Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
📬 ❤︎ ot5 𝔁 6th member!fem!reader ─── ৻ꪆ every time the clock strikes 11:30 pm, you all sit down for some girl talk.
❤︎ warnings+tags ─── ৻ꪆ jamesyn established relationship <3
💌 ❤︎ notes ─── ৻ꪆ these cuties bruhhhh
❤︎ wc ─── ৻ꪆ 2.2k
𝄞 𓏸 my cortispilledmasterlist »﹙合﹚
❝ tracklist ❞ ─── our summer—txt ❦ tfw—enha ❦ lucky to be loved—tws ❦ drama—aespa ❦ off the record—ive ❦ you were beautiful—day6
every single night, without fail, after the grueling practice schedules, the long showers, and approximately seventeen near-death experiences caused by seonghyeon and keonho being left unsupervised together, the six of you would inevitably gather in the living room. it had become an actual routine; an unspoken rule you’d followed starting at 11:30 pm every night: ‘girl talk time,’ you’d collectively named it, despite the glaring biological fact that only one girl was present in the group. the first time someone pointed that out, james had simply shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘girl talk is a state of mind.’ nobody had questioned it since.
☆
tonight, the room was a canvas of comfortable chaos, everyone scattered around the floor. martin was making hot chocolate. juhoon was folded inside a blanket burrito. keonho was upside down on the sofa for reasons nobody understood. james was sitting beside you, one arm around your waist. you were painting the nails of his other hand a shade that matched yours. seonghyeon was dramatically sighing, which usually meant he had gossip.
“what happened?” martin made the mistake of asking.
immediately he sat up. “oh my god.”
the room collectively perked up like hungry wolves.
“what?”
“what happened.”
“tell us.”
“i walked into studio 7b today,” he started slowly.
“damn.”
the reactions came immediately.
“no way.”
“again?”
“not 7b, damnnn.”
seonghyeon pointed dramatically into the air. “i saw two of our sunbaes holding hands.”
the room exploded.
“who?”
“who?”
“drop the names.”
“i’m not naming names.”
“booooo.”
“boring.”
“you suck, eom.”
“...fine! one of them was niki hyung.”
“i knew it!”
“let’s get it, hyung!”
james grabbed a cushion to settle in, shifting you so that you were in a more comfortable position against him. “continue.”
the next hour consisted entirely of tea—company tea, friend group tea, just about anything.
“i saw one of the new trainees get rejected and she immediately called and told three different people saying she was ‘too busy to date anyway.’”
the room screamed.
“no!”
“dude, that’s hella embarrassing.”
“that’s insane, damn.”
then martin contributed—”i heard one of the dance instructors accidentally called one of the idols by their ex’s name.”
the room nearly collapsed under the weight of the collective uproar. keonho literally rolled off the sofa onto the hardwood floor. you couldn’t breathe from laughing.
“no.”
“no way!”
“oh my god, actually?!”
meanwhile james was crying, or laughing, or both, into your shoulder, his whole body shaking with amusement.
☆
other days, inevitably, the conversation shifted like it always did. from gossip, to life, to feelings, to whatever happened to be bothering someone. tonight the focus was you, because you were curled up under a blanket looking miserable. james noticed first. his hand immediately found yours under the fabric.
“you okay?”
you groaned. “no.”
“what happened?”
“my period.”
instant sympathy radiated from all five boys around you. every single one of them immediately looked concerned, shifting the collective atmosphere instantly. even after knowing about it for so long, they still reacted like you’d been diagnosed with something terminal.
“bad?” juhoon asked slowly.
“so bad.”
“how bad?” seonghyeon chimed in.
“imagine somebody put barbed wire around your organs.”
the room collectively winced and ‘ooof’d.
“and twisted it constantly. again and again.”
“oh.”
“and then ripped it out all at once.”
“what the fuck.”
“and repeat it for a week.”
“that’s actually horrible, what the fuck?”
“every month.”
james looked genuinely upset, pulling you a little closer. “baby.”
“i’m fine,” you muttered.
“you don’t sound fine.” martin nudged your leg with his.
“okay, whatever. i’m not. this world sucks. cramps suck. schedules suck. everything except you guys just sucks.”
the thing was—the boys had spent years learning. not because they had to. because they wanted to. at first they’d been clueless. absolutely hopeless.
now? martin already got up to make your favourite tea. juhoon was looking for heating pads. james was trying his best to gently massage your lower back. keonho was googling foods that helped cramps. seonghyeon looked personally offended at your uterus.
“this is ridiculous,” he said suddenly.
you laughed. “what is?”
“the female body. why does everything hurt you guys?”
“that’s your conclusion and question?”
“yes.”
“you train twelve hours a day and this is what you find unfair?” you laughed.
“absolutely!”
twenty minutes later, you were laying across the sofa with your head in james’ lap, and heating pad on your stomach. the boys surrounded you, just listening to you talk.
“wait,” juhoon interrupted slowly. “so it just hurts for no reason?”
“basically.”
“52 weeks every year?”
“yep.”
the room became silent.
“that's awful.”
“thank you.”
“women are stronger than soldiers. i’d pick military service over even a fraction of what you’re going through any day.”
the rest of them nodded seriously.
“you’re all ridiculous,” you burst out laughing.
☆
another night, it would be completely different, because somebody else would need help. like the time keonho developed a crush, and unfortunately made the mistake of admitting it in front of all of you. the room immediately transformed into an interrogation room.
“who is she?”
“what’s her name?”
“when do james and yn meet her parents?”
“when did this happen?”
keonho looked terrified while you looked absolutely delighted.
“oh we’re doing this?” you grinned, cracking your knuckles.
“we’re doing this.” james high-fived you.
three hours later, the boys were still asking questions, treating your answers like divine knowledge—drifting from keonho’s crush to girls, in general.
“what does it mean if she sends heart emojis?”
“it depends.”
“on what?”
“everything.”
“yn.”
“bro, i’m serious.”
“no wonder we’re confused.”
then, keonho asked the question of the century, “what’s the difference between the red heart and any other coloured heart?”
you nearly choked as the room froze.
“why do you all want to know the emoji differences?”
“because we’re trying to survive. the world is cruel to hopeless boys like us.”
“well, the red heart means she doesn’t really care enough to go through the trouble of finding a different coloured heart, or she just likes the original emoji.”
“that doesn’t help in the slightest.”
“ok, so you want me to stop?—”
“no! go on.”
“what’s the black heart for?” seonghyeon asked curiously.
“she probably hates you, dude,” keonho said helpfully.
“or maybe she’s just a little emo?” martin offered.
☆
the best part was that nobody made fun of anyone, not when it mattered, because somehow those late-night conversations had become the safest place in the dorm—where james asked questions he’d never ask anyone else; where juhoon talked about feeling overwhelmed; where martin admitted he worried too much; where seonghyeon confessed he hated disappointing people; where keonho admitted he got insecure sometimes, and where you could complain about cramps, bad days, weird friendships, awkward situations, and literally anything without being judged. the conversations always started with gossip, and ended with something softer… something important.
☆
the first sign that something was wrong on another night was the fact that the dorm was suspiciously quiet for nine pm. you stood in the kitchen doorway, staring at the five boys sitting around the living room—no video games. no screaming. no martin and seonghyeon arguing over absolutely nothing, just five pairs of eyes looking at you.
“…why are you all looking at me like that?”
martin immediately sat up straighter. “yn.”
“no.”
“i haven’t even asked yet.”
“no.”
“please?”
“no.”
keonho gasped dramatically. “she knows.”
“she always knows,” juhoon sighed.
you narrowed your eyes. “what do you guys want?”
the boys exchanged looks. then james finally blurted out, “they need help. more girl talk.”
you blinked twice. “...what?”
