#yeosang

seonghwa – (kinda a softy but addicted)

He unwraps the gift like it's fragile. And in a way, it is. His hands are slow, reverent, and when he sees what's inside, his breath actually catches. No teasing. No wide-eyed shock. Just quiet awe.

"This is you," he murmurs. Thumb dragging slowly along the slit, memorizing the shape. "You let me have this?"

He doesn't use it right away. He showers first. Changes the sheets. Sprays your perfume on his pillow and dims the lights like he's setting up for a date. And when he finally presses into it, it's with a low groan, hips stuttering almost instantly.

"Fuck… you're so warm even in my head."

He whispers your name like a prayer. Thrusts deep, slow, and holds himself there like he doesn't want to finish too fast. Like cumming would ruin the moment. But when he does? It's with a shaky cry and your name on his lips.

He leans down between thrusts once, just to kiss the clit. Doesn’t matter that it’s silicone, in his head, it's you. He moans against it like it's holy.

He kisses it after. Cleans it gently. And tucks it away in silk like a secret.

—

hongjoong – (filthy, obsessive)

He asked for it. Of course he did. He researched molding kits, offered to help position you, took photos for "accuracy." He was fussy about the angle. "If I'm gonna fuck it," he said, "it's gotta be perfect."

When it arrives, he's hard before the box is even fully open. Uses your moan recordings and a video of your last orgasm as audio. Lube? Optional. He wants it raw.

"You're tighter than I remember, baby. Miss me that much already?"

He ruts into it at his desk, cock flushed and leaking, both hands wrapped around the toy like he wants to crush it. He props his phone up and hits record. "You wanted a video, right? Watch me ruin it. Watch me wreck your perfect little clone."

He moans your name, curses, even slaps it once just to see how it jiggles.

He leaves it out on the nightstand. Doesn't hide it. Wipes it down like a prized instrument and kisses it goodnight.

—

yunho - (gentle, addicted in secret)

He blushes so hard you think he might combust. Opens the box slowly, like he's afraid it's going to moan at him. When he realizes what it is, his ears turn red.

"You made this? For me? Like… molded?"

He acts like he'll save it for a lonely night. But that night? It's tonight. He's too curious. Too hard. He lies on his back, headphones in, listening to you breathe from a voice note. Lubes it carefully. Hesitates.

Then slides in and whimpers.

"Oh my god. Oh my god."

He's loud. Embarrassingly loud. Moaning into a pillow, hand gripping the toy like he's afraid it’ll disappear. When he cums, he gasps your name and makes a mess of his stomach.

He pulls out dazed, sees the mess leaking from the toy, and blushes all over again. “Shit… I—I came inside. I’m so sorry…”

He can’t look at you the next morning. But the toy stays in his drawer. Within reach.

—

yeosang – (worshipful, lowkey possessive?)

He unwraps the box slowly. Fingers lingering on the soft inner walls, eyes dark.

"You gave me this," he says, mostly to himself. "You really let me have this."

He doesn’t fuck it immediately. He sets it on a velvet towel. Stares at it like it’s a relic. He talks to it.

"Did you miss me today? You look so wet, baby. So ready."

When he finally uses it, it’s like worship. He presses in slowly, voice cracking. One hand stroking himself, the other caressing the outer folds like they’re real.

He cums with his forehead against the mattress and your name breaking off his lips in a whisper.

He never shares it. Never hides it either. 

He keeps a drop of your perfume sealed in the same drawer. Dabs it inside before use. Wants your scent to cling to him for days. If anyone even thinks about touching it, his voice goes ice cold:

"That doesn’t belong to you."

—

san – (desperate, loud, horny type)

You don’t even get to explain. He rips open the box and screams.

"NO FUCKING WAY. YOU DID NOT. YOU—" (he's already naked btw)

He fucks it on cam. With you watching. One hand on his chest, head thrown back.

"You molded your pussy for me, baby? You wanted me to fuck it while thinking about you? You wanted me to cry, didn’t you?"

He screams your name when he cums. Falls apart. Pulls out messy and still hard, gasping.

