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rems-writing · 18 hours ago

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Ever since Mingi started modeling for Calvin Klein, I've been spiraling. Girl, send help. This fic is way better than mine 😵‍💫

Do You Have Your Calvins On?

Pairing: boyfriend!Mingi x girlfriend!reader

AU: non-idol au

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: He was ready to be your personal Calvin Klein model. You just wanted snacks and anime. But when loyalty points turn into loyalty tests, it's clear—things aren't always as brief as they seem.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

"Babe, have you seen my—"

Mingi smirked, finally catching your attention as you stepped into the room, ready to grab your things before settling in for your weekend anime marathon. What you weren't expecting, though, was the sight of your clown of a boyfriend sprawled dramatically across the bed—posing like the star of a Calvin Klein campaign. The lower half of his shirt was unbuttoned, the waistband of his CK briefs proudly on display, abs subtly flexed as he struck his best model look.

He lay there, smug and eager, watching your expression. Surely this would blow your mind. Work had been brutal lately, and he hardly got to spend time with you, just brief moments half-asleep beside each other before you were up and gone again.

This weekend, he wanted your full, undivided attention. And what better way to grab it than by flaunting his new set of Calvin Kleins… and the results of those extra hours he'd been putting in at the gym?

He held his breath, waiting for your reaction.

"Get up," you said flatly, letting out a tired sigh as you walked over.

"Why?" he asked, arching a brow with a mischievous grin. "You wanna—"

You cut him off with a smack to the side, unable to hide the twitch of amusement pulling at your lips as he yelped dramatically. Leaning over him, you grabbed the item you'd been searching for—your hair clip, wedged just under his back by the pillows.

"You're laying on my hair clip, you fool," you deadpanned, clipping your hair up as you turned and casually left the room.

The man sat there on the bed, completely stunned, eyes fixed on your retreating figure.

Did you… not notice?

Your boyfriend remained on the bed, refusing to believe you weren't going to come running back into his arms. Not when he looked like this. There was no way. So he pouted, got right back into his pose, and gave you another chance.

But you never came.

Instead, he heard the unmistakable sound of the TV turning on in the living room… followed by the opening theme of The Apothecary Diaries Season 2.

Was he… losing to fictional men?

He scoffed. No way. Maybe you hadn't gotten a good enough look. Yeah, that must be it. Maybe your glance had been too quick, too distracted. Determined, he got up and strutted out into the living room, only to find you already curled up comfortably on the couch, wrapped in blankets like a cosy burrito, clutching his chick plush to your chest. Eyes glued to the screen. No acknowledgement.

He stood there in disbelief. Why would you need the damn plush when the real thing is literally right here?

Come on, Mingi. Be cool. You know you're her number one.

Feigning casual confidence, he reminded himself that no number of 2D men or adorable stuffed animals could ever replace this. That's right. With a subtle air of swagger, he sat down next to you, slouched into what he imagined was a very natural, very sexy position—abs slightly flexed, briefs peeking just enough, like some kind of lazy Adonis.

You glanced at him once. Briefly. Then held out your bag of snacks.

He blinked. Did she really just—

You offered no further comment, simply resumed watching, completely absorbed in the show. He declined the snacks with a shake of his head, slightly offended, but you just shrugged and pulled the bag closer to yourself.

Mingi tried watching the anime with you—really, he did—but how could he focus when your blanket and plush were occupying the spaces he was meant to fill? He glared at the chick plush like it had personally wronged him.

Clearing his throat, he leaned just a little closer and flexed his abs with practised ease. "You cold, baby?" he asked, his voice low and oh-so-casual. "Come here, it's warm."

You turned, offered him a sweet, appreciative smile. "Love you, Mangi. But I'm too lazy to move."

Too… lazy?

Why weren't you breaking your ankles running into his arms right now? Was he losing it? Had he peaked? He looked down at himself. Nah. He looked amazing. Even his friends had said CK would make him ambassador if he were famous. And yet… his girlfriend hadn't even spared him a second glance.

He sank deeper into the couch, sulking as his eyes drifted to the screen, just in time to see Jinshi struggling to win Maomao's attention. He frowned. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, "is this how it feels?"

Mingi sulked for the better part of the day.

Eventually, he gave up on his antics and settled beside you, letting the anime marathon run its course. Somewhere between episodes, you shifted closer to him, head dipping in his direction, and he took that as his cue to scoot in. Your warmth pressed gently into his side, and to his surprise, he found himself smiling.

Nothing wild. No grand gestures. Just you, him, a shared blanket, and a few fictional characters running around solving medical mysteries in ancient China. And that was enough.

