#cherry-zip

[cherry-zip]

— 𑣲Humkeng .ᐟ Kiss me

› pairing┆Fuma x K › genre┆fluff jealousy, romance, established relationship ✎ word-count .ᐟ 2k ⌁ summary┆Fuma’s gaming session might get cut short when a slightly jealous Kei starts craving his boyfriend’s attention. It only makes things worse when Fuma kisses him absentmindedly - without even looking away from his Switch.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated!

The first time it happens, Kei tells himself it’s nothing. He shouldn’t make a big deal out of this… but he just might.

It’s a late afternoon, the kind where sunlight comes in low and warm through the windows, turning everything soft gold. They’ve both had a long day, and the apartment is quiet now, except for the rapid, rhythmic clicking of buttons and the occasional burst of music and sound effects from Fuma’s Nintendo Switch.

Fuma has completely taken over the couch.

He was not just sitting—no, he was settled deeply into the couch. One leg is stretched out, the other hooked lazily over the armrest, head tipped slightly forward, brows drawn together in concentration. There’s his soft lips, forming a pout that only shows up when he’s focused like this, like the entire world has narrowed down to whatever’s happening on that small glowing screen.

Kei has been watching him for ten minutes.

Ten.Full.Minutes.

At first, it’s fond. It always is when he’s watching his sweet boyfriend. There’s something quietly endearing about how Fuma gets like this: so locked in, so unaware of everything else. His lips form a pout when focused and part slightly when things get intense, and every now and then, he makes tiny, absent sounds under his breath, reacting without even realising it.

It would be cute.

If Kei wasn’t sitting right there, next to him, completely ignored, and aching for attention.

He shifts slightly, letting his knee bump into Fuma’s.

No reaction.

Not even a glance. Even if he did feel it, he would never mind Kei bumping into him, no matter how hard. Being mad at Kei is impossible for him; he would instantly apologise, even if he was the one getting hit anyway.

Kei leans back into the couch, crossing his arms, staring at the side of Fuma’s face like maybe—maybe—if he stares hard enough, Fuma will feel it.

But no, nothing.

“Hey,” Kei says finally.

“Hm,” Fuma replies instantly.

That almost makes it worse.

Kei tilts his head. “You’ve been playing for a while.”

“Mm.”

That’s it.

No elaboration. No eye contact. Not even a break in the rhythm of his hands. Nothing but just a simple humming, meaning he definitely heard Kei speak, but didn’t register a single word.

Kei exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tightening. He uncrosses his arms, then crosses them again, shifting around on the sofa like he can’t quite get comfortable anymore, growing even more annoyed, frustrated as the second passes. He didn’t care anymore about what game he was playing or how cute he looked.

He wasn’t the type to be needy for skinship, but everything has been different ever since he met Fuma. He loved being taken care of by him more than anything, even though he was the older of the two. They love to pamper each other; it has become their thing, and right now, Kei really wants to be pampered.

“Are you even listening to me?” he asks.

“Yes,” Fuma says. It was immediate, automatic.

Kei’s eyes narrow. “What did I just say?”

There’s a pause for barely half a second.

“…You’re talking,” Fuma answers, completely sincere.

Kei stares at him in disbelief, mouth slightly agape.

“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters.

Fuma hums, clearly taking it as background noise rather than criticism. It wasn’t that he was addicted to his game - which he was - but he enjoyed his gaming time.

Another minute passed by.

Kei watches the screen this time, trying to figure out what could possibly be so engaging. Something fast-paced. Bright flashes. Quick movements. Dramatic music swelling and dropping. Fuma leans forward slightly, shoulders tensing, thumbs moving faster. His entire body reacts to it.

Kei’s irritation sharpens.

It’s ridiculous. It’s a game. A tiny screen. And somehow it has more of Fuma’s attention than he does right now. Maybe Kei was starting to be jealous of a game.. just maybe ?

Fine.

If that’s how it is, then Kei isn’t going to sit here quietly like some background decoration.

He shifts closer, deliberate this time by closing the gap until their shoulders are fully pressed together. He lets one of his legs rest over Fuma’s, solid and unmistakable. His whole body is touching him.

“Fuma.”

“Mm.”

Kei doesn’t hesitate.

“Kiss me.”

There’s no build-up. No questioning, he clearly hears him.

Fuma just turns his head slightly - still looking at the screen, and leans in, pressing a quick, soft kiss to Kei’s lips. It’s brief, automatic, almost absentminded.

All of this, to simply pull back to go back to his game.

Just like that.

Like nothing happened.

Like it was no different from pressing another button.

Kei freezes.

“…What,” he says slowly.

Fuma doesn’t respond. There’s a triumphant sound from the game, and his posture shifts forward again, completely reabsorbed.

Kei blinks.

He actually reaches up and touches his own lips, like maybe he imagined it.

“That does not count,” he says, more to himself than anything.

“Hm?” Fuma makes a questioning sound, but doesn’t look over.

“You didn’t even look at me.”

“I did,” Fuma says.

Kei lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “No, you didn’t.”

“I know where your face is,” Fuma replies simply, as if this answer would settle it.

Kei stares at him, genuinely offended now. “That’s worse. That’s so much worse.”

Fuma shrugs faintly, adjusting his grip on the Switch. “I’m in the middle of something.”

“I can tell,” Kei says flatly.

There’s a tight feeling in his chest now - small, sharp, and annoyingly persistent. It’s not just that Fuma kissed him without looking. It’s how easy it was. How automatic, like it was another task that meant nothing to him.

Like Kei asked, and Fuma just… checked a box.

Done. Back to the game.

Kei leans back, arms crossed again, but this time there’s no comfortable settling into the couch. His gaze drifts back to Fuma despite himself, tracking every tiny movement.

The crease in his brow.

The way his lips press together when he’s concentrating.

The way he doesn’t look at Kei.

“…Unbelievable,” Kei mutters again, quieter this time.

He tells himself it doesn’t bother him.

But it absolutely does, more than he’d like to admit.

• ✧ •

The second time, Kei knows exactly what he’s doing.

It’s the next day: same couch, same position, same problem.

Fuma is once again completely absorbed, the glow of the screen reflecting in his eyes, his entire focus narrowed down to whatever high-stakes situation he’s in now. The sounds are different this time—sharper, faster—but the effect is exactly the same.

Kei barely even pretends to be patient. He wasn’t; he wanted attention, and he was about to get it one way or another. He leans against the armrest, watching his boyfriend openly now, chin propped in his hand. His gaze lingers - not soft this time, not fond.

Evaluating.

Testing.

“Fuma.”

“Mm.”

Kei’s lips press into a thin line.

“Kiss me.”

Again, immediate.

Fuma leans in without hesitation, presses another of his quick kisses to Kei’s mouth - just as brief, just as distracted, and pulls away in the same motion, attention snapping right back to the game.

As is Kei was a pause screen he can flick through.

Something in Kei snaps.

He reaches out and grabs Fuma’s chin before he can fully turn away, fingers firm, guiding his face back closer.

“Hey.”

That finally breaks through.

Fuma blinks, eyes shifting to Kei for the first time in what feels like forever. Twenty minutes? Longer?

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused.

Kei searches his face, like he’s trying to figure out if this is real. “Do that properly.”

Fuma frowns slightly, pouting. “I did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I kissed you.”

“Barely,” Kei shoots back. “You didn’t even look at me.”

Fuma glances down at the Switch, clearly aware of whatever is happening in the game, then back at Kei. There’s a flicker of hesitation, like he’s being pulled in two directions.

“I’m in a fight,” he says softly. He doesn’t want to fight with Kei, not now and never in their future together.

Kei lets go of his chin, leaning back just enough to put space between them. “Yeah, I noticed. It seems very important.”

There’s an edge to his voice now, thin but clearly there enough for him to get the hint.

Fuma’s eyes narrow slightly. “Are you mad?”

“No.”

“You sound mad.”

“I’m not mad,” Kei insists quickly, crossing his arms again. “You’re just… annoying.”

Fuma studies him more carefully this time.

Not a glance. Not a distracted acknowledgement.

Actually looking, reading his face - never without getting a reminder of how gorgeous Kei is. He was so lucky, he felt so lucky every day. But now, he focused on knowing where things went wrong and how to fix them.

“…Because I’m playing?” he asks slowly.

“Because you’re not paying attention,” Kei says.

“I am paying attention.”

“To that,” Kei replies, jerking his chin towards the Switch in annoyance. “Not to me.” Now he’s fully pouting in what seems like an adorably stubborn way.

There’s a pause.

Fuma looks down at the screen again, then back at Kei.

And this time, something shifts.

It’s subtle, but Kei sees it. The moment the pieces click into place.

“Oh…,” Fuma says quietly.

Kei immediately bristles. “What does that mean?”

Fuma’s mouth curves, just slightly into a soft smirky smile- not teasing, not mean. Understanding.

“You’re jealous.”

Kei’s entire posture stiffens. “I am not jealous of your game.”

Fuma raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not,” Kei repeats, heat slowly creeping up the back of his neck. “That’s ridiculous. Who would be jealous of a stupid game?”

Fuma doesn’t argue; he couldn’t help but find his lover adorably cute.

He just looks at him for another second, and then, very deliberately, lowers the Switch.

The sound cuts off mid-action. The sudden silence feels almost jarring.

Kei’s eyes flick to it, then back to Fuma. “What are you doing?”

Fuma doesn’t answer straight away. The gamer in him is a man of action more than words.

He shifts instead, closer, slow and intentional this time, until the space between them disappears. Their knees touch, then their shoulders, then there’s nowhere left for Kei to pretend there’s distance.

Kei’s breath catches slightly, but he doesn’t move. He had Fuma’s full attention, and he was now frozen. Fuma lifts a hand and cups his face.

Warm. Steady. Present.

Completely different from before.

Kei goes still.

“Fuma—”

This time, Fuma was already looking at him.

Really looking. His gaze is soft, focused—not a flicker of distraction anywhere. Like, Kei is the only one existing on earth now. Then he leans in, soft lips pressing against him.

The kiss is slow. Not rushed. Not automatic like it was previously. He fully meant it.

Intentional in a way that makes Kei’s chest tighten for an entirely different reason. Fuma’s hand stays against his cheek, thumb brushing lightly just under his eye as their lips meet. He lingers there, not pressing, not pulling—just there, present in it.

Kei feels it immediately, the difference.

The way Fuma isn’t halfway somewhere else.

The way he’s fully here.

With him.

Kei’s hand lifts without thinking, catching lightly on Fuma’s sleeve, like he’s anchoring him there.

When Fuma finally pulls back, it’s only by a fraction. Their foreheads almost touch, breaths mingling, the space between them still warm.

“Better?” Fuma murmurs, smiling softly.

Kei swallows, the earlier irritation dissolving into something softer, quieter.

“…Yeah,” he admits, nodding shyly.

Fuma’s lips curve into a small, knowing smile. “You’re definitely jealous.”

Kei rolls his eyes and slaps his arm, but there’s no real force behind it now. “Shut up.”

Fuma huffs a quiet laugh, thumb brushing once more along Kei’s cheek before he leans back slightly.

His gaze flicks, just briefly, towards the coffee table where the Switch sits.

“Can I finish that fight?” he says, almost tempting Kei on purpose to set him off. He was starting to enjoy this cute, jealous side of his boyfriend

Kei reacts instantly.

His hand tightens around Fuma’s sleeve, stopping him before he can even think about pulling away.

“No.” Kei’s reply is fast and short.

