toxic lover, you're not betta

⬫ ׄ ꪆ୧ ׅ ⬫ ੭੭ ݂ 17. ( 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗶 ) ׄ 💓 ꒱. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ꔫ ׅ 🐰 ₊﹒ ⌣. ✧ㅤִ ﹙𝘀𝗵𝗲 / 𝗵𝗲𝗿 ﹚ㅤ. ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა ㅤ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 👁️ ꒰ ׂ ♡. 𓈒 11:11.

[daniidochannie]

ANGEL 🐩♬⋆.˚ SEVENTEEN. 𝐒𝐇𝐄┃𝐇𝐄𝐑. DELUSIONAL AND WRITER. ㅤ ׅ𝄂𝄚𝅦𝄚𝄞𝅄ㅤ

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

╋━ REQUESTS ARE OPEN. I DON'T WRITER ABOUT INCEST, WITH MINORS, POOP (💩), FETISH WITH FOOTS, AGE GAP AND VARIANTS.

𝄞𝄢 SORRY FOR MY BAD ENGLISH, ITS NOT MY FIRST TONGUE. I'M BRAZILLIAN!

᧔o᧓⊹ ࣪ ˖ PLEASE, BE KIND WITH ME! I DON'T KNOW HOW DEALING WITH HATE

𐙚 MY TARGET AUDIENCE IS ATINY (ATEEZ), AND CARAT (SEVENTEEN).

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

WATTPAD SPIRIT AO3

[coupsiesss]

what the FUCK im losing it

[slut4kwon]

bro just take it off

[coupsiesss]

in my room

[daniidochannie]

headcanon, husband & CEO jay ; fem!reader

TW: 18+ content

(music: making love - gemini; feat. ph-1)

husband!jay who, for a very long time, had been the epitome of restraint. Your marriage began with the discreet, practical formality of a courthouse ceremony — a necessity, considering his schedule was an unforgiving, suffocating machine of back-to-back meetings and global acquisitions. He was there, present, but always a man committed to his work. And yet, the day your wedding celebration finally happened and the honeymoon arrived, coinciding with his first real stretch of vacation in years, the man you thought you knew simply vanished, replaced by something far more primitive and, frankly, exhausting in the most wonderful way possible.

He turned into a complete, shameless koala. It wasn’t enough for him to just be near you; he seemed to have developed a physical allergy to any space between the two of you. In Paris — the city you’d chosen for your honeymoon — it only got worse. Jay insisted on holding your hand at all times, as if the entire city needed to know you were his. He held onto you as you walked through elegant streets, stopped in the middle of the sidewalk just to fix your scarf and use the excuse to steal a kiss, tugged you closer by the waist whenever you paused in front of a shop window or some café too pretty to resist, and kept an arm around your shoulders for nearly the entire walk back to the hotel. Inside bookstores, in restaurants, while waiting in line at a pâtisserie, it didn’t matter, Jay always found a way to touch you. A kiss to your temple while you picked dessert, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your palm under the table, his face buried in your neck the second the elevator doors slid shut. The man who once barely had time to breathe now seemed determined to make up for every second of distance that had built up between you, and he did it by becoming absurdly, scandalously affectionate.

But it was behind closed doors that the transformation became truly overwhelming.

The man who used to be so disciplined, so careful with his energy, suddenly seemed to have an infinite, bottomless reservoir of desire. He didn’t just want to love you; he wanted to consume you. Every night, the moment the lights went out, the “magnate” Jay dissolved into a man driven by one singular, frantic purpose. He pulled you into bed with hungry intent, spending hours exploring every inch of your skin, his mouth pressing warm, wet kisses from your collarbone all the way down to your thighs, clearly trying to memorize the texture of your body better than you knew it yourself.

And then there was the way he always came undone always deep, intense, with a primal force that left you breathless and trembling. It was as if, after years of being a man of logic and spreadsheets, he had finally decided to let instinct take the wheel. It got to a point where you genuinely started wondering whether a human being was capable of going into some kind of permanent rut. You’d catch yourself staring at the ceiling in those quiet moments after he finally fell asleep, sprawled over you like a heavy, satisfied predator, thinking about the sheer physical effort he put into every single encounter.It only made the questions from those nosy aunts at family dinners feel even more absurd. Every time one of them leaned in with that curious look and asked, “So, when are we going to see a baby with his face running around?” you could feel heat creeping up your neck. You’d glance at your husband, sitting among the elders with the impeccable posture of a respectable, successful husband, and have to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing or maybe moaning. While they theorized about “bad timing” or “planning,” you’d secretly be thinking about the brutal, relentless biological warfare Jay had been waging against your uterus for the past two weeks. Really, it wasn’t for lack of trying. It was almost funny to imagine your aunts’ reaction if you actually decided to tell the truth: “If only you knew the amount of effort he puts into making that happen every single night!”

husband!jay who is an actual menace when it comes to physical proximity in public. Of course, he’s not stupid enough to be overt about it, but you can still feel the subtle drag of his thumb tracing slow circles over your white tights, the touch growing heavier over the milky fabric the second he feels you part your legs just a little. He’ll be discussing market trends with complete seriousness while his grip tightens just enough to let you know exactly what he plans on doing to you the moment you both get in the car.

husband!jay who finally sheds all that polished, statesmanlike composure the second your bedroom door clicks shut. He doesn’t want to be the calm CEO anymore; he wants to be a man completely surrendered to his own urges. After days of deprivation, he has no patience for anything slow or delicate he wants the friction, the weight, the overwhelming sensation of being buried inside you. He’ll strip you with focused, efficient intensity, his eyes dark and heavy behind his glasses before he finally takes them off and tosses them aside like they’re just another useless corporate accessory, all so he can focus on you and only you, his breathing breaking into rough, guttural grunts as he whispers the filthiest things against your ear.

husband!jay who doesn’t care about gentleness or whether you still look “pretty.” In fact, what revives him after a draining day at the company is seeing you ruined in his bed, hair tangled from his rough tugging and that dazed, well-sated look written all over your face.

husband!jay who prefers to dominate you the old-fashioned way, favoring the raw connection of skin against skin, no distractions, no games, no toys. To him, those are nothing but excuses for weak men who can’t measure up on their own and need a third party to satisfy their wives. Please, how humiliating would it be for Jay Park to let his wife come from nothing but a cheap vibrator? He’d rather pin your wrists above your head, pressing your body into the sheets beneath the heavier, harder weight of his own until you can feel every solid inch of him. There’s no restraint; he drives into you with deep, rhythmic thrusts, loving the sound his firm pelvis makes when it collides with the softness of your ass. He wants to hear you moan his name, hear your voice crack when he keeps hitting that perfect, sensitive spot over and over again.

husband!jay who comes home and can’t even pretend to hold himself back, losing every ounce of polish and manners he spent his life learning; his senses narrow into those of a hungry, slightly caveman-like man. He hikes up your skirt, his large, calloused hands gripping your thighs so firmly they’ll leave faint marks by morning. Taking you from behind while you’re washing dishes becomes the sole objective, the hard ridge of his cock straining against his slacks and pressing into your ass, grinding there like some dog in heat. He doesn’t care about looking “elegant,” not when he’d been fantasizing about this exact moment for hours in the cold emptiness of his office. Eventually, the dishes slip from your soapy hands, forcing you to brace yourself against the cold ceramic of the sink when his pace starts growing harsher.

husband!jay who comes home after a fourteen-hour conference looking absolutely exhausted, yet still ridiculously handsome with his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up. He doesn’t want some grand romantic display; he just wants to bury his face in your warm, soft breasts. Is that really too much to ask?

husband!jay who is an exceptional provider in the most practical, realistic sense of the word. He doesn’t buy you extravagant jewelry just to show off; he’s the kind of man who notices when you casually mention a skincare serum while making the bed, or a snack you liked that grocery stores don’t even sell anymore. In the blink of an eye — or after a few minutes spent negotiating with suppliers from each brand — everything would be stocked in the pantry before you even had time to realize you were craving it.

husband!jay who, every time he leans in to smother your moans with his wet, firm kisses, carries a faint trace of his office life on his breath. It’s the taste of the lozenges he chews to stay alert through long meetings, or the mint gum he uses because he once saw online that chewing it makes his jawline look even sharper. It’s such a strange, intoxicating contrast the feeling of his hot, heavy tongue sliding against yours, always paired with that artificial coolness.

husband!jay who, despite the chaos and pressure of his packed schedule, turns into a complete whiner the moment the morning sun hits the bedroom. When you try to move, making excuses about needing to get up to make coffee or start your day so he doesn’t end up late, he answers with a low, irritated groan that vibrates deep in his chest. “I’m the boss, remember? I can buy coffee on the way… or you can just bring me some later.” And while you try to pull away, his hand starts wandering with slow, lazy intent, gliding from your waist down to the waistband of your pajama pants. The sensation is devastating in the best possible way; the solid, firm weight of his hand is warm, but as his fingers brush your skin, the smooth, cold metal of his wedding band creates a sharp, vivid contrast against the heat of his morning touch. It’s such an intimate, comforting feeling that your breath catches, wiping out any motivation you had to be productive. He feels your body go still and lets out a low, satisfied murmur of victory, already knowing you won’t be seeing a coffee machine anytime soon.