When he glanced down at you and noticed the faint dark circles under your eyes, guilt poked at him. He hadn't even considered whether you were in the mood for his nonsense. You'd had a long week. Hell, he was tired too.

Maybe this quiet kind of intimacy wasn't so bad.

By the time the credits rolled on the final episode, he had completely dropped the act. He gently pressed a kiss to your temple and tugged the chick plush from your grasp with all the stealth of a cartoon villain, replacing it with himself. You let him, arms wrapping around his torso without protest, cheek pressed to his chest.

Victory.

A smug little smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned back with you tucked against him. This… this was even better than what he'd imagined.

It wasn't until you both got up later to get ready for dinner that you noticed something odd: a sleek, unopened Calvin Klein box tucked neatly in the corner of his wardrobe. It looked… expensive. Not the kind of packaging you'd expect from a casual impulse buy.

You stepped closer, eyeing the box. It looked too pristine, too curated. Almost like… a gift?

But from who?

It wasn't his birthday, nor had there been any recent celebrations. And he wasn't exactly desperate for new underwear—at least, not that you knew of. Brow furrowing, you cracked open the box and spotted something tucked inside.

A card.

Curious, you slid it out. Your heart stuttered at the words written in clean print:

'Dear Mingi, do you have your Calvins on?'

Your jaw dropped.

What the hell—

You shoved the card back in the box like it burned, turning on your heel and marching straight to the bathroom, only to find your boyfriend shirtless, freshly cleaned and glowing with that post-shower confidence. The Calvin Kleins, of course, were still very much on display.

He turned, catching your reflection in the mirror. "Baby? What is it?"

You scoffed. "You've been working out?"

His eyes lit up like a child at Christmas. "Finally," he whispered under his breath, spinning around like he was about to pounce.

But you stopped him cold, holding up the box like it was evidence in court. "For who?" you asked, suspiciously calm.

He blinked, caught off guard. "For… you? Duh?"

You narrowed your eyes and shook the box lightly. "Don't lie. I know you didn't buy this yourself. So who gave it to you?"

Mingi looked utterly confused. "Babe… it's just Calvin Klein…"

You stared him down like he'd grown a second head. "Just Calvin Klein? Are you seriously telling me people are out here randomly gifting you luxury underwear for fun?"

Looking sheepish now, he raised a hand. "Okay, okay, not for no reason. I mean—do you know how many loyalty points I had to collect to get that gift? CK doesn't hand this stuff out like candy, babe. That's an earned gift."

You stared, processing, then slowly pulled the note out again, taking a better look this time. There it was. Small but clear, at the bottom of the card:

'x Your Friends at Calvin Klein.'

You stared at the signature, then at him. You felt like a clown.

His face slowly morphed into a full-blown grin, piecing it all together. This was what it took? A misunderstanding and a loyalty reward?

After everything he did today, all the sulking, the posing, the internal monologues about fictional competition—this was what finally made you crack?

He couldn't be happier.

You were still clutching the Calvin Klein box like it had personally betrayed you when Mingi stepped toward you, arms outstretched and that signature smirk playing at his lips.

"So," he drawled, tilting his head, "you do care about me after all?"

You tried to roll your eyes, but he looked way too smug. And unfortunately, also way too good.

"I've been trying to get your attention all day," he said with exaggerated hurt, gesturing vaguely to himself—to his abs, the briefs, the effort. "I thought you didn't even notice any of this."

You bit your lip without meaning to. His arms were still open, expectant. You stepped closer. And like a magnet, he pulled you right in, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you flush against him. His skin was warm and damp from the shower, his abs pressing perfectly against your front as you leaned in.

"Of course I noticed," you murmured, resting your hands against his bare chest. "I noticed the second I walked in. How could I not? You've been walking around here looking like a damn ad."

He raised a brow, delighted. "So why didn't you say anything?"

You sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. "Because I was distracted… I had a lot on my mind from work, and I guess I felt guilty for not giving you the attention you wanted, and then I saw the note and panicked and—"

You rambled, the words falling out like an unravelling ribbon.

"You're always the handsomest to me, Mingi. Always. Like, painfully attractive. I guess I just assumed you knew that already, and I didn't think I had to say it out loud, but now I feel like an idiot because—"

His grin stretched wider and wider with every word, eyes sparkling with so much fondness it made your cheeks burn.

"And—and also maybe I got a little jealous, because what if someone did send you those and they were trying to—"

He didn't let you finish.

Mingi leaned in and captured your lips with his, effectively shutting down your spiral with a kiss that was all warmth and mischief and just the tiniest bit of relief. You melted instantly, fingers curling against his skin as you kissed him back.

