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Title: Across Continents, Still You

Masterlist

Five years after leaving Seoul to protect Seokmin from a scandal, Y/N unexpectedly reunites with him at a wine festival in Rome, stirring old wounds and unspoken love. Pairing: DK x Y/N Genre: Slice of life, Angst, Drama WC: 5.4k

Y/N had carved out a life for herself in Rome, a far cry from the bustling streets of Seoul where she was born. Five years ago, she landed in the Eternal City for a job opportunity, trading the familiar hum of Korea for the sun-drenched cobblestones of Italy. The first year was a whirlwind of challenges—language barriers, a new timezone, unfamiliar weather, and the aching loneliness of not knowing a soul. But time, as it does, softened the edges. She learned to savor the bitter tang of espresso, mastered enough Italian to banter with locals, and even grew fond of the humid Roman summers. Most importantly, she found a small circle of friends who became her anchor.

Today was her day off, and her phone had buzzed early with a call from her friend Giulia. “Y/N, you’re coming to the wine festival in Greve, right? It’s tradition!” Giulia’s voice was bright, almost demanding, through the speaker.

Y/N laughed, pulling a light jacket from her closet. “Do I have a choice? You lot would drag me there if I said no.”

“Exactly!” chimed in Matteo, another friend, who’d grabbed Giulia’s phone. “We’re meeting at the usual spot. Don’t be late, or we’re starting without you.”

The Greve wine festival was an annual ritual for their group—two women, Giulia and Sofia, and two men, Matteo and Luca. They were locals who’d taken Y/N under their wing, helping her navigate the chaos of her new life. Over time, they’d become her family away from home. Y/N wasn’t a wine enthusiast when she arrived in Rome, but five years of festivals and late-night tastings had changed that. She could now appreciate a good Chianti, even if she’d never admit it to Matteo, who’d tease her endlessly about her “refined” palate.

Y/N drove to their meeting spot, a quaint plaza just outside Greve. The air was warm, carrying the scent of blooming lavender and fresh bread from nearby bakeries. As she parked, she spotted her friends lounging near a fountain, their laughter echoing.

“There she is!” Sofia called, waving dramatically. “Thought you’d bailed on us, Korea.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at the nickname. “And miss Matteo trying to pronounce ‘Sangiovese’ wrong again? Never.”

Matteo clutched his chest in mock offense. “My pronunciation is flawless, thank you very much.”

“Flawlessly terrible,” Luca added, earning a playful shove from Matteo.

The group fell into their usual rhythm, strolling through Greve’s charming streets. They stopped for pizza at a hole-in-the-wall trattoria, the kind only locals knew about, and then grabbed gelato—pistachio for Y/N, always. Luca, ever the photographer, insisted on snapping pictures, teasing Y/N about her “model poses” while she stuck out her tongue for the camera.

Y/N and Luca had a close bond, the kind that sparked whispers among their friends. People often teased them about being “more than friends,” and Y/N knew Luca harbored feelings for her. But her heart, stubborn as ever, wasn’t in it. She cared for him deeply, but romance? That was a door she’d locked long ago. So, they stayed friends, and Luca never pushed.

As the festival’s opening hour approached, the group joined the lively crowd at the entrance. They were near the front of the line, buzzing with excitement. Each grabbed a wine glass, the clinking of crystal signaling the start of their adventure. The festival was a maze of booths, each offering a different vintage, and soon the group scattered, chasing their favorite flavors.

Y/N wandered alone for a bit, her glass catching the golden afternoon light. She sipped a bold red, savoring the way it warmed her chest. As she moved through the crowd, she noticed a cluster of large cameras and a small crew. The sight piqued her curiosity, but what caught her off guard was the language she overheard—Korean. Her heart gave a small, unexpected lurch. It had been years since she’d heard her native tongue in person, and the sound felt like a tether to a life she’d left behind. She smiled to herself, feeling a quiet joy at seeing fellow Koreans so far from home. Maybe they were filming a travel show, she thought, her mind drifting to memories of Seoul.

Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the tall figure in a white shirt until they collided. Her wine glass slipped from her hand, shattering on the cobblestone with a sharp crash. “Oh no, I’m so sorry!” she gasped, crouching to gather the shards before anyone could step on them.

The stranger knelt beside her, his voice soft but flustered in broken English. “No, no, my fault. Sorry, so sorry. Let me help.”

That voice. It hit her like a wave, familiar in a way that made her breath catch. She froze, her fingers hovering over a piece of glass. Slowly, she looked up, and the world tilted. Their eyes locked, and time seemed to unravel.

It was him. Lee Seokmin. DK. Her best friend from high school. Her first love. The man she’d dated when he debuted with Seventeen, only to break his heart two years later without ever telling him why. The reason she’d fled to Rome, carrying a secret she’d buried deep.

His eyes widened, mirroring her shock. “Y/N?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the festival’s hum.

“Seokmin…” Her voice trembled, barely a breath.

The world around them blurred. The chatter of the crowd, the clink of glasses, the distant calls of his Seventeenmembers shouting “DK, where are you?”—it all faded. For a moment, it was just them, crouched on the ground, surrounded by broken glass and unspoken history.

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Flashback

Back in high school, Lee Seokmin was already a star in the making, a trainee under Pledis Entertainment with dreams as big as his heart. Y/N, on the other hand, was just a regular student, her biggest worry being the pile of assignments due every Friday. The two were an unlikely pair, yet inseparable, their lives intertwined by chance and proximity.

It was a Friday afternoon, the school day done, and they walked side by side down the familiar Seoul streets toward their apartment building. Y/N’s backpack swung lightly as she rambled on, her voice bright with excitement. “Seokmin, I can’t wait for you to debut! You’re gonna be so famous, and you know what that means, right? Free food for me forever!”

Seokmin threw his head back, his laugh warm and infectious. “Yah, is that all I’m good for? Feeding you tteokbokki and ice cream?”

“Exactly!” she teased, nudging his shoulder. “You better keep your promise, Lee Seokmin. When you’re a big star, I expect you to buy me whatever I want.”

He grinned, his eyes crinkling in that way that made her heart skip. “Deal. I’ll buy you the whole world if I make it big. Just wait.”

Their closeness wasn’t just chance. They lived in the same apartment building—Seokmin in Seventeen’s dorm with his fellow trainees, Y/N with her family a few floors up. Their friendship sparked years ago when Seokmin, on his way home from practice, spotted Y/N outside their building, kneeling on the pavement, feeding a scruffy street dog with scraps from her lunch. He’d stopped, charmed by her kindness, and offered her a spare water bottle to wash her hands. From that moment, they were glued to each other’s sides. Same building, same class, same wavelength.

Seokmin was a golden retriever in human form—bright, warm, and impossibly kind. To Y/N, he was the gentlest soul she’d ever met, always ready with a smile or a silly joke to lift her spirits. He’d listen patiently to her complaints about school, sneak her snacks during late-night study sessions, and cheer the loudest at her small victories. To him, Y/N was his safe harbor, the one person who saw him as Seokmin, not just a trainee chasing a dream.

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As they grew, so did their feelings. It wasn’t a sudden spark but a slow, steady deepening, like roots burrowing into the earth. They both knew it, felt it in the quiet moments—stolen glances during class, the way their hands brushed when they walked. When Seventeendebuted, and Seokmin became DK, their puppy love bloomed into something real. Y/N was there for it all, from his trainee days as Lee Seokmin to his first stage as Dokyeom. She cheered at his debut showcase, her voice hoarse from screaming, and he’d looked for her in the crowd, his smile brighter than the stage lights.

To Seokmin, Y/N wasn’t just his girlfriend; she was his future. Even as teenagers, he was certain. He’d lie awake in the dorm, exhausted from practice, dreaming of a life with her—lazy mornings, shared laughter, maybe a dog like the one she’d fed all those years ago. “I’m gonna marry you one day, Y/N,” he’d whispered once, half-asleep on her couch during a movie night. She’d laughed, thinking he was joking, but the look in his eyes said otherwise.

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Years passed, and Seventeensoared. Their schedules grew hectic, their fame global, but Seokmin stayed true to his word. He spoiled Y/N relentlessly—not because she asked, but because he wanted to. A new scarf when she mentioned liking one in a shop window. Concert tickets to her favorite band. Late-night deliveries of her favorite desserts when she was stressed over college exams. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” she’d say, holding up a box of pastries he’d sent.

“I know,” he’d reply, grinning over a video call from some far-off city. “But I want to. You’re my person, Y/N.”

They were each other’s anchor. When Seventeen faced pressure, Y/N was his voice of reason, reminding him to breathe. When college overwhelmed her, Seokmin was her cheerleader, sending voice messages full of encouragement. “You’ve got this, Y/N. You’re unstoppable,” he’d say, and somehow, she’d believe him.

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But then came that night. Seventeen was in the middle of a world tour, cities blurring into one another. Seokmin was in a hotel room halfway across the globe when his phone lit up with Y/N’s name. His face brightened instantly. “Hey, you! Missed me already?” he answered, expecting her usual stories about college or a funny anecdote from her day.

But her voice was different—flat, distant. “Seokmin, let’s break up.”

The words hit like a punch. “What? Y/N, what are you talking about? Are you okay?”

“I just… I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry.” And then, silence. The call ended. He tried calling back, but it went straight to voicemail. Her number was blocked. Her social media accounts, gone. It was like she’d erased herself from his life in an instant.

Seokmin spiraled. He called her family, desperate for answers, but her parents were vague. “She’s busy with college,” her mother said softly. “Or work. She’s just… busy.” He went to their apartment when the tour ended, heart in his throat, but Y/N was never there. One night, he waited outside for hours, hoping to catch her, only for her father to step out, his expression kind but firm. “Seokmin, we love you. But Y/N has her reasons. She won’t tell us, and you need to stop waiting.”

Reasons. That word haunted him. What reasons? Why wouldn’t she tell him? Why had she vanished without a trace, leaving him with nothing but questions and a shattered heart?