Fuma pauses, looking back at him, waiting for Kei to decide what he wants and say it.

Kei hesitates—just for a second—then speaks, softer this time, more honest:

“…Stay, please.”

There’s no teasing now. No edge. Just a quiet ask.

Fuma doesn’t even glance at the Switch again.

“Of course, baby,” he says simply.

And this time, when he leans back in, there’s nothing automatic about it at all. He takes Kei in his arms, letting him snuggle together comfortably in his embrace, ending the day with just each other and no distractions. Just them, hugging, kissing, and sweet-talking.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! › anonymous review form & join my taglist

@ credits┆thank you @orbitondgtl for beta reading once again☆彡

‧₊ ᵎᵎ "CHERRY.zip" ⋅.*

[cherry-zip]

HAIII i love ur seungcheol fics sm🥹🥹 they’re so cute

Can i request for a staff!seungcheol x idol!reader ?? Can be of any genre you’d like!

─ • CSC .ᐟ Love Under the Spotlight.

› pairing┆staff Seungcheol x idol reader › genre┆romance ✎ word-count .ᐟ 3.6k ⌁ summary┆He’s here to support you when everything feels overwhelming.

The world of idols was a dizzying whirlwind of lights, cameras, and endless schedules. Even the brightest stars sometimes find themselves lost in the maze of rehearsals, photo shoots, and fan events. For you, a rising idol in one of the top agencies, it was a world of pressure and excitement. Every day felt like an audition to prove your worth, not just to your fans but to the industry, even to yourself sometimes.

But in the middle of it all, there was someone you couldn’t quite get out of your head: Choi Seungcheol, one of the staff members working with your group. You had seen him around for months now, always behind the scenes, always working tirelessly, but never in the limelight. He was the kind of person you could easily overlook, but something about him stood out (other than his handsome looks). Perhaps it was his professionalism or the quiet strength he seemed to emanate, but you couldn't help but notice the way he worked.

His role was mostly technical, assisting with rehearsals, managing schedules, and coordinating logistics. But there was an undeniable calmness in his demeanor. The way he moved through the chaos, always composed, always efficient, made you wonder if he was truly unshaken by the hectic world around him.

You’d first met Seungcheol at one of the major events, your first big stage performance after your debut. He was the one who handed you a bottle of water during a quick break, his fingers brushing over your trembling ones for just a second. You had smiled at him with gratitude, and he nodded, a small but genuine smile on his face.

"You're doing great," he had said softly, the kind of encouragement you hadn't expected from someone who worked behind the scenes. You were so stressed for weeks, anticipating this performance that you never expected his simple words to bring you so much comfort.

Since then, you'd seen him in passing often, but your interactions were brief, mostly casual greetings or mutual glances during rehearsals. Still, there was something in those rare moments that made your heart skip a beat. Maybe it was his presence; always steady, reliable, grounded, or perhaps something more.

The first time you found yourself alone with him was on a late evening, when your group had finished a long day of practice. The others had left for dinner, leaving you with just a few minutes to yourself. You were sitting in the practice room, a bit out of breath from the intense session, when Seungcheol walked in.

He was carrying a tablet in one hand, scrolling through something, probably checking the schedule or making notes. He glanced up, meeting your eyes for a brief moment before lowering his gaze.

"All good?" he asked, his voice calm as usual.

You nodded, wiping the sweat from your forehead with a towel. "Yeah, I just need a moment."

He gave you a soft smile, that same quiet one that made you feel both seen and invisible at the same time. He had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room, even when it was full of people.

"Everyone else already left?" he asked, his tone casual, but there was something in the way he phrased it that made you wonder if he had been waiting for you to be the last one.

"Yeah," you replied. "I think they went to grab some food. I’m just going to hang back here for a bit."

Seungcheol paused, considering something. Then, as if making up his mind, he set the tablet down on the nearest table and sat on the floor, not so far from you.

"You know," he began, his voice lower than before, "it’s okay to take a breather every now and then. You don’t always have to keep up the pace."

His words struck a chord with you as if he had read right through the stress and pressure that weighed on your shoulders. The thought that someone, especially someone so quiet and reserved, understood that you needed more than just a break from practice made your heart ache in an unexpected way.

"I just…" You hesitated, "I feel like I’m always playing catch-up. There’s always so much to do, and I don’t want to disappoint anyone."

Seungcheol’s gaze softened, and he leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. "I get that, but sometimes, even the brightest stars need to rest."

The way he said it made you think he wasn’t just talking about idols; it seemed he was referring to something more profound. There was an unspoken understanding between you, a bond that felt strangely familiar despite how little you knew about him.

"I know… you’re right," you said quietly, looking down at your hands, trying to push away the mounting anxiety. "It’s just hard to let go."

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he just sat with you in comfortable silence, the sound of the clock ticking softly in the background.

It was moments like this that made you wonder if there was more to Seungcheol than the staff member everyone took for granted. He wasn’t the type to stand out in the crowd, but there was an undeniable warmth and kindness in him that made your heart flutter whenever you caught his eye.

Over the next few weeks, your interactions with Seungcheol began to grow more frequent. You would find him in the hallways of the practice building, always with his tablet or clipboard in hand, managing the schedules for everyone or handing out water bottles. Now and then, you’d catch him glancing at you, a quiet but knowing smile on his face.

One evening after a late practice session, you were sitting by yourself in the lounge area, sipping on some water, when Seungcheol walked in. This time, he didn’t have a clipboard or anything in his hands. Instead, he seemed a little more relaxed.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.

You looked up, surprised to see him without his usual work-related gear. "Oh, yeah, sure."

He sat down across from you, his posture still as composed as ever. But for once, there was a hint of something more, a quiet curiosity in his gaze as he studied you.

"You look a little more relaxed today," he observed.

You chuckled lightly. "I guess. I’m just tired, but in a good way."

"That’s good." He nodded, clearly pleased by your response. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he leaned forward slightly, his tone becoming more serious. "If you ever need someone to talk to–"

"I know," you interrupted softly, meeting his gaze. "I know you’re always there. It’s just…" You hesitated, unsure if you wanted to let your guard down. "I’m just not used to letting people in, you know?"

Seungcheol didn’t push. Instead, he nodded slowly, understanding. "You don’t have to let anyone in until you’re ready. But if you ever want to talk, I’m here."

His words settled in the air between you like a promise, and you realized that despite the busy, chaotic world of idols, there was someone quiet, unassuming, but always present, who cared about more than just your presence on stage.

As the days passed, you found yourself looking forward to the brief moments when you crossed paths with Seungcheol. His presence, once an unnoticed background figure, became a source of quiet comfort and stability in your otherwise hectic life.

However, as the months went by, something began to shift. Your thoughts of him grew more frequent, and you found yourself wondering if there could be something more between you, a certain connection that was deeper than staff and idol. But you didn’t know how to navigate that newfound territory.

The studio was quiet, save for the soft hum of the lights overhead. You’d just finished your final rehearsal for the night, a grueling, last-minute dance practice before yet another big performance the next day. The choreography was complex, and although you had already practiced it countless times, tonight something felt different. Your muscles were sore, and the fatigue was creeping in, despite your best efforts to keep it at bay.

You stepped back, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. The floor was slick, and as you shifted your weight, your foot slid out from under you. Your heart skipped a beat as you tumbled, landing awkwardly on your side.

A sharp pain shot up your leg, and you gasped, biting your lip to suppress a scream.

"Ow, ow, ow," you muttered, cradling your knee against your chest.

The sharp sting spread, and you knew immediately you’d twisted something, maybe even pulled a muscle. You tried to sit up but quickly collapsed back, the pain overwhelming. Your breathing became shallow as the room seemed to spin.

"Y/N!"

The voice that broke the silence made your heart skip a beat. It was Seungcheol who came running to your side. He had been managing various schedules that weren’t yours today, quietly overseeing the chaos and ensuring everything ran smoothly. He only came by to make sure you were alright, only to find you had fallen harshly on the floor.

You tried to smile, even though you felt like a mess, but it came out more like a grimace. "I'm fine, really..."

Seungcheol was already at your side, kneeling with a concerned look on his face. His sharp eyes scanned you up and down before settling on your leg. “You don’t look fine,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

You bit your lip and tried to push yourself up, but the moment you tried to shift your weight, the pain flared again, and you gasped.

Seungcheol immediately moved into action. “Stay still, okay?” His tone was calm, but his hands were already at your knee, gently propping it up.

He was always the reliable one, never too loud, always observant. You’d seen him manage so many crises behind the scenes, whether it was dealing with last-minute changes or calming a stressed-out performer. But seeing him like this, worried for you, made your chest tighten. You did not want him to feel bad, not your fault.

"Seungcheol... it's really not that bad, I promise," you said, your voice softer now as you held onto his sleeve for support.

"You’re not fooling anyone," he replied with a slight chuckle, but his face remained serious as he carefully helped you sit up. "Let’s get some ice on that knee, okay? I’ll call for a doctor."

You hesitated for a moment. The idea of being fussed over always made you feel awkward, but it was clear that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. And honestly, you didn’t feel like arguing – not with him at least.

As Seungcheol helped you to your feet, you leaned on him slightly, letting him guide you toward the makeshift seating area backstage. The medic had already been informed, but in the meantime, Seungcheol was doing everything he could to help you stay calm.

"Does it hurt a lot?" he asked, his voice quieter now, less professional and more... intimate. You looked up at him, seeing the genuine concern in his eyes, and for a moment, you felt the walls you had built start to crumble.

"Yeah," you admitted, wincing as you gingerly sat down. "It’s not... horrible, but it definitely hurts."

He gave a small nod, then crouched down in front of you, gently pulling your leg onto his lap. His hands were steady as he carefully examined your knee, moving it just a little to check for swelling. His fingers brushed against your skin, and though it wasn’t an intimate touch, there was a softness to it that made your heart beat just a little faster.

"I’m sorry, I should’ve been more careful," you muttered, feeling embarrassed.

Seungcheol met your gaze, his expression softening. “No, don’t apologize. Accidents happen, and I should’ve noticed you were pushing yourself too hard.”

He quickly grabbed an ice pack from the nearby first aid kit, wrapping it carefully before pressing it against your knee. The cold felt soothing against the heat of the injury, and you leaned back, closing your eyes for a moment.

"Thank you, Seungcheol," you murmured, a little surprised by the calmness in your voice. You didn’t know why, but you had a feeling that you could trust him in a way you didn’t let anyone else see.

Seungcheol gave you a small smile, never leaving your side, keeping the ice in place. "You don’t have to thank me. I’m just doing my job... and, well, I care about you."

The last part was barely above a whisper, and your heart stuttered at the honesty in his words. The air between you felt thicker now, as if his words had opened up something you hadn’t realized you needed – someone who genuinely cared, someone who didn’t just see you as another idol, another performer.

He gave a small, reassuring smile as he glanced up. "You’re going to be okay. Just rest for now."

You nodded, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease slightly. Seungcheol stayed by your side as the doctor arrived and took over, but even after the treatment, he didn’t rush off. He sat with you for a while, his quiet presence a steady comfort as you tried to shake off the last remnants of pain.

When the doctor finally gave you the go-ahead to rest for the night, Seungcheol helped you to your feet again. "Want me to walk you to your room?" he asked, his voice warm.

You smiled, leaning on him just a little as you nodded. "Yeah... I think I'd like that."

The walk to the room was slow, but the simple act of Seungcheol being there with you made everything feel a little lighter, a little easier to bear. And as you reached the door, he paused and turned to you.

