#svt angst

[koalasandcuddles]

I need someone to write a seventeen fic based on the song Casual by Chappell Roan pleaseeeeeee!!

[haologram]

scorpius — c.sc [teaser]

— synopsis: looking for peace of mind after years of leading a semi-incompetent nightly patrol crew, you venture out into the deep forests that surround your village. not only do you not find peace of mind, but you also find yourself falling down a rabbit hole of identity crisis and the idea of falling in love with the supernatural. – genre: vampire au ; angst, fluff, eventual smut. — pairing: vampire!choi seungcheol x hunter!fem!reader – teaser wc: 2.1k || estimated wc: 40k+. — rating: 18+. minors do not interact. – warning(s): mentions of weapons (knife, gun), bodily injury/mentions of gore, spit (not in the way we're hoping unfortchies), seungcheol is annoying as fuck but dw we love the guy...scenting? smelling? you get the gist. — what to listen to: dirty little secret - the all american rejects ; brighter - paramore ; the hand that feeds - nine inch nails. – author's note: welcome back to haologram, where i drop teasers because why not...anyway, vampire cheol! full fic coming 🔜‼️let me knaur what yew think pleek <3 (or i will cry)

IT'S BARELY DUSK WHEN YOU NEAR THE CABIN.

Your eyes are slowly adjusting to the darkness around you, and the forest is seemingly quieter than usual. You pay it no mind, your ears picking up on any and every crunch near you; your eyes catching skittish deer and a fox or two before your knife pins a rabbit to a log with a quick flick of your wrist. You fish a bag and some twine out of your knapsack to tie its legs up and store it when you feel your skin prickle.

A pop, but not of twigs. Certainly not the crunch of leaves.

Your hand smoothly slides down your side, wrapping around the grip of your revolver before you hear another pop, accompanied with a soft groan. Your brow furrows, and you shove the rabbit into the bag with one hand before looking up to see a man shoving his shoulder back into place. There's a scowl on his face as he digs his fingers into the muscle above, your eyes widening as you silently pack up, your body low to the ground. You carefully hitch your bag over your shoulders again, warily approaching him and keeping a thick slice of distance between you and him.

He hears you before you can say anything, his head whipping up quickly to lock eyes with you. They're dark brown, lined with lashes long enough to touch his cheeks and thick brows fixed in the middle as he practically glares up at you. You raise a brow as an odd feeling stirs in your belly, your skin prickling all over once more as you tuck your hands into your coat pockets before tilting your head at him.

"Are you hurt?" Your voice is rough from hours of silence, "shouldn't be out here alone. Not safe for someone like you."

He looks insulted as his lips part, when you notice a gash along the thigh of his pants. You peer over slightly, not seeing anything in the setting sun before he brings a hand to cover it.

"I'm fine," his own voice is raspy, but there's a depth to it that melts in your ears. You suppress a shiver threatening to snake down your spine, your tongue running over your teeth as you shrug. Your boot nudges the bottom of his with an unimpressed look before he huffs, "there is a plethora of reasons that could prove I'm fine. Take my word for it."

You snort, "you're really in no position to be resisting help, buddy. This is vampire country."

"Trust me, baby," he rolls his eyes. "The only person in potential danger here is you."

"And I'm supposed to believe you?" You know you sound bored as you lean against one of the trees, clicking your tongue as he stands. He wipes the seat of his pants off, his hand sliding away from the gash in his pants. You glance at it, seeing the wound closing itself up — devoid of the crimson liquid of life. His eyes are hot as they trail down your body, before they meet yours — and you feel your stomach turn at the softness in their depth.

The same canines you'd seen dozens of times sparkle behind plump lips, "I'd hope you would."

"Please, don't kill me. Oh, God, think of my family." Your voice is monotone as you sigh, and you don't notice the small smile that cracks on his lips. "I didn't think I'd come across one of you so quickly."

"You didn't come across anything," he replies, his fingers tugging at the tear in his pants. He frowns, seemingly annoyed before looking back up at you. He sucks his teeth, "you've got really shitty survival skills. Anyone else would've killed me by now."

"I like to play nice with the puppies, what can I say?" You shrug, before flipping your knife out of your pocket and twirling the blade through your fingers, "but you're boring. All the others give me a little something to work with."

You're in front of him in two strides, the tip of your knife tapping his chin as he lets you lean into his space, "talk about shitty survival skills. You're just gonna let me kill ya?"

He glances at the knife in your hand, raising a brow before a smile crosses his lips. He darts his tongue out, dipping his head slightly and catching the tip of the silver blade on the wet muscle. He flattens his tongue against the metal, licking the blade before pressing a quick kiss to it. His eyes lock with yours, and you ignore the heat surging in your ears as he flicks the blade with his fingers.

Something in your chest feels different. No flight, no fight…

Freeze.

"You don't scare me, baby." He shrugs, "don't worry about me, though. I'm just passing through."

You can't reply before he's pulling the knife out of your hand, holding it like it has personally offended him. He stares at the blade, your name engraved into the blade, "Y/N, Laurestine Village. Huh."

Your hand has slid down your hip, your fingers once more wrapping around the grip of your revolver before he sucks his teeth, not even looking at you.

"If you're going to shoot me, you need to move just a little bit faster."

You don't get a chance to pull it out before you realize you're on the forest floor, the revolver knocked out of your reach as your arms get pinned to your sides by strong legs. He seems amused as you glare up at him, loosening his left leg and letting your hand slip out. You land a fist to his hip, earning a shrug as he grabs your wrist and pins it to the ground with ease.

"I will say, this is the most interesting handshake I've ever experienced." He's so close to you that you can feel his breath on your lips; only for your immediate response to be to spit in his face. It lands on his cheek, and he huffs out a laugh before leaning closer and touching the spot to your own face. He smears your saliva onto your skin, before scrunching his nose, "at least let me open my mouth for you next time, doll."

"Ugh!" You recoil as much as the ground beneath you will allow, "get the fuck off me if you're not going to rip my throat out."

"I fear I can't do that, baby. You're…interesting. And you smell amazing, might I add." He shrugs, "now…I'm gonna let go and you're gonna play nice, hm?"

"Fuck off." "See, now, that's just not nice. You're totally cramping my style right now."

"Aren't you supposed to be, like, a million years old? Why do you talk like that?!" You try to weasel your wrist out of his hold, "let me go."