[daniidochannie]

baseball player dk/seokmin ; fem!pov

TW: mention of sex

music: planet girl - jooyoung

baseball player!dk who is the league's leading pitcher, a man whose presence on the mound is pure and intimidating dominance. He's all toned muscle and explosive energy, but the second the game ends, he turns into a complete fool, tripping over his own feet or making ridiculous faces just to make you laugh. He's the soul of every party, the guy who conquers everyone with a wide smile or a shoulder to lean on.

baseball player!dk which tells this elaborate and comprehensive story about how you met, even though you know it was actually just him staring at you like a hungry man. He's the kind of guy who spends the whole dinner making the waiter laugh or teasing you until your face flushes, acting like the ultimate clown only to, a second later, pull you into a dark corner of the room, pressing you against the wall, his big, calloused hands clutching your waist with a heavy, sudden possessiveness that makes you dizzy.

baseball player!dk who is constantly covered in a light layer of sweat and a deep, golden tan from spending endless hours under the stadium lights. He's always radiating heat, like a literal sun, and his skin smells like expensive sunscreen and manly sweat.

baseball player!dk which is impossible to ignore when sitting. Because of the training, his thighs are absolutely huge and thick; muscle plates that seem to stretch the denim fabric to the limit. He sits with his legs wide open, looking totally relaxed and oblivious to how you can't help but look at how much space these thighs take up.

baseball player!dk which is all sunshine and daylight laughter, but becomes a completely different animal as soon as the bedroom door closes. The "funny guy" disappears, replaced by a man driven by an intense, athletic stamina that never seems to end. He loves the contrast of his big, powerful body against his body. His hands, the same ones that launch fastballs at ninety miles an hour, now tracing their curves with a desperate, hungry precision.

baseball player!dk who has a habit of leaning all over you when he's tired after a game. He leans on your shoulders, his heavy chest pressing against your back, acting like a giant, needy puppy. He'll complain about how his legs hurt, making you laugh because he's a professional athlete, but he'll use the excuse to guide your hands on his thick, muscular thighs, silently begging for a massage as he nestles into the crook of your neck.

baseball player!dk who is a real beast in bed, especially when it comes to using those powerful sun-drenched legs to overpower you. he doesn't just want to be close; He wants to feel the full weight of his athleticism pressing on you. He'll wrap your legs over his huge, tanned shoulders, his thick thighs acting as anchors that keep you pinned under him.

baseball player!dk who loves to hear you moan his name, especially when he's buried deep inside you, with rhythmic and intensely intense movements. He leans over, his sweat-soaked hair brushing against his forehead, and whispers something dirty in your ear, a smile playing on his lips because he knows exactly how much it's affecting you.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grumbles, his voice dropping an octave to a raspy, gravelly sound that flutters in his chest. He's not messing around anymore; He's focused, his muscles rippling under his skin as he penetrates you, his eyes fixed on yours with raw, unbridled heat. "Look at me, love. Just look at me, yes?"

[coupsiesss]

now was that necessary cheol im dyinh okay pls

[daniidochannie]

headcanon, boyfriend seungcheol ; fem!reader

TW: nudes

(music: pour up - dean)

boyfriend!seungcheol who acts as if he is so focused on basketball practice that he did not notice you watching him from the stands. He's got that serious, intimidating face, sweat dripping down his neck and soaking his mesh jersey, looking like the typical untouchable athlete. But the second you approach to hand him a bottle of water, his eyes soften and he holds your hand, pulling you into a quick, firm kiss accompanied by that corner smile, making sure everyone sees that only you can have him like that.

boyfriend!seungcheol which is a real threat when it comes to personal space. He'll be sitting on your couch or bed, seemingly playing or rolling around on his phone, but his hand is always wandering. A heavy hand on your thigh, sliding down your hand or his fingers tangling in the loops of your belt just to pull you closer to his side. He's physically needy in the most casual and primitive way, ensuring you're always within arm's reach.

boyfriend!seungcheol who loves the cliché of the "serious guy" in public just so he can destroy you in private. He walks through a crowded room with broad shoulders and relentless expression, seeming to have not a single thought in his head beyond the next workout. However, he thinks about nothing else but your hands simply playing with him - from the innocent touches on his hair to the greedy squeezes you give him every time you find his biceps uncovered. Although at the time he says it's annoying, deep down he couldn't wish for anything better than a partner as passionate as he is.

boyfriend!seungcheol who is a master of "accidental" provocation. He knows exactly how much you love his arms, so he suddenly decides that a tight, ribbed tank top is the only outfit suitable for a lazy Sunday at home. He spends the afternoon lifting heavy objects or reaching for things on the high shelves, deliberately letting his biceps show and his triceps flex, all while maintaining that stoic, carefree expression. He doesn't say a word about it, but the way his eyes follow your gaze shows that he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

boyfriend!seungcheol who is the most consistent person in your life. Every single morning, without fail, there’s a message waiting for you. Sometimes it’s just a quick, "Morning, princess," accompanied by a blurry, half asleep photo of his hand giving a thumbs up from under the covers. Other times, a simple voice audio with that bossy and characteristic tone of him telling you to get your ass out of bed.

boyfriend!seungcheol who only lets his guard down when it's just the two of you. To everyone else, he's the reliable, unshakable pillar of strength, but the moment the front door clicks shut, he turns into a total big baby. He’ll practically melt into your lap, burying his heavy head in the crook of your neck and letting out a long, exhausted sigh as he seeks out your touch. He craves your affection with a desperation he’d never admit to, whining softly if you stop petting his hair or if you don't pull him close enough, demanding all of your attention until he's satisfied and warm in your arms.

boyfriend!seungcheol who finds fancy restaurants a total chore. He’d much rather spend a Friday night sprawled out on his oversized couch with you, a mountain of takeout containers on the coffee table and a movie playing in the background that neither of you is actually watching. He’ll have one arm hooked firmly around your waist, pulling your side flush against his warm torso, while his other hand absentmindedly traces patterns on your skin.

boyfriend!seungcheol who is the ultimate 'dog dad.' He loves taking you on long, slow walks in the park with Kkuma, letting the dog tire himself out while he focuses entirely on you. He’ll walk with his hand heavy and warm in yours, his thumb stroking your knuckles in a rhythmic, soothing motion while talking about something from his routine or favorite basketball team.

boyfriend!seungcheol who has a habit of sending you a "check-in" photo while he's at the gym. At first, it's just a sweaty selfie in the mirror, but then it evolves. You're sitting in class or at work when your phone vibrates and it's a picture of his dick, blatantly marking significant relief over the black fabric of his gym shorts. His legs are spread almost roughly in the suspending chair, his thick thighs emphasizing his large size. The caption reads as follows: "I wish you were here to help me finish my set. I'm so hard I can't even concentrate." He knows exactly what it does to you, and the look on his face when you finally see him later that night is nothing short of pure, concentrated hunger.

[daniidochannie]

╭ 𝘁𝗶𝘁𝗹𝗲: Sweet Dreams

┆𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: One morning, Park Seonghwa wakes up in a strange mood, leaving everyone confused. Kim Hongjoong tries to figure out why — but he definitely wasn’t ready for the answer.

Or,

In which Park Seonghwa has a perfect dream and, unfortunately — or maybe tragically — wakes up. Realizing it was all just a dream leaves him quiet, soft, and far too sentimental. The members get worried… and decide this is a leader problem.

꣑୧.A silly one-shot for the best mommy of six in the world.

┆𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀: 1,9K

┆𝘁𝗮𝗴𝘀: fluff matz + little angsty, but I promise it's cute + baby fever!seonghwa + comfort!hongjoong

┆𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: Originally posted on Wattpad, soon to be posted on Spirit and AO3... My sister made the cover, so all credit goes to the silly slave (She was the one who offered to do it, I barely said anything lmao)

╰┈➤Enjoy your reading!