When he finally pulled away, breathless and grinning, he murmured against your lips, "You really think I'd wear fancy underwear for anyone else but you?"

You laughed, hiding your face in his neck. "Point taken."

"And for the record," he added, holding you a little tighter, "you can tell me I'm hot more often. I don't mind."

"Oh, I know you don't," you teased, poking at his side. "You live for it."

"You love it too," he grinned, leaning in to kiss you again—and this time, you didn't hold back. He pulled away just enough to hover, his breath warm against your lips as he murmured, "So… are we still going out for dinner, my queen?"

You bit your lip, cheeks flushed, and gave a small shake of your head. "I… think we're good right here."

Safe to say, dinner plans were officially off the table—no need for food when he was far too busy devouring you instead.

Sighs... just look at the damn CK pics. Need I say more? I wouldn't be edenesth if I didn't write anything after seeing them HAHA this and his fREAKING SOLO SONG ON THE NEW ALBUM WOOFWOOF hope y'all liked this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@blueberrychan @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot @vic0921 @vnessalau @apriecotte

@bangtannie7 @vtyb23 @khjoongie98 @scuzmunkie @anxiousskylar

@bunny4yungi @zl-world @quailbagutte @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @cixrosie

@cristy-101

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rems-writing · 1 day ago

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My direct thinking about IYF solos :

San/Seonghwa/Yunho = they wanna fuck so bad

Yeosang = he's a hero that became a villain (slay)

Hongjoong/Mingi = diss tracks for their enemies (hell yeah) [And Hj btw, he slided some freaky ass lyrics in there]

Jongho and Wooyoung = precious babies that just loves us to death ❤️

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rems-writing · 1 day ago

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Your Idol

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, streamer!reader, idol!joong, possessive joong, overstimulation *not proofread, just pure horny*

[BITING THE WALLS RN KOYA WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME] anything said in this fic is a joke dont get your panties in a twist

taglist (dm to be tagged); @sidusvenari @sugarnspice630 @ravenempress101 @autieofthevalley @linearities @wisejudgedragonhairdo @madiexuberant @mifuelarts @straytiny127 @yun-fangz @huen1ngk41 @juyeonshour @uniq-tastic @hongjng8 @miyaluvvsyou @everyonewooeverywhere @hongjoongtime117 @oddracha @kingbloopter @jay-0n3s @ane1o2 @jelly1117 @aftertherain-atr @k-zuzulibrary @lxnnrobin @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @lezleegerguson-120 @moonlitarcade @koyagifs @les4heeseung

masterlist <3

Your room was lit by LED strips and the glow of your dual monitors, the air filled with overlapping laughter from both your Discord call and chat.

“Alright y’all,” you said, giggling as you dragged another PNG into your cake tier list, “hear me out… Markiplier.”

“Oh GOD here we go,” one of your friends groaned over Discord.

“NO LISTEN,” you said, raising a hand to quiet the imaginary crowd. “That man is built like a Greek god and talks like a podcast host. He could be reading IKEA instructions and I’d be like ‘yes sir.’”

Your chat spammed: THE ARMS 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️ "Hello everybody my name is Markiplier" is a mating call now idc MARK PLS CALL ME BACK

“I just know he smells like cedarwood and emotional trauma,” you added, sipping your drink.

Meanwhile—unbeknownst to you—Hongjoong was taking a break in his studio across town, headphones around his neck, half-watching your stream on mute with the captions on. He had smiled when you started streaming. His heart always warmed seeing you in your element. But that smile disappeared real quick once he read the captions:

"Markiplier could deadass choke me and I’d pay for the hospital bill myself."

He blinked.

Then, just as he turned the sound on:

“OKAY NEXT: Grizzy. I’m sorry but that hoodie-and-chain combo? That’s a straight-up fold. Like, this is pavement behavior. He’d call me ‘girl’ once and I’d black out.”

Laughter erupted from your friends. Hongjoong didn’t laugh.

He scrolled through the tier list. Smii7y. CoryxKenshin. Pezzy. ElasticDroid.

All ranked. All thirsted over.

You were giggling as you leaned into the mic. “Okay no but real talk? ElasticDroid gives throat demon energy. Like...he’s definitely the reason someone walks funny the next day. And I’d write a Yelp review about it.”

“Oh my god,” one of your friends wheezed.

The rest were dying. Chat was going absolutely feral.

And Hongjoong?

Silent.

Stewing.

You finally ended stream an hour later, exhausted from laughter and wired from sugar and adrenaline. Your friends had come over in-person too—your place was a cozy streamer nest, and you’d hosted tonight’s cake chaos like a pro. They hung around for a while, rewatching clips, roasting each other, snacking, and slowly filing out into the night.

