li-lilyvi

[li-lilyvi]

"love?", you hear seokmin calling, his voice all soft but with a hint of dispair.

"um? do you need anything?"

seokmin appears from the bathroom, face covered with cream and a hazor on his hand. he smiles at you, wiggling his eyebrows.

"hell no!"

"y/n, please~"

"no, i'm gonna cut your face!"

"you will not, i trust you!", seokmin whines, stomping his feet. "love, my hands are hurting, i shouldn't even have applied the cream."

seokmin pouts too, and it's such a drastic view - lee seokmin, with his amazing fit, post shower... and a face covered in shaving cream, pouty lips in the middle. you sigh, your heart stings because you know his words are true; he has been battling against eczema once again, so it must be hard to do, well, anything.

"fine", you groan, biting back a laugh when he does a little jump to celebrate. "but please, don't move around too much, don't yap, don't even breathe."

"i won't, i promise."

and he keeps his promise. for the whole thing, seokmin doesn't even move a muscle - he just stays there, on the toilet seat, hands on your hips and eyes shining as he looks up at you. he hums sometimes, a tune still unknown to you, but that's as far as he goes. no words, no yapping, no moving around; just seokmin silently holding you as you work on his face.

and that's when it hits you-

"all the times you asked me to do this... was it because you wanted me close?"

again, no words - just a smile that reaches his eyes.

"guilty", he murmurs, caressing your skin under your shirt.

[li-lilyvi]

꒰ ˀˀ ↷ suho ; simple ”♡ᵎ ꒱

like/reblog | @exolyxions

don’t repost our work or claim it as yours

[li-lilyvi]

Your Personal Caretaker | Choi Seungcheol | fluff

Pairing: choi seungcheol x reader

Summary: it’s a peaceful saturday morning and you wake up feeling sick (after a week of ignoring the symptoms and doing virtually nothing with it). seungcheol, who finally has time to not think about work, notices your state. being the caring partner he is, your husband is already on it and goes full ‘care’ mode before you’re even up

Word count: 2k

Genre/warnings: fluff, slice of life, established relationships, married couple, non-idol!seungcheol x non-idol!reader, reader is sick and seungcheol takes care of them, everyone is soft and happy no drama, domestic bliss at its finest, kkuma is there in the background and got some pats and compliments, seungcheol calls reader ‘pretty, baby, princess, silly girl’, i think i didn’t have any specifically descriptive words for appearance (let me know if you spot some), if i missed anything else let me know

A/N: if you hate being sick on your own then this fic is for you. I hate it myself, literally can’t operate on my own, need someone to think and make decisions for me. So it was a self-indulgent fantasy of what it would be like if Seungcheol was to take care of his partner when they don’t feel well and get too stressed to think on their own. Hope you like this piece of work as it’s the first one I’m posting for this account and in English too (⸝⸝º ^ º⸝⸝)

The text below isn’t proofread, proceed at your own discretion; if you see any mistakes I’m sorry, English isn’t my first language.

Masterlist

It’s a quiet Saturday morning. Seungcheol is lying splayed out on the sofa in the living room, enjoying every moment of this unrushed ecstasy. He’s been so busy with everything at work this past week, it being the end of the month with tie outs needed to be done and piles on piles of reports on end. He felt like he could give out any moment by Friday. But now that Saturday came and tranquility settled in he couldn’t get enough of this unwinding. No thought in his head, he just scrolled through his social media, chuckling at some silly no brainer stuff people posted there.

He woke up earlier than you today. Which he always does but usually on the weekends he likes to sleep in and stay in bed together for longer. Not today. Today he took it upon himself to bring you breakfast in bed. Despite having a devilish week himself he couldn’t help but notice that you were off yesterday when he came home and finally had the mental capacity to fully pay attention. So, spurred on by his own urge to take care of you today, he woke up as if it was any other work day. He had time to do so much stuff, like walking and feeding Kkuma, going for a jog to the gym nearby and back, taking a shower and having a brief breakfast himself. And you were still yet to wake up. Seungcheol knows that unsupervised you can stay in bed till past lunchtime without a blink of an eye. He wasn’t going to let you, but just another hour wouldn’t hurt. You looked so worn out after all.

After a couple more minutes of aimless doom scrolling he finds a breakfast recipe that he thinks he can manage to cook and goes to the kitchen to check out the ingredients, improvising with replacing some of them with those he currently has on hand. Seungcheol meticulously follows the instructions, really doing his best not to mess this up.

As he cooks he can’t seem to get away from this nagging uncomfortable feeling in his chest. A hunch that he knows what’s wrong. You two have been married for the past three years, dating for three more, and he knows you too well not to suspect that you’re probably falling sick. That’s why he’s cooking you a chicken noodle soup even though he knows you hate soups for breakfast for whatever reason. You always say that soups aren’t breakfast food but lunch. Seungcheol always smiles and lets you be with your silly cute opinions on food.

It’s when Kkuma suddenly lets out a quiet woof and pitter-patters to the closed bedroom door to sniff underneath that he knows you’re awake and probably out of bed. He feels slightly dissatisfied that he didn’t time things better to be the one to wake you up with cuddles and kisses but oh well, he’s going to have to deal with it.

The door opens and you step out of the dark bedroom where you didn’t even care to open the night blinds on the window. You’re wrapped in a blanket as if it’s a burrito-cape. You squint in the sunlight that hits you right in the eye with a small groan like a true night creature that hasn’t seen the light of day for years even though it’s only been one night. Kkuma wags her tail happily when she sees you stepping outside and pants, her pink tongue out. You look down at her and chuckle before crouching to ruffle her fur and give her pats and compliments.

“Good morning, pretty,” Seungcheol calls out from the kitchen and you stand up feeling as your head spins slightly and vision darkens for a moment. You just stand in place before walking over, enticed by the smell of food. You feel weak but still hungry, you’re definitely falling sick. “Did you sleep well? I wanted to wake you up myself but you beat me to it,” your husband glances up at your adorable disheveled state as you walk into the kitchen, still sleepy and blinking lazily. He assesses your state and can’t help a tinge of worry from emerging at the sight of your slightly pale face and silence. “Baby, you should go lie down if you’re feeling unwell.”

You let out a short whine of response and wrap your arms around Seungcheol, clinging to him from behind. He’s so much warmer than you even though it’s you who’s wrapped in the blanket. The heat of his body seeps through his oversized t-shirt and you sigh, shivering slightly. Seungcheol feels you shiver and frowns in concern. “Baby,” he finally turns off the stove as the soup he was cooking is done. Seungcheol eases your hold on him just enough to turn in your arms and face you, his arms come snaking around your shoulders, pulling you even closer. He brushes your hair off your face, tucking the strands behind your ears before he presses his palm to your forehead, lips pursed in focus. “You need to take your temperature��” he murmurs, turning serious and then presses his lips to where his palm just rested on your forehead. Seungcheol hums to himself in some sort of confirmation that sounds like ‘I knew it’ and leans away just enough to look down at you. “Go lay down on the couch, baby, I’ll bring the thermometer and then you’ll eat chicken soup that I cooked for you.”

”I don’t eat soup for breakfast, Cheol,” you protest albeit weakly. You know that you’re falling sick and it’s really not the time to be arguing Seungcheol. The man is going to take a week off if he needs to just to take care of you because he knows how helpless and small any sickness makes you feel. “Don’t argue, princess, just go lie down,” he insists, turning you around and pushing gently to go take the couch. You oblige and he goes to retrieve the thermometer. When he returns, he’s holding it in his palms to warm up so you don’t need to feel the cold thing against your skin.

While you take the temperature, lying down, eyes closed, shivering and feeling like you could drift off to sleep any second, Seungcheol goes over to the kitchen to pour you some soup in a bowl. By the time he returns and sets the bowl on the wooden coffee table by the couch, you’re staring at the thermometer with an increasingly helpless expression. “37.6C,” you mumble quietly when your husband sits down beside you, moving the blanket and your legs over his lap. He tucks you in better and helps sit up. “How do you feel?” He asks, picking up the bowl of chicken noodle soup and a spoon.

You list off the symptoms that you‘ve been noticing but ignored all this week while Seungcheol didn’t have the time to notice either, both of you have been busy with work this week. The man already makes a mental list of all the meds and other things he’s going to make you do all week to nurture you back to health. “Silly girl, how many times do I have to tell you that you shouldn’t ignore the signs? Tell me. If you feel even a slightest bit unwell, baby. I know you hate everything to do with being sick, I’ll always take care of you,” he says and brings the spoonful of soup to your lips. You let him feed you, feeling like a child being gently scolded. “I know. But you were so busy this week, I didn’t want to add on top of that,” you mumble guiltily. Seungcheol has been getting less sleep and coming home later with all the end of the month finalisations at work. Besides, you try to do some stuff yourself like drinking more hot tea. You tell him that and feel even more embarrassed and guilty under his gaze. Your face heats up and you avoid his eyes only to hear him sigh defeatedly and continue feeding you.

