#jungwon x reader

[manariee]

GOLDEN BOY

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝟎𝟔 ⭐ the class president would bruise his knuckles for you

양정원& fem!reader wc: 576 cw: minor violence, emotional distress

REBLOG4AKISS

MANA: happy belated birthday sru @bywons ^^

Everyone knew Yang Jungwon.

Top of the class, polished speeches. Every mother in town wanted their son to be like him. The golden boy, class president—the one everyone admired from afar.

So why was there a commotion about Yang Jungwon throwing punches in the school hallway?

The hallway was crowded the second you arrived, the sounds of grunts and gasps filling the atmosphere.

You pushed your way through the crowd, every part of you hoping that it wasn't true, that it wasn't him.

But when you finally broke through, there he was: Jungwon, wiping blood from his lip, while the other guy was being dragged away by his friends.

You were livid.

Actually shaking.

''Are you insane!?'' you snapped, storming toward him. His knuckles were raw, and he wouldn’t even look at you.

''Not now,'' he muttered, jaw tight, voice rough.

You didn't care.

You grabbed his wrist—gently, but firmly—you pulled him away from the crowd without another word. He didn't resist, just followed with his eyes on the floor.

The hallway buzzed behind you, but you were focused on getting him to the nurse's office, heart pounding with a mix of concern and anger.

''Do you even realize how stupid that was?'' you hissed under your breath as you turned a corner. ''Fighting? In the hallway? What were you thinking?''

''I told you,'' he muttered, voice low, ''not now.''

You shot him a glare. ''Not now, my ass.''

He flinched—just barely, but said nothing.

By the time you both reached the nurse's office, it was empty. You pulled him inside, made him sit on the cot, and started going through the first-aid kit like you were about to perform surgery.

''Sit still,'' you snapped, even if he hadn't even moved.

You knelt in front of him, dabbing antiseptic onto a cotton pad. He winced when you pressed it to his lip, and for the first time he looked at you—really looked.

There was something behind his eyes.

Something you couldn't read.

''You're lucky they didn't call your parents,'' you muttered, trying to keep your touch gentle. ''Or suspend you.''

''I don't care,'' he said, voice barely above a whisper.

You stopped.

For just a second, all the frustration turned into something else—something heavier.

''That's not like you,'' you said, softer now. ''You do care—you always do. So what now?''

He didn't answer right away, just looked down.

''I couldn't just stand there,'' he said finally. ''Not when he was running his dirty mouth about you.''

You blinked. ''What?''

He wouldn't look at you now, his jaw visibly clenched.

You stared at him, all the previous anger caught in your throat.

''Jungwon..'' you said, your voice soft.

''I didn't plan to,'' he said quietly. ''I wasn't trying to be reckless or give you a bad image of me.''

Your breath got caught.

Cause this wasn't the polished Jungwon everyone knew.

It was someone who cared.

Cared about you.

You reached out, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead, letting your fingers linger for just a second too long.

''You're such an idiot,'' you whispered, eyes watering, but there was no venom in your voice now—just the ache of affection you’d been swallowing for far too long.

A soft, crooked smile tugged at his lips.

''Yeah,'' he murmured. ''But I’d do it again.''

Everyone knew Yang Jungwon.

But only you really knew him.

And that was something no one else could ever touch.

lovliezᡣ𐭩: @chrrific @saemisic @heeaara @ltfirecracker @woniefication @lezleeferguson-120 @rikifever @chaeneu @jjennuine @callikari @yuuuraaa @wondoras @koiiqqqq @orimuraa @bibaeli @soona-huh

NETS: @k-films @blossomnet

[okwonyo]

FOOL FOR LOVE ★ refused kisses

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐕 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌

𝟏𝟑𝟗𝟒𝒾──── enhypen 𝗑 f!rea ✿ fluff 𓂋 kissing skinship ❞ 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 ｡

reblog for ！ ✶ 𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦 ◜ ᴗ ◝

HEESEUNG

“oh my god,” you groan, yet again turning your face away from heeseung’s, “you have a serious problem.”

biting his lower lip, he leans back up. at this point, you are doing this for the sake of torturing him — he gets that some people don’t like seeing public display of affection, but not letting him kiss you in front of your own friends, really?

he grins at the scolding look you give him, “can’t a man want to kiss his girlfriend anymore?”

“of course, you can,” you smile, lips practically begging for a kiss with how pretty they look.

look, they are practically calling for heeseung, he leans in and you use your hand to turn his face away, “but not now.”

he thinks it’s hot when you are bossy like that.

“c’mon, baby,” he goes in again, holding your waist to pull you closer to him. his breath fans over your mouth as he talks, “you know i can’t resist when you are this pretty, please, just one.”

he keeps pleading until your lips touch — even then, it’s against your lips that he whispers, “pretty please,” and, no, he doesn’t go for just one.

JAY

jay is going into a psychosis, kind of.

with how kind you are, you accepted to babysit your friend’s baby girl. while seeing you taking such a good care of a little one makes his mind create a clear vision for the future — it’s hard to think about marrying and creating a family when you won’t let him kiss you.

it hasn’t even been a hour since the kid is here, as well as it hasn’t even been a hour since you refused his last kiss. yet, he’s still going crazy.

“why not?” he ends up asking, voice sounding beyond desperate upon you wipe your head away from him, again.

“we can’t…” you look at the baby, then whisper, “…kiss,” in the softest tone but it still manages to break his heart a little. “in front of the baby.”

is this how married life looks like? he really doesn’t think so.

his hand the baby’s eyes. the little girl giggles covering jay’s large hand with her own, making him smile.

“she doesn’t need to know,” he grabs your jaw with his free hand. his mouth is all over yours in a matter of a few milliseconds.

jay melts onto the kiss in beat. it was absolutely worth the wait.

JAKE

listen, this man doesn’t get mad often. you don’t even think you ever saw him get remotely pissed at you, like ever.

this a brand new facial expression you are seeing on his face. while you giggle because you just refused one of his kisses, jake stares as you down with a grimace — eyebrows furrowed and lips frowning a little.

“what do you think you’re doing?” okay, wow, that’s a brand new tone too.

you can tell he is pissed off. very much so. it makes him hot. very much so.

his mood is kick to change, though. he tilts his head to the side, stepping closer to you and a little pout forms on his lips.

“i want a kiss,” he says, getting closer and closer. “give me one,” it makes your best beat faster. “please.”

you do without much hesitation. you cup his jaw and press your mouth against his. he holds the back of your head, lets out a low whine in your mouth — that you will think about tonight — before pinning you against the nearest wall.

he really wanted that kiss.

SUNGHOON

it’s so silly. you are doing nothing but talking nonstop, barely letting him the time to talk back — which is perfect, he is not the kind to talk much. plus, his lips are burning with the need to touch yours right now.

it always happens. when sunghoon sees how passionate you are over the things you love, how excited you get to talk about the smallest things to him and the way your mouth moves so prettily as you speak those words.

he wishes he could but he really can’t control himself, unfortunately.

“you’re not even listening to me,” you huff, putting your index finger on his puckered lips.

sunghoon doesn’t move, smirking again your finger, “i am, but i want to kiss you,” he pecks your fingertip. “can i?”

you smile as he gets closer, “only if you ask really, really nicely.”

“please,” he murmurs. his hands cups your face. “please, you’re so pretty,” he gives you a kiss, “please,” another. “please.” before fully going into it.

SUNOO

“why not?” he asks dumbly. tilting his head to the side and looking at you with genuine confusion in his eyes.

you stare at him. glare at him even. eyes wandering all over his face, catching the liters of lipgloss that got wasted on sunoo’s lips.

“why not?” you ask back in pure disbelief. he smiles like he knows he’s driving insane, “i think we kissed enough.”

you reach for his face, attempting to wipe your lip combo off his face with your thumb. he dodges your touch.

“sweets, i could never kiss you enough,” his greed never fails to impress you, seriously. because he leans again, right after you redid your lips, “kiss me again.”

the weight of his eyes on your lips makes your heart flutter. his gaze is hypnotic, making you unable to notice how close he already got.

sadly for your precious makeup, he does get another kiss and he sighs into it like he didn’t ruin your hard work ten times before. and you let him do it over again.

JUNGWON

funny how you thought you would get away with not letting him kiss you. now he’s pressing his body against yours, looking down as he towers over you and forces you to walk backwards.

“why won’t you let me kiss you?” he questions, still making you walk further into the bedroom. you don’t answer so he leans closer, “hm?”

you put your hands in front of your face to protect yourself from him.

“you’re annoying,” you answer, smiling a little.

jungwon hums, walking further and further, “oh yeah?” the back of your knees touch the bed’s frame, he smiles at your weak yelp.

he gets on top of you, his stupid grin still plastered on his face as he pins your wrists down against the mattress.

“let me kiss you, doll, please,” he says against your collarbone. he trails kisses from your neck up to your cheek — he until you are a blushing mess to kiss you on the mouth.

it kind of makes you crazy how he smirks through the kiss. humming against your lips shamelessly, “that’s what i thought,” he adds before starting to make out properly.

RIKI

he dug his own grave. “i bet you can’t go a day without kissing me,” he said. he wants to die now.

not only you won’t kiss him but you are ignoring him too. walking past him with that gorgeous face of yours without sparing him a single glance. it is killing him more and more every second.

he should have known better. he knows how competitive you get. as well as how pathetic he can get for the slightest affection from you.

he sits on the couch, right next to you. legs bouncing, body practically shaking at the long absence of your lips on his own. you seem perfectly fine, doing anything but acknowledging his presence.

and he wants the remote.

“can you give me a kiss?” he speaks up and shuts his mouth immediately. it wasn’t what he wanted to say. he gets ten times more nervous when you turn your face his way, “i–i mean, can you give me a—fuck it— can you give me a kiss?”

there is a long beat. he watches you narrow your eyes before raising an eyebrow, as if what he just said was out of this world.

he gets closer to you, “i’m sorry, i can’t go a day without kissing you,” after all, have you seen yourself?

“yeah?” you grin. riki is already on top of you anyway.

he nods eagerly, “let me kiss you, please.”

he swears he sees the gates of heaven opening when you put your hands on his shoulders. he’s so drunk in love, he groans in pleasure when you finally kiss him.

분지 ܃ i missed writing for all the members so much TT it was both hard and fun to write — i hope you like it :3

[globaloppaaa]

i don’t think you understand the absolute need i have for slow kisses with jungwon. the ones where you’re sitting in his lap, not in a sexual way, but in a romantic, intimate way where you can’t get any closer because your limbs are already tangled with one anothers. he’ll tuck your hair behind your ear as his lips trace your jaw, making some teasing remark about the way you go shy when he knows you want more.

“i know you wanna keep going love, don’t look away from me now.”

his hands trace the curve of your spine with care, like he’s protecting you in this moment and remembering the way your body melts into his and his only. he tries to stay cool, tries not to hitch his breath at the way your nose nudges his when you want his lips on yours again. or the faint whine that spews from you when he pulls just an inch away. within seconds his lips are back on yours, sighing into the comfort you bring him. because at the end of the day he’s only a man, one who can’t resist you.

[beqitos]

TOO ◜ᴗ◝ CLOSE

＞︿＜ their favorite places to give smooches

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄──── bf!en ╱ f!rea 𓈒𓈒 warnings. kisses est. relationship idol!ni-ki skinship ◞◟ 𝑑𝖺𝗂𝗅𝗒𝖼𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄. 931 wc

❤︎ reblog for a smooch from my jake d:u pc

HEESEUNG loves your lips. he absolutely devours them once he gets within a mile radius of your presence—which is kind of an issue right now. “but baby, I swear, just one more kiss. please, i’ll behave once we get to the restaurant.” he says, with absolutely no intention of doing so.

i mean how can he behave when you look so cute in that pout of yours. “no, heeseung, not right now.” you scoff at him with slight hesitation in your tone, which makes him emotionally drop to his knees.

“heeseung..? okay just say you hate me at this point.” he dramatically puts his hands on his chest, which gets a roll of your eyes at him and a quick swift of your hand grabbing his jaw to give him the slightest peck on his mouth. “omg you love me?”

JAY just loves to kiss your forehead. especially in the morning’s, it’s just something about your cute morning face, even if you have drool all over your face, you're still the cutest thing ever in his eyes.

he was the first one to wake up, quickly getting out of bed before you had noticed his lost presence and get to the kitchen to make you breakfast in bed—which obviously wasn’t as effective because you had woke up right when he got of bed.

“baby, honey, go to bed, it’s way too early for you to be awake.” he chuckles. “where are you going?”, you talked with drowsiness, until jay smiled and kissed your forehead. “you want to come with me?”, you nodded.

JAKE can never pry his hands off of your entire face. why choose one favorite place, when you can choose all of it—its a win win situation for him and you.

“jake, babe, it’s been 10 minutes since we woke up, and all you have been doing is kiss my entire face. can i please just go to the restroom.” you sat up which jake followed and thought about it. “but i still haven’t got all of your face yet,” he pouted. “you haven’t got all of my face? what have you been doing these past few minutes?” with genuine concern in your voice. “can you at least brush your teeth—”

jake cut you off before you even finished your sentence to completely laid himself on you and snuggled his head into your neck. “no. we are staying right here.”

SUNGHOON adores the top of your head. it’s something he picked out of habit when he first became your boyfriend. it was light at first until you noticed how he could not go a day without kissing the top of your head.

you opened the door to the bathroom, unknowingly sunghoon had just got dressed up for the day. “oh, i didn’t know you were in here,” which earned a giggle out of sunghoon. “sorry, baby, did i scare you?” he walked behind you and gave you a sweet kiss on your head while snaking his hands around your waist and caressing the side of your hip.

“a little” laughing it off and turning around to face him. “well, sorry,” he kissed your lips and snuggled his face into your neck. “now, get going with your morning routine, don’t let me bother you.”

SUNOO loves your cute cheeks. they look so fluffy and squishable, who couldn’t resist the urge to peck them.

like now, how he couldn’t just keep his hands to himself—you were sitting on the living room floor, trying to figure out which lego piece goes where and the instructions weren’t helping whatsoever. “honey, what are you doing?” he chuckles, coming over at your side. “trying to build these flowers. i’m so confused.” you furrowed your eyebrows and puffed out your cheeks.

“here let me help you,” he sat down and pecked your cheek which caught your off guard.

“what was that for..?” you shyly ask him with a worried expression, which got sunoo into a cuteness aggression spiral. needless to say, the flowers never got done.

JUNGWON will forever kiss your nose. you just look so cute whenever you scrunch your nose out of frustration or just for whatever reason—he will always kiss your nose.

you and him are on the couch watching a movie which jungwon absolutely discarded the moment you picked it out. he could look at you forever and ever, and never get bored of it. “won, you know i can see you staring at me?” you turned slightly to face him. “what? you look so with your concentrating face, it’s too hard not to stare.” he cups your jaw and lays a fat kiss on your nose.

“that tickles, also kinda wet..” you try to wipe it off, but jungwon quickly caught it and started pecking all over your face.

NI-KI will always kiss your neck. it’s something about it, it’s intimate but also very reassuring. you and him were both cuddling in his bed after he had come home from a very exhausting tour.

he was spread out on top of you, his face snuggled in your neck, lazy pecking your neck all over. “ki, that tickles,” you managed to get out a giggle since you were squeezed in ni-ki’s hold. “hush, i’m just giving you some love after years.” he whispered jokingly.

“riki, it was not years, it was 5 months minimum,” you sigh out. “yeah, yeah, same thing. it felt like the same thing.” he finally removed his head from your neck but not after he gave you a wet kiss on your neck and gently put his chin on your chest. “i just missed you.”

✉️ locked in because i kept getting absolutely FLAMED in roblox uno (I AM GOATED TRUST)

[isoobie]

SHAMELESS, yjw

🐈 your boyfriend is hopelessly inlove with you ✶ bf!jungwon & fem!rea ᵕ ᵕ cursing est rs

ㅋㅋ happy eighteenth to my baefyru @bywons i hope you enjoy this even though i’m a little late .. TT

[si3rren]

- Hold Still -

enhypen masterlist

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

yang jungwon x fem reader | enemies to lovers | smut | banter | dance rivals | filthy tension | soft ending | YEARNING!!!!

warning: intense make-out, over-clothes grinding, spitting (fingers into mouth), light slapping (to the cheek, consensual), light choking (consensual), hair pulling, possessive grabbing, praise kink, slight degradation kink overstimulation themes, enemies tension, rivals dynamic, oral (both receiving), pussy slaps, overstimulation and soft ending.

summary: you and jungwon have been at war for months — every rehearsal a battle, every glance a blade. but tonight, the tension finally snaps. what starts as a fight ends in ruin, and neither of you know how to come out clean.

word count? long enough to wreck you 😝

₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ ₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ ₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

There’s something feral about the floor in B13.