He strokes it after like a lover. “You’re her,” he murmurs. “My sweet girl.” You hear him coo to it like it can respond.

Uses it again before cleaning it. Leaves it next to his water bottle like it’s his gym towel.

Texts you: it twitched around me. swear to god. she misses me

—

mingi – (overwhelmed, ruined, a princess duh)

He tears up. Literally holds it like a newborn.

"You did this for me? You really let them mold… there?"

First use, he puts on one of your oversized shirts and your perfume. The video call is open, but all you see is his hand trembling.

"I missed you so much. I—I know it's not you, but I had to try."

He fucks it like he’s scared of hurting it. Whispers little apologies even as he cums inside.

"Sorry baby, I just… couldn’t hold it. You felt so good."

Afterwards, he wraps it in a towel and kisses the rim. Cries again.

He wears your shirt while he uses it again. Sobs into the fabric when he cums too fast the second time. 

“You smell like home. I need you again, I—please.”

He talks to it when he’s lonely. You catch him once. He doesn’t stop.

—

wooyoung – (cocky, deranged!!, too proud)

He sees the box and grins like you handed him a Nobel prize.

"Oh, you shouldn’t have. No, really. I might propose."

Fucks it with the lights on, music blasting, sunglasses on. Makes you watch.

"She’s sucking me in, babe. I think she loves me."

He spits on it. Spreads the lips open for the camera.

He licks it once. Grins. “Taste test approved.” Later, he sucks his fingers clean and moans like he’s at a wine tasting.

"Tell the real thing to be jealous. Her twin’s working overtime."

You hear him moan your name and his own.

Texts you at 3am: ur pussy has a clone. i’m in a throuple now.

Also buys a backup. Just in case.

—

jongho – (controlled, brutal, undercover addict)

He doesn’t react. Not at first. Just raises a brow, thanks you, and disappears into his room.

But behind closed doors? It’s carnage.

He fists the toy with both hands. No build-up. No lube the second time.

"Tight little thing. Can’t even take me."

He doesn’t moan. He grunts. Breathes harsh through his nose.

Finishes fast the first time. Slow the second. By the third, he’s groaning your name like a curse.

He wipes it clean. Places it in a drawer. Comes back 20 minutes later. Uses it again.

“Take it,” he growls under his breath. “Take my cum like a good girl.” Your moan plays through his earbuds. He fucks harder.

seonghwa:

- barely notices it

- probably daydreaming about something

- but when he notices there's no feeling in his hand he panics

- softly lifts your head to retrieve his arm

you stir, feeling the weight of your head being lifted. you blink your eyes open and turn to find him looking guilty. "i'm sorry honey, rest up," he lays back down and pulls you close, "go back to sleep."

yunho:

- bro is immediately panicking

- do i wake them? do i suffer?

- he chooses that he'd rather suffer than wake you up.

- constantly flexing his fingers to make sure his arm doesn't go too numb

you stretch out your limbs and flip over, eyes landing on a very awake boy. he shoots up immediately and grabs his arm, flexing it to wake it up. "i'm sorry baby, go back to sleep," he breathes quick, "i didn't want to wake you but i might need to go to the ER." you giggle and force him to lie back down, this time making sure he's comfortable before drifting back off to sleep.

yeosang:

- he's fast asleep

- he doesn't even notice it

- bro is so chill

you adjust your position and wake up to the feeling of muscle beneath your head. you look, panic and turn over. "baby, i'm so sorry!" he's blinking his eyes at you, confused why you woke him up. in his dreamy state he flips on his back and draws you into his chest, and mumbles, "5 more minutes."

san:

- he's so happy

- not even a crane could tear that boy away from you

- omg they chose ME? hell yeah

- kinda creepy cause he's just watching you

hongjoong is the one to find you both on the couch, whispering to san, "you want some help?" he moves towards you both. "don't you dare," he whispers with a growl, using his free hand to pull you closer to him. hongjoong backs up.

mingi:

- panicking

- bro is so stressed he's going to wake you

- barely breathing

- barely alive

"baby?" he whispers so low he can barely hear himself. "ok princess, sleep well." he tries to fall asleep after but can't due to his arm. but eventually you turn, still asleep and cuddle into him. he finally breathes and hugs you tight.

wooyoung:

- oh he's so smug

- thought about waking you up to tease you about it

- but saw how content and sleepy you were and held back

- watching you like the yearner he is

"youngie?" you croak, stirring from sleep and feeling his burning stare. "yes darling?" he presses a kiss to your shoulder. "stop staring." "never."

jongho:

- tries to act nonchalant

- you're probably around the other members too

- they're teasing him about it

- but heaven forbid you try and move

you stir after hearing another round of giggles pass by the couch. when you catch on to what they're laughing about, he stops you. he uses his free arm to hold you down. "baby-" "no," he sterns, "you're right where you belong." and although his eyebrows are furrowed together, the kiss to your forehead is soft.

taglist:

✧ seonghwa

You’re already trembling when he lowers himself between your thighs again.

The room is warm. Dim. Sheets tangled around your legs. There’s still a thin sheen of sweat across your skin from the last time he made you come, your chest rising unevenly, body hypersensitive.

Seonghwa notices everything. He always does.

He presses a slow kiss to your inner thigh first. Then another. Unhurried. Patient. Like he has nowhere else to be.

“Hwa…” you breathe, half-warning, half-plea.

He hums softly against your skin and continues, deliberate and maddening. Every touch measured. Every movement precise. He isn’t rushing. He isn’t chasing. He’s savoring.

Your hips tilt instinctively, the friction against his mouth making your stomach twist.

His tongue darts out, tracing every fold, circling your wetness, lapping, flicking, teasing. When he finds your clit, he sucks it in, slow and wet, warm, until you whimper. You squirm, fingers twisting into the sheets.

“Seonghwa, too much, stop!” you whisper faintly, trying to push his head away, though your hips betray you, lifting instead of pulling back.

He pauses. Slowly, he lifts his head. His hair falls slightly into his eyes, gaze calm. Composed.

“Say it properly,” he murmurs.

The words are soft. Devastating.

You swallow. Your body is still pulsing from where he left you moments ago.

“Do you really want that?” he asks quietly. Not mocking. Just steady. “If you want that, say it again.”

Your head shakes before you can stop it. He watches you closely.

“Words,” he says.

When you hesitate, the absence of his touch is immediate. Noticeable. His hand leaves your thigh entirely. The loss makes your breath hitch.

You try to push him again. Frustrated. Desperate. He doesn’t give in. Instead, his thumb lazily traces your clit up and down, slow, coaxing an answer through pleasure. 

Your body spasms at the touch, hips jerking instinctively.

“Tell me,” he repeats.

You squeeze your eyes shut, flushed, overwhelmed by the need twisting low in your stomach.

“Keep going,” you whisper.

He doesn’t move, thumb still teasing.

“Properly,” he insists, his grin audible in the vibration of his voice.

Your voice breaks a little this time. “Keep going, please.”

The faintest chuckle escapes him, warm and satisfied. Not cruel. Just pleased that you said it. That you chose it.

He lowers himself again without another word. This time he doesn’t drag it out. His patience dissolves into something hungrier, movements faster, less restrained. One hand pins your thigh open as he focuses, relentless now, messy in the way he rarely allows himself to be.

His tongue dives back in, sucking, swirling, teasing every sensitive nerve. Your hips grind down, desperate for friction, and he parts just long enough to look up at you, smiling.

Then he’s back, tongue plunging deep again, and with one hand, he slides two fingers inside you. In and out quickly, curling, hitting every spot that makes you cry out.

Your back arches off the mattress, a sharp cry leaving you before you can swallow it.

And above the sound of your breathing, you hear him murmur softly, almost to himself,

“That’s what I thought.”

✧ hongjoong

The studio smells like warm wires and something faintly metallic. It’s past midnight. The hallway lights are off. Only the soft glow from his monitor spills across the room.

You’re sitting on his lap. Straddling him in his chair, one of his hands still resting lazily on the armrest like he hasn’t fully decided this is happening. 