“Take care of yourself, okay? You’ve got a big show tomorrow. Don’t push it too hard.”

You nodded, offering him a smile. “I’ll take it easy, I promise. And... thanks again, Seungcheol.”

He gave a final, reassuring grin before stepping back, watching as you disappeared inside.

In that moment, you realized something important: sometimes, the most unexpected people were the ones who truly had your back. And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to see Seungcheol in a different light.

It was another late evening when you found yourself standing on the rooftop of the building, looking out at the city lights. The cool air brushed against your skin, and the quiet hum of the city below created a sense of peace. You had a lot on your mind, and the silence gave you the space to think.

Suddenly, the door behind you opened, and you turned to find Seungcheol standing there, his figure framed by the dim light from the building.

"Couldn’t sleep?" he asked, his voice gentle as always.

You shook your head. "Just needed some air."

He nodded, walking over to stand beside you. For a moment, you both simply looked out at the city, the world spread out before you like a sea of lights.

"Do you ever feel like there’s more to life than this?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Seungcheol turned to you, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, he answered with a quiet honesty that made your heart flutter.

"Yeah," he said. "But sometimes, you have to make the most of what’s in front of you. Even if it’s not always easy."

You nodded, feeling his words resonate within you. The truth was, you didn’t know what was ahead, but in that moment, standing beside him under the quiet moonlight, it felt like everything might just be okay.

Then, without thinking, you spoke the words that had been on your mind for so long.

"Seungcheol… I think I’ve been feeling something for a while now. But I don’t know if it’s just me."

He looked at you, and for the first time, his gaze softened in a way that made your heart race. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached out and took your hand in his.

"You’re not the only one," Seungcheol said softly, his voice steady but his eyes betraying the depth of emotion he had kept hidden. "I’ve been feeling it too."

Your heart skipped a beat, the warmth of his hand sending a ripple of warmth through your body despite the cool night air. The weight of his words settled over you, a mixture of relief and nervous excitement bubbling in your chest.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The city lights twinkled below, casting a soft glow on the two of you as if the universe itself was holding its breath, waiting for what would come next.

You didn’t know what to say at first, overwhelmed by the unexpected confession. You had always admired him from a distance, unsure if those feelings were just a figment of your imagination. But now, standing here with him, the truth felt undeniable. The connection you shared, the way he had quietly supported you through everything, was something more than just an idol and staff member.

"You… you’ve felt this way for a while?" you finally asked, your voice barely a whisper, afraid to break the fragile moment between you.

Seungcheol nodded, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles in a way that made your breath hitch. "I didn’t want to complicate things. You’re busy, and I’m just… well, I’m just a staff member." He let out a small laugh, but there was no humor in it. "I didn’t think it was the right time to say anything."

"But now?" you asked, your eyes searching his face, hoping for the confirmation you needed.

"Now… now feels like the right time." His voice was filled with the sincerity that you had come to associate with him, the quiet man who had always been there in the background, watching over you in ways you hadn’t realized.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, and without thinking, you stepped closer to him. The space between you felt too vast, and the pull to bridge it, to connect with him, was undeniable.

"I’ve been scared," you admitted softly, your voice tinged with vulnerability. "Scared of what it means, scared of what it could do to both of us."

Seungcheol’s gaze softened further, his fingers tightening gently around your hand, grounding you. "I understand. I’m scared too. But sometimes, you have to take a risk even when the things we want the most don’t come easily."

The words lingered between you, heavy with meaning. You looked up at him, your breath shallow in your chest. He wasn’t just talking about feelings. He was talking about both of you, about stepping into something that neither of you had expected – but couldn’t deny any longer.

"I want to take that risk," you said quietly, your voice full of the honesty you had been holding back for so long.

Seungcheol’s eyes softened even more, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Then let’s take it together."

It was a simple, almost understated promise, but it was enough. The tension that had built up in your chest began to unravel, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of peace. Standing there with him, the two of you under the same stars, it felt like the world had finally aligned in a way that made sense.

Without saying anything more, Seungcheol gently cupped your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. His touch was tender, and the way he looked at you made your heart race in a way that was both thrilling and comforting. Then, slowly, as if seeking permission, he leaned in.

You didn’t pull away. In fact, you found yourself moving closer to him, your breath mingling with his as the gap between you closed. The first brush of his lips against yours was soft, almost hesitant, but it held the weight of everything unsaid, everything that had led up to this moment.

And when the kiss deepened, when his hand found its way to your back, and you instinctively leaned into him, it was as though the entire world had paused. The noise of the city, the pressure of your career, the expectations - it all faded away, leaving just the two of you, standing together in the quiet glow of the rooftop.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and with your heart pounding, Seungcheol’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed in the peace of the moment.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "For waiting. For understanding."

Seungcheol smiled, his eyes opening to meet yours. "There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here, with you."

The night stretched on, but it no longer felt like it was dragging. Instead, it felt like time had slowed, giving you both the chance to breathe and simply be with each other.

You weren’t sure what the future would bring or how everything would unfold. But for the first time in a long while, you felt certain that, whatever happened, you and Seungcheol had found something real in the middle of a world that often felt too fast, too chaotic.

And as you stood there, hand in hand with him under the moonlight, you knew that, for both of you, the risk was worth it.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! › anonymous review form & join my taglist

@ credits┆thank you @kyeomofhearts for beta reading ☆彡

☘︎ taglist: @zozojella, @shinysobi, @kyeomofhearts, @codeinebelle, @eclipsaria, @nerdycheol, @supi-wupi

‧₊ ᵎᵎ "CHERRY.zip" ⋅.*

[cherry-zip]

— 𑣲Fuma .ᐟ Eeveelution love

› pairing┆Fuma x reader › genre┆fluff date ✎ word-count .ᐟ 1.7k ⌁ summary┆Making Fuma’s dream come true on Valentine’s Day.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! note › A Pokémon-themed park recently opened in Japan, so I took the opportunity to write this since Fuma would love to go there!

You don’t tell Fuma where you’re going. That’s the one and only rule of the day, even if he does not like it.

It’s deliberate. Carefully planned. You’ve had this secret tucked away for weeks, folded neatly in your chest alongside screenshots, reservation confirmations, and the memory of every single time he’s mentioned this place like it’s something sacred. Which it is, …for him at least.

The train hums beneath you, steady and familiar, sunlight sliding across the windows as Tokyo drifts by. You sit close enough that your knees brush, close enough to feel the warmth of him without trying. He’s relaxed - too relaxed - which almost makes you laugh and concerned. If he knew what was coming, he’d be going crazy.

You’ve been smiling to yourself the whole ride, your fingers naturally playing with the rings on his hand. He keeps glancing at you, eyebrows lifting slightly every time you smile to yourself, every time your phone lights up every now and then with reminders you definitely do not let him see.

“What?” he finally asks, getting his face closer to yours. His eyes are soft, playful. “You’ve been like that all morning.”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “Like what?”

“Like you know something I don’t.”

You shrug, leaning back against the seat. “Maybe I just like spending Valentine’s Day with my boyfriend.”

He huffs a laugh. “You’re bad at lying.”

“I’m not lying,” you say sweetly. “I’m just… withholding information.”

That earns you a look. Fond, amused, a little wary.

“You’re dangerous,” he says.

You take that as a compliment, giggling as an answer.

When the train slows, and the doors slide open, you stand first, heart pounding just a little harder now from anticipation. You step onto the platform, then turn back to him, reaching out your hand for him to hold.

“Come on.”

He takes your hand and follows without question.

And then he sees it.

The sign is impossible to miss - bright, cheerful, unmistakably Pokémon. Valentine banners hang from the entrance, pink with red and white, hearts stitched into familiar silhouettes. Pikachu balloons bob gently in the air. There’s music, laughter, the low, happy buzz of a place built entirely around joy.

Fuma stops walking.

You feel it immediately - the way his hand tightens around yours, the way his breath catches like it’s been knocked out of him. For a moment, he just stares, brain short-circuiting, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, as if he’s afraid that if he acknowledges it, it might vanish.

“…wait,” he says quietly. “Is that-”

The Japan Pokémon Theme Park is the one place he has been dreaming of going.

You turn fully to face him now, letting the park glow behind you like a revel and letting out a soft “Happy Valentine’s,” while kissing his cheek.

He looks at you. Then back at the entrance. Then at you again.

He laughs - one of those disbelieving, breathless laughs, hand coming up to cover his mouth like he’s afraid the moment will disappear if he reacts too fast.

“No, this-this is real?” he laughs, shaking his head. “No, you didn’t- this isn’t a prank?””

“I did,” you say. “We’re here. All day.”

His laughter spilling out again, breathless and disbelieving. His eyes shine - actually shine - and it hits you all over again just how much this means to him, and how much Fuma means to you.

“This is real?” he asks. “You planned this?”

“For you.”

That’s all it takes.

He pulls you into a hug so fast you barely have time to react, arms wrapping around you tight and sure. He presses his face into your shoulder, holding on like he’s grounding himself in the moment.

“I’ve wanted to come here forever,” he murmurs. “I didn’t think-I mean, I never thought-”

“I know,” you say softly, smiling into his hair. “You talk about it like it’s a dream.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes warm and overwhelmed and full of affection; he doesn’t bother hiding.

“I love you,” he says, kissing your cheek.

Your chest aches in the best way.

Inside the park, everything is brighter and magical. Softer, louder, and quieter all at once. Valentine-exclusive decorations line every path—heart-shaped Poké Balls, pastel lights decorating the trees, Eevee silhouettes cut into pink panels. Couples wander hand in hand, arms full of plushies and shopping bags, laughter spilling freely.

Fuma doesn’t know where to look, lost in happiness. He keeps looking around, almost afraid to blink, trying his best not to miss a thing.

He keeps stopping, tugging gently at your hand every few steps, but never letting go. You guide him gently, all while letting him set the pace. Every few steps, he stops to point something out.

“That’s—oh my god, look at that display,” he says, pointing at a display.

“They have that plush in person?”

“Wait, that’s limited edition, right? This is crazy.”

“Wait—wait, can we go there first?”

You let him. That’s part of the plan.

You laugh, letting him pull you along, watching him like this—unfiltered joy, barely contained excitement. This is exactly what you wanted. This version of him, eyes bright, smile easy, heart wide open. Your favourite version of him is out brighter than ever.

When you reach the Eevee section, he goes completely still - nearly breaking him.

It’s massive. Shelves stacked high with Eevee plushies in every size and pose imaginable, Valentine editions with tiny stitched hearts. Eevee-themed chocolates wrapped in pastel foil, pins, stationery, mugs, and keychains. The cherry on top is a centrepiece display that showcases Eevee and all its evolutions arranged like a crown.

Fuma exhales slowly, letting out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a gasp.. “They really did it.”

He steps closer, almost reverent, reaching out to squeeze a plush Eevee like he’s confirming it’s real. His thumb brushes over the soft fabric, and he smiles to himself, quiet and content.

You watch him, heart swelling. This—this is why you planned it. Not for the photos, not for the spectacle, but for the way his eyes light up when he’s surrounded by something he loves.

While he’s distracted, you casually pick up an Eevee plush—one you know he’ll love—and tuck it carefully into your bag.

The first gift stays hidden.

You wander through the park, stopping for heart-shaped churros dusted with sugar and sharing them while wandering through the garden area. You break one in half and hand him a piece, but he shakes his head. Fuma insists on feeding you the first bite, watching your reaction closely, as if it matters deeply.

“You first.”

He holds it up to your lips, watching you take a bite, eyes focused as your reaction matters more than anything else.