Maybe it’s the humidity from twelve bodies moving at once. Maybe it’s the cracked mirror that splinters your reflection into slivers when you leap. Maybe it’s the boy across from you — the one who won’t stop watching you with that damn smirk, like he already knows you’ll mess up.

Jungwon.

You snap your leg back into a clean arabesque, spine taut, arms slicing the air. You land the turn with force, a little too loudly. It draws a few raised brows from the others, but you don’t care. You’re not dancing for them.

Only one person’s in your line of sight, and he’s the only one who matters. Unfortunately.

Jungwon rolls his neck like a bored cat stretching. Then he mirrors your move — only smoother. Less effort. Like he was born balancing on tension. Like he’s mocking you with every glide of his foot.

You grit your teeth.

Heeseung claps once. “Again. This time — tighter spacing. YN, switch wings with Jungwon. Let’s test partner alignment.”

You nearly choke.

“What?” you blink. “We’re not partnered—”

“You are now,” Heeseung replies without looking up from his notes.

Yunjin whistles from the back. “Oh, this about to be good.”

You step toward Jungwon like you’re stepping toward a cliff.

He doesn’t say a word as you approach. Just tilts his head and eyes you up and down like he’s measuring how close he can stand before you break.

His voice is quiet. Smooth.

“You’re already sweating.”

You scoff. “I’m already disgusted.”

“Sure,” he murmurs, that smirk spreading like slow ink. “Let’s call it that.”

You take your places, shoulder to shoulder. Heeseung starts the music again — a soft piano at first, then a jagged electronic beat beneath it. You inhale.

And begin.

It’s a duet built for chaos. Push-pull. Soft-then-violent. You have to trust him — grip his shoulder on the lift, slide your thigh against his as you spiral down, feel his chest against your back for the last beat before breaking apart again.

You don’t trust him.

You can’t.

But your body doesn’t have time for your pride. Muscle memory takes over. And then it’s just motion.

You spin into him. His hands find your waist.

Too hard.

“Ease up,” you hiss mid-pirouette.

“You’re stiff,” he says in return. “Try dancing like you’re not at war.”

You twist under his arm, jaw tight. “Maybe don’t breathe down my neck like you’re in love with me.”

His hands flex.

“Maybe don’t moan every time I lift you.”

You nearly trip.

The next move slams your palm against his chest as you push off. It’s supposed to be metaphorical. The choreo is about resisting temptation. Falling into something you swore you wouldn’t. But there’s nothing metaphorical about the way his eyes darken when you touch him — or the way your breath hitches when his hand brushes your spine.

“YN,” Heeseung cuts in. “That last beat. Too fast.”

You bite your tongue.

Jungwon lets out a slow exhale beside you. “You always rush when I touch you.”

You whip your head toward him. “You wish.”

But you are rushing. And you hate that he knows. You hate even more that he notices.

When rehearsal finally ends, you’re vibrating.

Jungwon grabs his towel and moves to the corner to stretch. You avoid looking at him, but Yunjin slides in beside you like a demon summoned by drama.

“I saw that lift,” she says.

You grab your water bottle and chug. “It’s choreo.”

“Oh, sure. Choreo that makes you bite your lip? Girl.”

You wipe your mouth. “I bit it because he almost dropped me.”

Yunjin shrugs. “He could drop me anytime. But I’m not the one he watches like that.”

You freeze.

“Like what?”

“Like he wants to win,” she says. “And like he doesn’t know if that means beating you or—”

“Yunjin.”

“—fucking you.”

You choke on your water.

She just grins.

“Eunchae agrees. She made a bingo sheet of all your insults this week. ‘Ratboy’ was her favorite.”

You cover your face.

This is fine.

Everything is fine.

You are definitely not dreaming about slapping Jungwon across the mouth. Or sitting on his lap. Or whispering hold still while grinding against him backstage.

That would be crazy.

That would be—

“YN,” Heeseung calls out. “Jungwon. Rehearsal again tomorrow. Just you two.”

You look up, startled. “Why just us?”

“Solo showcase,” he says. “You’ve been co-leads all year. It’s time you make it official.”

Your stomach twists.

Jungwon steps into your periphery again, towel slung over his shoulder.

He’s smiling. Not his usual smirk. Something quieter. Like he’s known this was coming.

“Guess it’s just us now,” he says, voice low.

And then?

He walks out first.

Not looking back.

_________

The rehearsal room’s quieter today.

Too quiet.

No rustle of warm-up jackets, no chatter, no music. Just the squeak of your sneakers against polished wood as you test your weight in a slow arabesque, arms extended, spine pulled into alignment like a taut wire.

He’s late.

You hate that you noticed. Hate that your eyes keep flicking toward the door, like your body’s impatient to fight something. Or someone.

He finally enters — not breathless, not rushed, just… walking in like he owns the tempo of the room. Yang Jungwon, in all his maddening, neat glory. Black joggers, sleeveless top, that stupid water bottle he always holds like a trophy instead of hydration.

You don’t greet him. He doesn’t greet you.

Good.

Heeseung enters right after, with a clipboard and a coffee. “Solo showcase prep starts now. I’ll be filming. Don’t worry about performance. Worry about connection.”

You raise an eyebrow. “There’s no connection.”

Heeseung just blinks. “Then manufacture one.”

You glance at Jungwon. His face gives away nothing. You know it never does.

But the first thing he does is roll his wrists, loosen his shoulders, and meet your eye — holding it just a second too long before glancing away.

Connection.

Heeseung taps his phone camera on. “Warm up. Let me see instinct before we set anything.”

You both fall into your usual unspoken rhythm. Spatial awareness first. You circle each other like orbiting stars — no contact, just mirrored control. Jungwon feints a step to your left and you adjust, keeping even weight in your toes.

His eyes flick down — a millisecond — to your ankles. He’s watching the way you plant.

He’s watching everything.

You decide to give him something.

You drop into a low split, palms pressing the floor, back curved upward in a sharp extension — a move you know flaunts your flexibility. A move he can’t replicate.

His jaw ticks, just slightly.

Heeseung whistles. “YN, sharp. Jungwon, make up for that with your lifts later.”

“Obviously,” Jungwon murmurs.

You push yourself up. “If he doesn’t drop me.”

Heeseung sips his coffee. “You two flirt like it’s war.”

“We don’t flirt,” you snap.

Jungwon says nothing.

You glance at him.

He’s looking at you again.

Still nothing on his face. But his hand flexes once before he returns to stretching.

Heeseung sets up the speaker. “We’re blocking the first contact point. Start from beat eight — Jungwon lifts, YN breaks contact, then re-engage. It’s about timing, not tension. Try not to break each other.”

You sigh.

He plays the music.

You step forward as the beat rises, expecting the usual — his hands coming fast, his breath held tight. But today, his grip is… different. Not softer. Just slower. Deliberate. Like he’s figuring out how your ribcage fits under his palm.

You glance up. His brow’s furrowed — not in frustration, but in focus.

He lifts you.

You brace, expecting the usual power. But again, it’s different. He’s not throwing you — he’s placing you. With intent. With awareness.

When your back arches against his chest mid-air, his fingers tighten at your waist. Just once. Just enough.

You land with precision.

You feel it before you see it — the beat you almost missed. The way your feet shifted too late. The way he had to adjust to keep you stable.

But he doesn’t say anything. Just releases you.

You turn around.

He’s still close.

Too close.

And looking.

Again.

You want to say something sharp. Anything. But the words don’t come. You hate that you feel the air between your bodies shift — not hot, not romantic, just pressurized. Like a held breath waiting to collapse.

Heeseung claps. “Again. YN, fix your drop point. Jungwon, good control.”

He nods, and you swear — swear — he smirks just a little when you scowl.

After rehearsal, you head to the shared lounge. Your thighs are burning, your bun is falling apart, and you want a quiet second before you throw yourself into more notes.

But of course — Sunghoon is there.

And so is Jungwon.

Sunghoon’s perched on the arm of the couch, water bottle in hand, his leg lightly bouncing. When he sees you, his expression softens instantly.

“You looked incredible today,” he says simply.

You blink. “What?”

“Your center. It’s changed. You’re pulling into your core more.”

It’s a real compliment. Not flirty. Not condescending. Real.

You give him a surprised smile. “Thanks, Hoon. I’ve been working on that.”

He gives a little nod. “It shows.”

You don’t see Jungwon at first. He’s sitting at the far end of the couch, half-turned toward the vending machine, hoodie pulled up halfway, scrolling through something on his phone.

But he’s not scrolling anymore.

He’s holding the phone still.

Looking straight at Sunghoon.

Then at you.

Then back at the floor.

You feel the difference immediately. The air in the lounge shifts, not loud, not dramatic — just that quiet tension again. The kind that presses behind your ears and makes your skin too aware of itself.

You sit beside Sunghoon. Maybe out of spite. Maybe because it’s the only seat left.

Jungwon gets up ten seconds later.

Doesn’t speak.

Just throws his bottle in the bin and walks out.

Sunghoon watches the door click shut.

���Huh,” he mutters. “Weird.”

You shake your head.

You don’t want to think about it. You don’t want to wonder why his jaw clenched like that. Why his knee bounced so hard when you laughed at Sunghoon’s compliment. Why he wouldn’t meet your eye for the first time all day when you walked in.

You don’t want to think about it.

You just want to win.

That’s all this has ever been about.

Right?

________

The mirrors are brutal today.

Every angle. Every flaw. Every glance that lingers too long where it shouldn’t.

Rehearsal’s already started, but it feels like nothing’s moving. You and Jungwon are locked in another one of those tight, technical pieces — Heeseung’s “minimalist dreamscape” set to a soft-spoken metronome and silence between beats.

And in this piece?

You touch him.

A lot.

But not in the usual push-pull style.

This one is contact-based.

Every moment. Every count.

Palms to chest. Forehead to neck. Fingers brushing collarbones, hips passing within inches. Breath syncing. Back of the hand on the inside of his thigh during a floor slide that makes your stomach twist every time.

You hate how intimate it is.

You hate how he’s not reacting.

Or maybe you hate that he is reacting — but so subtly you can’t tell what’s real and what’s imagined.

The way his eyes flick to your mouth during the slow wave roll?

The way his hand doesn’t just place you during the lift — it lingers.

The way he catches you slightly too soon, like he’s afraid to let you fall, even in choreography.

You can feel his gaze on you during water breaks.

Not always direct. Sometimes just peripheral.

But it sinks.

Like weight on the back of your neck.

In the locker room later

Yunjin throws her towel over the bench and flops down next to you, still glistening with sweat, black sports bra sticking to her ribs.

“You’re breathing like you got fucked,” she says conversationally.

“I did not get fucked,” you snap.

“Exactly. Which is why you’re suffering.”

You shove your hair into a claw clip. “It’s rehearsal.”

“It’s foreplay,” she counters. “Or, like, psychological edging. You two look like you’re about to either kill each other or make out in the janitor’s closet.”

You stay quiet.

You don’t know what to say.

You don’t want to think about what it would feel like to have Jungwon’s mouth on you in the dark. You don’t want to remember the exact pressure of his hands on your waist from ten minutes ago. The way his breath hit your neck when he leaned in too far.

Yunjin grins like she’s got you.

You hate her.

You love her.

You pull your sweatshirt over your head and say nothing.

Later, in the common room

Sunghoon’s curled up in the armchair with an ice pack on his ankle. Eunchae’s tucked into a beanbag, animatedly recapping some dance drama from a rival team.

Jungwon is sitting on the ground with his knees up, scrolling through a tablet. His hair’s damp. His hoodie’s halfway zipped.

He looks up when you enter.

You blink. He looks away.

Sunghoon pats the seat beside him. “You looked exhausted earlier. Sit.”

You do. Your knees almost brush. It’s comfortable — not flirtatious, just soft. Familiar.

Jungwon doesn’t look at you again for five minutes.

But when you get up to grab a juice, you feel his eyes trace the hem of your skirt.

For a fraction of a second.

Like he hates himself for it.

The next morning — studio

You arrive early.

Not on purpose.

Maybe on purpose.

It’s empty. Cool. You stretch in silence, welcoming the calm before the fire. The mirrors catch your figure — curved into a backbend, legs trembling slightly with effort.

You hear the door open behind you. You don’t look. You feel him approach. The silence sharpens.

Then:

“You should hold that stretch.”

You glance over your shoulder.

Jungwon’s watching your pose — not with lust. With focus. Like your body is a puzzle he’s trying to solve.

You scoff. “Thanks for the unsolicited advice.”

He shrugs. “Your lines were collapsing yesterday.”

You frown. “That’s because someone kept yanking my hips off center.”

He steps closer.

Now he’s directly behind you.

Close enough that you can hear his breath.

He doesn’t touch you.

But he could.

“If I yanked,” he says slowly, “you’d be on the floor.”

Your lips twitch. “If I let you yank, you wouldn’t know what to do with me.”

That gets a reaction.

His exhale is sharp.

You straighten, turn.

His gaze drops to your throat for one second before locking on your eyes again.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he murmurs.

“I don’t need to. You’re doing enough of that for both of us.”

You walk away before he can reply.

But as you grab your water bottle, you catch his reflection in the mirror.

He’s still looking at you.

And for the first time, there’s something raw there.

Not lust.

Not love.

Just ache.

Unspoken.

Unbearable.

Unrealized.

Heeseung’s notes that evening

The rehearsal is over. Everyone’s packing up. You’re fixing your laces when Heeseung drops next to you on the floor, tablet in hand.

“You two are impossible,” he says.

You glance up. “Excuse me?”

He flips the tablet toward you.

It’s video footage. Of you and Jungwon from earlier in the week.

You brace yourself for something humiliating.

But it’s… beautiful.

The duet.

The way your hands find each other mid-pivot. The way your bodies fall into rhythm — not fighting, not battling, just breathing together.

It looks like you’re in love.

You feel heat rise to your ears.

“I’m cutting the other duets,” Heeseung says casually. “The showcase is going to be just you two.”

Your mouth opens. “That’s—”

“Deserved,” he finishes. “You don’t have to like him. You just have to keep dancing like your life depends on it.”

You nod, slowly.

Then you catch a glimpse of Jungwon, across the room.

He’s leaning against the wall, phone in hand — but he’s not typing.

He’s watching you.

Again.

And this time?

He doesn’t look away.

_________

You don’t remember the first moment you noticed it.

Not the rivalry — that was immediate. Loud. Declared.

But this?

The way he keeps adjusting you before the choreographer even speaks. The way he angles his body to block others from seeing you during water breaks. The way he exhales through his nose when Sunghoon touches you.

He doesn’t speak it. Of course not.

But it’s there.

Held still in the silence between notes.

Today, the studio feels electric — not because of anything said. Just what’s not.

You’re working on the final act of the solo showcase piece, and the ending is brutal. Close contact. Stillness on the floor. The two of you wrapped in each other, breath syncing, forehead to forehead for three counts before pulling apart like shrapnel.

Heeseung keeps pushing it.

“Not slow enough,” he calls from the soundboard. “I want stillness in the silence, not tension. Don’t just freeze — hold.”

You reset, teeth grinding.

When Jungwon lowers himself beside you in the floor sequence again, your backs barely brushing, he murmurs, “You keep flinching.”

You breathe out. “Maybe stop breathing like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re thinking too loud.”

He doesn’t answer. Just presses his palm to the floor beside yours. Doesn’t touch. But close.

The moment comes again. The one Heeseung keeps pausing for.

Forehead to forehead.

Your nose almost brushes his.

You hold.

He breathes out slowly.

“Hold still,” he whispers. Not a tease. Not a command. Just a quiet plea.

You don’t move.

You hold.

And when the music breaks and the choreography splits you apart again, you swear he hesitates — just half a second too long. Like he didn’t want to let go.

Later, in the practice lounge, Yunjin’s stretching her quads while ranting about her elective schedule.

“Why did I sign up for movement psychology? I can’t listen to some old man tell me I’m ‘projecting my fear of commitment through shoulder tension.’ Sir, I’m projecting because I’m constipated, leave me alone.”

You’re only half-listening, rolling your ankles out on the mat. Jungwon’s across the room, talking with Heeseung about spacing — you try not to glance over, but you fail. Twice.

Yunjin smirks. “You okay?”

“What?”

“You’re looking like you forgot to hate him.”

You throw a sock at her. “I still hate him.”

She grins wider. “Sure. Just hate him right in the face. Slowly. While dancing forehead to forehead. Like enemies do.”

“Yunjin.”

She taps her temple. “Listen, I’m just saying — hate sex starts with forehead choreography. It’s science.”