— Hongjoong hyung! — Wooyoung’s voice rang out, sharp and dramatic as always. — Please talk to Seonghwa hyung. He’s being really weird.

The leader lifted his head at the call, attention shifting from his laptop to the dark-haired menace standing nearby. He sighed, closing the device slowly. "It’s barely morning and I’m already dealing with this," he thought.

— Seonghwa hyung?— asked. — What did he do?

— He’s been acting strange since he woke up. Like, really strange.

— It looks like he had some kind of dream, — Jongho added, walking in from the other room, since Wooyoung clearly had no volume control. — Now he’s all sentimental... — He grimaced. — Clingy, too.

— Yes, clingy! — Wooyoung jumped in. — Earlier he was all over San, hugging him just because he tripped while dancing. Like he’d lost a leg or something. Poof~

Hongjoong didn’t even know where to look — neither of them seemed interested in stopping. Wooyoung leaned in, resting a hand on the leader’s shoulder.

— It’s not like we’re mad, — he said, softer now. — But it’s kinda sad seeing Hwa hyung like that. That smile he makes when he’s about to cry? That one. It hurts to look at.

— And not just that, — Jongho continued. —I saw him crying earlier in the dorm. Before we left. He was watching old videos of us… from when we first debuted. — He subtly nodded toward Seonghwa currently hugging Mingi from behind while making soft, familiar noises straight out of Animal Crossing.

Hongjoong frowned. That was a lot of information to process in less than five minutes. He wasn’t planning on telling anyone, but he had heard Seonghwa sniffling in the company van earlier. And the slight puffiness around his eyes now pretty much confirmed it.

Eventually, he nodded, exhaling.

— I’ll talk to him later,— he muttered. — But for now, please leave me alone.

It was said in that very specific mix of grumpy and gentle that only Kim Hongjoong could pull off — enough to calm the hearts of his children.

Wooyoung only backed off after Hongjoong promised he’d talk to Seonghwa as soon as practice ended.

And, well.

Promise kept.

After a long, exhausting dance practice, everyone piled into the van to head back to the dorm. Hongjoong rushed in first, making sure no one else would sit nearby. Thankfully, his plan worked. Because now he was standing next to Park, silent as he thought about how he was going to start the conversation.

But no such effort was needed—Seonghwa did it. He sniffed softly — so quiet he probably didn’t even realize he was doing it. Hongjoong glanced over. His head rested against the seat cushion, wired earphones tucked in, eyes fixed on something Hongjoong didn't bother to find out about. And his condition was utterly deplorable: the face was flushed, eyes glassy, tears clinging stubbornly to his lashes.

But the real problem was that Hongjoong was never the comfort expert. For Choi San, this would be easier than breathing; all he had to do was pull him onto his shoulder and hug him until all his tears dried, and only then would he tell him what was bothering him so much — he would. But no. Kim Hongjoong remained Kim Hongjoong: the fool, the simpleton, the dimwit, the simpleton, and many other similar derivatives reflecting his inability to take action. His large, anxious eyes scanned the interior of the van, searching for any living soul. And phew—there wasn't one... Yeosang slept peacefully leaning against the car window, while next to him, Jongho also slept. In the other corner, Mingi and San were sprawled on top of each other, their legs and arms intertwined in a visibly deep sleep. Yunho's mouth was comically open in a snoring sound, and to his right—Wooyoung? Jung's eyes were wide awake, a knowing smile playing on his rosy lips as he muttered a likely "hurry up, hyung!"

Hongjoong sighed. "Fine."

He reached out, gently nudging Seonghwa’s shoulder.

— H-Hey… — he gently nudged the taller man's shoulder, seeing how startled he was, and quickly wiped away any trace of a tear. — You okay? — Hongjoong asked softly. — Do you… wanna talk?

Park removed his headphones and turned to him, with a clearly rehearsed smile.

— Huh? What’s up? — his long lashes were still damp when he blinked at the captain.

If there was one thing Seonghwa was terrible at — besides his cooking skills — it was definitely his ability to disguise things. Whatever the case, he'll always find a way to make the mask fall off in the most deceitful way possible, just like he's trying now, with that pathetically beautiful smile, thinking he'll dispel any doubt when he's more obvious than an open book.

— You’re basically crying over there... — Hongjoong said quietly, eyes dropping to his own hands. — I'm worried about you.

Seonghwa hesitated.

— Ah… that… — He looked away, too embarrassed to maintain any kind of eye contact. Lips parting stayed still in the air in a vain attempt to explain herself, until he spoke again, his words accompanied by a large, heavy sigh. —…I had a dream.

Hongjoong listened carefully; it was exactly as Jongho had said earlier.

—What kind of dream makes you this sad? — he asked. — A nightmare? — the younger one corrected, but Seonghwa shook his head, a smile adorning his lips in an empathetic way.

— No. Not really.

Hongjoong frowned.

— It was a good dream, — Park continued. — one where… You and I were married.

"WHAT?!" The leader nearly jumped off his seat, astonishment evident in his wide eyes and flushed cheeks. "MARRIED?" But Seonghwa didn't seem offended; in fact, he continued to explain the dream with a smile even bigger than before, a weak laugh threatening to escape along with a sniffle of tears.

— We were married. We had a perfect life. And kids. They were… the members. It felt real. Like I lived years there, you know? And... When I woke up and realized it wasn’t real… …I got sad.

Silence.

Hongjoong was still trying to reason, going from "we were married" to "we had children." After all, how could that be considered normal? He tried to control his facial expressions, but it was clear that, although unusual, he didn't hate what the Park said.

— So... — he said slowly, — you're telling me that in your dream, we were a family?

Seonghwa watched, nodding in agreement, his eyes were still glistening with stubborn tears that insisted on returning to the older man's slanted brown eyes. Kim lowered his gaze, managing to catch a glimpse of the other's phone wallpaper: a photo of them. All the members, the first group photo.

— And you're sad because... you wanted all of this to be true?

Another nod. Smaller and hesitant; Hongjoong blushed.

Hearing that someone you love dreamed of you — dreamed of building a life with you — was a lot for his little heart.

— Anyway, — Seonghwa muttered, straightening up. — Don’t worry about it. Maybe I’m just losing my mind—

— No. — Hongjoong cut him off, voice firm. —Don’t brush it off like that.

Park looked at him.

— You’re not dramatic. I’ve heard stuff like this before. Something about coma states or whatever. These things usually only happen to women who want to get pregnant... But yeah, it was a good dream.

Seonghwa relaxed a little. Even though he was still visibly troubled, Park had the feeling that "the present" was false, and that the dream was "his reality," and that everything there — husband, children — was there, waiting for him to return. This left him in a strange state of unease, especially since he knew it was all a lie. But his mind persisted with this silly idea.

Kim shifted closer.

— But in the end, — he began, turning his body gently towards Hwa. The voice came shorter, more timid, just loud enough for both of them to hear. — we’re already kind of a family. I... am the father. You are the mother, and the boys are our children.

Seonghwa’s heart skipped.He reached out, lacing their fingers together, leaning in until their shoulders touched. His head rested against Hongjoong’s.

— …Yeah,— he murmured. — we are.

Their hands fit perfectly — both wearing the same group ring (read: wedding ring).

— You feel better now? — Hongjoong asked, pressing a soft kiss to Seonghwa’s knuckles.

— Mm-hm. You helped.

— Good.

Silence again.

— …In the dream, — Seonghwa added, — I gave birth to Jongho.

— …What?

— So all this because we were your children?? — Wooyoung asked incredulously, his voice high-pitched and loud.

— Yes. You were all my babies. — Seonghwa agreed without hesitation, focused on the task of finishing washing the dishes.

Park could hear some low giggles and a few "yuck" or "ew" sounds coming from the boys resting in the room next to the kitchen. From all indications, Hongjoong had already told the members about his dream, since the first thing Wooyoung did when he got out of the van was to shower Seonghwa with kisses and affection. The older one also noticed that the captain hadn't mentioned the part about them being married —because if he had, he was sure Wooyoung would be on the floor, rolling around and laughing hysterically.

— Aww, don't be sad, mama! — Jung said, approaching and hugging Seonghwa's waist from the side. — We'll all always be your babies!

He laughed, hearing the playful tone and forced aegyo in the younger man's voice as he clung to him. He barely dodged the kisses aimed at him and shooed him out of the kitchen. Park smiled slightly and went back to finishing washing the dishes.