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Present

The world stood still as Y/N and Seokmin stared at each other, the shattered wine glass forgotten at their feet. The festival’s noise—laughter, clinking glasses, the hum of conversation—faded into a dull roar. It was as if the universe had carved out this moment just for them, a fragile bubble in the chaos of Greve. Their eyes held a thousand unspoken words, a history that neither time nor distance could erase.

“DK! We gotta go, man!” Na PD’s voice cut through, sharp and urgent, pulling Seokmin back to reality. At the same time, Luca’s voice reached Y/N, softer but insistent. “Y/N, you okay? What happened?”

A festival staff member approached, kneeling to clean the broken glass. “I’ve got this, don’t worry,” they said in accented English, waving them off.

Y/N and Seokmin stood slowly, their gazes still locked, reluctant to break the spell. Joshua, standing nearby, caught sight of Y/N and froze, recognition flickering in his eyes. He knew her instantly—the girl who’d been Seokmin’s world, the one whose absence had left him hollow for months. But the cameras, the crowd, the risk of a scene—it was too much. Joshua stepped forward, his voice steady in fluent English. “Sorry about the glass. Hope you’re okay. Goodbye.” He grabbed Seokmin’s arm, pulling him gently but firmly away.

Y/N watched as Seokmin was led through the crowd, his broad shoulders and familiar silhouette shrinking with every step. Her chest tightened, an old ache resurfacing, sharper now. Luca stepped in front of her, concern creasing his brow. “Y/N, seriously, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She blinked, the world snapping back into focus. Seokmin was gone, swallowed by the festival’s chaos. She forced a smile, her voice unsteady. “I’m fine, Luca. Just… bumped into someone. No big deal.”

Luca frowned but didn’t push. “Okay, but we’re heading out. It’s getting dark, and Giulia’s starving. You know how she gets.”

Y/N nodded, letting him guide her toward their friends. But her mind was elsewhere, replaying the moment their eyes met. Seokmin had changed—his face sharper, his frame stronger, matured by time and fame. Yet those eyes, so lively and warm, were the same ones that used to crinkle when he laughed at her terrible jokes. He was different, yet achingly familiar, a living echo of the life she’d left behind.

For five years, Y/N had avoided Seventeen. No music, no news, no social media. She’d built walls around her heart, convinced herself she’d moved on. She’d endured the weight of her secrets, the pain of her choices, alone in a foreign city. But seeing him, so close yet so unreachable, shattered the illusion. The heartbreak she’d buried clawed its way back, raw and unrelenting.

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Meanwhile, Seokmin was silent as Joshua pulled him through the festival, the other Seventeen members trailing behind with Na PD. The producer, ever observant, noticed the shift in Seokmin’s demeanor. “DK, what’s up? You okay?” Na PD asked, his tone light but curious.

Seokmin didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the ground. Joshua, quick to deflect, laughed. “He’s fine, just embarrassed. Bumped into a girl and forgot how to talk. Classic DK.”

The members chuckled, and Na PD grinned, letting it slide. “Who gets drunk off wine tastings?” he teased, clapping Seokmin’s shoulder. But Seokmin didn’t laugh. His silence was heavy, a stark contrast to his usual brightness. The members exchanged glances—something was off.

Joshua knew the truth. He’d seen Y/N, seen the way Seokmin’s face had lit up and then crumbled. He knew the devastation Y/N’s sudden departure had caused years ago. Seokmin had never fully recovered, carrying a quiet hope that their paths would cross again. The members had watched him struggle, piecing himself back together while clinging to unanswered questions. Joshua stayed close, shielding him from further probing.

That night, at the restaurant, Seokmin was a ghost of himself, pushing food around his plate. Na PD raised an eyebrow. “DK, you’re scaring me. Where’s the guy who was singing karaoke an hour ago?”

Joshua jumped in again, laughing. “Told you, he’s drunk on wine. Lightweight.”

“Drunk on wine?” Na PD scoffed, grinning. “What is this, a rom-com?”

The table laughed, but Seokmin’s smile was forced, his eyes distant. The members sensed the shift, their curiosity growing, but Joshua’s subtle glances kept them quiet. He knew this wasn’t the time or place.

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On the bus back to their transient house, Joshua slid into the seat next to Seokmin, tapping his knee gently. “Hey. You okay?” he asked, his voice low, meant for Seokmin alone.

Seokmin nodded, staring out the window. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Joshua didn’t buy it. He knew those eyes, the way they hid a storm. But he didn’t push, just rested a hand on Seokmin’s shoulder, a silent promise of support.

Later, in the quiet of the transient house, with the cameras off and Na PD gone, the members gathered in the living room. The air was heavy, the unspoken tension finally breaking. Joshua spoke first, his voice steady. “It was Y/N. We saw her at the festival.”

The room stilled. Every member knew her name, knew the weight it carried. They’d seen Seokmin unravel when she left, watched him search for answers that never came. Now, here she was, in Italy of all places.

Hoshi broke the silence, his tone light but cautious. “Y/N’s in Italy? What, was she hiding from you in Rome this whole time?” He laughed, trying to ease the mood, but Jeonghan nudged him, whispering, “Don’t be insensitive.”

Hoshi shrugged, sheepish. “Just trying to lighten things up.”

Jeonghan sat beside Seokmin, his voice gentle. “So, what’s the plan, DK? You’ve been waiting for this, right? A chance to talk to her?”

Seokmin shook his head, his eyes fixed on the floor. “I don’t know, hyung. I don’t know what to do. Or what to feel.” His voice cracked, raw with confusion. “We’ve got an early schedule tomorrow. Let’s just… rest.”

The members hesitated but respected his words, filing off to their rooms. Seokmin lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, the darkness pressing in. His mind replayed her face, her voice, the way she’d looked at him—like she was seeing a ghost, too. Five years of questions swirled in his chest, but one burned brighter than the rest: Why did you leave me?

He exhaled, turning to the wall. “I’m okay,” he murmured to no one, or maybe to himself. “Let’s just sleep.”

But sleep didn’t come. All he could think about was her, and the truth he’d been chasing for years, now closer than ever yet still out of reach.

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The moment in Greve lingered like a ghost for both Y/N and Seokmin, a fleeting collision that lasted mere seconds but unraveled years of carefully buried emotions. It was their last interaction, a brief spark in the chaos of the wine festival, and neither knew if their paths would ever cross again. For five years, they’d built walls around their hearts, but that single glance had cracked them open, exposing the raw, unresolved ache they’d both tried to outrun.

For Seokmin, the encounter was a cruel tease of hope. Back in the transient house, he lay awake night after night, replaying her face, her voice, the way her eyes had widened with recognition. Was she living in Rome? Just visiting? He had no way of knowing, and the uncertainty gnawed at him. The odds of seeing her again in a city of millions felt impossibly slim, yet he couldn’t let go of the fragile thread of hope. “Maybe it’s a sign,” he whispered to himself one night, staring at the ceiling. “Maybe we’re not done.” But even as he said it, doubt crept in. What if that was it? A final, fleeting glimpse of the girl who’d once been his everything?

Y/N, meanwhile, fought a different battle. She’d spent five years avoiding Seventeen, steering clear of their music, their faces, their world. But seeing Seokmin up close shattered her resolve. Back in her Rome apartment, she found herself typing his name into her phone, hesitating before hitting search. When she finally gave in, the flood of results overwhelmed her—Seventeen’s global success, sold-out stadiums, awards piling up. Her heart swelled with pride, but it came with a sharp pang. “They’ll never know how proud I am,” she murmured, scrolling through photos of their NANA Tour, their laughter lighting up Rome’s streets. She remembered the grueling days of their trainee years—Seokmin stumbling home from practice, exhausted but smiling, trading normal teenage adventures for endless hours in a practice room. She’d been there through it all, from their debut struggles to the sleepless nights of their early tours. Knowing they were in Rome for NANA Tour, enjoying the city she now called home, brought a bittersweet comfort. But it also hurt, a reminder of the life she’d walked away from.

Life in Rome marched on. Y/N threw herself back into work, her days filled with meetings and deadlines. But the encounter with Seokmin lingered, a quiet undercurrent to her routine. Then, a rare gift arrived: her boss granted her a month-long vacation. She called her parents that night, their voices crackling with excitement over the phone. “Y/N, come home,” her mother urged. “It’s been five years. We miss you. Spend your vacation in Korea.”

Y/N hesitated, her mind flashing to Seokmin’s face in Greve. Could she handle being back in Seoul, where memories of him waited around every corner? But the longing for home was stronger. “Okay, Mom,” she said softly. “I’ll come.”

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Now, here she was, standing outside Incheon Airport, breathing in the crisp Korean air for the first time in half a decade. The familiar chaos of the city buzzed around her—taxis honking, travelers rushing past, the faint scent of street food in the distance. She adjusted her scarf, waiting for her parents’ car, when her eyes caught a massive billboard across the street. It was an advertisement, bold and colorful, and there, plastered across it, was Seokmin’s smiling face. His grin was as bright as ever, those lively eyes staring out at the world. Y/N’s breath hitched, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “Of course,” she whispered to herself, her voice tinged with both fondness and pain. “You’re everywhere.”

She stood frozen, staring at the poster, memories flooding back—late-night walks, his promises to buy her the world, the way he’d looked at her like she was his future. Five years ago, she’d walked away, carrying a secret she couldn’t share. Now, standing on her home soil, with his face beaming down at her, she wondered if fate was playing a cruel trick—or offering her a chance to finally face the truth.

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A week had passed since Y/N landed in Seoul, her hometown now feeling like a distant memory she was rediscovering. She spent her days with her parents, playing tourist in the city she once knew by heart. They ate steaming bowls of tteokbokki at bustling street stalls, wandered through Gyeongbokgung Palace like wide-eyed visitors, and laughed over old family stories at cozy restaurants. But Seoul, vibrant and alive, was overwhelming. The biting winter air, the spicy tang of kimchi, the rhythm of the city—it was all so familiar, yet it stirred a deep ache in Y/N’s chest. Everywhere she turned, Seventeen was there. Their songs spilled from coffee shop speakers, their faces beamed from mall billboards, their names lit up restaurant TVs. Each encounter was a jolt of nostalgia, tangled with a guilt that gnawed at her. For five years, she’d carried a secret, one that had driven her to hurt the one person who’d deserved nothing but her love. “I’m such an idiot,” she muttered to herself one night, staring at her reflection in her childhood bedroom mirror. “Why did I think I could just erase him?”

