of your lips as he calls you cute for being embarrassed. night is meaningful. to wonwoo, when the sun finally set and you see the moon, you are become what his night needs, dusk and its beautiful moon.

"i think…i could look at you for as long as i can, my night."

LEE JIHOON ; 이지훈

love, darling ; but on special occasions : forever

he uses endearments sparingly, but he definitely prefers to use romantic endearments like love; it is super certain and doesn't need any kind of explanation. darling is more inviting; it seems more open to conversations and cuddles. but one that jihoon uses even in the crowd where you couldn't hear anything, even his quiet voice, tells you that you are his, forever.

"finally found you, let's go back? i really miss you, my forever..."

XU MINGHAO ; 徐明浩

honey, dear ; but on special occasions : masterpiece

i like to believe he is into endearments, honey shows off how much he cares about you outwardly, hand holding, and romantic kisses. dear just shows more of a gentle attitude, hushed as he talks to you about anything that is on his mind, or even whatever is on your mind. but masterpiece makes minghap feel confident, like a sculptor, looking at the most beautiful work of art.

"my beautiful masterpiece is looking as good as ever! love that look you've got going."

KIM MINGYU ; 김민규

babe, your nickname ; but on special occasions : daylight

babe is so cheeky of him to use whenever he is teasing you, especially when he is on the upper hand, the pet name just becomes suuper infuriating. your nickname is something he likes to use when he is feeling like a lovesick pup who wants to kiss you. there are moments where mingyu becomes a romantic, daylight he calls you as the both you watch the sun rise, its rays peeking through even behind the clouds.

"do you like the sun? i adore it, even if it’s you, daylight."

LEE SEOKMIN ; 이석민

your nickname, baby ; but on special occasions : divine

he loves to call you your nickname with just how familiar he already is with it, everyone knows what he means when he says your nickname, it’s just so you! his contact name for you, however is baby, it’s just too cute for him to not say it, he definitely prefers to call you something soft. but when seokmin sees everything of you, you become divine to him, someone that glows and is majestic.

"my divine, do you think you could give me a kiss? i think it would make my day."

BOO SEUNGKWAN ; 부승관

darling, baby ; but on special occasions : dream

i like to think that he calls you darling as if you two had been married to each other for a very long time, as much as you two may bicker. when he’s demanding or wants you all by himself, he would call you baby just to see how you would react as he rarely uses it. there is one endearment that seungkwan sticks to, dream. as if to tell you you are pre-destined, and a wish he knew would come true.

"oh dream, sometimes i think about how lucky i am to have you."

CHWE HANSOL ; 최한솔

babe, love ; but on special occasions : pearl

he doesn’t tell you he definitely loves calling you babe more than anything else; it becomes less romantic to him, but it also becomes a familiar routine. the way he says love, on the other hand, feels a little quieter in the silent morning. hansol not good with words, but pearl tells you everything you need to know about how he sees you, a beautiful and precious stone that he could never take his eyes off.

"yo, just bought some souvenirs, we should display ‘em pearl."

LEE CHAN ; 이찬

love, babe ; but on special occasions : bird

i totally imagine that he would scream love if he ever finds you in a crowd, running to immediately give you a big embrace. calls you babe in more intimate moments if you ever have a chance to spend more time together. but in moments where he really gets to see you shine and fly up, chan calls you bird, vibrant and just how free you were. he always seems to power up even being near you.

"hey bird, need some of your energy, you’re surging right now."

mellow's notes : endearments make me go crazy/cringe, it really depends lmao, does anyone like endearments tho? who knows!

jeonghan —; beg

everyone knows yoon jeonghan likes having people at his mercy. he gets a little unhinged when he has power over someone—so imagine what he gets like when you’re writhing on his cock, gasping his name so sweetly, your eyes glimmering with tears as he fucks you hard.

“what is it, pretty?” he asks, and like the devil he is, he slows the movement of hips, pulling out of you until his tip barely kisses your also weeping hole. it’s torture for him too, to leave the hot, tight haven that is your cunt, but to him it’s worthwhile.

“wanna cum, hannie,” you whimper.

“hm… i don’t know if i should let you yet,” he says, dipping back inside just an inch. years of him being yours means you don’t miss the tiny strain in his voice that betrays his perfectly collected demeanour.

