wonhanent
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- SEVENTEEN (Band) (4)
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Summary
“Like two cute puppies,” Jeonghan mumbles out, his tone unrecognizable even to himself. The reaction is instantaneous, two pairs of shocked eyes and two matching, freshly red, blushes making their way down their necks to their chests at the nickname.
Jeonghan smiles again, pointedly. “My cute puppies,” he corrects, and the answering whine from Seungcheol is euphoric, instant adrenaline rushing through Jeonghan’s system like liquid fire. Mingyu doesn’t make a sound, but the way his hips slightly buck up is answer enough.
He grips the reins a bit tighter, now coming to the staggering realization that they really would do anything he told them to, in the liminal space of his bedroom.
“Kiss each other. Make it messy.”
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Summary
Wonwoo prided himself in his articles as much as he prided himself in his battlefield feats– maybe even more. His powers and battle sense were something he was born with, while his journalistic ability was a skill he honed and worked on for years. He’s received nothing but praise and quite a few accolades from different writers societies for his work as a journalist, all of which he wears with honor.
Which is why he can’t, for the life of him, figure out why he’s found himself in this situation.
All things considered, Wonwoo is used to people disliking Superman, like he’s already mentioned, not everyone has to fall at his feet out of gratitude for what he does. He will protect every human being or animal on Earth, even those who loathe him, for as long as he lives. It’s simply how he functions.
An ardent Jeon Wonwoo hater, however… Yeah, he’s pretty much lost on how to deal with that.
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“Wonwoo hyung.”
Wonwoo would have to lie if he said he wasn’t expecting this. He only opens his eyes, unmoving, gaze lowered from where his head is still knocked back against the brick wall. A beat of silence passes between them.
“Chan-ah.”
He’s there, the collar of his shirt stretched out– probably from roughhousing with one of the guys in Wonwoo’s absence, a thin sheen of sweat covering his neck, perspiration pooling in the divots of his collarbones. Wonwoo lets his eyes wander shamelessly, lifting his cigarette back to his mouth.
Something about the way Chan is looking at him tells him he has nothing to lose right now, in the liminal space of the alleyway. And Wonwoo, at his core, hidden from the light of the world, was nothing if not greedy.
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Summary
All things considered, having a squirmy, giggly Yoon Jeonghan in his lap was not only a glaring irregularity for what Wonwoo mistakenly considered a typical Saturday night, but also a sight that had him almost blowing a load in his underwear without even getting his dick out yet.
Wonwoo whines wetly as Jeonghan clamps his blunt teeth down on his clavicle for what has to be the hundredth time in the past fifteen minutes, kitten-licking to soothe the sting.
"What are you thinking about?~" Jeonghan asks teasingly, voice pitching lower, leisurely grinding, a heavy weight pressing into Wonwoo's crotch, turning his eyesight blurry for a second. He helplessly groans in reply.
Like Jeonghan doesn't know.
Or : Wonwoo is a man of routine. On a fateful Saturday, in comes Jeonghan.