He was right, they will always be his babies.

᧔o᧓⊹ ࣪ ˖

[daniidochannie]

╭ 𝘁𝗶𝘁𝗹𝗲: home

┆𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: After four years of war, Seokmin returns home.

┆𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀: 4,200K

┆𝘁𝗮𝗴𝘀: seoksoo + sergeant!dk + soft angst + fluff + little indecent (Seokmin is a thirsty man)

┆𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: I went crazy watching season 3 of Sweet Home and after seeing that hot soldier who looks like DK I had to write something related... im just a gurll (⁠*⁠_⁠*⁠)

╰ ➤ Enjoy your reading!

A minute had never felt so long.

Joshua only realizes that because he is there, trapped between unfamiliar shoulders and bodies brushing against each other without permission. Anxiety hangs thick in the air, and every pair of eyes is fixed on the same point. His hands are tightly intertwined, fingers pressing until the tips turn pale, almost numb. He stretches onto the tips of his toes, his neck aching slightly as he tries to see past the mass of heads in front of him.

That was where the surviving soldiers of the war would be received. In the square, there were parents with stern expressions, waiting for sons who had gone to war far too young, and grieving mothers who may have come out of habit, with nothing better to do with their pain. There were wives, fiancées, and suspended loves like Hong, holding flowers — to celebrate or to bury — grown children or nothing but their own presence. None of them knew whether they would leave embracing someone… or return home carrying the uniform and insignia of a fallen soldier.

The blond takes a deep breath, but his chest refuses to fully expand. Four years, he thinks with sorrow and a bitter smile on his lips. Four years since the day Seokmin asked me to marry him… He remembers it with nostalgia, missing Lee’s way of being, the way he held his fingers firmly, promising a bright future. Almost like a cruel joke, the war broke out days later, and the wedding was left suspended in an uncertain future.

“When I come back, we’ll get married. Don’t forget me.”

For four painful years, Joshua lived in that in-between space, dreaming of the day the ring would slowly slide onto his finger while the priest blessed what they both already knew to be real. The day he would feel that wide, radiant smile against his neck again, the day he would receive those kisses once more. And God, how the waiting hurt. Waiting for a hypothetical tomorrow, confronted with so many bad news reports broadcast by the old kitchen radio he was forced to listen to until the very end, even with his stomach in knots — just to make sure that the name Sergeant Lee would not be among the dead.

Sometimes, what truly allowed the older man to lay his head on the pillow in peace were the words from the letters his fiancé sent whenever he could. He kept them and reread every single one whenever the longing became too much.

“My most precious treasure, today the dust from the marches covers everything… but the thought that I might return to your arms gives me strength. The absence of your letters weighs heavier than the pack on my back…”

“I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year… but what I wish most is that the war ends soon so we can enjoy life together again.”

“We are far apart, but my heart remains steady… I write hoping that one day these words will find your face.”

“My dear, good Joshua. After so long, I longed to receive your beloved letters. It was a great joy when I received one from home today… Dear Joshua, thank you so much for this. Beloved Joshua, with longing and a joyful heart I picked up my pen to write you a few lines…”

“We are on the eve of landing, my dear — this may be my last letter to you. But take heart, and if I fall tomorrow morning, well… I will be one of many who died trying to do our duty…”

“Forgive the delay in writing… my only free time is the few moments I have to eat. I hope to be able to return home on a weekend, but don’t build too many expectations.”

“My first and only love, at night, when the cold tightens, think of the warmth of my embrace. If I return, I promise I will never complain about small things again.”

“If I do not return, my dear Joshua, never forget how much I loved you. And when my last breath leaves me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.”

The letters were not all the same. Some were crumpled, marked by hurried folds; others bore ink stains and the faint scent of old paper. There was always a date in the upper corner, written crookedly, sometimes incomplete, and the name of a place Joshua never bothered to memorize. The sergeant’s handwriting varied depending on the day: firmer strokes when he seemed to have had time, tighter letters when he wrote in a rush — but always careful. And at the end, almost all of them ended the same way.

Seokmin

Your Seokmin.

The blond kept them carefully in a dew-colored wooden box, tucked into the left drawer of the dresser beside the bed. Over four years, that side of the bed remained cold and untouched. Whenever his thumb traced the edge of an envelope or brushed against his fiancé’s pillow, he thought — without too many details — that at least, folded, dated, signed, Seokmin was there too. And for now, that was enough.

His fingers move restlessly along the hem of his shirt, adjusting the light fabric for what must be the third time, even though he knows it’s already in place. The gesture is automatic, reflecting the nervousness eating him alive. His dull eyes travel down his own figure, uncertain, judging. Am I good enough? He runs a hand over the clean sleeve, carefully ironed that lonely morning. Hong does everything like that: without rushing. He always paid attention to what he could control, meticulous with small details. Keeping things in order was his way of preventing everything from falling apart.

The afternoon sun hits his already tired eyes directly. It’s too strong. Joshua squints and raises a hand to his face to make shade. His long, slender fingers tremble slightly — just enough to reveal what he would rather hide.

“They’ve arrived!”

The word spreads before the sound. It passes from mouth to mouth, silent at first, until it becomes a disordered murmur. The announcement echoes shortly after, completely interrupting conversations, and then the deep sound of an engine takes over. A military truck appears on the main street, imposing its size on the village’s narrow road. It is black, completely enclosed, made of thick metal with a matte finish marked by dust and dried mud.

Joshua thinks, unwillingly, that it looks small for so many men. How many even fit in there?

The vehicle stops abruptly, drawing surprised exclamations from the crowd. An officer steps out first, feet firmly planted on the ground, a large folder of documents tucked under his arm, near his red armband. His gaze is hard and doesn’t linger on anyone. With a mechanical motion, he opens the list he carries, clears his throat loudly, and without ceremony begins calling out the soldiers’ names one by one.

The first soldier steps down. Then another. And another. Hong doesn’t take his eyes off the place they’re coming from, unmoved by the sound of shouts and laughter. His heart pounds violently in his chest from the sheer anxiety. Lee Seokmin. Where are you?

“Park Minjae.”

One.

“Choi Seungho.”

Two.

“Kim Donghyun.”

Three.

Almond-shaped, sorrowful eyes are lost among the sea of moss-green uniforms, heavy boots touching the village ground — far too fragile to bear them. Some soldiers smile; others inhale the clean air as if trying to acclimate to any place that isn’t the battlefield, soaked in blood and the stench of death. There are desperate embraces, loud crying, shouting — everything war leaves behind in people starved of affection.

Joshua follows every movement with sharpened attention, his eyes tracking the soldiers as they step down one by one. He squints, strains his vision, trying to recognize something familiar even before the faces come into focus. Shoulders too broad. A familiar haircut. A way of walking that fools him for a second.

It’s not him.

His hands clutch the fabric of his trousers. His eyes burn. He blinks quickly, refusing to cry in public the way he had on so many lonely nights.

Another name. Then another. And another. The list drags on longer than it should. The truck, far too big. Hong feels his throat tighten as he counts silently — then loses track and starts again. Each soldier who appears carries a strange weight in their eyes — relief at knowing someone is alive, and the silent fear that the next one won’t be the one they’re waiting for.

He leans slightly forward without realizing it. His eyes burn under the sun. He blinks rapidly, unwilling to miss a single detail. One soldier’s way of adjusting his clothes almost makes him hold his breath. His heart races for no reason.

The man walks past.

Joshua exhales slowly.

The officer turns another page. Clears his throat again.

“Lee Seokmin.”

It’s primal. The way he takes up space. The breadth of his shoulders. The posture — far too rigid for someone who has finally come home. The world snaps back into focus with a painful jolt, and air fills Joshua’s lungs as if he’s breathing for the first time in years.

Seokmin.

Lee Seokmin.

And yet… not the same.

Sunlight strikes his skin directly — uneven in tone, marked by battle, gilded by sweat and shed tears. The uniform clings tightly to a body that grew far from home, shaping muscles that hadn’t existed before — or at least not this big. Thick thighs strain the heavy fabric. His arms are strong and broad, discreet veins visible where the sleeves expose them.

The face… far too handsome.

Lee had always had an easy-to-recognize face. Joshua knew his features like the back of his own hand — literally. Their afternoons before the war were filled with embraces and affectionate exchanges on the couple’s porch. The straight, slightly pointed nose is still there, as is the longer face shape and the high cheekbones that used to lift together with a smile so wide it was impossible to resist. His eyes remain small, dark, naturally sweet — except now, they don’t shine. Those dark eyes must have seen too much, enough to haunt his nights with nightmares of enemies screaming for mercy, of brothers bleeding in misery. They hold a constant level of alertness the blond does not remember seeing before.