“Thanks for letting us crash,” one of them said, pulling on their hoodie. “Sorry if we made your boyfriend jealous. He’ll live, right?”

You waved them off. “Joong? Please, he doesn’t care about stream stuff. It’s all jokes anyway.”

You closed the door behind them, still laughing.

You didn’t hear the second door open.

Not until you turned around, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hands full of half-finished bubble tea cups—and nearly dropped everything when you saw him.

Hongjoong, standing in the hallway. Keys in one hand. Expression unreadable.

You blinked.

“…Hey, babe. You’re home early.”

“Early?” he echoed, voice soft, deceptively calm. “I’ve been watching since Smii7y.”

Your smile wobbled.

“…Oh.”

He stepped forward, slow and quiet. He wasn’t angry—no, that would’ve been easier. It was the fact he looked completely calm that made your stomach flip.

“You’ve been real loud tonight,” he said. “Lots of opinions.”

You swallowed. “It was content—y’know, like a tier list—”

“Right,” he nodded, setting down his keys. “So when you said you’d let Pezzy ‘shut you up and ruin you,’ that was content?”

Your jaw opened. Then closed.

He walked forward again, crowding you against the kitchen counter. His voice dropped just slightly, barely a whisper. “You really think ElasticDroid could wreck your throat better than me?”

Your whole body lit up at the heat behind his words. “Joong—”

“‘Grizzy in chains makes you fold?’” he quoted, tilting his head. “You think anyone on that list could have you making the sounds I pulled out of you last week?”

You felt your knees threaten to buckle.

“That was stream stuff,” you said quietly.

“Oh?” He leaned in, brushing his nose against your cheek. “Then tell me now. Tell me with a straight face that you’d rather have any of them than me.”

Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt. “I—”

He didn’t let you finish. His hand tilted your chin up, gaze burning into yours.

“Try again.”

And something in you snapped.

You weren’t thinking. Just breathing, just wanting. Needing to be pulled apart, dragged to pieces, undone by the one person you knew could ruin you like no one else.

“I want you,” you whispered.

“Louder.”

“I want you, Joong.”

He kissed you hard—deep and punishing—teeth and tongue and heat. When he pulled back, his thumb swiped over your bottom lip, slick and possessive.

“You wanna rank me, baby?” he murmured, voice like sin. “I’ll make sure I’m the only one you even remember.”

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rems-writing · 1 day ago

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choose your fighter (seonghwa singing about getting head vs yunho singing about giving head)

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rems-writing · 3 days ago

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[ CHOI JONGHO ]

GOLDEN HOUR : PART.3

IN YOUR FANTASY EDITION

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rems-writing · 3 days ago

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rems-writing · 4 days ago

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why’s him in the cage smiling like tht making me INSANEEEEE 😃😃😃😃😃

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rems-writing · 5 days ago

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I have to lick him

❤️

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rems-writing · 5 days ago

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rems-writing · 5 days ago

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He always grabs his cock like it'll detach itself from his pelvis and run away. 🫠

Now WHY THE FUCK HES HOLDING HIS DICK LIKE THAT ?!? HES BIG AS HELL???!!!

LIKE BRO STOP TOUCHING YOURSELF ON STAGE

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rems-writing · 6 days ago

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🫰🏻~ATEEZ reaction to making out with them mid fight~🫰🏻

Pairing: y/n x Reader

Warnings: slight suggestive Themes

Disclaimer: Not my picture

Hongjoong

You’re standing in the middle of the room, fists clenched, heart hammering in your chest. The silence is thick after the last words you threw at him, still hanging in the air like smoke from a fire that refuses to die out.

“You always take over, Hongjoong,” you snap, voice trembling with restrained emotion. “You act like I can’t handle anything on my own.”

He stands across from you, arms crossed, face unreadable—but the storm in his eyes says it all.

“That’s because when you screw up, it’s not just your ass on the line,” he grinds out, stepping closer. “You think I like being the one who always has to fix things?”

Your breath catches. The audacity. “You don’t have to fix me. I never asked you to.”

His jaw clenches, and you swear you see something flicker across his expression—panic, maybe? Desperation?

He scoffs under his breath. “Right. Because you’d rather run into danger alone and get yourself hurt—just to prove a point.”

You flinch. The words sting because they’re too close to the truth. “At least I don’t treat people like pawns on a chessboard.”

That does it.

He’s suddenly in front of you, close enough to feel his breath on your face. His hands are curled into fists at his sides, and you’re practically daring him to yell back. Instead, his voice drops low—dangerously low.