“Good?” he asks.

You nod. “Perfect.”

He smiles, satisfied, then takes a bite himself—sugar dusting the corner of his mouth. You wipe it away with your thumb before you even think about it. Your thumb lingers for half a second too long. He stills, eyes softening.

“Hey,” he says gently.

“Hey,” you reply.

It’s a quiet moment, tucked between excitement and noise, and it feels like yours.

Later, you tug him toward a Valentine photo spot framed with Eevee and Sylveon art. He pretends to groan but fixes his jacket anyway, smoothing his hair.

“You’re enjoying this,” you tease.

“I tolerate it,” he says, smiling. “I just have a reputation to maintain.”

“A cute reputation.”

The photos come out adorably perfect in their imperfection - one where you’re laughing too hard to pose properly, your head resting on his shoulder, one where you both hold up a little Eevee plush between you like it’s part of the couple, and a last one where he kisses your cheek and you look surprised, soft and completely gone for him.

He pockets the photo strip as if it’s something precious.

For lunch, you take him to the themed café you booked weeks ago. You watch him stare at his plate like he’s been personally attacked by cuteness. Eevee-shaped rice. Valentine desserts with tiny sugar hearts. A drink topped with foam art that's almost too pretty to disturb with, you guessed it, more Eevee.

Fuma stares at his plate. “This is illegal,” he says. “You can’t make food this cute.”

“You’re still going to eat it,” you point out.

“Yeah…Without any regret,” and he happily did.

Halfway through dessert, you slide a small box across the table.

He looks at it, then at you. “Another gift?”

“Open it.”

Inside is a simple bracelet, a silver chain, with a tiny Eevee charm. It’s subtle enough to wear anywhere, but unmistakable if you know what to look for. Perfect for him.

His breath catches.

“You got this… for me?”

“For you,” you say. “So you can carry it with you today.”

He puts it on immediately, adjusting it carefully, then reaches for your hand across the table and squeezes gently.

“No one’s ever done something like this for me,” he says softly. “You planned all of this… for me.”

“You’re worth planning for,” you shrug, smiling.

The afternoon drifts by in warmth and laughter, with shopping bags. At one point, when you’re sitting on a bench resting your feet, you finally pull out the Eevee plush you hid earlier and hand it to him.

He freezes, staring at you.

“You—when did you—”

“You were distracted,” you say, grinning.

“I’m surrounded by enemies.” He laughs and hugs the plush to his chest. “I love you so much.”

As the sun dips lower, the park lights come on—soft pink and gold, reflecting in his eyes when he looks at you.

“Thank you,” he says. “For making my dream real.”

You lean into him, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, Eevee plush tucked between you.

“Happy Valentine’s, Fuma.”

He kisses your temple, gentle and full of affection. “Best Valentine ever.”

And as you walk out of the park together, hands intertwined, bags heavy with gifts (loads of booster packs) and hearts even heavier, you know you planned it perfectly—not because everything went right, but because you got to see him this happy.

That was the real gift.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! › anonymous review form & join my taglist

@ credits┆thank you @orbitondgtl for beta reading ☆彡

☘︎ taglist: @shinysobi, @kyeomofhearts, @eclipsaria

‧₊ ᵎᵎ "CHERRY.zip" ⋅.*

[cherry-zip]

─ • CSC .ᐟ His eyes on you.

› pairing┆cheol x reader › genre┆romance, Valentin's date. ✎ word-count .ᐟ 2.1k ⌁ summary┆Valentine’s Day with Seungcheol was never going to be simple. He doesn’t do simple. He does grand entrances. ⇢ This fic is part of the Candy Hearts event organised by @svthub. I am very happy to wish once again a Happy Valentine's Day to our lovely @sunniques 💌 I hope February was kind to you.

You wake up to the sound of your phone vibrating across your nightstand. You feel warm under the blanket, sunlight coming through the curtains of your bedroom.

An upcoming call from “Cheol ♡” flashes across the screen.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he says the moment you answer, his voice still husky with sleep. It slides down your spine like warm honey. “Don’t make plans today.”

You laugh softly. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I think that was implied.”, rolling into the bed smiling brightly.

“I know,” he replies, and you can practically hear the smirk. “But I need you available. Completely. I’ve got plans.”

“Oh? Secret plans?”

“Very. And you’re going to wear something I bought you.”

You sit up a little straighter. “You bought me something?”

“It’ll be there in an hour,” he says smoothly. “Try it on. Send me a picture.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Mm,” he hums. “And you love it.”

You absolutely do. You were so excited to see what your boyfriend had planned out for you. And you knew, it was gonna be good

The delivery arrives exactly fifty-three minutes later on the dot. Of course it does. Seungcheol is many things—dramatic, competitive, ridiculously charming—but he is never late when it comes to you. He sets his priorities straight.

The box is heavy. Luxurious. Matte black with a gold-embossed logo that makes your eyebrows lift in shock and squeal in excitement.

He really did not hold back.

Inside, nestled in tissue paper, is the dress.

It’s silk. Deep, dark crimson. The kind of red that feels almost sinful. The fabric catches the light like liquid. It’s backless, held up by delicate straps that cross at the shoulders. The neckline dips just enough to make your pulse quicken, and the slit along one thigh is daring without being obvious. You knew your boyfriend had taste, but he was surpassing himself on that one

Inside the same box, sat an envelope with a note closed off by a red wax seal stamp.

For the most beautiful woman in any room. Wear this tonight and let me show you off properly. - CSC

You stare at the dress for a long moment before you press it against yourself in disbelief, before running to your walk-in closet to step in front of the mirror to try it on.

It fits like it was tailored for you, which, knowing the man - could be possible.

The silk hugs your waist, skims your hips, and flows just enough to make you feel elegant instead of exposed. When you turn, the open back leaves your skin bare, vulnerable in a way that makes your cheeks warm.

You take a picture—full length, soft lighting—and send it to him.

Three dots appear immediately.

Then your phone rings. An upcoming video call.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he says by way of greeting.

You cannot help but giggle at his reaction. “Too much?”

“Too much?” He exhales sharply, staring intensely at your face. “You look unreal. That dress…God what have I just done? The way it fits you... Turn around.”

“I just sent you a picture, isn’t that enough for you?”

“I need a video.”

You laugh but prop your phone up anyway, stepping back to give him a slow spin.

There’s silence on the other end. Then a low whistle. You look at him from where you stand, he’s sitting back in his chair, admiring you as if you were the rarest gemstone on earth he could lay his eyes on.

“You’re not walking into that restaurant by yourself,” he mutters. “You’re making an entrance. And you’re walking in on my arm.”

“You sound proud.”

“I am proud,” he says without hesitation. “You’re mine. Of course, I’m going to show you off.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest. Your cheeks were burning from the compliments, the shower of compliments and attention he was giving you.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he adds. “Hair down. Heels. I want everyone staring, knowing they can’t have you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” simply scoffing but laughing endearingly. You adored him for showing you off with pride.

“And you’re perfect,” he shoots back. “See you tonight, baby.”

Throwing a wink before ending the call, leaving you alone to get ready for what could be the night of your life.

At exactly seven, headlights sweep across your living room walls.

When you step outside, you see the car first—sleek, black, polished to a mirror shine.

Then you see him.

Seungcheol is leaning casually against the driver’s side door, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a bouquet of deep red roses matching your dress. His coat is charcoal, cut sharply across his shoulders. Underneath, a tailored black suit and a crisp white shirt, the top button undone just enough to reveal a hint of collarbone.

His hair is styled neatly, but not stiff. Effortless. Dangerous.

When he sees you, he straightens.

And then he just… stares.

Slowly. Unapologetically. Up and down as you walked down to him. Eyes of a hungry predator.

“Wow,” he breathes.

You suddenly feel shy under the weight of his intense gaze.

He closes the distance in long strides, his eyes dragging over you from head to toe, then back up again.

“You are unreal,” he says softly, stopping in front of you. “That dress was made for you. Or maybe it was made to make me jealous.”

“Jealous of what?”

“Of everyone who’s about to look at you.”

You smile. “I thought you wanted that.”

“I do,” he says, voice dropping. “But I still get jealous.”

He hands you the roses, then reaches out—hesitating for just a fraction of a second before his fingers brush your bare back to leave a kiss on your temple.

The touch makes you inhale sharply, the sensation sending chills down your spine.

“Cold?” he murmurs.

“No,” you breathed out, suddenly feeling shy looking up to look at his face.

“Good.”

His hand lingers, warm and possessive, sliding just slightly along the curve of your waist before he offers his arm.

“Ready?”

“With you?” you say. “Always.”

His grin is slow and devastating. He was truly capable of everything.

The restaurant is everything you expected - and way more than you expected.

Crystal chandeliers. Soft golden lighting. White tablecloths. The faint hum of live jazz in the background. It’s the kind of place where whispers carry, and glasses clink delicately.

The hostess greets him by name.

Of course she does.

And of course, heads turn as you walk inside the establishment.

You feel it the moment you step inside—curious glances, recognition, admiration. But Seungcheol doesn’t look at any of them.

He looks at you. Only you, his gem.

His hand rests at the small of your back as he guides you to your table, a private area all for yourself. His thumb traces lazy circles against your skin, a subtle, intimate touch that makes your pulse flutter.

“You nervous?” he asks quietly once you’re seated.

“A little.”

“Don’t be.” His eyes soften. “You look like you belong here more than anyone else.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

He leans forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand. “No, it’s not. I mean it. You have no idea what you look like right now.”

“Tell me.”

His gaze darkens.

“You look confident. Elegant. Untouchable.” His voice lowers. “And the fact that you’re with me? Makes me feel like I won something bigger than the lottery.”

You laugh softly. “You didn’t win me.”

“No,” he agrees. “I got incredibly lucky.”

The waiter arrives with champagne, and Seungcheol takes the opportunity to really look at you again.

“Stand up,” he says suddenly.

“What?”, you stared in confusion.

“Just for a second.”

You raise an eyebrow from curiosity but stand, smoothing the silk down your thighs.

He leans back in his chair, admiring you openly.

“Perfect,” he murmurs. “The slit hits just right. And when you walk…” He shakes his head, throwing it back a growling. “You’re going to distract me all night.”

“You did this to yourself anyway”, you couldn’t help but tease him, swirling and smirking.

“Oh I am fully aware of my mistake.”

You sit back down, cheeks warm. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love that.”

He reaches across the table, taking your hand. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow and affectionate.

“I wanted tonight to be special,” he says more seriously. “We’re always busy. Always running. But tonight? It’s just you and me.”

“It already feels special.”

“Good,” he says, squeezing your hand. “Because I’m not done yet.”

Dinner is indulgent. Rich. Delicious.

But the best part isn’t the food. It’s him, sitting across the table.

The way he watches you when you laugh. The way he subtly adjusts his chair closer to yours. The way he doesn’t let a single compliment go unsaid.

“Do you know how many people have been staring at you?” he asks at one point, swirling his wine.

“You said you wanted that.”

“I did.” His lips curve. “But I also like reminding them you’re here with me.”

“Showing off?”

“Absolutely.”

You lean closer, lowering your voice. “And what exactly are you showing off?”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“You. Your beauty. Your intelligence. The way you light up every room you walk into.” His eyes soften again. “The way you look at me like I’m more than I am.”

“You are more than you think,” you whisper.

He studies you for a long moment, something vulnerable flickering behind his confident exterior.

Then he stands, walking around the table to you.

“Dance with me.”