“please, hannie, please, please, please, let me cum. i’ve been so good,” you sob, squeezing your thighs where they rest on his hips.

you watch as a switch flips in his eyes within a millisecond. a grin lights up his face and he shudders, and he’s sliding back inside you, fucking in and out of you harder and faster than before. safe to say it doesn’t take long for either of you to cum after that.

joshua —; make eye contact

his pretty doe eyes make staring into them your favourite thing in the world, and if you asked him his favourite pastime, he’d tell you that it was gazing into your irises.

it’s also his biggest weakness. from the way you’ve got your mouth wrapped around his dick, throat gagging even though you’re only halfway down it, joshua feels his sanity slipping away. his fingers curl into the bedsheets below as he watches you work him, revels in the warmth of your tongue sliding up and down his shaft.

when your eyes flick up to meet his he doesn’t stand a chance. not with how glimmering they are, brimming softly with tears, yet swimming with adoration. with worship.

heat washes over his whole body, he’s gasping, and the salty warmth of his release pools on your tongue.

jun —; put his fingers in your mouth

when junhui gets inside you he has a one-track mind. he becomes rapt with pleasure, drunk from the warm squeeze of your pussy around him, focused on nothing but the sensation of you, the sight of you under him, the sound of you in his ears.

the effect you have on him is dangerous, because you’re equally obsessed with him as he is with you, and you’re not afraid to show him.

and you love his hands, he knows you do—knows how you love his slender fingers and their soft touches all over you, inside you. your brain is cloudy, fogged by lust when you take him by his wrist and bring his fingers to your mouth. your eyes sparkle as your lips wrap around his index finger, your soft tongue swirling around it.

jun’s mouth parts with awe, his eyes growing round. a second later, he stills inside you with a gasp of your name, like he’s praying to you, all the while you’re sucking on his finger like a devil.

hoshi —; scratch him

he’s a little bit of a freak, and a masochist too.

when he’s got you folded in half, hitting all the right spots inside you, you cling to him in every way you can—fingers grabbing at his biceps, his shoulders. one particular stroke of his hips has you squealing.

your nails sink into his skin, crying out his name as you rake them down the toned planes of his back. the second you do, soonyoung is grunting, hips stilling, cock twitching as a sticky warmth suddenly floods your cervix.

the worst part about it is how he always has the stupidest, most shit-eating smug grin on his face when he examines your damage in the bathroom after, and you know that if he could, he would post the selfies he takes in the mirror all over instagram. what’s even worse though? seeing your marks makes him hard again.

wonwoo —; cry

you’re such a sensitive little thing and wonwoo adores you. one orgasm on his fingers and you’re already overstimulated—“but baby, i haven’t even put my cock in you yet,” he’ll coo.

like it’s your fault you have a boyfriend with skilled fingers and a skilled tongue and who knows you inside and out like the back of his hand, who knows where to touch you and how hard and what pace makes you writhe the most.

by the time he does get inside you, you’re gasping and whining and clawing at him, tears springing to your eyes because he’s so big and so deep, but the stretch is so addictive that it’s dizzying. his voice is low and husky as he mutters to you a mixture of teases and praise, calls you his pretty girl and then laughs at sensitive you are, pretends he’s not on the verge of coming from the sound of your choked gasps.

your belly starts to pulse with that familiar heat and by then you’re keening for him, whimpering a mixture of his name and endless pleas as it starts to become too much. your sobs go straight to his cock, and it’s only a matter of time before he reaches his climax, and his gasps of pleasure harmonise with your own cries.

woozi —; pull his hair

he’s been growing his hair out. after all your begging, he finally listened. in a way, though, it’s backfired a little on you, because the longer it gets the more insane you become. and the thing is you never expected him to let it get to his shoulders—and still he doesn’t plan on cutting it. well, good. you would kill him if he did.

when his face is between your legs you’re nothing short of a feral animal—your hips bucking wild against his mouth, your legs trembling on his shoulders, your fingers, of course, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. he makes you whine when he pulls away from your needy, sticky cunt to tsk at you, tells you to cut it out and keep your hands to yourself. (it’s because he’s about to cream his pants).