“You really wanna do this right now?” he murmurs, his gaze flickering to your lips.

Your stomach tightens.

“Yes,” you whisper.

The next second, his hand is gripping the back of your neck, and his mouth crashes into yours. It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s war. Teeth and tongues, lips moving in a brutal rhythm as he walks you backward until your back hits the wall. His thigh slips between yours, and you moan into his mouth as he presses in harder.

His other hand slides under your shirt, fingers splaying across your waist as he growls, “This what you wanted? Me losing control?”

You don’t answer with words—just arch into him, grabbing his shirt in both fists and tugging him closer until there’s no space left between your bodies. You feel the hard line of him through his jeans, and it sends a thrill through you.

He drags his mouth along your jaw, down your neck, biting just enough to leave a mark. “You drive me insane, Y/N.”

“Good,” you breathe out, gasping when his teeth graze your collarbone. “Then maybe now we’re even.”

His laugh is low and wrecked. “You always have to get the last word, huh?”

His thigh presses up firmly between your legs, and you gasp. He smirks. “Not this time.”

Seonghwa

You’re done pretending everything’s fine.

“Why do you keep shutting me out?” you ask, your voice sharp as glass. “You act like I don’t matter when things get hard.”

Seonghwa doesn’t look at you. He’s standing by the window, jaw tight, arms crossed over his chest like a shield.

“I’m not shutting you out.”

You laugh bitterly. “Bullshit.”

That gets his attention. He turns, eyes dark and unreadable, but there’s something brewing under the surface—something raw.

“I’m protecting you.”

“No,” you say, stepping forward. “You’re protecting yourself. Every time things get intense, you disappear. Emotionally, physically—you vanish. And I’m left feeling like I’m in this alone.”

His silence cuts deeper than any reply.

You’re both breathing heavily now, the space between you charged like a live wire.

“You don’t get to decide that I can’t handle you,” you continue, voice trembling. “I’m not asking for perfect. I’m asking for real. Even if it’s messy. Even if you’re scared.”

He moves then—slowly, deliberately. When he reaches you, he doesn’t touch you right away. His eyes search yours like he’s still looking for an excuse to keep his distance. But you don’t flinch.

“I’m not scared of being with you,” he finally whispers. “I’m scared of what I’ll become if I lose you.”

That’s when you kiss him.

It starts slow, almost unsure—like neither of you wants to shatter the moment. But when his hand cups your cheek and you feel him melt into it, the hunger rushes in all at once. His lips part, and your tongue slips inside, meeting his in a wet, desperate kiss. He groans low in his throat, hands sliding down to your waist and pulling you flush against him.

Your fingers tangle in his shirt, tugging it up, and he lets you—raising his arms so you can pull it over his head. His skin is hot, smooth, and you can’t stop your hands from running across the firm planes of his chest.

“I’ve been dying to touch you,” you murmur into his mouth.

Seonghwa presses you backward until your knees hit the couch. He eases you down, climbing over you with a knee between your legs. His lips return to yours, but this time, slower—deeper. His hand slips under your shirt, fingers grazing your bare skin, then gliding up over your bra.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he breathes, lips brushing your ear.

You shake your head quickly. “Don’t stop.”

His hand moves to unclasp your bra, pulling the cups down just enough to expose your breasts. When his mouth wraps around one nipple, hot and wet, you gasp loudly—arching up into him as heat pulses between your thighs.

“God, you’re beautiful like this,” he whispers against your skin. “So fucking soft… all mine.”

Your hips shift, grinding slowly against the thigh he’s pressed between yours, and his breath catches. He kisses you again, harder, more urgent now, hand sliding between your legs over your clothes, pressing against your heat.

“I should stop,” he groans, biting your lower lip.

“But you won’t,” you whisper, staring into his eyes.

And he doesn’t.

Yunho

“You could’ve died, Y/N!”

Yunho’s voice booms louder than you’ve ever heard it, echoing in the kitchen where you’re still catching your breath from the mess you got yourself into. He’s pacing in front of you, eyes wild with disbelief.

“And you didn’t even think to tell me? You just handled it all on your own like I’m not even here?”

“I handled it,” you snap. “It’s over now.”

He stops dead in his tracks, jaw tight, eyes narrowing as they lock on yours.

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

He storms toward you, towering over you, eyes burning with something so intense it makes your breath hitch. “The point is that you didn’t trust me. That you’d rather get yourself hurt than let me protect you.”

“I didn’t need protecting,” you whisper.

He grabs your chin, not rough, but firm—tilting your face up toward him. His voice drops, low and dangerous. “Bullshit.”