Tonight, unable to sleep, Y/N slipped out of her parents’ house and found herself walking toward the Han River. It was a place etched into her soul, where she and Seokmin used to stroll, sometimes with his members in tow, laughing and chasing each other like kids with no cares in the world. She smiled at the memory of Hoshi tripping over a rock, Seungkwan’s dramatic reenactments of their latest practice mishaps, Seokmin’s arm slung casually around her shoulders. Her laughter faded as she reached the riverbank, the water glinting under the moonlight. Then she froze. A familiar figure stood a short distance away, gazing out at the river, his silhouette unmistakable even in the dim light. It was him. Lee Seokmin. DK.

Her heart stuttered. She could turn back, pretend she hadn’t seen him, and let the moment slip away like she had in Greve. Or she could stay, face him, and finally confront the truth she’d buried. “Is this you, universe?” she whispered, her breath visible in the cold air. “Giving me a chance, or just messing with me?”

She hesitated, then glanced at him again—and her breath caught. He was looking at her now, his eyes wide with the same shock she’d felt in Italy. For a moment, they just stared, the river’s quiet ripple the only sound between them. Then Y/N smiled, a small, tentative thing, and walked toward him. She stopped a few feet away, her hands gripping the railing as she gazed at the water, gathering her courage. Taking a deep breath, she turned to him, her smile steadier now.

“It’s been a while, huh?” she said, her voice soft but clear. “How are you? You guys are huge now, aren’t you? I’ve been here a week, and your faces and songs are literally everywhere.” She laughed, light but nervous, her eyes flickering to the river to avoid his gaze.

Seokmin’s expression softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, we’re doing great. Working on a new song, actually. It’s… been a ride.” His voice was warm, but there was a cautious edge to it. “What about you? How’s life been?”

Y/N’s smile widened, a playful glint in her eyes. “Oh, I’m a full-on Italiano now. Just a tourist in Korea.” She laughed, then softened, her tone turning wistful. “I’ve been living in Rome for a while. Five years, actually. This is my first time back, and it’s… so nostalgic. Everything feels the same, but different, you know?”

Seokmin nodded, his gaze lingering on her face, searching for something she wasn’t sure she could give. They fell silent, standing side by side, the Han River stretching out before them, its surface reflecting the city’s lights. The quiet was heavy, filled with years of unspoken questions. Then, out of the stillness, Seokmin’s voice came, low and raw. “Why?”

Y/N’s heart clenched. She knew exactly what he meant. She turned to him, meeting his eyes for a brief, aching moment before smiling faintly. “I didn’t break up with you because I fell out of love.”

The words hung in the air, a fragile confession that left them both suspended, the truth teetering on the edge of revelation.

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Flashback

Five years ago, Y/N’s world had crumbled in a single moment. She’d just gotten home from college, exhausted from a long day of classes and drowning in stress over a pile of paperwork for a presentation due tomorrow. She slipped into comfy sweats, tied her hair up, and sank into her chair, reaching for her phone to call Seokmin. His voice always had a way of grounding her, no matter how chaotic her day had been. But just as her thumb hovered over the call button, her phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

Her heart stopped as she opened it. Videos and photos of her and Seokmin—intimate, private moments, stolen snapshots of their love—filled the screen. Below them, a chilling message: Break up with DK, or I release these and ruin his image. Her blood ran cold, her hands trembling. Seventeen was still rising, their name just beginning to shine. She’d seen the grueling years Seokmin poured into his dream—the endless practices, the sleepless nights, the sacrifices. How could she let a scandal destroy that? How could she be the reason his world fell apart?

She was only a teenager, scared and unprepared. Acting out of fear, she made a choice. “Seokmin, let’s break up,” she’d said over the phone that night, her voice flat to hide the way her heart was shattering. When he pressed her, frantic—“Y/N, what’s wrong? Talk to me!”—she hung up, blocked his number, and cut him out completely. She knew he’d fight for her, knew he’d show up at her parents’ house, so she avoided him, hiding behind excuses of school and work. After graduation, when a job offer in Rome came, she seized it, fleeing to a new life where she could bury her guilt and try to mend her broken heart.

Present

Y/N stood by the Han River, the moonlight casting a silver glow over the water. Seokmin’s question—“Why?”—still hung between them, raw and heavy. She took a shaky breath, her eyes meeting his, and began to unravel the truth she’d carried for five years.

“That night I broke up with you,” she started, her voice trembling, “I’d just gotten home from school. I was stressed, exhausted, and all I wanted was to hear your voice. But before I could call you, I got a text. From someone I didn’t know.” She paused, her fingers tightening on the railing. “It was pictures of us. Videos. Private moments I thought were just ours. And a message saying if I didn’t break up with you, they’d leak everything and ruin your image.”

Seokmin’s eyes widened, his breath catching. “What? Y/N, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was scared, Seokmin,” she said, her voice breaking. “I was just a kid. Seventeen was just starting to make it, and I saw how hard you worked—how hard all of you worked. The sleepless nights, the practices, the sacrifices… I couldn’t let some stupid scandal destroy that. I couldn’t be the reason you lost everything.”

He shook his head, stepping closer, his voice thick with emotion. “Y/N, I would’ve fought it. We could’ve figured it out together. You didn’t have to carry that alone.”

“I know,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “But I wasn’t brave enough. I thought… if I told you, you’d try to fix it, and it’d make things worse. So I left. I blocked you, avoided you, and when I got a job offer in Rome, I took it. I thought I could move on, fix myself. But I never stopped feeling guilty for hurting you.”

Seokmin’s eyes glistened, his jaw tight as he processed her words. “All this time… I thought you just stopped loving me. I kept asking myself what I did wrong, why I wasn’t enough.”

“No, Seokmin,” she said fiercely, turning to face him fully. “It was never about you not being enough. You were everything to me. I loved you so much it hurt. I just… I couldn’t be selfish. I couldn’t risk your dream for my love.”

He let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N, my dream meant nothing if you weren’t there. You were my anchor. Losing you… it broke me.”

Her tears fell faster now, her smile bittersweet through the pain. “I guess I just wasn’t brave enough back then. But I loved you, Seokmin. I still do. And I’m so proud of what you’ve achieved. Seeing you everywhere here, hearing your songs… it’s like you’re part of the city’s heartbeat. But I don’t know if love is enough right now.”

Seokmin stepped closer, his hand brushing hers on the railing, tentative but warm. “Y/N, I never stopped loving you either. Not for a second. Every city, every stage, I looked for you in the crowd. Even in Rome, when I saw you… I thought maybe the universe was giving me a second chance.”

She laughed softly, wiping her tears. “The universe is funny like that, isn’t it? Throwing us together in Rome, now here. But I hurt you, Seokmin. I don’t know if I deserve that chance.”

“You were protecting me,” he said, his voice steady despite the tears in his eyes. “You made a choice out of love, even if it hurt us both. That’s not something to punish yourself for. It’s something we can learn from.”

Y/N looked at him, her heart aching with the weight of his words. “If we ever meet again… and we’re still looking at each other the same way…” She paused, smiling through her tears. “Then I’ll know. That even after everything, it was always you.”

Seokmin’s hand closed gently over hers, his touch grounding her like it always had. “Then I’ll keep looking your way, until the universe brings you back.”

They stood there, hands entwined, the Han River flowing quietly before them. The city hummed around them, but for that moment, it was just them—two hearts that had weathered years of pain, finding solace in the truth. Whether the universe would weave their paths together again, they didn’t know. But under the Seoul sky, with the river as their witness, they held onto the fragile hope that love, in time, might be enough.

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

an: DK looks like total boyfriend material to me! He seems like such a green flag, like a perfect prince. Where can I find someone like him???

#read like a subplot of a kdrama in 5.4k words #this is so wildly good #i loved the buildup to the end #how it all had us anticipating the real reason for the breakup #thats good plotbuilding right there #but also imagine dk's pov #with his smiley personality having to hide that grief for years #lord the PAIN #i like the open ending than a clean cut finish it leaves more to the imagination #been a while since i read a fic #im glad its this one 🙂‍↕️#chanranghaeys reblog #hani faves

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chanranghaeys · 3 days ago

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👼 a regular korean citizen

request from my love, tara (@diamonddaze01)! “one waking up before the other, so they make up their side of the bed and can’t help but tuck in their sleeping lover as they do so” with jeonghan pls and thank u i miss my husband

pairing: idol!active duty!jeonghan x gn!reader word count: 817 genre: fluff, slice of life rating: pg tags: sleepy couple, morning musings, mainly an imagine of sorts, reader is tired bc of work, mentions of active korean military duty are NOT accurate and i do not claim their accuracy so please bear with my descriptions i rly did just make them up as i went warnings: none

a/n: thank u lovely tara! i indeed got out of the dreaded writing slump. and it’s my first time writing jeonghan so i hope i did him justice for u!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Jeonghan distinctly remembers going to sleep on his own with no one else on the bed. It was a pleasant surprise for him to see you on the other side when he rolled over.

If there was anything he enjoyed most about being an active member of the Korean military, it was that he was not subject to the grueling demands of an idol’s schedule. He could just be a regular Korean citizen—something he hasn’t had the luxury to experience in about a decade.

He couldn’t say the same for you, though, who also worked in the entertainment industry with hours just as long as his used to be. It was evident in the way you were sprawled over the bed, caring less about how you looked and how you ended up sleeping. Your neck was in such an awkward position compared to your body that Jeonghan was so sure you’d wake up with a stiff neck, and he would not allow that.

He knew you were as much of a light sleeper as he was. And as much as he wanted to caress your face or smooth down your hair, he shouldn’t for fear of waking you up from a much-deserved slumber.

But he wasn’t Yoon Jeonghan, part-time troublemaker, for nothing. And he missed you, as he did every day, so what other reason could there be to justify him not holding the love of his life as dearly as he wanted to?