His dick presses into you through his jeans, hard and impatient, and your hips shift instinctively, rolling against him. Your hoodie is half off your shoulders. Your fingers curl into his shirt, wrinkling it.

“Joong,” you murmur, breath warm against his ear.

He hums, distracted. Or pretending to be.

Your hips move again, slow, testing. Sliding down, pressing fully, grinding. His jaw tightens just slightly.

You lean closer. “Touch me.”

He tilts his head. A slow grin on his lips.

“What was that?”

You know he heard you. His eyes are sharp now, completely focused. The cursor on his screen blinks unattended.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders. “Touch me,” you repeat, softer this time. Almost shy.

He studies you like you’re a track he hasn’t decided how to mix yet. One hand slides from the armrest to your waist, thumb brushing just beneath the hem of your hoodie.

“Clearer,” he says gently.

You swallow. “I want you to touch me.”

His smile deepens, not mocking. Just pleased.

“Good,” he murmurs.

He doesn’t rush. Like you didn’t just climb into his lap because you couldn’t wait any longer.

One hand slides down to your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you shiver, guiding your hips against him. His other hand slips under your hoodie, cupping your breast, thumb brushing over the peak. 

Your movements stutter for a second.

“You get impatient,” he says quietly. “And then you forget how pretty you sound when you ask.”

You roll your hips again, frustrated at the way he’s dragging this out.

He exhales, finally letting his forehead rest briefly against yours. The patience cracks just a little.

“Say it one more time,” he whispers. Not teasing now.

You don’t hesitate this time.

“Please.”

That does it. His hands tighten. He finally gives in the way he wants to, not rushed, not reactive. Controlled. Decided. The chair shifts slightly under your movement as you grind against him harder. 

Outside the studio, the building is silent. Inside, he kisses you like he’s signing his name on something he owns.

✧ yunho

You shouldn’t be doing this on the couch. That’s what makes it worse.

You’re sitting on his lap, back pressed to his chest, legs parted just enough for him to fit between them comfortably. 

You’re soaked, already slick from the heat building between you. His middle and ring fingers slide in and out of you in a steady rhythm that makes your breath catch every few seconds.

The slick sounds between your legs are obscene, and Yunho grins, eyes dark, clearly loving every one.

He tips his head over your shoulder, watching as his fingers pull out, spread you open, then sink back in, filling you perfectly again. His other hand slides higher, big palm warm and possessive on your chest, kneading the warm skin there. 

His middle finger teases your nipple over your thin tank top, one strap threatening to slip from your shoulder with his eager movements. 

He’s holding you like he likes to. Like you belong exactly where you are. His bulge presses hard against your lower back, reminding you of how much he’s craving you.

“Yunho…” you murmur, head tipping back until it rests on his shoulder.

He laughs softly against your ear. Teasing. Unbothered. Like you’re not seconds from falling apart. You press a kiss to his neck, just under his jaw. He hums at that, rhythm never faltering.

“We don’t have long,” you whisper. 

Yeosang said he’d be back soon. Any minute. The front door could unlock at any second.

“Relax,” Yunho says easily. “I’ve got you.”

You roll your hips, impatient, trying to get him to move faster. He doesn’t. Instead, he grins, watching the way your breathing stutters.

“What was that?”

You huff softly. “Go faster.”

He tilts his head. “Hm? I didn’t catch that.”

You know he did. The smug curve of his mouth gives him away.

You shift again, desperate now, trying to guide his hand with your movement. His fingers press deeper for a second and you gasp. You clench around him reflexively.

That makes him laugh properly.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Easy.”

“Yunho,” you whine, more urgent this time. “Fuck. Faster!”

He pauses just long enough to make you regret snapping at him.

“You’re bossy today,” he says lightly.

You buck your hips again, not even pretending to be subtle anymore. That’s what does it. His teasing expression softens instantly. Gone. Replaced with something warmer. Hungrier.

“Okay,” he murmurs.

His rhythm changes. Quicker now. Less playful. More focused. His fingers work you expertly, curling and pressing, coaxing every shudder, every gasp from your lips. 