“Right here, out of nowhere?”

“So?” His hand extends toward you. “Let them look.”

You slip your hand into his.

He pulls you close - one hand firm on your waist, the other lacing your fingers together. The music is slow, sultry. Your bodies sway in an easy rhythm.

The slit of your dress shifts with each step, brushing against his leg.

He notices.

His hand tightens slightly at your waist.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs in your ear.

“You bought the dress.”

“And I would buy it again,” he says instantly. “You look powerful in it. Like you know exactly what you’re doing to me.”

“And what am I doing to you?”

He leans closer, his lips just near your ear again.

“Making it very hard to focus on anything except you.”

Your breath catches.

His nose brushes lightly against your temple, not quite a kiss—but close enough to make your heart race.

“You’re stunning,” he says again, softer this time. “I don’t say it just to flirt. I mean it.”

You pull back just enough to look at him.

“You clean up pretty well yourself, Choi Seungcheol.”

He laughs quietly. “Oh? Just pretty well?”

“You look dangerously good.”

“Good,” he replies. “Because I dressed up for you only.”

“For me?”

“Of course, you’re my one and only.” His hand slides slightly higher along your back, careful but confident. 

“Who else would I be trying to impress?”

When the night winds down, he doesn’t rush.

He pays, thanks the staff, and keeps his hand warm and steady against you as you leave.

Outside, the air is cool, and he immediately shrugs off his coat to drape it over your shoulders.

“You’ll ruin your suit,” you protest.

“I’ll buy another one.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“For you?” He grins. “Always.”

He opens the car door, but before you can step in, he gently catches your wrist.

“Wait.”

You turn back to him.

He looks at you like he’s memorising you.

The soft glow of streetlights. The red silk against your skin. The way your hair frames your face.

“I had the perfect night planned,” he says quietly. “The restaurant. The dress. The roses. You. All of it.”

“And?”

“And somehow you still outdid it.”

Your chest tightens.

He steps closer, one hand resting at your waist, the other brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I love showing you off,” he admits. “But more than that? I love that when we’re alone like this…” His voice lowers. “You’re just mine.”

Your hands rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under the crisp fabric.

“And you’re mine,” you reply softly.

His smile turns slow, almost shy.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmurs.

Then he leans down and kisses you.

It’s not rushed, not wild. It’s warm, deep, and intentional.

The kind of kiss that says I chose you.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours.

“Ready to go home?” he asks.

“I’m always ready if I’m with you,” you whisper.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! › anonymous review form & join my taglist

@ credits┆thank you @gentleisa for beta reading ☆彡

☘︎ taglist: @zozojella, @shinysobi, @kyeomofhearts, @codeinebelle, @eclipsaria, @nerdycheol

‧₊ ᵎᵎ "CHERRY.zip" ⋅.*

[sunniques]

miss you bby, hope you're doing well ✧*•.

i’ve missed you too lovely and i hope you’re doing amazing!! 🩷🩷

[cherry-zip]

─ 𝜗𝜚 NJM .ᐟ Criminal Move

› pairing┆jaemin x reader › genre┆smxt, fluff bonus ✎ word-count .ᐟ 2k ⌁ summary┆Jaemin wouldn’t be jealous of his girlfriend talking about another idol? Yes, he would. ⨯ content warning .ᐟ slightly jealous jaemin (?), dry humping

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! › minor do not interact, you will be blocked

The concert had been everything you’d hoped for and more. Taemin’s voice, his dancing, the way he commanded the stage—it was all mesmerizing. You’d screamed and danced along with the crowd, completely swept up in the energy of the night. By the time the lights came on and the crowd began to disperse, you were still buzzing with excitement, your cheeks sore from smiling so much.

As you made your way home, you couldn’t stop replaying the highlights in your mind—the way Taemin had looked at the crowd during “Move,” the way he’d effortlessly executed every move during “Criminal”—it was all so perfect. You couldn’t wait to tell Jaemin about it, even though you knew he’d probably tease you about being obsessed… which you were.

When you finally stepped into your apartment, you found him lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He looked up as you walked in, his expression softening when he saw your bright smile.

“You’re back,” he said, setting his phone aside. “How was the concert?”

You practically floated over to the couch, dropping down next to him with a dreamy sigh. “Oh my god, Jaemin, it was amazing. Taemin was... unreal. Like, how is one person even allowed to be that hot and that talented? His dancing? His voice? Ugh, I’m ruined. Completely ruined.”

Jaemin’s lips twitched, and you thought for an instant that you witnessed a flicker of something cross his face, but it was gone before you could place it. “Oh, really? That good, huh?”

You nodded vigorously, too caught up in your excitement to notice the way his jaw tightened. “Yes! He did ‘Move’ and ‘Criminal,’ and I swear, the way he moved his hips—” You fanned yourself dramatically, laughing. “I think I ascended to another plane of existence.”

Jaemin leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms, showing off his biceps in the process. “Sounds like you had fun,” he said, his tone light but with a hint of something you couldn’t quite place.

“I did! But you should’ve been there. You would’ve understood. Taemin is just... wow.” You sighed again, leaning your head back against the couch, still lost in the memory of the concert.

Jaemin watched you for a moment, his expression softening despite himself. You knew that in his mind, you were adorable when you were this excited, but there was a tiny, nagging part of him that didn’t like how much you were gushing over someone else. Even if it was Taemin.

“Well,” he said, standing up abruptly, “since you’re so impressed with Taemin’s dancing, maybe I should remind you that your boyfriend isn’t too bad either.”

You blinked up at him, confused. “What are you—”

Before you could finish, Jaemin grabbed your hands and pulled you to your feet. He spun you around playfully, making you laugh as he started moving to an imaginary beat. His movements were exaggerated and silly at first, but then he shifted into something smoother, his body rolling in a way that made your breath catch.

“Jaemin,” you giggled, trying to keep up with him. “What are you doing?”

“Showing off,” he said with a smirk, pulling you closer. “He’s not the only one who can move, you know.”

You laughed, your hands resting on his shoulders as he guided you into a slow, rhythmic sway. “Okay, okay, you’re good. Really good. Happy now?”

“Not yet,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower. His hands slid to your waist, holding you firmly as he pressed you against the couch. His hips rolled against yours in a deliberate, teasing motion, and your laughter died in your throat.

“Jaemin,” you said, your voice breathy now. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” he asked, his lips brushing against your ear. “Or are you just realizing that you don’t need to go to a concert to see someone hot and talented?”

You shivered, your hands gripping his shoulders tighter. “You’re jealous,” you accused, though there was no real heat in your words.

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, his smirk turning into a full-blown grin. “But I think I’m doing a pretty good job of reminding you who you come home to.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he cut you off with a kiss, deep and possessive, leaving no room for argument. When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your cheeks flushed for an entirely different reason.

“Still thinking about Taemin?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You shook your head quickly, your eyes wide. “Nope. Not at all.”

“Good,” he said, his grin widening. “Because I’m not done reminding you.”

He gently spread your thighs and hooked them around his hips, settling between them as he continued the movements he started earlier. He was hungry, and he had a purpose. He groaned in satisfaction as his mouth roamed, licking and biting your neck and shoulders. He grinded his core against you more firmly with each rolling of his hips, and your moans spilling out when you returned the friction.

“Jaemin…” you breathed out as his lips kept digging at your skin, making you his meal. “Baby, calm down…. just a little-” but whatever you were about to say left your mind as Jaemin started showing very special attention to that specific spot on your neck. Biting hard, making you scream his name as he smirked against your skin, feeling proud of your reaction. He kept going, pressing and rolling his hips against yours, holding your hips tightly while marking your necks, dragging his tongue all over.

“You taste so sweet, baby.”

Your boyfriend is insane. Mad. But you love him, and you love the way he knows you and your body to a tee. You can’t help but grip his hair with your right hand and hold the coach with the other.

“Not talking about Taemin anymore now, are we?” He whispers, teasing you to the fullest, bringing back what started it all.

“Fuck, Jaemin… ”

His left hand is dragging lower on your body, to palm your core under your skirt - slowly drawing circles over your clit, not caring about ruining your panties.

His hips and fingers are working hard, stimulating you, making you whine and squirm all over the place. Your hand grips hard in his hair, making him groan and kiss you harder in return.

You couldn’t help but move your hips against his hard member, both letting out sounds of pleasure.

“You.. feel so good Jaemin.” you softly gasped out. Talking had become way more difficult than it should have.

And sometimes, just the simplest sentence could break a man, his mind almost going blank. His hand focuses on your core ,and his hips press exactly where you need him, mercilessly grinding. Your mind was as dazed as his, the hand holding the coach now under his shirt, scratching his toned back, holding him closer than physically possible.

His response to your neediness was grabbing your throat with his free hand, forcing you to look at him, allowing you to see how wrecked you were just from grinding against him. Smirking, he returned to attacking your mouth, sucking on your tongue. You both were gone, drunk on each other.

“I- Jaemin..” you moaned into his mouth, gasping, “I-I’m close..”

“Me too baby,.. fuck me too,” he let out, never stopping his movement on you until the end.

Release came crashing onto both of you, loud moans, panting while breathing.

Jaemin rested his head against your marked shoulder, holding you tight as you both tried to catch your breath. Your hands are still all over each other, staying in this position until you come down from your orgasm, kissing the top of his head.

“You feeling good, baby?” he softly asked you as he was raising his head to look at you.

You just hummed in response, smiling back at him and stealing a kiss from his lips.

“Not jealous at all, right ?” you teased him, a bright smile on your lips, watching his face change, almost offended by this statement.

He tickled your side in response, making you squirm and laugh out loud. A smile formed across his face, and anyone could tell that Jaemin loved you just by seeing the way he was looking at you. He cherished you.

He kissed your forehead, whispering an “I love you,” and decided to carry you bridal-style up the stairs to the shower and then to bed.

Today really was incredible for two reasons, just don’t tell Jaemin you said that.

bonus scene

The following day, the two of you were curled up on the couch, a movie playing in the background, though neither of you was really paying attention. You were scrolling through your phone, still buzzing from the concert, while Jaemin pretended to watch the screen, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders.

“Look at this,” you said suddenly, holding up your phone to show him a video from the concert. “Taemin did this move during ‘Idea,’ and it was insane. Like, how does he even do that?”

Jaemin glanced at the screen, his expression unreadable. “Hmm. Impressive.”

You didn’t seem to notice his lack of enthusiasm. “Right? And his outfit—ugh, he looked so good. I mean, the leather pants? The mesh shirt? It should be illegal.”

Jaemin’s jaw tightened, but he forced a smile. “Sounds like you really enjoyed yourself.”

“I did,” you said, completely missing the edge in his voice. “But you know what would’ve made it even better? If you were there with me.”

He raised an eyebrow, his tone dry. “Oh, so you could compare my dancing to Taemin’s in real time?”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Don’t be like that. You know you’re my favorite.”

“Do I?” he asked, his voice dropping as he turned to face you. “Because it sounds like Taemin might be giving me a run for my money.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on your lips. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” he asked, his hands sliding to your waist as he pulled you closer. “Maybe I just need to make sure you don’t forget who you belong to.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he leaves no room for argument by kissing you, sweeter than the previous night. You could feel him smiling against your lips, his hands moved to your hips, holding you close, his body hovering over yours.

“Jaemin,” you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he murmured against your lips. “But you love it.”