“girl talk,” seonghyeon repeated seriously.
“why? it’s still 9 pm. we have two more hours left.”
“well…”
“why are you asking me right now?”
“because you’re a girl.”
you stared. the boys stared back. you stared harder.
“that’s the stupidest thing i’ve ever heard.”
“please,” juhoon said. “we’re struggling.”
“struggling with what?”
“women.”
immediately you turned around. “nope.”
“yn!”
“good luck.”
“yn!”
ten minutes later you were trapped—literally trapped. they’d dragged every cushion and beanbag into the living room and formed what looked like a hostage negotiation circle. you sat in the middle, the boys surrounding you like a group of kindergarten students.
“okay,” you sighed. “what exactly do you need?”
four hands shot up. james sat calmly beside you, his hand gravitating to your waist.
“oh my god.”
“me first,” keonho yelled.
“no.”
“me,” seonghyeon interrupted.
“no.”
“me!” juhoon tried, letting go of his fake nonchalance.
“no.”
martin raised his hand politely. you pointed at him. “yes.”
“sometimes girls say they’re fine.”
“yes.”
“but they’re not fine.”
“yes.”
“how do you know?”
the others immediately nodded, hanging onto your every word.
“a very important question,” one of them added.
“groundbreaking research,” another said.
you rubbed your temples. “okay. usually you can tell from the tone.”
“so if she says she’s fine?”
“mhm.”
“she isn’t fine?”
“exactly.”
“...but she said she was.”
“yes.”
“so she’s not?”
“correct.”
all four boys looked absolutely horrified. “that makes no sense.”
“it makes perfect sense.”
“it literally doesn’t.”
“martin,” you said, turning to look at him. “imagine james says he’s over losing a game of league.”
james immediately scoffed. “baby, i’m always over it.”
“you cried over mario kart two days ago, by the way,” juhoon pointed out helpfully.
“that was different.”
martin’s eyes widened as the realization hit the room.
“oh.”
“ohh.”
“ohhhhh.”
twenty minutes later, the questions somehow got worse.
“what’s the difference between cute and handsome?”
“depends.”
“on what?”
“everything.”
“that’s not an answer.”
“it is.”
“it absolutely isn’t.”
juhoon leaned forward. “okay, okay. if a girl says your outfit is cute.”
“good. but also, which blind girl called your skinny jeans cute?”
“shut up. what if she says you’re handsome?”
“also good, obviously.”
“if she says you’re funny?”
“good. even better.”
“if she says you’re annoying?” the entire group looked at seonghyeon.
you immediately burst out laughing. “why are you all looking at him?”
“because it happens a lot,” martin answered.
“very frequently.”
“almost daily.”
seonghyeon looked deeply offended. “i have fans, okay?”
“you annoy them affectionately,” james clarified.
an hour later, the conversation had completely derailed into late-night… somethings.
“would you rather date someone funny or handsome?” one of them asked.
“funny,” you replied without hesitation
the boys froze.
“what?”
“funny.”
“not handsome?”
“i didn’t say not handsome.”
“then why funny?”
“because if someone’s funny, i can look at them forever.”
the room became suspiciously silent. you looked up from your spot. they were all sitting straighter.
“stop.”
“no one said anything.”
“you’re all thinking something.”
“no.”
“yes.”
“no.”
“yes.”
“no.”
james literally pulled out his notes app, his fingers tapping on the screen. “funny.”
“james, oh my god.” you hid your face in your hands.
“ok, but james is unfunny and ugly. what gives, yn?”
“shut up.”
then somehow the conversation shifted to crushes. you made a mistake—a terrible, catastrophic mistake. because the moment you casually mentioned that most girls usually remember tiny details about people they like, they all exploded again.
“what tiny details?”
“everything.”
“be specific.”
“like favourite drinks, favourite colours, things they mention once—”
they all looked terrified, staring at you like you were a different species. “once?”
“yes.”
“one time?”
“yes.”
“yn.”
“hmm?”
“women are scary.”
“thank you.”
by midnight the boys had learned absolutely nothing, or maybe too much. you couldn’t tell.
they were all sprawled around the living room floor, half asleep. you were resting against the sofa. juhoon was under a blanket. james was lying face-down on the carpet. martin and keonho were arguing quietly in the corner. seonghyeon was sitting beside you. the atmosphere was warm, comfortable, home.
then juhoon suddenly spoke into the quiet room. “can i ask one last question?”
“sure.”
“do girls actually like flowers?”
“of course.”
the boys nodded thoughtfully.
“okay.”
“noted.”
“good information.”
“useful.”
then keonho looked over, his expression serious. “what do girls like most?”
you thought for a second, looking at their tired faces, then smiled. “honestly?”
“yeah.”
“being listened to.”
the room went completely quiet.
“that’s it?”
“pretty much.”
“no secret formula?”
“no.”
“no cheat code?”
“no.”
“no complicated mission?”
“not really, no.”
the boys exchanged looks. then seonghyeon groaned dramatically from his spot. “that’s so much harder.”
you laughed so hard you nearly fell off the sofa, and within seconds the others were laughing too. the sound filled the corners of the messy dorm—loud, chaotic, and comfortable, exactly like every night with your five extremely stupid, extremely lovable boys.
☆
one night, long after everyone should’ve been asleep, you found yourself looking around the room. five sleepy boys. half under blankets, half asleep, still listening to each other, still talking.
james was tracing circles against your hand absentmindedly, martin was yawning, juhoon was asleep sitting up, and keonho was using seonghyeon as a pillow. nobody wanted to go to bed and break the spell of the evening.
“this is probably my favourite part of being in cortis.” you smiled.
the room grew quiet. james looked down at you.
“the fame?”
“no.”
“the money?”
“no.”
“then what?”
you looked around the living room, at your family, at your idiots, and smiled. “just… you guys.”
james kissed the top of your head while the others grinned half-asleep like they’d just won an award. and honestly? maybe they had.
because not everyone got five best friends who wanted to understand every little part of your world—even the parts they’d never experience themselves. and somehow, every night, squeezed together in a messy dorm living room, they made sure you never had to carry any of it alone.
you call your boyfriend by his stage name as a prank. he does not like this.
[ warnings \ tropes ] idol au, fluff, est. relationship, boyfriend seungcheol, grumpy cheol, reader pranks him by calling him s.coups/coups, lots of kissing, pouting (mainly from coups), he's a whiner guys </3
[ saint's voice note ! ] still not happy with my icon selection but this fic is more important to you guys than it is to me so...we ball! we're also 59 followers away from 1k?? so there's that 😭😭 ANYWAYS enjoy! i love you and thank you for reading <3
[ saint's now playing... ] can't feel my face -> the weeknd
[ wc / writing for ] 1,022 / @kstrucknet @k-records
it all started when you thought to yourself how good of an idea it would be to prank your boyfriend after he got home from work.
"welcome home, coups." you greet seungcheol at the door, pecking his cheek as you take his things from his arms. he looks tired, but offers a cute smile to you anyways, pulling you in for a greedy kiss as he huffs afterwards.
seungcheol doesn't even seem to notice you're calling him by his stage name, and so you just smile, prancing off into the living room as he trudges behind you.
he finds a seat in the kitchen, sleepily climbing on top of a stool as he lets his head hit the counter. "rough day?" you question him, and he nods, groaning as he runs his hands over his tired face.
"very rough. choreographing for a solo i had no intention of dancing to is the worst thing ever." seungcheol whines, and you chuckle, throwing your head back as you glance at him to gage his reaction.
"you're just being dramatic, s.coups. lighten up! you always deliver when the fans want it," you turn your back to him to prepare the stove for dinner, but you can feel his dark brown gaze hot on your back. oh, you're definitely paying attention now, you say to yourself.
sure enough, when you turn around to put the cutting board down on the countertop, seungcheol's glaring at you like you've said a curse word in front of a bunch of kindergarteners.