You feel him through your clothes, his cock straining against your back, moving with you, desperate to feel release.

You cling to his forearm as the couch shifts under you. He leans forward, teeth grazing your neck before he bites down gently, right where he knows you love it. Saliva damp against your skin. Your body reacts immediately.

“Yunho, I’m—”

“I know,” he whispers against your skin.

It builds fast after that. Too fast. Your thighs tense, breath breaking apart in sharp little sounds you’re trying desperately to keep quiet.

The release hits hard and sudden. You gush around his fingers, coating them as you clamp down. A shudder runs through you as you press back into him. biting your lip to muffle the noise.

Then, the front door unlocks. Both of you freeze.

Yunho bursts into quiet laughter, breathless and disbelieving. “Perfect timing.”

You scramble off his lap, trying to fix your clothes while he grabs your wrist, dragging you down the hallway toward his room.

“Move, move, move!” he whispers, still grinning.

The bedroom door clicks shut just as footsteps echo from the entryway. You collapse against his chest, trying not to laugh. Yunho presses a quick kiss to your temple.

“See?” he murmurs. “Told you I’ve got you.”

✧ yeosang

The bathroom is thick with steam. Water slides down tiles, down skin, down the sharp line of Yeosang’s shoulders. His hair is darker like this, slicked back, droplets clinging to his lashes.

You press into him first. Your mouth finds his collarbone, then the curve of his neck. You kiss him there. Slow. Open. Your hands drag down his chest like you’re mapping him.

He inhales softly. His fingers hook into your waist, pulling you flush against him. Water rushes between your bodies, heat building despite it.

“Let me take care of you,” you murmur against his throat.

“What?” he asks, not moving his gaze from you.

You kiss the corner of his lips. Then his jaw. Then back to his mouth, slower this time.

“I said,” you whisper, breath warm against his skin, “let me take care of you.”

He hums faintly, like he’s distracted. Like the water is too loud. Like your voice can’t possibly carry through all this steam.

His eyes never leave your lips. His hands slide down your back, squeezing your ass gently, possessively. The other traces up your spine, nails grazing lightly. You shiver.

“Did you say something?” he asks, tone innocent.

You glare at him. He raises one eyebrow. You lean in closer, almost on your toes, water cascading between you.

“Yeosang,” you whisper directly against his ear. “I want to take care of you.”

Silence.

He studies your face carefully. Not teasing now. Just watching the way your confidence flickers under his gaze.

“Say it clearly,” he says softly. “So I don’t misunderstand.”

Heat climbs your neck despite the water. You inhale.

“I want you to let me suck you off.”

There’s no hesitation in you now. Only hunger.

His jaw tightens. His tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip. He leans down and bites your lip gently before releasing it, just enough to make you gasp.

“You should’ve said so,” he murmurs. “But you don’t have to ask like you’re unsure,” he adds quietly against your skin. “If you want something, you tell me. And I’ll decide,” he finishes softly.

You hold his gaze. Something shifts in his expression.

His hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers threading into damp hair. He pulls you into a deep kiss, sudden and consuming. It’s not slow this time. It’s hungry. Teeth brushing. Breath stealing.

You melt into it.

He breaks it just as quickly. No warning. His hand leaves your neck and moves to your shoulder instead, firm now. Then he presses, gentle, guiding you down.

Your knees bend under the water. Tiles cool beneath your skin as you sink down in front of him. Water runs down his chest, over his stomach, dripping from his fingertips.

He stands tall, chest rising and falling heavier than before. He doesn’t look away. Not once.

His hand slips into your hair, loose but possessive. Not forcing. Just anchoring you there.

“You wanted to take care of me,” he says quietly.

You glance up through wet lashes, and this time, you lick your lips on purpose. His grip tightens just slightly.

“Go on.”

Your hand wraps around him, stroking once from base to tip. Heat slicks your fingers as you trace him slowly, deliberately. Then your tongue follows, licking along the length, tasting him.

He lets out a low sigh, muffled against the water. 

When you finally take his tip between your lips, his hand on your hair presses lightly, urging you deeper, guiding every movement.

