hello love happy new year!! could you write for p1h where their partner just aggressively pulls the members to themselves from their belt hoops or shirt to kiss them out of a sudden cause they look SCRUMPTIOUS?
Pairing: P1Harmony x Reader
Warnings: tension, light suggestive content, makeouts, Boys looking DELICIOUS
Disclaimer: Not my pic
Keeho
The studio buzzed like a shaken soda can. Music thumped faintly from the speakers, half-finished tracks looping while the boys filled the room with chaos instead of progress. Someone nearly knocked over a chair. Someone else was beatboxing terribly on purpose. Laughter ricocheted off the walls.
Keeho stood near the console, arms crossed, jaw tight. At first he played along, tossing a comment here, a grin there. But you saw it. The way his shoulders crept upward. The way his fingers drummed against his arm a little too fast. He tried once more to steer things back, voice light but firm, telling them to focus, reminding them why they were here.
They did not listen.
Another joke. Another shove. Another burst of laughter.
Something snapped.
âCan you all get your asses together for five minutes?â Keehoâs voice cut clean through the noise. The room dropped into stunned silence. âWeâre here to work. Not mess around. Letâs act like it.â
Everyone froze, eyes wide. Even the air felt startled.
You watched him, pulse kicking, and bit your lip without thinking. There was something magnetic about the way he stood his ground, eyes sharp, posture rigid with control barely held in check. He exhaled hard, turned back to the console, and the session finally moved forward.
Recording went smoothly after that. Too smoothly. Keeho stayed focused, professional, like he had locked the earlier tension in a box and shoved it somewhere deep. You stayed quiet, watching him from the couch, replaying the moment in your head.
When it was done and the others scattered, he walked toward you with slow, deliberate steps. His expression softened before he even spoke.
âHey,â he said, rubbing the back of his neck. âIâm sorry about earlier. I didnât mean to snap like that. I just got frustrated. I shouldnât haveââ
You stood up.
Before he could finish, you fisted your hand into the front of his shirt and yanked him toward you. Hard. His breath left him in a sharp sound as your lips crashed into his, all heat and intent. It was not gentle. It was not careful. It was decisive.
For a second, he did not move.
Then he melted.
His hands came up instinctively, steadying himself against your sides as he kissed you back, slower but no less intense, like he was grounding himself in the moment. When you pulled back just enough to speak, his eyes were dark and searching.
âI liked it,â you whispered. âThat bossy attitude of yours...â
You felt him swallow. His grip tightened just slightly, like he was restraining himself. A crooked smile tugged at his mouth, equal parts disbelief and danger.
Without another word, he turned around, keeping one hand on you like a claim, and faced the rest of the room.
âWeâre leaving,â he said.
A chorus of protests erupted instantly.
âWhat?â âSeriously!â âWe just finished!â
Keeho shot them a look. Sharp. Unyielding. The same one from earlier, but quieter now. The room went dead silent.
âHave fun,â he added calmly.
No one argued.
He grabbed his jacket, laced his fingers with yours, and walked you straight out of the studio, head high, tension finally replaced with something far more satisfying.
Theo
Theo sat on the stool in the studio box, guitar resting against his thigh like it belonged there, like it had always known him. His fingers moved with practiced ease, sliding, pressing, bending strings until the solo spilled out warm and sharp all at once. The room quieted on instinct. Even the members stopped messing around, eyes drawn to him.
You leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, watching.
He looked good. Too good. Sleeves pushed up just enough, jaw set in focus, lashes low as he listened to his own sound. There was something intimate about watching him play, like you were seeing a private language unfold. Your gaze lingered longer than necessary. Your thoughts followed dangerous paths. Your expression darkened without you realizing.
The solo ended on a clean note that hung in the air.
Theo glanced up, smiling a little shy, a little proud. âSo?â he asked. âWhat do you think?â
Cheers broke out immediately. Compliments flew. Someone clapped way too loud. Theo laughed, ducking his head, eyes bright as he looked around the room.
Then he looked at you.
You said nothing.
You just stared.