"what?" you question innocently, even going as far to cock your head to the side in faux confusion. seungcheol's eyebrows scrunch slightly before he shakes his head, running a hand through his tousled hair as he shrugs.
"thought i heard you say something." he mumbles, annoyingly digging his phone from his pocket as the buzz of a phone call sounds off.
"not now, please," he says aloud, powering off the device before smacking it against the counter face-down. his head is on the marble again, cheek smudged against the surface as he glances up at you with those puppy dog eyes.
"what are you making, baby? already smells so good," seungcheol groans like a little baby, making you giggle as you throw the chopped vegetables into a bowl.
"some recipe i found on the internet." you reply, turning your back to him to put the vegetables in the pan and fry them in butter. "hey, coups, will you hand me the shredded cheese out of the fridge?"
the chair pauses mid-scrape just seconds after your question is posed, and seungcheol's burning holes through your head with his intent gaze. you turn around to meet him, feigning confusion once again as you speak. "what's wrong?"
"you keep calling me that." seungcheol says, and you laugh, shaking your head at him as if you're clueless. "calling you what? what are you talking about?"
"you've called me 'coups' twice now. you never do that." seungcheol says, dark eyebrows furrowed in confusion as his plump lips turn up in a pout.
"you're being silly. i haven't called you that at all! are you hearing things?" you combat his claims just as quickly as he brings t]hem up, and he just glances at you, silently fulfilling your request as he plops the bag of cheese next to the stove.
"thanks, s.coups." you peck his cheek, and he freezes in place, eyes widening just a fraction as he realizes what you've said.
"see! you just called me s.coups!" seungcheol points to himself, and you stare blankly at him, silent as he stares at you accusingly. he's towering over you now, not only tired and grumpy from his tiring work day, but now your constant 'slip-ups'.
"why are you calling me that? you know that's my stage name. when i'm off the clock, you know i want you to call me cheol. seungcheol, even. i just..." seungcheol trails off, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as he mumbles.
"i want you to call me by my real name. when i'm home, i'm yours. not carats, or anyone else's. just—just yours."
that makes your heart soften instantly, and you set your spatula down, taking seungcheol in for an embrace as you smile. "okay. i'm sorry for pranking you."
"it's okay, baby, i—" seungcheol pauses mid-sentence when he registers your words, and you can't help but laugh aloud at his reaction. "what? prank?"
"yeah! i thought i would prank you once you got home from work, and so i decided to call you by your stage name until you realized it." you explain, and seungcheol rolls his eyes, a small smile escaping nevertheless as he scrunches his face up at you.
"you little devil," he lowly teases, and you shrug pridefully, glancing over at him as you nod. "what can i say? you're all cute when you start confessing to me."
"god, ignore...ignore what i said earlier. if i knew you were pranking me, i would've—" seungcheol starts, and you stop him, stuffing hot vegetables into his mouth as he chews hurriedly.
"save it, cheol." you tease, gloating in the way his cheeks heat up so easily at the simple nickname. "we both know how soft you get when i call you by your full name."
"i hate you." seungcheol grumbles with a smile on his face as he kisses your neck, and you smile proudly, stirring the vegetables as his arms find their way around your torso, resting his head on your shoulder as you nod. "i love you too, seungcheol."
"okay, stop calling me that." seungcheol says, and you oblige for a second, more than ready to carry on the teasing. "right, s.coups. sorry."
"...never mind." the words are so quiet you can barely hear them, but you know seungcheol's blushing now, lips curving into a small smirk on your skin as he huffs a sigh. "i like seungcheol ten times better."
"me too." you nod, ruffling seungcheol's hair with your free hand as he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck even more.
synopsis: keonho sees you in wonhee’s tweet and realizes he #needsthat pairing: keonho x f!reader genre: crack, fluff, romance contains: non idol au, smau, attempts at comedy ss count: 7 ft. illit wonhee a/n: hai guys hope u enjoy this cortis masterlist
you and heeseung are walking together on the street, fingers loosely intertwined, when an old friend suddenly calls his name—a female friend. before you can even react, she steps in and hugs him.
your hand slips from his immediately, brows slightly creasing together as you watch her hands wrap around his neck. heeseung freezes for a second before gently and awkwardly pulling back. he turns to you instantly, noticing the way your demeanor completely changed. “hey,” he murmurs, hand snaking around your waist to softly squeeze it. after she leaves, he breathes a sigh of relief before tilting your chin up with his finger. “you okay?” you don’t answer right away, prompting him to lean down and press a slow, reassuring kiss to your pouty lips. “i’m with you. you’re okay, angel.”
JAY
a random girl compliments jay’s hair as she walks past you two, smiling a little too hard for someone she doesn’t even know. you immediately feel a small sting in your chest
jay presses his lips together as an uncomfortable “thank you,” before stopping you on the sidewalk, arm sliding around your waist naturally. it’s fairly empty, so he takes it as a chance to be a little bold. he lifts your chin with two fingers, causing you to meet his piercing gaze. “don’t do that, doll.. c’mon.” he kisses you when you sigh as a response—possessive as his lips hungrily move against yours. that’s the point he’s making. “you’re the one i want, and you know that.”
JAKE
jake’s phone buzzes while you’re sitting beside him—it’s from his female coworker. you catch the name and the message, reading, “hey wanna grab lunch tmr?” you go quiet the second you both acknowledge it, and he notices instantly.
“easy, baby.. you already know what i’m gonna say,” he murmurs, unlocking his phone and showing you as he types out a firm “no.” his arm arm snakes to your hip, patting it as your face nuzzles in his chest. his text back to her truly felt reassuring. “you’re my girl.. y’know that?” he presses a wet kiss to your lips, then another to your cheek, then your nose, smirking when you finally calm down from your silent tantrum.
SUNGHOON
a girl at the gym smiles at sunghoon, eyes flicking to his arms. “someone’s been working hard,” she says casually. you roll your eyes immediately—of course she doesn’t realize that you’re his girlfriend.
you walk right beside sunghoon, hand wrapping around his bicep like you’re holding it. “only for me.. right, hoon?” you purr, looking up at him with big eyes as he smirks and pulls you closer by the waist. “that’s right, baby,” he replies flatly, causing the girl to clench her jaw before walking off. after, he leans down to kiss your pouty lips, muttering a small, “you’re hot when you’re jealous.”
SUNOO
a girl laughs way too hard sunoo’s joke when you’re out with friends. she leans in like she wants more.. and he notices it instantly. but more imporantly, he sees you and how it made you feel.
he reaches for your head, lacing his fingers with yours before pulling you closer until your shoulder presses into his side. he kisses you while everyone’s busy with their side conversations, smiling against your lips as he gently squeezes your thigh beneath the table. “did that make you jealous?” he teases, and when you nod, he can’t help himself from pecking your face every chance he gets. “good,” he starts. “because i’m yours.”
JUNGWON
a girl keeps stepping closer to jungwon in an elevator, brushing his arm, very clearly flirting—not knowing you’re together. jungwon chuckles awkwardly, eyes flicking to you every now and then. and gosh were you upset.
before her flirting goes any further, you gently pull yourself into his chest, shooting her a hesitant glare as his hands naturally throws around your shoulder. “oh, this is my girlfriend,” he says politely but firmly, causing her lips to press together as she softly nods, embarrassed. once she steps out of the lift, he hugs you tightly, resting his chin on your head. “you didn’t like that, hm?” he whispers against your hair, and you shake your head. he turns to kiss your temple, then your lips, his own heart fluttering at how protective you can be sometimes.