Beneath the uniform, the rigid posture, and the heavy silence, there is the same Seokmin who never wanted to kill anyone. The same man who went to war out of obligation, not choice. A family man, forced to make decisions that should never have been his. The guilt was never his — Joshua knows that with the same certainty with which he knows who truly has blood on their hands: men in suits, safe enough to order others to die in their place.

His hair is different now. Shorter, shaved at the nape, leaving his thick neck and scars exposed. There’s something rough about the way he presents himself now, emphasized by his height and a body far too large for the space he occupies. His thick, slightly sparse eyebrows seem perpetually tense, wearing an expression that never fully relaxes.

The scar is visible even from a distance. It begins just beneath his right eye and cuts diagonally down toward his cheek, uneven and lighter than the rest of his skin. It’s not subtle. Not at all. A definitive mark, impossible to pretend isn’t there — the kind of wound that leaves no doubt how close he came to not returning.

And still, Joshua recognizes the man standing there.

His man.

Immediately, it’s as if everything else in the square disappears — the noise, the people, the entire village — leaving only the two of them. Hong wants to run to him, to claim what is rightfully his.

He tries to take the first step but freezes in place. His legs don’t respond the way they should — ironic. His body fails him now, after years of holding strong. His knee buckles slightly, his balance falters, and Joshua breathes rapidly, as if he’s suddenly forgotten how to walk.

But he doesn’t have to go far.

Seokmin sees him.

His expression doesn’t change right away — his face remains closed off, controlled, trained to reveal nothing. He moves through the crowd with long, firm strides, and that’s when Joshua notices a small detail: the slight tremor at the corner of the taller man’s lips.

There’s no more time to drift. Without warning, Joshua’s body is pulled in — not roughly, but urgently. The heavy backpack slips from Seokmin’s broad shoulder and hits the ground with a dull thud. Seokmin wraps him completely in his arms, making him disappear inside the tight embrace.

Lee presses his forehead first, then sinks his face into the other’s neck, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt.

The sergeant’s entire body trembles, as if only now he’s been given permission to stop. Ah — that scent. It reminds him of a certain kind of rose that grows in the garden, called Pristine. His mother’s favorites — God rest her soul. The sweet scent of his fiancé. Of his beloved Joshua. The one he didn’t give up on when he saw his companions fall one by one, when everything seemed to conspire against his survival, when the battlefield felt like hell itself. It was because of that scent that he promised himself, every night before his watch, that he would return.

And eventually, the crying comes. Loud, uncontrolled, broken.Seokmin cries like a baby — a fractured, suffocated sound that tears through the silence without apology. His broad shoulders shake, fingers clutching his fiancé’s shirt like a castaway clinging to driftwood.

“I… I came back…” His voice comes out rougher, deeper than Joshua remembers. Masculine, exhausted, faltering mid-sentence. “I’m back, my love… I’m here…”

Joshua cries too, but quietly, his face buried against the strong chest, his small upturned nose pressed into the rough uniform. His hands rise slowly, checking if this is real, gripping the broad back, feeling the muscles tense beneath his fingers. They move higher, to the nape of his neck, stroking the short strands of hair.

“Thank you…” he whispers between sobs. “Thank you… God, thank you…”

The tender touch reignites a part of his heart that even Seokmin had forgotten still existed. Tears spill freely down his face — he can’t stop them. How embarrassing, he thinks. A man that size trembling like a dog with its tail between its legs in his fiancé’s arms. But that was where he wanted to be. Where he belonged. Where he never should have left.

“I… I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to come back to you whole.” He chokes on his own sobs, breath caught in his throat. He presses his face to Joshua’s soft skin, exhaling. “Look at me. I never should have left your side.”

Seokmin laughs and cries at the same time — a broken, childish sound, far too fragile for someone who survived the front lines.

“I thought…” He swallows hard. “I thought I’d never hear your voice like this again…”

Joshua shakes his head against his chest, unable to form anything grand. Seokmin’s arms tighten, pulling Joshua’s warm, soft body flush against his own. He lifts him slightly, feet barely leaving the ground. He breathes in the curve of his neck once more before pressing a trail of kisses along his wrist, feeling him hold his breath. Slowly, he pulls back, his face rising from Joshua’s neck inch by inch.

Their gazes meet — desperate, loving.

Seokmin’s eyes… are still the same.Dark, small, round. That rain-soaked puppy look Hong knew so well — ironic for a man who returned from war. His chest tightens as the larger hand rises to his face, far too careful for the strength it holds. He leans into the touch, cheeks warming as the gentle caress begins.

They lean toward each other at the same time. The kiss is quick, almost shy — just a trembling peck. Seokmin doesn’t pull away right away, staying there for a moment longer, feeling the softness of his fiancé’s lips, almost crying again.

It takes a while before they manage to separate.

Not by choice, but because other men approach one by one, patting Lee on the shoulder, calling him by his surname, exchanging quick, warm greetings. Joshua steps aside, silent, fingers still hooked into the sleeve of the uniform.

“Sergeant.”

The man who appears is tall, broad-shouldered, his uniform stretched over a strong body, thick neck still marked by the sun. Mingyu greets Seokmin with a firm grip on his forearm and a brief clap on the shoulder.

“Good to see you in one piece.”

“You too,” Seokmin replies, his voice slightly thick.

Joshua watches with a small smile. He recognizes the soldier immediately: Kim Mingyu. He remembers the name repeated in letters, the quick mentions between lines — “Mingyu shared food with me today,” “Mingyu almost knocked everything over trying to make coffee.” One of the few friends who made it back with him.

Kim casts a brief glance at Joshua and simply nods before moving on. Seokmin leans back toward his fiancé once more, that contact the only truly stable thing there.

“Let’s go home?” Hong suggests softly, lifting a hand to the other’s cheek. “I want to tell you everything that happened while you were gone.”

The taller man offers a tired smile, eyes heavy. “Yeah,” he agrees with a low murmur, bending to pick up his backpack from the ground and adjusting it on his strong shoulder. He looks around — the square, the low decorated houses, the dirt road leading to their home. A weary sigh escapes his lips as he comments,

“It’s strange…”

Joshua intertwines their fingers and gives a gentle tug.

“You’ll get used to it. We have all the time in the world.”

They walk home slowly, Seokmin constantly greeted by familiar faces from the village. Joshua doesn’t let go of his hand for even a second — and doesn’t plan to anytime soon. When they enter the house, nostalgia hits Seokmin hard. The place still smells of old wood and homemade food. He cries again, sitting on the edge of the soft bed with his face buried in his hands. His shoulders shake, and Joshua says nothing — he simply kneels beside him, holding his face with both hands, letting the tears fall. There wasn’t much to say — the longing was resolved in the most obvious way possible between two adults who had been apart for far too long.

The days that followed drifted by in simple routines and nights that always ended with the door closed and Joshua in Seokmin’s arms.

A week later, on a Friday — November 17th — the cold finally settled in. The house was wrapped in a comfortable silence, lit only as much as necessary. A soft jazz melody slipped out of the record player in the living room while Joshua hummed quietly, his hands busy washing a bowl. His sleeves were rolled up and his posture was relaxed. Light hair fell slightly over his forehead, carelessly tucked behind his ear. He was focused, eyes fixed on an empty point, a faint smile on his lips — lost in his own little world; he was always like this when taking care of the house. A habit formed over those four years.

And then he felt it: first the warmth of the touch, then the weight.

Strong arms wrapped around his waist with absurd naturalness. A broad torso pressed firmly against his back, and Joshua held his breath for half a second before breaking into a silly smile.

“Seokmin…”

“Hm?” The voice came out low, far too close to his ear, carrying that lazy tone he only ever used with Hong. “Come to bed with me.”

“Love, just let me finish washing these—”

“Leave it.” He rested his chin on Joshua’s shoulder, his nose brushing lightly against the curve of his neck as he inhaled deeply, as if that scent were as necessary as oxygen. “Tomorrow I’ll finish washing them. Let’s sleep spooning…”

“You’ve been impossible since you got back…”

“Four years, Joshua.” Seokmin answered this time without any humor. His hand tightened slightly at Joshua’s waist. “Four years going to sleep thinking about you and waking up thinking I’d die before ever making it back home.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. Joshua let go of the sponge and the bowl, turned off the water, and tilted his face just enough to feel Seokmin’s lips slowly trail up from the base of his neck. A kiss here, another there — lingering and warm. There was no rush.

