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.

@coriihanniee ᯓᡣ𐭩

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

you bit on your lower lip as you looked down, blush creeping from your neck to your face when you noticed the growing tent between his legs.

woonhak's face went completely red when he realised the reason why you weren't looking at his face anymore. he quickly panicked, pulling his hands away from you before you would think he's some type of pervert.

"fuck– shit– oh my god, I'm so sorry. I- I couldn't help it. I- fuck, I'm sorry, I swear it won't happen ag–"

"it's okay, woonie." you cut him off, batting your lashes at him. you leaned in closer to kiss him again, biting on his lower lip to let yourself in.

one of your hands travelled dangerously down to his lower abdomen, your wrist accidently touching his clothed erection, earning a whine around your tongue. a sound you never heard coming from him.

he sucked on your swollen lips as his hands hesitantly came back to your body, pulling you even closer by the waist.

as the kiss turned heavier you felt heat pooling in your lower abdomen, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. your fingers tangled around the strings of his hoodie, deepening the kiss.

woonhak's lips traced from your lips to your cheek, then to your jaw until he was facing the crook of your neck, sucking and nipping on your warm body. you let out a shaky moan into the air, hands going to slightly grip at his hair.

"woonie…" you called out softly, slowly pushing him away. you rested your hand on his thigh, dangerously close to his heated core. he looked down at the way you brushed your thumb on his thigh. he swallowed hard, wishing you could lower your touch just a little more.

he looked up, noticing the way your face blushed with anticipation, the way your lips looked glossy thanks to the mix of salivas, and the way the collar of your shirt had loosened up from pulling it down.

"yeah?" he asked, and you swore you could see his eyes sparkling up like a cartoon character.

you exhaled softly yet nervous, not knowing how to make up the words without sounding too vulgar. "I–" you started, quickly giving glances to his growing crotch. "can I…?" you looked away, scratching your hand just to do something with it. you cleared your throat. "can I touch it..?"

his heart pounded hard and his eyes opened wide. he let out a shaky, nervous laugh and his eyes darted everywhere but you. "y-you don't have to…it'd probably go away. other wise I could j-just go to the bathroom anyways." he gulped, finally looking at you.

"but I really want to." you said, instinctively pouting at him. you grab one of his hands with your free hand, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. you noticed his adam's apple bob up and down once again.

woonhak stared at you for a moment, biting his lower lip at the thought of you touching him the way he'd had imagined many times on those needy late nights.

he let out a heavy sigh, slowly nodding as he looked down at his painful boner. he usually didn't get hard during making out, he'd fight it back, but there was something different in the air tonight.

you managed to kiss him again, hands starting to traced down from his chest to his thighs once again, making him shiver under your touch. you hesitantly reached your hand over his erection, slowly palming him over his jeans.

he moaned softly into your mouth, the tip of his ears immediately turning a deep red at the unfamiliar touch. woonhak's hips bucked up unconsciously, and he uselessly tried to apologise against your tongue. you moaned softly at the vibration, the sound sending waves straight to his already twitching dick.

your fingers struggled with the button of his jeans until you finally pulled back from his lips, using both hands this time. he helped you out, pulling his jeans down and throwing them to the floor.

you kissed him again as you grabbed his dick over his boxers. he whimpered into your lips, brows frowning with pleasure.

he hid his face on your neck, trying not to moan too loudly when you started to move your hand up and down painfully yet deliciously slow. you whined when he bit your neck a little too hard.

"f-fuck– you sound so hot.." he murmured against the red skin of your neck.

he turned his gaze at you, coming back to kiss you eagerly as his hands tried to grope every part of your torso. you let out a small moan when he did an experimental squeeze at your breast.

your hand reached down to the hem of his boxers as you pulled away, searching for his permission. when he nodded you pulled his underwear down to his knees, he hissed at the feeling of the cold air against his glowing red cock.

you took it, trying to decipher the way his face contorts as you pumped up and down. "does it feel good?" you asked, a soft pout forming on your lips.

he let out a pathetic moan when your thumb started playing circles on his aching tip. "f-fuck– y-yeah, it feels good. j-just try twisting your wrist more. shit–"

you do as he says, going back to kiss him as you pumped him. he pulled away and you noticed the way his chest fell back and forth, throwing his head against the headboard behind him.