NIKI
a girl at your friend gathering keeps touching niki’s arm, laughing too close, intentionally grazing her fingers against his. niki’s patience runs thin fast.. especially when he notices your pissed expression
without a word, he walks over to you and snakes his arms around your waist, resting just above your butt. he pulls you close to him, not giving a care in the world if anyone saw you two. but he hoped that girl saw him. “hey,” mutters, but his grip tightening around you as you’re on the verge of rolling your eyes. he cups your jaw with one hand and kisses your lips, deepening it to remind you that you’re only his. “don’t look at anyone else,” he mutters, forehead pressed to yours. “i only want you, got it?”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
. ˚◞♡ ⃗ religion's in your lips even if it's a false god 𓈒 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ
۶ৎ ALTERNATIVE : boynextdoor when you pull away while making out ۶ৎ PAIRING : boynextdoor x reader ۶ৎ GENRE(S) : fluff ~ ۶ৎ WARNING(S) : yearner riwoo, long hair jaehyun, taesan pinning you to the couch (TRIPLE COMBO !!! NOT FOR THE WEAK HEART 😭🙂↕️) ۶ৎ WORD COUNT : 0.8k - 1.3k words / member
۶ৎ A/N : I had to indulge my long hair jaehyun delusions so this came out of it...
ˋ ⌞⋮ SUNGHO .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗
It starts innocently enough—well, as innocent as making out with Sungho can be. He's always so controlled, so measured in everything he does, and that extends to this too. His hands are gentle on your waist, his lips moving against yours with careful precision, like he's trying to memorize every detail.
But you're feeling a little bold today. A little dangerous.
So when he deepens the kiss, tilting his head to get a better angle, you pull back just slightly. Not enough to fully break away, but enough that his lips chase yours for a split second before he catches himself.
His eyes flutter open, slightly dazed, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What—"
You don't let him finish, leaning back in to kiss him again. He relaxes immediately, that little crease between his brows smoothing out as he cups your face with one hand. His kiss becomes more insistent, tongue sweeping against your bottom lip, and you feel his other hand slide from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you closer.
This time when you pull away again, you catch the exact moment confusion shifts into realization. His eyes darken considerably, pupils blown wide as he stares at you. The hand on your back flexes, fingers pressing into your skin even through your shirt.
"Are you..." he starts, voice already rough and lower than usual. He swallows hard, and you watch his throat work. "Are you doing that on purpose?"
The barely restrained frustration in his tone sends heat pooling in your stomach. You try to look innocent, biting back a smile. "Doing what?"
Sungho’s jaw clenches, and you see his chest rise and fall with a deep breath, a familiar sign of him trying to steady himself. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just watches you with those intense dark eyes, and you can practically see him trying to maintain control.
Then slowly, deliberately, he leans back in. Both hands come up to frame your face, and the way he holds you is almost possessive. His thumb traces your bottom lip, and his eyes track the movement with an intensity that makes your breath catch.
"Don't," he murmurs, and his voice has dropped even lower. It's not a request—it's a warning. "Don't pull away again."
But of course, you do.
The sound he makes is devastating, somewhere between a groan and your name, rough and frustrated. In one smooth movement, his hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers tangling firmly in your hair. It's not painful, but definitely controlling. His other hand grips your hip hard enough that you feel the heat of his palm through the fabric.
"I'm trying," he breathes out, and you can hear how strained his voice is, "to be patient with you."
He pulls you closer—or maybe pushes himself closer, you're not sure—until there's no space between you at all. You can feel the heat radiating off him, feel his heart racing against your chest, feel the tension coiled tight in his muscles.
“But you keep—” He breaks himself off with a sharp breath, the words failing him. He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, eyes falling shut as if he needs the contact to steady himself, as if proximity is the only thing keeping him anchored. When he opens them again, the look on his face is raw, unguarded, almost desperate. “Do you have any idea,” he asks quietly, voice strained, “what you’re doing to me?”
His hand in your hair tightens just slightly, angling your head back. The movement is controlled but barely, and you can see the exact moment his carefully maintained composure starts to crack.
"One more time," he warns, voice barely above a whisper but somehow more intense for it. His lips hover just barely above yours, so close you can feel his breath. "Pull away one more time and I won't be gentle anymore."
It should probably intimidate you, but instead it sends a thrill down your spine. You can feel him trembling slightly with the effort of restraint, can see the war between his natural control and his desire written plainly across his face.
"I'm serious," he continues, and now his lips brush against yours with every word. "I'm trying so hard to be good, to take my time, but you're making it impossible."
His hand slides from your hip to your lower back, then lower still, pulling you even more firmly against him. The kiss he gives you then is harder, more demanding, his tongue sliding against yours with clear intent. When his teeth catch your bottom lip, you gasp, and he takes full advantage, kissing you deeper until you're dizzy with it.
He pulls back just enough to speak, and his voice is absolutely wrecked. "So be good for me," he murmurs against your lips, and the please is unspoken but clear in his tone. "Stop teasing me, got it sweetheart?"
When he kisses you again, it's with single-minded focus, like kissing you is the only thing that matters in the world. His hand tightens in your hair, the other sliding under the hem of your shirt just enough that his fingers brush bare skin. The touch makes you shiver, and you feel him smile against your lips.
"That's better," he breathes, sounding almost relieved. "Much better."
This time, you don't even think about pulling away.
ˋ ⌞⋮ RIWOO .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗
Riwoo kisses with complete focus and surprising intensity hidden beneath a gentle exterior. His hands are soft where they rest on your waist, his lips moving against yours with careful attention, like he's trying to get every detail just right.
You almost feel bad for what you're about to do.
Almost.
When he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, you pull back just slightly. His eyes flutter open immediately, wide and confused, lips still parted. "Did I... did I do something wrong?" he asks softly, concern evident in his voice.
"No," you assure him quickly, leaning back in. "You're perfect."
He relaxes at that, a shy smile crossing his face before you kiss him again. This time he's a little more confident, his fingers curling slightly into the fabric of your shirt. You feel him sigh contentedly against your lips, and that's when you pull away again.
"Oh," he breathes out, and you can see him trying to figure out what's happening. His eyebrows furrow adorably, head tilting like he's solving a puzzle. "Are you... do you need a break? We can—"
You cut him off with another kiss, and this time you feel the exact moment he realizes what you're doing. His sharp intake of breath, the way his fingers suddenly grip your waist a little tighter, the slight tremor that runs through him.
When you pull back the third time, his reaction is completely different.
“You’re teasing me,” he says, the words barely audible, more confession than accusation. His ears have gone pink, heat creeping up his neck, but his eyes give him away—there’s a new intensity there, a shadow beneath the softness you know so well. “You're doing this on purpose.”
Before you can respond, he's leaning back in, and this time his kiss is less careful. His hands slide from your waist to your back, pulling you closer with more force than you expected from him. When your lips meet, you can feel the desperation already building in the way he kisses you—deeper, more insistent, like he's trying to keep you from pulling away through sheer determination.
But you do it anyway.
"Please," he breathes out, and the sound goes straight through you. His voice is shaky, strained. "Please don't— I can't—"
He cuts himself off, pressing his forehead against yours. You can feel him trembling, feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest. When you look at him, his eyes are squeezed shut, jaw clenched like he's trying to compose himself.
"This is torture," he whispers, and there's a whine in his voice that makes your stomach flip. "You're torturing me."
His hands are restless now, one sliding up your back, fingers splaying across your shoulder blade, the other moving to your hip and squeezing. You've never seen him like this—usually so controlled, so precise in his movements, now barely holding himself together.
"Riwoo," you murmur, and his eyes snap open.
The look he gives you is devastating, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and red from all the kissing, cheeks warm with colour. It’s not just desire, but a soft, aching plea tangled with a frustration you’ve never seen on him before, unfamiliar and vulnerable, like he’s losing control that it both unsettles and exposes him.