His smile faltered, then shifted into curiosity. Before he could ask, you pushed off the wall and walked toward the studio box. The others quieted again, watching you join him inside the glass-walled space.
Theo raised an eyebrow, amused. âWhat,â he asked lightly, âyou want to hear it better?â
You shook your head.
Your hand grabbed his belt and yanked him forward, hard enough that he stumbled a step closer, guitar thumping softly against his hip. His breath hitched, surprise flashing across his face before it twisted into a slow, knowing smirk.
He leaned in just enough to murmur, âYou know theyâre still here, right?â
You did not look away from him.
âGuys, take a twenty-minute walk,â you called out, voice steady, eyes locked on Theoâs.
There was a beat of stunned silence.
âHuh? Why should we?â someone started.
You kissed him before anyone could finish a sentence.
Hungry. Decisive. Your grip stayed firm at his belt as your lips claimed his, leaving no space for doubt. Theo froze for half a second, then let out a quiet sound that melted straight into the kiss. His hand came up to your waist, guitar forgotten, fingers pressing in like he needed the anchor.
Outside the box, chaos erupted.
"We're in the middle of recording!"
Theo pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against yours, eyes dark with amusement and heat. âYeah, leave us alone,â he called calmly.
More protesting. A lot of shuffling. The door finally opened and closed. Footsteps faded down the hall.
Silence settled.
Theo laughed softly, breath still uneven. âYou planned that.â
You shrugged, thumb hooking tighter into his belt. âYou were provoking me.â
He smiled at that, slower now, something deeper flickering beneath the teasing. âYeah?â he said, voice low. âYou watching me like that didnât exactly help either.â
He leaned in again, kissing you properly this time, unhurried but intense, hands warm and sure at your waist. The studio lights hummed overhead. His guitar pressed between you, inconvenient and ignored.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours again, grin lazy and dangerous. âNext time,â he murmured, âyou could just ask.â
You smiled back, already knowing you would not.
Jiung
The bowling alley was loud in the comfortable, chaotic way that came with neon lights and too much laughter. Shoes squeaked against polished floors. Pins crashed in distant lanes. Someone was yelling about a spare that absolutely was not a spare.
Jiung stood at the ball return with his arms crossed, scowl sharp enough to cut glass.
âI swear this lane is cursed,â he complained, pacing a step. âThereâs no way that curve made sense.â
The others lost it instantly.
âHyung, you just threw it straight into the gutter.â âThat was the laneâs fault?â âDo you want bumpers?â
Jiung groaned, running a hand through his hair, passion igniting instead of cooling. âI am not bad at this. I just need one good round. One.â
You leaned against the seating area, watching him spiral with a fond, dangerous sort of interest. His brows knit together. His jaw tightened. He gestured wildly as he argued his case, voice rising, competitiveness fully unleashed. The more the others teased him, the more animated he got.
And the more irresistible he became.
You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes tracking him as he grabbed another ball and tested its weight like he was preparing for battle. He muttered under his breath. Someone laughed again. Jiung snapped back with mock outrage, shoulders squared, pride wounded but loud.
You let it go on for a few minutes, enjoying the show. The way he cared too much. The way he hated losing. The way his energy filled the space around him.
Then you stood.
Jiung noticed you approaching and sighed, already bracing himself. âAre you telling me to calm down?â he asked, half-amused, half-defensive. âI know Iâm crashing out, butââ
You grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him toward you.
His words died instantly.
Your lips crashed into his, all heat and intent, kissing him hard enough that he stumbled back half a step. His hands hovered in shock for a breath, then came down firmly at your waist as he kissed you back with just as much passion, like he had been wound tight and you had finally cut the string.
The world narrowed.
Laughter and noise blurred into background static as you kissed him again and again, quick and hungry, his grip tightening, his frustration burning off into something warmer. Intak wolf-whistled from nearby. Soul loudly pretended not to see.
Neither of you cared.
When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing harder. Jiungâs eyes were dark, lips flushed, expression caught between disbelief and thrill.
ââŚshit,â he said quietly.