“You think I wouldn’t have gladly excused myself from work for this week if you told me you were falling sick, baby?” He asks suddenly, voice warm and caring. A little amused. “You could’ve given me such a great excuse just to leave the office and not show up there for a week straight. I would’ve worked from home with you,” Seungcheol’s voice becomes a little whiny and complaining, he sighs and pouts. You blink at him, stopping mid-chew because you can’t comprehend how your husband can be so serious and caring but also so childishly having tiny grudges against you for not giving him an excuse to work from home.

“Now you have an excuse to stay at home and not work at all next week,” you counter, giving him a different advantage. “Now I have to work hard to make you healthy again,” Seungcheol protests with a louder whine. “It’s still work,” the man mumbles and feeds you another spoonful. “I don’t mind though. I love taking care of you, princess,” your husband adds in a cooing tone, his expression morphs into one of unconditional love and adoration. When you finish the soup bowl he stands up to go wash it. You just stay on the couch wrapped up in the blanket, Kkuma curled up somewhere at your feet. It’s peaceful and your heart feels more at ease knowing you won’t have to deal with this sickness alone. It’s been like this since childhood. Your mom always took care of you whenever you would fall sick for as long as you can remember. Feeling unwell even the slightest bit always makes you uneasy and anxious. It doesn’t help that you’re an overthinker. As soon as something is off it’s like your brain goes into this damsel in distress mode or rather ‘I’m a baby help me’ mode.

Seungcheol was perplexed when he first found out you’re absolutely unable to take it on your own. It was an accidental discovery over the phone when he called you to see if you’d be up for a date but in the middle of telling him that you have fallen sick you suddenly busted out with tears. So, being the provider and caregiver he is, it didn’t take him long to figure out how to use it to his advantage when you first started dating. The man saw it as a chance and dashed to take it. Caring for you and comforting you until you get well again and turn into this ‘I don’t need anyone’s help’ girl that most people know you as. In your defence, depending on Seungcheol has always been an easy and effortless experience.

You’re almost falling asleep when Seungcheol returns to the couch, removes the back pillows and climbs to lie down beside you, making you unwrap the blanket and let him in. You don’t protest. “Sleep it off, baby. We’ll see if it goes past 38C after you wake up and whether you need to take a pyretic,” he tells you, voice soft as he wraps his arms around you and tucks you into his chest, his lips pressing gentle kisses at the crown of your head. “You’ll be alright. I’ll take care of you, princess, don’t worry and just sleep.”

You sigh, his familiar scent engulfs you with his warmth as he cuddles you close on the couch, Kkuma still resting somewhere at your feet, content that her owners are at home and close by her side. “I love you, Cheol,” you murmur, sound muffled into his chest. You could try and tell him this a hundred times a day all year round and it wouldn’t be enough to express how much he means to you. Seungcheol smiles, his hand threading through your hair as he soothes you to sleep. He can feel his heart swell at the simple words. “I love you too, princess. Just rest and don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got you,” his lips press to the top of your head once again and he inhales your peach and orchid shampoo scent. He feels you relax into his arms as you drift off back to sleep. It’s going to be a long week but he will do everything to help you recover as comfortably as he can. “My sweet helpless baby,” he whispers a chuckle and sighs, listening to your even breaths.

*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this!

Masterlist

[li-lilyvi]

💐 summary: some things are meant to be

⌇ genre: fluff, short au

⌇ starring: boyfriend!seungcheol x gn!reader

⌇ warnings|contains: pouty and shy cheol

⌇ wc: 0.4k ⌇ status: proofread ⌇ masterlist

⌇ jho's notes: cheol's pout might be the greatest thing god created + his dimples

you weren't even trying to catch it. someone screamed, someone shoved and the next thing you knew, the bride's bouquet landed directly in your hands.

you stared at the flowers in your hand shock, slowly blinking. a few people clapped, someone whistled— but the moment didn't fully hit you until you turned around and saw seungcheol.

he was standing near the back of the crowd, completely frozen. hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks, shoulders tense, eyes slightly wide and lips parted in a small, helpless pout— like he'd just witnessed his own surprise proposal.

beside him joshua was bent over laughing, seungkwan slapping his arm like he'd just hit the jackpot. you watched as joshua leaned in and whispered something in seungcheol's ear— whatever it was, it made his ears turn red instantly.

you bit your lip and held up the bouquet in his direction, trying— and failing— to hide the massive smile threatening to take over your entire face.

he looked at it, then at you still frozen in his place. a deep sigh escaped his lips as he finally moved, walking toward you at a pace like a man heading into his own wedding completely unprepared. when he finally reached you, he didn't say a word— he just kept looking at the bouquet, and then at you.

"i didn't even want to catch it" you teased, barely containing your laughter. he squinted at you, crealy not buying a single word, "sure, you just accidentally manifested it the all day long"

you giggled as he stepped closer, one arm slipping around your waist as his forehead fall against your shoulder with a dramatic groan. "they're never gonna shut up about this" he mumbled into your collarbone, you could feel the smile forming against your shoulder.

"good" you whispered, grin widening, "you look cute when you panic" he whined, then peeked up at you with the saddest, most drammatic expression ever. you tucked a hand into his hair, brushing your fringers through it slightly.

"you know i'd marry you tomorrow, right?" he muttered under his breath. you blinked, stunned for a second making him panicking instantly. "wait, i didn't mean— like, unless you want to" you kissed his cheek before he could melt completely into the floor.

his hand tightened around your waist, grounding himself again. you could feel the heat still raising in his ears, the tension easing out of his body with your touch. after a moment, you said softly "well, you'd make a cute groom"

[li-lilyvi]

☆ WONWOO BOYFRIEND TEXTS

pairing: wonwoo x f!reader

warnings: established relationship, cursing? some angst? (pic 4-5), v suggestive (pic 7)

back to masterlist!

taglist: @0x1lovebot @fairybinie @blaqpinksthetic @odetoyeonjun @pockyandme @soobin-chois @lolalee24 @soobisms @junityy @kaimal @laylasbunbunny @jaeyunverse @enhacolor @honglynights @starry-mins @bibinnieposts @yoonzin0 @raevyng @hoeforcheol @pearlygraysky @4xiaojun @viscade @kikohao @enluv @smilehui @amxlia-stars @05riki @instabull

please do not copy, repost or steal any of my work. all content belongs to @odxrilove

[li-lilyvi]

wonwoo doesn't mind that you love him silently.

he doesn't need you to scream from rooftops how much you love him, having you tell him every night before going to sleep is enough. he doesn't care that you don't wear a ring on your finger to say that you're taken, having you wear his jackets when it's cold is enough. he doesn't need you to post tons of photos of him on your social media, the fact that he's the homescreen on your phone is enough.

and right now, wonwoo doesn't need you talking to everyone in the room. it's kinda overwhelming, he knows - god, he knows -, so it's okay that you're quietly laughing at mingyu's jokes and how he's pretending to be wonwoo's father favorite son, as you hold his hand under the table.

"thank you for being here", he says out of nowhere, making you frown - which only makes him laugh, squeezing your hand.

"you're welcome? i mean... where else should i be? it's your birthday."

"still", wonwoo shrugs. "it means a lot to have you here. so thank you, for real."

something behind his eyes tells you that he's not only talking about that moment, but being here in general, and something in the way he smiles at you tells you that he means it.

so you just squeeze his hand back, a soft smile on your lips too - and that too is enough for him.

a/n: happy birthday to my gameboi, jeon wonwoo. hope he had an amazing day - as amazing as he is -, and that he felt how much loved he is, especially by me. ❤️🍒

[li-lilyvi]

Three-Months Rule | Choi Seung Cheol

Pairing: Bf!Seungcheol X Reader

Genre: fluff with a bit of angst

Warning: mention of toxic past relationships, hurt but comfort right after it, petnames (babe, love)

Summary: Healing from old wounds takes time—and Seungcheol is willing to wait. But when love feels too good to be true, do you trust it…or run? W.Count: 1.187

You couldn’t be happier. Choi Seungcheol was the man. The way he treats you—gentle, attentive, thoughtful—it makes your heart feel full in ways it never did before. You catch yourself gushing about him more often than you realise…replaying the sweet things he says and does, the way he brushes your hair behind your ear and the look he gives you when he thinks you’re not watching. But the bubble popped the moment your friend casually asks “How long have you two been dating?”