Sunghoon walks past right then, raising a brow. “Is this a normal conversation?”

“Nothing about them is normal,” Eunchae chirps from the side, eating a banana.

Sunghoon stops beside you, shifting his weight. “Your balance was better today.”

“Thanks.” You offer a small smile. “I’ve been drilling center isolations.”

He nods, then glances toward Jungwon.

“You’re still sharper than him at floorwork,” he says casually. “Don’t let him throw off your lines.”

You raise a brow. “He doesn’t throw off my lines.”

Sunghoon shrugs. “Maybe not the ones in your feet.”

There’s no bite in his voice, but it hangs in the air anyway.

Jungwon glances over.

He heard that.

His jaw tightens. Not visible to most. But you’re not most. You know him too well. His shoulders set a little too stiff. He presses his thumb to his temple like he’s pretending to massage tension — but it’s not stress. It’s control.

He doesn’t say anything.

But he doesn’t take his eyes off you for the next twenty minutes.

That evening, you’re alone in the studio.

Or you thought you were.

You’re slow-rehearsing the end phrase again, checking your reflection for alignment. The overhead lights flicker slightly as you lower into the final pose — knees bent, spine curved, chest barely grazing the floor.

When you rise again, you catch his reflection in the mirror.

Jungwon.

Leaning against the doorframe, hoodie up, arms crossed. Watching.

He doesn’t look surprised to be caught.

“Didn’t know you were here,” you say quietly.

“You knew.”

You blink.

“You leave the lights on when you want someone to walk in,” he adds. “And you always reset the mat before rehearsing this section.”

You stare at him through the mirror.

He doesn’t look smug. Doesn’t look sharp. Just… present.

“You missed your mark,” he murmurs after a beat. “The last count — you hesitated.”

You straighten. “Maybe I didn’t want to hit it without music.”

“Or maybe you didn’t want to finish it alone.”

You don’t move.

He steps forward, slowly, crossing the room until he’s behind you again. The same spot. Close enough to breathe. Close enough to touch.

He doesn’t.

He waits.

The silence grows.

“You can’t keep hovering like this,” you say finally.

He answers after a moment.

“I don’t know how else to be near you.”

That makes your throat tighten — not from emotion. From confusion. From want.

He doesn’t move closer. But he doesn’t step back.

“I think about it,” he admits. “What you feel like in this choreography. What it means to hold you there. I shouldn’t. But I do.”

You clench your jaw. Not because you’re angry.

Because he’s saying things you don’t know how to answer.

“You said I flinch,” you murmur. “Maybe I’m just trying not to want it.”

His breath hitches. Still, no touch. Still, no confession. Just held breath. Just heat. Just the ache of standing one breath apart.

“I should go,” he says softly.

You nod.

But he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t touch.

He just holds still — like the world might split open if he dares to do anything else.

And then, quietly — he turns and leaves.

The lights buzz.

The mirror flickers.

You stay standing there, hand pressed over the spot on your chest where his breath once was.

Still.

And burning.

________

It happens after rehearsal.

Not planned. Not intentional. Just one of those moments that stretches into something else before you realize it’s happening.

You’re both sore. The kind of sore that creeps up from the inside — joints aching, breath shallow, eyes too tired to focus. The music stopped twenty minutes ago, but neither of you moved. You’re sitting with your back against the mirror, legs stretched out. Jungwon’s across the room, spine against the bar, head tilted up like he’s waiting for the ceiling to say something.

The silence should be awkward.

It’s not.

It’s just quiet.

You sip the last of your lukewarm water and sigh. “You’re not leaving either?”

He glances at you. “Didn’t feel like it.”

“Same.”

The silence hums again.

Then he asks, “How long have you danced?”

You blink.

He’s never asked you that before.

“Since I was five,” you reply. “My mom put me in ballet because I had too much energy. I kept trying to run off stage, so she switched me to modern.”

He smiles — not wide, not teasing. Just a flicker of something soft.

“I started late,” he says. “Didn’t even try until middle school. Some kid at school said I was too short to play striker, so I signed up for the dance elective out of spite.”

You laugh — surprised. “That’s the most Jungwon reason I’ve ever heard.”

He shrugs. “I liked proving people wrong.”

You nod. “Still do.”

He doesn’t deny it.

You shift slightly, resting your arms on your knees. “Did you ever want to quit?”

“Every week,” he says, without missing a beat. “When I first started. I hated how bad I was. I’d watch the older dancers and feel like I was wasting everyone’s time. But then… something clicked.”

“What clicked?”

He’s quiet for a second. Then:

“I stopped trying to copy them. I started listening to my body instead.”

You tilt your head. “That sounds so… well-adjusted.”

He laughs under his breath. “I was still angry about it.”

You look at him.

He’s not looking at you anymore. Just staring straight ahead, arms draped over his knees. His voice lowers.

“But I think I needed something to be mine. You know?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

A pause.

Then you say it before you can overthink it:

“I didn’t like you at first.”

“I know,” he says easily.

You roll your eyes. “No, like — I really didn’t like you.”

“I really didn’t like you either,” he says, like it’s a confession and a compliment in one.

You glance over.

His mouth twitches.

You want to smile.

You want to ask — when did that change?

But instead, you say: “I thought you were cold. And arrogant. And kind of a dick.”

“Only kind of?” he muses.

You shake your head. “I thought you were trying to get in my head.”

He hums. “I was.”

Your eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs, unapologetic. “I knew you were better than everyone else. I just didn’t want you to know it yet.”

Something stutters in your chest.

You look down.

He doesn’t.

“I watched your first solo,” he says quietly. “From backstage. You were — raw. Like your body was telling a secret you didn’t mean to say out loud.”

You try to swallow. “Why are you telling me this now?”

He’s silent for a long moment.

Then, carefully:

“Because I think I stopped hating you a long time ago. I just didn’t want to admit what came next.”

You don’t respond.

You can’t.

Because you feel it now — the shift. The thing that’s been creeping between your ribs for weeks. The reason your breath catches when he lifts you. The reason your eyes find his in mirrors before they find your own.

It’s not just rivalry anymore.

It’s not just tension.

It’s something that wants.

Something that aches.

You look at him.

And he’s looking back.

There’s no smirk. No arrogance. Just an expression you’ve never seen from him before — like he’s hoping you’ll say something. Or dreading it.

You speak before you understand what you’re even saying.

“It scares me,” you whisper. “How easy it is. When we dance.”

He doesn’t blink.

He doesn’t breathe.

And then he says, softly:

“Yeah.”

That’s all.

Yeah.

But it’s enough.

Because you both know what that means.

The dance is no longer just a stage. It’s a confession. A boundary. A prayer.

You break the eye contact before it swallows you.

He shifts slightly, the hem of his hoodie brushing the floor. You think maybe he’s about to stand — to say goodbye, to leave before either of you makes this real.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans his head back against the wall again, eyes closing for just a second.

And then, without looking at you:

“I don’t want to fight with you forever.”

The silence buzzes.

Neither of you moves.

But for the first time in months, you feel your chest ease. Just a little. Like something inside you — something buried deep, something that always braced when he walked into a room — has finally exhaled.

“I don’t either,” you admit.

A long pause.

Then:

“Can I ask you something?” he says.

You nod, unsure.

His voice is quieter now. Almost… gentle.

“When I said hold still yesterday…”

Your breath stutters.

He continues.

“Did you think about it after?”

You don’t answer right away. But eventually — voice shaking:

“Yeah.”

He nods once.

“Me too.”

And then he stands. Grabs his bag. Pauses at the door. Looks back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You don’t say anything. You just watch him go. Still sitting. Still aching. Still holding.

________

You’re off-count.

It’s the first time in weeks.

The choreography isn’t even complicated today — just basic partner drills, focus on balance and timing. But your rhythm’s off. Your grip’s unsteady. Your eyes keep flicking to Jungwon for cues you don’t need.

And the worst part?

He notices.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Not when Heeseung corrects you. Not when Yunjin raises a brow from the side, sipping her coconut water like it’s spiked with gossip.

He waits until break.

You’re toweling off near the mirrors when he walks up behind you.

“You’re off.”

You inhale slowly. “I know.”

His voice is neutral. “What happened?”

You stiffen. “Why do you care?”

He blinks.

The air shifts.

You didn’t mean to snap — not really. But your chest is tight. Your thoughts are a mess. Everything’s been soft lately, and you don’t know how to stay sharp when his voice sounds like that. When his eyes hold like that. When you like it.

And you do.

That’s the problem.

Jungwon crosses his arms, still calm. “I care because it’s my routine too. If you drop a beat, I drop with you.”

Your jaw clenches. “I didn’t drop it on purpose.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“Then stop acting like I’m sabotaging it.”

He pauses.

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes — confusion, maybe. Or worse: hurt.

“I’m not,” he says quietly.

You look away.

You don’t know what you want from him. You just know your chest hurts. And your hands are shaking. And everything feels too close. Too warm.

He steps forward.

Not to corner. Not to intimidate.

Just closer.

The way he always does when he’s trying to read something off your face that you don’t want to show.

“You’ve been different since yesterday,” he says.

“I’m tired,” you lie.

“You’re scared.”

That makes you flinch.

He sees it.

Your voice is sharper than you intend. “Scared of what?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

His throat moves. His jaw tightens.

You hate how he always takes a second before speaking — like he wants to choose his words carefully.

Like what he says matters.

“Of what this is turning into,” he says finally.

You freeze.

That’s it, isn’t it?

Not rivalry. Not dance. Not ego.

This.

Whatever this is — the shift, the ache, the way you keep seeing each other even with your eyes closed.

You whisper, “You think I’m weak?”

His voice drops. “I think you’re trying too hard not to feel something.”

That’s what cracks it.

You turn to face him, eyes dark.

“Don’t do that.”

He doesn’t move. “Do what?”

“Talk like you know me.”

“I do know you.”

“You don’t,” you whisper.

“I do,” he says again, quiet but firm. “I know you rehearse longer than anyone else. I know you mark your own arms with chalk when you feel like you’re not hitting the lines right. I know you talk in your sleep sometimes when you nap backstage.”

Your breath stutters.

He steps closer again.

“I know you look at me when I’m not looking,” he says.

You don’t deny it.

And he’s so close now.

His voice softens, but the intensity behind it doesn’t waver.

“I know you felt it last night. When I said hold still. You did.”

You swallow hard.

He doesn’t touch you.

But his presence is a touch all on its own.

“I’m not scared,” you say, but your voice cracks.

He doesn’t mock you. Doesn’t even smile.

Just:

“Then why are you shaking?”

You hadn’t realized you were.

You don’t move.

Neither does he.

And then — without thinking — you take one step forward.

His breath catches.

He mirrors it.

Now your chests are nearly brushing.

The heat is unbearable. The silence even more so.

His eyes drop to your lips.

Once.

Then flick back up.

He doesn’t lean in.

Not all the way.

Just enough to make you feel it — the possibility.

His breath is warm when he speaks.

“Tell me to stop.”

You don’t.

You should.

But you don’t.

Your hand twitches. His does too. You swear he almost reaches for you — just to touch, to steady, to finally do something with all the ache between you.

But instead, you whisper:

“I can’t.”

His eyes close — like that word destroyed him.

When they open again, they’re darker. Calmer.

He steps back.

Barely.

Just far enough for the space to hurt again.

“Then I’ll stop for both of us,” he says softly.

And just like that — the moment breaks.

But it doesn’t die.

It just… holds still.

Waiting.

_________

Rehearsal ends later than usual.

Not because of mistakes.

Because neither of you wanted it to end.

The group had left hours ago — Heeseung, Yunjin, even Eunchae, whose FOMO had finally lost to her rumbling stomach. But you and Jungwon stayed. Practicing, polishing, marking the final contact points of your showcase duet.

And now?

Now the studio is quiet again.

But not still.

You’re both standing in the center of the room, dim overhead lights casting soft gold shadows across the polished wood. Your breath comes slow. Measured. But your hands keep twitching — unsure whether to stay clenched at your sides or reach out for something that isn’t choreographed.

Jungwon is staring at the floor between you.

Not moving.

Not speaking.

Until:

“Don’t go yet.”

You pause.

Your fingers curl slightly.

He looks up.

And that’s when you see it.

Not confidence. Not teasing. Not smugness or rivalry or control.

Just ache.

Naked.

Raw.

Honest.

Like something he’s been swallowing for months has finally clawed its way to the surface.

“I thought I could keep this professional,” he says softly. “But I can’t.”

You swallow.

“Jungwon…”

“I’ve been trying,” he says. “I really have. To stay focused. To be fair. To keep my hands where they’re supposed to be. But—”

He exhales.

“You keep looking at me like you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

Your heart thuds.

Hard.

“I do know,” you whisper.

His gaze lifts.

Sharp. Surprised. Hungry.

And gentle.

Something flickers behind his eyes — disbelief, almost. Like he didn’t expect you to say it. Like he’s been building a fortress around something that’s already been seen.

You step closer.

Slow.

Careful.

Not seductive.

Not manipulative.

Just honest.

“I think about you,” you admit, voice quiet. “Not just during practice. All the time. In ways I don’t even know how to explain.”

His chest rises.

Once.

Twice.

Like he’s afraid to breathe too loud or he’ll scare it all away.

You keep walking.

Now you’re right in front of him.

Your hand lifts — slow as breath — and settles just barely at the center of his chest. Over his heart.

It’s racing.

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” you say.

“I don’t either.”

Silence.

Then, he whispers:

“Can I touch you?”

You nod.

And that’s all it takes.

He lifts his hand, tentative, reverent, and cups your jaw like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His thumb brushes the edge of your cheekbone, and he exhales shakily — like just touching you is overwhelming.

You lean in.

So does he.

Your lips hover.

Just hover.

Not kissing. Not yet.

Just breathing each other in, foreheads brushing, noses ghosting.

Then, in a voice barely audible:

“I’ve wanted this so long,” he whispers. “I don’t know how to stop.”

You answer with your mouth.

The kiss starts soft.

Like a question.

Then another.

And another.

Until his hands are at your waist and yours are fisted in his hoodie, and your mouths are moving — slower, deeper, hungrier — but never rushed.

Never cruel.

It’s not frantic.

It’s just desperate in the way that says I need this.

Your back bumps the mirror and you don’t care.

His hands span your hips, your thighs, his breath catching when your leg curls slightly around him. Still fully clothed. Still controlled.

But barely.

He pulls back just an inch — enough to speak against your mouth.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

“I think I do.”

You kiss again.

Longer this time.

You taste his breath, his sigh, the low sound he makes when your hands slip under the hem of his shirt to feel the slope of his waist.

Still no rush.

Just want.

Stillness, tension, ache.

When you finally break apart — breathless, flushed, stunned — he presses his forehead to yours and closes his eyes.

“I need you,” he whispers.

And you believe him.

You need him too.

_____________

You’re still pressed against the mirror.

His mouth is swollen. His hands are warm.

But it’s his eyes that undo you.

He’s looking at you like you’re the first thing he’s ever really wanted.

Like he’s been waiting to starve for months just to earn this taste.

“You’re sure?” he breathes.

You nod. You don’t trust your voice.

He leans in again, but slower this time. More deliberate. The kiss is deeper now — not testing, not searching — taking. And giving. All at once. His tongue traces the seam of your lips before sliding in, warm and hungry and controlled.

Your back arches on instinct, pressing your chest against his. You feel the moment he groans — low in his throat — like the sound dragged itself out of him without permission.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he murmurs against your jaw, lips moving down, soft and open-mouthed along your throat. “You don’t even know.”

“I do now,” you whisper.

His hands slide under your thighs and lift — just enough to hoist you up against the mirror. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively. It’s not rough. It’s not rushed.

It’s needy.

“Fuck, you’re warm,” he mutters, pressing his hips against you. His voice breaks on the friction — even through both your clothes.

You gasp.

Your hands tangle in his hair.

He sucks a mark into your neck — just under the jawline, where only he will see — and then licks over it, gentle. Like he’s apologizing for ruining you.

“Let me taste more,” he says, voice low, breathless.

“Y-yeah.”

He drops to his knees.

Still fully dressed.

Still reverent.

But shaking now. Hands moving under your skirt, palms against your thighs, thumbs brushing up until his fingers are right there — over your soaked underwear.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, voice breaking. “You’re wet already?”

You nod, lips parted, legs open just enough to let him get closer.

“Fuck,” he says again, and you’ve never heard his voice like this — wrecked.

He presses a kiss over the fabric.

Then another.

Then he pulls the fabric aside.

“Hold still,” he whispers. You shudder.

His tongue licks a stripe up your slit and your head hits the mirror behind you.

He moans like he’s the one being touched.

