eternal

will you come to my cottage this summer?

Don't go to Russia.

Come to my house.

We'll have so much fun. It's so private. No one will know.

We could have a week or even two.

We'd be completely alone.

supporting the shane as snoopy agenda

@elysianwayy77 @balladofareader @sarahwithanh5 @f4iry-bell @hopeless-umii @lunarandlace @onesingularbraincell @liketheriverrspam @littlemissmentallyunstable @nonerrata-myarchives @clarissaweasley-10 @reyreadersblog @lanterns-and-daydreams and i met many more amazing people

Tagging you back @laismoura-art 💓

tagging you back @thedragonholder

Also tagging @hongjshuas @kwnnies @sseungcheols @kyeomviiee @xryusarax @cheers2hani @angel-02 @darkbunnylove

tagging all of my moots

@jjjjeonww @seokminfilm @hanniescookie @rosiemain @seokmn @gyuwrites @mi9yuz @jiabae @kissbyoon @iamdkayyyyy @sicoupsi @dokyumms @joshuatingz @fujiswn

tagging: @kathaelipwse @kyeomviiee @taeyongslaptop

Ae-sun: I want Geum-myeong to have everything, Gwan-sik. For her to have it all and do anything. I want...I want her to prosper in life. I don't want her to set the table forever. I want her to flip the table over instead.

😭😭🫶🫶

Warning: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Heavy Angst & Comfort, Body Worship, Suggestive Content, Jealousy, Strong Language, Emotional Vulnerability Word Count: 1.2k Synopsis: You and Seungcheol have been friends since fifth grade, but he's been in love with you since tenth. You’ve spent years avoiding his gaze, drowning in insecurities, and trying not to crumble under the weight of cruel words. But when someone takes it too far, Cheol snaps. No more hiding. No more avoiding him. And certainly no more doubting how he sees you. Because in his eyes? You are everything. Author’s Note: This is for the girls who hide behind oversized hoodies, for the ones who tug at their skirts and second-guess how they look in them. Seungcheol adores you, and he’s about to make sure you never doubt it again. Also, let’s all collectively laugh at the fact that he got jealous over a fictional man—as he should.

You’ve known Cheol since the fifth grade. Back when he had chubby cheeks and an uneven haircut, and you were still figuring out how to make friends without hiding behind a book. Through every awkward phase and every growing pain, he’s been there, smiling at you like you hung the damn stars.

Now, years later, he's the basketball team captain—loved, admired, and constantly in the spotlight. You? You’re still the introverted, reserved person you’ve always been, only now with extra insecurities courtesy of high school.

And Yuni, the cheer captain, makes sure you never forget them.

She sneers at your thick thighs, your stomach folds, the way your gym shirt clings to you more than it does to the other girls. She makes jokes when Cheolie isn’t around, and when he is, she bats her lashes, acting innocent while throwing subtle jabs at you.

But Cheol never falls for it. He ignores her, brushing past her to meet your eyes. Compliments spill from his lips effortlessly.

“You look cute today, pretty.”

“Your hair’s nice like this.”

“You wore that sweater last week. I liked it then, and I like it now.”

It’s overwhelming sometimes—how easily he finds beauty in you when you struggle to see it yourself.

Then, it happens. In the cafeteria.

Yuni’s voice rings louder than necessary. “No wonder you wear oversized hoodies all the time. If I looked like that, I’d cover up, too.”

The laughter that follows feels sharper than a knife, but it’s not the worst part. The worst part is Cheol’s reaction.

He doesn’t just get mad. He gets furious.

“What the fuck did you just say?” His voice silences the room.

Yuni stammers, but he doesn’t let her finish. “Say that shit again, and I swear—” He stops himself, jaw clenched, eyes burning as he looks at her like she’s the lowest thing on earth.

You feel sick. Embarrassed. Exposed.

You avoid him after that. You stop meeting him at lunch, stop waiting for him after practice. The guilt eats at you—he defended you, stood up for you like he always does. But it doesn’t erase the way the words latched onto your skin like a parasite A few weeks later

The library is nearly empty, the only sound being the faint rustle of pages and the occasional sigh of exhaustion from students buried in textbooks. But Seungcheol isn’t focused on any of that.

His eyes are locked onto you—dressed in layers, oversized hoodie swallowing your form, sleeves tugged over your hands, like you’re trying to disappear. And it fucking breaks him.

"Pretty, talk to me," he calls softly, voice careful as he approaches.

You tense, fingers curling into the fabric of your hoodie. "Cheol, please. Just go."