Your lips part just as his crash into yours, like something inside him finally snapped. It’s not sweet. It’s fierce, possessive, and messy—like he’s been holding back for weeks and can’t anymore. His hands slide down your back, gripping your hips hard as he walks you backward until your thighs bump into the counter.

You pull at his shirt, yanking it over his head, revealing the lean, strong lines of his body. His skin is hot beneath your fingers, muscles rippling as he lifts you up onto the countertop like you weigh nothing. You gasp when your legs fall open around him, the thick bulge in his jeans pressing right against your core.

“You drive me crazy,” he growls, lips moving down to your neck. “Always so stubborn. So fucking reckless.”

You tilt your head, giving him more access, moaning when his teeth graze your pulse point. “You love it.”

“I hate it,” he mutters against your skin—though the way his hands are grabbing your ass, grinding you down on him, says otherwise. “And I love it. And I don’t know what to do with myself when you scare me like that.”

Your breath hitches. “Yunho…”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand sliding up under your shirt. “Take this off. Now.”

You don’t hesitate, lifting it over your head, leaving you in just your bra. He growls again, hands roaming your sides, then unclasping your bra with one practiced motion. The way he stares at your chest—dark eyes glazed over with hunger—makes you clench around nothing.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, bending to kiss between your breasts, dragging his tongue over one nipple before sucking it into his mouth. You moan loudly, thighs squeezing around his waist.

His hands grip your hips again, grinding you hard against him—slow, controlled rolls that make you whimper.

“You’re gonna tell me next time,” he says, voice low, dangerous, teasing. “Or I swear, I’ll punish you.”

You whimper again. “Yunho—”

He smirks, cocky now. “Say it. Tell me who takes care of you.”

“You do,” you whisper breathlessly.

“Damn right I do.”

Then he kisses you again—deeper, slower now, like he’s tasting every piece of you. His hand slips between your thighs, pressing against your clothed heat, and you swear you’ll melt if he keeps going.

And maybe he will.

Yeosang

“You don’t even try to understand me,” you say, voice rising with every syllable. “Every time I open up, you shut down. Every damn time.”

Yeosang stands across the room, arms folded, expression unreadable. That perfect poker face that’s driven you mad since the day you met him. Always too composed. Always a little too quiet when things get emotional.

“I don’t shut down,” he says coolly. “I think before I speak. You should try it.”

You glare at him. “You think that’s some kind of strength? Silence? Detachment? It’s cowardice.”

That hits. His jaw tightens, and for a moment you think he’s going to walk away—like he always does.

But he doesn’t.

He walks toward you instead. Slowly. Deliberately. Until he’s standing right in front of you, so close you can smell his cologne—clean, soft, and maddeningly addictive.

“You think I don’t feel things just because I don’t perform them for you?” His voice is low, but there’s heat under every word. “You have no idea what’s going on inside my head when I look at you.”

Your breath catches. “Then show me.”

His hand lifts to your jaw, thumb brushing across your lower lip. You see the crack in his composure—the tiniest twitch of his lip, the fire finally reaching the surface.

“I’ll do more than show you,” he murmurs.

Then he kisses you.

It’s not gentle. It’s precise. Controlled at first, like he’s tasting you on purpose, exploring every corner of your mouth like he’s memorizing it. But when you moan into him—when your hands clutch at his shirt and pull him in closer—he finally lets go.

He pushes you gently but firmly back until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You sit down, and he follows, his body towering over yours as his hands lift the hem of your shirt and slip it over your head in one smooth motion.

“You always talk like you want a fight,” he whispers, staring at your exposed skin. “But I know what you really want.”

He leans in, kissing down your throat, teeth grazing lightly before sucking a mark into your collarbone. You gasp, grabbing at his waist to pull him closer, and he smirks against your skin.

“Take off your bra,” he orders softly.

You shiver—not from the cold, but from his voice. The quiet command, the unexpected dominance laced into his calm demeanor. You obey, unhooking it and letting it fall, and the look in his eyes darkens instantly.

“Fuck,” he whispers, palms sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. “You’re even better than I imagined.”

You whimper when he dips his head, licking and sucking one nipple while rolling the other between his fingers. His hips press against yours, and you feel how hard he is through his jeans. Slowly, he rocks into you, just enough to make you arch against him.

“I bet you think I’m boring,” he whispers into your neck.

Your hands tug at his shirt. “Take this off.”

He does, revealing sculpted lines and smooth skin, his gaze locked onto yours the entire time.

“I’m not boring,” he says, pressing a hand between your thighs. “I’m just patient.”