And that’s when it hits you. Three months—it only has been three months. A chill creeps up your spine, draining all the warmth in your body. You swallow hard, fidgeting with the straw in your iced coffee as you try to laugh it off, but in your mind the clock started ticking. The infamous three-month mark. The breaking point. The test.

You excuse yourself from your friend, toss a bill on the table and walk out. The sunlight feels colder now. A familiar tightness coils in your chest as the ghosts of old relationships trail behind you—cheating, manipulation, control. You tell yourself Seungcheol is different. He’s never given you a reason to doubt him. But neither did the others—at first.

“She’s just a friend” he said, and you forgave him. Again and again…until forgiveness became a routine. “Stop being so paranoid!” he screamed before storming out. A few days after you found the texts, the lies.

His apartment door opens with a soft click and, without even thinking, you check the shoes at the entrance. Only his are there—and a few of yours that you sometimes leave there. No strange sneakers. No random heels. Your shoulders relax unconsciously as you step in. But then you see it, a lipstick on the coffee table. One that is not yours.

Did he buy it? Or did another woman leave it there?

“You’re being dramatic! My sister probably left it” but he didn’t have a sister. You cried with someone else’s earring on your hand as your ex just laughed it off.

You’ve seen this movie before. You know the twist. As your mind sinked in a spiral of memories the bathroom door clicks open and Seungcheol steps out, shirtless, towel slung low around his hips, hair damp, muscles flexing as he dries it. He looks like sin—and maybe he is.

“Babe…why didn’t you call me? I could’ve picked you up” Your heart tightens. Is he being controlling? Or just considerate? You point at the lipstick and your voice comes out sharper than you intended. “What is that, Seungcheol?”

He pauses mid step and looks between you and the table. “It was supposed to be a surprise…I remember you said you liked that one, so I got it for you.”

You remember showing him that lipstick in a store once, joking about how it was too expensive. But more than a gift it looks like some kind of trap now, is he trying to distract you? Your eyes narrow. “Don’t lie to me. It won’t work.” His expression changes, not defensive or angry…just, hurt. He was about to speak but you did before him, the memory of your past was pushing you to react. “Some girl left it, didn’t she? I thought you were different.”

He walks over slowly, careful, calm but firm. “Love, look at it. It’s sealed. Brand new. I bought it for you with the flowers…”

“Flowers?” And then you see them. Right next to the lipstick, a bouquet…still wrapped. Your breath stutters in your throat as shame floods your chest. You swallow hard. “I…I didn’t see them. I’m sorry. I just thought…”

“It’s okay” he cuts you softly with a gentle smile. “I understand the confusion. It does look weird…next time I’ll prepare your gifts better.” He kisses your forehead, but the guilt lingers inside of you.

He’s the kindest man you’ve dated. He explains things instead of exploding. He’s patient even when you accuse him. And what do you do in return? You doubt him. You tell yourself to relax, to let love feel safe for once—but even if you repeat it in your mind like a mantra, the seed is planted. As the days pass by the incidents like this keep repeating.

He’s driving now. One hand on the wheel, the other resting on your knee.

“You’ve been quiet, is something wrong?” he says gently, not even an ounce of accusation on his voice. You hold up a hair tie, one that you didn’t leave there.

“What is this?” he glances over quickly and then back to the road. “An extra. I keep it in the car in case you forget yours” You scoff and toss the hair tie towards the glovebox as if it were poisonous. You move your leg away, his hand falling off your knee.

“Babe…” his voice stays soft, calm. “You always forget them, and you get irritated when your hair falls in your face. You said it ruins your whole mood.” You stay quiet, because he is right, you did say that.

“You are just forgetful” and you are but that doesn't mean you are stupid. He had two girlfriends, you found out months later.

Your chest aches. You want to believe him, to trust again and give this love a fair chance…but the past has claws and it digs deeper every day.

You pretend to sleep for the rest of the ride, arms crossed and curled against the window. You feel his gaze in you but you don’t want to face him now, not because you are mad, but because you are scared. What if you are not able to love without waiting for the catch?

Later, you are sitting on his couch with one of his hoodies shielding you from the old shadows behind you. He gently sits by your side and his hand lays on your leg, it was strange but that gesture feels grounding. “You want to talk about it?”

You exhale slowly and shift to face him. You don’t want to talk about it, but there’s no sense in delaying the inevitable, right? If this is going to end better do it quickly. “Just…please tell me truth” Your voice is low, vulnerable.

“The truth is that I love you,” he said without wasting a second, no doubt in his voice “and because of that I want to understand. Why do you think I’m hiding things?”

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop the tears forming at the corner of your eyes. He keeps breaking all your fears with his steady demeanor, with his kind words and gentle way to treat you—and when you open your scars to him, he doesn’t scare away but instead he hugs you tightly.

“For now…could you trust me enough to let me try? Let me show you that love can be safe” he says and you melt into his embrace, he doesn’t rush the moment and he doesn't make promises either. He only asks you for a chance, for the trust you can give him now and no more. You want to try, because you feel that you don’t have to carry the weight of the past all alone, not anymore, not with Seungcheol by your side.

This was a request from anon. A small message for anyone who needs it: you don’t have to stay in something that hurts. Please keep yourself safe. You deserve love that feels like peace~💜

[li-lilyvi]

CONGRATS TO THESE GUYS FOR WINNING LITERALLY EVERYTHING WOOO

[li-lilyvi]

S.Coups (SVT) | Prophetic dream fluff | 0.9k | gn!reader

"It's over, Cheol." 

He wakes up covered in sweat, shaking, and utterly disoriented. It takes him a while to take in his surroundings. The plane's still humming along its journey across the sky. There's more noise coming from all around, the other passengers doing their own thing unaware of his both rising and ebbing panic. Mingyu shoots him a worried look.

Just a dream.

It hasn't happened.

You haven’t said those words. You haven’t broken up with him, out of the blue, but with conviction that could only stem from months or years of issues he failed to notice or address.

He’s still on the plane bound in your direction. Nothing that took place in his dream has happened. At least not yet.

His mouth feels too dry and his throat too tight. He uncaps the bottle of water almost fallen to the ground and takes a long sip. He still has time. There’s nothing he’d be able to do to immediately fix things if the issues went on for so long, of course, but he should be at least able to show that he cares. The dream feels like a wake up call. It’s better to trust the dreams, they never failed him. Even though some would say he’s reading too much into it, that it’s just stress and inevitable anxiety that comes with prolonged separation, Seungcheol knows better.

Once he lands, that same fear captures him in its grasp because he doesn’t see you there, waiting for him. Which is to be expected - it’s getting late, he told you not to come, he forbade you from coming. Still he barely remembers to say his goodbyes before getting the first taxi available and scouring the internet for a flower shop that’s still open and wouldn’t hinder his journey home too much.

He got lucky - the bouquet of roses carefully lies on the seat next to him. Unoriginal, Seungcheol knows, but he hasn’t given you roses in a long time so he hopes you’ll let it slide. 

You open the door before he can let himself in, beaming at him. In your excitement, you barely stop yourself from jumping into his arms when you spot the flowers.

“Cheollie,” you sigh with a smile that he knows is fond but still it might easily be read as resigned as well by his racing mind, “You didn’t have to.”

“No, I did - I love you,” he smiles and pulls you closer anyway, holding the flowers safely aside, “And I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you hum, planting a few kisses along his jaw, “All I have to offer in return is dinner, though. If you’re hungry.”

“For your cooking? Always,” he smiles. Seungcheol refuses to let you go. 

“Not yet,” he whispers. 

He holds you a little tighter and kisses the top of your head before finally setting you free after a minute that feels like the good kind of eternity.

It’s not new, or too unusual, but you still get flustered. Though you’d still write it off as Cheol being his usual clingy self, if it wasn’t for the other things.

The dinner is a simple dish you’ve cooked many times before, yet tonight your boyfriend keeps coming up with compliments to pay you. He honestly treats it like a Michelin star dish. Not to mention his hand is always reaching for yours and even though the situation could easily seem like a farce, it doesn’t. Not when the gratitude and awe genuinely reach his eyes.

He doesn’t let you touch the dishes, insisting on taking care of them himself. And when, after, you decide to just go to bed, he demands you let him help you with your night routine. 

“What’s going on?” you finally sign and cup his face so that Seungcheol can’t run away from you. He wouldn’t even let you hop on the counter yourself, he had to put you there like you were too fragile to handle it on your own. He looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“I- uh,” he stammers, “Nothing. It’s nothing. Are you happy with me?”