"it feels s'good." he whimpered, resting his hands on his sides, not knowing what to do with them now, completely overwhelmed.

your stomach fluttered, the sounds he made sending heat throughout your whole body. it was a lot.

too much and not enough at the same time.

you noticed the way his breathing stuttered, the way his body tensed slightly beneath your hand. you slowed down without thinking twice, earning a confused look from him.

"wha-what? why did you slowed down?" his voice cracked, eyes flickering between your blushed face and your hand.

for a split second he thought he'd done something wrong. moaned too loud, reacted too desperately.

"I– I really don't know..." you confessed, earning a shaky laugh from your boyfriend. you laughed too, trying to ease the sudden tension. "I g-guess I just wanted to check on you," you said softly. "am I doing alright..?"

his shoulders relaxed a little and he smiled, leaning in to give a small peck onto your lips. "yeah," he nodded quickly, then slower, meeting your eyes. "you're doing it perfect. f-feels much better than my own hand." he let out a breathy laugh.

you nudged his shoulder slightly with your free hand, more blush forming on your cheeks thanks to his comment. "shut up."

you leaned in to kiss his lips, brushing your tongue across his as the pace on your hand quickened again little by little. his breath hitched, the sound muffled against your mouth.

woonhak tried to focus on breathing through his nose, but it was useless. every small movement of your hand and your mouth sent a jolt through him, sharp but warm.

he pulled away, throwing his head back again, placing his forearm over his face, trying to hide it from you. his cheeks were burning up and his brain was fogging, squeezing his eyes tight as he tried to steady himself.

he opened them back, looking at you. looking at the way you were watching his face, not his body. the way your brows knit together slightly, like you were paying attention to every little reaction, like you got off by the way his face contorts, made his chest tighten.

you noticed the way his breath hitched whenever your thumb brushed his tip, the way his lips parted letting out the prettiest sounds you ever heard. even the smallest reactions, all because of you.

your thighs pressed together instinctively, a quiet rush of heat pooling low in your core at the sight of him like this. you weren't sure when watching him started to feel this good, almost as if you were watching something you shouldn't.

woonhak noticed. not the movement itself, but the way your breath changed when he did. it made his stomach twist pleasantly, feeling his climax come closer.

the idea that his sounds, his reactions, the way he was falling apart under your touch were doing something to you made his heart race faster than before.

his fingers curled into the sheets, feeling closer than before. "I–" he called out, voice cracking. "I think I'm gonna– fuck." his breath catching in his throat.

you felt the way his body tensed beneath your touch, the way his hips stuttered as they tried thrusting up into your hand. you leaned in without thinking, pressing your lips to his, slow and warm as if you were grounding him. the pace of your hand quickening in a way that made his eyes rolled back to his skull.

his whole body gave in at once. he gasped into your lips, the sound muffled and desperate, hands flying to grip tight at your waist. his forehead dropped to your shoulder as his seed spread across your hand, swearing softly under his breath.

"fuck, s-shit– oh my god." his voice cracked. his breath was uneven.

you patted his head with your free hand as the other one slowed down, trying to milk every single drop until he was done. he stayed there until it finally passed, breathing hard. his hands still fisting around your waist, knuckles white.

he let out a shaky sigh, half laughing and half embarrassed. you smiled, cheeks burning just as much as his as you let go his dick. "'you okay?"

he nodded slowly, lifting his head just enough to look at you. his eyes were still glossy, and his mouth formed a cute pout. "yeah..." he said quietly, pulling away to grab the box of tissues on his nightstand, cleaning both your hand and his thighs.

he finished cleaning up quietly, pulling his boxers back up. his movements were a little clumsy, sensitive, like his body still hadn't caught up with what just happened.

your ears still buzzed like crazy. heart racing, skin warm, your whole body feeling heavy. watching him cum undone like that, hearing the way his voice broke. it all replayed in your head, sending another quiet wave of heat low in your stomach, making you press your thighs together again without even realising it.

woonhak noticed it, his ears burning red immediately.