You whimper at the pressure, grinding against his palm instinctively.

“And right now, I’m done being patient.”

San

You storm down the hallway, wiping angrily at your face, hoping he won’t follow you—but of course, he does.

“Don’t walk away from me!” San yells behind you.

You spin around, fuming. “You don’t get to tell me what to do!”

His eyes are blazing, his chest rising and falling like he just ran a mile. “I do when you’re acting like this!”

“Like what, San? Like someone who doesn’t want to be pushed around by a guy who can’t handle his own emotions?”

He recoils slightly—only for a moment. Then his lips curl into that sharp, bitter expression he gets when he’s barely holding it together.

“Don’t fucking twist this. You keep acting like you don’t care if I’m there or not.”

You flinch.

He sees it, and his voice softens—but only for a second.

“You know what that does to me?” he says, stepping closer. “Do you even know what it feels like to care about someone who always pretends they don’t need you?”

You’re breathing hard. Your fingers shake at your sides. “I do need you. But you make it impossible sometimes. You’re intense and demanding and—”

“I’m like this because I feel everything, Y/N!” he roars, fists clenched at his sides. “I’m like this because when I look at you, I lose every bit of control I have left.”

You stare at him, chest tight.

Then—suddenly, violently—you crash together.

His mouth slams against yours, lips bruising, teeth clashing, breath short and panting as your hands tangle into his hair. He lifts you up without a word, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carries you into the bedroom, dropping you on the bed like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted to ruin.

Shirts are yanked off. You drag your nails down his back as he grinds into you, his hips already frantic, already needy.

“You make me fucking crazy,” he growls against your lips, kissing you again and again, like he’s trying to erase the fight, the anger, the doubt—everything but this moment. “I hate fighting with you. I hate it.”

You reach down, fingers fumbling at his belt. “Then shut up and fuck me already.”

He stills. His hand grabs your wrist tight, eyes burning into yours.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I mean it,” you whisper. “I want you.”

Something inside him breaks. He growls your name like a curse, like a prayer, and his hands roam your body—hot, rough, greedy. He kisses down your neck, down your chest, tugging your bra down to reveal your breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth while his hand dips between your thighs.

“You’re already soaked,” he whispers, almost in awe. “Just from yelling at me, huh? You like the fire.”

Your only answer is a moan when his fingers press against your clothed heat, rubbing slow circles that make your hips jerk.

“San—”

“I’ve got you,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “I always do.”

And that’s exactly how he kisses you: like he owns you and he’s never letting go.

Mingi

“You think I didn’t see that?” Mingi snaps the second the door shuts behind you both.

You whirl around, confused. “See what?”

He’s pacing now, hands running through his hair, the vein in his neck pulsing with restrained rage. “That guy at the bar had his hand on your back. You didn’t even push him off.”

You stare at him, breath catching. “Are you seriously mad about that? He brushed against me, Mingi. I didn’t even notice—”

“Oh, you noticed,” he cuts in sharply. “You just didn’t care.”

You take a step forward. “So what, now I’m not allowed to exist near other men?”

“You’re mine,” he growls before he can stop himself.

The room goes silent. Your heart stutters in your chest.

“What did you just say?”

He looks up, eyes burning.

“You’re. Mine.”

You don’t say a word. You just stare at him—and the jealousy bubbling in his chest spills into something else. Something darker. Needier. His fists unclench, and he takes two slow, heavy steps toward you.

“You like making me jealous, don’t you?” he murmurs, backing you toward the bed.

“I wasn’t—”

“You want me like this? Furious? Possessive? You like seeing how far I’ll go?”

Your knees hit the mattress, and Mingi doesn’t give you time to answer. He grabs your waist and throws you back onto the bed, crawling over you like he’s ready to devour you.

The kiss is wild—hot, fast, too much and not enough. You gasp when his hips grind down against yours, already hard, already desperate. He tears your shirt over your head, bra following a second later.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, eyes roaming every inch of you. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You arch into him, tugging at his hoodie. He rips it off, mouth crashing into your collarbone, licking and biting until you’re moaning, breathless and clinging to his shoulders.

“You think I’m gonna let anyone else touch you?” he groans. “Not after this. Not after the way you sound when I do this—”

His hand slips into your pants, fingers pressing against your soaked panties, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that make your hips buck. “Mingi—!”

He moans into your neck, grinding into you harder. “You’re gonna come just from this, aren’t you? So fucking needy for me.”

You whimper, dragging your nails down his back. His pace speeds up, rubbing you faster, rougher, and the tension is unbearable.

“Say it,” he demands. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you pant.