"You're actually so cute, you know." He leans over you again, before he wipes your cheek with his knuckles. "Been a while since a pretty thing like you walked these woods. Then again…you're not all that human, are you?"

You still, your brows furrowing as he winks down at you before he pinches your revolver between two fingers and places it on your upper belly. He turns it, flipping the barrel out, "silver bullets, hm? You really hate my guts."

"I don't even fucking know you." "Then why are you trying to kill me, sweetheart?"

You scowl, "don't call me that. Get off."

"You know the rules, Y/N of Laurestine. I get off, you play nice. It's the only way we both make it out of this unscathed, you know, and I really wanna make it home tonight. My roommate brought his feeding friend over and she's cute." He speaks pointedly, but there's a lilt in his voice that gets under your skin. You let a hard breath of frustration out through your nose, your teeth gritting against each other as you speak.

"Fine. Get off."

He smiles down at you cheekily, your brow furrowing deeper as he clicks your revolver closed. He sets it down next to you, before holding your knife up and doing the same. You huff as he lets go of your wrist, before letting your other hand slip out from where it was wedged to your body by his knee. You rub your wrist immediately, feeling the agate ring missing as your hand slides down the side of your palm — only to see it now sitting on his pinky finger.

"Give that back." "No, it's my souvenir. The Y/N of Laurestine almost killed me on Celandine Hill, circa my potential death date."

Your jaw is tight as you stare up at him, annoyance stirring in your belly as his knuckle gently tilts your chin in either direction. He runs it up your jaw, down the slope of your throat before tracing a circle around the obsidian pendant resting in the dip of it. You're sure he can feel your heartbeat thundering as he presses two fingers to your pulse point, but he says nothing as he blinks down at you before his lips part with a question.

"Do they know what you are?" He asks, a flash of something in the back of his eyes that makes your blood boil.

"That doesn't even make sense," you shove his hand away. "Get off me before I kill you."

"You're so pretty when you talk like you have any power in this situation, baby." He smiles down at you, and your eyes catch the soft crease of a dimple on his cheek as he tilts his head at you. "My question is simple. Straightforward. Do they know what you are?"

He leans a bit more, crossing his arms on his chest as he nibbles on his lip, "you're that apothecary's kid, aren't you? Or at least, you pretend to be. You look nothing like them."

Something about the way he's looking down at you pins you even deeper to the ground than the weight of his body ever could. You feel an odd humiliation bubble in your chest as you try to keep your face blank, turning away from him as his nose brushes yours — only to hear a deep inhale beneath the shell of your ear.

"I'm going to get up, and you're going to be on your way. Am I understood?" His voice is low, almost backed with a bit of a bite as he makes you look at him. His cool fingertips dig into your cheeks in a way that makes your heart beat a little faster, and you ignore the way your nose and throat begin to burn with the ache to cry, "Y/N."

"Get the fuck off me." You mutter thickly, shoving his hand away angrily. He lets it fall away, rolling his eyes with a huff before rolling off you. He stands, and you ignore the way he holds his hand out to help you up. You shove your gun back into your holster against your better judgment, sucking your teeth as you try to clear your head of the daze attempting to fill it. You wipe the blade of your knife against your pants, and the itch in your palm is screaming for you to drive it deep into his chest before the sound of his voice makes your ears twitch.

"See you around, Y/N."

You scowl, but the words die in your throat as he disappears. You close your eyes, roughly running a hand over your face in frustration as you feel tears prick at your eyes. An annoyed breath is pushed through your nostrils as you grab your knapsack from where it was flung across the roots of the tree you'd been pinned down next to.

A feeling of inadequacy settles in your bones as you hitch the bag back over your shoulder, your fingers tight around the straps as you stare into the dark forest. You can see your cabin not even fifty yards away — sanctuary.

You should've killed him.

You could've, he was right there. You could've killed him the moment you noticed the bloodless gash on his thigh, the moment you felt the way your skin prickled the second time, and you don't understand why you didn't. Why you couldn't bring yourself to fulfill your threat, why you felt rooted in place, why his question bothered you so much.

Something rendered you fully useless in his presence, in a way that was debilitating. In a way that felt humiliating, in a way that made you rapidly blink back tears as you force one foot in front of the other in the direction of your cabin.

And you feel small as a voice in the back of your head tells you to just turn around and go home.

You've never been one to listen.

HAOLOGRAM © 2026 || no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[scoupsakakitty]

Symptoms Include: You | idol!Jeonghan x doctor!Reader | fluff angst

tw injury, blood mention, stitches, hospital

Y/N had been working at the military clinic for almost three months when she came to one very specific conclusion:

Yoon Jeonghan was a menace.

Not because he was rude. Not because he was difficult. In fact, he was probably one of the easiest patients she had ever dealt with. He always greeted the staff politely, never complained during examinations, and somehow managed to charm every nurse he met within five minutes.

The problem was that he appeared far too often for someone who was supposedly healthy.

At first she hadn't thought much of it. Military training naturally came with injuries. A twisted ankle during an obstacle course wasn't unusual. Neither were sore muscles or minor headaches. But after his fourth visit in less than two weeks, she started noticing a pattern.

Especially when every examination ended exactly the same way.

Normal.

Completely normal.

Which was why she wasn't even surprised when a familiar knock sounded against her office door one Tuesday afternoon.

"Come in."

The door opened.

And there he was.

Again.

Y/N slowly lowered the chart she had been reading.

Jeonghan smiled.

She immediately sighed.

"What's wrong this time?"

"That hurts my feelings."

"Good. Maybe they'll stop bringing you here."

He placed a hand over his chest dramatically.

"I come here because I trust you."

"No, you come here because you enjoy annoying me."

"I would never."

Y/N pointed toward the chair.

"Sit."

He sat.

She opened his file.

Immediately regretted it.

The document was becoming absurdly long.

Ankle pain.

Shoulder pain.

Headaches.

Neck pain.

Fatigue.

Stomach pain.

More stomach pain.

Even more stomach pain.

At this point she was surprised the military hadn't started charging him rent for using the clinic so often.

"What is it?"

"My stomach."

She closed her eyes.

Of course.

"Again?"

"Again."

"Jeonghan."

"Doctor."

"Your stomach has been hurting for three weeks."

"It misses you."

The room fell silent.

Y/N slowly looked up.

Jeonghan looked pleased with himself.

