12 Works by pickledmelon
Listing Works
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“No. I’m, uh—I’m picking up my sister,” he says, motioning pointlessly towards the practice room. “I can’t dance.”
The guy’s mouth lifts at one side. “Anyone can dance,” he says, and the words come out sounding almost like a challenge.
At the end of 1985, San comes back from his studies abroad to spend a month with his family, at a ski resort in Gangwon-do. There, he meets a dance instructor.
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On day three, it’s as simple as if Wooyoung has been doing it for years.
A little seductive smile and cornering San where he willingly goes, then placing a single kiss on his neck before Wooyoung bites in, drinking his fill. A hum for each of San’s whines, a steadying hand on his shoulders. Pulling away just before it’s enough, meeting San’s gaze, and staring into his dark eyes until Wooyoung can stand up and know the other man won’t remember any of this.
Wooyoung is a starved and lonely vampire. San is the stranger he lets inside his house in a storm.
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Park Minjun (23), cat hybrid,
ownedadopted by Park Dongho (46).Found dead on August 24th, at 6.13pm, by Park Dongho. In the hallway of their house.
Premin PrelinaPreliminary medical check suspects poison as the cause of death. No evidence of break-ins or other violence. Park Dongho foundthe victimMinjun after returning from a 4-day business conference in Busan.When a man happens to get murdered in their sleepy town of Gyeran-ri, Wooyoung (25, baker and part-time detective) and San (26, part-time detective and cat hybrid) make it their mission to crack the case.
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There are five new players on their squad this season—they’ve discussed the changes before their break, once management finalised all the transfers. There’d been no mention of a Wooyoung.
“Which Wooyoung? Jung Wooyoung? From Gimpo FC?”
“That’s the one.”
Though he tries to be rational about the news, San can’t stop the feeling in his stomach—like a pit opening up, full of dread and a whole other kind of nerves. They make his breath catch, his skin feels like it’s crawling with spiders. Because, if San is the golden boy of his team, the striker that has almost brought Ulsan a victory, Jung Wooyoung is the striker who finished last season with a trophy.
It’s one of the many differences between them.
After Wooyoung joins Ulsan KQ, San’s whole life turns upside down.
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“Maybe it’s because you were sick in May,” Seonghwa says. “You’re still recovering.”
“A flu can’t strip your powers, hyung.”
“Maybe there’s another witch in Namhae?” he tries. “Your powers might be clashing.”
“Nah.” Wooyoung takes a sip, swallows it, and lets the bitterness burn down his throat. “I think it’s because of San.”
“Oh.” Seonghwa’s eyes widen. “Because you—”
“Because I’ve known about his crush for years,” Wooyoung says, “and I’ve ignored it. I haven’t helped him, hyung. That’s a pretty shitty thing to do.”
Or, the one where Wooyoung is a love witch settled in Namhae, living above the Chois’ taekwondo studio.
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“Do you want to go back?” Hongjoong asked, no longer walking.
Seonghwa stopped too. The mulled wine made his answer come easy, the impulsiveness of the last few days making Seonghwa feel like he could keep pushing. He could keep pretending. Just for a little longer.
“Not yet,” he said.
Or, it’s Christmas, Seonghwa is in London for five days, and Hongjoong is the friend of a friend who offers to show him around when Seonghwa runs away from his work commitments.
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If Wooyoung had stayed, it wouldn’t have made a difference.
Where San’s aftershocks felt like there was a part of him missing, a piece of his soul left behind, Wooyoung’s had emerged as restlessness. He couldn’t stay in one place. He couldn’t sit and ride out the hollow pain. San couldn’t watch that and tell him not to go.
They're back in World A and things are not the same.
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Wooyoung isn’t the only one sharing too much.
Soon, he learns that Sunny’s phone is not a secret one that he’s bought with his hard-earned allowance and smuggled in like Wooyoung, but that he’s earned temporary phone privileges for doing well on his last evaluation. Sunny says he’s expecting to lose them soon, struggling to keep up with his dance classes. He finds singing easier, reads manga in his free time, and if he didn’t want to be an idol, he’d continue with taekwondo.
It’s enough information that if Wooyoung really wanted, he could probably find the guy.
5+1 times Wooyoung matches with San on a dating app.
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The more they try, the more Seonghwa feels like they’re trying to find each other at different coordinates. Like each time, they meet once—when the orgasms hit—and the rest is just them stumbling around blindly: the silence, the forced moaning, the endless shifting of eyes.
“Was that—good?” Hongjoong asks, after the first time he blows Seonghwa.
“Yes, of course,” Seonghwa says, half because the orgasm did feel good, half because it feels like the only thing he can say.
It should’ve felt good, period.
Or, all of Seonghwa’s dreams are coming true, so why can’t he make the sex good, too?
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“Why are you here?” Hongjoong shoots the last question back, trying not to let his curiosity show.
“Because I’m stuck in a time loop and can’t leave,” Seonghwa says, in that deep mellow voice that goes perfectly with his beautiful face. Looking down at his flexed hand, one corner of Seonghwa’s mouth lifts, eyes following, and he teases: “How’s that for an answer?”
Hongjoong’s breath catches as he tries to laugh. “Ridiculous.”
Or, Hongjoong’s never expected to get trapped in a time loop with his one-night stand.
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shattering the hourglass (trying to make the moment last) by pickledmelon
Fandoms: ATEEZ (Band)
20 May 2024
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“You should at least set some rules,” Seonghwa said.
“Hm.”
It was a valid argument, but Hongjoong knew the others.
At worst, he’d get his wallet hurt with expensive sneakers and designer sunglasses, or get his patience tested with an amusement park day trip. They all had limits, and so did Hongjoong, but saying he would consider anything they asked for was not as grand a statement as promising they would get it.
Or, Hongjoong finds verbalising his own desires a task beyond his depth.
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“Yah, Park Seonghwa!” Hongjoong yells into the room—the only in the shack, a kitchen and an office and a bedroom all in one—and his voice echoes off the sparse furnishings. “Why are you hiding, huh?”
Nothing moves. The flickering light by the door casts shadows of Hongjoong’s unwashed dishes, the clothes piled over every horizontal surface, painting grotesque silhouettes on the walls. One of them sticks out, a different scale, a shadow that seems to grow the longer Hongjoong looks at it. He sets his plastic bag down before turning around.
“Hongjoong-ah.”
Or, the world is ending in a few days, and Hongjoong gets a visitor.