You must’ve been absolutely drained because you didn’t even react at the gentlest of his touches. Jeonghan smiled and continued his soft strokes on your head. A forehead kiss did merit the slightest reaction from you—an automatic one where you seemed to involuntarily lean into the touch of his lips making contact on your skin.

He smirked. If only you could see it and how much it gave away how smug he felt to see you still craving for his touch. He checked the time from the standard military watch on his hand—5:37 am. It was time for him to get up.

He checked his phone, tapping into your work calendar to see your schedule. You still had a few hours of sleep left before your shoot scheduled for 1 pm. That was good, he thought, you need all the rest before another chaotic variety show shoot until whatever ungodly hour of the night.

The military discipline easily merged with Jeonghan’s idol discipline. It may not be the same for all fellow idols on active duty, but others have mentioned how similar both were. It was the implicit and discrete need for order and organization that both disciplines shared. It made sure everything was clean-cut and picture-perfect for idols on screen, and that everyone followed uniform standards with a code of conduct for active soldiers to learn.

Jeonghan was used to it. And such disciplines included even the simplest task of making the bed. He fluffed his pillow, he fixed the sheets he messed up on his side with a military tuck—and you didn’t even budge. You were out cold.

Jeonghan huffed a sigh, running his hands through his short-cropped hair—something he was still getting used to. “Aigoo-yaaaaa” was all he said with all the endearment in his heart.

He shuffled over to your side and, as gently as he could, fixed your sleeping position to avoid that impending stiff neck of yours. He also fixed the clothes already riding up in places because of how haphazardly you put them on. Thankfully, you remembered to remove your makeup before going to sleep this time. He was almost late for duty the last time he stayed to carefully remove it for you while you slept.

Carefully, he fluffed up your pillow and fixed the sheets as much as possible. He opened up the blanket and let it rest on your sleeping figure. He so badly wanted to engulf you in a warm embrace, but he loved tucking you in and seeing your relaxed expression just as much.

He left one final parting gift: a kiss on your cheek. Okay, maybe more than one gift—another kiss, a light brush of his lips on yours.

Jeonghan’s military enlistment allowed him to be a regular Korean citizen. That just gave him more opportunities to spend time with you and treat you the way a regular Korean citizen would. It was a welcome break for your relationship if it meant he could love you without all of the lights and cameras and judgmental eyes in the way.

Walking from the bedroom to the kitchen, he checked his phone once again and opened the calendar app. Peering at the time block for 7 pm later, he made sure his schedule and yours was a free time block. He couldn’t wait to share the wild stories about him and his fellow military men that would have to wait until tonight.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

post a/n: still accepting requests for my little drabble request game! all you gotta do is shoot an ask <3

post post a/n: svt won TWO daesangs at mama 2024 today!! HUHU i am proud of my bois (∩˃o˂∩)♡

#qtea #random fic to push day!#bc we got kiwi jeonghan today #and we MISS HIM

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chanranghaeys · 15 days ago

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♡ ︎title: off-limits, on his tongue ♡ ︎pairing: boo seungkwan x afab!reader ♡ ︎genre: smut, fluff ♡ ︎word count: 3.5k ♡ ︎au: brothers best friend ♡ ︎smut warnings: praise kink, dirty talk, oral sex (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, soft dom seungkwan, possessiveness, almost getting caught ♡ ︎1/13 in the Thirteen Temptations Series ♡ ︎ a/n: I really hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! big thanks to @supi-wupi and @chanranghaeys for beta-ing, and all the feedback!

It wasn’t often you came to visit your brother, mainly because he lived over an hour away. Still, work had graciously given you a week’s leave after spearheading a huge project that succeeded, and you figured you could spend that time near the beach, forgetting everything existed. Because of the short notice, you weren’t able to find any suitable accommodation last minute, so he graciously offered up his guest bedroom, reminding you that he had three other roommates and to just keep out of their way.

The only person you knew in that house besides your brother was Seungkwan. He was a very soft-spoken, well-mannered man whom you had known for several years and got along great with. He was someone you occasionally hung out with outside of your brother, and with every interaction, every hug goodbye, you felt your heart swell. Everything about him was perfect. It was a shame that your brother would be appalled if you confessed to having feelings for him.

As you had grown older, you sometimes noticed Seungkwan staring at you a little too long, his gaze lingering on your exposed legs whenever you wore a bikini on a beach outing, and even once when you were changing and he’d accidentally walked into your room. You could see his cheeks grow red as he stumbled out an apology before turning on his heel quickly and removing himself from the awkward situation. You had to admit, you didn’t mind the staring, and sometimes you even provoked it.

However, when you moved away to college, you saw much less of him. You grew distant, aside from the occasional like or comment on a social media post. It was a long run, between pulling all-nighters for assignments and doing group projects with no effort from your team members, but eventually, you graduated with high honours and found yourself a good job closer to home.

As you pulled into his driveway and turned off your car, you could feel your pulse quicken. There was so much unspoken tension between you and Seungkwan that you wondered if there would be a chance for anything to happen while you were here. You pushed the thought away and grabbed your bags from the back seat before making your way up the steep driveway.

“Oh look, the pest has arrived.” Your brother's ragged voice makes you groan as you flip him off, with him reciprocating the gesture before pulling you into a hug and shutting the door behind you.

You met his roommates after toeing your shoes off at the front door: Joshua, who provided a friendly smile and wave from his perch on the couch. Chan, who offered you slightly burnt chocolate chip cookies with a sheepish smile, and Seungkwan, who offered up a smirk and slight wave that had your heart skip a beat. His gaze dropped to your body, dragging slowly over it like he had done all those years ago, making you flush. He’d dyed his hair darker since the last time you’d seen him, and you have to say, it made him look a hundred times hotter.

After some general small talk with the roommates and your brother, you glanced at the digital clock on the wall near the television, noting it was after 11 pm, the red numbers glaring at you. You realised how late it was and excused yourself to the guest room with a yawn, before trudging up the stairs to the guest room Chan had pointed out earlier. It surprised you with its neatness when you entered, given that four men were living in the house. The bed was already turned out for you, with a blue towel draped over the edge of the end of the bed and a lamp that lit up the room warmly. The best part was that you had your own bathroom, so you didn't have to share with the boys. Win-win.

The warm shower loosened your muscles. As you slipped into an old tank top and pyjama shorts from five years ago, you felt any tension slip from your body. Sliding under the covers, you hoped that the power of sleep would wash over you so you could be rested for your presentation in the morning.

It never came.

You tossed and turned, eyes not even willing to stay shut for more than five minutes. Even listening to and watching your favourite ASMR videos wasn't helping. Surely Seungkwan wasn’t the reason you were unable to sleep, it couldn't be. You had hardly seen him in the last few years. But, you couldn't stop thinking about the way Seungkwan had bore his eyes into you the moment you walked into the house, his eyes burning with something you couldn't quite place, but with the way his gaze dragged slowly over your body, you figured it was his hormones at play.

You sighed in defeat and removed your body from its warm cocoon, blindly making your way to the kitchen that still smelled faintly of burnt cookies. It was a wonder they hadn't burned the place down.

The hallway is dimly lit when you creep into the kitchen for some iced water, the soft hum of the fridge filling the calm silence within the household. You didn’t expect to find him already there, leaning against the counter in a loose hoodie, legs hardly covered by his sleep shorts, and his hair sticking out in all directions from what you presume was a deep sleep.

Seungkwan looks up from his phone, his eyes tracing you lazily. “Can’t sleep either?”

His voice, laced with sleep, deep and slightly crackly, hits a nerve deep inside you that has you pressing your thighs together to try and stop the rush of heat to your core. You hated how much he affected you.

You nod, your heartbeat already skipping due to the conversation. You hadn’t seen much of him this trip, but whenever you had, he’d looked at you just a little too long, and almost too slow. It was nearly like he was trying not to think dirty things about you, and losing that battle every single time.

“I thought you were avoiding me,” you murmur, half joking, setting your glass down.

He smirks and steps closer to you. His voice is lower than it was before, almost feeling like velvet-wrapped sin that has your breath hitching in your throat and your pulse quickening. “I was. Didn’t seem to work too well though.”

You try to laugh it off, hoping that his sentence means what you think it does, but your breath catches when his fingers brush lightly against your arm, goosebumps rising in the wake of his touch, which didn't go unnoticed by him.

“You shouldn’t be out here dressed like that,” he says, eyes flicking down to your flimsy tank top and short shorts, a mischievous grin spreading across his smug features. “Do you know what you do to me?”

Your silence betrays your answer.

He steps forward into your space, crowding you against the wall. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers.

You don’t dare say a word, not when he’s this close to you.

He exhales shakily—you aren't sure if it’s out of nervousness or adrenaline coursing through his veins. His hand slowly slides up your waist, almost like he’s taking his time, while the other braces itself beside your head. “I’ve wanted to hold you since the second you walked into this house.”

His mouth hovers by your ear. “But I’m a gentleman… so I’m gonna ask you as nicely as possible before the lust clouds my brain entirely.”

You gulp and close your eyes as you feel his warm breath beside your ear, your mind obscuring with want as he whispers what you had desperately wanted to hear since you had arrived. “Can I put my hands on you, baby?”

You nod fervently, almost too quickly. He clicks his tongue, a smirk toying on his lips once again.

“Use your words, baby.”

“…Yes.”

And then he devours you.

His mouth is hot and skilled, he’s kissing you like he’s waited years just for this to happen. His hands roam your skin gently at first, then progress rather fast to needy, then straight to possessive. He lifts you onto the counter with a low grunt, parting your trembling legs with practised ease.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, kneeling in front of you, eyes peeking up at you through his soft, dark locks. “That for me?”

He kisses up your inner thigh, his teeth grazing sinfully along your skin, his smile wicked and almost daring. “I haven’t even started yet, sweetheart.”

You quiver when he skillfully pulls your shorts and panties to the side, his tongue sliding out to wet his lips as the hunger grows in his eyes. He doesn't say anything, but he does dart his eyes back to yours, his pupils completely blown with the lust consuming every inch of his body. It was almost like a silent consent between the both of you, as he moves himself forward to attach his tongue to your cunt like it was his lifeline.