"Did you really just say that?"

"No."

"You did."

"No evidence."

She rubbed her temples.

Sometimes she genuinely wondered how he had survived military training.

The examination took less than ten minutes. As expected, everything was perfectly normal. Blood pressure. Temperature. Pulse. Every result looked exactly the same as the last six times he'd shown up.

Y/N leaned back in her chair.

"You're healthy."

"I don't feel healthy."

"You ran five kilometers this morning."

"Maybe that's why."

"That's not why."

"How do you know?"

"I'm a doctor."

"You seem very confident."

Y/N stared at him for a moment before a realization finally clicked into place.

The symptoms.

The timing.

The visits.

The suspiciously convenient excuses.

Everything suddenly made sense.

A smile slowly spread across her face.

Jeonghan immediately became suspicious.

That wasn't a good sign.

"What?" he asked.

"Hm."

"What?"

"Hm."

"Why are you smiling?"

Y/N folded her arms.

"I don't think this is actually a medical problem."

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"No."

"Then what's wrong with me?"

She pretended to think about it.

"Hm. Based on my professional opinion, I think this case might be outside my area of expertise."

His expression remained perfectly calm.

"What does that mean?"

"I think you need a psychologist."

The silence that followed was beautiful.

Absolutely beautiful.

Jeonghan blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then pointed at himself.

"A psychologist?"

"Yes."

"I'm injured."

"No."

"My stomach hurts."

"No."

"It does."

"No."

Y/N reached for his file and tapped it with her pen.

"You've visited me seven times this month."

"I get sick often."

"You don't."

"How would you know?"

"Because I've examined you seven times this month."

For the first time since she'd met him, he didn't immediately have a response.

Victory.

Finally.

Y/N almost laughed.

Almost.

Instead she continued speaking.

"The symptoms only seem to appear when you're scheduled to see me."

"Coincidence."

"Sure."

"It is."

"Definitely."

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes.

Y/N smiled sweetly.

The battle continued for several seconds.

Eventually he sighed.

"You know, doctors aren't supposed to bully patients."

"And patients aren't supposed to invent illnesses."

"Allegedly."

"Jeonghan."

"Doctor."

"You are impossible."

A grin spread across his face.

"There she is."

"There who is?"

"The doctor who likes arguing with me."

Y/N rolled her eyes so hard it physically hurt.

The worst part was that he wasn't entirely wrong.

Somewhere between the fake stomach aches and the endless teasing, these appointments had become something she secretly expected.

Which was unfortunate.

Because she absolutely should not be looking forward to seeing one of her patients.

Especially this patient.

She closed his file and stood.

"Appointment over."

"Already?"

"You're healthy."

"That's disappointing."

"No, it's good."

"For you maybe."

Y/N walked toward the door and held it open.

Jeonghan remained seated.

"Are you leaving?"

"Eventually."

"Now."

He stood slowly, still smiling.

When he reached the doorway, he suddenly stopped.

For a brief moment, the teasing disappeared.

The joking disappeared.

And he simply looked at her.

"See you next week?"

Y/N folded her arms.

"Hopefully not."

Jeonghan laughed.

But as he walked away, neither of them mentioned the fact that they both knew he'd be back.

One way or another.

The next time Jeonghan showed up at the clinic, Y/N was already having a terrible day.

Three soldiers were waiting outside her office. Someone had fainted during training that morning. Another had managed to sprain both ankles in a way she still couldn't fully understand. Her coffee had gone cold hours ago, and she'd barely had time to sit down between patients.

So when the door suddenly opened without warning, she didn't even bother looking up.

"What is it this time?" she asked while signing paperwork. "Your stomach? Your shoulder? A mysterious disease that only appears once a week?"

No answer came.

Y/N frowned.

Usually Jeonghan would've responded immediately.

Probably with something annoying.

Still not looking up, she continued writing.

"Unless you're actively dying, you can wait five min—"

The sentence died in her throat.

Because when she finally looked up, Jeonghan wasn't smiling.

Two other soldiers were helping him stand.

His uniform was dirty. There was blood on his sleeve. One side of his face was pale, and he was holding his ribs tightly as if letting go would make them fall apart.

Y/N was out of her chair instantly.

"What happened?"

"Training course," one of the soldiers answered. "He slipped during climbing practice."

Jeonghan attempted a grin.

It looked painful.

"Hey, Doctor."

"Sit down."

The words came out much sharper than intended.

For once, he didn't argue.

As soon as he sat down, Y/N began examining him. Her hands moved automatically, years of training taking over. She checked his pupils, looked for signs of concussion, carefully inspected the cuts on his arm, and then moved toward his ribs.

The moment her fingers touched his side, Jeonghan sucked in a sharp breath.

Her stomach dropped.

That wasn't fake.

Not even slightly.

"How far did you fall?"

"Not that far."

The other soldier snorted.

"He fell almost three meters."

Y/N slowly turned toward him.

"Three meters?"

Jeonghan immediately pointed at his friend.

"Traitor."

"You screamed."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

Y/N ignored both of them.

The bruising was already beginning to form beneath his uniform. Thankfully, nothing felt broken, but the impact had clearly been hard enough to leave him with a serious rib contusion. The cut along his arm wasn't deep, but it would need stitches.

By the time she finished examining him, her earlier annoyance had completely disappeared.

Now she was just worried.

Which somehow annoyed her even more.

The two soldiers eventually left, leaving the room unusually quiet.

Y/N prepared the equipment needed for the stitches.

Jeonghan watched her from the examination table.

For once, he wasn't talking.

For once, he wasn't trying to be funny.

And somehow that bothered her.

"Does it hurt?" she finally asked.

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

"Concerned, Doctor?"

"Answer the question."

"A little."

She gave him a look.

He sighed.

"A lot."

"Good."

His mouth fell open.

"Good?"

"Maybe next time you'll stop treating military training like a vacation."

"I was climbing."

"You were showing off."

"I was not."

"You absolutely were."

A small smile appeared on his face.

There he was.

The Jeonghan she knew.

Unfortunately.

Y/N carefully cleaned the cut before beginning the stitches. Jeonghan remained surprisingly quiet throughout the process, though every now and then she noticed him watching her.

Not glancing.

Watching.

It was distracting.

"Stop staring."

"I'm not staring."

"You are."

"I'm appreciating your professionalism."

"Jeonghan."

"I'm serious."