"I need—" he starts, then stops, swallowing hard. His voice drops lower, rougher. "I need you to stop pulling away. I don't... I can't think when you do that."
To prove his point, he kisses you again, and this time there's nothing gentle about it. His hand comes up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he angles your face exactly how he wants it. His other hand slips under the hem of your shirt, and the feeling of his palm against your bare skin makes you gasp.
He takes advantage immediately, deepening the kiss, and you feel him shaking with the effort of maintaining some semblance of control. His thumb traces patterns on your skin that make you shiver, and he makes this small sound in the back of his throat that's pure need.
When you start to pull back again, his grip tightens instantly.
"No," he says firmly, and the command in his voice surprises both of you. His eyes widen slightly, like he can't believe he just said that, but he doesn't take it back. "Stay. Please stay."
The "please" softens it, but there's still an edge of desperation that makes your heart race. He's looking at you like the thought of you pulling away again might actually break him.
"I'm trying so hard to be good," he confesses, voice cracking slightly. His forehead drops to your shoulder, and you can feel his breath hot against your neck. "But you keep— every time you pull away, I—"
He doesn't finish the sentence. Instead, he presses a kiss to your neck, then another, and you feel his teeth graze your skin lightly. The hand in your hair tightens, and suddenly he's pulling your head back gently, exposing more of your neck to his lips.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice dropped so low it feels almost dangerous. “To see me lose control.”
His kisses trail up your neck, along your jaw, until his lips are hovering over yours again. He's breathing hard, chest heaving, and you can see the internal war playing out across his face—the Riwoo who’s always gentle, always careful, pressed up against a need that’s sharper, more urgent, tugging insistently at his restraint.
"Well, congratulations," he whispers, and then he's kissing you again with an intensity that steals your breath. "You won."
This time when his tongue slides against yours, when his hands grip you tighter, when he presses impossibly closer, you don't even think about pulling away. You couldn't if you wanted to, not with how he's holding you, kissing you like he's been starving for it.
"No more teasing," he breathes between kisses, and it's still soft, still Riwoo, but there's steel underneath it now. "I can't take any more. Please."
And the way he says please—broken, desperate and so, so honest—makes you want to give him everything he asks for.
ˋ ⌞⋮ JAEHYUN .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗
Jaehyun kisses like he's enjoying every second of it—which, knowing him, he absolutely is. There's a smile on his lips even as they move against yours, his hands warm and secure on your waist, thumbs tracing idle patterns that make you want to melt into him.
His hair has gotten longer recently, falling into his face as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, and you can't resist reaching up to run your fingers through it. He makes a pleased sound at that, leaning into your touch.
That's when you pull away.
His eyes open slowly, still half-lidded and hazy, a confused smile playing on his lips. "Hm?"
You just smile innocently and lean back in, kissing him again before he can question it. He responds immediately, enthusiastically, one hand sliding up your back. But just as he's really getting into it, you pull away again.
This time, his eyes sharpen with understanding.
“Oh,” he says, the confusion easing as his smile shifts into a knowing curve. “Oh—I get it now.”
Before you can say anything, he's laughing that bright, delighted laugh of his. "You're messing with me right now. You're actually messing with me."
"I don't know what you mean," you try, but he's already shaking his head.
"Okay, okay," he says, still grinning. "So we're playing games? I love games."
He leans back in, but this time when you try to pull away, his hand comes up to cup your jaw, holding you in place firmly enough that you can't escape. His kiss is deeper this time, more purposeful, and you feel him smile against your lips.
Then he pulls away first.
"How does it feel?" he asks, voice teasing. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip as he watches your reaction with obvious amusement. "Not so fun when it happens to you, right?"
Two can play this game, apparently.
He kisses you again, and just when you're sinking into it, he breaks away with a playful smirk. "Oops."
"Jaehyun—"
"What?" He's grinning fully now, eyes sparkling with mischief. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? To play around?"
His hair falls forward into his face as he leans closer, and you reach up to brush it back without thinking. His expression shifts slightly at the touch, eyes darkening just a fraction, but the smile remains.
"You keep touching my hair," he observes, voice a little lower now. "Do you like it longer?"
Before you can answer, he's kissing you again, and this time you can feel the teasing energy start to shift more intensely. His fingers tangle in your hair, mimicking your earlier action, and when you gasp softly, he makes a satisfied sound.
You pull away again—you can't help it, it's too fun—and this time his reaction is different.
"Okay," he says, and his voice has lost some of that playful edge. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face, and you watch his jaw clench slightly. "Okay, you need to stop doing that."
"Why?" you ask innocently, and his eyes flash.
"Because," he says, leaning in close enough that his lips brush against yours as he speaks, "I'm trying really hard to play along and be fun about this, but you're making it really difficult."
His hair falls forward again, tickling your face, and he makes a frustrated sound. In one smooth motion, he reaches back and gathers his hair, tying it up into a small ponytail with the hair tie he keeps on his wrist. The movement makes his arms flex, his jaw set in concentration, and you can't help but stare.
He notices, of course. The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Yeah,” he murmurs, gaze dropping to your lips. “You like that, don’t you, princess?”
He kisses you again, and with his hair out of the way, it's different—more intense, more focused. His hands grip your waist tighter, pulling you closer, and you can feel the shift in his energy. The playfulness hasn’t disappeared, but beneath it is a seriousness that wasn’t there before, an insistence that asks instead of teases, that wants instead of jokes.
When you try to pull away this time, he doesn't let you.
"Nuh-uh," he murmurs against your lips. "My turn now."
His hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he kisses you deeper. There's a confidence in the way he takes control, like he's done playing your game and has decided to start his own. His other hand slips under the hem of your shirt, palm hot against your skin, and you feel him smile when you shiver.
"See, the thing is," he says, pulling back just enough to speak, "I was having fun letting you tease me. It was cute." His thumb traces your jawline as his eyes lock onto yours. "But now I'm thinking about all the ways I could tease you back."
To prove his point, he kisses along your jaw, down to your neck, and you feel his teeth graze your skin lightly. Your hands come up to grip his shoulders, and one of them tangles in his ponytail without thinking, tugging slightly.
The sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and a laugh.
"Oh, so you can pull my hair but I can't—" He doesn't finish the sentence. Instead, his hand comes up to thread through your hair, gripping gently and tilting your head back. "That's not very fair, is it?"
His lips return to your neck, kissing and biting softly, and you can feel him smiling against your skin when you gasp. “There you go,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. “That’s the reaction I was looking for.”
When he pulls back to look at you, his eyes are darker than before, pupils blown wide. "No more pulling away," he says, and it's not quite a command but not quite a request either. His hand tightens slightly in your hair. "You had your fun. Now let me have mine."
He kisses you again, and this time there's no teasing, no games. Just intensity, heat and the feeling of his body pressed against yours. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your back, sliding up to cup your face, back down to grip your hips.
When you instinctively try to pull back just slightly, probably out of habit more than anything, his grip tightens immediately.
"What did I just say?" he asks, but he's smiling even as he says it. He presses his forehead against yours, breathing hard. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"
His hair tie has come slightly loose, a few strands falling free to frame his face, and without thinking you reach up to fix it. He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips instead.
"Or," he says, eyes glinting with mischief again, "you could just take it out. Since you seem so interested in my hair."
When you do, his hair falls forward, messy and perfect, and he shakes his head slightly to settle it. The movement is casual, but the way he's looking at you is anything but.
"There," he says, leaning in close again. His voice drops lower, more intimate. "Now you can touch it all you want."
And when he kisses you this time—deep, slow and purposeful, his fingers threading through your hair to mirror your touch in his—you forget all about teasing him.
You forget about everything except the way he's holding you, kissing you, like he plans to make up for every single time you pulled away.