You didn’t argue because he was right. And as he kissed you again, you realized that no concert, no matter how amazing, could ever compare to this. No one could ever make you feel the way he did.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! › anonymous review form & join my taglist

@ credits┆thank you @cheers-to-you-th for beta reading my fic once more ☆彡

☘︎ taglist: @shinysobi, @kyeomofhearts, @eclipsaria, @gentleisa, @nightshao, @neocity-net

‧₊ ᵎᵎ “CHERRY.zip" 🎀 ⋅ ˚

[cherry-zip]

─ • CSC .ᐟ Wrapped Gift

› content┆Seuncheol x Reader › genre┆Cute Christmas ✎ word-count .ᐟ 1.4k ⌁ summary┆On Christmas, you unwrap his gift. Then you wrap him instead. › inspo picture that tumblr won't let me post

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated!

Snow had a way of softening everything—sound, light, even time. The world outside your windows had gone quiet under its weight, the city muffled into a peaceful hush. From inside your living room, all you could see were drifting flakes catching the warm glow of street lamps, falling slow and gentle like a promise winter had made just for you.

The apartment, meanwhile, smelled of cinnamon and pine. The tree stood in the corner, its lights twinkling brightly, red ornaments reflecting tiny constellations on the walls. A quiet Christmas playlist hummed from the speaker—old songs, soft and nostalgic—the ones your sweet Seungcheol always ended up singing along to under his breath.

He’d been restless all day.

Not anxious. Not exactly. But… fidgety. The kind of nervous energy he tried to hide by cleaning things that didn’t need to be cleaned, by rearranging cookies on the plate, by checking the timer on the oven despite having nothing in it.

You caught him peeking into the bedroom twice.

You pretended not to notice, because watching him try to be subtle was honestly adorable. You just couldn’t help but laugh at his antics.

By the time evening settled in, the sky outside was dimming into a deep winter blue, you were curled on the couch under a big fluffy blanket, tracing shapes on your mug of hot chocolate. The soft heat, the smell of marshmallow, the glow of the tree—it was the kind of moment where everything felt warm in slow motion.

That’s when you heard him clear his throat.

Overly dramatic. Meaning, he was nervous.

You looked up.

Seungcheol stood in front of you in his cream sweater, sleeves pushed up to reveal the strong lines of his forearms. His hair was slightly tousled from running his hands through it—more evidence of nerves. And in his hands, held with an almost comedic level of care, was a small box wrapped in perfect red-and-white paper.

The ribbon on top gleamed like satin.

Your chest warmed at the sight.

“I, uh…” He cracked a small grin. “Got you something.”

You sat up straight, setting your mug aside. “Is this the thing you kept pretending wasn’t a secret?”

He raised a brow as if scandalised. “I’ll have you know I am excellent at hiding surprises.”

And you simply stared at him, with that “sure” look on your face.

He deflated instantly. “Okay, maybe not excellent. But I tried. That counts for something.”

You patted the cushion beside you. “Come sit.”

He obeyed, though reluctantly—like his nerves were still tugging at him. When he sat, his knee brushed yours before he tucked one leg beneath the other, body angled toward you.

He placed the box in your lap.

It looked too neat, too perfectly wrapped to have been done casually. You ran your finger along the edge of the bow, feeling the satin slip.

“Cheol,” you said softly, “it’s beautiful.”

He looked down, his cheeks faintly pink. “It’s just wrapping paper.”

“No. It’s the way you wrapped it.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he ducked his head, pretending to straighten a wrinkle in his sweater even though there wasn’t one.

“You gonna open it?” he asked, voice quieter, almost unsure.

You nodded and slipped a finger beneath the ribbon. It came loose easily, sliding apart as it had just been waiting for you.

Seungcheol watched in absolute silence.

You peeled the paper away, lifted the lid, and your breath caught.

The charm bracelet glimmered softly against the velvet cushion. Tiny silver snowflakes, each shaped a little differently, sparkled under the warm light of the Christmas tree. Delicate. Elegant. Beautiful.

Your heart squeezed.

“Cheol…” Your voice wavered without your permission. “It’s… it’s stunning.”

His whole body seemed to relax, his shoulders dropping as if he’d been carrying tension since morning. “Really? You like it? I wasn’t sure if it was your style or if maybe it was too simple or too—”

“Baby.”

He stopped immediately, eyes widened.

“It’s perfect,” you said.

A smile bloomed across his face—slow, warm, melting in the way only he could manage.

He took the bracelet from the box carefully. “Can I put it on you?”

You nodded and offered your wrist. He held it gently, thumb brushing the soft skin near your pulse as he fastened the clasp. His touch lingered a moment longer than he needed to, warm and grounding.

You turned your wrist, watching the snowflakes catch the light. Your chest felt full. Too full. Full in the way that made you want to hold onto him and not let go.

And maybe you felt a little bold. Maybe the Christmas lights made it easier to be brave. Or maybe it was simply the way he was looking at you—like you were something precious.

So instead of setting the ribbon aside…

You picked it up.

Seungcheol blinked. “Um… you planning to rewrap it?”

You smiled. “Not quite.”

You stood, tugging him gently to his feet. “Come here.”

He followed without question, eyes curious, lips parted slightly.

You wrapped the ribbon around his arm—right where the sweater clung to his bicep—and tied it gently into a bow. Your fingers brushed his skin through the knit, warm and solid, and Seungcheol’s breath hitched just barely.

He looked from the bow to your face.

“…What’s this for?” he asked softly.

You stepped closer, close enough to feel his warmth, close enough to smell the faint hint of pine on his skin. “You’re a gift too.”

The room went quiet—except for the muffled music and the soft patter of snow outside.

Seungcheol stared at you. And then his expression shifted—surprise fading into something softer, warmer, deeper. His lips curved into a slow smile that looked like it came straight from his heart.

He flexed, just a little, and the ribbon tightened around his arm.

“Then,” he murmured, voice dropping into that low, warm tone that always got to you, “I’m all yours.”

There it was—that spark in your chest.

You swallowed, inhaling the scent of cinnamon and Seungcheol. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, stepping closer until your toes touched. “Always.”

His hand came up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering at the curve of your jaw.

You leaned into his touch without thinking.

“Do you…” Seungcheol hesitated, his breath catching. “Do you know how happy it makes me, being yours?”

Your heart twisted gently. “You make me happy too, Cheol.”

He exhaled shakily. “Good. I’ve been trying.”

“You don’t have to try,” you whispered. “You just… are.”

His eyes softened like melting caramel.

He touched the snowflake charm on your bracelet with one careful finger. “I wanted you to have something pretty. Something that reminds you of me when I’m not with you. Something that says… you matter.”

Your throat tightened.

You stepped even closer, until your chest brushed his sweater. “You didn’t have to buy me anything to tell me that.”

“I know,” he said, smiling softly. “But I wanted to.”

He rested his forehead against yours, warm and gentle, breath fanning softly over your lips.

Outside, the snow kept falling.

Inside, everything felt like warmth and soft music and the steady beat of a heart you’d come to know as well as your own.

He whispered, “Merry Christmas.”

You whispered back, “Merry Christmas, Cheol.”

He smiled again—the kind of smile that felt like a hug.

And then he wrapped his arms around you. Tight. Secure. Tender. You melted into him easily, your cheek fitting perfectly against his chest. The ribbon pressed lightly against you, the bow brushing your sweater.

He laughed quietly, chest vibrating against you. “Guess I really am your present.”

You grinned into his sweater. “Best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“You sure?” he teased, voice warm. “Better than the bracelet?”

“Much better.”

He squeezed you tighter. “Good. Because you’re mine too.”

You didn’t need mistletoe.

You didn’t need fireworks or grand gestures.

Just him. His warmth, his voice, his arms. His ribboned arm holding you like you were something worth cherishing.

Christmas lights flickered across the room, reflecting in the silver bracelet on your wrist.

Seungcheol kissed the top of your head—soft, lingering.

And in the warmth of his embrace, nestled in the glowing hush of winter, you realized:

This moment, this person, was everything you’d ever wanted.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! › anonymous review form & join my taglist

@ credits┆thank you @belovedgyu for beta reading ☆彡

☘︎ taglist: @zozojella, @shinysobi, @kyeomofhearts, @codeinebelle, @eclipsaria, @nerdycheol

‧₊ ᵎᵎ "CHERRY.zip" ⋅.*

[cherry-zip]

─ ✽ JoongDunk .ᐟ White shirt, white skin

› content ┆ JoongDunk ⊹ genre .ᐟ smut and cute moments ✎ word-count ┆ 4,5k. ⌁ summary ┆perhaps Dunk knew what he was doing when he posted those photos, or who he wanted. ⨯content warning .ᐟ smut with a little plot, possessive joong (good way), penetrative sex.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! › minor do not interact, you will be blocked

Joong Archen was not a patient man. Not usually, anyway. He had learned patience from long days on set, from rehearsals that stretched into the early hours of the morning, from interviews that demanded the same stories retold in new words. He was careful, disciplined, and steady.

Only Dunk Natachai had a way of making him lose control.

The day had been routine until the notification appeared on Joong’s phone, glowing innocently in the palm of his hand.

> Instagram: dunknatachai posted a photo.

Joong tapped on it without a thought. And then time stopped.

Dunk. Sitting by the window in soft, golden light. Wearing Joong’s white shirt.

The fabric hung carelessly off his frame, collar slipping down to reveal far too much - the delicate curve of his neck, the sharp line of his collarbone, pale skin glowing as if begging to be kissed. His lips were slightly parted, his gaze calm, almost distant.

But to Joong, it was obscene. Intimate. A private view stolen by the world.

His chest tightened, blood surging hot through his veins. Does he know what he’s doing to me?

He did. Joong was certain of it. Dunk knew exactly how he looked in that shirt, exactly how it would drive Joong insane to see him like that while being unable to touch him.

The rest of the schedule passed in a blur. Joong laughed when prompted, smiled at the cameras, nodded through staff meetings. But beneath the surface, his mind was a storm of want. He saw the shirt in every reflection. He heard Dunk’s soft laugh in his ears. He felt the phantom brush of his collarbone against his lips.

By the time the day ended, Joong wasn’t thinking anymore. He was burning.

The apartment door clicked open. Dunk stepped inside, humming softly as he set his bag down. He didn’t even have time to call out before Joong was there - slamming the door shut, crowding him against it, every line of his body coiled tight.

“Joong?” Dunk blinked in surprise, tilting his head. “You’re home ear-”

The words broke off into a gasp as Joong’s hand slid to his shoulder, tilting his face up. His eyes were molten, his voice a low growl.

“You,” he said, like a curse, like a prayer. “Do you have any idea what you did to me today?”

Dunk swallowed, his pulse quickening under Joong’s fingers. “What are you talking about?”

“The picture,” Joong snapped, pressing closer. His breath was hot against Dunk’s cheek, his lips hovering just shy of contact. “You. In my shirt. Showing off what belongs to me. Do you know how badly I wanted to drag you away the second I saw it?”

Dunk blinked at him, lips twitching with the faintest smile, and whispered. “I just thought it looked good…”

“Good?” Joong’s laugh was dark, dangerous. “You looked sinful. And now-” his thumb dragged slowly across Dunk’s lower lip, “you’re going to deal with what you started.”

Before Dunk could respond, Joong’s mouth was on his.

It wasn’t a kiss - it was a claim. Rough, desperate, all teeth and tongue, as if Joong wanted to devour him whole. Dunk gasped, hands flying to Joong’s shoulders for balance, his knees buckling under the force of it.

Joong didn’t relent. His mouth moved down, biting at Dunk’s neck, sucking hard enough to leave bruises that bloomed dark against pale skin. Dunk moaned helplessly, arching back against the door.