"You literally fell off a wall."

"That doesn't mean I can't multitask."

Y/N shook her head.

Unbelievable.

Several minutes later she finished the final stitch and stepped back.

"There."

Jeonghan looked down.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"No lollipop?"

"This isn't kindergarten."

His disappointment looked entirely genuine.

Y/N couldn't help laughing.

The sound surprised both of them.

For a brief moment neither spoke.

Then the room became quiet again.

Different this time.

Softer.

Jeonghan was the first to break the silence.

"You know..."

Y/N continued writing notes in his file.

"Hm?"

"I think this is the first time you've actually believed I was injured."

"Because this is the first time you actually were injured."

"Fair."

She finished her notes and closed the file.

"You're restricted from intense physical activity for a while."

"That's tragic."

"You'll survive."

"I almost didn't."

"You bruised your ribs."

"I suffered."

"You complained."

"Same thing."

Y/N rolled her eyes.

But when she looked up, she caught him smiling.

Not his usual mischievous smile.

Something smaller.

Something more nervous.

Which immediately made her suspicious.

"What?"

Jeonghan rubbed the back of his neck.

The gesture looked strangely awkward coming from someone who usually had endless confidence.

"What?"

He looked away briefly before meeting her eyes again.

"You know I'm getting discharged soon."

Y/N nodded.

She knew.

Everyone knew.

His military service was almost over.

For some reason, she suddenly didn't like thinking about that.

"Congratulations."

"Thanks."

A short silence followed.

Then another.

And another.

Until finally Jeonghan spoke.

"I was thinking."

"Dangerous."

"Very."

Y/N smiled despite herself.

Jeonghan took a breath.

Then another.

Which was odd.

Yoon Jeonghan never seemed nervous.

Yet somehow he did now.

"When my military service is over..."

Y/N waited.

"...would you go on a date with me?"

The room became completely silent.

For a second, Y/N genuinely thought she'd imagined it.

Then she looked at him.

He was still smiling.

Though this time it looked far less confident than usual.

Almost vulnerable.

"You're asking me out while injured?"

"I figured if you said no, I'd already be in pain."

Y/N stared at him.

Then laughed.

Actually laughed.

Jeonghan immediately looked offended.

"That's not a good sign."

"No, it's just..."

She shook her head.

"Only you would choose this moment."

"So is that a yes?"

Y/N looked at him for a long moment.

At the bruises.

The bandages.

The stitches she had just finished.

At the man who had spent months inventing reasons to visit her.

The answer had probably been obvious for a while now.

She sighed.

"Took you long enough."

For the first time since she'd met him, Jeonghan looked completely speechless.

And somehow that was even more satisfying than diagnosing his fake stomach aches.

[citrushao]

svt '95 line + fighting with them

seungcheol

seungcheol tries his best to keep his cool during arguments. he really does—he's used to the boys always getting on his nerves and carrying everyone's weight, so he likes to think if there's anyone he should be able to handle himself around, it should be you.

he knows it's futile to stop small arguments, but you both are somewhat playful when it comes to the petty, occassional fights. it comes to the rarer, more serious fights—much like the one you're having now—which seungcheol usually tries to prevent.

yelling in each other's faces is never what you want, but with cheol, it's often inevitable. heat flushes to your cheeks, and you can hardly even see him through the tears in your eyes—you know he doesn’t mean what he’s saying, you’re sure of it, but you can’t help but let the harsh words get to your head. it’s all catching up to you, and you’re finding it harder to bite back, harder to find the voice in your throat, harder to find it in you to say anything at all. after seungcheol’s finished with the tangent he’s on, he notices how you’ve stilled.

giving you a moment to respond, the silence gives you both a moment to let your emotions to sink in properly. after a few minutes of silence, both of calming down your breathing and tears, seungcheol will talk again. “baby i’m sorry.” you’re quiet for a moment before you take a deep breath.

“let’s talk about this in the morning,” you finally say, “i think we’ve both said enough tonight.” he nods in agreement as you turn on your heel to grab a blanket and pillow from your shared room, but he catches on quickly.

"baby no," he quickly remarks, grabbing the pillow from your arms. "what are you doing?"

"sleeping on the couch," you huff, trying to act more nonchalant than your heart allows. frustrated by his relentless grip, you tug your pillow harder. "let me go," you murmur, averting your gaze so you don't meet his pleading eyes.

"baby," he says quietly, trying to move closer. quickly, you shuffle away.

sighing, you reply, "let me go. i just want my space." seungcheol frowns.

"let me take the couch."

"no, let me go cheol."

"baby—"

"choi seungcheol, let me go now," you say so sternly that cheol almost jumps back. you soften upon catching the defeated look on his face. "your body doesn't even fit on the couch. let me ... let me take it for the night and we can talk in the morning, okay?" you say more softly this time, finally meeting his gaze.

"fine ..." he defeats, sulking off to the room as you turn away.

jeonghan

jeonghan would easily be one of calmest members in an argument, no matter how heated it seems to get. he's a bit goofy and playful at times, and will maybe press some of your buttons every now and then, but when he notices the cracks in your voice, the soft quiver in your lips, the glossing of your eyes, he learns to be very careful. careful of his words, he reactions, his actions, and mostly, he's careful with you.

he has you both at the dinner table, hands interlaced, and whenever you're talking and he notices you start talking faster, more angrily, more heated, he'll stroke a thumb over your knuckles. you're still a bit angry but how can you feel anything but endearment when he's doing everything in his power to understand you?

you really can't imagine any argument with jeonghan where you're both yelling and he says anything he regrets, just because he's be so perceptive and strict with himself about the course of your argument. sometimes though, he understands that some issues take more time to be resolved however if you even suggest the idea of you sleeping in a different room, he'll be very against it, insisting that wherever you're sleeping, he's sleeping.

joshua

arguments with joshua are, to say the least, rare. he's so good at that, you know? so good at catching your tears before they fall, so good at apologizing before a complaint even has the chance to escape your lips, so good at diffusing any situation before it gets out of hand—out of hand much like this one.

you always tell your girlfriends that shua knows you so well—that he knows you inside and out. it's in moments like these that you wonder if joshua knows just too well—and that when he's batting, he’ll be ready to strike where it hurts, throwing out words he wouldn’t imagine saying if he was in his right mind.

you aren't used to joshua like this—mean, sharp, and worst of all: cold. you’re not sure how to handle this, because as far as you know, the shua you know and love is not the same as the man frowning deeply in front of you know.

it's when he's spitting out something that you'd never in a million years think he'd ever say that you start go quiet, letting his words sink in to both of your minds. you're suddenly wiping away at your cheeks, furiously trying to get your tears to stop because you're mind is just so clouded and scrambled that you can hardly think.