A groan slips past him. He leans forward, forehead resting against the cold tile behind you, caging you in. Your head tilts with the push, a small gag leaving you as he hits deeper. Your hands clutch at his thighs.

And Yeosang? He doesn’t rush. Just watches you. He loves when you take care of him. He just likes to make sure you really mean it.

✧ san

San kisses you like he’s memorizing you. Slow. Intentional. Like this is sacred.

It’s only the third time sleeping together since you started dating, and everything still feels new. His hands explore carefully, reverently. He praises you between breaths.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs against your mouth.

His lips trail down your jaw. Lower. “You’re perfect.”

He says it like he means every word. And you love it. But tonight the sweetness makes something restless coil inside your stomach.

He’s inside you, slow and steady, every thrust gentle. You push against his lower back, urging him to go faster, but he hums against your neck and keeps his pace. Making you feel good without scaring you off.

Buy you want more.

You don’t think. You just speak.

“Can you… San, I—I want you… Can you tie me up?.”

He stops. Completely. The rhythm vanishes. The warmth leaves you when he pulls out slowly, withdrawing with a softness that feels like distance.

Panic flares instantly. You messed up. You try to close your legs, instinctively retreating, but his hands snap to your knees before you can, holding you open.

His breathing changes.

When you look at him again, he looks different. Still San. But darker, hungrier. His eyes search your face carefully. Not angry. Not confused. Assessing.

He shifts closer, one hand leaving your knee to cup your cheek gently. His thumb brushes under your eye like he’s grounding you.

“Baby,” he says softly. “Look at me.”

You do.

“Did you mean that?” His voice is low, steady. “Or did it just slip out?”

There’s no mockery. No edge, just patience, waiting for you to answer.

You swallow. “I meant it.”

He studies you a second longer.

“You’re not saying it because you think I want to hear it?”

You shake your head quickly. “No.”

His thumb strokes your cheek once more.

“Then tell me,” he murmurs, almost tender. “Tell me what you want. Clearly. So I know you mean it.”

Your heart pounds, but you don’t feel scared. You feel safe.

“I want you to tie me up,” you say, stronger now. “Please. I need you to use me.”

His pupils blow wide. A slow, dangerous smile curves his mouth.

“There you are,” he whispers.

Something in him ignites. He exhales sharply and scrambles off the bed, dropping to his knees to search the floor. His slacks are half-tangled near the nightstand. He grabs them and pulls the belt free in one smooth motion.

When he climbs back onto the mattress, there’s no hesitation. He guides your wrists above your head carefully, checking your expression before looping the belt around them and securing it to the bedframe. Not too tight. Just enough.

When he’s done, he sits back on his heels and looks at you. And you feel exposed in a way that makes your pulse skip.

His hands travel slowly from the belt at your wrists down your arms. Over your shoulders. His knuckles brush your cheek softly. Down your throat. Across your chest. Lower.

Until his palms settle on your thighs, spreading them gently.

“So pretty like this,” he murmurs, voice low. Dangerous and adoring at the same time.

His thumb traces your jaw.

“You tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”

You nod.

His expression softens just a fraction. The sweet San still there beneath the heat. But when he leans down again, pressing his body over yours, there’s nothing hesitant about him anymore.

“You should’ve told me sooner,” he whispers against your lips.

And then he thrusts back in, harsh and fast. Your back arches instinctively, a loud gasp tearing past your lips as you tug at your restraints above your head. San chuckles teasingly, watching the way your body responds to him.

And the way he smiles after that? You know you’ve just unlocked something you’re never going to stop craving.

✧ mingi

The headboard knocks softly against the wall with every snap of his hips. He’s standing at the edge of the bed, feet planted on the floor, towering over you. You’re on your hands and knees, sheets tangled beneath you.

Mingi’s hands are firm on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to leave warmth behind, his rings cool when they first touch your skin and then warm almost instantly.

He’s holding you against him so firmly you feel like you could melt and he wouldn’t let you fall. He pulls you back every time you try to crawl forward, grip firm enough that you feel it in your bones.