You blink a couple times, blindsided by the sudden question.

“Yes, very much so,” you answer with a slight frown, “Did something happen?”

“Just a prophetic dream,” Seungcheol mutters, his faith suddenly not as strong once he’s admitting it aloud. Not when you get that concerned look on your face. 

“Come again?” your frown deepens. He shakes his head with a small smile. You wouldn’t lie to him. But his brain definitely would.

“If you’re happy, then that’s all that matters,” he says as he takes your hands in his, “Tell me if there’s anything, anything, that bothers you, okay? Nothing is too small for you to have to endure it.”

“My boyfriend’s gotten crazy with longing,” you chuckle, leaning forward to kiss him, “I promise.”

“Good,” he whispers against your lips. 

Even so he takes over skincare and everything you usually do. It makes your heart flutter that he still remembers on top of everything he has on his plate and the separation.

And although you told him everything’s fine, tried to drive the point home by more compliments and reassurance, he still carries you to bed and tucks you in before settling next to you.

And after everything, he still pulls you against his chest and holds you the whole night. 

It feels safe.

It feels like home.

[li-lilyvi]

be the rest of your life or whatever - choi seunngcheol imagine (2)

this is waaaaay tooooo cute to stay in my drafts, also so many readers are asking for this so here you go😅 if you haven't read the first part, check it out here!

currently working on two fics i'll hopefully post for ww and sc's bday but i have lotsssss of editing to do. so here's a quick spin off?? part 2??? whatever you call this HAHA hope you like it!

you can follow me on x, niniramyeonie 😊🌻

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

Living together came with a rhythm. a kind of dance you didn’t choreograph but somehow perfected anyway.

Like how he swears up and down the keys are missing, again, and he’s tearing the apartment apart like someone broke in and stole just that.

Did you check the pocket of your jacket? After a beat of silence... 

“…Don’t say anything.”

Or how he leaves his socks in the weirdest places on the back of the couch, the bathroom sink, once inside the microwave which he claims it was “a joke. And somehow, you're the designated sock police.

But in return?

He opens every jar for you like it’s a challenge from the gods. Like, you’ll struggle with a jar of kimchi for three seconds before dramatically setting it down and calling out,

“Choi Seungcheol, fulfill your purpose.” And he’s there instantly, chest puffed like a knight, twisting that lid with one hand like he was born for it.

“Anything for you, milady,” he says.

“...Okay but put it back in the fridge though.”

He restocks the snacks without asking, always the exact brand you like even the weird seasonal ones. You refill his protein powders and label them so he doesn’t accidentally scoop pre-workout at midnight again. He insists on doing the heavy lifting at the grocery store. You insist he buys less of everything you know he’s not actually going to eat.

You steal his hoodies. He pretends to be mad. Then buys more hoodies “accidentally” in your size.

He hogs the blanket. You retaliate by becoming a human starfish.

You always find the TV remote. He always remembers where you left your glasses.

You cook when you’re in the mood. He cooks when you’re not.

“I don’t want to cook today.”

“Great. That makes two of us. Wanna order chicken?”

“God, I love you.”

The laundry is a war zone. He folds like a human disaster. You have a system. He doesn’t get it. You stop trying to explain. He starts handing you clothes with puppy eyes. You fold everything. He brings you snacks as tribute.

And sometimes it’s quiet just brushing teeth side by side, bumping hips while folding towels, scrolling on the couch with your legs tangled, his hand absently running up and down your back.

It’s a million tiny moments. Mundane. Messy. Magical.

You live together like you’ve always been meant to.

And in the chaos of socks, jars, keys, and too many snack runs and there’s no one else you’d rather do this whole life thing with.

=

He’s pacing behind you in the kitchen like a man on a mission. Shirtless, gym shorts hanging low on his hips, towel slung around his neck and hair still damp from the shower but instead of enjoying the rare peace of post-workout bliss, he’s spiraling.

“I’m serious,” he huffs. “They’re cutting out everything. No sugar, no bread, no ramyeon. do you know what that means? That means I can’t even look at your late-night snack stash without getting side-eyed by the trainer.”

You’re barely listening. Not because you don’t car but because you’ve got a spatula in one hand, half an eye on the simmering pot, and you’re already used to the sound of him monologuing behind you

“You don’t even like bread that much,” you reply calmly

“Exactly! That’s not the point. The point is, now that I can’t have it, I want it more. I’ve never wanted toast this badly in my life. And don’t even get me started on coffee. I asked if I could just have one iced vanilla latte and the coach looked at me like I asked for a cigarette.”

You hum thoughtfully and give the stew a stir. “Okay, but… why the sudden panic? You've never cared this much before.”

“I don't know,” he grumbles, tugging the towel off his neck and flopping dramatically onto one of the stools at the counter. “It’s different now. National team stuff feels bigger. Like… all eyes on us, you know? I feel like I need to be in the best shape of my life.”

You pause mid-stir, then turn to look at him.

He’s frowning at the countertop, brows knit together, abs still annoyingly visible for someone claiming to be “out of shape.”

And you, in your oversized t-shirt and fluffy socks, holding a ladle and feeling every bit the picture of domestic chaos, tilt your head.

“Why?”

He blinks up at you. “Why what?”

You smile, soft but exasperated. “Why the pressure? You already made the team. You're already good. And… I like you like this.”

He stares.

You shrug, returning to the stove. “I like you when you're all sweaty and complaining about toast. I like your stupid grumpy post-practice face. I like when you eat three servings of dinner and then act surprised you're full.”

You glance at him over your shoulder. “I like you, period. Whether you're sculpted like a Greek god or soft like a steamed bun.”

His laugh breaks before he can stop it. “Soft like a steamed bun? That’s your bar?”

“You love steamed buns.”

“I—okay, valid.”

You grin to yourself, stirring again like it's the most casual confession in the world. Behind you, you hear the stool creak. A few seconds later, warm arms wrap around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“Do you also like me when I keep eating while I’m on a ‘diet’?”

“Do you also keep lying to your trainer about what you ate?”

He presses a kiss to your cheek. “He doesn’t need to know about the tteokbokki incident.”

You laugh, leaning back into him.

“See?” you murmur. “Perfect just like this.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“You’re easy.”

He pinches your waist and you yelp, elbowing him gently in return.

And in that tiny kitchen, with the smell of dinner in the air and the background hum of life after college settling into something real, something solid you realize neither of you would trade this for anything.

You turn around in his arms, wooden spoon still in hand, and eye him up and down like he’s your favorite guilty pleasure at 2 a.m.

“Go on,” you say, smirking. “Tell your scary trainer your girlfriend likes you like this.”

You gesture vaguely to his entire body shirtless, towel-hair, the faintest pout still on his lips from earlier.

“I dare you. Look him dead in the eye and go, ‘My girlfriend thinks I’m delicious just the way I am.’”

He throws his head back laughing. “Delicious? What am I, a snack?”

“You’ve always been a snack,” you say, poking him in the side with your spoon. “Now you’re just a full meal. Extra side dishes. Dessert included.”

He catches your wrist mid-poke, grinning. “Wow. Remember when you refused to admit I was hot?”

You scoff, dramatic. “I was protecting myself.”

“From what, exactly?”

“From the endless ego that would’ve followed!”

“Too late,” he says smugly, pressing a kiss to the side of your mouth. “I’ve got receipts now.”

You narrow your eyes. “Yeah, well… now I sleep in your bed.”

“You do,” he says proudly.

You lift a brow. “And steal all the blankets.”

“And wear my shirts.”

“And finish your fries.”

He sighs, leaning in, voice softening. “And still somehow call me the lucky one.”

You go a little quiet at that, cheeks warming, until

“Also,” you add quickly, because God forbid you let the softness linger too long, “you do snore. Loud. Like a dying vacuum.”

He gasps. “Rude.”

“And you hog the bathroom.”

“You use all the hot water!”

“Because I have longer hair!”

“Because you’re high-maintenance!”

You’re both smiling too wide to care, leaning into each other in between jabs. The stew simmers away forgotten for now as he hooks his arms tighter around your waist and rests his forehead against yours.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he murmurs.

You grin “Damn right I am.”

And right there, wrapped in each other, laughter tangled in the air you're both more than okay with the fact that this is what forever might look like.

The sun’s barely up, the soft golden light slipping through the half-closed curtains. The apartment’s quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of Seungcheol getting ready. duffel bag zipped, shoes quietly set by the door, phone and keys in their usual spot.