"baby, i—" joshua's voice is softer the next time he speaks after realized just exactly what he's said, but you cut him off.

"i'm—" you start with a shaky breath, "—i'm gonna sleep on the couch tonight." joshua physically winces at your proposition but he also knows that he brought this upon himself, so he doesn't protest, rather collecting himself and using his time alone tonight to think about how to approach this situation the next morning. he doesn't say anything more, knowing that it'll only be poking the bear.

a/n: life falling apart, romance dead, bladee on repeat, perfect conditions to write some angsty slop

[junhuishalfeatenbao]

SVT (CSM AU): SVT leaders

Warnings: word vomit, angsty, mentions of death, sacrifice of body parts, alcohol consumption, it's the chainsaw man universe where everything sucks, mentions of major character deaths

(around 800 words)

Scoups would be the most protective out of all the leaders, he would decline missions that would for sure result in the death of his team members. He hates taking in new members because he hates training newbies to adjust to his team’s current rhythm. He’s contracted to the violence devil which lets him increase his physical endurance and strength in exchange for his lifespan. Oooh the angst potential is crazy with this one, imagine after a big fight where Scoups saves the team like usual and they are out for drinks and a member says how they wish they can do this for the next 5 years. And Scoups wonders if he can survive that much longer, after he’s drunk out of his mind and manages to drag himself to his apartment he asks the violence devil how much longer he has left.

OR or he wants to save a member, they aren’t at the risk of death but they would surely not be able to go on another mission with him again if he lets it happen and he wants to enhance himself. But the violence devil doesn’t allow it because he doesn’t have the lifespan for it. His member then loses their ability to fight and scoups blames himself for it every time he sees him and starts to go crazy during the last few years of his life 

Hoshi has to have the tiger devil as his contract. But I'm also really conflicted because i feel like the rat devil might also be a good fit because he just wants to be a tiger half the time. I'm imagining Hoshi being able to summon a bunch of rats like the rat king and transport himself everywhere. But tiger Hoshi also would have the cool power of grasping his fist and being able to summon the tiger’s jaw or pawing the air to use a tiger’s claw like the fox devil. He’s probably need to either need to get the tiger devil an offering of a devil’s whole body or he will need to offer it a large chunk of flesh from his body. Many thoughts on what devil Hoshi would contract. Many people in public safety might look down on him during his rookie days because of how cheerful he is but now he’s one of the longest surviving members. 

I'm imagining Hoshi as a popular senior who often takes out his juniors for drinks even if they only killed a weak devil. Many rookies might be jealous of his unit until they join his unit and realize the hell his team goes through (Hoshi’s training regime). Ohhh thoughts on how Hoshi wants to survive so that he can kill the devil that destroyed his hometown and killed his family. 

Woozi is the best team strategist in public safety SK. He’s probably the execs favorite out of all the team leaders because every plan he makes always exceeds expectations. Woozi probably looks like and acts the coldest out of all the leaders but he's actually the biggest softy out of the 3 of them. Woozi who is contracted with the future devil, reflection devil and the nail devil, he traded his sense of smell and touch for a contract with the reflection devil so that he can get a glimpse of any location with a reflection, the future devil lives in his left ear and eye which lets him see and hear into the future. And for the nail devil he trades his fingernails so that he can have the power to summon a large number of nails to spike enemies. 

Woozi who dreamt of becoming a singer who plays his guitar at every show, but ever since being scouted/blackmailed by public safety SK has become a devil hunter. Woozi who moved away from his old apartment to the apartments public safety SK provided because he can’t stand to remember the days before he became a devil hunter. He started smoking ever since joining Public Safety, he doesn't even sing anymore and he can't stand the taste of alcohol. Woozi who’s too much of a feeler to become a devil hunter, he gets attached to newbies too fast and every time he sees somebody busking on the streets of Hongdae or Gangnam he drops them way too much money because he hopes that they could become a musician like he wanted to be.

[haologram]

dial drunk ⌁ c.sc [m]

— synopsis: just a few days after you've broken up, seungcheol thinks he'll find an answer at the bottom of a bottle. – genre: exes to ??? ; angst. — pairing: mechanic!choi seungcheol x ex-girlfriend!reader – word count: 3.6k — rating: 18+. minors do not interact. – warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol/drinking. also mental health questionnaires, so warning for that: mental health. — what to listen to: dial drunk - noah kahan ; new perspective - noah kahan ; mess - noah kahan ; maine - noah kahan. (this is an ode to noah kahan lol) – author's note: [thank you to @/saradika here on tumblr for these winter dividers!] welcome back to haologram, where apparently i write love letters to my friends and their fics. this was beautifully and wonderfully inspired by thee @miniseokminnies and their fic forgive my northern attitude. fanfiction of fanfiction...fanfiception (or love for my wife and their noggin, if we're being honest with ourselves.) enjoy!

"HOW'RE YOU DOING TONIGHT, SON?"

He doesn't even bother looking up at the officers shining the flashlight on him, his fingers gripping the brown bag that holds all the answer they need.

Well, the back pocket of his jeans holds the catalyst to said answer — a very first love letter written when you were both sixteen, in that black gel pen you love across a pink piece of construction paper. You'd cut it to be eight-by-eleven so it'd fit in the envelope you decorated that very first time, doodled with hearts and flowers and Mr. and Mrs. Seungcheol Choi across the front.

The envelope still sits painfully in the bottom of one of his desk drawers, hidden under all the other love letters. Ones you'd written after fights, ones you'd written for birthdays, month-aversaries, even on the one-year anniversary of your first kiss. So many letters, so many things said and yet nothing meant more to him than that swirled I love you, Cheol.

But you weren't going to be a Mrs. Degree. No way, you were going to be big. Huge, even. One of the greats, if not the greatest. And Seungcheol knew that.

He loved that.

He's sat on the curb, legs splayed as the officers crouch to get a closer look at him — he knows he looks like shit. Splotchy skin from pressing the dry heels of his hands into the sockets of his eyes to stop the tears from pouring, lips red and bitten from his anxious nibbling.