"are you...um," he started, then stopped, rubbing his palms against his thighs nervously. "are you okay?" he asked, voice soft and careful.

you felt warmth settling into your chest. you nodded, "yeah." a shy flat smile tugging on your lips. "I am." you said, then hesitantly added, "it was...really nice...hot."

his eyes widened just a little, smiling. "it was?"

you nodded again, cheeks heating up as you started to hug your legs, resting your chin between your knees.

his gaze dropped without meaning to. just for a second.

his breath caught immediately and his face went hot all over again when he noticed the faint darkened patch of arousal on your shorts.

he looked away so fast it almost hurt his neck.

"..sorry," he blurted out quietly, embarrassed before you'd even said anything. his hands curled into the sheets again. "I didn't mean to stare."

you hadn't even noticed what he'd seen until you looked down between your legs. your cheeks burned, instinctively hugging your legs closer, embarrassed as if you didn't just give him the best handjob of his life.

it took him a moment to work up the courage to look at you again. when he did, his expression was soft. careful. almost worried.

"I just–" he hesitated, swallowing hard. "I thought maybe...you might be feeling...kinda worked up too..?" his voice dropped lower, shy but serious. "because of me."

"if you are," he continued, words rushed now, flustered. "I mean– only if you want– I could...maybe help? just a little? not anything you don't want to." he shook his head quickly. "I just don't like the idea of you feeling all...uncomfortable because of me."

his eyes flicked down to your crotch once more, then back up. apologetic and hopeful all at once.

"...I want to take care of you too," he said softly. then, quieter, "even if it's just– I don't know...whatever you want."

you didn't answer right away. instead, you let your legs relax just a little, unwrapping your arms that were around them. his eyes followed every little movement you made.

woonhak swallowed hard. jaw tightening as his gaze dropped again, lingering longer this time, biting back a moan. his hands slid to rest on your knees, thumbs brushing slow, warm circles against your skin.

he leaned in, pressing a long, gentle kiss to your knee. not where you were aching. not yet. he reached for both of your hands, locking his fingers with yours and giving them a small squeeze, grounding not only you but himself too.

you leaned forward to kiss him, a muffled whine slipping from you when he started to spread your legs to let himself settle between them. his hands resting on the inner sides of your thighs to keep you spread apart.

his breath ghosted over your body as he lowered himself, close enough feel his warmth even through your shorts. close enough that your fingers tangled in his hair without thinking.

he paused, then look up at you. "tell me if you want me to stop." he murmured, eyes sparkling up.

your breath stuttered. you looked down at him, at the way he was waiting. hands steady on your thighs, gaze warm but intense.

"don't," you said softly, voice barely louder than a whisper. "please."

“miss you,” he eventually says, after you’ve swallowed your last bite of milk and cornflakes.

“miss you too,” you answer softly, placing your finger against the screen like you can reach for him through the glass, “at least it’s easier when we do it like this.”

he laughs humorlessly, hovering his finger against his own phone in the same place as yours. the two of you watch each other breathe.

“i should go get ready,” you mumble.

“yeah,” sungho agrees, “i should i get ready for bed.”

but neither of you move, and sungho sucks in a breath in that way where he has something to say but is wondering whether he should say it.

“sorry about this,” he eventually settles on, “can’t believe i’m eating dinner and you’re eating breakfast.”

you watch him shift slightly - distances compressed into pixels and numbers through a screen.

“not your fault,” you say back, “timezones suck.”

“they do,” he agrees, nodding. he glances at the clock on the wall behind him through the screen.

“go get ready,” he reminds you, “you’ll be late.”

you sigh, drawing away from the phone, “okay, okay. sleep well?”