But before he leaves, he makes one last stop. Bck to the bedroom.

You're still tangled in the sheets, half-facedown with hair a mess, one leg kicked out and the other tucked underneath the comforter. His hoodie is slipping off one shoulder, revealing the marks he left last night, the reason you're still dead to the world this morning.

He stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, smirking like the devil himself. Damn right you're tired, he thinks. I should get a medal for that performance.

But it’s not just the pride. It’s the way your brow twitch slightly, lips parted, cheeks still pink with leftover warmth, curled up in the cocoon of their shared bed like you belong nowhere else. There’s something deeply satisfying in knowing that this—you—is what he gets to come home to.

He steps closer, gently kneels beside the bed, brushes the hair from your face.

“Still knocked out, huh?” he whispers, voice low and affectionate. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You grumble something unintelligible, barely stirring, and that just makes him smile wider.

He leans in, presses a soft kiss to your temple. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.

You shift slightly, brow scrunching.

“Cheol…” you mumble, still far from the waking world.

“I’m heading out,” he murmurs against your skin. “Eat when you wake up, okay?”

You barely nod, eyes still closed, and he can’t help but press one more kiss to your lips. He stands, adjusts the hoodie you’re wearing so it covers you properly, then heads out, casting one last glance at your sleeping figure before the door shuts softly behind him.

He never leaves without kissing you goodbye.

And no matter how early the hour or how long the day ahead—he never forgets who he's coming back to.

=

You walk into the apartment with a spring in your step and a very mischievous glint in your eyes. He’s sprawled out on the couch, fresh out of the shower, hair damp and wearing those sweatpants. The grey ones. The dangerously effective ones. 

He’s half-watching a game, half-scrolling through his phone, fully unaware of the chaos you’re about to unleash.

You drop your bag, stretch like you just ran a marathon, and casually stroll over, plopping onto the couch beside him like you’re not about to start a war.

“Hey,” you say sweetly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Hey, baby.” He doesn’t even look up. “How was your wax appointment?”

You grin. Game on.

“Oh, it was great,” you say, keeping your tone breezy. “Really smooth. He did a good job.”

There’s a pause. He blinks. “He?”

You nod, completely deadpan. “Yeah. This new guy. Super professional. Like he had the gentlest hands. Barely felt a thing.”

His head slowly turns toward you, phone now lowered in his lap. “He? Did a—wax?”

You nod again, eyes wide, innocent. “Uh-huh. Brazilians, you know? It’s delicate work. And oh my god he was so thorough. Light hands, like feathers. Kinda soothing, actually.”

He’s blinking at you like he’s buffering. Like his brain just short-circuited.

“Wait. Hold on. A guy waxed your entire—” He waves vaguely toward your lower half like his vocabulary’s given up. “Down there?!”

You shrug, completely unbothered. “Mhm. He even complimented me. Said I had very ‘cooperative skin.’ Isn’t that cute?”

Seungcheol shoots up to sit fully upright, eyes bulging. “Cooperative skin?! WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!”

You bite your lip to stop from laughing. “It means I didn’t flinch or move. He was really impressed. Very gentle. Like his hands were magical. Want me to call and get you a slot?”

Seungcheol looks personally victimized.

“You’re joking.”

You smile sweetly. “Want to see? He did such a good job—”

“NO!” he yells, lunging for a pillow and smacking it against his face. “NO, I DON’T WANT TO SEE, WHAT THE HELL, BABY—”

You finally crack, bursting into laughter so loud it makes the lamp shake.

“Oh my god—your face!” you wheeze, flopping over dramatically onto his lap as he groans into his hands. “You looked like you were about to file a police report!”

“I ALMOST DID!” he shouts. “WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY BLOOD VESSELS I JUST POPPED?!”

You’re laughing so hard now you’re crying, clutching your stomach as he glares at you.

“I was this close to showing up to the salon, flipping over the reception desk like ‘WHERE’S GENTLE HANDS?!’”

“‘Where’s Gentle Hands!’” you repeat, howling. “That sounds like a mob boss!”

“You’re insane,” he grumbles, covering your face with a throw pillow as punishment. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Still giggling, you peek out. “Love me enough to help me moisturize my cooperative skin?”

He groans, gets up, grabs another pillow, and throws it at you.

“You’re banned. No more waxing appointments without adult supervision.”

He’s still glaring at you, pillow abandoned somewhere on the floor, his arms crossed and jaw clenched like he’s fighting the urge to combust.

“Oh, it’s so funny, huh?” he bites out

You wipe a tear from the corner of your eye, your grin stretching ear to ear. “I mean… a little. Just a teeny bit.”

He narrows his eyes like he’s trying to calculate whether he’s mad or just irrevocably in love with you. “I endured years of you arguing with me about everything under the sun,” he starts, pacing now like he’s testifying in court. “Before we even dated. Before I could kiss you to shut you up. Before I could call you mine when you were out here being stubborn for sport.”

You snort. “I was not stubborn for sport.”

He ignores you. “You’d correct my essays, roast my fashion, roll your eyes at me so hard I could feel the breeze—”

“Because you wore neon socks to an actual class presentation.”

He whirls around, ignoring the interruption like a true professional. “—and I endured it all. You know why?”

You blink, smile faltering just a little. “…Why?”

He points at himself with both hands. “So no other guy gets to just—” and then he pauses, looking utterly offended as he motions vaguely in your direction like your entire existence is too holy to even describe, “—all of this. Absolutely not.”

You burst out laughing again, nearly falling off the couch. “So you’re telling me… you suffered through my sass just so one day you’d have exclusive rights to my bikini waxes?”

He stops pacing. Blinks. Tilts his head. “…Yes.”

You’re on the floor now, actually wheezing. “That is the dumbest, most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

He huffs, hands on his hips. “You think I was gonna let gentle hands the rsthetician waltz in and touch what I’ve literally bled on the soccer field for?! My prize?!”

You gasp between giggles. “Your prize?!”

He crosses the room in two long strides, grabs a blanket, and tosses it over your head like he’s done with your chaos. “Court is adjourned. You’re in timeout.”

You peek out, still laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

He sits beside you, smug and slightly red in the ears, arm slung over the back of the couch. “You love me.”

You nudge him with your foot. “Unfortunately.”

He turns, eyes gleaming. “So… there was no Gentle Hands?”

You grin, leaning close. “No Gentle Hands.”

He exhales in relief, then squints. “It was a woman, right?”

You pause. Then smirk. “Nope. It was a robot. Future tech. Laser hands. Very gentle. Super efficient.”

His mouth opens. Closes.

“…You’re sleeping on the floor.”

“Still worth it.”

=

Like most couples, you do get into arguments. Like today, it started with something dumb. Most of your fights do.

Something about the laundry. Or his wet towel being on the bed again. Or you leaving your half-full coffee mugs in random corners of the apartment. 

The kind of thing that escalates not because it matters, but because you’re both Leos. Two overly dramatic, overly expressive, overly passionate fire signs locked in a tiny apartment with too much pride and not enough chill.

So when voices rise, hands get flaily, and the “Oh, you’re really doing this right now?”s start flying you know it’s about to be one of those nights.

And true to form, neither of you backs down.

You huffed, “Fine,” and grabbed your blanket and stormed off to the couch like you were doing him a favor.

He stood in the kitchen, jaw clenched, arms crossed, mumbling under his breath like a sitcom husband—“Unbelievable. All this over a towel. A damn towel. I dried my hair with it, not set the apartment on fire—”

You waited, expecting the usual rhythm: you cool off, he cools off, one of you mumbles something semi-sincere and the other reluctantly folds.

But tonight? You were not folding.

And neither was he.

At least, not right away.

The night stretched on.

You laid stiff on the couch, scrolling your phone, blanket over your shoulder like a shield. You weren’t crying or anything this wasn’t that kind of fight. It was the principle of the thing. The stubborn Leo principle.

The apartment stayed quiet.

No footsteps. No fridge door. No sneaky tiptoeing into the living room to nudge your foot and say, “You coming to bed?”

Fine, you thought. Two can play this game.

But sometime past midnight, your eyes grew heavy. Your phone slipped from your fingers. You drifted off, frown still slightly on your face, curled up awkwardly on the too-narrow couch.

Seungcheol was in the bedroom, pacing. Definitely not sleeping.

He kept glancing at the door like it would open itself and you’d walk in, dramatic sigh and all, whispering, “It’s cold without you,” and make this easier.

But it didn’t.

And you didn’t.

Eventually, the silence started gnawing at him. That’s the thing about being mad at you, he always ends up missing you mid-argument. It’s infuriating.