As his tongue finds you, his voice never leaves you, almost like a mantra that he’s repeating and will never get tired of. “That’s it, baby, just like that.”

“God, you taste so sweet.”

“Don’t hide your voice, I wanna hear every sound I pull out of you, even if that means waking up the rest of this house.”

You’re panting and writhing under his wicked tongue, your knuckles turning a dangerous shade of white as you grip the counter like it’ll save you from unravelling. When your back arches and when you cry out his name, he moans into you like it’s his reward. He spends a good amount of time afterwards sucking and licking your sensitive skin and bud, stretching you to a point where your trembles continue despite already orgasming.

Through it all, as you ride out your high, he presses soft kisses to your thighs and whispers:

“You’re never staying in the guest room again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He doesn’t let you walk. Instead, he carries you princess-style with ease, his plush lips ghosting against your cheek as he whispers, “No way I’m letting you wobble around the house after the way you fell apart on my tongue.”

His room is quiet and cool, neat in that almost perfectionist way that had you questioning if men were as messy as you thought. He gently places you on the bed as if you were made of glass. Despite his gentle gestures, your body was still buzzing with the memory of how roughly he had made you cum no more than ten minutes ago.

“I need you to tell me,” he murmurs, leaning down so that he’s kneeling between your thighs again. “Is this just for tonight… or do I get to have you for real?”

You breathe, your words coming out shakier than you had expected them to, “Yours. I’ve always been yours.”

And he loses it.

His hoodie is off and tossed onto the floor mere seconds after you give him the green light, revealing his toned arms and a chest you knew was hiding under all that fluff and charm. His kisses now? They’re messy and hungry, and the possessive edge returning as it had earlier, like he's been starved for weeks and you're the first tantalising, addictive bite of sin.

“You have absolutely no idea,” he growls against your throat, teeth grazing your sensitive flesh, “how many times I’ve imagined this body spread out on my bed, how many times I’ve jerked off to the thought of you, how often I’ve fucked my hand to get myself over the edge thinking I was inside of you.”

His hands explore your body like he’s learning by feel: a firm but sensual grip on your hips, a teasing drag of fingers over your overly sensitive breasts, nipples pebbling at the cool touch of his flesh against yours. He takes his time removing your clothes, watching how your body reacts and worshipping every inch of you, even the parts you were insecure about.

When you whimper, your thighs rubbing together for some sort of friction, he chuckles.

“You want my fingers?” he coos, sliding two up your inner thigh, seeming like a challenge, but one you weren’t going to argue with. “You’re dripping, angel. You don’t have to beg for anything, but I do like it when you do.”

You whisper his name, afraid that if you speak any louder, you’ll wake up his roommates or, even worse, your brother.

“Louder.”

“Please, Seungkwan, I need you to touch me.”

“There she is,” he murmurs, lips curving as his fingers slide into you with sinful ease. “You’re so damn tight. So good for me.”

And it only gets hotter from there.

He talks you through every single movement he makes, his voice equally as warm as it was filthy, it makes your eyes roll back so far you think you almost see your brain.

“That’s it, ride my fingers, baby.” “God, look at how you clench around me when I say your name, fuck.” “You wanna cum again? Right here, on my hand? Say it.”

When you do finally cum on his fingers, your body trembling and whimpers passing over your swollen lips, he guides you through your orgasm with a breathless, filthy sweetness that could almost make you cum again from the sultry tone alone:

“Good girl. Just like that. Let it all go, I’ve got you.”

And he doesn’t stop.

You’re gasping and whining when he finally rises above you, his toned frame over your own and his perfect cock pressed to your entrance, throbbing with want. His voice softens once again; it’s still dark and still dripping with desire, but now it’s laced with something just a touch more vulnerable than it had been.

“I don’t just wanna fuck you,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from your face, the action alone making your heart race and your cheeks burn. “I want to make you feel like no one else ever has.”

He slides himself in slowly, inch by deliciously eye-watering inch, all whilst watching every single twitch of your lips, and every stutter of breath. He groans onto your lips, low and ragged, and only further coiling the rope of heat that had settled deep into your abdomen.

“You fit me so fucking perfectly. Like this was meant to happen.”

He rocks his hips rhythmically into you, deep and steady, while he holds eye contact as he whispers pure sin to you, as if you were the only two left in the universe:

“You take me so well. Every time you squeeze around me, I wanna lose it.” “You’re mine now, right? All mine?” “I don’t care if your brother or the others here find out. Let them. Let the whole house hear who’s making you scream.”

You pull him down into a passionate kiss, and the rhythm of his movements shifts into one that’s more desperate and wet, both of your bodies slick and writhing together in harmony, your moans tangled in kisses, skin slapping obscenely against skin.

In a bold move, he pulls your leg over his waist, hitting deeper inside you than you thought was even possible. You whine at the sudden stretch, almost like you were feeling him inside your cervix. He smirks, knowing he’s got you exactly where he wants you now.

“There it is. That’s the sound I needed to hear from you, angel.”

You cum again without any warning, white flashing across your eyes and your body arching up so high that your chest hits his, your nails digging into his back, likely leaving crescent-shaped marks that would remain for days. He grits his teeth and moans as he refrains from cumming inside you, breathing through his nose to help slow his orgasm down so you could bask in your orgasm glow.

He felt the way you squeezed around him like a vice, and he knew he couldn't hold back anymore, your body making him succumb within only a few moments. With a grunt, he pulls himself out of you just as he starts to cum, painting your abdomen and thighs with his load, his hips stuttering while he pants your name like a prayer. He collapses beside you, pulling you to his chest and kissing your temple like he didn’t just ruin you completely.

After lying in comfortable silence for a while, he gets up and goes to the other side of his room and comes back with a towel and water bottle. He cleans you up with the surprisingly warm towel, kisses every inch he potentially bruised, looking at some of the marks with concern etched deep into his features. You’re tucked under his arm, wrapped in his scent, the room still humming with leftover heat.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod, smiling against his skin. “Better than okay.”

He laughs softly. “Good. Because this isn’t just a one-night thing. Not after that.”

You look up. “No?”

He kisses you again, slower this time, more controlled and fuelled with adoration.

“No, baby. That was the first time I claimed you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up to the warm sunlight filtering through the curtains, the clean smell of laundry detergent and soft skin, and the soft, rhythmic thudding of Seungkwan’s heartbeat beneath your cheek.

He’s still half-asleep, hair messy and lips parted as he takes in slow, deep breaths. His arms are locked tightly around your waist, almost like you might disappear if he lets go. When you shift slightly in his grip, trying to slip out of his comfortable bed, his grip tightens on your waist instantly.

“Mmm-mm,” he groans, voice raspy and low, sending a shiver down your spine. “Not yet. If you leave this bed, I’ll just drag you back.”

You laugh at his possessiveness so early in the morning, quietly and fondly. “You’re clingy in the morning.”

“I just claimed you last night,” he whines into your neck. “Do you think I’m going to be letting you go this soon?”

He rolls over, pulling you with him, so now you’re straddling his hips, your body bare beneath his oversized hoodie, which he must’ve pulled over you sometime in the night. He grins up at you, eyes still half-lidded, laced with adoration, with possibly a hint of heat.

“You look good in my clothes. Kinda makes me want to take them off you again.”

You try to climb off him, or pretend to just to get a reaction from him, but he immediately grabs your hips with both hands, holding you still. His thumbs stroke slow circles into your thighs, emanating a warmth you hadn't realised was there.

“Stay right there,” he says, voice dripping with lust-laced venom. “I want my morning treat.”

You raise an eyebrow, perplexed and intrigued by his bold moves. “Are you always like this when you wake up?”

“No,” he says simply. “Just with you.”

He pulls you a little further forward so that you’re now sitting more on his chest, your body heating up even more with the slight friction of the pull, and also with the way he’s staring at you, like he’s trying to claim you again. He leans up as far as his body will allow, his mouth trailing up your inner thigh before pausing.

“...Unless, you’d rather I start with a kiss up here first?” he teases, his eyes flicking to your lips. “I could behave.”

You grin, licking your lips and letting a hand fall through his messy strands. “I don’t want you to behave.”

He hums. “Good girl.”

Before you realise it, you’ve been flipped again, your back pressing into the warm spot of the bed where Seungkwan had lain just seconds earlier. His hands are caging your head, and the smirk on his lips has only grown, seeing you in this vulnerable position. Just as he starts to slide down the bed, there’s a knock at the bedroom door. Then a voice.

“Hey, you guys seen my charger? I—wait.”

You freeze. It’s your brother.

“Why is your door locked, Seungkwan? What are you hiding in there?”

You scramble off him like you’ve just been lit on fire, cheeks flaming, trying to tug the oversized hoodie lower over your body in hopes of covering yourself, but failing miserably.

Seungkwan, still lying bare and smug on the bed, calls out without missing a beat: “I’m busy! Try again in an hour!”

You mouth “an hour?!” at him, and he just winks. When the footsteps finally leave, he sits up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist again, lips brushing your neck.

“You should just stay in my bed the rest of the weekend.”

You turn to him, heart thudding. “And after that?”

He leans in closer, voice soft but sure. “After that… you’re mine. For good.”