when he bends you in half beneath him, ruts into you hard and fast and relentless, you need leverage. your hands land on the back of his neck, fingertips grazing at his roots, then one slam of his hips into yours has his cock bumping against the most sensitive spot inside you and your grasping at his hair and crying his name so desperately. no longer can he hold back, strained groans slipping past his lips as he lets go inside you.

dokyeom —; hold his hand

a sentimental sweetheart, seokmin is an utter romantic who thinks that being inside of you, whether in your mouth or your pussy, is intimacy in its purest form. now imagine showing him just how much more intimate things can get.

he’s losing his mind at the feeling of your tongue swirling around the head of his cock, the way you swallow his length down making him see stars. he can’t bare to look at you—he needs to focus on taking deep breaths so that he doesn’t cum straight down your throat. then he feels you grabbing at one of his hands, lacing your fingers together, and no amount of deep breathing can stop him from releasing.

and when he fucks you it’s no different—it’s him in near tears, whimpering your name between incoherent words over and over, and as soon as you take his hand in yours and your fingers wrap around his, there’s nothing else he can do but succumb to his own pleasure.

mingyu —; take control

he’s big and strong; strong enough to put you into whatever position he wants, to make you cum at his command, to do just as he pleases with you.

but that’s exactly why he likes it when you slap him around a little.

you can’t exactly bend him into doggy or use your weight to keep him pinned to the mattress, but you can sit yourself pretty on his cock and ride him teasingly slow. you can tell him he’s not allowed to touch you or you’ll stop moving. you can tell him to kiss you, to go slower, to go harder.

you can sit up and put a hand around his throat, still your hips, and tell him he can fuck you himself if he wants to cum. and he’ll do just that—and as soon as you utter the words, he’s gone, whining out curses as he fills you up in white, warm spurts.

minghao —; whisper in his ear

minghao often tells you how he adores your voice. when you talk to him he’s entranced, and he’s always been more of a listener than a talker, and it’s perfect because you always have so much to say, and minghao will listen to every last word of yours.

your voice—minghao’s kryptonite, his achilles’ heel, his undoing and, oh, the way you moan for him when he’s got you on his cock is enough to make his heart stop beating. the perverted part of him wishes he could record you, hide the file away on his phone and listen to you when he’s overseas and he can’t call you. maybe he’ll ask you about that, if he can find the courage.

the final blow is when you’re getting close. you lean in, right next to his ear, so close that your breath sends shivers along his skin. “please, hao, i’m so close,” you whisper, yet you still sound so desperate and depraved. “you are too, right? cum for me, please. i’ll cum for you too.”

so he does just that—minghao gives in and lets his orgasm wash over him, fingertips drawing circles on your clit until mere moments later he hears the sound of your own cresting pleasure and he feels himself getting hard again.

seungkwan —; wrap your legs around him

it’s a fact that seungkwan loves to be close to you. if he could, he would crawl inside of your skin and live in your heart. but since he can’t, constant physical touch is the next best thing.

he likes to think he has relatively good self-control…most of the time. like when he’s buried to the hilt inside you, he’s incredible at keeping in rhythm, fucking into you at the most perfect pace for both you and him, hitting the spot that makes your back arch off the bed.

somehow he never sees it coming—when your arms are snaked around his neck and you’re holding onto him for dear life as he takes you to heaven, and your legs wrap around his waist so that you can pull him in impossibly deep. then you bring his face to yours, and you have the most irresistible little pout on your face when you make your request. “cum inside me, seungkwannie?”

and it’s not like he has much choice with the way you’ve trapped him inside of you, but that’s the very reason why the next second he’s pumping you full, because when it’s you, how is he supposed to have any self-control?

vernon —; touch yourself

it’s not like vernon can last long in general. he thinks you’re the hottest thing alive and he’s so enamoured with you that it’s too much for him sometimes, but you best believe he’ll put his all into holding out just for you.

there are times, however, where he’s just a man. and what’s a man to do when he has a goddess riding his dick? when your tits look so pretty, bouncing in his face, when you have that fucked out look in your eyes, when you feel like heaven and hell all at once?

and what the fuck is a man to do when your hand drifts down between your legs, to your aching clit, and your fingers start to rub it in circles, or when your other hand grasps one of your tits and tugs at one of your own nipples? and your sweet pussy clenches around him so tight when you do, clamps down on him in an hot, wet embrace, so what else can he do but cum?

dino —; say ‘i love you’

another sweet, sentimental boy. lee chan is head over heels for you, enamoured, obsessed, smitten, infatuated with you… the list of things he is around you is endless.

it shows in the way he fucks you—always takes his time with you, never rushes taking you apart. every touch of his is intentional, meant to set you both ablaze. when he eats you out to prep you for his cock, he has to try not to cum in his pants from how pretty you are.

where he really doesn’t stand a chance however is when he’s bottomed out inside you, as close as he can possibly be with you—so close you’re practically one. the sweetest sounds fall from your lips, spurring on his expert thrusts.