You reach for his hair, one hand gripping the strands tight as he starts working — slow circles, then faster, tongue flattening, lips closing around your clit with a soft, wet suck that makes your thighs jerk around his head.

He hums.

“You’re perfect,” he mumbles. “So perfect. So soft. So—fuck—sweet.”

“Jungwon—”

You’re panting now.

Your hips start to rock.

His hands clamp down around your thighs to keep you still.

“I said hold still,” he says again, rougher now.

You whimper.

He eats like he’s memorizing you.

Spelling his name on your clit with his tongue. Kissing it like it deserves praise. Like you do.

When he slides two fingers into his mouth to wet them, you nearly come from the sight.

Then he pushes one inside you.

You moan — high and broken.

“Shh,” he soothes, still licking, still sucking. “I’ve got you.”

Another finger.

Your eyes roll back.

You grind down onto his mouth like you’ll die if you stop.

“God, you’re clenching so hard,” he gasps, pulling back just to watch for a second. “You’re gonna come, huh?”

You nod frantically.

“Come on my tongue,” he growls. “Let me taste all of it.”

And then he goes back in — devouring you like a man possessed, lips wet, chin soaked, fingers thrusting in and curling, hitting something devastating—

You come hard.

Harder than you’ve ever come.

You cry out, thighs locking around his head, shaking, nearly sliding down the mirror as your entire body pulses.

He doesn’t stop licking.

Doesn’t stop moaning either.

Not until your hands yank at his hair and your hips twitch in oversensitivity.

He pulls back slowly.

Face wrecked.

Eyes wild.

Mouth shining.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes. “You’re… addictive.”

You’re gasping.

Shaking.

Floating.

He kisses your inner thigh.

Then the other.

Then your knee.

Then stands again — gently pulling your leg back around his waist, holding you steady like you’re something precious.

Your lips part.

He leans in.

Kisses you slow.

And you taste yourself on his tongue.

___________

You’re still trembling.

Your back’s against the mirror, lips wet, legs slowly unlocking around his waist. Jungwon is panting, mouth flushed and swollen, his pupils blown wide like he’s drunk on you — like he can’t believe you let him touch you like that, taste you like that, see you like that.

And then?

You reach for him.

Fingers curling gently around the collar of his hoodie, tugging him forward until his forehead rests against yours. He exhales shakily.

“I’ve never wanted anything like I want you,” he whispers.

You kiss him — not rushed, not greedy. Just soft.

Slow.

Sweet.

He melts into it like it’s a confession.

And then you slide your hands down his chest.

He gasps — a soft, startled sound — when your palm traces over the front of his pants.

“Let me,” you whisper.

His eyes snap open. “Are you sure?”

You nod. “I want to.”

He hesitates.

Not because he doesn’t want it.

Because he’s trying not to fall apart too fast.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you say again, and then — voice gentler — “I need to.”

Something cracks in him at that.

He lets you push him gently back, guiding him down to the floor.

You straddle his lap, slow and steady, knees sinking into the warm wood of the studio. He’s shaking now. His hands hover at your waist like he doesn’t know what to do — like he’s never been touched like this before.

You take his hands. Place them on your thighs.

“Let me take care of you.”

He groans — head falling back for a moment — like just those words undid something deep in him.

You kiss his jaw.

Then his throat.

Then lower.

You press your mouth to the hollow at the base of his neck, and he makes a sound — half-whimper, half-growl — and his hands tighten on your legs.

“You’re wearing too much,” you murmur against his skin.

“Then take it off.”

Your fingers slide under the hem of his hoodie and tug. He lifts his arms — lets you pull it off — and then there he is.

Bare chest.

Lean muscle.

Warm skin.

Breathing hard.

You run your hands over his chest, thumbs grazing his ribs, his collarbones, the soft dip between them. He flinches — not from discomfort, but from how intimate it feels. His jaw clenches.

You lean in and kiss his sternum.

Then lower.

Then kiss right above the waistband of his pants.

His breath stutters.

“YN,” he whispers. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You smile.

Then you palm him — slow, warm, gentle pressure.

He bucks slightly.

“Oh, fuck.”

You stroke him through the fabric, slow at first, then firmer, dragging your hand along the length of him. He’s so hard. So sensitive. His hips keep twitching.

You kiss his neck again as your hand works him.

“You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he groans. “God, yes—don’t stop—please—”

You don’t.

You keep going.

Faster now.

He’s fully at your mercy and he knows it. He tips his head back and moans, eyes fluttering shut, and you swear you’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

You kiss the corner of his mouth.

“I want to see you fall apart.”

“I am,” he gasps. “Fuck—YN—I’m—”

And then you reach under the waistband.

Skin to skin.

You take him in your hand — warm, thick, leaking — and he shudders so hard he nearly comes right then.

“Oh my god,” he cries out, eyes blown, thighs trembling. “You can’t—fuck, you feel—”

“Let me finish you.”

He nods wildly.

So you do.

Your fist works him tight and slick, twisting just right, and you kiss his neck, his mouth, his shoulder, his jaw — everywhere.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” you whisper.

“I’ve never been like this,” he chokes. “I can’t—I’m gonna—”

And then he does.

He comes with a loud, broken moan, hips stuttering, hands fisting your thighs so tight they’ll bruise. His mouth falls open against your neck as he spills into your hand, panting, shaking, voice ruined.

You hold him through it.

Stroke him slow through the aftershocks.

And then kiss his temple.

He’s gasping.

Dizzy.

Destroyed.

And smiling.

“I think I blacked out.”

You laugh, breathless. “A little dramatic.”

He leans his forehead to yours again.

“Touch me again and I’ll propose.”

You kiss him soft.

Long.

Then lean back.

His hands settle around your waist. Gentle. Secure. Like he can’t believe you’re still here. Like he doesn’t want to let go.

“Come home with me?” he whispers.

You nod.

Because this wasn’t just need.

It never was.

____________

It’s after midnight when you leave the studio.

The streets are quiet. The city hushed beneath soft lights and cooling air. He offers you his jacket when you shiver, and you wear it even though you’re still burning underneath. His hand stays wrapped around yours — not tight, not possessive.

Just there.

Like he doesn’t want to let go.

Like if he does, he might wake up.

You arrive at his apartment — small, clean, lived-in. A framed dance photo on the wall. Cracked mug beside a stack of folded warmups. A blanket thrown half off the couch.

It smells like soft detergent and something sweet.

Like him.

“Make yourself at home,” he says softly, locking the door.

You slip off your shoes, and he tosses his keys on the counter before walking toward the kitchen. He pours two glasses of water. Passes one to you. His fingers brush yours.

For a while, neither of you say much.

You sit side by side on the couch, both of you barefoot, knees touching. The TV plays quietly in the background — a drama you’ve both seen before, muted characters moving across the screen while the room stays wrapped in stillness.

Eventually, he leans his head against the back of the couch.

Looks at you.

“You’re still glowing,” he whispers.

You blush. “You’re still staring.”

“I can’t help it.”

You glance at him.

He doesn’t look away.

“I need to say something,” he says quietly. “And I need you to just… let me.”

You nod.

“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” he starts. “Not just… this. Not just the way you look, or the way you move, or the way your skirt rides up when you stretch—”

You laugh softly. He smiles too.

“But everything,” he continues. “The way you walk into the studio like it’s a battlefield. The way you talk back to Heeseung like you’re not terrified of him. The way you don’t pretend to be soft. You are soft — but you don’t hide the sharp parts to make people more comfortable.”

Your breath catches.

He shifts closer.

“You’re the most intimidating person I’ve ever met. And also the most beautiful. And the most thoughtful. And the most frustrating. And the most real.”

You swallow.

Hard.

“And I tried not to want you,” he admits. “Because I thought if I did, I’d lose to you. Or maybe I was already losing. But I never stopped thinking about you. Every time we danced. Every time we argued. Every time you looked at me like I was the only thing in the room.”

You’re shaking now.

His hand reaches up to cup your jaw.

“You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

You let out a small, trembling breath.

He leans in. Kisses your forehead. Then your cheek.

Then your mouth — soft. Careful. Not claiming. Just offering.

You kiss him back. Slow. Sweet. Like saying yes.

He pulls away just enough to press his lips to your shoulder, his fingers tracing your arm gently, like he’s still learning how to be gentle with something he’s wanted so violently.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod.

“More than okay.”

You curl into his chest.

He wraps his arms around you, blanket half-draped over your legs, TV still playing low in the background.

For a while, he just holds you like that — like you’re something warm and whole. Like you’re home.

You fall asleep with his heartbeat under your cheek.

And when you wake, his hand is still holding yours.

___________

You wake first.

Still tangled in his hoodie, your leg draped over his, your face tucked against his chest. The room is barely lit — soft blue from the city outside painting the walls. Jungwon’s arms are still around you, his grip loose but present. Like he never stopped holding on, even in sleep.

When you shift slightly, he stirs.

“Mmh,” he mumbles. “Don’t move yet.”

You smile against his neck. “You’re awake.”

“Barely.”

But then his eyes flutter open.

And something changes.

He looks at you — slow, focused — like he’s remembering exactly what happened last night. His hand brushes along your thigh under the blanket, and his breathing starts to shift.

You’re still in his clothes. Still flushed from the night before. Still swollen from his mouth and fingers. And when you tilt your head and kiss his throat, slow and open-mouthed—

He groans.

Low.

Sharp.

Dangerous.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whispers.

You lick lightly over his collarbone. “You said that yesterday.”

“Yeah, and I meant it.”

He flips you.

One motion.

Now he’s hovering over you, knees between yours, hoodie riding up your thighs, his bare chest flushed and hard beneath the morning light.

“You wanna play sweet?” he asks, voice low and hoarse. “Or do you want what you’ve been teasing me about for weeks?”

You stare up at him.

Then?

You smile.

Tilt your chin.

Whisper: “Make me shut up.”

That’s it.

That breaks him.

His mouth crashes onto yours — rough, open, messy. His tongue pushes in with a growl and you moan, back arching off the bed, your hands clawing into his hair, his back, anything you can reach.

He grabs your wrists. Pins them.

Not hard.

But firm.

“You’ve been so mouthy,” he growls against your lips. “Every fucking rehearsal. Every time I touched you, I wanted to shove you down and shut you up.”

He lets go of one wrist — just to bring his fingers to your chin and grip.

“Tilt your head back.”

You do.

And then — with one hand still holding your jaw — he spits.

Right into your mouth.

You moan.

Loud.

And swallow it without flinching.

His pupils blow.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers. “You’re filthy.”

You smile through swollen lips. “Only for you.”

That’s when the first slap comes — light, across your cheek, the sound sharp but the sting delicious.

Your gasp stutters. Your eyes flutter.

“You like that?” he breathes.

You nod.

“Say it.”

“I like it.”

Another slap — just a little harder.

“I like it,” you pant. “I like when you—fuck—slap me—”

“You like being ruined,” he says, hand trailing down your chest, under the hoodie, grabbing your tit through your bra, mouth pressed to your ear. “You like being mine.”

You nod frantically.

Then he pulls back.

“Off.”

“What?”

“My hoodie,” he rasps. “Take it off. I want to see all the marks I’m about to give you.”

You sit up, pulling the fabric over your head, leaving only your bra and panties.

He whistles low.

“Fucking perfect,” he says. “Get on your knees.”

You obey instantly.

He kneels with you, grabs the back of your hair, and tilts your head up. His mouth attacks your neck — sucking, biting, licking — until he’s left a trail of wet, swollen bruises down the column of your throat.

“You’re mine,” he mutters into your skin. “You hear me?”

“Yes.”

“You walk into that studio next week and they’ll all know.”

He bites your shoulder. Hard.

You whimper.

His hand slides down between your legs — over your soaked panties — and he moans at the heat.

“You’re fucking dripping.”

Then he shoves your underwear to the side and plunges two fingers inside you without warning.

You nearly collapse.

“Fuck, Jungwon—”

He curls them.

Rhythm steady. Fast. Deep.

Then a third finger joins, and you scream into his chest.

“You’re taking it so well,” he groans. “So fucking tight—shit—I can feel you clenching. You gonna come already?”

You nod desperately.

“No,” he growls. “You hold it.”

“I can’t—”

“You will.”

He brings his other hand to your jaw again.

“Open.”

You do.

And he spits again — slow, filthy — right into your tongue.

Then he kisses you.

Hard.

All teeth and breath and filth.

“I’ve never wanted anyone like this,” he gasps. “I’ve never needed anyone like this—fuck, you feel so good—you make me fucking crazy—”

His fingers speed up. His palm smacks your clit.

You cry out.

He whispers:

“Come.”

You do.

So hard your vision whites out. You collapse into him, shaking. But he doesn’t let go.

He holds you. And then — so quiet it barely exists—

“I’m yours,” he says into your hair. “I’ve always been yours.”

You lift your face. Eyes watery. Lips parted. And that’s when he finally breaks.

“I love you,” he says again, wrecked against your skin. “I love you.”

You’re still shaking — from your orgasm, from his voice, from the way those three words land in your chest like a drop of honey hitting flame.

But you don’t hesitate. You lift your face. Cup his jaw.

And whisper, “I love you too.”

He freezes.

His breath catches. His mouth parts like he wants to say something — anything — but nothing comes out.

So you lean in. You kiss him instead. Long. Slow. Not rough this time. Just full. Like warmth. Like surrender.

Like everything you’ve both been trying not to feel finally reaching the surface at once.

When you pull away, his eyes are still wide.

You smile, breathless, arms draped around his shoulders, your legs still tangled with his on the floor.

Then — with a crooked grin — you tease:

“I didn’t know you could be that rough.”

His face flushes instantly. “I—”

You laugh. “No, I mean. You slapped me, spit in my mouth, told me I was yours—”

“You are,” he mutters.

You raise a brow. “Possessive.”

“Desperate,” he corrects. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that to you? The number of times I had to walk out of rehearsal because if I didn’t, I would’ve snapped?”

Your smile softens.

“And I still held back,” he adds, grinning now, cocky but flushed. “You have no idea.”

You scoff. “You finger fucked me until I forgot my own name, Jungwon. I think I do have some idea.”

He laughs — a real one, loud and unfiltered — and then pulls you against him again, wrapping his arms tight around your waist, burying his face into your shoulder.

You hum softly, stroking his hair. He’s so warm like this. So open. So yours.

“I’m serious though,” he murmurs into your skin. “I’ve wanted you since the beginning. And I’ll keep wanting you. Whether it’s soft or rough or somewhere in between. I want all of it. All of you.”

You nuzzle into his hair. “Then take it.”

“Only if you hold still”. _____________

THANK YOU FOR READING RAHHHHH

© si3rren 2025. all rights reserved.

[yuzujjn]

NO.1 PARTY ANTHEM ★ YANG JUNGWON

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋

❪ 𝗔𝗠𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗘 ❫ 、 downbad boyfriend!jungwon x fem!rea 7OOwc. fluff oneshot ✶ kissing skinship petnames ｡｡ 书

다니 ⦂ for my @bywons, a late birthday present, but love you so much ♡

YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE OUT THE DOOR BY NOW.

the party was already starting, and you two were definitely going to be late, but jungwon was standing in front of the goddamn mirror, all tall and fine and calm like you both weren't being timed by the ticking second hand of the hallway clock.

"baby," you mutter, brushing down the lapel of his blazer, "you said we had to leave at eight."

"we do," he says. his voice is relaxed. annoyingly so. like he isn't the reason you're still standing in your shared bedroom. his hands resting around on top of your hips.

you sigh. your hand go to the undone tie hanging loosely around his neck. "then why didn't you put this on earlier?"

he grins, dimples showing, "because i wanted you to do it." you look up at him with a deadpan stare. he doesn't flinch. he's just smiling at you like he doesn't have a care in the world. eyes soft, like he knows you're about to melt anyway.

and god. maybe you are. because his hair is parted perfectly, pushed off his forehead, revealing little features you probably memorized a thousand times over and over again. you look away before you forget how to function.

“come here,” you said, voice soft, hands reaching for the navy blue silk that rested against his crisp white shirt. he leans in closer without a word, gaze dropping to your hands as you start tying his tie, fingers brushing as you do. he doesn't move. you can feel the weight of his eyes on you.

"you're staring," you murmur

"can you blame me?" he whispers back.

you hands pause. your eyes slightly flick up to meet his. you shouldn't kiss him. not now. you have literally three minutes to leave if you want to make it on time. you're going to be late. you're going to be—

he leans in. and you sigh like you're giving up, like it's not even a question. your lips meet his in the softest, quickest kiss. just a little peck. no big deal.

one kiss.

that was all it was supposed to be.

his hands find your waist again, he chases your lips when you try to pull away.