“Mine,” Joong growled against his throat, marking him again. “I’ll cover you in so many bruises, no one will ever mistake it again.”

In one swift motion, Joong hoisted Dunk up, forcing him to wrap his legs around his waist. The sudden lift drew a startled cry from Dunk, muffled when Joong’s mouth devoured him again.

Joong pressed him hard against the wall, grinding their hips together with slow, deliberate friction that made Dunk’s head fall back in a gasp.

“Joong-”

“Feel that?” Joong hissed, lips brushing his ear. “That’s what you did to me. All day. Sitting there looking innocent while I was losing my mind.”

Dunk’s nails dug into Joong’s shoulders, his breath coming fast. “I… I didn’t mean to-”

“Yes, you did,” Joong cut him off, his teeth nipping his earlobe. “You wanted this. You wanted me like this.”

Dunk whimpered, his body trembling, betraying him even as he tried to form words.

Joong smirked darkly, biting his way back down to his neck. “Beg for it,” he ordered, voice rough.

“Joong, please..” Dunk gasped, his voice breaking.

“That’s it,” Joong murmured, his grip tightening on Dunk’s hips. “Beg for me, baby. I want to hear how much you need me.”

And Dunk did - breathless, desperate pleas spilling from his lips as Joong ground him against the wall, leaving him undone, already trembling with want.

Dunk’s voice was wrecked when Joong finally tore him away from the wall. His legs clung weakly to Joong’s waist as he was carried down the hall, mouths colliding in sloppy, heated kisses that left both of them gasping for air.

The bedroom door slammed behind them. Joong lowered Dunk onto the mattress with a soft growl of approval, letting him fall back against the cool sheets. Dunk’s knees bent instinctively, legs parting without thought as his breath hitched. The white shirt had slipped almost completely off, leaving pale skin glimmering under the warm light of the room.

Joong paused at the edge of the bed, drinking in the sight before him. Dunk looked vulnerable, exposed, and utterly beautiful. The soft curve of his neck, the way his thighs flexed under the sheets, flushed and swollen-lipped, hair mussed, shirt half-open and clinging to his skin. A vision. A temptation. A curse. It was all too much. Every instinct screamed to claim, to mark, to make sure the world knew Dunk belonged to him.

His.

“Do you even realize,” Joong said slowly, his voice dark with restraint, “how perfect you look right now? How much do you me want to ruin you?”

Dunk’s breath hitched, his eyes wide, but instead of shrinking back, his body arched - submissive, inviting, begging without words.

The last of Joong’s control snapped.

He climbed onto the bed, pinning Dunk’s wrists above his head with one hand. His mouth devoured Dunk’s, kissing him rough and unrelenting, his tongue claiming every sound until Dunk whimpered beneath him.

“You think you can tease me and get away with it?” Joong growled between kisses, dragging his free hand down Dunk’s chest. His fingers teased a nipple, pinching lightly until Dunk gasped and twisted under him. “No, baby. Tonight, I’m going to make sure you never forget who you belong to. You’re mine,” Joong murmured, voice low and possessive, almost a growl. “All of you. Do you understand?”

Dunk’s lips parted, a soft gasp escaping. “Y-Yes… I’m yours,” he whispered, voice trembling, eyes shining with need.

Joong didn’t wait. He moved forward, mouth claiming Dunk’s lips in a kiss that was urgent and raw. Tongue brushed against tongue, teeth nipping lightly, a mix of pleasure and ownership that left Dunk gasping and arching toward him. Joong’s hands roamed freely - gripping hips, tracing ribs, pressing against the soft curve of Dunk’s stomach.

“Do you feel that?” Joong murmured against his neck, teeth grazing the hollow beneath Dunk’s jaw. “That’s how badly you’ve ruined me. Showing me this… making me wait all day while you tease me. I can’t handle it.”

Dunk whimpered, nails digging into Joong’s shoulders. His body was already betraying him, trembling with anticipation. “Joong… please-”

“Yes,” Joong growled, pressing firmly down, “please what baby?” His hand trailed lower, brushing teasingly along Dunk’s hip before slipping beneath the waistband of his shorts. Dunk gasped at the touch, arching instinctively, pressing closer. Joong’s fingers circled, stroked, and flicked with precision that left Dunk moaning uncontrollably.

“Say it,” Joong demanded, voice rough. “Tell me how much you need me. Tell me you belong to me.”

“Joong! I… I’m yours! Only yours!” Dunk cried out, voice breaking, his body trembling, knees weak.

“That’s it,” Joong murmured, eyes dark with satisfaction. “That’s my boy. You like being claimed, don’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, please…” Dunk shivered, nails raking down Joong’s back. Every touch, every whisper, every bite drove him closer to the edge.

Joong finally leaned down fully, lips tracing the line from Dunk’s neck to his chest. His hands followed, squeezing, pressing, teasing nipples until Dunk’s breath came in ragged gasps. Each bite left a mark, each press of his lips a claim. Dunk moaned, writhing beneath him, unable to stop himself, unable to resist.

“Do you want me to stop?” Joong whispered mockingly, lips brushing the sensitive skin of Dunk’s inner thighs.

“No… don’t stop,” Dunk gasped. “Please… I need you…”

The words were all Joong needed. With a soft growl, he positioned himself, aligning carefully before entering Dunk. The gasp that tore from Dunk’s throat was music to Joong’s ears, and he didn’t pause. He moved slowly at first, letting Dunk adjust, letting every inch of him feel claimed.

Joong’s hands gripped Dunk’s hips, holding him tight as he began to move - slow, deep thrusts that made Dunk cry out, arching against him, gripping the sheets. Every movement was measured, controlling, possessive. Joong leaned down, mouth brushing Dunk’s shoulder, teeth grazing the soft skin, murmuring, “Mine. All mine.”

Dunk’s body shuddered, every nerve alight with pleasure and need. “Joong… harder… please…” he begged, voice breathless, pleading.

Joong obliged, increasing his pace, each thrust deep and deliberate, each one a statement of ownership. Dunk moaned, his body trembling, hips lifting to meet every movement. Joong’s fingers slid under his thighs, lifting, pressing, keeping him perfectly aligned, perfectly marked.

“You feel so good,” Joong growled, moving faster, more intensely. “So beautiful. So mine. You don’t even know how much I’ve wanted this, wanted you like this.”

Dunk’s hands were tangled in Joong’s hair, pulling him down, kissing him desperately. “I… I’m yours, Joong… only yours… please… don’t stop…”

Joong’s grip tightened, teeth nipping lightly at his jaw as he whispered, “My good boy… that’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” He thrust harder, faster, watching Dunk’s reaction, drinking in the sounds of surrender, pleasure, and need.

The world outside disappeared. There was only him and Dunk - sweat-slicked skin, ragged breathing, moans that filled the room. Every touch, every bite, every whispered word was a claim. Dunk’s cries grew louder, body writhing, legs trembling, as Joong fucked him hard and unrelentingly.

Finally, he felt it - the tremor of Dunk’s climax building beneath him. “Cum for me,” Joong commanded, voice rough, low, possessive. “Show me who you belong to.”

Dunk’s body convulsed around him, moaning his name, crying out, utterly undone. Joong followed seconds later, his release overwhelming, muscles taut, heat radiating between them. He collapsed beside Dunk, pulling him close, stilling him against his chest.

They lay there, heaving, sweat mingling, bodies intertwined. Joong pressed soft kisses along Dunk’s shoulder, jaw, and temple. “Mine,” he whispered again, this time more gently. “Always mine.”

Dunk, still shivering from the aftershocks, curled into him, letting himself melt into Joong’s hot embrace. “Always yours,” he whispered back, voice trembling, a soft smile curving on his lips.

Joong stroked his hair, rocking them together slowly. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was a promise: possession, protection, and love. And as Dunk’s breathing gradually slowed, Joong whispered into the quiet room, “Next time you post a picture like that, I’ll make sure you remember exactly what you’re doing to me.”

Dunk chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to Joong’s chest. “Maybe I want you to lose your mind again.”

Joong grinned, brushing his lips over the top of Dunk’s head. “Then post away, baby. But remember, you’re mine. Always.”

Sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting stripes across the sheets where Dunk lay pressed against Joong. The room smelled faintly of sweat, sex, and the faint hint of Joong’s cologne - warm, intoxicating, and utterly comforting.

Dunk stirred, blinking slowly, body still humming from the night before. He shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, only to feel Joong’s strong arms tighten around him.

“You’re moving,” Joong murmured, voice thick with sleep and something darker. “Don’t think I’ll let you get away.”

Dunk giggled softly, nuzzling into Joong’s chest. “I wasn’t going anywhere…”

“Uh-huh,” Joong replied, a lazy smirk forming as he brushed a lock of hair from Dunk’s forehead. “Sure. You just want me to think you can get away so I can remind you whose boy you are.”

Dunk’s cheeks flushed, and he pressed closer. “Maybe I do…”

Joong’s hand slid down Dunk’s side, teasing along the curve of his hip. “Maybe?” he echoed, low and playful. “Let’s see if you mean that.”

Before Dunk could respond, Joong leaned over him, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat. Dunk shivered, gasping softly as Joong’s lips trailed down to his collarbone, teeth grazing gently. “You feel too good, even half-asleep,” Joong murmured. “Look at you… still mine, still beautiful…”

Dunk couldn’t help but moan, squirming slightly against him. “Joong… stop teasing…”

“Oh, I don’t plan to stop,” Joong replied with a grin, sliding a hand under the sheets. “You think last night was the only time I was going to claim you ?”

Dunk’s eyes widened, a shiver of anticipation running through him. “Joong…”

“Yes, baby. I’m serious,” Joong whispered, lips brushing Dunk’s ear. “I could spend all morning reminding you who you belong to. Every inch of you.”

And he did. Fingers tracing, lips pressing, whispered words that made Dunk melt beneath him. Every touch was both gentle and possessive, teasing but demanding. Dunk laughed breathlessly, moaned softly, tried to wiggle away, only to be captured again in Joong’s arms.

“You’re ridiculous,” Dunk gasped, pressing a hand to Joong’s chest.

“I’m ridiculously in love with you,” Joong corrected, a low rumble in his voice. “Ridiculously obsessed with you. Ridiculously… desperate to have you in every way, all the time.”

Dunk could only whimper, arching instinctively, and Joong grinned, leaning down to kiss him with all the possessive tenderness of the night before. Every brush of lips, every sigh, every touch was a claim renewed.

Finally, after what felt like both eternity and mere minutes, Joong pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against Dunk’s. “You’re mine,” he whispered softly, smiling down at him. “Completely, utterly mine.”

Dunk’s hands curled into Joong’s shoulders, eyes shining. “Always,” he breathed. “Always yours.”

Joong chuckled, pressing one last lingering kiss to Dunk’s lips. “Good. Now… breakfast, then round two,” he murmured, playful and possessive all at once. “Don’t think you get a moment of peace, my boy.”

Dunk laughed, resting his head back against Joong’s chest, heart hammering from both exhaustion and anticipation. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he whispered, letting himself melt entirely into Joong’s arms.

Dunk thought he could sneak a shower after breakfast, but as soon as he stepped out of the bathroom, he found Joong lounging on the bed, shirtless, hair tousled, eyes dark and smoldering.

“You really thought you could get away from me?” Joong asked, voice lazy but sharp, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Even after this morning?”