It's the times when you have him blowing up your phone when you don't reply, cooking chinese food when your stomach rumbles and the pair of pink slippers nustled into his hallway designated for you that make you realise that no man will ever live up to him.

He has been exceeding your expectations since the night you met him. The night your friend ditched you at the club for some dick, leaving you, in flawless makeup and an outfit you had been planning for days somehow contemplating going home.

Purse in hand, you caught sight of a him cutting through the crowd —suspiciously good looking and his smile reeking of "Are you open-minded?". You gripped the strap tighter, breath stalling, but instead of trying to get you drunk or onto the dance floor, he stayed beside you all night.

Since then, Jun had been at every birthday party, been through every breakup and been by your side through every moment you needed him — he's your constant. The one who will always stay.

Never once has a single hint of hesitation hit you when telling him all your worries. All the times you used to be crying on your bed, gut clenched at the realisation you had no one to talk to now couldn't feel like a more distant memory.

Chest tightening, you remind yourself not to take him for granted. Although, he certainly likes to make it difficult when he abandons everything for your needs. Like that time he skipped dance practice so you could have a sleepover the night your ex broke up with you.

Looking around at your empty room, you tuck away your pink slippers into your highest cupboard. They look far too lonely when they aren't in his apartment, accompanied by his grey pair. You yank at your charger, expecting a reply, only to be left with another painful reminder of his busy schedule.

Three months into his filming in China, and you're certain you are one minor inconvenience away from insanity.

You’d be lying if you said you didn't have moments — close calls. His hands brushing yours. Lingering looks. Him wiping your tears with his shirt sleeve. But you would never dare to cross the line.

You couldn't. He’s your best friend. Always has been. What would you do if it fucks things up?

However, Jun percieves you differently.

After years of being friends, it became impossible for him to keep seeing you not getting treated how you deserved. You'd be happier with him. How could you not see this?

Every time he comforts you, every sleepover you have, every tear he wipes from your cheek, the urge swells. At first it was his desire to comfort you— to love you. But it's rotted into something darker, something dirtier gnawing at him from the inside.

It's a quiet obsession that he isn't exactly proud of, yet he can't deny it. He especially can't deny it at times when you're curled up on his lap wearing his hoodie with those tiny fucking shorts you love. His dick pressing against his zipper as he excuses himself to the bathroom to take care of it.

But the last thing he wants is to make you feel uncomfortable or to push your boundaries and lose you forever.

So every memory becomes a part of his private folder. He saves voicenotes of you saying his name, photos of you sleeping beside him, even screenshots of times you were being accidentally flirty over text.

He reassures himself that it's just a way to keep himself controlled, that he needs an output for his desires, but even he is aware of how much he's slipping into his fantasy rather than the reality that could shatter if he moves too fast.

And now that he hasn't seen you in three months, he's spiralling. He thinks about you constantly, reading your texts over and over whilst he's on set. He thinks about how soft your skin must be, his cock getting harder from just imagining the feel of you in his arms again.

He predicted this might be the case when he left for China so he did something new. It was always a fantasy he dared not to admit. But he had no choice when he stayed round yours for the final sleepover. Each deep, rhythmic breath of yours coaxing his eyes to your underwear drawer.

Jun now laid on his bed. His figure adorned only his grey sweatpants and a pair of your white lace panties in his grasp.

You, however, were at Mingyu and Wonwoo's place. They were two friends Jun introduced you to recently as he instructed them to look after you whilst he was gone.

You were now curled up on their couch, phone balancing on your stomach, half-waiting for Jun to reply to your last message.

The three of you had fallen into a routine by now: Mingyu cooking too much, Wonwoo gaming on call, and you sneaking photos to send to Jun like you were documenting your survival.