They're dry, his lips. He knows you'd be swiping on a layer of your lip balm right about now, not bothering to listen to his complaints of the berry tint or sparkling glitter. You never listened to those complaints because you knew he didn't really care, he just wanted you to kiss him quiet. You'd do it every single time — a pillow soft kiss, smelling of the shea butter in the balm and tasting like the mint of your gum.

"Just checkin' on ya, son. What're you doing out here all alone?" The officer asks gently, before the flashlight finds the brown bag. The bottle in it shines back at him, "heard you'd been drinking. Have you?"

"What's it to you how I've been doin', officer?" He slurs out, blinking slowly as the young man tilts his head at him. The other officer glances down at him, and he hears the jingle of those stupid metal cuffs. He's not even drunk, and he's certainly not disorderly — but he knows that it was Mrs. Lee across Hudson Street that called in that fucking 647G: disorderly conduct, loitering on private property.

She never cared when you were glued to his hip, ever. She'd peer out her front window, a careful eye ensuring you were both able to cross through her church parking lot with your hand gripping his. Usually, you were drunk — he'd be gripping the back of your knees as you clung to his back, screaming the lyrics of Stargazing by Myles Smith into the dead of night. Loud enough, slurred enough that other porch lights came on and older neighbors stepped out to make sure it wasn't someone in danger…

Only to smile fondly as Seungcheol gave them a sheepish grin, his voice hushed as he tilted his head back to ask you to sing even louder. You'd switch songs sometimes — sometimes it was Adele, sometimes it was Over My Head (Cable Car) by The Fray. Once, it was Last Dance by Donna Summer — Mrs. Lee really liked that one.

If he closes his eyes — like he is right now — he can still hear your drunken voice echoing in the middle of that dirt parking lot.

"Seungcheol, don't do this," the officer sighs quietly, "I don't want the sheriff to know we're out here. It'll go on your record and I can't get you out of that one."

"Fuck you and that sheriff," Seungcheol spits, earning a blink from the officer in front of him. If Seungcheol were in his right mind, if he weren't six bottles in, he'd see the engraved gleam of Mr. Yoon's badge number. He'd bite his tongue, he'd keep his opinions to himself — but things don't feel right enough for him to do that. He hasn't seen Jeonghan in months, anyway, and the rat bastard hasn't returned any of his calls.

And you're in Boston. Hours away from him, and newly single because he can't get his shit together.

He can. He swore he could, for you, for us. He'd go to school part time, he'd take back all those words he'd said on the phone. He wouldn't have cried as hard as he did when he made the biggest mistake of his life, chucking that phone across the office of the shop he'd left just hours earlier.

He's an idiot.

He's drunk in the middle of Vermont, and he's an idiot.

And he doesn't care.

"Seungcheol—"

"No, fuck you. Fuck you and Jeonghan, and everyone who's ever said they give a shit about me. None of you give a shit about me!" Seungcheol's throat hurts as the lump in it tries to grow bigger, the tears in his eyes doing nothing to deter Mr. Yoon's partner from gently grabbing Seungcheol's wrist and clipping the cuff around it. In any other moment, Seungcheol would be embarrassed — he's always had a bit of a temper, but never like this. Never drunk, loud and wrong — but you also never allowed it.

His sense of control was clearly gone, slipped through his fingers.

Now, you were gone, too.

Slipped right through his fingers.

Seungcheol doesn't even know what he's yelling about as the officer has to pull him up, he just knows he's crying as the other cuff wraps snugly around his wrist. He's fighting it, fighting back — he's twisting in the officer's hold, he's seeing the streaky yellow of porch lights coming on at the sound of his yelling. Mr. Yoon holds the door to the patrol car open, and if Seungcheol looked just a bit closer, he'd see the way his own eyes were full of tears.

"You got someone we can call, son? How about your mom?" Mr. Yoon's voice is strong albeit the matching lump in his throat as his partner tries to put Seungcheol in the back. Seungcheol twists again, the officer opting to press his chest against the trunk of the car as Seungcheol cries. He tries to speak, but his words are unintelligible as Mr. Yoon grabs his cuffed wrists gently. He manages to slide Seungcheol smoothly into the backseat, crouching at the door and wiping his sleeve under Seungcheol's nose carefully.

He tilts his head away from the rough fabric of the precinct-issued jacket, "don't call my mom."

"Are you a danger to yourself?" "Don't call my mom. She's got enough going on." "Seungcheol—"

"Call Y/N. 802-555-0808." He sniffles quietly, staring at the ceiling of the car. Mr. Yoon opens his mouth, but Seungcheol only shakes his head as hot tears continue to roll down his face. "Call Y/N. 802-555-0808."

The officers have the courtesy to turn off the sirens as they drive down to the station, and Mr. Yoon is sitting in the back next to Seungcheol. He fished a jacket out of the trunk, Seungcheol's skin bitten and dry from the winter wind in his short-sleeve shirt. You'd gotten him that shirt, he remembers — from a new Target on the intersection that had the worst potholes. You'd both scrunched your noses at it when you saw it beginning construction, when you heard rumors of it being called Downtown, and giggled over the new perspective of your small town getting something like a big city.

You're in a big city now, and he's still in that small town.

Seungcheol sits in the holding cell silently, not yet sober but certainly more aware of himself and the circumstances. Mr. Yoon had taken the cuffs off, thumbs gently rubbing at the red marks on Seungcheol's skin as he led him through processing. Seungcheol's fingerprints wouldn't stay in the system, he knew Mr. Yoon would get his record scrubbed clean.

Seungcheol was a good kid, for the most part. Mr. Yoon always said he owed it to him for taking care of Jeonghan and keeping him out of trouble all these years. It helped that Seungcheol's father has some of the strongest ties to the community, and his mother…

And you.

Everyone loved you. Loved that a smart, sweet girl like you made it out of Vermont and was going to be great. That you worked hard, that you loved harder, and that you were going to be great.

That you are great. The greatest person Seungcheol has ever known, would ever know, and would love until he was dead and gone. The town streets would echo of stories of his love for you, the trees in the forest would boast the carved love letters as their trunks stretched high. He'd be buried in that stupid Vermont Law sweatshirt that smelled like you.

He'll be wrapped in you, and everyone will know that no one could ever be as proud of you as Choi Seungcheol.