He poked his head out, expecting maybe you’d moved… but no. There you were.

Blanket sliding off your shoulder, legs dangling off the couch, mouth slightly parted in sleep, as if the couch was the battlefield and you’d fallen mid-stand.

He sighed, ruffling his hair. “Of course you fell asleep out here. So dramatic,” he muttered.

But the worry was already creeping in.

He padded out, gently crouched beside the couch, and stared at your sleeping face for a second. Your lashes fluttered, cheek smushed against a throw pillow, face still in that half-pout from earlier.

God, you’re cute when you’re mad.

Even cuter when you’re fake-mad.

He reached out, brushing your hair back, voice low. “Hey. Come to bed.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t stir. Or maybe you were pretending not to hear him just to prove a point. You would.

He hesitated. Then sighed again. And finally he folded.

Like he always does.

He reached under you carefully, lifting you with practiced ease. You grumbled something incomprehensible and shifted in his arms, nose scrunching at the sudden movement.

He smiled. “Yeah, yeah. Keep acting like you don’t love me.”

You were still half-asleep, but your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like muscle memory.

By the time he tucked you into bed, blanket pulled over your shoulder just right, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“Still mad at me?” he whispered, lips brushing your skin.

You mumbled something.

He leaned closer. “Huh?”

“I said,” you slurred, barely conscious, “don’t ever put a wet towel on the bed again.”

He choked out a laugh. “Yes, ma��am.”

And even as you dozed off again, triumphant in your victory he curled in beside you, grinning to himself because even when you're mad… you still ended up in his arms.

The room is dim, the only light a soft glow from the hallway spilling through the cracked door. You’re warm now, blanketed in more than just the comforter his arms wrapped around you, chest rising steadily beneath your cheek, steady and solid like home always is when it’s him.

You’re already half-asleep, body still limp from the move back into bed. You hadn’t even opened your eyes when he laid you down, just grumbled something about “sabotage” when he tried to take off your socks.

But even then, even with your pride still faintly bruised and your mouth pouting in sleep you stayed close. One leg draped over his, your fingers still tangled in the hem of his shirt like your body knew better than your ego.

And Seungcheol doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at you in the quiet for a bit. Brushes your hair off your forehead. Watches your lips twitch and shift like you’re dreaming of arguing with him even there.

He sighs, but it’s not exasperated. It’s soft.

Then, his voice, low and warm in the stillness:

“I love you.”

You don’t respond right away, but he knows you heard it. Your brow twitches, lips parting like your brain’s slowly wading through sleep to send the message back.

And sure enough, a few seconds later, you murmur it hoarse and quiet, barely there.

“I love you too.”

It’s like breathing. Even after a stupid fight. Even after the eye-rolls and pettiness and temporary exile to the couch. It never changes.

You never sleep without saying it.

No matter how tired, no matter how stubborn, no matter who folded first it always ends the same way.

I love you.

He shifts a little, pulling you closer, nose brushing against your temple. “You were being impossible.”

You mumble into his shirt. “You left a wet towel on the bed.”

He chuckles. “So that’s what’s gonna haunt you in your sleep tonight.”

You nod, eyes still closed. “Every time I think about how damp the comforter felt, I lose a year off my life.”

He laughs again, pulling the blanket higher around you both. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re lucky.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead one last time before settling in beside you. “I really am.”

[li-lilyvi]

I ADORE hurt/comfort but what about a reverse comfort where the 14th member catches someone after practice obviously exhausted or stressed about tour. Maybe scoups or dk?

i miss miss miss svt sm these days & i blame it all on nanabnb !! i avoided the us, again part bc i knew i would bawl my eyes out (and i did) so this is dedicated to our general leader 최승철 ❤️

-- જ⁀➴°⋆

The dorm lights were dimmed, the living room nearly silent except for the low hum of the air purifier and the occasional shuffle of papers on the dining table.

It was nearly 2am.

You padded out of your room in search of water when you noticed a familiar silhouette hunched over the table. The glow of his laptop cast sharp shadows across his face - brows furrowed, fingers running endlessly through his hair.

“Cheol?” You called softly, voice careful not to startle him.

He didn’t even look up. “Yeah. Go back to sleep. I’m just finishing something.”

You frowned. “Still working?”

“Mmm. Tour logistics. Final revisions for the medical team, travel schedules…that kind of thing.”

Your eyes scanned the clutter - notes, tabs, forms. You saw the highlighted sections for members with chronic issues, the careful scheduling of rest days, the meticulous notes about stage conditions. He wasn't just managing the tour; he was meticulously planning for every potential discomfort, every possible injury, especially after Hoshi's arm sprained recently.

He was carrying everyone's worries.

One glance at the dark circles under his eyes, and you knew this wasn’t his first late night.

“…When was the last time you slept properly?”

He exhaled, chuckling as he finally leaned back in his chair. “Don’t remember.”

“You’ve been doing too much.”

“It’s my job,” he replied, with a tired smile. “I’m the leader. I’m supposed to make sure everyone’s taken care of. Seungkwan’s been having sore throats, Joshua’s back is hurting again, Hoshi’s arm– every detail needs to be right for the kids.”

You stepped closer, watching him carefully. “And what about you, Cheol-ie?”

His smile faltered.

You reached for the laptop and gently pulled the screen shut. “You’re the reason this team moves forward. But it’s not your job to carry the whole weight alone.”

He stared at you, visibly worn.

You pulled the chair beside him and sat. “You’ve been the backbone for all of us for years. But…it’s okay to lean back, too. Let someone else hold you up for once.”

He didn’t speak for a while. His hand, still tensed from hours of typing and highlighting, slowly relaxed against the table.

“…I just want the tour to go smoothly. For everyone.”

“I know,” you said softly. “And we all feel that. You’ve protected us so fiercely, that you forget you need protection too.”

Your voice dropped into a whisper. “I know I’m not the one who can do much. Not like you. But I’m here. And I’ll always be here.”

Seungcheol’s shoulders trembled, barely noticeable ‐ a crack in the armor. And when you gently reached over to cover his hand with yours, his grip turned soft and tight all at once.

“Alright, I get it,” he whispered, voice low, raw.

You leaned your head against his arm, offering a quiet presence. Not as a member this time, or a responsibility he had to carry - but just someone who would stay. Always.

And for the first time that week, Seungcheol let himself close his eyes - letting someone else take the weight, if only for a moment.

.

When morning came, the dorm kitchen buzzed with the usual sleepy chaos: cereal being poured too loudly, hairbrushes being passed around like currency, and a very groggy Dino trying to figure out which pair of socks were his.

It was Mingyu who noticed Seungcheol first. He paused mid-bite, squinting suspiciously.

“…Why do you look like you slept before midnight for once?”

Cheol blinked. “I did.”

The entire room stilled for a second.

“HUH?” Seungkwan’s spoon clattered into his bowl. “You? Slept? Before midnight??”

You emerged from your room right then, hair tied up lazily, already heading for a cup of iced coffee.

“Morning,” you greeted, barely awake.

“Morning!” a few chorused back.

But your eyes naturally drifted toward the figure at the end of the table - Seungcheol, coffee in hand, looking…well.

Not dead-tired. Not hunched with stress. Just quietly sipping while he scrolled through his phone, shoulders a little less tense, a lightness to his eyes.

Joshua turned from the fridge, visibly stunned. “You never even left your laptop this past week.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes, immediately catching on. “Wait…someone was also up late last night, right?”

You froze mid-sip, turning to look at the pair of eyes on you. “What do I have to do with anything?”

“Oh, everything,” Woozi murmured, now smirking into his mug as he sipped.

Dino gasped. “Wait, wait, wait– did something happen last night?* Is that why you finally slept?”

“No! What are you thinking of?” You were fully awake now.

“She did, didn’t she?” Hoshi grinned, elbowing Seungcheol from the side. “Hyung, you’re glowing. It’s suspicious.”

Seungcheol rubbed the back of his neck, ears tinting red. “Can’t I just be well-rested without being interrogated?”

“No no,” Vernon deadpanned.

Seungkwan pointed dramatically. “We’ve been trying to get you to rest for weeks. Suddenly she spends one night talking to you, and now you’re a new man?”

Mingyu gave you a teasing thumbs-up. “You’ve done what the rest of us couldn’t. Leader whisperer.”

You rolled your eyes, hiding the fluster behind your cup. “I just told him to go to sleep.”

Seungcheol let out a soft chuckle. “More like reminded me I’m human.”

The teasing paused for a second. The rest of the members exchanged small looks - quiet, knowing ones - before Hoshi broke the silence again.