#YAAAAAY #WHAT AN HONOR TO BETA READ THIS #best believe i was SCREAMING MY HEAD OFF #boo seungkwan boo seungkwan BOO SEUNGKWAN!!!!!!#i want him #alicia did SO WELL IM SO WEAK FOR THIS SEUNGKWAN!!!!#bless 10/10 id do it again #chanranghaeys reblog

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chanranghaeys · 30 days ago

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LOVE&LETTER REPACKAGE ୨ৎ celebrating 10 years with SVT!

i said it once, i'll say it again: caratblr is populated by some of the most talented individuals you will find. incredibly lucky to be in the presence of these greats, whose writing change and challenge the ways we think and the stories we tell. here are some of my all-timers. ‹𝟹

footnotes: some of these work may contain explicit content. please heed the warnings when checking them out. all headers are from u/seventeenzone.

from the vantage point of death by @heartepub

when the lord of the dead meets the goddess of spring, all his plans are derailed.

there is simply no sugarcoating it: viv is a generational writer on this side of the fandom and beyond. this fic is a bullet point in the long list of reasons why. the tale of hades and persephone is time-worn and sometimes tired; viv makes a version of it that is entirely her own in ftvpod. in a way, this reads like a hozier song—haunting gospel, tender folklore, and understated sensuality. spring has come, and it's because viv has brought it in with ftvpod.

to love and to pound by @pochaccoups

There’s something different about Seungcheol since he got you pregnant.

char's work is never short of genius, but this particular piece strikes a balance between intimacy and smut that you are unlikely to find elsewhere. the time spent exploring the physicality of the couple—while also touching on sentiments that just feel so inherently seungcheol—really reminds you why she deserves to hold a username referencing pochaccoups. it bears repeating: char is one of, if not the, best writers you will ever find if you're wanting to read about choi seungcheol.

jeonghan drabble by @seungcheorry

it started with a "love, can i borrow a towel? i forgot mine" the first time he slept at your place; you gave it to him, a silly smile on your lips when he stepped out of the bathroom with your towel around his neck.

there is romance in the mundane, and cherry reminds us of that every so often. her writing has proven to be love letters to the slow days and the stolen moments; this jeonghan drabble is among her best work. there's sentimentality in this piece that manages to weave jeonghan so seamlessly into the seemingly 'boring' humdrum of daily life—proving, once again, that love can be found somewhere between takeout and shampoo.

‘til god breaks this spell by @joshujin

joshua's devotion to you rivals his devotion to his god.

faith is tricky. faith ebbs like the tide; faith finds itself in the oddest of places. some might say faith exists in good writing such as that of trixie's. 'til god breaks this spell is a heart-wrenching exploration of the religions we grow up with, the convictions we grow out of, and the loves we grow around. this is the kind of story that heals something long since forgotten—so, thank you, trixie, for the absolution.

soul like me by @lovetaroandtaemin

You and Joshua have been friends for most of your life, and you thought that you always would be. Turns out, your feelings for each other are stronger than you thought, but love isn't always enough to keep a relationship strong.

to write humane characters in fiction is a feat that ally never seems to struggle with. soul like me bares intrinsic flaws that i'm sure we would all rather forget. it raises a mirror to the people we become when we are hurting and when we intend to hurt. it begs the question: is love the end all be all? the answer lies somewhere in the fic; as for real life, though, ally continues to chart love in all its forms through her writing.

worth it by @chugging-antiseptic-dye

“But I've left no room in my heart to turn back. So if we're wrong, let's be wrong together.”

give a an inch, and she'll take a mile. worth it is reminiscent of the impactful writing one might find from classics like fanfiction.net. to anticipate the ending does not soften the blow. there are no gut punches in this story. just the quiet beginning and end of it all, and the sting that stays in the heartbeats that follow. helpless, thy name is mine, because a is bound to continue with these deep cuts in her future work.

elevatory by @wqnwoos

You were once deeply and irrevocably in love with Kwon Soonyoung, and it’s incredibly hard to avoid that fact when he works literally two offices down from you. It’s even harder to avoid when you’re stuck in a broken elevator with him for hours, and he seems determined to dissect everything that went wrong three years ago.

hana treats soonyoung with a level of respect so rarely seen in fics where he is at the center. the inventiveness of this story is noteworthy, but i firmly believe it's the emotionality that really makes elevatory shine. anybody who has loved, lost, and gained is bound to find something here—whether it is closure, grace, or nostalgia. i, for one, found one of the brightest writers you might ever find on caratblr.

wings against the wind by @diamonddaze01

The tide pulls in. The stars burn on. Neither of you move.

every time i think tara has reached the pinnacle of her writing, she puts out another piece that shows otherwise. what makes wings against the wind a fic worth coming back to time and time again is the setting of it all. their summers could easily be mine, or yours; all of us were sixteen, and eighteen, and twenty-eight once. there is comfort in writing that reminds you that you are not alone in the grand scheme of things. tara is that extended hand, charting the friendship and romance that we lose to the sea.

on call by @kkaetnipjeon

you'd never sleep in an on-call room, but that doesn't mean you won't find other uses for it.

i feel like a broken record who has ranted and raved about mj's writing way too often, but with works like on call, how could i not? this is a stellar intersection of humor, intimacy, and romance, in a setting that is just so utterly apt for jeon wonwoo. i knew this way back when, but this fic has convinced me i'd read 50k words from mj. or her grocery lists, even, if she is ever so inclined. before i'm properly derailed by fangirling: reading on call is the best thing you could do for yourself today.

maestro's muse by @ppyopulii

It’s HYBEHAX’s 10th year anniversary, and as the hackathon’s newest Design Team Lead, you are determined to make this year its best year yet.

jay's maestro's muse is an ongoing series that i can imagine jihoon being proud of. reinventing the form is a challenge few truly succeed at; jay does it, and will undoubtedly continue to do it. the world-building in this is simply lovely, and i'm among the dozens of people who await updates with bated breath.

chunhyangjeon redux by @shinysobi

If I had time, I would learn to love him in a softer way, perhaps, where my hands are bloodied and bruised from trying to hold on too hard.

as someone who has never been particularly well-versed in historical plots, i was pleasantly surprised to thoroughly enjoy chunhyangjeon redux. it might be easy to say that i come from a place of bias—i know how much work ro put into this piece, from ideation to eventual execution. that would be a disservice to the plain and simple fact that this fic is a brilliant period piece with a strong voice and immense soul.

neurosurgeon wonwoo x reader x neurologist jihoon by @thepixelelf

"He's frozen," you tell Jihoon, eyes set on the operating table and the man at the head of it.

there is no fic i think of as often as this. there's one line here—the ending one, specifically—that has quite literally impacted me so much that i continue to revisit this piece half a year (!) after i first found out. this is not an isolated incident; ursa seems to have a penchant for writing fics that truly stick with you. there's a tenderness to her characterizations that you simply can't replicate, which makes much of her masterlist timeless.

wasteland, baby! by @gotta-winwin

they say love can cure infection.

serena, harbinger of heartbreak, was kind enough to preempt me that this fic would rip my heart out of my chest. that did not make things any easier. wasteland, baby! reads like sand in an hourglass. there's a sense of dread that follows you throughout, but it goes hand in hand with hope. it's that heady cocktail of emotion that should convince you serena is worth reading until the end of the world.

golden promises by @diamonddaze01

And so it began. Minghao, who believed in fate, and you, who didn’t.

golden promises is more than just a crash and burn in slow motion. it's the final notes of your favorite song; it's the quiet beginning and end of it all. if you were to look up 'ache' in the dictionary, this fic would be an apt redirection exemplifying the word. while fate is bastardized in this story, it finds a home somewhere else. perhaps in the reminder that tara is fated to write, because golden promises is a fic that demands to be read.

glimpse of us by @gyubakeries

it's all wrong. when mingyu wakes up, a white ceiling presses down on him, the scent of oranges suffocates him, and skin that is brushing against his isn't warm.

you would expect tragedy to shape the form of a fic entitled glimpse of us, but tiya pulls the rug underneath your feet. this fic has a glaring amount of hope despite its heavy angst tag, and i do believe only a write like tiya could strike that balance without it feeling heavy-handed. narrative switches add to the emotional tug-of-war in this piece; redemption is earned, not simply granted. if this is your first glimpse into tiya's work, i urge you to look at the whole picture—it's a gallery worth visiting.

the subtle art of stirring the pot by @miniseokminnies

The kitchen at Quartz and Serenity in New York City runs like a well oiled machine. Then comes Lee Seokmin, the new sous chef, breezing in with a carefree attitude that disrupts your routine. All you've known for the last few years is studying, sleeping, and this kitchen. You try your best to work with the new addition to the chaos but what happens when the pot gets stirred?

if we're talking about the art of something, then let this be the art of writing lee seokmin. bennie nails the buildup and dynamic necessary to execute the tropes in this fic, and it can only come from a place of somebody who knows how to write seokmin. the tension crackles like a livewire in this body of work; much of bennie's writing, i believe, comes to life—whether in a kitchen, a record store, or during a game of chess.

something in the orange by @heartepub

remembrance is also reconstruction. reconstruction presupposes loss. a meditation on memory, narrative, and grief. and, of course, love.

it would be a lie to claim something in the orange as anything less than my favorite piece of k-pop fanfiction, bar none. this is the kind of story that you think of years down the line, even after you've left a fandom. i don't doubt i will. in sito, viv weaves a pulitzer-worthy story that simply cannot be boxed into the genre of 'apocalypse au'. this is grief. this is memory. this is what it means to be human, captured in 5k words featuring boo seungkwan. i will scream it from the rooftops, i will reconstruct to hell and back—sito is an absolute headliner.

it gets easier by @mercif4l

fingers off the unblock button or you're gonna regret it, girl.

rowan has a writing voice that is so utterly distinct, i could scroll through the vernon x reader tag for hours and find nothing like this. there is catharsis in hurt/no comfort, especially when done well. it gets easier gives you room to wallow, but it also reminds you of necessary evils that await on the other side of self-flagellation.

hello, darling by @sailorsoons

Vernon has been one of your best friends for years. Shy, quiet and calm, he’s always been a steady rock for you. He has no idea you’re in love with him, but that’s neither here nor there. After a strange series of events on Halloween night, Vernon seems a little… different, and the new version of him both terrifies and thrills you.

nobody is writing about svt like hali is. her body of work is an outstanding masterlist of alternate universes, spanning genres that touch on the human condition in ways that will leave you breathless. hello, darling is a prime example. the supernatural and thriller aspects of the fic unfold like a jordan peele plot—deliciously tense, intentionally vague, and loaded with suspense.

here, there, and everywhere by @chanranghaeys

This journal belongs to: me. If found, please contact this number. (And please do not read it—unless you want to read the ramblings of a person who fails to deny their feelings for a certain someone.)

here, there, and everywhere is an unashamed love letter to lee chan, from somebody who undoubtedly cares for him. like the song goes, hani knows that love is to share—and there is just so much of it in this fic. in between expressions of devotion and charting of affection through the years, here, there, and everywhere brings us to the very core of what it means to have a bias. overall, a beautiful ode to the man underneath the myth/legend.

not so loud by @daechwitatamic

You've been in love with Lee Chan for almost two years, despite his rejection seven months ago. When you're impossibly coupled up on a friendcation, you're determined not to make it everyone else's problem. Of course, you weren't expecting to have to room with him, and you certainly weren't expecting only one bed…

not so loud is a masterclass in friends to lovers. jo gives all her characters a level of autonomy that makes this fic a living, breathing thing. i remember sending this to four different people the first time i finished it, with a semi-crazed message of you have to read this. that still stands. this piece is gorgeous, not only in how it progresses the relationship, but also in how it resolves it conflicts and brings each scene to life.