Dunk swallowed, cheeks flushing, heart hammering. “I… I just wanted - ”

“You wanted to tease me,” Joong interrupted, rolling off the bed and stalking toward him. “You knew exactly what you were doing yesterday. That picture… that look… you know it drove me insane, right?”

“Yes!” Dunk admitted, eyes wide. “I didn’t think - ”

“You didn’t think I’d remember? That I’d punish you again?” Joong murmured, sliding a hand down Dunk’s arm in a light, teasing brush. “You’re lucky I’m in a forgiving mood this morning…”

Dunk shivered, goosebumps rising under Joong’s touch. “And if you’re not?”

Joong’s grin darkened, eyes glittering with mischief. “Then I’d make sure you never forget how much you belong to me.” He leaned closer, whispering against Dunk’s ear, “Even in public, baby. Even when you think you’re safe.”

Dunk swallowed hard, heat spreading through him. “Joong…”

“Shhh…” Joong hushed him, trailing fingers down his chest, under his shirt. “Quiet. You’re mine. That’s all that matters.”

Later, as they left the apartment for errands, Joong stayed unnervingly close, hands brushing Dunk’s wherever he could. At the restaurant, he would nudge Dunk with a thigh under the table, whispering, “Remember last night? You felt that good, didn’t you?”

Dunk flushed violently in the middle of the produce aisle, heart racing. “Joong! People are - ”

“Don’t care,” Joong cut him off, fingers tracing along Dunk’s waist. “You’re mine. Everyone can see… but only I get to touch.”

Even texting during the day, Joong’s messages kept Dunk on edge: short, commanding, and dripping with possessive heat.

“Think about yesterday. Think about me. I’m watching, waiting, and I’m not letting you forget.”

Dunk’s fingers trembled over his phone. He laughed nervously, cheeks burning. “He’s impossible,” he whispered aloud to himself, knowing Joong would find a way to punish that thought later.

By the time evening rolled around, Dunk was trembling again - not just from the memory of last night and of the same morning, but from anticipation. Joong didn’t need to say a word. His presence, the way his hand casually brushed Dunk’s arm, the way his eyes lingered a fraction too long on Dunk’s collarbone, was enough to set him on fire.

“Joong…” Dunk murmured as they returned home, voice low and almost pleading. “Please… I can’t… I need - ”

Joong silenced him with a kiss that was both tender and claiming, deep enough to make Dunk’s knees weak. “Good,” he murmured against his lips, “because I’ve been thinking all day about how I’m going to make you mine again. And I haven’t even started yet.”

Dunk shivered, pressing closer. “Please… don’t stop,” he whispered, giving himself over entirely to Joong’s control.

Joong grinned against his neck, low and possessive. “I never stop, baby. You’re mine all day, every day, in every way. And don’t you forget it.”

The city lights filtered through the curtains as Joong finally pulled Dunk back into their apartment. Dunk’s body was already warm with anticipation, hot pink cheeks, remembering every brush of Joong’s hands, every whispered word, every teasing glance from earlier in the day.

Joong didn’t waste a second. He closed the door behind them, pressing Dunk against it, lips crashing onto his in a hungry kiss, claiming, and demanding all at once. Dunk’s knees buckled slightly, melting into him, hands tangled in Joong’s hair, heart hammering.

“You’ve been mine all day,” Joong murmured against his lips, voice low and rough. “Thinking about me, craving me… and now I finally get you again.”

“Yes… please, Joong…” Dunk whimpered, body arching toward him. “I need you…”

“Need me?” Joong echoed, smirking as he slipped his hands beneath Dunk’s shirt, fingers tracing the familiar path across his skin. “You’ve needed me since the moment I saw that picture. Admit it.”

“I do! I… I’ve needed you all day…” Dunk gasped, pressing closer. “Only you…”

Joong grinned, lips tracing Dunk’s neck, teeth grazing lightly, leaving tiny marks. Every touch, every kiss, every low growl was a claim, and Dunk moaned in response, body shivering with anticipation.

Slowly, deliberately, Joong guided Dunk to the bed. This time, he didn’t rush. Every kiss, every hand, every whispered word was meant to stretch the tension, to make Dunk ache for him more than before. Fingers danced across sensitive spots, teasing, stroking, pressing just enough to make him gasp, squirm, whimper.

“You’re mine,” Joong whispered repeatedly, voice rough, possessive. “Mine. Mine. Mine. And I’ll prove it, again and again, until you can’t remember what it feels like to belong to anyone else.”

Dunk shivered, biting his lip. “Joong… please… I can’t… I’m so… yours…”

Joong leaned down, teeth brushing Dunk’s earlobe. “Good boy. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” Then, slowly, he entered him, letting Dunk adjust, letting every inch of him feel Joong’s dominance and ownership.

The movements this time were deliberate, teasing, torturous. Joong shifted angles, changed pace, paused to trail kisses along Dunk’s shoulder, chest, inner thighs - each pause designed to make Dunk shiver, writhe, and beg.

“You like being claimed, don’t you?” Joong murmured, voice rough, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of Dunk’s neck.

“Yes! Yes, Joong… only you… please…” Dunk cried, body trembling uncontrollably.

Joong increased his pace, hands gripping Dunk’s hips firmly. Every thrust was deep, precise, overwhelming. Dunk’s moans filled the room, ragged, desperate, completely surrendered.

“You’re beautiful, my darling,” Joong growled, lips brushing Dunk’s jaw, hands pressing him flat against the mattress. “So perfect… so mine. Every sound you make… mine. Every tremble… mine. Every inch… mine.”

Dunk gasped, body convulsing as pleasure, and needed to be coiled tighter and tighter. “Joong… I… I’m… yours…”

“Say it,” Joong demanded, voice rough and commanding. “Say it properly.”

“I’m yours! All yours! Only yours!” Dunk cried, nails digging into Joong’s shoulders, hips arching, voice breaking with the intensity.

The words sent Joong over the edge, and he followed soon after, muscles tightening, heat radiating, claiming Dunk completely. He collapsed onto him, pressing him close, sweat-slicked bodies entangled, breathing ragged.

Even after, Joong didn’t let go. Fingers threaded through Dunk’s hair, lips brushing his temple, murmuring, “Mine. Always mine. You don’t get to forget that, ever.”

Dunk shivered, curling against him. “I won’t… I never could…”

Joong smiled, brushing a soft kiss across his lips. “Good. Then rest, baby. You’ve been claimed… again. But remember… tomorrow, it starts all over.”

Dunk laughed softly, exhausted, sated, but already tingling at the thought. “I… wouldn’t have it any other way,” he whispered.

Joong tightened his arms, holding him close. “Neither would I,” he murmured, voice full of warmth and possessive promise. “Neither would I.”

The room was quiet, save for the steady rhythm of their breathing. Joong held Dunk close, their bodies still warm from the night’s intensity, limbs tangled, foreheads pressed together.

“You’re so soft,” Joong murmured, fingers tracing the curve of Dunk’s jaw, thumb brushing across his lips. “Even after all that… you’re still perfect.”

Dunk laughed softly, voice husky from exhaustion. “I feel… dizzy…”

“Good,” Joong said with a grin, brushing a thumb down Dunk’s neck. “That’s how I like you - soft, pliant, still mine even after everything.”

Dunk shivered, nuzzling closer. “You’re impossible…”

“I’m not impossible,” Joong countered, whispering against his ear. “I’m obsessed. And you? You’re my obsession. Always have been. Always will be.”

Dunk hummed softly, heart swelling, feeling both comforted and teased. “Even now?”

Joong smirked, slipping a finger beneath Dunk’s shirt once more, brushing along the sensitive skin of his stomach, “Especially now. Even when you think you can rest… I’ll find ways to remind you that you’re mine.”

Dunk gasped, squirming slightly. “Joong! I… I can’t - not now.. later”

Joong chuckled low, pressing a kiss to the hollow of Dunk’s throat. “You can. You just don’t want to,” he whispered, trailing soft kisses along his neck. “Look at you… trembling at my touch, still craving me. That’s mine. Every reaction… mine.”

Dunk shivered, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, caught between sleep and desire. “I… I am yours…”

“And that’s all I need to hear,” Joong murmured, brushing his nose against Dunk’s temple. Then, teasingly, he nipped at the sensitive skin near his collarbone. “But don’t get too comfortable… I’ll have you awake again before sunrise if I feel like it.”

Dunk groaned softly, laughter mingling with exhaustion. “Joong… you’re cruel…”

“No,” Joong whispered, brushing a soft kiss across Dunk’s lips. “I’m just in love… ridiculously, obsessively, completely in love with you. And being a little cruel is part of that. You wouldn’t have me any other way, would you?”

Dunk shook his head, pressing closer. “Never,” he breathed. “I’d… never want anything else.”

Joong smiled, finally settling down beside him, arms wrapped possessively around Dunk. “Good,” he murmured, fingers gently threading through Dunk’s hair. “Then rest, my baby. Dream knowing you’re mine… all mine. Always.”

Dunk snuggled into him, heart pounding, body warm, mind spinning from desire and affection. “Always… yours,” he whispered.

Joong kissed the top of his head, sighing softly. “Always,” he echoed. And in the quiet of the night, they drifted into a sleep full of heat, trust, and endless devotion - Joong’s possessive teasing lingering even in their dreams.

Sunlight spilled lazily across the bedroom, falling on Dunk’s tousled hair and bare shoulders. He stirred, still wrapped in Joong’s arms, and realized he’d been held tight all night.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Joong murmured, voice low and teasing, brushing a finger along Dunk’s collarbone. “You feel… perfect like this. Still warm. Still mine.”

Dunk blinked up at him, heart skipping. “Joong… you never let me rest, do you?”

Joong smirked, tilting Dunk’s chin up with a finger. “Rest? You’ve had plenty. Now it’s time for your morning reminder: you belong to me.”

Dunk groaned, hiding his face in Joong’s chest, but his body was already responding to the teasing touches. “Joong… not so early…”

“Oh, I think it’s perfect,” Joong said, trailing kisses along Dunk’s neck, lingering at the hollow just beneath his ear. “The way you’re all soft and shivering… It's irresistible. You’re mine, Dunk. Every inch.”

Dunk whimpered softly, squirming under Joong’s playful hands. “Y-yes… I’m yours… all yours…”

Joong chuckled, nuzzling him. “Good. That’s my boy. But we can’t stay in bed all morning… breakfast is waiting.”

“Breakfast?” Dunk murmured, still half-lost in the haze of sleep and Joong’s teasing.

“Yes,” Joong said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “But first, you’re going to earn it. Come on, up.” He pulled Dunk out of the covers, still holding him close, pressing kisses along his jaw and down his neck. “I won't let you go until I’ve reminded you exactly who you are.”

Dunk gasped, giggling and blushing. “Joong… you’re impossible…”

“And I know it,” Joong said, smirking as he finally let Dunk stumble toward the kitchen, hands still brushing, teasing, keeping him flustered. “But you love it… and I love that you do.”

By the time they reached the kitchen, Dunk was flushed, laughing, and breathless - but utterly happy. Joong pressed a lingering kiss to the top of his head. “Eat your breakfast, my love.”

Dunk smiled, leaning into him. 

Joong smiled back at his cute lover, wrapping an arm around him as they moved together, perfectly in sync - possessive, playful, and lastly completely and irrevocably in love.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! › anonymous review form & join my taglist

@ credits┆big big thank you @wooyoungqueen & @flowerwonu for helping out with this fic

☘︎ taglist: @zozojella, @shinysobi, @kyeomofhearts, @codeinebelle, @eclipsaria, @nerdycheol

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