“always better when i’ve seen your face,” he says, and he can’t stop the smile tugging on his lips, “talk tonight?”

“tonight,” you promise.

#리우 RIWOO

“babe, look!” you pull the phone away from your face as riwoo flips his camera around, the fireworks in view lighting up your dim room in bursts of colour and light.

“woah, pretty,” you breathe out, mesmerised by the rhythmic explosions of fireworks across your screen.

“right?” riwoo’s voice crackles over your speaker, “it’s the special version to celebrate new years! wish you were here to see it…”

your chest aches again - it’s always the same feeling that bubbles up with every wishing you were here you exchange with your boyfriend.

you pull the phone back towards yourself as riwoo flips the camera back around. you can see the fireworks reflected in his eyes as he looks up at the sky. his orange hair is slightly mussed, messy like he rushed out without bothering to fix it, and he’s wearing the hoodie you gifted him when you first started dating - the one whose hoodie has been chewed through by daebak.

“me too,” you admit softly, watching an amber firework fan out behind his head, casting shadows across his face, “but this is nice too. at least i get to see it.”

the phone shuffles on riwoo’s end, and he settles on some kind of bench, the camera jostles slightly in his hold before steadying.

“it's not the same though,” he says, but there’s no bitterness in it, “i want to hold your hand while we watch, and then i can give you my jacket when you feel cold.”

you laugh, a small, breathless sound, “you would be cold then.”

“we can share,” he dismisses, shrugging. you can hear the smile in his voice. the fireworks pause for a brief intermission and the call falls silent - stretched by the distance that’s actually between you two.

“tell me what it feels like,” you say suddenly, “out there.”

riwoo’s eyes drift as he thinks.

“cold,” he finally says, his eyes settling back onto your face glowing on his screen, “smells like grass. very smoky. a lot of people around. they need to start making phones that let you smell things - that way you could smell it yourself.”

you smile at his suggestion - at the way he’s trying to solve the unsolvable.

“well, until they invent that,” you say softly, “i guess i’m stuck with you describing it to me.”

riwoo shakes his head with a chuckle, “guess so.”

another firework blooms behind him, sparkling to life and painting everything gold. he doesn’t peel away from the phone to watch it, instead studying you watching him, and somehow that feels more important than the fireworks show behind him.

“stay on the call?” you ask, even though the sun is barely peaking over the horizon and you haven’t slept a wink.

“yeah,” he agrees immediately, shifting so you see the sky behind him - the best of both worlds, somehow compressed onto one small screen, “i’ll stay.” 

and so you do. you stay in the darkness of your room while he sits on that bench under the fireworks. he keeps talking - about the people around him, what he’s planning to do tomorrow, what he ate - and you listen.

this is enough, you think to yourself, watching the fireworks that blossom in his eyes and listening to his voice over the speaker of your phone.

it’s not the same as holding his hand, but for now, it’s enough.

#명재현 MYUNG JAEHYUN

“did you fall asleep?”

jaehyun’s voice jolts you out of your half-asleep state and you crack open an eye to see jaehyun sprawled across his bed, face cuddled up to the screen so much you can only see his eyes.

“no,” you clear your voice, “did you finish showering?”

“mhm,” jaehyun replies, “did i wake you up?”

you shake your head against your pillow, “i was waiting for you anyways.”

jaehyun’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and you know he’s smiling even if you can’t see the curve of his lips.

“you should sleep,” he murmurs softly - in the same tone he uses when he’s lying next to you in bed - soft and quiet, like he’s personally lulling you to bed. you smile at how he’s the same even though he’s no longer physically here, but oceans apart and existing together in the liminal space of a video call.

“not used to you not being here,” you finally admit, curling your hands into your blankets, “it’s cold.”

the confession slips out of you easily in the dark, and you shift onto your side, mirroring his position as your pillow smushes against your cheek.

there’s a pause on the other end - long enough you move to tap the screen just to make sure the call didn’t freeze. but then you hear him breathe: a soft, deliberate exhale.