MORE & MORE & MORE!

joshujin's we can be all we need (soonyoung)

100vern's while he's gone (soonyoung & vernon)

mylovesstuffs' a song for the ones who leave (vernon)

svtiddiess' the fae in my heart (minghao)

shinwonderful's freedom of choice

vampsol's a cut to remember (vernon)

vampsol's not a bad thing (vernon)

ppyopulii's hoshi + work song by hozier

etherealyoungk's ramen & fate (seungkwan)

shuacore's warm glow (joshua)

miniseokminnies' the boy who lives on the moon (jun)

#honesty hour #i now truly acknowledge that i have a tendency toward impostor syndrome #with a touch of perfectionism and self doubt #esp its been a long long LONG time since ive written anything decent #i easily accept compliments but never truly absorb and believe them for myself #but there must be a sentiment of truth if a person has been saying it multiple times to you #so thank you kae for including me in another one of your rec lists #best believe that i will do right by you and all these amazing authors #hani yaps #hani cries 😭#happy svt day my carat loves

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chanranghaeys · 1 month ago

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Colors of Home - 205 subs special

(Lee Seokmin x FemReader)

*slow-burn romance, more bonding over art, cultural understanding, fluff, slice of life PhotographerAU, painterAU NonIdolAU, slice of life Family / Multicultural Fiction*

The day the plane touched down at Incheon International Airport, the skies over Seoul were dull with spring clouds, the kind that teased rain but never fully gave in. Y/N leaned against the window of the airplane, watching as the buildings grew closer and closer. She wasn’t nervous this wasn’t fear. It was something else, something thicker, like the sea breeze from home, wrapping around her chest, warming and choking her at once.

She had left behind the intoxicating lull of Tahiti’s tides, the hum of ukuleles at sunset, and the lush emerald arms of the rainforest that had cradled her childhood. In its place: an entirely new country, a city that glimmered with cold beauty, precise lines, hurried footsteps, and whispered judgments.

She came for art. That was the truth of it. Art had chosen her before she could even walk, painting shells and volcanic rocks with her mother in the garden, dancing with flowers in her hair and acrylic on her fingers. Now, years later, her love for colors, silhouettes, and stories had led her here to Seoul, Korea a city that had been haunting her dreams since she was seventeen.

Korean had come to her like a song at first foreign, then rhythmic, then effortless. She had studied for four years before coming, devouring dramas, music, podcasts, textbooks. People were often in disbelief when she spoke fluently. “You’re so good in Korean! How did you learn?” they’d say, eyes wide with fascination, as if they couldn’t fathom a girl from the middle of the Pacific speaking their language with such ease.

But it wasn’t always admiration. In the first weeks, Y/N noticed how people stared. She had expected it, sure. But the intensity of it sometimes caught her breath in her throat. Some eyes were wide in awe, others filled with quiet discomfort. There was no hiding in Seoul her skin, kissed golden by the sun, her wild curls, her colorful fashion, the relaxed sway in her walk it all screamed foreign. Not in a hostile way. But in a way that made her feel like she was always being watched, studied.

Some even asked to take pictures with her, like she was an exotic statue. “You’re so beautiful… where are you from?” they’d ask. “Tahiti,” she’d say, and they’d blink, unsure. Some knew it, some didn’t. Others would just nod in fascination, pretending.

One afternoon, as she strolled through a quiet Hanok village with her camera in hand, the sound of children’s laughter floated through the air. A small group of kids playing tag stopped suddenly upon seeing her. They whispered among themselves, giggling. One little girl, maybe six years old, walked up shyly, her tiny hands holding a white flower she had picked.

“You’re so, so pretty,” she whispered with the innocence of a child. Then, without waiting, she placed the flower into Y/N’s curls and ran back to her friends, squealing. The group scampered away, their laughter echoing down the alley like chimes. Y/N stood still, her chest tight. That moment lived in her longer than many conversations ever would.

Back home—her temporary home she lived in a modest, sunlit hanok nestled on the outskirts of the city. It had been renovated, but the soul of the house remained: sliding doors, warm wooden floors, and a tiny courtyard where vegetables bloomed in pots. There, her mother waited, always with a smile, always in their native language.

“Māmā,” Y/N called as she stepped inside.

“E aha oe i teie mahana?”(how are you today?) her mother replied, walking out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.

They had agreed: they’d never let the island inside them fade. Even in the bustling city, even among skyscrapers, their roots would remain alive spoken, sung, danced.

Their dinners were filled with laughter. Her mother, plump and warm-hearted, would tease her daughter endlessly. “You’re too beautiful to be sitting alone painting all day. Go find a husband. Give me a grandbaby already!”

“Māmā, please,” Y/N would groan, hiding her flustered smile behind her hands. But her cheeks always gave her away.

“Eaha te huru? (How’s it going?) Don’t act like I can’t see your blush,” her mother teased, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

It was true though. Y/N had spent more time painting than socializing. Her art had bloomed in Korea modern, abstract, infused with the spirit of her homeland and the sleekness of Seoul. But she hadn’t met anyone. Not truly.

Until one day.

A crisp afternoon, the cherry blossoms just beginning to fall, and Y/N was sitting by the Han River with her sketchbook, trying to capture the fleeting pink of the petals. She had noticed him before she truly saw him just a figure with a camera, kneeling on the grass, chasing light through his lens.

He didn’t notice her at first, completely immersed in his craft, moving around trees and benches like a dancer. She watched from a distance, quietly intrigued.

It wasn’t until a breeze tugged at her paper and sent her sketch fluttering toward him that their worlds finally touched.

He caught the paper mid-air.

“Is this yours?” he asked, walking over, his voice soft, his smile kind.

“Yes… Thank you,” she replied in Korean.

He blinked, clearly surprised. “Your Korean is perfect.”

“Four years of practice,” she smiled. “And living here helps.”

He held out the paper. “It’s beautiful. The way you blended the petals with the sky… it feels like a dream.”

“Art is my language,” she said simply.

He introduced himself. “Dokyeom. I’m a photographer.”

“Y/N,” she replied. “I’m a painter.”

They shook hands, and something unspoken passed between them. Not romance at least not yet. But a recognition. Of someone else who saw the world through frames, colors, moments.

And so, their story began not in fire, but in slow bloom. Like an island flower in spring rain.

In the days that followed, Y/N didn’t expect to see him again. Their conversation by the Han River felt like something fleeting a beautiful chapter left on its own. But fate, or maybe art, had other plans.

The next time she saw Dokyeom, it was in an unexpected place: an art gallery tucked away in Hongdae. The exhibit was quiet, curated with precision. Soft lighting danced across the walls, highlighting bold photography intimate portraits of elderly couples, alleyways in shadows, street vendors captured mid-laugh.

She was standing before a striking black-and-white photo of an ajumma selling roasted chestnuts when a voice whispered beside her.

“I thought that was you.”

She turned. He stood with his hands in his pockets, wearing a simple hoodie, a shy smile playing on his lips. There were a few strands of hair falling across his forehead. He looked every bit like someone who never posed, always captured.

“You took this?” she asked, gesturing toward the photo.

He nodded. “I take photos of people who don’t know they’re being seen. Until they’re seen.”

Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. It made sense the way he moved with his camera, like a shadow. He was always looking, but never intruding.

“And you?” he asked gently. “Still painting the cherry blossoms?”

She laughed. “Trying. They’re never still long enough.”

That night they walked out of the gallery together, into a Seoul that shimmered with city lights and the laughter of strangers. Their conversations were light at first—art, food, music. He introduced her to street snacks she hadn’t tried yet. She taught him a few words in Tahitian, and he tried clumsily to repeat them.

She liked the way he listened. Not just heard her—but listened. Like he was learning her in pieces.

They began meeting more often. Not every day, not even regularly but consistently enough that something quiet began blooming between them. Sometimes they met at coffee shops and sketched strangers in notebooks. Other times they sat in silence in parks, her painting, him photographing.

One evening, he showed up at her hanok house.

She was surprised. Her mother wasn’t.

“Who’s the handsome boy?” her mother teased in Tahitian, peeking from the window, grinning like a teenager.

Y/N hissed, trying to shush her. “Māmā! Please!”

But Dokyeom smiled politely when introduced. “It’s an honor to meet you,” he said in Korean, bowing deeply.

Her mother, cheeky and warm, replied in broken Korean, “You take care of my daughter or I turn you into fish bait.”

He laughed fully, sincerely and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

Inside, he joined them for dinner. Y/N’s mother insisted he try every dish. She even brought out traditional Tahitian desserts and watched for his reactions like a hawk. The house was filled with overlapping languages Korean, Tahitian, and that universal language of laughter.

That night, after he left, her mother sat beside Y/N, both of them curled up on the floor with steaming tea in their hands.

“He likes you,” her mother said softly.

Y/N stared at the floor, smiling quietly.

“And?” her mother prodded, “Do you like him?”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. She thought of how Dokyeom watched the world, how he saw her not as an exotic muse, not as someone foreign, not even as a symbol. But simply… as Y/N. An artist. A woman. A soul.

“I think I’m scared,” she whispered finally.

“Good,” her mother replied. “It means it’s real.”

Their connection continued to grow. Dokyeom would come over sometimes with film rolls and a nervous smile. She painted portraits of him when he wasn’t looking. He captured candid shots of her laughing, reading, dancing barefoot in the courtyard.

One day, she found a photo tucked inside one of her books. It was a black-and-white image of her, mid-laugh, her curls wild, her eyes half-closed in joy. On the back he had written:

“You’re the only person I don’t have to pose.” — D.K.