You leaned in close, fingers still curled in his shirt. âFuck this stupid game.â
His gaze dropped to your mouth, then lifted again, a slow grin spreading like he had just lost and won at the same time.
You brushed your lips near his ear and whispered, âWant to play with something else instead?â
He laughed under his breath, low and dangerous, forehead dropping briefly to yours. âFuck you are crazyâ he murmured.
Then he straightened, glanced back at the lane, and waved a careless hand. âIâm done,â he announced.
The others erupted in noise again, but Jiung only looked at you, competitive fire redirected, smile sharp and satisfied as he let you pull him away from the game entirely.
Intak
The photoshoot was controlled chaos, lights flashing, stylists moving like a well-rehearsed dance, outfits rotating through the members at rapid speed. Someone laughed every few seconds. Someone else complained about layers. The photographer kept clapping, urging more energy, more attitude.
You stayed just off set, watching it all unfold.
Intak disappeared behind the changing screen and came back out a moment later wearing a white button-down shirt, crisp and clean, the first few buttons left open on purpose. The fabric clung just enough. His collar sat loose. A glimpse of skin caught the light every time he moved.
Your patience thinned instantly.
He looked unfair. Bright smile, relaxed posture, confidence slipping into every pose like it was second nature. When he laughed, the shirt shifted, revealing more than it should have, and your attention locked onto him whether you wanted it to or not.
You forced yourself to wait.
The set eventually calmed. Adjustments were made. The other members stood near the monitors, reviewing shots. That was your opening. You walked toward Intak with a calm you did not feel, lifting your hands like you had a perfectly innocent reason to be there.
âHold still,â you murmured, fingers brushing the front of his shirt as if fixing the collar.
He glanced down at you, eyes sparkling with amusement. âOh?â he said. âDid I mess it up already?â
You leaned in closer, voice dropping just for him. âYou look really good.â
His lips curved into a slow smirk. âWhy thank you,â he said softly, then winked at you like he knew exactly what that praise was doing.
That was it.
You grabbed his shirt and pulled him down to you without warning, kissing him hard and hungry, all restraint finally snapping. His surprised inhale turned into a quiet groan as he kissed you back immediately, hands finding your waist like muscle memory. The kiss was warm and full, brief but intense, enough to make the world tilt.
Jiung nearby gagged dramatically.
You pulled back reluctantly, breath uneven, foreheads almost touching. Intak laughed softly, eyes bright, completely unbothered by the audience. He leaned in just enough to murmur, âWorth it.â
He straightened, hands still resting at your sides for a second longer than necessary before letting go. âIâll try to behave,â he promised lightly. âIâll finish this as fast as I can.â
You raised a brow. âYou better.â
He nodded seriously, then smiled again, softer this time. âSo we can go home.â
The photographer called his name, and Intak stepped back into position, slipping easily back into work mode. But every glance he shot you afterward carried a quiet promise, the kind that made waiting feel dangerous and delicious all at once.
Soul
You were used to Soul in bright colors and soft smiles. Used to the way he bounced on his heels, laughed easily, leaned into sweetness like it was his natural state. Cute. Warm. Almost harmless.
That was why the outfit caught you so off guard.
Minutes before the concert, the backstage area buzzed with last checks and rising adrenaline. Staff moved fast. Earpieces were adjusted. Someone counted down time in sharp, clipped tones. And there was Soul, standing under harsh white lights in his new concert fit.
Dark. Sleek. Sharp lines where there used to be playful ones.
Your eyes traced him before you could stop yourself. The way the fabric hugged his waist. The way the neckline dipped just enough. The way confidence sat on him differently tonight, heavier, quieter, undeniably dangerous.
âYou know,â you said, stepping closer, voice low, âyou look⌠really hot.â
He blinked, surprised, then laughed softly. âHot?â he repeated, clearly amused. âThatâs new.â
Before he could say anything else, a staff member called out, âFive minutes!â
The energy shifted instantly. The members started moving toward the stage entrance, stretching, hyping each other up. Soul reached for your hand out of habit, ready to follow.
You stopped him.