His arms tightened a little more, and Joshua sighed. Seokmin was bigger, stronger. His thick thighs pressed against Joshua’s, his firm abdomen against his back. He wore only loose pants, hanging low on his narrow hips, and his golden skin was still damp from a recent shower. And honestly, it had been hard to say no to Lee since he came back. Let’s be real — Joshua had always had a weakness for him; he just liked to play hard to get.

“Like what you see?” the taller one teased, a mischievous smile on his thin lips. “It’s all yours, you know?”

Hong lightly touched his bicep, fingers sliding over the warm skin.

“It’s hard not to look,” he replied honestly. “You came back… huge.”

Seokmin let out a short laugh, proud and shy at the same time.

“I noticed.” He moved closer, bodies fully pressed together. “I know you like it.” And then he went back to kissing Joshua’s pale neck.

“Seok…” Joshua sighed, voice trembling. “We’re still engaged, remember? Where’s your decency?”

“I remember. That’s exactly why I’ve been holding myself back like a saint.” His lips dragged up to his ear. “But you don’t make it easy.”

Hong let out a soft laugh. He had almost forgotten this. How Seokmin could shift from one moment to the next. Sometimes he was all easy laughter, silly jokes, that playful way of his that lit up any room. Other times, his voice would drop, he’d close the distance without asking, and his hand would slide into more intimate places. It was always like that — playful when he wanted to tease, bold when he realized Joshua had already lost the battle.

“You’re the one who’s all…” He gestured vaguely in the air, lacking the courage to finish. “Like this.”

“Delicious?” Seokmin completed shamelessly.

“Seokmin!” Joshua whimpered softly, involuntarily.

“Look at me, Josh,” he asked quietly.

Joshua turned slowly, meeting the man who somehow looked taller than he remembered. Those eyes carried — beyond the war, the guilt, and the sleepless nights — a very evident hunger. Two discreet kisses would never quench his thirst. As if to prove his point, Seokmin kissed him again. Slow, tender kisses, patiently placed along his jaw, his neck, over sensitive skin he knew exactly how to find.

Caught between surprise and desire, Joshua felt his body respond before his mind could. He thought it was unfair for Seokmin to come back like this — quieter, intense, knowing exactly where to touch. He felt his body betray his self-control as he leaned into Lee’s warmth, fingers gripping his thick nape without any shame. He wanted Seokmin in the most straightforward way possible: on top of him.

“I just want you,” he confessed simply. “If I spend one more night without feeling you with me, I’m going to lose my mind.”

Joshua swallowed hard. He ran a hand over Seokmin’s face, his thumb sliding along the prominent cheekbone, the straight nose.

“Then let’s go,” he said at last, giving in — as he always did for him.

Joshua turned off the radio, left the dimly lit kitchen, and was carefully guided down the narrow hallway toward the bedroom. The simple bed took up most of the space, with light floral sheets, and the open window let the moon cast shadows along the walls. Seokmin sat down first, pulling Joshua onto his lap between his thighs, his arms wrapping around the smaller body with ease.

“I love you,” Seokmin murmured between kisses. “So much.”

Joshua rested his forehead against his, smiling with his eyes closed.

“I love you too,” he whispered. “Never forget that.”

Seokmin smiled. A tired smile, but genuine. When he lay down with Joshua, pulling him close until the smaller back pressed against his chest, he knew his life was already complete.

[magpie1817]

GODDAMNIT HE LOOKS SO GOOD IN RED 🍒🥵 ctto

[daniidochannie]

╭ 𝘁𝗶𝘁𝗹𝗲: desiderium

┆𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: It was just another party… until Jeonghan decided that his target for the night would be Seungcheol.

“Gonna tell me you don’t like it?,”his velvety voice dripping with mischief, warm breath brushing against Seungcheol’s skin.

Seungcheol swallowed hard, completely unable to answer.

“When I’ve got you in the palm of my hand.”

┆𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀: 4k

┆𝘁𝗮𝗴𝘀: jeongcheol oneshot + dorky!scoups + freaky!jeonghan + explicit content + HLW Party + Brazil in 2015 vibes

┆𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀: originally posted on Wattpad. Please forgive me if there are any grammatical errors or anything like that, English is not my first language!

╰ ➤ Enjoy your reading!

Scoups wanted to leave: and that was just the beginning of the party.

The music was too loud, deep enough to make the floor shake. Luan Santana's "Acordando o Prédio" was playing on the stereo, and some people in the corner were singing the chorus slightly off-key, while Seungcheol murmured softly along, almost unintentionally, "Não para não, não para não...". Flashing LEDs cast dancing shadows across the walls of the mansion in the southern zone, mixing the glow of Halloween pumpkins with reflections from glass and antique mirrors. The smell was a mixture of cheap liquor, overly sweet perfume, and sweat, all together in the heavily stuffy air.

Choi held the Moto G4 Plus, wrapped in a scratched navy blue case, as if it were the most mysterious device in the room, projecting the image of someone busy enough not to pay attention to a pointless party — It was either that or get lost in the crowd of over-the-top costumes, colorful wigs, devil horns, and vampire capes — Isolated in a corner of the party while Hoshi, the temporary owner of the mansion whose parents were out of town, was already mingling with the girls, laughing and getting along with everyone. However, the illuminated screen revealed the deception: his nimble fingers hadn't typed messages or anything like that, but rather numbers thrown haphazardly; equations that lead nowhere.

— Hey, pretty.

His tired eyes lifted quickly as soon as he heard Yoon Jeonghan's sweetly mumbled voice. He was one of those guys everyone in school knew. Effortlessly popular, with a knack for moving among the most diverse groups: He laughed with the athletes on duty, gossiped with the popular girls, and even played games with the nerds who spent the entire break trading anime trading cards. He had friends that Seungcheol also had, but he almost never exchanged a word with him specifically. It was always a vague "hey" in the hallway, a passing joke, and nothing more than that.

But that didn't stop Yoon from looking, and Scoups knew it. He'd catch him red-handed sometimes: the blond leaning against the wall of the court, laughing at something with Boo or Joshua, but with his eyes fixed on him. A lingering, lazy, yet equally accurate gaze.

Choi even remembered one specific time, weeks ago, in the narrow hallway in front of the chemistry lab. He had rushed out, late for soccer practice, and thump— He bumped into the younger one with enough force to almost knock them both over. And instead of cursing or rolling his eyes, Jeonghan just smiled as he adjusted his backpack on his shoulder, letting out a "relax, cutie" before disappearing into the crowd. From then on, that moment kept replaying in his head.

— Y-Yes? — stammered the older one, surprised by the sudden closeness.

The blond man held a half-empty red glass, swirling the liquid slowly, his long fingers glistening under the strobe light. It was too close; the scent of 212 Sexy was escaping from the generous neckline of his costume. He looked like a dream: in a fitted dark blue suit, the light fabric draped snugly over his slender body without losing his relaxed air, his shirt open at the chest a little too wide. The contrast was evident at the feet, where the glare of the light hit the white laces of a worn-out All Star sneaker, giving off a far too boyish air for someone wearing tailored clothing. And somehow, that mix made perfect sense to him.

On the other hand, Scoups's fantasy wasn't elaborate at all. After all, he didn't even want to be there: Hoshi practically begged him to show up and, guess what? He himself had disappeared with a group of people more than an hour ago. His hair was combed back with a light layer of gel, highlighting his thick, dark eyebrows. The white linen shirt, opened at just the right point, revealed a broad, handsome neck, stained by poorly done marks of red paint attempting to imitate blood. The tight skinny jeans clung to his ample thighs, revealing his strong physique which contrasted with his awkward demeanor.

— You don't seem to be enjoying the party... — Yoon tilted his head, deliberately trying to peek at the older man's phone screen — So much mystery. Who’re you texting so damn much, hm?

— N-Nothing. — Seungcheol pressed the side button, shoving his phone into his pocket before the other could see the humiliation that was an open calculator.

Jeonghan chuckled through his nose, leaning unceremoniously on his broad shoulders.

— What are you dressed up as, anyway? — the taller one blurted out impulsively, just to break the silence.

— Isn't it obvious? — he stepped back just to strike a pose, very theatrically. — Harley Quinn.

Choi nodded, swallowing hard.

— You... you look good.

How could anyone be as dorky as Scoups? Not even Yoon, who had always had a crush on him, could answer that question. And yet, this strange manner had something irresistible about it in the younger one eyes.