It wasn’t the same without him. Mingyu and Wonwoo were sweet, loud, and distracting — but they weren’t Jun.

With the silence from your phone beginning to get nauseatingly loud, you snap a quick selfie to Jun, silently hoping it will prompt a faster response.

It's a simple photo — you, Jun's hoodie pooling at your waist, watching tv with Mingyu on their couch.

Grinning to yourself, you caption the selfie, 'bet you miss me more than i miss you' and hit send.

Jun didn’t mean to open it while he was half-hard, shirtless and lazy on his bed… but now he couldn’t stop staring.

Grip tightening on his phone, he looks back to your panties laced within his hand, mentally piecing the sight together with your selfie — the formed image driving himself insane. His hand instinctively reaches for his cock, carelessly pulling it out of his sweats as if it was routine.

He knew it was wrong but he couldn't help himself when he was this hard. He zoomed in on your neck, mind wandering to how soft your skin is there. Thinking about how much he wants to grab it and hold you down. Letting his hand trail over his sensitive tip, he hums in pleasure as he lets his head roll back.

Fueled by his ache, he lets the soft, pure fabric meet his dick, wiping his precum, not realising how far this would lead him. The contact with his cock and your panties made him twitch, imagining how you'd look in them— how you'd look in them beneath him.

Jaw tightening and head spiralling, the realisation that he can't escape this situation hits him. Yet, he doesn't fight it. He knows better than to fight it when he can feel his hunger surging with every bead of sweat accumulating on his forehead.

His cock twitches further into your panties and before he can process his actions, he's got them wrapped around the base.

The hotel room is cold, nothing like the view on his bed. His abs gleam with a thin sheen of sweat, sweatpants sitting low enough to reveal the girth of his cock, partially veiled by your damp underwear.

He's far too deep in the fantasy, far too deep for any critical thinking, his mind only containing you and his need for you to finally acknowledge him in the way he craves.

Pulling out his phone, with his brain barely present, Jun snaps a photo as a response to yours. The only difference being that his photo back contains his dick wrapped up in your panties.

It comes with no warning. The innocent notification buzzing against your stomach like a hug, fooling you into a sense of comfort.

You opened the message expecting a selfie. Instead, it was him. Hard. With panties—your panties, looped around the base.

Oh my god. That’s yours — that’s your underwear wrapped around his cock like some kind of trophy.

And he knows. He fucking knows you’re looking at it. He wants you to look at it. Wants you to see how hard he is for you, even when he’s not here. You can’t breathe.

Now you’re in Mingyu’s bathroom, phone shaking in your hands, thighs pressed tight together like that’ll help anything. What the fuck does this mean?

You build up the courage and face the image again, drinking in the view. His dick— your best friend Junhui's dick. You couldn't help but notice every detail.

Your phone showed every vein, it showed just how hard he was.. for you. And without warning, it was now seared into your memory.

Yet you didn't mind it.

You didn't mind the thought of Jun, thick, flushed and twitching into your panties that he must have stolen from you.

And the thought of what is happening outside the image, him in that hotel room with his hand wrapped around himself, panting your name whilst jerking his cock into your underwear.

Palms sweating, you notice the slight v-lines visible in the corner of the image causing your to almost choke on your saliva.

This only lead you to imagine his face— fuck, that pretty face. Probably just as flushed as his tip.

You catch a quick glimpse of your reflection in the bathroom mirror, your state mirroring your imagination of Jun in this current moment.

Your face flushed a bright rosy shade and the stark light above you making you feel far too exposed, yet also lighting up the image on your phone as if it's going to burn through your retinas— or maybe that's just due to your staring.

Around you, you can still hear the muffled sound of Mingyu and Wonwoo discussing the TV, yet with every beat of your heart increasing in volume, and your breath slowly getting heavier, it became much easier to ignore.

Was it a mistake? But fuck, what if it wasn't?

Either way, you can't deny the fact that it's your panties he stole. And it's your panties he's jerking off with.

That thought alone makes your breath shallow, hitched and humiliatingly loud.

With your hands tightening around your phone screen, you open your messages, yet you can't manage to type. Your trembling fingers hover over the keyboard as if they are haunting it.

Looking down, you view the picture again, heat Instantly spreading through your chest, the sensation travelling down your stomach.. and lower.