"See?" he murmurs against your lips, and you can feel his smile. "Told you I'd be fun.”
ˋ ⌞⋮ TAESAN .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗
Making out with Taesan is always intense. He doesn't do anything halfway. When he kisses you, it's with complete focus, like nothing else in the world exists. His hands are firm on your waist, his lips moving against yours with purpose and confidence that makes your head spin.
So really, you should've known better than to tease him.
But you do it anyway.
The first time you pull away, his eyes open slowly, dark and slightly unfocused. He doesn't say anything, just looks at you with a quiet question in his gaze. When you lean back in without explanation, he accepts it, one hand coming up to cup your jaw as he deepens the kiss.
The second time you pull away, you feel the change immediately.
His fingers tighten on your waist—not painfully, but noticeably. His eyes are sharper now when they meet yours, more alert. He's figured it out.
"What are you doing?" His voice is low, quiet, but there's an edge to it.
"Nothing," you say, but you can't quite hide your smile.
Taesan's jaw clenches. He doesn't move for a moment, just watches you with that intense gaze that always makes you feel like he can see right through you. Then, slowly, he leans back in. His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, grip firm and possessive.
"Don't," he says simply, right before his lips meet yours.
This kiss is different, harder, more demanding. His tongue sweeps against yours with clear intent, his hand tightening in warning when he feels you start to pull back. But you do it anyway, breaking the kiss with a soft laugh.
The look he gives you could melt steel.
"You think this is a joke?" His voice is dangerously quiet, and the tone in his voice makes heat pool in your stomach. He's not smiling. Not even a little bit.
"Maybe a little," you admit.
Wrong answer.
In one fluid motion, Taesan shifts, and suddenly you're the one being pressed back against the couch. He's hovering over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other still gripping your hip. His hair falls forward slightly, shadowing his eyes, and the intensity of his gaze pins you in place.
"You want to play games with me?" he asks, voice still low, a controlled tone that somehow feels more threatening than if he were actually angry. "Okay. Let's play."
He leans down, but instead of kissing your lips, he goes for your neck. His mouth is hot against your skin, teeth grazing lightly before he soothes the spot with his tongue. When you gasp, you feel him smile against your throat.
"What's wrong?" he murmurs, lips brushing your skin as he speaks. "You can dish it out but can't take it?"
His hand slides under your shirt, palm flat against your stomach, and you feel him trace slow patterns on your skin. It's deliberate, teasing, and completely unfair. When you try to squirm, his grip on your hip tightens, holding you still.
"Stay," he commands softly, and the authority in his voice makes you obey without thinking.
He kisses up your neck, along your jaw, getting closer and closer to your lips but never quite getting there. When you turn your head to try to kiss him, he pulls back just enough to stay out of reach, and the smirk on his face is absolutely infuriating.
"Not so fun, is it?" he asks, voice laced with dark amusement. "Being teased?"
"Taesan—"
"What?" He tilts his head, looking at you with false innocence that doesn't match the heat in his eyes at all. "I'm just doing what you did to me. That's fair, right?"
His hand slides higher under your shirt, thumb brushing just below your ribs, and you arch into the touch without meaning to. He notices, of course. He notices everything.
"So sensitive," he observes, and there's satisfaction in his tone. His hand moves back down, tracing patterns that make you shiver. "I barely even touched you."
When he finally kisses you again, it's overwhelming. Deep and consuming, like he's trying to prove a point. His body presses close to yours, and you can feel the tension wound tight beneath his skin, the barely restrained control as he holds himself back.
You try to pull away—instinct, maybe, or maybe you just want to see what he'll do—and his reaction is immediate.
His hand flies up to grip your chin, firmly turning your face back to his. "Don't," he warns, and his voice has gone even lower, rough with frustration. "I'm not playing anymore."
There’s a dangerous edge in his gaze now, sharp enough to steal your breath. He’s always been intense, but this is different. This is Taesan with his patience worn down, his restraint fraying, control slipping just enough to show what he’s been holding back.
"You wanted my attention?" he asks, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. "You have it. All of it. So stop running away."
He kisses you again, harder this time, almost punishing. His hand slips back into your hair, fingers curling with just enough force to steal a breath from you, and he doesn’t hesitate, using the moment to pull you closer, to deepen the kiss until the world tilts and everything feels hazy around the edges. His other hand grips your waist, thumb pressing into your hip bone hard enough that you know you'll feel it tomorrow.
"This is what you do to me," he breathes against your lips, and for the first time you hear how affected he actually is. His voice is ragged, strained. "You drive me crazy. You know that?"
His forehead drops to yours, and you can feel him trembling slightly with the effort of maintaining control. His breathing is heavy, chest heaving against yours.
"Every time you pulled away," he continues, voice barely above a whisper, "all I could think about was how to make you stay. How to make you want me so badly you couldn't even think about leaving."
He pulls back just enough to look at you, and the raw intensity in his gaze steals your breath. "So here's what's going to happen," he says, voice dropping into that commanding tone again. "You're going to stay right here. You're not going to pull away. And you're going to let me kiss you until I'm satisfied. Understood?"
It's not really a question.
When you nod, his expression softens slightly. "Good girl," he murmurs, and the praise sends warmth flooding through you.
This time when he kisses you, it's slower but no less intense. Thorough. Possessive. Like he's claiming you with every brush of his lips, every slide of his tongue. His hands roam your body with purpose, touching, gripping and holding like he's trying to memorize every inch of you.
When he finally pulls back—minutes or hours later, you've lost track—his lips are swollen and red, his eyes dark and satisfied.
"You're so pretty," he says, voice still rough. His thumb traces your jaw gently, a stark contrast to how tightly he was holding you moments ago.
He settles beside you, pulling you against his chest, and you can still feel his heart racing. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining, and he brings it to his lips.
"Next time you want to tease me," he says quietly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, "remember how this ended."
It's a warning and a promise all at once.
And the really dangerous part? You're already thinking about doing it again, just to see what happens.
ˋ ⌞⋮ LEEHAN .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗
Leehan kisses the way he does everything else—with a calm, unhurried confidence that somehow makes your heart race more than any urgency could. His hands are gentle on your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones as his lips move against yours with patient precision.
There’s an almost meditative quality to it—how he takes his time, as if he has all day to learn the shape of your mouth. It’s the same focused attention he gives anything that holds his interest—steady, observant, fully present.
Which is exactly why you're curious to see what happens when you disrupt that carefully maintained composure.
When you pull away the first time, he doesn't react much. Just opens his eyes slowly, looking at you with that serene expression he always has, like nothing in the world could disturb his peace. He tilts his head slightly, a small questioning smile on his lips, but he doesn't say anything. Just waits.
You lean back in, and he accepts it without hesitation, picking up exactly where you left off. His kiss is deeper this time, more intentional, and you feel one of his hands slide to the back of your neck, fingers spreading through your hair.
Then you pull away again.
This time, you catch the faintest flicker in his eyes. Not confusion, not frustration, more like… focused interest. Like he’s watching an experiment unfold and quietly filing away observations.
"Interesting," he murmurs, voice still soft and even. His hand stays where it is in your hair, not gripping, just resting. "Are you testing something?"
The casual way he asks it makes you laugh. Leave it to Leehan to treat this like a curious phenomenon rather than actual teasing.
"Maybe," you admit.
He hums thoughtfully, eyes scanning your face with that focused attention he usually reserves for his fish tanks. "I see." Then, simply : "Continue."
It's such a Leehan response that you can't help but smile as you kiss him again. This time his hand tightens just slightly in your hair—barely noticeable, but you feel it. When you pull away for the third time, you're watching for his reaction.