“i know,” jaehyun whispers, his voice cracking slightly, like say it physically tears him apart, “i know, my love.”

he shifts backwards, and now you can see a bite more of his face - his damp hair, the way his skin is still flushed from the heat of the shower. he looks so warm, so fluffy, and completely out of reach through a glass screen.

“wish i could be there,” jaehyun continues quietly, his eyes never leaving yours, “wish i could just get in bed with you and keep you warm the way i’m supposed to.”

you giggle softly into your pillowcase, even though it’s tinged in regret and longing. you’ve had this conversation before - a million times - over the phone, in bed, when you’re just lounging on the couch; it never gets easier, the truth of what you’re both missing, what distance has taken from you. 

“you’re keeping me warm right now,” you finally say, “you’re here, aren’t you? even if it’s separated by a screen and oceans.”

“always,” jaehyun says immediately, “i’ll always be here.”

"then that enough for me," you say, "but you have to make it up when you get back."

jaehyun laughs softly, "i'll make it up and then some more."

he pulls his pillow closer, settling deeper into his bed, “go to sleep. i’ll be here when you wake up. same as always.”

he gives you that smile that always makes your stomach flutter and you give a smile back that’s probably overly giddy and dopey. you ask your heart to stop drumming so fast and settle back into your own pillows.

“goodnight,” you whisper.

“goodnight, my love.”

you blow a kiss through the screen and he catches it, placing a hand over the place where his heart is.

#태산 TAESAN

“so, what do you think? is it cute enough for dinner?”

you smooth down the skirt of your dress and try not to look awkward when presenting yourself to your boyfriend through the screen of your phone, stood up against your water bottle on the dresser.

“give me a twirl,” he demands, a hand over his mouth as he leans forward and squints at your outfit.

you do as he says, giggling to yourself as you do a slow twirl.

"sooo?" you tilt your head.

taesan shifts in his seat, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows harshly.

“yeah - um… it looks good. great, even.”

he bites his bottom lip and his voice drops to a lower octave, “wish i wasn’t in some stupid hotel on the literal other side of the planet right now. you look way too cute.”

you laugh again, turning back to the mirror as you tug on the hem again, “you’re just saying that.”

“i’m not,” you can hear the pout in his voice, “stop playing with it.”

you let your hands fall and regard yourself in the mirror - you think you look good - like you always do. you cock your head as you think about how taesan sees you, through his tiny phone screen, miles and miles away.

“you like me too much,” you eventually say, voice light and teasing.

“yeah, i do,” taesan’s voice is rough and unashamed, “come closer - to the camera.”

you hestitate, before taking a slow step towards your phone. his expression on your phone shifts - eyes darker as his jaws tighten.

“you’re doing this on purpose,” he breathes out.

“doing what?” you frown.

he lets out a breath that’s sounds like a laugh.

“cancel dinner.”

your breath stutters, “taesan -”

“i’m serious,” his voice is rough now, quieter, “cancel it and talk to me properly. take the phone back to your bedroom.”

the way he says bedroom makes your stomach dip.

you reach out slowly and pick up your phone, carrying it toward the bedroom as you try not to steal too many glances at him. but you can see him following the movement on his screen, tracking you, and he doesn’t say anything at all - just sits back and watches as you nearly drop your phone in anticipation.

you sit on the edge of the bed, fiddling with your phone until both you and your sheets are in sight.

he breathes quietly, and gives you a dangerous, patient smile.

“good girl,” he says softly, “now - show me what else you’re wearing.”

#이한 LEEHAN

“kim leehan!” you shriek, slapping your palms over your eyes, “i’m not going to watch you shower!”

leehan stops, his shirt halfway off. he drops his shirt as he pads over back to his phone propped up against a wall of the bathroom.

“but you said you’d stay on call with me!” he pouts, his eyes wide as he drinks in your flustered state.