But Seungcheol doesn’t listen. He never does when it comes to you.

In one swift motion, before you can protest, his strong arms wrap around you, and he lifts you effortlessly. Like you weigh nothing. Like carrying you is the easiest thing in the world. Your shocked gasp is swallowed by his presence as he sets you down on the library table, stepping between your legs, hands firm on your thighs. He doesn’t let you move away.

His voice is low, a growl, edged with frustration and something darker. "I’ve had enough. Enough of you hiding from me. Enough of you covering yourself up like you aren’t the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen."

Your breath hitches, heat crawling up your neck. "Cheol—"

"No," he cuts you off, fingers squeezing your thighs as his eyes devour you. "You think I don’t notice? The way you flinch every time someone talks about your body? The way you avoided me after that cafeteria bullshit? Like I could ever—ever—look at you and see anything less than perfection."

Your head drops, but he doesn’t let you retreat. His hand grips your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"You wanna know what I see?" His voice is pure sin now, deep and rough as he leans in, lips brushing your ear. "I see thick, delicious thighs that I’ve been dying to sink my fingers into. I see soft little folds that make my mouth fucking water. I see a body that—Jesus, baby—ruins me every time you walk into a room."

His hands tighten their grip, heat flooding his gaze as he drags his thumbs along the plush flesh of your thighs.

"And your stomach? You think I don’t see it? You think I don’t fucking love it?" His breath is ragged, like just talking about you is short-circuiting his brain. "You shift in those hoodies and all I can think about is how fucking soft you must be underneath. You wear those skirts, and I’m—"

He stops, groaning through clenched teeth, like he’s physically restraining himself.

"Pretty girl, I lose my fucking mind when you wear skirts."

He exhales sharply, forehead pressing against yours. His restraint is crumbling.

"That night," he murmurs, voice dark, thick with hunger. "That black dress. You in it? Pretty, I barely survived. You walked into that party and I swear to God, I almost dragged you away. Had to spend half the night gripping my drink instead of gripping your hips."

Your thighs press a bit around his waist instinctively wanting to close em cause fuck this you were turned on, and he notices—oh, he notices. His smirk is devastating, pure male satisfaction as he presses closer, his warmth seeping into you.

"You have no idea, do you? How many times I’ve had to look away, had to force myself to think about something—anything—other than how badly I need to bury my face between these thighs? How badly i have claimed myself as yours?" His voice drops, rough with hunger. "How much I ache to have you trembling under me, pretty? To feel you, taste you—"

A strangled sound escapes you, fingers fisting the front of his hoodie.

He chuckles darkly, the sound vibrating against your lips.

"And it’s not just your body, baby." His thumb traces slow circles on your inner thigh, creeping dangerously high. "It’s you. Your pretty little pout when you argue with me. The way you never shut up about those damn romance books you read—"

Your eyes snap up, indignant. "I do not ‘never shut up’—"

"Oh, you do," he teases, grinning. "And I fucking love it."

His voice drops lower, lips ghosting over yours. "You wanna know something pathetic? Once, I got jealous of a fictional guy you were swooning over."

You blink, stunned. "You’re kidding."

"I wish," he groans, rubbing a hand over his face like the memory physically pains him. "You went on for thirty minutes about how perfect he was, how you’d ‘sell your soul’ for a man like that." His eyes burn into yours, frustration clear. "And all I could think was, ‘What about me?’"

Your heart stops.

"I’ve liked you since the tenth grade," he admits, voice raw. "After being your best friend since the fifth. And all this time, all these years, I’ve just been waiting—praying you’d see it. That you’d see me."

His forehead presses against yours, breath hot against your lips. "You have me wrapped around your fucking finger, pretty. And I don’t want out."

Your breathing stutters, overwhelmed, dizzy. "Cheol… I—"

"No more running," he murmurs. "No more hiding from me. From this."

And then, he kisses you.

It’s slow at first—like he’s savoring you, taking his time memorizing the shape of your lips, the way you taste. But then you kiss him back, and that’s it. The dam breaks.

He groans, deep and raw, as he pulls you closer, fingers digging into your thighs, devouring you. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, claiming you, and you let him—because it’s Seungcheol. Because it’s always been him.

When he finally pulls away, he’s breathless, pupils blown.

"You’re beautiful," he murmurs against your lips, brushing his nose against yours. "So fucking beautiful. And if you ever doubt it again, pretty, I swear I’ll spend every damn day proving it to you."

And something tells you, he absolutely will.