"again," he breathes.

you blink. "jungwon-"

"please?" he sounds too sweet. so you kiss him again. longer this time. his fingers press gently. into your back. he smells like clean soap and a hint of cologne and something so him it makes your chest ache.

you try to pull back again. hint word: try

he exhales your name like it's a prayer. his thumb brushing your cheek. "one more, angel?"

you laugh under your breathe, lips brushing his. "you said that last time."

"this one doesn't count," he whispers, and his voice a little raspier now, like the kisses are unraveling him too. "that one didn't count either."

"baby, we're going to be late-"

"don't care."

your phone buzzes on the dresser. you ignore it.

"they're probably asking where we are."

"we're busy," he murmurs, kissing you again.

your hands slip up to the back of his neck, tilting your head ever so slightly as you melt into it. his kisses are warm and slow and addicting, each one soft and just a little desperate. like he doesn't want to stop. like he can't stop.

you should’ve been halfway to the party by now.

but you weren’t. you were in his arms, lips swollen and hearts racing, dress slightly rumpled and his tie now completely undone again. not that he cared. not that you cared.

you pull away for a breath.

"you look too good," he murmurs. "can't believe i'm suppose to share you with. a room full of people tonight."

you smile. "you look too good that i can't even think straight."

his lips finds yours again and you sigh into it, hands bunching into the fabric on his shoulders.

your phone buzzes again. he doesn't even flinch this time.

"just stay," he says, voice barely audible. "with me. right here."

"we're going to miss the party," you whisper back.

"so?" he kisses you again, softer. then slower. "it's not as important as this."

you don't argue. not when he's kissing you like this.. not when it feel like time's stopped around you.

you end up missing the party.

when you finally collapsed onto the couch, out of breath and laughing because god, that was insane—he just looked at you with that dazed smile and said, “worth it.”

yeah. it was worth it.

[heejunluvr]

ENHA REACTS TO YOU WEARING A BUNNY SUIT FOR THEM

↬ pairing: ot7!xreader

↬ summary: wearing a bunny suit in front of enha!members to see how they’d react.

↬ warnings: dom!enha, oral, pet names, no prep, no protection, p in v, m&f orgasm, creampie, nipple play, nipple sucking, doggystyle, cowgirl, pussy eating, squirting, overstimulation, choking, fingering.

↬ JUNGWON

“baby, you look so damn cute in that little bunny suit.” jungwon groans, his grip between threads of your hair tightening. his head lolling back lazily as he continues to moan for you. the latex bunny suit felt thick against your heat, you’re hand struggling to give yourself any pleasure through it as you choked on jungwon’s cock.

“mm, need me baby? cute little cunt’s aching for me down there?” jungwon had noticed, his eyes on yours as you opened them to look up at him through half lidded eyes. “y-yes…” you whimpered, a trail of spit following as you pulled off jungwon’s dick.

“get up here.” he said, helping you up onto his lap. you sat on his thigh. trying to make friction between your heat, the latex and jungwon’s thigh. “mm, baby. you’ve been good enough.” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and using his other hand to pull the latex covering your pussy to the side, pushing it out of the way.

“sit down on my cock baby, i’ll make you feel good too.” he says, laying back. his cock laying heavy against his chest, precum beading from the tip as he stares at you with that intoxicating seductive look. you whined softly, moving upwards and positioning yourself above his member. jungwon grabbed his cock, helping position himself between your folds which made you mewl above him.

“already so wet for me, my perfect girl.” he smiled, “go ahead, fuck yourself on my cock.” you slowly began to sit down on his dick as he helped push inside. every inch sending a burning sensation that turned to pure pleasure as you felt him all the way inside of you.

“fuck, you’re so tight for me.” he groaned, sending a loud slap to your ass. you moaned, frantically moving yourself up and down on his cock. “gonna make me cum already…” he grunted, grabbing your asscheeks and eagerly fucking into you, you couldn’t move anymore. your eyes felt like they were rolling into the back of your head from pleasure.

“j-jungwon g-gonna…”

“gonna cum baby? cum for me— right on my cock.” he pounded harder, staring at your bouncing tits as he pounded right into the spot that had you seeing stars. coming undone around him. “so fucking tight— i’m coming baby…” he winced, you squeezing him for everything he had. thick ropes of cum shooting deep inside you. you tiredly fell asleep on top of him, his hands running through your hair.

↬ HEESEUNG

“holy fuck, you look so good.” heeseung stared at you, admiring your figure in the latex bunny suit. it was everything he ever could’ve dreamt of. your cute face, the sexy little outfit. he needed to ruin you in every single way possible. “babe, come here.” he said, you approached him. sitting on his lap. “this is all for me— mm?”

“all for you hee.” you blushed, his hands couldn’t stop trailing your body. touching every bit of you at least more than twice. “look so cute like this.” he says, pulling one of the cups down that was covering your left breast. his mouth immediately lands on your nipple, the sensitive bud hardening in his mouth as you whine for him.

his free hand trails down to your pussy as he continues to suck on your nipple. his other hand rubbing your other nipple from underneath the latex. you squirm a little as he pulls the latex to the side, exposing your pussy to the cold air. his hand rubbing between your folds and soaking his digits in your wetness.

“so wet for me, gonna fuck you good.” he said, moving towards your lips and kissing you passionately before turning you around. “so pretty like this, such a cute ass.” he smirked, slapping it hard enough to make you jump. he stood up, rubbing his cock between your folds and teasing your clit.

“n-need you~” you whimpered, moving yourself against him. he chuckled, slapping his cock against your pussy. making you moan. “so needy for me, how bad do you want it princess?” he loved to tease you. make you beg. it was his favorite to watch you crumble underneath him from how badly you wanted him.

“s-so bad hee— need you to fuck me…” you swallowed, heeseung’s hand trailing down your body and meeting your throat. wrapping his hand around it. “how bad?” he said, you were going to go insane if you didn’t have his cock inside you right now. you whined again, “so so bad hee, please~” you moaned, “need you inside right now! need your cock to fill me up!” you called out, moving your hips up against him needily.

you didn’t need to ask twice. heeseung suddenly rammed deep inside you, you yelled out and whimpered softly. he pulled all the way out again before slamming his size back in. “s-so big~” you whined, you’re eyes filling with tears. “you wanted me baby, you always do.” heeseung said, using his grip around your throat and hips to pound into you. each thrust he stared at the way your ass bounced against his pelvis and stomach.

“heeseung~”

“gonna cum for your tight pussy already.” he said, you already we’re tightening around him. your pussy begging to milk him for everything he had. “i-i’m gonna—…” you whimpered, your body shaking as you came undone on his cock. “fuck yeah baby.” heeseung groaned, pounding into you even harder and faster than before. he squeezed both of your breasts. “i’m coming, y/n—… take my cum fuck!” you felt the warmth spill inside you in thick spurts. you moaned, your sweaty bodies against each others. as he stayed inside. kissing the back of your neck gently. “…love you pretty girl.”

↬ JAY

jay couldn’t help himself when he saw you walk into your bedroom with that bunny suit on. his hands all over you as the two of you made out, him overtop of you with his hands roaming every inch of you. caressing every part of your beautiful body that he loved. he slowly started to move downward, his hand pushing the latex covering your core to the side.

“j-jay~” you whimpered, his eyes fixated on yours. “let me make you feel good princess, looking all pretty for me.” he whispered, his mouth falling around your clit as he started to suck it. making your back arch and your nipples perk. “gonna fuck you after so you’ll squirt all over my cock.” he said, eagerly rubbing his fingers against your folds, getting them wet and starting to shove them inside of you slowly.

his fingers relentlessly pounding into you, his mouth sucking your clit and making it throb. you already felt yourself going over the edge. “j-jay i’m already—…” you whined, your back arching as you a warm liquid shot out from your folds. lay licked up every last drop, his lips wet as he teased your clit. “mm.. so fucking good for me.” “t-too much~” you whimpered, overstimulated.

“you can take me baby, i know you can.” he said, sitting upright and positioning himself between your soaked folds. he was already super hard from eating you out. he loved whenever you squirted on him, he felt like he could even cum just from seeing you squirt for him. he aligned himself, shoving inside slowly. inch by inch burning and making you cry out loudly.

“fuck.” jay groaned, starting at a slow pace. every thrust of his hips making you see stars. you already knew you were gonna squirt for him again soon enough. especially when he started rubbing your clit while he pounded into you. the slow pace so hard it was a good slow. “this body is all mine.” he said, quickly kissing your lips before he started to move faster than before, the quicker rhythm making the slapping sounds more lewd.

“jay i’m~”

“i know, you’re pussy’s tightening around me—fuck…” he knew your body all too well, his hands around your hips as he pounded into that spot that made you cry harder. you felt like the entire world stopped as you came undone around him, squeezing him hard and whining out loud. “jay~” you cried out, the liquid pooling underneath you and him in your bed.

“i’m coming, baby.” he winced, almost looking as if he was in pain as he spilled himself deep inside of you. “ah, fuck… so good.” he groaned. tip kissing your cervix as every last drop filled you up. the two of you sweaty and panting as he collapsed on top of you. his arms moved around you. “i love you y/n…” he panted softly, “i love you too, jay.” you smiled, catching your breath and relaxing your body underneath him.

↬ JAKE

“oh my god, you’re so fucking pretty.”

jake watched in awe as you stepped out of the bathroom with the bunny suit on. “shit, i’m so lucky… c’mere.” he said as you approached him, blushing like crazy while he sat you on his lap. admiring the sight in front of him. swallowing sharply before speaking again,

“how did i get so lucky hm?” he asked you, his hands wrapping around your waist. you leaned up towards him, jake didn’t hesitate and of course leaned down back towards you and kissed your lips. his body felt hot as he connected your lips, both pairs of lips overlapping against each other and kissing more faster by the second. his cock already hardened up underneath you.

“ahh, fuck. need to fuck you now. y’look too cute.” he whined, “can i just…” he slowly pushed the latex to the side of your heat, exposing you. “yeah, jus’ like that.” he looked back into your eyes. kissing you again. your exposed heat aching and grinding against his lap. “jake…” you whimpered, needing more already. you couldn’t possibly do any more foreplay with how horny you already were for him. but so was he.

“so needy for me mm? my princess.” he smiled, you pushed him backwards onto the bed. not wasting another moment, he moaned softly as you grabbed his cock, aligning the tip with your heated folds. “mm, baby. can’t wait to feel you—“

you started to stuff the tip inside of you, slowly sitting down on his cock. he let out a soft groan, grabbing your hips to guide you down until you were all the way stuffed by his cock. tip kissing your cervix as you moaned out for him, your hands on his shoulders to help balance yourself on him.

“shit, you’re so tight… ah, fuck…” he swallowed, head falling back. you smirked, starting to ride him slowly. letting out little moans as his breath faltered. his hands moved from your hips down to your ass, squeezing it between his fingers as he helped guide you down his length. every drag of his cock inside of your walls had you gushing on his cock, it was driving him insane. “s’ good fuck… you’re pussy’s creaming all over me.”

your breathing trembled, your eyes rolling back as you fucked yourself on his dick. him assisting you by helping you bounce up and down. it was so lewd, you were so wet for him. no lube needed. he was pussy drunk, hands squishing your ass, stomach flexing with every thrust. he definitely wasn’t going to last much longer, not with you looking like this.

“jakey, i’m—“ you cried out, he felt your walls tightening around him, making him groan out in pleasure. “fuck… mm— me too, let’s come together.” he moaned, your lower stomach tightening at his words as you nodded at him. each thrust had you tightening more and more around him, until,

“fuck! jakey!” you cried out, coming undone around him. the pulsing and tightening of your pussy had him seeing stars, his own orgasm approaching soon after. “fuck… babe your milking me…” he panted, still coming thick ropes deep inside of you as he spoke. probably the best orgasm of his life. the two of you lay there, all fucked out. and then he kisses your forehead.

“i love you, sweetheart.” he says. “love you too, jakey.”

↬ SUNGHOON

sunghoon wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about you dressing up for him that night, until you stepped out of the restroom. his eyes immediately wandered off to your body, blood rushing to his cock. he wanted you, needed to own you — knew you were his.

“come here.” he demanded, you approached him. his eyes looking you up and down again, just taking in the sight. “d-do you like it?” you asked, his breath hitched. he was silent for a moment.

“do i like it? — fuck yeah i like it.” he squished your breasts in his hands, making you whimper. “what am i gonna do with you?” he stared, thinking of what he wanted to do next. his hands pulling down the cups of latex holding your breasts, revealing them to him. just how he liked it.

“mm, hoonie~” you whined, he’d already turned you around. staring at your ass, squishing it with his other hand while the other groped at your breast. he pushed the latex covering your core to the side, licking his lips and dragging his hand through the threads of his hair. staring at the sight of your body he was about to ruin.

“mm, good girl. let me fuck you like this.” he bent you over, sending a sharp smack to your ass that made you cry out. “now sit down on my cock, pretty.” he spoke, your face hot as you looked down, aligning his cock up against your folds as he sat behind you.

slowly sinking on his cock, not hesitating. he groaned out loudly, hands guiding your hips all the way down. making sure he was completely inside you. balls against your pelvis and cervix being kissed by the tip of his cock. his head tilted backwards as you squeezed around him.

“mm, fuck. good girl. just like that.” he moved you along his cock, dragging you up and down. your eyes rolled back, each thrust of his huge dick had you almost crying. tears filling your eyes, pussy clenching around him tightly. god he didn’t think he could take it for too long, something about you in this outfit was driving him insane.

“hoonie!” you moaned out, panting and sweating over top of him. he smacked your ass, then put his hands behind his head, just watching the way you bounced on it.

“ahh— fuck.” he cursed, cock twitching inside of you. indicating that he wasn’t going to last much longer, which meant you were doing it right. you rode faster, your pussy clenching tighter as you felt yourself reaching your own high.

“g-gonna cum…” you whined, he sent another loud smack to your ass, making you moan out and whimper. “fuck, come for me princess.” he said, you practically strangled his dick at that moment, he felt it all. squeezing your hips and bucking his hips up faster inside you.

“coming!” you cried out, your pussy suffocating his cock between your walls and squirting around his dick. he groaned, “fuck— good girl. gonna cum princess, take it all.” he demanded.

he thrusted a few more times through your orgasm, his breath caught as he started to cum inside of you. groaning loudly as thick spurts painting your insides. he made sure you felt all of it, and took all of it. before slowly pulling your hips off of him, watching the cum spill onto his dick from your swollen pussy.

“fuck yeah… all mine.” he smirked.

↬ SUNOO

sunoo blushed at the sight of you in the latex bunny suit, bunny ears and all. you sat beside him, his eyes trailing your body up and down with a noticeably huge tent in his pants. you smiled at him, leaning forward to attach your lips together.

he kissed you passionately, his hands on your neck as you grabbed the bulge in his pants, making him whine against your lips and buck his hips up instinctively. he pulled down his pants and boxers, along with his shirt. all the while he continued to kiss you as much as you could.

“mm, baby… you look too good.” he admired your features again, his breath hitched as you took his cock in your hand again. stroking him, making his head tilt back against the headboard. you blushed, feeling soaked in the latex of the bunny suit. he crawled over top of you, stroking your hair gently. spreading your legs around him.

you whined as sunoo felt your heat through the latex, bucking your hips up needing more. he chuckled softly, pushing the latex to the side and rubbing your clit with his fingers. you moaned out loudly, pleasure shooting through your body as you tilted your head back.

“mm, no…” sunoo used his other hand to lift your head back up, staring at you. “wan’t to see your pretty face.” he purred, your body shuddered. your eyes focused on his. this side of sunoo always killed you. his fingers pushed inside you, making sure you were ready to take him, and of course you were.

“ahh, sunoo~” with a satisfied smirk, he pulled his fingers from your warmth. licking your essence off his fingers while looking you deep in the eyes, you panted softly. sunoo already aligning himself with your entrance, pushing against it teasingly while his hand trailed your body.

your pussy ached from being empty, your hips bucking to meet his thrusts against your folds again. “needy, aren’t you?” he cooed, both his hands now gripping onto your thighs. without any hands, he slowly pushed the tip inside of your pussy. staring down at you, watching your whines and squirms as he teased you.

pushing inside agonizingly slow, you cried out, his cock filling you all the way to your cervix. you whimpered, eyes rolling back, toes curling. he squeezed your thighs harder, smiling down at you like you were a princess.

“ahh — fuck…” he bit down on his bottom lip from the stretch around him, your gummy walls clenching around him tightly. “good girl, take it.” he moaned softly, you cried out with him. his hips dragged along with every thrust, each snap of his hips getting faster and faster and driving you insane. you could feel yourself reaching your high by the second.