And none of them would know that you tore his heart to pieces every time you couldn't come home.

"Drink," Mr. Yoon holds a paper cup of water out to him as he steps into the holding cell. Seungcheol glances at it, grabbing it with a shaky hand and tracing the rim of it with his fingertip. Mr. Yoon looks around before taking a slow seat next to Seungcheol, and the stupid yellow clipboard catches Seungcheol's attention.

"We gotta do it, son. Are you a danger to yourself?" "Fuck that. I'd rather give you my blood alcohol. Just…just let me call." "Luckily, we're not at that point. Work with me here."

"Just let me call," Seungcheol sighs, quickly drinking the water out of the cup and crumpling it in his hand. He wipes the back of his hand across his chin to mop up any dribbling water, and Mr. Yoon sighs as he clicks his pen.

"We called her, son," he speaks softly. Seungcheol's brows raise, "that's not how this works."

"We called her anyway. She didn't pick up." "Because it's you. She'll pick up if it's me." "Son, it's one in the morning."

"She'll pick up," he argues, standing up and worming his way out of the holding cell. He digs in his pockets for a dime, before feeling Mr. Yoon behind him and holding the station landline over his shoulder. Seungcheol turns, seeing Mr. Yoon also holding a bag of Seungcheol's things — a wrench that had been tucked in his back pocket from his day at work, a few spark plugs he'd accidentally left with. His cellphone, a lighter, a spliff that he's sure Mr. Yoon shook his head at…

And the pink piece of paper.

"Call 'er up," Mr. Yoon taps the phone against Seungcheol's shoulder. He scowls, taking the phone and punching the number in. The station is quiet for a Friday night, the officers huddled around one of the desks and yielding coffee cups in their hands. The line rings, and rings—

Hey, it's Y/N. Sorry I missed your call, I'll get back to you when I can. Stay safe.

"Didn't even ring twice," one of the officers whispers, and another shrugs. "She's wrong for hanging up, he's been crying for her all night."

"Don't you have anything better to do?" Seungcheol snaps, punching the number in again as the officers look startled. He holds the phone to his ear, "is this what my tax dollars pay for? Find something to do!"

Mr. Yoon bites back his laughter at how the officers scatter across the station, but Seungcheol pays him no mind as he listens to the line ring. Eight rings means your phone is on but you're asleep. You're a light sleeper. You'll hear it—

Hey, it's Y/N. Sorry I missed your call, I'll get back to you when I can. Stay safe.

One ring. You gave him one ring.

He could've given you one, too.

But he's a coward. He's always been a fucking coward.

"Son, why do you do this to yourself?" Mr. Yoon's voice is careful as he leans against the desk at Seungcheol is standing in front of. The yellow clipboard is mocking him, and the sound of a door being buzzed open only makes Seungcheol's fingers grip the landline in hope. He glances over his shoulder, seeing a worried Jeonghan practically tearing through the station. His nose and cheeks are pink from the bitter cold, eyes frantic before he sets them on Seungcheol.

They soften ever so slightly, his rigid shoulders settling under the thin flannel. His scarf is thrown on haphazardly, his long hair barely brushed and Seungcheol can feel his nose burn. His eyes are wet as Jeonghan carefully makes his way through the desks to get to him, careful and slow as if he was approaching a deer with no intent to spook it.

Seungcheol glances at the phone in his hand, pressing the Call Back button one more time.

One, two—

Hey, it's Y/N. Sorry I missed your call, I'll get back to you when I can. Stay safe.

Jeonghan's fingers are cool as he takes the phone out of Seungcheol's hand. Mr. Yoon sighs, taking it back before sliding Seungcheol's bag of belongings on the desk.

"You're free to go, son. I'll check on you in the morning," Mr. Yoon bows his head lightly, before turning on his heel. Seungcheol hears the clatter of the clipboard on the desk, before feeling Jeonghan's hand fold into his and his raspy voice, "thanks, Dad. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Drive safe, now."

Seungcheol can't feel much of anything as he lets Jeonghan guide him out of the station. Jeonghan, who he hasn't been able to get on the phone in weeks, is holding his hand while they cross the parking lot to his beat-up '89 Acura Legend Coupe in cherry red. Seungcheol's thrown in so much work to that piece of junk, but he knows Jeonghan holds onto it because he loves it. He loves that stupid beater—

"I know you love her, but you've gotta get a hold of yourself," Jeonghan's voice is soft but stern as they reach the car. Seungcheol doesn't respond, his lip slowly jutting out into a pout as Jeonghan unlocks the door manually. He opens it for Seungcheol, who hesitates. He blinks at Jeonghan, the words rolling off his tongue clean and clear.

"I fucked up." "You did." "I fucked up bad, Jeonghan."

"You did," Jeonghan nods, sucking his teeth before he shakes his head. "That girl would've brought down the moon if you'd asked. She was probably well on her way, too. You're a dumbass."

"I know." "Good. Get in, we're going home."

"She's not in town," Seungcheol says softly, his eyes finding that very moon you would've brought down for him high in the sky. She's a bit of a honey yellow, almost like the stars on your favorite sweater. "She's in Boston."

"Everyone finds home in new places, Seungcheol." "Not me." "Get in."

Your throat is raw from running across the parking lot of the police station. You'd driven all night, your hands almost frozen at ten-and-two the entire ride out. You'd ignored every call, even the one from Mr. Yoon's personal cellphone — the waistband of your sweatpants (really, Seungcheol's sweatpants) almost digging into your hip from how much you'd pulled at the strings on the clamber down from your second-floor apartment.

"Mr. Yoon!" You call, your voice hoarse as you look around the semi-empty station. It's almost six in the morning, you're sure it's around that time for a shift change — but your heart slows a bit as you see Mr. Yoon poke his head out of the back office. His eyes are wide as you speed over to him, your hands gripping the scarf around your neck and pulling it off.

"Where is he? Is he okay? I drove all night," your voice is frantic, and shaking fingers messily tuck your hair behind your ears. His eyes soften, "he's home, sweetheart."

"What?" "He went home." "That's imp…he went home? To his apartment?"

"That's what Jeonghan's sayin'," he nods, holding up the phone in his hand. You glance at it, your hand flying up to take it. You hold it to your ear, "Jeonghan?"

"Oh, hey, Y/N. How are you? I'm great, thanks for asking—" "Cut the shit, Yoon. Is he okay? He's safe?"