“Well,” he declared, “if you’re in charge of leader maintenance now, I fully support this new development.”

“Seconded,” Seungkwan chipped in.

You laughed despite yourself, cheeks warm. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“Just accept it,” Jeonghan added, “this is a huge honour for you, going forward.”

You opened your mouth to protest.

Then glanced at Seungcheol.

And found him already watching you - with a look you’d never seen before. Soft. Grateful.

Your smile faltered, just a little, as you looked away. “...Then I'll accept it with open arms.”

And for once, the teasing stopped.

Because they all understood - some people had powers for people others didn't, and for you? It was Seungcheol.

--

[li-lilyvi]

Center of Attention

Seungcheol x Reader | Fluff, Jealous & Pouty Cheol, Playful SEVENTEEN

You peeked into the practice room, excitement bubbling inside you as you spotted SEVENTEEN hard at work. The boys were dancing in perfect synchronization, sweat glistening on their skin as the music filled the space.

Your eyes immediately found Seungcheol at the center, leading the group with his usual commanding presence. Even exhausted, he moved with precision and power, his focus unshakable—until his gaze flickered toward the door and landed on you.

For a moment, he faltered, his steps slightly offbeat. Then, a slow, boyish grin spread across his face as he straightened up, clearly pleased by your unexpected visit.

But before he could make his way to you, someone beat him to it.

"Y/N!" Seungkwan shouted, dramatically throwing himself into your arms. "Oh my gosh, you’re here! You finally came to see me!"

You laughed, patting his back. "I came to see all of you, of course!"

"Hah! See that, hyung?" Mingyu teased, draping an arm over your shoulder. "She came for all of us, not just you."

"Y/N, do you want to see our new choreography?" Hoshi piped up, eyes gleaming with excitement. "I swear it's gonna blow your mind!"

"Oh, oh! Sit here, next to me!" Dino tugged at your wrist, leading you toward the mirrors. "We need a fresh opinion!"

You giggled as the members pulled you into their chaos, talking over one another as they eagerly showed you moves, funny stories, and behind-the-scenes antics.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol stood frozen in the middle of the room, arms crossed, lips pressed into a pout.

Not. Happy. At. All.

He watched as his significant other was swept away by the other members, completely ignoring him. Him! Their leader! The one who was supposed to be getting all your attention right now!

Minghao, passing by, smirked. "You look like a sulky puppy, hyung."

"I'm not sulking," Seungcheol muttered, brows furrowing deeper.

"You totally are," Woozi added, barely hiding his grin.

Seungcheol huffed, hands on his hips. He'd had enough.

With slow, deliberate steps, he made his way toward you, towering over where you sat between the younger members. You barely had time to react before he effortlessly scooped you up—lifting you into his arms like you weighed nothing.

"Cheol!" You yelped, clutching onto him.

"Excuse us," he said firmly, shooting a pointed glare at the members. "I need my girlfriend back."

A chorus of laughter erupted around the room as the members teased and whistled, but Seungcheol ignored them, walking away with you securely in his arms. He carried you to the far corner of the practice room, finally setting you down—but not letting go.

"You barely looked at me," he accused, voice low and sulky.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at his adorable pout. "You were busy, so I didn’t want to distract you."

"I'm always okay with you distracting me," he grumbled, arms wrapping snugly around your waist. "I missed you."

You smiled, reaching up to smooth his damp hair. "I missed you too, Cheol."

His pout deepened. "Then prove it."

You chuckled before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. He hummed in satisfaction, pulling you closer, as if to make up for the lost time.

From across the room, Jeonghan shouted, "YAH! WE'RE STILL HERE, YOU KNOW!"

But Seungcheol ignored them all, completely lost in you. Because as far as he was concerned, you were his priority—and finally, he was yours again.

[li-lilyvi]

domestic! seungcheol x reader

-------------------

The office lights flickered above you as they dimmed for the night, leaving only the exit sign glowing a weary green above the main doors. You habitually turned your phone on to check the time, 8:34 pm, it read. Stepping out the building with a groan, your arms stretched high above your head as you blinked at the quiet streets ahead. The air was cold and crisp, the kind that carried the scent of sleep and late-night convenience store runs.

Yet there he was.

Leaning casually against the side of his car, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, Seungcheol looked up the moment the glass doors pushed open. His eyes met yours instantly - like they’d been waiting for no one else.

You stood frozen for a moment at the top of the stairs, lips tugging down in an exaggerated pout.

“Cheol,” you whined, voice echoing down the steps. “I’m so tired I think my bones are protesting.”

His mouth curved into a grin, lazy and affectionate. “Let’s go home, baby.”

You took one slow, dramatic step. “Can’t. My legs stopped working. I’m retiring from walking.”

Seungcheol chuckled, already making his way up the short flight of stairs.

“Alright, alright,” he said, reaching you just in time to catch your bag as it slipped from your shoulder with a sigh. He slung it over his own, then wrapped a warm arm around your waist, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. “Seungcheollie, at your service.”

You gasped, giggling. 

Despite your exhaustion, you curled into his chest. “I’m too heavy for this.”

“You’re not,” he said simply, voice muffled slightly as he rested his chin briefly on your shoulder. “And even if you were, I’d still carry you.”

He carried you down the steps slowly, carefully, and you melted into him more with each step. The kind of tired you were couldn’t be cured with just sleep - it needed this. It needed him.

The second you were placed gently into the passenger seat, Seungcheol leaned in, buckling you in before brushing a hand over your hair to pat your head, eyes warm.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” he leaned in, leaving a peck of cherry chapstick on your lips, quick enough to have butterflies swarm your stomach.

And with that, he closed the door, circled around, and drove the both of you off into the soft quiet of the night - your hand in his hold gently the entire way.

-------------------

끝

[li-lilyvi]

–ᝰ.ᐟ✮ In a world where Choi Seungcheol commands boardrooms with sharp words and sharper standards, no one dares get close—until her.

To everyone else, he’s a calm, calculating CEO. But behind closed doors, it’s her voice that grounds him, her presence that quiets the noise.

pairing: CEO!seungcheol x f!reader

genre: fluff, CEO au, established relationship, comfort and emotional vulnerability, acts of service and gift giving, luxury setting, “just because” affection, clingy couple energy

word count: 2.1k

a/n: may this kind of love find me 🫣🫣😍

The meeting room was too loud for how little anyone was saying.

Seungcheol sat at the head of the table, not speaking, just watching. His expression didn’t give much away—but those who worked under him knew the silence was dangerous. And the flick of his pen against the glossy report file? A quiet warning shot.

“Redo this,” he said, voice low and measured, but with an edge sharp enough to silence the room.

“Yes, sir.”

He didn’t stay to hear excuses.

By the time he was back in his office, the ticking inside his head had grown unbearable. Deadlines, investors, expectations—stacked up like dominoes waiting to collapse. His fingers itched to loosen the collar of his shirt, but he didn’t. Not yet. He reached for his phone instead, already knowing who he needed.

He didn’t even think. Just pressed call.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then—

“Hi, Cheol.”

His breath left him all at once. A slow, quiet exhale, as if he hadn’t realized how tight his chest had been until he heard her voice.

“…Hey,” he said, a little rougher than he intended.

“Tough day?” she asked softly, like she already knew. She always knew.

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. The sunlight streaming in through the blinds painted slats of gold across his sharp features, but they softened, ever so slightly, with each second of her voice in his ear.

“The usual,” he muttered. “Numbers didn’t add up. People didn’t listen. You’re the only thing making sense today.”

She laughed—gentle and warm. “I hope that’s not just the exhaustion talking.”

“It’s not,” he replied instantly, and the speed of his answer made her go quiet for a second.

His eyes fluttered open. He stared out the window at the city skyline, but it wasn’t the view that grounded him. It was her.

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” he said after a beat. “I just… needed to hear you.”

“You never bother me.”

Silence stretched between them, but it was the kind that comforted, not strained.

“I wish I was there,” she added.

And God, he wished the same.

There were things he couldn’t say during the day. Not to his staff, not to anyone. He wasn’t cruel—just meticulous, precise. No-nonsense. And if that made people keep their distance, all the better. It made things easier.

Except when it came to her. With her, everything unraveled in the best way.

His shoulders finally slumped. “I’m in my office.”

“Lights off, sleeves rolled up?” she teased lightly.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You know me too well.”

“I do.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then— “Talk to me,” he murmured. “Doesn’t matter what. Just… keep talking.”

So she did. She told him about her day, about the weird dream she had the night before, about the cat she saw perched dramatically on a taxi roof downtown. And Seungcheol—CEO, perfectionist, powerful—sat back and let her voice pour through the cracks of his armor like sunlight through broken blinds.