“i can feel you tightening around me, cum on my dick. it’s okay~” he purred, each sloppy thrust making you whimper. until you finally felt the heat inside you burst, spilling all over his cock. his hands squeezed around your thighs tighter, “mmh, just like that baby…”

and then finally he started to reach his high, panting softly and staring into your eyes. “g-gonna cum pretty…” he swallowed, feeling how suffocatingly tight you were around his cock from coming. with a few more thrusts, he spilt all his cum inside you. every last drop. before falling onto your body.

“love you, baby.” sunoo smiled, caressing strands of your hair as he laid against you. “i love you too, sunoo.” you smiled, catching your breath.

↬ RIKI

you put on this bunny suit tonight to try and get riki’s attention, and god did it work. his eyes were on you, your heart pounding as he approached you. no clear expression on his face, but you could tell he wanted you. his lips parting, his eyes trailing every inch of your body that was so exposed to him.

“wh-what do you think?” you asked nervously, he put his hands around your hips, just feeling you up a bit. his eyes focused on the way your body looked in the latex bunny suit. before he finally spoke,

“perfect…” he said softly, his low deep voice sent shivers down your spine as he admired you. you bit down on your bottom lip, his eyes looked down into yours. then you both leaned in, riki’s hand pushing through the threads of your hair as he kissed you, tasted your lips. his other hand was lifting up your leg against the wall, making sure you felt how hard he was through his sweatpants.

you whined out, your lips still moving in sync. he then pushed the latex covering your heat to the side, the cold air hitting it had you whimpering softly. he admired you in a way nobody else could, looking at you like you were treasure. he knelt down, still holding one of your legs up as he licked a line up your folds. you moaned out, squirming the upper half of your body.

tongue fucking your cunt, his fingers rubbed circles on your clit. making your hips move into his mouth, your eyes rolling back. you moaned and whimpered, which only made him love it even more.

“mmh, riki!” you cried, and of course you knew he wouldn’t let up until you were coming on his face and on his mouth. always so eager to make you feel good, to see your expression while you came undone for him. a low groan from him sent vibrations to your heat, you moaned louder. your hand pushing through his hair.

“cum for me baby.” his voice vibrated against your folds, that was all you needed. your pussy was gushing and squirting for him, he licked it up like it was juice. his mouth wet, your pussy soaked. your chest heaved up and down in pure ecstasy.

you saw how hard he was as he stood up, not wasting any time. stripping himself of his pants, boxers and t-shirt. he aligned himself with your gushing entrance, pushing the tip against your folds before pushing inside slowly.

“ahh, fuck…” he said slowly, his low voice sending shivers down your spine and warming up your lower stomach as he pushed all the way inside. cock kissing your cervix as he connected your lips again, when he pulled away he spoke, “you’re so fucking tight…”

he started to move his hips along slowly, just feeling your walls clenching around him. making him groan with every few thrusts, he started moving faster, making you cry and your stomach clench. his hand reached down, his thumb rubbing your clit in circles making your legs tremble.

“r-riki gonna…” you moaned, riki smirked. going faster than before, making sure to drag along the spot that drove you insane. and then you came undone, all over him. spilling all around his cock and leaving a ring of cream around him. making him fuck you faster. you were moaning, you saw stars, your legs felt weak at this point as he fucked into you.

“g-gonna cum…” he spoke, your cunt choking his cock and making him groan out in pleasure. “n-need it riki…” with the last few snap of his hips, he was coming inside you. giving you every last drop. his hand squeezing your thigh and the other on your face. you both panted, chests heaving up and down.

“this is all mine.” he said, sending a smack to your ass that made you whine before setting your leg down. his arms wrapping around you to hug you tightly. “let’s take a nap, pretty.”

[82sim]

ATTRACTION THEORY ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ 𓂃

𓂃 downbad!jungwon x f!tutor ─── genre ⸝⸝ fluff

LOVE CLUB ⁀➷ ✦ elis note ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ty to annonie who requested this i hope u like it!!

[tttabii]

— 엔하이픈 killin' it girl ; enhypen “oh, I wanna get with you in the worst way.”

pairing 𝜗ৎ enhypen ot7 x reader , genre: fluff, suggestive, downbad enha. idol and non-idol au for different members. word count: 4867 words

HEESEUNG 𝜗ৎ

You were so unnaturally attractive—not hard to miss, you were so reserved, elegant and effortlessly put together. You were the kind of girl that didn't need to try and contended powerful presence.

Of course, that made you dangerous. Even within your little group of gorgeous girls, you were the one they wanted to keep them a distance from you—whispering about "her," because you have it all, or she has the total package, brains, beauty, and probably a last name associated with old-money too. Everyone had their eye on you. Every dude wanted you.

But Heeseung?

He wasn't admiring you away. He observed you.

And he wanted more than just another "someone's girl" title—he wanted to be deserving of you.That is how he ended up in the fucking infirmary.

Beaten and bruised with split lips from a fight he may or may not have started after overhearing a group of idiots talking reckless about you. Sure, it feels great to get bruised up over.

They weren't even worth the bruises he took but the bunch of guys who taunted you with his name? The fire burning in his gut? He couldn't let it slide.

So here he was, sitting on a cold cot in the infirmary, smelling like sweat, blood, and smoke with his white shirt stained pink near the collar—his red-dyed hair stuck to his forehead.

What he didn't expect was for you to walk in.

"You're the nurse on duty?" he asked you, blinking up at you like you weren't real.

You hesitated. "I'm not a nurse," you said bluntly. "I'm in a program. I assist. It's my rotation today."

Heeseung was grinning. "Well, lucky me."

You didn't indulge in his flirting. At least, not yet. Your fingers were soft but firm as you dabbed a cloth along the cut on his cheek. His eyes followed the subtle furrow of your brow, how you nibbled on the inside of your cheek when you focused. The room smelled of antiseptic and your perfume—sweet, airy, far too expensive for a university campus.

"What happened?" you asked finally, wiping gently under his jaw.

He shrugged and bit back a hiss as your fingers ran over a particularly tender spot. "Just needed to put someone in their place."

"With violence?" you raised a brow. "Seriously?"

"Only for a good reason." His eyes found yours. "Some guys were talking shit about a girl I know. Figured I would handle it."

You stilled. "...A girl?"

He gave you that signature smirk again—slow, confident, cocky as hell. "Yeah. Girl like you doesn't deserve to have her name in the mouth of other people's mouths."

You blinked and for a split second, Heeseung was sure he saw the cool ignited, calm mask slip. Just a flicker. That's all he needed.

"Shirt up," you said quietly, reaching for the roll of bandages.

He didn't hesitate a fraction of a second. He tugged the hem upwards and over his head, tossing it to the side. His torso was lean, sculpted—defined in all the places that made it difficult for you to look at him in the eye. You coughed, clearing your throat and shifting back into doctor mode.

"I heard you're cold," he said lightly, watching you apply the gauze to his ribs. "Pretty hard to believe that now."

"They don't know me," you stated, zoning in on the bandage. "I just keep my circle small."

"Mmm," he hummed, his voice deep, teasing. "Guess I'll have to earn my way in then."

You tried not to smile. Failed slightly. "What makes you think I would even consider?"

He leaned slightly closer; his tone deepened just enough to rattle your pulse.

"Cause baby, I let you touch me before anyone else did."

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat on your cheeks.

Heeseung was trouble. But you didn't mind.

JAY ⭒

The first thing Jay saw was not the designer dress molding to your body nor the way your heels lightly clicked against the ballroom's marble floor.

It was how you maneuvered through crowds like you owed no one anything.

Not your time.

Not your money.

Not even your smile.

And God, that alone was dangerous.

He had heard of you already, many times actually. His mom had brought up your name at dinner, your brother had named dropped him while playing a round of golf, and your best friend Ni-ki wouldn't stop talking about how unbelievable your design portfolio was.

Jay even had a tour of your house more than once, always seeing your framed photos from when you were a kid while he waited for your brother, intrigued by the girl in the photos who was always too busy to be home.

Now he understood.

You were too busy building your name to waste your time at parties like these. But here you were tonight—gala-ready and glowing, the edge of your lip gloss shining under the chandelier light, wine glass in hand like a damn Monet painting brought to life. 

Jay was familiar with what people thought when they saw him: the rich heir with the polished suit, coded to be a husband to a fault. Cook, clean, has a driver. He could probably iron a blouse better than most maids, and he didn't mind playing house, if it meant being with someone who was earning their right to a seat at the table.

Someone who didn't need him, but might want him anyway.

Someone like you.

His eyes flicked over the girls around him—names he couldn't place, perfume too overpowering, engagement more stale than champagne left out too long. He was polite, he always was, but he was not focused on them.

He was already moving across the room, tracking your figure as you strolled out of the powder room, brows unknotted, gaze somewhere else entirely, the aura of "unbothered" radiating off of you even from this far off. Until you looked up.

"Hi," Jay said, slipping away from the group smoothly, as if it were the most normal thing to do.

Your eyes landed on him, mildly curious. "Ah, hi. How can I help you?"

Polite. Warm but guarded.

You weren't new to this dance. 

Jay offered a small smile, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding his drink. "I figured now was a good time to introduce myself. I've heard your name so many time it felt rude not to say hello in person."

You blinked. "Let me guess. My brother."

"Your brother. My mother. Ni-ki." He chuckled softly. "You"ve got fans in every generation."

A soft huff left your nose, almost a laugh. "That sounds like exaggeration."

"No, that sounds like someone who's killing it quietly," he said, voice low and smooth, "while everyone else is too loud trying to keep up."

You blinked again. Okay. That wasn't corny.

That was... impressive.

Still, you tilted your head slightly, with your lips curved in the smallest of amused smirks. "So, is that your opening line? Flatter me 'til I fold?"

"I don't need you to fold." His gaze remained steady. "I just want to talk to you. Even if it's just about fashion."

That made your brow raise. "Ni-ki told you?"

Jay nodded. "And also, I once saw your sketches. At your house. I couldn't stop staring."

You took a sip of your wine, masking the brief flicker of surprise in your eyes. "Oh. You hang out with my brother."

"I hang out with a lot of people," he said, taking a half-step closer, enough for you to catch a whiff of his cologne, which smelled warm, clean, and a little like cedar and citrus. "But I talk to very few. And I flirt with even fewer."

"And I'm supposed to feel honored?"

"You're supposed to tell me if I should stop."

Your silence was answer enough.

Jay smirked, subtly confident. He didn't press any more than that. Instead, he lifted his glass a little bit.

"To your success," he said simply. "Not the type of success haggled an amount. The type of success earned."

Your lip twitched, an almost-whole smile threatening to curl the corners. For a moment, you hated how flustered that made you feel.

But you hid it well.

And Jay noticed.

He also noticed that this would not be a one-night impression.

He was not going to fumble this.

Not with a girl like you.

Not with a girl like you, killing it without even trying.

JAKE ꕤ

From the first step onto the set, Jake could tell he was screwed.

He'd seen you perform before, of course—how could he not? You were everywhere. Your name was always trending for whatever reason: whether it was a new R&B track being released, a Vogue photoshoot, or just because someone had a half-hearted attempt to drag you online, and it was shut down with receipts and fan edits that could make gods cry.

You weren't an idol.

You were the idol.

A soloist who could be in a group of others and get along with everyone effortlessly, would never back down from a challenge, and had a smile that was just pretty, professional, and mysterious enough to keep people intrigued.

You weren't marketed the same, while your company lets you be you, and it shows.

And maybe that's why other idols were envious, because even in group of 10, you somehow seemed to shine a little brighter.

Jake had always been a fan of you. He didn't say it out loud too often—only Jay knew, and that was because he caught Jake watching one of your live performances backstage during their comeback prep.

He didn't even play it cool, just nodded and muttered, "Yeah... she's crazy talented," before getting flamed by Sunghoon for zoning out again.

But now? Now you were here. In the flesh. Sitting beside him in a slick black dress that was classy, classy-looking and fit you way too good. Your make-up looked cuter than you usually do—something sweeter, younger. He didn't realize how much that would mess with his heart till you sat beside him and he nearly hand dropped his water bottle.

You weren't even trying.

And you were absolutely killing it.

"Are your hands shaking?" the host said suddenly, with an amused look at Jake.

He laughed, faking calmness. "No, no. Not nervous."

You chuckled quietly, voice like sugar and silk, tilting your head into him. "I am," you said, brushing a hand through your hair. "I rarely get nervous on set."

He didn't do anything.

He didn't respond immediately—he was too distracted by how you delivered that with such sincere charm.

You were perhaps the most unbothered person he'd seen on a screen, but this right here, with your fingers fiddling and your eyes flitting to the floor every couple of seconds, would tell him this wasn't an act. This was you.

And, god, it made you even more beautiful.

The segment began not long after. The host clapped his hands and beamed at the two of you. "Alright, you're going to cook something together—and we'll get the judges to taste it at the end. Let's see if the visuals can cook too."

You wore your apron wrong, had the strings knotted like a pretzel, and your first confession on camera was, "I'm kinda terrible at cooking."

Jake laughed. "Then we're doomed."

There was a sense that you were now just fully here, and flesh-and-blood rather than screens.He helped to fix your apron, and then he took the bowl as you chopped vegetables—at least attempted to. Jake flinched on instinct at how you were holding that knife.

"Wait-" He stepped in closer, hands softly altering the hold your fingers had on the knife. "Like this. Your thumb here. You're gonna cut yourself that way."

Your eyes flitted to his, and something about the way you looked away too soon made his heart skip again. You mumbled a soft thank you and resumed cutting, a little more slowly and a little more carefully.

It was easy after that.

The laughter came effortlessly. You teased him when he spilled something, and he joked about your improper carrot slices.

You learned about Layla—his golden retriever—and how he genuinely thought Layla could tell who was pretty based on who she barked at. You told him about how your mom is allergic to dogs so you were never able to have one, and he promised to send you Layla pictures.

"Maybe Layla can come visit your company," he said with a grin. "She loves soloists in black dresses."

You tried not to laugh. You failed.

The dish actually turned out pretty good, surprisingly good according to the host. Jake was shocked. You high-fived, your hands not wanting to separate after holding for a beat too long.

Even after the segment ended, you had a hard time not sneaking glances at him. You didn't think the cameras caught it, but they probably did. Jake had the eyes of a hawk—and you took note when you thought he missed how your fingers trembled a bit whenever he leaned too close or laughed too loud.

He wouldn't sit here and deny that you weren't his type. Not only because you were breathtaking, or because your voice gave him chills. It was how you brushed off hate with a tired smile, how you corrected rumors by just being real, and how—even with a powerful name behind you—you worked twice as hard just to prove you could stand on your own.

Sure, he had seen all kinds of idols come and go in this industry.

But nothing like you.

Jake wasn't a guy who flirted with everyone. But you?

He was halfway there already.

And now that he had finally met you, heard your laugh, listened to you sing alongside him, it was no longer admiration.

It was deeper and he wasn't letting it go ever.

SUNGHOON ꪆৎ

The first thing Sunghoon noticed wasn't your skating.

It was the song blaring through the speakers at the ice rink—PartyNextDoor at 9 a.m. It was like the playlist didn't know figure skating was supposed to be all waltzes, pretty violins, and orchestral swells. But here you were skating like silk over ice, gliding while a sultry beat bounced off the walls.

You skated like you owned the rink.

Like you invented the sport.

Maybe you did.

Every guy you'd ever paired with seemed to fall hard for you—on and off the rink. Sunghoon had seen the viral videos. One guy looked like he was about to propose mid-interview the way he watched you giggle and casually praise his technique like it didn't just melt his brain.

Now, it was his turn.

When his coach told him he'd be doing a duet routine with you, he hadn't slept the entire night. You weren't just the It-Girl of Figure Skating. You were dangerous. Pretty, polite, scarily dedicated, and all said to break hearts without even trying.

You never dated your partners, but you definitely had left an impression. 

And now that he was watching you warm up, skating to a heavy bassline in nothing but leggings, a zip-up hoodie, and a tiny pair of pearl earrings, he suddenly understood every guy who fumbled after working with you.

You weren't even trying, and he was already choking.

You had spotted him at the entrance after a quick spin, the music still vibrating softly around you as you halted gracefully and grabbed your bottle. The playlist switched mid-song, and you winced slightly.

"Ah... didn't think anyone would hear that," you said, your cheeks were rosy by the time you stepped off the ice and hit pause on your phone. "Should have gone with my 'main character' playlist instead."

Sunghoon made an awkward laugh, he couldn't help it. "It's no problem, that song kind of goes hard."

You raised a brow with curiosity. "Oh? Didn't peg you as the type."

"Didn't peg you as the type either," he admitted.