His eyes open slowly, and there’s a shift you can’t ignore. The calm is still there, carefully maintained, but beneath it simmers a heat that hadn’t surfaced before. He looks at you for a long, deliberate moment without saying a word, and the silence feels heavy, charged, far more unsettling than anything he could have spoken.
"Three times," he observes quietly. His thumb traces your bottom lip with deliberate slowness. "You've pulled away three times now."
"Have I?" You try to sound innocent.
"Mm." His gaze drops to your lips, and you watch his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. "You have."
He leans in again, but this time it's different. Slower. More purposeful. His eyes stay open, locked on yours until the last possible second, and when his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is deeper than before. Consuming. His hand in your hair shifts, fingers curling just enough to keep you in place without being forceful.
When you try to pull away this time, you realize you can't move far. His grip isn't painful, isn't even really tight, but it's firm. Decisive. And the message is clear : he's done letting you control this.
He breaks the kiss himself, but stays close enough that his lips brush yours when he speaks. “I’ve been patient with you,” he murmurs, voice low and even, controlled that it feels almost mesmerizing. There’s an undercurrent to it now, a quiet shift that makes your stomach tighten, that sends awareness sparking through you. His gaze stays locked on yours as he adds, just as softly, “But I think we’re past that.”
His free hand lifts to cradle your face, the touch gentle but unmistakably claiming, a quiet possessiveness threaded through the softness of the gesture. "Do you know what happens when you test someone's patience?" he asks, and it's clearly rhetorical because he continues without waiting for an answer. "You find out exactly how much control they actually have."
He kisses you again, and this time there's no mistaking the intensity behind it. It's still controlled, still measured, but you can feel the restraint it's taking. His tongue slides against yours with clear intent, and the hand on your face angles your head exactly where he wants it.
"I have a lot of patience," he murmurs against your lips. "But even I have limits."
When his hand slides down from your face to your throat, his thumb against your pulse point, you gasp softly. You feel him smile.
"Your heart is racing," he observes, voice still that same quiet, almost clinical tone. But his thumb traces circles on your neck that are anything but clinical. "Interesting. Are you nervous?"
You shake your head, and his smile grows slightly.
"No? Then what?" His eyes search yours with genuine curiosity, edged with a darker intent. "Excited? Anticipating what I'll do next?"
He’s analyzing you even now, reading every reaction—and somehow that makes it worse.
"Let me tell you what I think," he says, leaning in close enough that his breath fans across your lips. "I think you wanted to see what would happen if you pushed me. You wanted to know what I'd be like when I stop being patient."
His hand tightens just slightly around your throat—not restricting, just present, just enough to remind you it's there. "Would you like to see?"
Before you can answer, he's kissing you again, and it's completely overwhelming. Still controlled, still measured, but intense in a way that makes your head spin. His hand stays on your throat, feeling every gasp, every quickening of your pulse, while his other hand finally releases your hair to slide down your back.
When he pulls you closer, you can feel his heart beating against your chest, faster than usual but still steady.
"You're not pulling away now," he notes, pulling back just enough to speak. There's satisfaction in his tone, quiet but unmistakable. "Why is that?"
His hand slides under your shirt, palm flat against your lower back, and the skin-to-skin contact makes you shiver. He notices immediately, of course he does. He notices everything.
"Cold?" he asks, but there's a knowing look in his eyes that says he knows exactly why you shivered, and it has nothing to do with temperature.
"Leehan—" you start, but he cuts you off with another kiss, this one somehow even deeper than the last.
"Shh," he soothes between kisses, hand moving in slow circles on your back. "No more talking. No more pulling away. Just focus on this."
When his hand slides higher up your back, fingers tracing your spine, you arch into him without meaning to. His other hand tightens on your throat in response just for a second, just enough to make you gasp, before relaxing again.
"See?" he murmurs, and there's a smugness in his tone now. "You're much better when you stay still. When you let me do what I want."
He kisses along your jaw, down to your neck, and you feel his teeth graze your skin lightly. "I could do this for hours," he says conversationally, like he's commenting on the weather. "Just finding all the spots that make you react. Learning exactly what you like."
"But first," he says, pulling back to look at you again, "you're going to stay right here and let me kiss you properly. No more games. No more pulling away." His thumb brushes across your throat, feeling your pulse jump. "Can you do that for me?"
It's phrased as a question, but the look in his eyes makes it clear there's only one acceptable answer.
When you nod, his smile is small but genuinely pleased. "Good," he says softly, leaning in again. "That's very good."
And when he kisses you this time—slow, deep and absolutely devastating—you understand exactly what he meant about patience. Because Leehan doesn't rush anything. He takes his time, thorough and methodical, until you forget you ever wanted to pull away in the first place.
Until all you can think about is how to get him to never stop.
ˋ ⌞⋮ WOONHAK .ᐟ⌝ ˎˊ˗
Kissing Woonhak is sweet and a little clumsy in the most endearing way. He's still figuring things out, but he makes up for any lack of experience with sheer enthusiasm. His hands rest nervously on your waist, and you can feel how fast his heart is beating when you're this close.
So of course, you decide to make it worse for him.
The first time you pull away, his eyes fly open immediately, wide and startled like a deer in headlights. "Wait, what— did I mess up?" His voice pitches up slightly in panic. "Was that bad? I can do better, I promise, just—"
"You're fine," you assure him with a laugh, leaning back in before he can spiral further.
He relaxes instantly, shoulders dropping as he lets out a relieved breath. "Okay, okay good, because I've been practicing— I mean, not practicing, but like, thinking about— you know what, never mind." His ears are already bright red as he kisses you again, and you can feel him smiling against your lips.
That's when you pull away the second time.
"Okay, what—" He blinks at you, confused. Then his eyes narrow slightly in suspicion. "Wait. Are you doing that on purpose?"
You try to keep a straight face. "Doing what?"
"THAT!" He gestures wildly between you. "The pulling away! You're messing with me right now!"
When you don't deny it, his mouth drops open in betrayal. "Oh my god, you ARE! I can't believe— I was so worried I was doing something wrong!"
"You weren't," you say, grinning now.
"Then why—" He stops, processing, and then his expression shifts between embarrassment and indignation. "You're TEASING me? Seriously?"
He runs both hands through his hair, laughing in disbelief. "I'm already so nervous and you're just— wow. Okay. That's how we're playing this?"
Before you can respond, he's leaning back in with renewed determination. "Fine. You know what? I'm not gonna let it get to me. I'm just gonna— we're just gonna kiss and it's gonna be great and you're not gonna—"
You pull away again.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?" His voice cracks spectacularly, and he falls back against the couch dramatically, covering his face with his hands. "This is torture! Actual torture! I'm being tortured!"
You're laughing now, and he peeks at you through his fingers. "You think this is funny? My heart can't take this kind of stress! I'm too young!"
"You're so dramatic," you say, but you're smiling.
"I'M dramatic?" He sits back up, pointing at you accusingly. "You're the one playing mind games! Do you know how hard it is to focus when you keep— when you—" He gestures vaguely, too flustered to finish the sentence.
His whole face is red now, and he's fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Every time you pull away, I think I did something wrong and my brain just goes—" He makes an explosion sound effect with his hands. "Like that. Complete malfunction."
"Want me to stop?" you ask, taking pity on him.
"YES! No! I don't know!" He groans, flopping against the couch again. "This is so confusing. You're so confusing. Why are you like this?"
After a moment of internal crisis, he sits back up with a determined look. "Okay. Okay, I'm gonna try one more time, and you have to promise not to pull away because I don't think my heart can handle it."
"I promise," you say, and he eyes you suspiciously.
"Really?"
"Really."
He studies your face for a long moment, clearly trying to determine if you're trustworthy. Finally, he nods. "Okay. But if you do it again, I'm— I don't know what I'll do, but it'll be something! A consequence! There will be consequences!"