— That’s it? — he murmurs, purring against his ear, soft lips barely grazing the skin. — Keep going… I want more.

With his heart pounding, the dark-haired boy’s hands shot up in reflex, trying to push him away on instinct.

— J-Jeonghan… I didn’t-

— Ohhh, now we’re talking!

Hoshi appeared out of absolutely nowhere, stumbling in like a drunk gremlin, already red-faced and cackling as if he’d just walked in on history being made.

— A lil’ kiss in the corner, huh?! — he yelled, then immediately vanished again, slamming into the door on his way out and mumbling something like, "That’s my big boy!"

Yoon, who’d practically been climbing Scoups at that point, huffed and rolled his eyes at the interruption. "Idiot."

— Anyway… — he sighed, eyes flicking back to Seungcheol as he put a tiny bit of distance between them, trying to pull himself together. — Where’s that girl who ditched you so you’d come bother me instead?— he muttered, rolling his eyes again.

Then he turned back to him, voice softening. — It’s way too crowded in here. What do you say we go upstairs?

Seungcheol could only nod, not trusting his own voice to respond after feeling Jeonghan's slender hand slide under his, intertwining them in a painfully slow movement.

He followed the blond man down the narrow hallway, concentrating on avoiding drunk people.

The house was teeming with people in every corner: bodies piled up in the hallways, loud laughter, and drinks being passed from hand to hand. The path to the balcony could be likened to a mission. To get across, Jeonghan squeezed through the tightly packed groups first, and Seungcheol had no choice but to follow closely behind, it was so close that he could feel strands of his long hair brushing against his chin. The fresh scent of glycerin from the shampoo mingled with the stuffy air of the room, and he held his breath for a moment, dizzy from the closeness. With each step, Jeonghan's back gently bumped against his own chest, and the entire surrounding plain seemed to shrink to the color of the body in front of him.

As they pushed open the narrow attic door, they climbed the short steps together, side by side, their shoulders touching for lack of space. As soon as they crossed the exit, the night wind surprised them, instantly sending shivers down Seungcheol's forearm. The icy breeze made them both sigh, but it was the sight that truly took his breath away: Jeonghan leaned against the low wall, seemingly lost in thought, his blond locks — dyed in themed colors at the tips — swaying in the wind. The dim light highlighted the delicate contours of his face, the gentle curve of his nose, the fair skin that seemed to become transparent under the bluish reflection of the pool in the backyard below, and, damn, that mouth. Scoups had never kissed before, but he was certain he wanted to lose his virginity to the curves of those thin, yet full lips;

Choi paused for a second, his heart wanting to leap from the chest, until he let out a sigh that barely reached the ears.

— Holy shit... — groaned, swallowing hard as he let himself be drawn closer and closer.

— Y’know… — Yoon murmured, leaning against the railing to get a deliberate view of the packed backyard below, people dancing shoulder to shoulder. His eyes were bright, almost tender. — I like that little thing about you. How weird you are.

— Thanks… I think? — Choi mirrored him, leaning forward too, his forearms resting on the cold metal rail, elbows brushing against Jeonghan’s. — Sometimes I wish I could be less… passive. I don’t know.

Jeonghan burst into a loud, genuine laugh—something that honestly just made Scoups fall even harder for him.

— But I like it,— he said once he caught his breath, his voice slipping into that sweet, teasing kind of humor that bordered on mockery. — I like having control over you.

And just like that, the heat between them crept back in again.

The brunette froze as the younger one stepped closer, those cold, delicate hands hovering over his face like they owned it. He felt the drag of long nails tracing slowly along the corner of his cheeks, and his whole body shivered: head to toe, no mercy. Then came the warm brush of Jeonghan’s liquor-sweet breath against his slightly parted lips, hot and soft and dangerously tempting.

"He’s gonna kiss me. Holy shit, he’s actually gonna kiss me." His heart was punching against his ribs, throat dry enough to burn.

When Jeonghan’s index finger slipped into his hair, combing through the short strands behind his ear before gliding down to the nape of his neck, Seungcheol almost let out a sound — something embarrassingly close to a moan — just from the intimacy of it. That bold, unbothered touch went straight to his head, straight to places it shouldn’t, not here, not on this balcony.

And the worst part?

His mind kept drifting to how those same nails would feel dragging down the length of something else. Somewhere just as sensitive and just as thick as the column of his neck. Acratching lightly, claiming spots he’d never admit out loud he wanted touched.

The blond didn’t back away for a single second. The closeness was almost suffocating, and Choi felt rooted to the spot, completely unable to move. Jeonghan tilted his head until his lips hovered dangerously close to Seungcheol’s ear, his warm breath wiping out any scrap of coherent thought he might’ve had left.

— Gonna tell me you don’t like it? — he murmured, voice velvet-soft and dripping with malice. — When I’ve got you right in the palm of my hand.

As he spoke, his free hand slid down Seungcheol’s chest, every inch traveled like he wanted to carve his intention straight into the man’s skin. His fingertips toyed with the fabric of his shirt, tracing lazy paths all the way to his waist.

— I… I-I… — Choi whispered, swallowing hard. He felt Jeonghan’s fingers move lower, drifting over his abdomen, smoothing down toward dangerous territory, stopping just centimeters above the spot where he was already burning for him. The contrast between Jeonghan’s cold hand and the heat pooling there made his breath catch painfully in his throat.

— Answer.

— …I-I do. I like it.

Yoon let out a dry, wicked laugh.

— Just thinking about what I could do to you right here… — he breathed, so close that Seungcheol felt the words against his skin more than he heard them, and that stubborn finger of his kept teasing the edge of Choi’s bel just enough to make his knees weaken. — …you’re already hard for me, aren’t you, Cheol?

Scoups squeezed his eyes shut, trying to swallow down the moan threatening to slip out. His breathing came out heavy, as if he could hide it somehow, but the parted lips gave away just how far gone he already was. And when he finally tried to answer, his voice broke—small, almost boyish compared to the sheer audacity pressed up against him.

— J-Jeonghan… I… — He let out a shaky, nervous laugh, not sure whether he should pull the blond closer or beg for mercy.

Instinct won.

His larger hand slid down, slow but sure, settling on the younger one’s waist. A possessive touch, hesitant, yes, but full of want. Heat crawled up his entire body, and all Scoups could think was how easily this could spiral out of control.

And then bang. The door swung open way too hard.

— There you are! — Mingyu’s loud, cheerful voice entered the room before his body did. The tall guy leaned a shoulder against the doorframe with a smile so stupidly bright that he was clearly drunk enough not to notice he had just achieved the title of Biggest Cockblock in Human History. — Come on, bottle game! Everyone’s waiting.

The hand that had been resting on Jeonghan’s waist flew back like he’d just been caught committing a crime.

"Great. The universe is against my progress", Yoon thought, watching the older one pull away from his serpentine touch in a panic. He sighed and straightened up, offering a tiny, casual smile as if nothing at all had happened.

—Let’s go, Cheol. — he said, clasping his hands together once again.

If Scoups didn’t have the guts, then he would.

— KISS! KISS! KISS!

The fluffy red carpet in the center of the living room was already sinking under the weight of so many asses sitting in a circle. Half-empty cups abandoned on the floor, beer and sweat hanging in the air. Definitely not the best combo.

Choi Seungcheol squeezed himself between two third-years he barely knew, shoulders hunched like that would somehow make him invisible. It didn’t.

Everyone here was familiar from somewhere in school: guys from the team, popular girls, random background characters he only remembered seeing in the cafeteria.

Across the circle sat Jeonghan, bored eyes watching a chosen pair make out sloppily. Boo, his friend, was laughing beside him, and on his left some girl Seungcheol didn’t recognize. Jeonghan sat with his legs crossed, cup balanced between long fingers. His costume drew attention effortlessly, and Scoups hated to admit it—but it felt like the whole room was staring at him. "When is it gonna be me and Seungcheol?" The other kept wondering, barely containing his impatience for the moment everyone else already suspected was coming.

— Hurry up, hurry up! If you’re gonna devour each other, go do it somewhere else! — Hoshi yelled, pushing the overly enthusiastic couple away. — Here we go!

He spun the bottle with way too much force, drunk enough that he spilled half his drink all over the carpet and didn’t even react.

The green glass twirled fast, throwing off flashes of the blinking party lights as it spun. People followed the tip of the bottle with breathless excitement—soft squeals, stifled laughs.

Seungcheol, meanwhile, prayed silently. "Anyone but me. Anyone but me."

The bottle slowed.

Slower…

Stopped.