You smiled brightly. "Guess we're full of surprises then."

You casually extended your hand, the vapor from your hot thermal bottle still slinking between you.

"You must be... Sunghoon?"

"Y-yeah," he nodded as he grabbed at your hand, ignoring how soft your fingers felt against his calloused palm.

"Don't be nervous. I promise working with me is really relaxing."

He wanted to laugh at the statement. Relaxing? his heart was racing like he had just completed five fast laps.

But you were right.

The next few hours proved just that. You moved with him like you'd been skating together for months. Your hand in his was steady. When you had to grip his shoulders for the lifts, there was zero hesitation.

Like you trusted him already. And for someone like Sunghoon—who was used to cold partnerships and mechanical routines—you were like sunlight filtering into a snow globe.

You didn't act as if you were superior to him, even if you technically were. He had seen your medals. So had the whole rink.

You were just... real. Confident with no effort. Joking between breaks. Always checking your setlist. Always moving.

And when you leaned over, hair tied into a lazy bun, taking a sip of your lukewarm tea, Sunghoon simply could not look away.

"I saw those interviews, you know?" he said during a water break. He tapped the bottle in his hand. "With your old partners."

You looked at him, amusement in your expression. "Let me guess. You think I'm secretly evil."

He flushed. "No-! I just—They all looked like they were in love with you."

You shrugged, little indicating it mattered. "I can't help it if I'm good at chemistry."

"You mean skating chemistry?"

"Mm," you smirked. "Both."

Oh, damn.

Sunghoon was pretty certain the air cooled. Or turned hot. Essentially he had no idea. All he did know was you just smiled at him like you hadn' realized he was barely holding it together.

And when you slid to fit closer together during practice, your hand coming to rest on his ribs, breathless from the last spin, you looked up at him, slightly pink from the cold—

"You're not bad at this Park Sunghoon," you said, smiling. "I might keep you."

You weren't even flirting.

That was the problem.

You were just being you. Effortlessly that girl—looking fine with no makeup, in your bag, with a goal and no distractions. And still, somehow, he was the one getting distracted.

Sunghoon might've come to Chongqing for gold.

But now he had a real problem:

He wanted you, too.

Bad.

SUNOO .☘︎ ݁

You've worked with a lot of idols—a lot of them. Some were bold enough to flirt between foundation pats and eyebrow trims, offering you drinks, late-night convenience store snacks, and even designer lip glosses "you should try for yourself."

But you weren't stupid. You liked your job, your career, your freedom.

You weren't going to jeopardize all that just because a famous person winked at you and told you your eyeliner technique was "sexy."

You always kept it professional.

Until Kim Sunoo.

When you first met him, it was a quick schedule—nothing fancy, just a light press event, a soft base look with healthy blush and gradient lips. You had seen his face online but in real life?

That fox-like smile could melt empires.

He greeted you with that sunshine-in-human-form smile, huge sparkly eyes and a gentle "Hi, thank you for taking care of me," and he meant it.

It wasn't idol politeness. He said it like he had waited all morning to meet you.

"We're gonna make you glow," you said as you clicked open your cushion compact.

"You're already glowing though," he replied instantly, then tilted his head like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You paused, brush in hand.

"Don't hit on your makeup artist," you muttered under your breath.

"I'm just being honest," he smiled, eyes steady on yours in the mirror.

Professional. You're being professional. You told yourself all of this as you blended his base with the lightest of taps, trying to concentrate on his angular cheekbones, not the way he watched you like you were painting a masterpiece, not just putting skin tint on his pretty face.

At some point mid-makeup session, he reached into the snack pouch next to him and pulled out a small mochi.

You didn't think anything of it—until he suddenly held it up to your lips.

"Open," he said in a tone that led you to believe you were a puppy and he was asking you to sit.

"What the hell are you doing?" you blinked.

"Feeding my artist," he grinned. "You haven't eaten, have you?"

You were staring at the mochi. Then back at him. Then back at it.

"...Just one bite," you mumbled, quickly taking it in before anyone passed by the open makeup room door.

It was warm. Chewy. Strawberry.

"I knew you'd love strawberry," he whispered, like he had been researching your preferences for years.

From that day onward, Sunoo found a way into your schedule every time. "Coincidence," he would say innocently, "I guess we're destined."

He brought food for you. Brought bubble tea with your name scrawled on the cup in black sharpie. Knew your favorite blush. Noticed when your hair was different.

"You make all the idols look irresistible," he said once you were dusting highlighter on his nose bridge while he tilted his chin up and threw you a look. "But I bet I'm your favorite canvas."

"Don't get cocky."

"But I am, right?" he laughed, looking amiss in the mirror with his eyes half-lidded. "You give me extra attention every time."

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you.

This was definitely not like the others.

And when your hands brushed a little longer against his jaw, or when he caught your reflection smiling at something he said—

You were starting to think you might be in trouble.

The kind of trouble that came with strawberry mochi, stolen glances, and Kim Sunoo.

JUNGWON ʚɞ

Jungwon had a huge celebrity crush on you.

Everyone knew this. His members, his fans, and the staff. There were hundreds of clips of him on the internet giggling at the scenes from your popular K-drama—the one with the unspeakable romance that made his ears turn red every time he watched it—and leaning over to quietly mumble "She's just so talented" or "She did that scene so well," like no one would suspect what he was really thinking about in those moments, particularly how your eyes sparkled over the screen.

So when the host mentioned "a surprise guest Jungwon has been a fan of for a while," he just laughed awkwardly about it.

No way it was you.

Right?

That thought lasted five seconds, because when you walked through the studio curtain wearing a cute blouse and fitted pleated skirt, smiling like you'd just stepped out of one of those soft lighting K-drama dream scenes—

Jungwon froze.

Like froze.

"W-What?" he said while getting up so fast his mic pack almost came off. He stumbled back a little, a nervous chuckle sitting high in his throat, while running a hand through his hair. "No way—what??"

You giggled softly, and you bowed politely but tightly, "Nice to finally meet my biggest fan."

His mouth opened, then shut. Then opened again. You could see him fighting for composure like a cat being sprayed with water. Absolutely cornered.

The show set had hanging swings on each side (some fake picnic theme, super cute), so when you sat beside him, swaying slightly, you leaned over just a little and whispered, "You're even cuter in person, Jungwon."

He dropped dead.

He blinked at the camera with his eyes wide open, trying to avoid combustion.

The host laughed and felt brave enough to ask you both to do a quick game, but half the time Jungwon was side-eyeing you like you were a dream come true. Which, to be fair, you kinda were.

"Y'know, I heard a lot about you." you said midway into a question segment, you tucked your hair behind your ear. "They say you're super hardworking and polite and cat-like, and I see the cat part now."

Jungwon, in his black dress shirt rolled to the sleeves, instinctively pulled at the fabric when he noticed your eyes on his arms. "You're staring," he mumbled, smiling shyly.

"Can you blame me?" you said, voice innocent but your smile was saying something completely different.

He chuckled under his breath while his ears turned pink. "Aren't you younger than me?" he said teasingly.

You tilted your head to the side. "And? You want me to call you oppa?"

He waved that away so quickly. "No! No, talk comfortably. Just- talk casually."

God, he thought, this is such chaos.

But, it's also the best day of his life.Then the host dropped the question of the day: "If you had a chance to film a drama together, what kind of story would you want?"

Jungwon blinked at you, stunned again.You, being the professional flirter you were, leaned toward the mic and said, "Well maybe... a friends-to-lovers story? You know, slow burn. I would love to act beside Jungwon."

Jungwon's jaw dropped. Literally.

"Don't tease me like this," he whispered while shaking his head.

You giggled, "I'm not! You're really my type. I like a guy that's sweet and awkward at first but gets bold later."

He turned his face completely away to mask the grin that was plastered across it.

The fans? They were going to LOSE it when this aired. The comments, the edits, the "they lookso good together" compilations? Unstoppable.

But Jungwon didn't care about any of it right now. Because this was the first time he had seen you—not through a screen. Not in some scene with your lines and movements directed.

This was you, head back on the swing, smiling, your eyes on him like he was the main character this time.

"Still can't believe you're here," he mumbled later on during a quick break.

You nudged his foot with yours under the table. "Well, believe it. And if you could keep me in mind for your next drama I would love a kissing scene."

He choked on his water.

NI-KI 𐙚

Ni-ki had seen it all. The giggles, the not-so-subtle hair flips, the fake emergencies to get his attention. It didn't matter if it was right after practice, drenched in sweat, or if he was just dribbling a basketball across campus, girls trailed behind him like he was the last AirPod in a music class.

He didn't blame them. He knew he looked good. He was tall, with sharp eyes and confidence radiating off of him. His chains were sparkling under the sun, his chrome hearts dangling from his belt, and his hair wild but in a not-caring-but-caring way.

He carried a reputation: Dance prodigy. Trouble. Girls' favorite problem.

But you?

You weren't even affected.

The first time he saw you, you walked past the courtyard with a chef's knife sticking out of your tote bag and your signature cat pin on your apron. He remembered every detail because it was seared into his memory. Your hair fell perfectly with curled ends that swung with every step, and your perfume hung in the air like you owned it.

And god, did he stare. Maybe a little too long.

You walked right past him—expression unreadable, lip gloss perfectly in place—like he was just another dude. No slow turn, no fluttering lashes. Just a quick glance at your phone and a soft "Tch" when someone got in your way.

That "Tch" rang in his brain for hours. Just like a slap to his ego.

The next time he saw you was in the hallway by the culinary wing, bent over your table, frosting something that looked dangerously good. He leaned against the wall, observing your hands and your concentration and your nails painted somewhat only so far that they screamed expensive.

You bit down on your bottom lip in concentration, not even knowing he was there—until the teacher walked by and greeted him a bit too loud.

You looked up, even just for a second.

Then you basically went back to piping cream on the pastry like the hottest boy in school wasn't literally right there.

He scoffed to himself and ran his fingers through his hair.

"What the hell is wrong with her?"

He started walking past your class more. Not on purpose. (Okay, a little on purpose.) Sometimes shirtless in a tank after dance practice, allowing his chains to jingle with every step. Other times when he saw you walking with that, bossy, energy of yours he'd "accidentally" cut into your path just to see you glare.

That day near the basketball court?

Yeah. He still dreams about it.

He bumped into you, sweat still fresh on his neck, basketball in hand. You flinched, letting out an annoyed huff.

"Watch it," you muttered, brushing past him like he was a nuisance.

He turned his head slowly, eyes following you like a curse.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself.

After that, he made it his mission to mess with you.

Always blocking your path.

Always calling out your name in a fake-sweet voice.

Always flashing that smirk he knew melted girls in seconds.

You didn't let him.

"Fuck off, Ni-ki."

"Stop inhaling my air."

"Touch me again and I am pouring this béchamel sauce on your head."

He loved it.

He loved your sass, your voice, your mouth curling up in irritation; he wanted to see what that attitude looked like when it wasn't directed at him.

He wondered how long it would take for you to stop running your pretty mouth and start running it against his?

He would think about it. A lot more than he wanted to.

Your lipstick on his neck. Your apron hanging loose. Your whimpers of his name swallowing the demands of food and the kitchen around.

He was so down bad it was stupid.

But he didn't give a shit.

Because he sure as hell didn't want you like the others.

He wanted to ruin you, worship you, spoil you, keep you.

And he would be damned if anyone else touched you first.

[overmura]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀UPSIDE DOWN KISS

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈 the schools hotest boy & also your boyfriend, unexpectedly asks you how to kiss

&1050 󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠⠀󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠⠀⠀ ⠀ hotbf!enhypen x f!rea ✶ fluff ♡ petnames kissing skinship ❪ l𝒾brary ❫

• noah: reader is lowk a shy dork so i’m sorry about that ..

󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠⠀󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ reblogs are greatly appreciated ! >ᴗ<

HEESEUNG

you’re sitting on his bed, him scrolling on his phone, when he suddenly looks up. “hey, can you teach me how to kiss? like, i’ve never done it before.” you blink, feeling your cheeks heating up. he’s so calm, acting as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. “but..”

you stammer, cheeks burning. he smiles gently, reaching to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “it’s just us here, y/n. you don’t have to be nervous.” as you nervously lean in, he closes the small gap, his lips soft but confident. he gently pulls you closer by your waist, sliding a hand down to rest on your hip.

when you both pull back, he laughs quietly, “see? not so scary, right?” he gives you a reassuring smile as your heart pounds, but you’re already smiling back. “how have you not kissed anyone yet?” you ask, yet he just responds with a shrug and a smirk.

JAY

you’re walking home together after practice when jay stops, brows slightly furrowed. “real talk, baby,” he says casually, “could you maybe teach me how to kiss? i’ve actually never kissed anyone.”

you nearly trip over your own feet in surprise. “wait, really?” you ask, heart racing. jay shrugs, cool but slightly awkward. “yeah, but i wanna do it right— with you.”

you giggle nervously, agreeing to come over later. at his place, he suddenly grabs your hand, pulling you close, “okay, ready?” his kiss starts soft, then deepens as he takes the lead, his hands sliding to your waist and then to your back.

your shyness melts under his touch and lips. “not bad for my first time, huh?” he smirks, sending a shiver down your spine. “you sure you’ve never kissed anyone?” you ask, sighing.

JAKE

he’s sitting beside you on the couch, eyes watching you play a game when he casually asks, “hey, princess? i have a question.” you look over at him, tilting your head.

“can you teach me how to kiss? no one’s ever kissed me.” your heart skips as you stare at him, clearly stunned. he’s biting his lip, wearing that damn smirk. he knows what he’s doing.

“you’ve never kissed anyone?” you whisper, cheeks pink. he nods shyly, “i’m kinda nervous but i trust you.” you slowly lean in, your lips brushing his. he stiffens at first but soon relaxes, taking control by resting his hand on your cheek and pulling you closer.

the kiss grows sweeter and more confident as you feel his warmth. finally, he sighs happily, forehead resting against yours. “thanks for being patient with me.” you smile softly, your hand squeezing his. “i don’t think you understand how shocking that is to me.” you speak up, meanwhile he just chuckles.

SUNGHOON

the cold breeze of the air coming in from sunghoon’s open window seems to make the two of you even more comfortable as you cuddle.

sunghoon’s quiet presence calms you, but when he suddenly asks, “doll? would you teach me how to kiss? i’ve never kissed anyone before,”

you nearly drop the book you’re holding. “wow, i never would’ve guessed,” you whisper, cheeks aflame. at his house, the lighting soft and warm, he pulls you onto his lap, holding you close.

“just bare with me, okay?” his lips graze yours gently, testing. then he breaks the kiss with a soft laugh, “your turn.” you shyly kiss him back, and he soon takes hold of your face in his hands, deepening the kiss, skinship growing as his arms wrap securely around you.

you both catch your breath, smiling shyly but happily. “was i good?” he asks, not letting go of you. you giggle and nod. “yeah, i guess so.”

SUNOO

sunoo twirls a strand of your hair between his fingers as you shift closer to him on his bed. “hey,” he says with a grin, “i need your help, baby. can you maybe.. like teach me how to kiss? the truth is, i’ve never done it before.” he pouts, still playing with your hair.

you laugh softly, surprised but willing. “of course.” you were surrounded by cozy pillows, and he pulls you close, whispering, “don’t be scared, okay?” his lips brush yours, sweet and tentative.

then, unexpectedly, he takes control, hand resting on your waist, holding you tight, lips moving with more confidence.

you melt into his touch, heart fluttering. afterward, he pulls back with a bright smile, “you’re amazing at this.”

JUNGWON

after a long day at school, jungwon asks casually, “hey, y/n? can i ask something weird? can you teach me how to kiss? no one’s ever kissed me and i literally don’t know how to.” you blink, stunned. “really?”

he nods, smirking mischievously. “yeah, really.” later, at his place, he pulls you close, lips barely touching at first. then he deepens the kiss suddenly, hands moving from your waist to your back, wrapping you tightly.

“you said you’ve never kissed anyone.. why are you so good?” you mumble against his lips. he simply chuckles and replies, “i’m being honest. no one’s kissed me.”

his confidence surprises you, turning your nervousness to excitement. “not so bad, huh?” he asks, smiling. you nod, about to praise him, but he’s one step ahead of you as he leans in for one more kiss.