He didn’t need fixing. He just needed her. And somehow, without even trying, she was enough to make the world feel a little less loud.

The clock on the wall blinked 2:14 AM in soft red light.

Seungcheol unlocked the front door with a weary sigh, the click of the handle almost deafening in the stillness of the apartment. The kind of silence that stretched long after a day like his—after meetings gone sideways and numbers that danced too close to disaster.

He slipped his shoes off slowly, rolling his neck with a wince. Every muscle in his body ached from hours of tension, and all he had wanted by the end of it was to walk into the quiet, undisturbed dark and pass out.

But the lamp in the living room was on.

And so was she.

Curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped around her like armor, feet tucked beneath her. She blinked drowsily up at him, eyes soft and warm and a little guilty.

“…Hi,” she whispered, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to say it.

He blinked, not quite believing she was real for a moment. “You’re still awake?”

“You told me not to wait,” she murmured, pushing the blanket off her lap. “I tried. I really did.”

Seungcheol swallowed, guilt twisting somewhere low in his chest. He stepped closer, kneeling in front of her wordlessly.

“I didn’t want you to be tired,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “You have your presentation tomorrow.”

“And you had the kind of day that would’ve driven anyone else to put their fist through a wall,” she countered softly, resting her hand over his. “I wasn’t going to sleep not knowing how you were doing.”

His jaw clenched—not from anger, but the effort of keeping his emotions in check. Her voice, even this late, still made him feel like the tension in his bones was finally loosening. She always had that effect on him.

“You shouldn’t have waited,” he said again, but this time it came out gentler, almost pleading.

She just smiled, the kind of tired smile that still felt like home. “And you shouldn’t have to come back to an empty apartment after a day like that.”

He didn’t have anything to say to that. Because she was right.

Without a word, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers. Her hands came up to cradle his face, thumbs brushing beneath his eyes. He felt like he could finally breathe.

“I missed you,” he said, voice a whisper against her lips.

“I’m right here.”

And she was. Warm and real and everything good in his life.

He stayed there for a moment, breathing her in, her presence calming the storm still lingering beneath his skin. Eventually, she tugged him toward the couch, and he followed, letting her wrap the blanket around both of them. His head dropped to her shoulder, and for the first time all day, he let his guard down.

Not the CEO. Not the man everyone walked on eggshells around.

Just Seungcheol. Just hers.

And when she pressed a soft kiss to his temple and whispered, “You did your best today,” that was all he needed.

He finally closed his eyes.

The presentation had gone better than she expected.

There had been nerves—of course there had. The weight of all those eyes on her, the pressure to deliver something flawless after weeks of late nights and revisions. But the moment it ended, and the conference room erupted in polite applause, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders.

Relief washed over her in waves.

Still, as she walked out of the building, the adrenaline began to fade, leaving only exhaustion behind. Her eyes fluttered shut briefly, the mid-morning sun warming her cheeks.

And then she saw him.

Leaning against the hood of his car, hair slightly tousled from the wind, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, sunglasses pushed into his hair. A paper bag in one hand, a drink carrier in the other.

And a bouquet of her favorite flowers cradled in the crook of his arm.

She froze, heart stuttering.

He looked up from his phone, then smiled when he saw her. The smile—the one that was just for her. The one he never wore in meetings or in boardrooms or in front of anyone else.

Her feet moved on instinct, almost running by the time she reached him.

“You—” she began, breathless. “What—?”

Seungcheol handed her the bouquet before she could finish.

“For your nerves,” he said casually, like showing up outside her office before 11AM with her favorite drink and a fresh raspberry croissant was normal. “And because I know you skipped breakfast.”

She blinked down at the flowers in her arms, the familiar colors and soft petals almost making her emotional. “Cheol…”

He held up the coffee. “Extra shot of vanilla. Just how you like it.”

She took it slowly, like if she moved too fast the whole moment might disappear.

“You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he said simply. “That’s why I wanted to.”

His voice was quieter now. More tender. “You did good today. I’m proud of you.”

And just like that, everything she’d been holding together all morning threatened to unravel. The late nights, the self-doubt, the mental notes scribbled at 2AM—it all felt worth it, just to hear those words from him.

“I didn’t think you’d be up,” she whispered.

He reached out, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “I wasn’t gonna miss this. Not after you stayed up for me.”

She smiled, blinking quickly to keep the tears at bay. “You’re unfair.”

“I know,” he said with a soft grin. “But I’m cute, so you’ll forgive me.”

“Barely.”

He chuckled, and then pulled her gently into his arms, careful not to crush the flowers. She melted against his chest, his scent grounding her in the quietest, sweetest way.

“I love you,” she mumbled into the fabric of his shirt.

His grip around her tightened. “I know. I love you too.”

The restaurant they headed to afterwards was the kind of place you didn’t find on Google Maps.

It didn’t need reviews. It didn’t need ads. The kind of place where your name alone got you a table—and Seungcheol’s name carried more weight than most.

Tucked into the top floor of an art gallery building, the restaurant opened out into floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. The air smelled of aged wine and freshly baked truffle bread. Gentle jazz played in the background, echoing off warm mahogany panels and velvet-draped walls.

When the hostess saw them walk in—his hand on the small of her back, her fingers curled into the front of his shirt—she bowed deeply, almost reverently.

“Welcome back, Mr. Choi. Your usual table?”

He nodded once, eyes flickering down to the woman beside him. “Yes. Thank you.”

Their table wasn’t in the center of the room. It was nestled into a corner, semi-enclosed by sheer drapes, with an uninterrupted view of the skyline. Private. Quiet. Safe.

And instead of sitting opposite her, Seungcheol guided her to the inside of the half-moon shaped booth, sliding in right beside her like it was second nature.

Because it was.

Their knees touched. Their shoulders bumped. His hand immediately found hers under the table.

“You’re really spoiling me today,” she said with a small laugh, glancing around at the gold-rimmed plates and the personalized menu printed with her name.

“You deserve it,” he said, simple as anything. “You killed it today.”

She blushed, tucking her face into his shoulder for a second before peeking up at him again. “So… just how expensive is this place?”

Seungcheol smirked. “You don’t want to know.”

“That bad?”

“Let’s just say…” he leaned in, brushing his nose against her temple, “I could’ve bought us a weekend in Paris. But you looked too pretty to make wait for a plane.”

She gawked at him, smacking his chest with the back of her hand. “Choi Seungcheol.”

“Worth it,” he said with a grin, catching her wrist and pulling her hand back to intertwine with his again. “Every cent.”

The waiter came and went like a ghost—present only to refill wine glasses and deliver each artful course with quiet precision. Caviar with crème fraîche. Handmade pasta rolled so thin it nearly dissolved on the tongue. Wagyu that melted the moment it touched her mouth.

But Seungcheol only had eyes for her.

“You always look at me like that,” she murmured at some point, cheeks still warm from the wine and the weight of his gaze.

“Like what?”

“Like I hung the stars.”

He tilted his head, thumb brushing her knuckles beneath the table. “Because you do. For me, you do.”

She couldn’t say anything to that without her heart falling out of her chest, so she leaned in and kissed him instead—just a short, sweet press of lips that left him smiling against her mouth.

“You know…” he whispered against her cheek, “if you ever want to quit your job and let me pamper you like this every day…”

“Nope,” she laughed, resting her head against his shoulder. “But I’ll let you keep feeding me wagyu if you insist.”

“Deal,” he said, pressing a kiss into her hair. “But you have to keep looking this proud of yourself. I like this version of you.”

She turned her face slightly toward his neck, murmuring, “You bring it out of me.”

And so they sat—shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, the city beneath them, the world hushed around them—and for once, there were no meetings, no presentations, no pressure.

Just him. Just her. Just them.

Exactly where they always came back to.

[li-lilyvi]

CHOI FUCKING SEUNGCHEOL

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?????

[li-lilyvi]

like what the fuck omg pin me down PIN ME DOWNNNNNN

somebody sedate me i need him right now

[li-lilyvi]

Wow. MY EYES ARE BLESSED FOR THE YEAR!

HE IS SO BEAUTIFUL!! JDEUKFEIUFJEDJE I could and will bark for this man honestly.

I fear my next fic will be based on smth related to these pics. Mother of god save me.

I bet he knew what these pics of his will do to us. I swear, HE KNOWS. AND I BET HE ENJOYS SEEING CARATS SUFFER AND GO DELUSIONAL ALL OVER HIM. (Not like i mind going delusional over him.)