The threat would be more effective if his voice wasn't shaking slightly and if he didn't look absolutely adorable while making it.
When he leans in this time, he's extra careful. His hand comes up to cup your face gently, and he pauses just before your lips meet. "You promised," he whispers, and for all the control in his posture, there’s a fragile note beneath it, almost pleading, almost vulnerable.
"I promised," you confirm.
This kiss is different—slower, more confident now that he's not worried about you disappearing. His other hand finds yours, fingers intertwining and squeezing like he's anchoring himself. When you don't pull away, you feel him relax completely, even smiling against your lips.
After a few moments, he pulls back himself, and the smile on his face is so bright and genuine it makes your heart squeeze. "See? We can do this! When you're not being evil, we're actually really good at this!"
"Evil is a strong word," you laugh.
"You literally tortured me for fun," he points out, but he's grinning now. "That's pretty evil. I'm dating a villain."
He's still holding your hand, thumb tracing patterns on your skin, and the simple affection of it is so Woonhak it makes you smile.
"Don't do that again though," he says quietly. "My heart rate still hasn't gone back to normal. I think you took years off my life."
"So dramatic," you repeat.
"So mean," he counters, but he's leaning in again anyway, bumping his nose against yours playfully. "You're lucky you're cute."
"You think I'm cute?"
"Don't fish for compliments, you already know you are," he mumbles, ears going red again. "Now can we please just kiss like normal people? No more games?"
And when you agree, his relieved sigh is so loud and exaggerated that you can't help but laugh against his lips.
Even as he kisses you again—sweet, enthusiastic and unmistakably Woonhak—he pulls back every few seconds just to check that you're still there, like he doesn't quite trust that you won't disappear again.
"Just making sure," he explains each time, and honestly? It's perfect.
📸 【FAME】 your popular boyfriend is ready to be your assistant ｡ ｡ ｡ ◞ #𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊
celebrity ! s.jy x celebrity ! 𝑓 reader ◜ᵕ◝ 𝟱𝟬𝟲 ≧ᗜ≦ DOWNBAD jake kissing established relationship
it's kind of funny, jake thinks, how the universe really cooked when it decided to make you you. he swears the best thing he’s ever done in life—aside from learning how to make scrambled eggs properly—was meeting you before you blew up. like, back when your biggest gig was doing a off-brand soda ad.
fast forward three years, and you’re everywhere. magazine covers, talk shows, a literal walking glitter bomb of success. jake thanks god every single day (and sometimes his manager, for once dragging him to that stupid event) because now he gets to say, very casually,
''yeah i'm y/n's boyfriend.''
does he say it too often? absolutely.
is he insufferable about it? yes.
does he care? not even slightly.
and every time someone brings you up around jake? he lights up like a golden retriever that just heard the word ''walk.''
''yeah,'' he says, puffing up his chest like it's his job, ''she's my girlfriend.''
people laugh, every single time.
he doesn’t get it. did he miss the joke?
like, what's funny about a man being proud of his girlfriend?
and then there’s always that one interviewer who tries to go gotcha-journalist mode.
''so, jake, do you ever feel overshadowed now that y/n's… well, her?''
he blinks at them like they just asked if the sky is green.
''why would i be mad?'' he says. ''i won, man. i get to date her. do you? i mean she's like the coolest person on earth. i'm lucky she even looks at me.''
the interviewer laughs. the audience laughs. everyone laughs.
jake doesn't.
he stares around, confused, like he missed the joke entirely—which he did—and then just continues talking because nobody on earth is stopping him.
he didn’t understand why the photographers laughed when he asked if he should carry equipment. he thought he was being helpful. he genuinely would drop his career to be your personal assistant and he said this often enough that your team started giving him tiny fake tasks just to keep him entertained.
and every time someone pointed a camera at him in public and joked, ''jake, when's y/n letting you be her full-time assistant?''
he'd brighten like a sunrise:
''i mean if she says yes i'll pack my things tonight—what, why are you laughing?''
every little comment about whether him having to ''worry'' about your success growing day by day only led to replies like
no. it bothers me that she doesn't let me carry her shoes too.
you tease him for it later, curled up together on the couch, his head tucked into your neck like it’s programmed there.
''you know people think you’re whipped, right?''
''i'm supportive,'' he corrects, frowning slightly.
you laugh, kiss his cheek, and he melts instantly—brain shutting down like a cheap computer.
he'd follow you anywhere. to any shoot, any event, any red carpet.
⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ KISS AND MAKE UP ! 🧸ྀི — dongmin’s way to comfort you after a fight is pretty simple (and works like a charm) ( word count 601)
[ extras ] kissing, crying, fluff/comfort
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ! i have another banger of an idea w taesannie otw plspls jingle jingle pay attention stay tuned okay!?also someone said he’s totally the type to grab ur neck and guide u into a kiss and guess what. i dig that.
@k-records (っ- ‸ - ς)⠀
dongmin couldn't handle it.
neither could you.
he was sitting in the bedroom, trying to focus on reels playing in his phone. trying to distract himself from thoughts gnawing on his mind like a dog starved.
you, on the other hand, were in the kitchen. sitting on the counter top, with gaze stuck at the boiling water.
the argument you had was silly, really. you were annoyed already, he was tired. he made a mess after you had just cleaned, you raised your voice when you shouldn't have.
and now guilt was consuming you both, resulting in you giving him the silent treatment. which you knew was bad but you couldn't bring yourself not to. you didn't even know what to say; was sorry enough?
the water boiled.
you put pasta in it and set a timer, observing the lively bubbles calming down.
"hey."
your eyes didn't budge. you felt ashamed to even look at dongmin.
he sighed softly, walking up to you.
you let him.
taking out his hands from his pockets, he placed them on your thighs. there was silence, only the sound of water bubbling between you two. he opened your thighs and stood between your legs, scanning your face.
"can we talk?" he asked. the softness of his voice made your gut dip with guilt even deeper. you shouldn't have yelled at him. he was so kind after you did and still–
you felt his hand making its way to the back of your neck, guiding your head towards him. his forehead rested against yours, hair gently brushing your skin. you closed your eyes, feeling a lump creating in your throat already.
"are you still mad at me?" dongmin questioned, voice calm as gentle breeze on a sunday morning.
"no" you croaked out.
"good" he huffed and before you knew it, his hands guided you by the neck to meet his lips.
once again, you allowed him.
the kiss was slow, pouring wordless apology from both of you. your hands found themselves seeking for him desperately, which just resulted in clutching his black top. he didn't rush but his hands on your neck guided you to deepen the kiss, angling your head in a way that allowed your lips to align comfortably.
only when he felt your breathing getting rigged and salty droplets on his tongue, he pulled away. not too far, he didn't want to.
his features softened and his hands slid from the nape of your neck to cup your tear stained cheeks.
"i-i'm sorry" you choked out, lower lip quivering. "i shouldn't have yelled. i just had a bad day…"
he stroked your skin in a reassuring motion, swallowing hard.
"and then i just… was too guilty to say anything. i'm sorry, dongmin" you sobbed. "i feel awful"
"it's my fault too. i'm sorry." he replied gently, wiping the falling pearly tears with his thumb.
"let's not fight over stupid stuff again" you sniffed and grabbed his wrists tenderly, looking up at him teary-eyed.
"and let's not do silent treatment, hm? i hated every second of that" he teased, canines poking out in a cat-alike smirk.
you just huffed, turning your head away.
"hey, don't sulk or i'll have to kiss it away again"
you just let go of his wrists and pulled him closer by his shirt.
"don't mind if you do" you whispered shyly and dongmin's hands sneaked once again to the back of your head, this time leading the kiss more passionately. your teeth clanked and you giggled through the kiss, tears already drying out in the corners of your eyes.