Jeonghan scoffs on the other end, and you hear a honk in the background, "yeah, he's fine. He sobered up, cried like a fucking baby but he's out like a light. He wore a Vermont Law sweatshirt to bed. Any idea where that's from?"

Your chest tightens, before Jeonghan makes a sound that you can't quite describe as he turns his blinker on.

"Wait, you're in Vermont?" "No." "Oh…Oh my God, you came. He called and like a dog, loyal to a fault, you fucking came back."

"Bye, Jeonghan." You spit out, hanging up the call. Mr. Yoon clears his throat, and you give him a sheepish smile, "sorry. Guess you weren't done talking—"

"That boy is gonna die of a broken heart, you know." Mr. Yoon interrupts, and you purse your lips. You feel your nose burn as you nod slowly, "yeah, well. Everyone moves on eventually."

Mr. Yoon tilts his head at you, his lips parting before the buzz of the front door is heard. You don't bother looking up, hearing a scoffed laugh that couldn't belong to anyone but Yoon Jeonghan. You can't move from your spot in front of Mr. Yoon, your eyes brimming with tears as you carefully turn to face the sound of Jeonghan's footsteps.

"Please don't tell him," you whisper, closing your eyes as you feel Jeonghan's warmth engulf you. You can hear Mr. Yoon sigh, his hand patting your shoulder gently as you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes. Jeonghan sways you from side to side, "you're both the biggest idiots I've ever met."

"He's stupid enough to—" "He dialed drunk. He loves you." "If he loved me, he wouldn't have said all that shit to me over the phone. And he'll die a drunk if he keeps this up."

Jeonghan chuckles, giving a half-assed wave to his father as you wipe your lashes of any tears attempting to escape. He drapes his arm over your shoulders, tucking you into his side as he makes your feet move in lockstep with his.

"He'd die for you, you know that." He whispers as the two of you make it out of the station, and you see his car parked haphazardly next to yours. His fingers squeeze your shoulder gently, "you're wearing his sweatpants."

"And his socks. And his sweatshirt—" "You're an idiot."

"No idiot makes it out of this piece of shit town," you mutter, and Jeonghan sighs, knocking his head lightly against yours.

"This piece of shit town was once home to you." "So was Seungcheol." "He still is, and you know it. You don't get over someone that fast, especially not someone you've loved for so long."

You don't reply, shoving your hands in the pockets of your jacket. Not Seungcheol's, no — a gift from him one particularly freezing winter. It was a calf-length parka, lined with warm flannel and an adjustable hood — and it still smelled like him.

You'd swapped it out with peacoats when you moved to Boston. You needed to look classy. Stylish, professional.

Not like a small town girl that just got dumped by her boyfriend of years over the phone.

"He had that letter with him, the pink one." Jeonghan sighs, and you realize you're sitting in the passenger seat of your car. He's turning your engine over, adjusting the seat to fit his long legs, "he's gonna call again, you know."

"I'm not going to answer." You reply stubbornly, leaning your head on the window. You tug the seatbelt on, letting him pull into the street. "I'm going to let it ring. I'm going to send him to voicemail, Jeonghan."

"As long as you don't send me to voicemail, do what you want."

And you let him drive. You know he'll drive you all the way to Boston if you buy him breakfast at any diner on the way there. You know he'll take the train back up and make you buy his ticket.

You know Jeonghan cares about you just as much as he cares about Seungcheol.

Perks of being friends with the village idiot and his now big-city ex-girlfriend.

The mix of his cologne with the lingering scent of Seungcheol's on your jacket is suffocating. You can feel your heart in your throat as you reach a main road, and you swear your stomach falls to your ass when you stop at the intersection with the stupid Target and look across the street at your favorite gas station.

He's standing there. Eyes swollen (from sleep or tears, you're not all that sure,) holding a cup of coffee and sporting that Vermont Law sweatshirt. He's leaning against his truck, the diesel pump hooked into his tank as he tongues his cheek. Even from the distance, you can see the way his skin is splotched pink and red from the biting winter wind.

Even from the distance, you can see the trace of your fingers from so long ago on the back windshield — I ♡ VT.

"He'll feel you staring." "Don't tell him I came home."

Jeonghan chuckles softly, the light turning green just as Seungcheol shifts, glancing up but missing you as Jeonghan burns rubber down the street.

"I won't…but he'd die for you." "I know."

HAOLOGRAM © 2026 || no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[prettypinkpassport]

Reblog by @whipped-for-kpop-fics · 17 images

💬 0  🔁 26  ❤️ 151 · Naive - L.C · 💡Who: Lee Chan (Seventeen) x female reader 💡What: Best friends to ??? Angst. Thriller. Soft moments. Dark

I need everyone to understand that I read this fic LAST SPRING and I am STILL not over it. Like at all. It is still sitting in my brain like an unpaid bill.

The story is called “Naive.”Which is honestly a little funny because I was the naive one for thinking I was about to read something normal.

I will not spoil anything because I refuse to rob anyone of the deeply traumatic spiritual experience that is reading this story for the first time.

But I started it like a FOOL. Like an innocent person. Just sitting there thinking “oh this looks interesting 😊”.

And then the plot said: you thought.

THE PLOT TWIST?????

HELLO????????????????????????????????????????

EXCUSE ME???????

I actually had to put my phone down and stare at the wall like someone had just told me the earth was flat and gravity was optional.

How is the writer just… alive??? Walking around??? Buying groceries??? Answering emails??? After committing psychological crimes like this???

Because that brain needs to be studied. Immediately. For science.

If this was a movie I would be yelling about the acting. Like “THE PERFORMANCE!!! GIVE THEM EVERY AWARD!!!” but this is a FIC. WORDS. JUST WORDS. And somehow I went through the five stages of grief in three paragraphs.

Denial.Anger.Bargaining.Depression.Acceptance. Then immediately back to WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT???

I finished it and just sat there in silence questioning my life choices.

Anyway.Bravo. Applause. Standing ovation. Emotional damages.

93))€2&&)((25525671771761))66/10 would absolutely destroy my mental stability again.

[jeonghansluvr]

any svt au recs that are extremely angsty 🥹🥹

+points if its seungcheol / wonwoo, idk i just enjoy that typa stuff w them the most BUT IM OPEN TO ANYTHINGGGGG

MORE + POINTS IF ITS SLOWBURN