You couldn't stop staring, thoughtlessly imagining the heat spreading through your body was his touch. That his long, slender fingers were the ones carresing your inner thighs and the dizziness you felt was from him yanking your head back.

You had to collect your thoughts — your emotions.

Finally, you typed

You: 'Did you mean to send that to me?'

Every second that passes feels like torture. Your body and mind unable to cope with the perverse thoughts of what could be taking him so long.

Jun is lying in his hotel bed, half watching some random chinese tv show. His free hand tracing a lazy trail down his stomach, fingers slipping just under his waistband. He isn't exactly paying much attention to any of it though. In his eyes, you are the only thing that matters. The phone buzzes and he leans up, seeing your response. Jun pauses, considering his response.

Buzz

Jun's name lights up your screen. You don't touch it right away. Your chest tight, breath stalling as you almost drop your phone when you scramble to read his reply.

Jun: 'Yes.'

That's it? What's up with him.? You bring your knees up onto the closed toilet lid where you are sitting, your mind completely blank yet still full of questions. But aside your curiousity, your stomach stirs and your thighs rub together.

You are left with only one word as your solution.

You: 'Why?'

Jun shifts, pulling his hand from his waist. He sits up, the blanket bunching at his hips. He types, licking his bottom lip, considering his response. How was he supposed to tell you the truth? That he was obsessed?

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

His response was faster this time.

Jun: 'Was thinking about you' 'Wanted you to see it' 'To see how much I miss you'

Your knees weaken. Your breath gets heavier. Is this really happening? You don't even think before replying.

You: 'You're insane. I'm at Mingyu and Wonwoo's!'

Jun chuckles, shifting to lay back against the headboard, resting the phone against his chest.

Jun: 'Then be quiet for me.'

You stare at the message for a moment. Your skin tingling with heat as you subconsciously fan yourself. Biting your lip, you look back at the photo he sent before responding.

You: 'In the photo.. is that mine?'

A smirk curves Jun's lips as he reads your reply. His thumb tracing along the bare skin of his hip.

Jun: 'You're smart enough to figure that out' 'I bet they look better on you'

Your stomach flips at his words. It's a tone you've never heard from him before and it feels as though every thing he says sends a signal straight through your body.

You: 'What were you thinking!?'

His reply is instant.

Jun: 'Are you really that desperate to know what I was thinking about with your panties wrapped around my hard dick, hm?' 'Isn't it obvious?'

Jun pauses to think about what was on his mind. The image of you in those exact panties had been burned behind his eyelids. He'd been thinking about it nonstop for days at this point. He couldn't get you out of his system.

Jun: 'I've been thinking about you' 'About what I'd do if you were here' Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. You type something back but delete it. Your heart beat becoming the only distinguishable sound over the hesitant tap of your typing.

You: 'Tell me'

Again, he replies almost instantly. As if he'd ridden this train of thought a hundred times before.

Jun:'I’d have you on your knees right now' 'I’d pull your hair back so I could see your face'

Jun's hand curls around his length, squeezing. It's a poor, poor replacement for what he really wants. He closes his eyes, his mind already creating a picture, just picturing you there with him, all to himself.

Jun: 'I'd make you open your mouth for me.' 'I wouldn’t stop until you were a mess.' 'Then I’d use my tongue, my fingers, my dick. I'd make you feel so good.'

You close your eyes and picture it. Your legs feel restless. You rub your thighs together desperately in a pathetic attempt to ease your need for any kind of friction.

Steps faltering, you stumble your way to unlocking the bathroom door. Relief floods you, both Mingyu and Wonwoo are asleep in their rooms — unaware.

As if he could sense your movements, your phone starts ringing. Sharp against the counter, sudden enough to make your heart skip.

It’s him.

Your fingers hover over the screen. Breath catches. A pulse races through your chest, slowing only when you finally swipe to answer.

“Hey,” his voice hums through the line, low and deliberate, like he’s already inside your head.

His voice sounds soft and deep, that tone which you have been missing. It had been far too long since you have heard it.

In any other scenario, your body would instinctively relax upon hearing this voice, however when surrounded by the fluorescent confines of this bathroom, with your underwear soaked and mind blank, your body can't help but tense.

You manage to catch your pacing breath and choke out a weak, "Hi.." into the phone. Your voice sounding much weaker and inferior against the weight of his baritone.