“well, yeah!” you fan yourself with a hand, your eyes still squeezed shut, “but not like this!”

“it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before,” leehan blinks.

“it’s different!”

“how is it different?”

“because -” you splutter, “because it’s different! you give me a warning!”

leehan tilts his head, like he’s genuinely confused and you’re the one being unreasonable and demanding, “i thought the shower running was the warning.”

“that’s not -” you press your palm harder against your eyes, “that’s not a warning! i didn’t know you were gonna take your shirt off!”

he laughs, in that bright & easy way that makes it very difficult to be mad at him. you hear the soft thud of his shirt hitting the floor through the phone speakers.

“okay, okay,” you can hear the grin in his voice, “i’ll keep the curtain closed, happy?”

“just tell me when you’re done!” you yell, eyes closed.

there’s a brief moment of silence and you hear the swish of his shower curtains opening and drawing shut.

“done,” leehan’s voice is still teasing behind the curtain.

you crack open an eye cautiously and gasp.

“you lied to me!”

leehan is leaning against the bathroom counter, decidedly not behind a shower curtain, arms crossed and looking far too pleased with himself for someone who just ambushed and tricked you within the past five minutes. you can't help but gape at the scene on your screen, his hair tousled and shirt notably not on.

“i know you like what you see,” he teases and you splutter, peeling your eyes away.

“so what if i do? and - and that’s not the point!”

“what’s the point then?”

“the point is -” you search for the right words, “is that we have a system!”

“a system,” leehan muses.

“yes! you warn me and i - i look away… or don’t.”

he hums, tilting his head the other way, “so if i had said something like - hey, i’m about to shower, stay on call with me - you would’ve said that's fine?”

you open your mouth.

you close your mouth.

he raises an eyebrow, smug grin displayed over his face.

“... that’s not the point either,” you mutter defeatedly.

#운학 WOONHAK

“hehe, babe, look - you’re a potato!”

woonhak’s display jostles as he presses on the various filters on the app, cycling through turning you into potatoes, green screened into outer space, and ridiculous filters that make your eyes too big or forehead huge.

you try to muffle the laughter that escapes you, even as your face distorts into something ridiculous on the screen. the camera catches the way your eyes crinkle as you smile that even a filter can't wipe off.

“you are a very cute potato,” you tease woonhak as he bobs his head up and down to play with filter.

“you too,” woonhak replies. his grin grows wider as he clicks to another filter, this one giving both of you alien antennae.

you yawn involuntarily, all too aware of the time difference. woonhak’s afternoon bleeds into your midnight, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything else. the stolen minutes before his schedule picks up or yours does grows sparser by the day, and you cradle your phone like it’s your lifeline. 

“okay, one more before i go to bed,” you say quietly, careful not to tick off your flatmate sleeping next door. 

you see woonhak lean closer to his phone, only the top of his hair visible as you hear him tap the screen of his phone.

he finds one that gives you a flower crown and makes everything pink and sparkly.

“that’s how you look to me!” woonhak exclaims, far too proud of his confession.

“with a flower crown and pink sparkly aura?” you raise an eyebrow.

“yeah!” woonhak laughs, “whenever i look at you - it’s like you have an automatic filter in real life.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you say, but a smile dances on your lips and your chest squeezes - the kind that comes with missing someone in the best way.

“you just reduce me to some kind of idiot,” his expression softens as he looks at you through the screen.

you hold each other’s gaze until a notification pops up reminding you both that the call is still recording and you laugh again.

"i should sleep," you say mournfully.

"yeah," woonhak taps his screen, "it's late - you need to rest."

he watches as you finally place down your phone, next to your pillow as you lie back down.

“goodnight, hakie,” you murmur.

“goodnight, beautiful. dream of me,” he replies.

neither of you move to hang up just yet, content with letting the seconds run out until sleep claims you or his schedule catches up.

inspired by that one picture woonhak posted of him and taesan lmao exposing myself as a hsm fan... somehow wrote this in like an hour WOW i am lonely.

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