“Stay,” he pants. "Don't run away from me."

The sounds he makes are low and wrecked. Like he’s already halfway gone. You love it.

You turn your head slightly, hair falling over your cheek. “Harder.”

He laughs breathlessly. “You’re insatiable.”

He gives you exactly what you asked for. Harder. Rougher. His grip tightens, dragging you back with each thrust so your body jolts forward and back in his control.

His cock drives deep, filling you completely. He angles his hips just right, each hit brushing against your cervix, making your back arch deeper, tilting yourself into him with every thrust.

The room fills with skin smacking, broken breaths and the bedframe shifting beneath you.

He’s close. You can feel it. His rhythm grows heavier. Less teasing. More desperate. Then you whisper it.

“Choke me.”

He falters. Not fully stopping, but enough that the pace stutters.

“What?”

He stops inside you. He needs to steady himself. Mingi's chest brushes your back as he leans down, broad frame engulfing you completely.

His hands leave your hips. One braces beside your head. The other combs your hair away from your face. Gentle. Careful. He needs to see you. Needs to make sure he heard right.

You feel him pressing even deeper, and a whine escapes you, eyes closing, eyebrows furrowing as the sharp ache mixes with pleasure.

Mingi presses a kiss to your temple, soft, almost an apology. His fingers hook under your chin, lifting your face slightly so he can catch your eyes.

“Say that again,” he murmurs, not teasing now. Just caught off guard.

“Choke me.”

That’s all he needs. His expression shifts instantly. His hand slides from your jaw to your throat without hesitation this time. Big palm wrapping around your neck.

“You trust me?” he asks roughly into your ear.

You nod. Mingi gifts you a slight squeeze that makes your breath hitch and your hips press back instinctively, clenching around him.

He pulls you up against him in one smooth motion, your back flush to his chest, both of you upright now. One arm braced around your middle to keep you steady, the other still holding your throat.

The new angle makes you gasp. His grip tightens just a little as he resumes his pace, deeper now, faster. His mouth drops to your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin as a low groan spills out of him.

He likes this. The way you asked. The way you demanded.

Your hand clutch at his forearm, feeling the flex of muscle under your fingers. The other slides to his nape, twisting through the long hair there, keeping yourself steady.

Your breathing turns shallow. Not panic. Not fear. Just that dizzy edge of surrender that makes your head spin.

He squeezes again. Just enough to make your pulse flutter beneath his palm. And he smiles against your shoulder when he feels it.

Mingi loves when you take control. Even when he’s the one holding you up. Especially then.

✧ wooyoung

The party noise outside the bathroom door is loud. Laughter. Music. Someone shouting for another round. None of it matters.

You’re sitting on the countertop, the faucet pressing into your side, cold and inconvenient. You barely register it. Not when Wooyoung is standing between your knees, your underwear on his pocket, eyes lit up like he’s about to commit a crime and enjoy every second of it.

He unbuckles his belt slowly.

You roll your eyes. “Hurry up, Woo.”

He laughs under his breath. “Bossy.”

But he does hurry. The metallic sound of his belt slipping free feels indecently loud in the small space. Your pulse kicks up. You lean forward slightly, impatient.

“Seriously,” you whisper. “Hurry.”

He steps closer, crowding you. His hands slide to your thighs, squeezing once before pushing them wider.

“You’re the one who dragged me in here,” he murmurs.

“Don’t make me regret it, just fuck me already.”

The words barely leave your lips before he moves. He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t tease the way he usually would. One hand tugs his zipper down. The other wraps around himself, stroking once, fast, slick.

Then he presses in. Hard. No prep. Just him, filling you in one sudden, decisive thrust. The sting makes you whine sharply, a sound louder than you meant it to be.

His hand flies to your mouth instantly.

“Shh,” he breathes, eyes wide for half a second.

You both freeze.

Outside, someone knocks against the wall, laughing. Wooyoung’s gaze flicks back to you. The smirk returns. He stays still for one long beat, his palm warm over your lips, his forehead almost touching yours.

“What were you saying?” he asks softly.