He kisses you hard, needy, tongue claiming your mouth like he’s marking you from the inside out. “Damn right you are.”

And he doesn’t stop until your thighs are shaking around his hand.

Wooyoung

“Oh, you’re mad again? What else is new?”

You slam the door shut so hard the frame rattles.

“Don’t fucking act like this is nothing, Wooyoung!”

He’s lounging on the couch like he doesn’t have a care in the world, one leg over the other, fingers tapping his phone screen.

“I’m not acting. I genuinely don’t know what I did this time.”

“You embarrassed me in front of everyone! You made a joke about me sleeping in your bed like I was some random hookup!”

He smirks. Slowly. Infuriatingly. “It was a joke. They all know you’re not random. They know you’re mine.”

“Then why do you always make me feel like I’m just some game to you?”

That wipes the smirk right off his face.

He stands.

And suddenly he’s not the cocky flirt anymore — he’s dangerous. Focused. His jaw is tight, his gaze burning through you.

“You think I’m playing?” he asks, stepping toward you. “You think this is some fucking game to me?”

Your breath catches as your back hits the wall. He leans in close, nose brushing yours. “You think I haven’t thought about bending you over that table while they were still in the other room? About making you scream my name until they knew exactly who you belonged to?”

You try to speak. You really do. But your mouth is dry, your heart pounding so hard you feel it in your fingertips.

He smirks again — but this time it’s dark. Dangerous. “No words now?”

His hand slides up your thigh, under your skirt. You gasp when his fingers find your soaked panties, stroking slowly. “You get this wet when we fight? That’s fucked up, baby.”

“Wooyoung—”

He cuts you off with a filthy kiss, tongue slipping between your lips, one hand gripping your hair, the other teasing your clothed heat. You whimper against him, and he chuckles low in his throat.

“I’m gonna ruin that smart mouth of yours,” he whispers against your lips. “Right after I make you beg for me.”

You moan when he presses harder, the heel of his palm grinding into your clit while his fingers slip the fabric aside.

“Say it. Say who makes you feel like this.”

“You do,” you gasp.

He kisses down your neck, biting hard. “That’s right. Say it louder.”

“You, Wooyoung. Fuck—you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He kisses you again, hard and unrelenting, grinding his thigh between yours until your hips move on their own. He doesn’t let up — not until you’re moaning his name like it’s the only word you’ve ever known.

Jongho

“You’re cold sometimes, you know that?” you spit, pacing the living room.

Jongho just watches you, arms crossed, jaw tight, unmoving.

“You act like nothing touches you. Like I could disappear tomorrow and you’d barely notice.”

His expression doesn’t shift — but something in his eyes goes dark.

“That’s not true,” he says, low.

You scoff, not even hearing the warning in his tone. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I said, that’s not true.”

You stop. “Then why do I feel like I’m the only one falling here? Why do I feel like you’re holding yourself back—like you’re just waiting for me to break first?”

Silence.

Then Jongho moves.

One second he’s across the room — the next, he’s right in front of you, grabbing your face in both hands and pressing you back into the wall with enough force to make your breath catch.

“You think I don’t care?” he growls, forehead pressed against yours, breath hot against your lips. “You think I’m not fighting every single day to keep my hands off you so I don’t ruin you?”

Your eyes widen.

“I want you all the fucking time,” he continues, voice like thunder, chest heaving. “I want to strip you bare and fuck the attitude out of you, but I hold back because I respect you.”

His lips crash into yours — no finesse, just hunger. Raw, aggressive, claiming.

When you whimper against him, his hands slide down, gripping your ass hard as he lifts you effortlessly and pins you fully to the wall. Your legs wrap around his waist, and you can feel him already thick and hard between your thighs.

“Don’t you ever say I don’t care,” he whispers, grinding into you. “You have no idea how much I care.”

You tug at his shirt, desperate, and he peels it off quickly before grabbing your own top and yanking it over your head. He groans at the sight of your bare chest, then leans down, biting into the soft skin below your collarbone, leaving a deep, possessive mark.

“You think anyone else gets to see you like this?” he mutters. “Think I’ll ever fucking let them?”

His hips jerk up, making you cry out, your panties soaked and clinging to you. He presses two fingers there, right against your slit, even through the fabric, and grins when you whine.

“This? All mine,” he growls, thrusting his fingers against your heat harder.

You moan helplessly, back arching against the wall.

“Say it.”

“It’s yours,” you gasp.

He kisses you again, slower this time, but no less intense. “Damn right it is.”

And in that moment, you know he’s not cold — he’s burning for you, always has been. He’s just been waiting for the moment you were brave enough to strike the match.

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