"Are you alone?" His voice trembled slightly, like he was holding back.

Your thighs clench at the sound. Too shy to respond, you nod in response before remembering he can't see you. "I am.."

There’s a pause, and it’s like you can feel him leaning closer, teasingly close.

"Good. Sounds like your still in the bathroom. How about you make your way to their guest room, hm?"

Your skin prickles as if he was really next to you, as if he's in your ear, breath sliding down your throat. Without thinking, you follow his command, allowing the sound of your footsteps to act a signal of your obedience to him.

"I'm laying in the bed now.."

Jun brought your soft lace towards his face and breathed in your scent, although he's been doing it for so long it's started to fade. That doesn't stop him from pulling out his aching cock again, still wet with precum.

"Following my orders, already? How about a second one?"

"What is it?

He is fully fisting his cock now, aware that the sounds must be escaping into your phone speaker yet unable to stop himself upon hearing your voice.

"You're okay with this, right?" "Fuck, please say you are."

You can practically hear his brows knitting together through his voice. God, you wish you could see him pleading for you like this.

"I promise, what's the second order?"

Jun then slides your panties to his lower face and licks a determined stripe along the fabric, letting out a disgusting whine before speaking.

"Be good and let me hear how wet you are."

Your fingers teased with the hem of your panties, as your grinded up into the fabric. That wasn't enough — so you let the pad of your finger slide down the length of your wet cunt.

Jun’s breath hitched, a sharp groan slipping out as he bucked his hips up into his fist, ruined already by the slick sounds you were making for him.

"Does it scare you how much you want this?" Jun's voice is low, strained but authentic.

"It scares me just as much as it excites me." Your words are promptly silenced by a moan as you let a single finger slip past your folds.

Jun takes your panties and threads them back around his cock, fucking the fabric with deep thrusts, his mind only centered around how much better you'd feel.

You can hear the sound of his slick fist through the speaker, wet and obscene, mixing with his low groans. Your back arches instinctively against the hard mattress, your legs spreading wider as you circle your clit with trembling fingers.

“Jun-” you gasp his name, your voice high and shaky.

He groans at the sound, almost guttural. “Fuck, say it again. Say my name like that.”

You do, over and over, until you’re whining it like a chant. No longer giving a fuck if Mingyu or Wonwoo hear.

“I want to be inside you so bad,” he mutters, voice strained and heavy with lust. “I want to feel you clench around me. I bet you’d be so tight—so wet. You’d take me so good, baby.”

Your body reacts before your brain catches up, your fingers pushing inside yourself. The sharp stretch makes you cry out.

Jun hisses. “Fuck, are you touching yourself for me? Are you fucking yourself while I’m not there?”

“Yes. Yes, Jun,” you admit, your voice breaking on his name.

The sound he makes in return is dangerous, deep and ruined. “Good girl. That’s my good girl. Pretend it’s me. Pretend it’s my cock stretching you open.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, doing exactly that. Pretending it’s him. Pretending his weight is pinning you down. Pretending his voice is spilling into your ear instead of through your phone.

“I’d make you beg for it,” Jun growls. “I’d make you beg for my cock before I even let you have it.”

Your thighs shake at his words. You fuck your fingers into yourself harder, sloppier, chasing the sensation.

“Jun please,” you whimper, not even sure what you’re asking for.

He chuckles, dark and dirty. “That’s it. Keep begging. You sound so sweet when you’re desperate for me.”

The noises on his end get faster, more frantic, the sound of his hand gliding over his cock sharp in your ear. You can picture him perfectly. His head tilted back, face flushed, his pretty mouth parted as he ruins himself with your underwear.

“I’m close,” you whisper, your voice nearly breaking.

His reply is instant. “Cum for me. Cum with me. Need to hear how good my voice makes you feel.”

Your climax hits you hard, blinding, as your back arches off the bed. You’re gasping his name like a prayer, holding the phone tight against your ear as if that’ll make him closer.

Jun follows seconds later. His breath stutters, a low moan spilling out of him as he finishes into your panties, his voice so raw and disgusting you know you’ll never forget it.

There’s silence afterward, save for both of you catching your breath.

Finally, his voice cuts through the silence, soft and shaky: “...fuck. I wish you were here.”