Pointed.

Right at him.

— OH HELL YEAH! — DK practically choked from laughing. — It’s him! It’s little Cheol!

The brunette’s heart slammed against his ribs.

— N-no, no… — he started, raising a hand as if he could stop fate, but it was already too late. Everyone erupted like someone had just scored in a championship final.

— Now we need the pair! — Mingyu shouted, grinning ear to ear as he spun the bottle again.

The sound of the glass spinning made Seungcheol want to evaporate. He squeezed his knees together, not daring to look around. When the bottle finally stopped, he gathered what was left of his courage and slowly lifted his eyes.

Vernon.

The vibe died instantly. The boy on the other side of the circle raised one eyebrow, looking absolutely done with life.

— No fucking way. — he grumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

— Switch! — Jeonghan snapped, leaning forward on the carpet and grabbing the bottle before anyone could complain. — If it’s not me, then it’s no one. And he spun it again, eyes locked on Seungcheol.

People laughed, some booed, but no one dared challenge the blond. The bottle spun once more… and stopped exactly between him and Seungcheol. Bingo.

A heavy silence fell.

— That’s it! — Dokyeom practically jumped. — Couple of the night, fuck yeah! KISS! KISS! KISS!

The whole circle joined in, clapping to the rhythm, chanting louder and louder. Scoups wanted to dig a hole in the carpet and disappear into it. His face was burning, the back of his neck sweating, hands shaking in his lap.

Jeonghan, on the other hand, looked born for this shit. He set his cup down, took the last sip first, ran his fingers slowly through his hair and leaned forward, a teasing smile curling on those stupid pretty lips.

— So, kitty…? — the words came out soft, but Seungcheol heard them like they were whispered right into his brain.The shouting grew louder.

— JUST KISS HIM, YOU FUCKING VIRGIN! — Hoshi screamed, laughing hysterically.

Choi squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to scrape together any shred of bravery. When he opened them again, Jeonghan was already way too close, eyes sparkling with expectation and something very, very dangerous.

The world felt suspended: the music outside, the chants, DK’s yelling... it all vanished. All that was left was Seungcheol’s shaky breath and the sweet, alcoholic warmth of Jeonghan’s exhale.

He could pull back. He could.

But he didn’t.

Jeonghan pressed his lips to his, slow and gentle, just a light touch at first, almost teasing. Just enough to drive anyone watching absolutely insane. Seungcheol froze, but the subtle pressure of the blond’s mouth made him instinctively give in.

It wasn’t a long kiss, to the disappointment of both. Not deep, either. But it was enough to rip a collective roar out of the whole circle, like they’d just witnessed a damn miracle.

Seungcheol pulled back fast, face on fire, eyes glued to the floor. The blond, meanwhile, just dragged his tongue over his own bottom lip with a hint of mischief, still smiling.

— See? Didn’t hurt. — he whispered just for him, before leaning back on the carpet like absolutely nothing had happened.

The kiss had ended ten minutes ago, but the feeling still pulsed on Choi Seungcheol’s lips like it had happened seconds earlier.

The sweet taste, the sudden heat, the deafening cheers from everyone around them. He’d slipped out of the circle the moment he got the chance, ignoring the teasing and laughter, throwing out some half-assed excuse about needing the bathroom. And then he disappeared.

A first kiss until ten minutes ago.

And now… this.

With him of all people. Yoon Jeonghan — literally the hottest guy in the entire school. Yeah. Definitely not the kind of memory you bury easily.

The party kept going deep into the night.

Music blasting, people dancing, a few already passed out on the couch still clutching their cups. Until Hoshi’s phone rang through the speakers, connected by Bluetooth. At first, he shrugged it off, thinking it was just another song on the playlist.

Except it wasn’t a song.

It was his father’s deep, serious voice:

"Kwon, there’s been an issue. Your mother and I are coming back from the trip today. We expect to be home in two hours."

Dry tone. No warmth, no joking. Not even a "hope you’re okay" or "take care." Just straight instructions.

Silence.

Some of the more sober ones exchanged quick, alarmed looks. Someone even grabbed their jacket right away, mumbling a "thanks, guys, this was great, but I gotta go." The movement spread like waves: whoever understood fast, moved fast. The drunk ones just laughed, clueless.

Hoshi, meanwhile, froze. You could literally see his face shift in real time from "no fucking way this just happened" to "we are so fucking screwed." His hands flew to his hair, his alcohol-red eyes wide, breath picking up.

— They’re coming back today?! — he yelled, dropping his cup and staring around like the house was on fire. — Holy shit, they’re here in two hours!

The house was a disaster: bottles everywhere, stains on his mom’s expensive rug, glitter glued to the floor, food all over the kitchen counter.

— Everyone up! Move, move, MOVE! — Hoshi shouted, sprinting around the place. — If my dad sees this, I’m dead!

And just like that, the improvised late-night cleaning mutiny, held together more by fear than goodwill got to work. Some grabbed trash bags, others scrubbed the floor with paper towels, others hauled plates and cups into the kitchen. No one there was a saint, but everyone was terrified of the collective scolding waiting for them if Hoshi’s parents walked in.

Seungcheol didn’t complain. He stayed.

Picked up a broom and started sweeping up leftover confetti and glitter, trying to focus on the floor and not on the way his heart kicked every time his eyes drifted, without permission, toward the front hall. Like he was waiting for someone to come through.

He knew exactly who.

But Jeonghan had already left. He’d watched him go earlier, laughing with two friends, not even glancing back.

"Normal, right?" He kept trying to convince himself. "It was just a stupid game kiss. Nothing else."

Time passed, and the house slowly started to look like a house again. The smell of alcohol still clung to the air, but at least there were no cups on the floor and no trash scattered everywhere. Mingyu was cleaning the sink while laughing at some joke with DK, Hoshi was kicking out the last few lost guests wandering around the mansion.

And Seungcheol, leaning on the broom, looked again at the door.

That’s when it opened.

The click of the doorknob echoed, pulling his attention instantly. He blinked twice, thinking he was imagining it.

But no.

The blond walked in, gently fixing his hair with his fingers.

— I forgot my phone... — he said without making eye contact, fully aware that Seungcheol’s gaze was glued to him.

The brunette’s heart plummeted straight to his stomach. He looked at the floor, then at his hand, then at the broom, as if any of those things were more interesting than the owner of the best kiss at the entire party.

Jeonghan walked calmly to the small table by the entrance, grabbed his phone, and checked his notifications. But before leaving again, he paused. Looked around: everyone still busy, no one paying attention. Then he let his eyes fall exactly on Seungcheol.

— You’re working pretty hard, huh, — he said as he walked closer, that half-smile on his lips already a provocation.

— Yeah… — the answer came out low, almost choked. — Just helping Hoshi.

— Sure you are. — Jeonghan laughed softly, slipping his phone into his pocket.He stepped even closer, close enough for his perfume, still sweetened by alcohol, to hit him again. — You ran off pretty quick, didn’t you?

Seungcheol froze.

— N-No… I just-

— Relax. — The blond lifted a hand, tapping his shoulder lightly, no pressure, just enough to warm. — I know you got nervous.

The touch lasted only seconds, but it was enough to make Seungcheol’s heart slam against his ribs.

— Anyway… — Yoon leaned in a bit, his voice low, almost conspiratorial.— It was a good kiss.

The brunette swallowed hard, eyes darting away, trying to hide the blush burning across his face. But Jeonghan didn’t seem interested in giving him space.

The blond stepped even closer, his warm breath ghosting along the side of Seungcheol’s face. He brushed the older boy’s arm lightly — just enough to lock his attention — and with a quick, sly motion, slipped a small folded note between his fingers without anyone noticing.

— See you later, kitten. — he murmured, so soft it barely existed, a seductive, feline whisper, before tilting his head and pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of Seungcheol’s mouth. A touch that burned hotter than any bonfire could.Seungcheol went completely still.

The note sat in his hand, but his brain couldn’t process anything except the warmth of that kiss, the sweet scent of Jeonghan, and the way that subtle touch felt like him quietly claiming a spot under his skin.

— B-Bye… — Scoups breathed, dazed, watching him walk away through the door like nothing had happened.

The brunette held the note with trembling fingers, taking a deep breath, trying to figure out if any of this was real or just the most dangerously vivid fantasy of the night.When he finally opened it, he found Jeonghan’s number written in his perfect handwriting — with a small heart drawn in the corner.

Choi smiled to himself, unable to deny the effect the blond had on him.

He had just made any escape impossible.

[fuyunel]

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