RIKI

riki leans against the doorway of your room, casual, but there’s a nervous flicker in his eyes. “hey, can you, uh, teach me how to kiss? i’ve never kissed anyone.”

you gasp sarcastically. “what? my hot, nonchalant boyfriend is asking me how to kiss?” he pouts and was about to beg you, but you say, “fine.”

at his house, he pulls you into a quiet corner, gripping your hands to steady himself. he hesitates, then kisses you gently. after a brief moment, he surprises you by taking charge, hands sliding to your neck, holding you steady.

then, the kiss gets deeper. his hands tangle in your hair and he leads you to the couch where he sits you down on his lap. one of his hands travel down to your hip bone, rubbing circles gently while the other angles your head.

when you pull away, you find yourself both panting and out of breath. “that was your first?” you ask, in disbelief. he smirks proudly and replies, “yep. pretty good, right, princess?”

• fourth post ever!! do we want more fluff or angst?

[leaderwon]

“BREAKUP TEXTS (OR NOT)”

wherein you break up with enhypen just for the feels

© @leaderwon 2025. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[lululoveyy]

ab riding with sunghoon/jake/jungwon, you choose the member 😊

omg yessss, i chose jungwon, since i haven’t written for him, i hope that’s alright, enjoy💕💕

ᡣ𐭩 pairing: y. jungwon x reader

ᡣ𐭩 genre: smut

ᡣ𐭩 tw: ab riding, begging, wrist pinning

you’re in bed with him, the blankets kicked down around your legs, bodies tangled up in warmth and skin. jungwon’s shirtless, stretched out beneath you, flushed and soft and already breathing a little too fast.

you’re sitting on top of him, your thighs snug around his waist, just in panties and one of his shirts and it hangs off one shoulder like you planned it that way. you didn’t. you just knew he’d look at you like this— wide-eyed, helpless— and he does.

your lips have been lazily pressing kisses all over his face. his cheeks, his nose, his jaw. kisses that are sweet and slow and warm, but not quite enough. not for how hard he is under you. not for how much he’s already squirming.

“baby,” he says softly, breath shaky. “please. you’re— you’re literally driving me crazy.”

you giggle against his skin, nuzzle into his cheek like you don’t know what you’re doing. but you do.

then you sit up, slow, and shift— scooting up until you’re straddling his abs, letting the soft drag of your panties glide over the tense muscles of his stomach. and then you grind. just once. slow, deliberate.

his hands twitch at your hips.

“fuck,” he breathes. “wait, wait, don’t— i mean, no, do, but— oh my god.” he rambles.

you tilt your head, already rolling your hips again, slowly. you watch the way his jaw drops, how his eyes flutter closed for half a second before snapping open again, needy and desperate.

“please,” he says. “please, just— lower. sit on my cock. there. please”

you laugh softly, catching his wrists and lacing your fingers through his. pinning them above his head on the pillow.

he stares up at you, panting. “you’re evil.”

“and you love it.”

he whines, hips jerking just barely upward, trying to chase any friction.

“baby,” he whispers. “please. i wanna feel you. i wanna be inside you. don’t tease me anymore, please—”

you dip your head down until your lips are just brushing his, but you don’t kiss him.

“you want me to grind on your cock, hmm?”

“yes. yes. please.”

you smile against his mouth. “but you look so pretty like this. desperate. needy. so soft.” you tease.

he lets out this broken, breathy noise that makes you grin wider.

“you gonna beg some more for me, pretty boy?”

he nods. immediately. eyes wide, hands twitching under yours.

“i’ll beg all night if you want. just— just do it. please.”

you kiss him then. finally. slow and deep, hips still moving, dragging over his abs while his cock strains uselessly beneath the fabric of his boxers.

he’s trembling. and you’re not done teasing him yet.

you just keep grinding— slow, steady, dragging your soaked panties across the hard lines of his abs, right above where he wants you. your hands are still holding his wrists down, and his eyes are wide, blown out, watching you like he’s on the edge of something dangerous.

and he is.

your breath hitches as the friction builds, that sweet ache curling low in your stomach. you can feel how soaked you are now, the wet fabric sticking between your legs, the slick mess starting to smear across his skin with every roll of your hips.

jungwon lets out a shaky moan. "fuck."

his hips twitch uselessly under you— still pinned, still untouched. his cock is straining in his boxers, flushed and hard, and you haven’t even gone near it.

“please,” he whispers. “please, you’re— fuck, you’re so wet— i can feel it— baby, i can feel it—”

you whimper a little, not even meaning to, grinding a little faster now. you’re so close. your legs are shaking.

jungwon’s watching every second of it like he’s hypnotized. his lips are parted, neck flushed, abs twitching under the mess you’re making.

“you’re gonna cum?” he asks, breathless. like he can’t believe it. like it’s happening to him.

“yeah,” you whisper. “gonna cum just like this. on you.”

he lets out a full whine. head tilted back. “please, baby, please— it’s not fair— i wanna be inside— let me feel you“

but you’re already there. your body tenses, hips stuttering forward as your orgasm hits, slow and deep. your thighs squeeze around his waist, breath catching as you grind through it— right on his abs, dragging your slick mess over the hot skin of his stomach. your panties are soaked. he can feel everything.

you ride it out with a soft gasp, body trembling, clenching around nothing, and he moans with you— high, desperate, like he’s the one coming.

“oh my god,” he chokes. “you— you came on me— fuck— you’re insane— you’re so—”

you lean over him again, body still twitching, and press a soft kiss to his jaw.

he’s still whining under you, so hard he’s shaking. “please,” he whispers. “please go lower. please. it hurts, baby, i need you so bad, please”

- lulu

[rikirush]

hiii 🪷 anon here!!

i was up all night and now it's 6am lol MY FIRST THOUGHT TODAY WAS I NEED TO SIT ON EITHER JUNGWON OR SUNGHOON'S FACE. like OMFG and I could imagine wonie whining and whimpering😩😩 UGH and honestly my brain keeps telling me he has a mommy kink!!

hey 🪷 anon, so glad to have you back. i see you have as bad as a sleeping schedule as i do. and your first thought is so real. i've decided to write jungwon for you, i hope you don't mind only because you wrote a little more about him. and as for the mommy kink, why do i kinda see it?

𐙚 ENHYPEN JUNWGON face sitting/mommy kink

You straddled Jungwon's chest, knees digging into the mattress on either side of his head. His eyes were wide with desperate want, lips already glistening from earlier teasing licks. He’d been begging for this for hours—whining, tugging at your wrist, pressing kisses to your inner thighs while you pretended to consider it. Now, his fingers dug into your hips as you hovered just above his mouth.

"Please," he gasped, his voice cracked and breathless. "Need to taste you. Need it so bad. Let me make you feel good. Please." His hips bucked uselessly beneath you, seeking friction he couldn’t find. The sheer need radiating off him was intoxicating. You finally lowered yourself, letting your pussy brush against his lips.

A choked groan tore from his throat as his tongue immediately against your clit. You hissed, sinking lower, grinding against his face as his mouth opened wider, sucking your sensitive flesh between his lips.

Your fingers immediately tangled in his dark hair, gripping tight. "That's it," you murmured, your own breath hitching as he moaned against you.

His nose pressed firmly against your clit as his tongue pushing deeper. He was eating you like he was starved, his whimpers muffled. Every desperate sound, every needy buck of his hips, every time he clutched at your ass to pull you impossibly closer – it fueled your dominance.

He writhed under you. "Fuck," he whimpered against you. "So good… can't… need more… Mommy." The word slipped out. Your hips stuttered against his mouth. You tightened your grip on his hair, pulling his head back slightly so he was forced to look up at you.

"What did you call me?" His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of panic.

"N-nothing," he stammered, trying to lick at you again, but you held him still. "Jungwon." Your tone of voice made him stop. "Say it again." You ground down again, making him moan.

The panic faded, replaced by submission. His eyes locked onto yours. "Mommy," he whispered, the word trembling on his swollen lips. "Please… Mommy… let me taste you again. Need to make Mommy feel good."

You released his hair slightly, letting him surge forward against you again. "Prove it," you shifted your weight to settle your clit firmly over his mouth once more. "Make Mommy cum." He whimpered outright—a high, needy sound—and doubled dow. He started circling your clit before flicking it rapidly. He sucked hard.

His whimpers became a soundtrack—desperate cries of "Mommy" interspersed with broken pleas. "Please cum," he begged against your flesh. "Wanna feel you… wanna taste it… Mommy!"

You rode his face faster now, grinding down onto his tongue and nose, your fingers fisted painfully tight in his hair, using his mouth like your own personal toy. His eyes rolled back slightly as he struggled to breathe but never stopped eating you out.

"Yes… fuck… just like that… don't stop," you gasped. His response was a muffled sob against your pussy, his tongue working even faster.

A scream ripped from your throat as you came. Your thighs clamped around his head as you ground down hard.

You lifted yourself slightly, leaving him panting beneath you. His lips were red and swollen. He licked his lips slowly, chasing the taste of you, a dazed smile touching his mouth. "Mommy," he breathed out again. He was wrecked beneath you, spent just from the act of bringing you over the edge, consumed by his desire for you.

[manariee]

BACK TO FRIENDS

how can you look at me and pretend, i'm someone you've never met?

某物 ───── but are kisses just comfort ?

GENRE ───── rivals to ??, fluff if you squint, tons of angst TAGLIST ───── OPEN ! @sugarrtalk @motherscrustytoenailclippings @elairah @en-chantedtomeetyou @yunjiiin @dearestki @anormieee @ambi01 @nics-fxy @rairaiblog @zoe1love @lynnlynnyuuashh (comment on this post or send a ask to be added !)

PERM TAGLIST ──── @chrrific @saemisic @heeaara @ltfirecracker @woniefication @lezleeferguson-120 @rikifever @chaeneu @jjennuine @callikari @yuuuraaa @wondoras @bambisnc

RELEASE DATE ──── hopefully by the end of june or start of july end of august to september or even later !

ESTIMATED WC ──── < 7k atleast over 10k

MANA: hi mana is back lol AND what am i doing writing a long fic i should be updating my smau (sorry) hi i might have gone a bit overboard with the uhh writing and also it's still not done ^^

! TEXT BELOW IS PROMO NOT ACTUAL FIC !

You hated Park Sunghoon, or that's what you told yourself.

Deep down, you knew it wasn’t hatred. Not really.

It was envy - sharp, quiet, and persistent.

There was no better word for the way your chest tightened whenever you looked at him.

He was the picture of perfection: top of the class, effortless charm, people all over him.

And behind all that? A loving family who cheered for him, who were there - always there.

He had everything you pretended not to want.

Everything you told yourself didn’t matter.

Because wanting it would hurt too much.

Because you were missing the one thing he had without trying.

So you kept your distance.

Cold, indifferent. Letting him think rivalry was just something you did for fun, to get on his nerves. 

Because admitting it would mean admitting you envied him. And rivals don’t envy. Rivals compete.

So that’s what you did. Competed. Matched his grades, got along with teachers, even his parents.

[enhaboon]

stay on the line | yjw

pairing: idol boyfriend!jungwon x uni fem!reader

genres: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

wc: 1.1k

warnings: mentions of skipping meals, fainting, academic stress/burnout, crying, emotional breakdown

synopsis: being halfway across the world on tour doesn’t stop jungwon from catching the first flight home after noticing signs that you’re falling apart. what follows is a quiet, emotional breakdown—and the kind of love that doesn’t wait to be asked.

notes: yay my first jungwon fic! this was sososo self-indulgent LOL hope yall will enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing this!

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

the facetime ring echoed through y/n’s dark room, bouncing off unfinished textbooks and cold coffee cups.

she answered like always, voice thin but trying to sound cheerful. “hi, wonnie.”

jungwon’s face lit up on the screen, even though he looked tired — hoodie pulled up, eye bags from back-to-back concerts barely hidden by the glow of hotel lighting.

but he smiled. just for her.

“hi, baby,” he said, soft. “you okay?”

she nodded too quickly. “just tired. long day.”

that was always her excuse. long day. just tired. just stressed.

y/n looked tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix.

her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. her voice lagged a little behind her words. she kept humming instead of answering, zoning out while he spoke. but she kept insisting she was fine.

jungwon didn’t push. not yet. he let her talk about school in fragments and reassured her that he’d be back soon. that he missed her.

y/n hummed again, rubbing her temple like she had a headache.

the call ended when y/n said she needed to rest. but jungwon kept staring at the blank screen long after she hung up.

something wasn’t right.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

it got worse over the next few days.

her texts became more distant. shorter. “just studying” or “can’t talk right now.” her voice on the phone was quiet, sometimes barely above a whisper and her camera was always off now.

y/n was slipping. and jungwon knew it.

he noticed the way she’d pause too long before answering. how she’d stop mid-sentence like she forgot what she was saying. how her voice trembled when she thought he wouldn’t notice.

he wanted to believe her when she said it was just stress.

but her eyes told him otherwise.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

the day after enhypen’s last show in singapore, their managers reminded them they had a four-day break before the next stop.

“go sleep, rest up,” they said. “recharge.”

but all jungwon could think about was y/n — alone in her apartment, telling him not to worry, while looking like she was barely holding on.

he didn’t tell anyone. he packed a small bag, put on a mask and cap, and caught the earliest flight back to seoul.

he didn’t text her he was coming.

he didn’t even think twice.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

when jungwon got to y/n’s apartment, he let himself in using the spare key she’d given him.

inside, it was quiet. too quiet.

there was no music playing. no lights on. just a laptop blinking in sleep mode and a mess of papers on the floor.

her mug sat untouched on the coffee table. the air was cold.

“y/n?” he called out. “it’s me. it’s jungwon.”

no answer.

his heart dropped.

he checked the bedroom. empty.

then the bathroom.

y/n was on the floor. slumped against the wall, her skin was too pale, her hoodie drenched in sweat. her lips were chapped, her hands trembling slightly where they clutched her phone like she’d tried to reach out but didn’t make it in time.

“y/n-” jungwon dropped to his knees beside her. “hey-hey, open your eyes.”

she stirred faintly, eyes fluttering. “...wonnie?”

his chest cracked open. “i’m here, baby. you’re okay. i’ve got you.”

her breathing was shallow. she tried to push herself up, but her body wasn’t listening.

“i’m sorry,” y/n whispered, dazed. “i didn’t mean to… i just-my head hurt, and i…”

“shh.” jungwon lifted her gently into his arms, like she was made of glass. “don’t talk. just rest. i’ve got you.”

he carried her to the bed, wrapped her in a blanket and ran around the apartment gathering water, a cold towel and paracetamol.

his hands were steady the whole time. his face calm.

but inside, he was breaking.

he placed the cool cloth against her forehead and stroked her hair back. he didn’t say anything else. he just sat there beside her. watching. making sure her chest kept rising and falling. making sure she stayed.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

y/n woke up hours later. her throat was dry and her whole body ached. but her first thought wasn’t the pain. it was the boy asleep at the edge of her bed.

jungwon’s head was resting on her pillow, still in his hoodie, one hand loosely tangled in hers.

“wonnie?”

he startled awake immediately. his eyes met hers. and for a second, she saw something break.

relief. anger. sadness.

“you’re awake,” he said, voice low.

y/n nodded weakly. “what are you doing here…?”

“i flew back last night,” he said. “i couldn’t… i couldn’t not.”

her brows pulled together. “you had a break. you were supposed to rest.”

jungwon’s jaw tightened. “i wasn’t going to rest knowing you were like this.”

she looked down, guilt swelling in her chest. “i didn’t want to bother you.”

he let out a shaky breath and sat beside her.

“you didn’t even tell me how bad it was,” he said softly. “you could’ve passed out alone. you did pass out alone.”

“i didn’t mean to,” she whispered. “i thought i could handle it.”

“by skipping meals? by studying until you collapsed?” his voice cracked, just slightly. “i knew something was wrong, but i didn’t think it was this bad.”

y/n blinked fast, but the tears came anyway.

“i missed you,” she choked. “so much. but i didn’t want to ruin your tour. i didn’t want to be selfish.”

jungwon stared at her. and then he said the softest, most heartbreaking words:

“you don’t have to be okay for me.”

y/n broke then.

the tears came in full. hot and silent at first. then messy and shaking and real.

“i felt like i was falling apart and i didn’t know how to say it,” she sobbed. “i didn’t want to be the reason you worried. i didn’t want to ruin anything for you.”

jungwon pulled her into his arms.

he didn’t say “you’re not a burden.” he didn’t say “it’s okay.” he just held her. pressed his forehead to hers and let her cry into the collar of his hoodie.

he didn’t cry.

not then.

he waited until she finally slept, warm and safe in his arms, her breath evening out and the fever fading from her skin.

only then, when she was safe, when he knew she’d be okay, did jungwon let himself break.

he sat on the floor beside her bed, hands covering his face and cried quietly into the silence.

because love wasn’t loud.

it wasn’t always beautiful.

sometimes, it was holding someone who didn’t know how to ask for help.

and sometimes, it was flying across countries just to make sure the person you loved didn’t have to fall alone.

end.