He starts to move again. Slow at first. You try to answer, but your words melt into his hand, muffled and useless.

His grin widens. “Oh, I can’t hear you.”

The pace picks up. Not frantic. Controlled. The kind that makes your thoughts scatter. Your head tips back, and it knocks lightly against the mirror.

The sound is small, but in this room, it feels explosive.

Wooyoung’s smirk disappears instantly. His hand drops from your mouth and slides behind your head, palm cushioning between your skull and the glass. Protective without breaking rhythm.

The teasing melts into something darker. More focused. He leans in closer, lips brushing your ear.

“No, really,” he says, voice low now. “Say it.”

Not mocking anymore, commanding.

“Fuck me, Woo!” you gasp, repeating yourself as you cling to him.

His eyes flash at the sound of it.

“Finally got it out, huh?” he murmurs, smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s my girl… exactly what I wanted to hear.”

His mouth drops to your collarbone, teeth grazing, tongue soothing after. His free hand slides lower, palm pressing over your lower stomach, thumb drawing circles on your clit.

The bathroom fills with the sound of your breathing and the quiet, relentless rhythm he’s set.

Outside, the party keeps going. Inside, Wooyoung holds your head steady like he’s the only thing keeping you from shattering against the glass. Bratty. Reckless. But the second it matters, he loves taking care of you.

✧ jongho

The city hums below you. Lights blink in the distance, cars sliding through the dark like quiet comets. The balcony is high enough that no one can see up, but the open air makes everything feel exposed anyway.

Your palms grip the cold railing.

Jongho stands behind you, solid and unshakable, chest pressed to your back. His mouth is against your spine, breath hot where the night is cool, his dick filling you perfectly.

He hasn’t looked at the skyline once.

One arm stays firm around your middle. The other slides lower. His fingers find your clit, making your knees tremble. But he keeps you upright easily, like you weigh nothing.

Your body responds instantly, hips rolling back against him without thinking, pressing him in deeper.

Slowly, the arm that’s around your middle slides upward, hand tangling in your hair, not yanking, just keeping you exactly where he wants you. Bent slightly forward over the railing, heart racing at the height, the adrenaline of being watched.

His rhythm turns heavier. Less measured. Every thrust hits deeper. He’s close. You can feel it in the way his breathing roughens against your skin. In the way his grip tightens just a little.

“Come inside me,” you breathe into the night.

The words float into the dark. He doesn’t react at first. Just keeps moving. Steady. Deep. Focused.

“Again,” he grunts against your shoulderblade.

No smile. No teasing. Just the command.

You arch back into him, voice cracking with need.

“Jjong,” you gasp, voice shaking. “I want you to come inside me... fill me up.”

He exhales sharply against your back. That’s all the confirmation he needs.

His fingers press harder, circling with intent now, pushing you toward the edge with him. His thrusts lose some of their precision, turning almost sloppy with how close he is. But he never stops. Never pulls back. Never breaks the rhythm.

He listens to you. He does exactly what you asked. He wants to make you happy.

When he finishes, it’s quiet. Controlled. A low sound swallowed against your skin as his grip tightens in your hair for a second while he spills deep inside you.

You come seconds after him, forehead nearly touching the railing, the city lights blurring beneath you.

Your walls clench around him, juices mixing, slick and warm. His hips keep moving through it, slower now, drawing your release out like he refuses to let it pass too quickly. His hand doesn’t leave you. His body doesn’t retreat.

He pulls out slowly. Only then does he finally lift his head from your back.

The sudden emptiness makes you whine. The cool night air hits your heated skin, and you feel the warmth of him linger, a faint trail of him slipping down your thigh. The contrast makes you shiver.

His hand immediately steadies you at the waist. He turns you around gently, far softer than he handled you seconds ago. One hand comes up to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

His expression has changed. The edge is still there, but the fire has settled.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice even. Calm. Watching you closely.

You smile at him, still catching your breath. “Perfect.”

Only then does his mouth curve slightly. “Good.”

He leans down and presses a firm kiss to your forehead. Soft and protective. The city keeps glowing below you. But up here, in his hands, you feel completely steady.

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