He turned back, brows knitting slightly. âWhatâs wrong?â
You did not answer. You grabbed his belt and pulled him flush against you in one sharp motion. His breath caught, then he grinned, slow and delighted, eyebrow lifting like he had just been let in on a secret.
âWell,â he murmured, âthis is unexpected.â
You kissed him before he could say more.
Hungry. Greedy. Your hands roamed his upper body, fingers splaying over warm fabric, memorizing lines and muscle like you had been waiting all night for permission. He kissed you back immediately, hands settling at your hips, smile melting into something darker, more intent.
For a few seconds, the world shrank to heat and breath and stolen time.
Then a familiar voice cut through the moment.
âGuys,â Keeho said awkwardly, already half-turned away, âwe really have to go. Like. Now.â
Soul broke the kiss reluctantly, forehead dropping to yours as he exhaled, frustration clear in the tight line of his mouth. âBad timing,â he muttered.
You smiled softly, brushing your thumb along his belt. âBe good out there.â
He laughed under his breath, eyes lingering on you like he was making a promise he intended to keep. âIâll try,â he said, then leaned in just enough to whisper, âBut Iâm definitely taking care of you later.â
Another call echoed. Louder this time.
Soul stepped back, shoulders rolling as he slipped back into performer mode, but his grin stayed just a little sharper as he joined the others. Before disappearing behind the curtain, he glanced back at you one last time, eyes bright with anticipation.
The stage lights flared.
And you knew the show was about to be unforgettable.
Jongseob
The backstage hallway still buzzed like it had not quite accepted reality yet. Voices overlapped, laughter burst and faded, staff congratulated them as they stumbled back with the trophy gleaming under harsh white lights. Someone almost dropped it. Someone else hugged too hard. The win still felt unreal, like it might vanish if everyone stopped moving.
Jongseob stood in the middle of it all, eyes bright, smile wide, energy crackling under his skin.
You watched him from a few steps away, heart full and head dangerously empty. His suit jacket sat a little crooked now, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly mussed from too many hands ruffling it. Then he reached up and loosened his tie, tugging it down in a rough, careless motion that made your attention snap painfully into focus.
You inhaled slowly.
The tie hung loose around his collar, shirt open just enough to look intentional, confidence rolling off him in waves. This was not the composed, thoughtful Jongseob you were used to seeing behind notebooks and microphones. This was victory-warmed, adrenaline-soaked Jongseob, flushed and glowing and lethal.
He spotted you then.
His smile widened as he walked over, trophy handed off to someone else without thought. âDid you see that?â he started, voice bright with disbelief. âWe actuallyââ
You grabbed his tie.
Pulled him against you hard enough that his words vanished between your mouths.
The kiss was aggressive, hungry, born from too much emotion and nowhere to put it. His surprise lasted exactly one breath before he melted into it, a soft moan slipping out as his hands found your waist, gripping like he needed the grounding. The tie tightened between your fingers as you kissed him deeper, stealing the air from his lungs.
The noise around you blurred. Cheers turned into static. All that mattered was heat and closeness and the way he kissed you back like he had been waiting for permission to lose control.
He tasted like champagne and adrenaline.
When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard. His forehead hovered near yours, eyes dark, lips flushed, tie still clenched in your hand.
âIâm sorry,â you said softly, thumb brushing the fabric at his throat. âI couldnât help myself. Congratulations. You deserve it.â
He laughed quietly, chest still rising fast, and leaned in to kiss you again, slower this time but no less intense. When he pulled back, his voice dropped low, warm against your ear.
âYouâre lucky,â he murmured, fingers squeezing your waist, âthat we have an after party to get to.â
You felt his smile more than saw it. âOh?â
He kissed you once more, quick and deliberate, then rested his forehead against yours. âBecause if we didnât,â he continued, voice calm but dangerous, âI would finish this in a very different way.â
Someone called his name.
Jongseob exhaled, stepped back reluctantly, and adjusted his tie just enough to look presentable again, though the glint in his eyes promised trouble later. He picked up the trophy, glanced at you one last time, and smiled like a secret only the two of you shared.
The celebration moved on.
But the night was far from over.

