That night, she cried. Not because she was sad, but because something in her had finally exhaled. She wasn’t just existing in Korea anymore. She was living.

There were still challenges. Some stares still lingered. Some people still asked her questions that felt invasive. But now, she had carved a space for herself. Her art was beginning to gain attention features in local exhibits, interviews on blogs. And always, in the crowd, Dokyeom stood quietly, cheering for her, proud without needing to say it.

Their first kiss didn’t happen under a sunset or fireworks. It happened on her rooftop, during monsoon season. The sky was gray, thunder murmuring in the distance. They were watching the clouds roll in, sipping barley tea. He reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away.

And then, slowly, he leaned in, brushing her lips with his. It was soft, cautious, like asking a question.

She kissed him back, giving her answer.

Years passed, not in a blur, but in rich, vibrant hues—each moment painted with patience and purpose.

Y/N's name began to echo through Seoul’s art community as a master of color and memory. Her canvases told stories no one else could tell riotous sunsets with Polynesian brushstrokes, urban alleys laced with ancestral warmth, portraits of everyday women with goddesses in their bones.

And always, by her side, was Dokyeom.

Their love didn’t explode into the world. It bloomed in secret gardens through unspoken glances, slow breakfasts, and shared headphones on subway rides. He photographed her world with reverence; she painted his heart with wild, unapologetic color.

One morning, under the same cherry blossom tree from their first encounter, Y/N placed a tiny box in his hands. Inside was a sonogram.

He stared, frozen. Then slowly, tears welled in his eyes. “Two…?”

She nodded. “Twins.”

They cried together. Then laughed. Then cried again.

Nine months later.

The house echoed with softness.

Tiny cries. Lullabies sung. The rustle of warm blankets. The gurgle of milk bottles. And over it all, the quiet hum of a love fully grown.

Their daughter came first tiny, radiant, loud. They named her Lee Haewon Keanu.

Haewon, meaning "graceful garden," because Y/N always dreamed of raising her children where love grew wild. Keanu, meaning “cool breeze,” because her daughter’s cry felt like the calm after a storm.

Five minutes later, her twin brother was born, quieter, heavier in weight, his little fingers curled in curiosity.

They named him Lee Ioané Changmin.

Ioané, "strong and steady." Changmin,“bright and clever.”

They were a balance sun and moon. Flame and still water. Laughter and thought.

The hanok had been remodeled to hold more light, more love. There were baby socks drying on windowsills, paints kept above reach, and lullabies playing on soft vinyl.

Y/N’s mother had moved in to help, taking one twin in each arm as she shuffled around the kitchen, humming Tahitian prayers.

“E a hanu'a, a haere noa (Breathe, my precious one, and grow free.)

She still teased Y/N every morning about not giving her grandchildren sooner, but now she’d stop halfway and kiss the babies’ foreheads with tears in her eyes.

“You did well, my daughter.”

In the quiet hours, Y/N would sit on the rooftop with Dokyeom, both cradling sleeping babies on their chests. They didn’t talk much. They didn’t need to.

Sometimes, Haewon would murmur in her sleep in a mix of both their languages. Sometimes Ioané would stir and blink up at the stars.

Dokyeom would whisper, “Look at what we made. Look at who we are.”

Of course, it wasn’t always perfect.

People still stared when Y/N carried the twins down the street some in awe, some with questions buried in glances. Sometimes, strangers asked, “Are they really yours?”

But now, Y/N had grown roots deep enough to never flinch.

“They’re mine. Ours. Both strenghts in baby skin.”

The twins, with their caramel skin and soft eyes, grew up surrounded by diversity in their very home. They learned to say “I love you” in both Korean and Tahitian before they could walk.

At parks, Korean children would run up to Haewon and call her a doll. They’d reach for Ioané’s hand and say, “His eyes look like a painting.”

Sometimes, Y/N watched them play and cried. Not out of sadness, but for the beauty in being whole in being more than one thing.

She painted again. Big, wild pieces. With her babies beside her. And Dokyeom, always, behind the lens capturing every moment with love thick as honey.

One night.

When the twins were almost two, Y/N lay in bed beside Dokyeom, her head on his chest, one leg draped over his. Rain danced on the windows.

“Māmā used to say love is a sea,” she whispered, tracing circles on his skin. “You either sink or swim.”

He smiled. “I think we built a boat.”

Y/N tilted her head up to look at him. “Do you ever think about how far we came?”

He nodded. “Every day. From a girl lost in Seoul, to this...”

She smiled. “To us.”

Years from now, when Haewon and Ioané ask how their parents met, Y/N will tell them it began with petals on the Han River and a boy who saw her not through the lens of difference, but of light.

And Dokyeom will show them the photograph of their mother laughing under cherry blossoms, hair wild, eyes full of fire.

And together, they’ll grow in a home that speaks in three languages, dances in two traditions, and dreams without borders.

Because their story was never just about love.

It was about belonging.

#reblogging for its pure warmth and wholesomeness #if this is how author-nim portrays their culture then im so grateful for them sharing it with us #the writing?? flowed like water poetry and music #two artists meeting? BLESS #no joke this fic felt like a painting #so beautifully written #read this first thing in the morning and im glad i did aaaaa #chanranghaeys reblog

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chanranghaeys · 1 month ago

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🍷 in vino veritas

What better birthday gift can one give than the gift of truth?

pairing: seungkwan x fem!reader word count: 3.4k genre: fluff, smut/nsfw rating: r-18. nsfw, mdni! tags: oblivious idiots in love with each other, mutual pining, literally can’t resist each other once they start, we're still celebrating seungkwan's birthday here, mentions of food, barely proofread pls bear with me warnings: alcohol, allusions to sex, eventual sex haha, making out, dry humping (?) making love, groping, fingering, implied unprotected sex (help idk how to do nsfw tags pls tell me if i missed anything

a/n: this was based on two requests lifetimes ago by rachel @strxwberry-skiess and tara @diamonddaze01. i have a feeling you two don’t remember it anymore haha but i’m tagging both of u anyway. this was also intended as a seungkwan birthday fic that i’ve been revising back and forth and just wasn’t satisfied enough to post until now, hence the setting. i hope this marks the end of my writing drought—i desperately need it.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

It started with a sweater and spilled soju.

“I’m so sorry!”

“No, don’t worry about it!”

“But it’s your favorite sweater. I just ruined it.”

Technically, you both did. It actually started with dinner at your place because you owed him. Big time.

A few weeks ago, you dared to be the only one who didn’t bring a gift to Seungkwan’s birthday gathering—and everyone called you out for it. So with the whole party as witness, Hansol and Chan made you promise to give Seungkwan a gift and treat him to dinner to make up for this huge lapse in judgment.

Sincerely, you wish you could slap those two in the face sometimes. But you wouldn’t, of course. They just knew exactly what they were trying to set up then.

You and Seungkwan decided on a simple homemade dinner at your place because according to him, “You never invite me to your place! How many times have you invited those two idiots to your place without me?”

If only you could tell him the real reason why that was always the case.

When the fateful day finally came, Seungkwan arrived at your apartment early to genuinely offer his help, much to your gratitude. He was even gracious enough to bring your favorite yangnyeom fried chicken.

“I knew you’d like it. It’s your favorite,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug when you questioned him with his offering.

In return, you claimed, “Just don’t go expecting me to give you your gift right away. I’m saving it for the end of the night because it’s special.”

He kept saying that “you don’t have to do this, they were just poking fun.” But you were never one to back down from a promise—especially if it involved Seungkwan.

Dinner went by easily. The weather allowed for a window propped open to let in some of the cool breeze that added to what you believe was a nice atmosphere. Your plates had long been empty when Seungkwan made his way to the fridge to get a refill of water. Instead, he let out a cry of disbelief.

“Ya! You have five bottles of soju and you didn’t bother bringing them out?”

You stayed silent. There was a reason why you didn’t bring those out on purpose. It was to avoid incidents like this, because you and Seungkwan—alone—and alcohol was a combination that had never happened before and an equation that you tried to avoid solving for as long as possible.

Fate had other plans today, apparently.

In his usual way, whenever there was alcohol in his system, he turned into the clingy kind of drunk that he was. This time, however, you noticed that he was different somehow. He was braver, louder, clingier. He was never like this when you two were drinking with friends.

As the late afternoon turned to evening, you two found yourselves inching closer to each other with every story and joke exchanged. This time, a particularly effective punchline you delivered had him in a laughing mess, with his hands instantly reaching for you. He just failed to notice the two very full glasses in your hands at that moment.

This was when chaos ensued.

In the aftermath, he looked at you and your obliviousness. “It’s just soju and water. Nothing a quick wash can’t do.”

He let out an audible sigh of defeat. Without thinking, he proceeded to peel off the ruined piece of clothing, revealing a thin white shirt that was barely there—riding up along with the sweater and revealing his torso. The sight got worse as he completely removed the sweater, the shirt clinging to his chest and still wet from the spilled liquid. You tried to avert your eyes as quickly as you could, but Seungkwan had already caught you staring.

“I, uh…” He pulled down his shirt and held the wet sweater in his hand. You cleared your throat and tried to gather your wits.

“I’m a terrible host. Give me that, I can chuck it in the laundry. I’ll get you a new shirt.” You stood to do as you said. You ignored the fact that he followed you all the way to your room, stopping to lean at your doorway as you rummaged through your drawers for a spare shirt.

You ignored how you could feel his eyes on you, probably spurred on with bravery because you had your back turned toward him. If only you could see how intense his gaze was, looking you up and down while weighing the two options in his head carefully.

He broke the silence first with a question you least expected. “You can talk to me honestly, right?”

“Of course, Seungkwan.” You busied yourself with looking for any shirt, trying to buy time to avoid meeting the piercing gaze you knew would meet.

“Were you…staring at me earlier?”

How dare— “Uh…”

“Okay, I’ll start with an easier question. Are you sober?”

“Yes.” You stand to face him, but not quite meeting his eyes yet. “I mean, I am now. Who wouldn’t be after you spill two glasses on your—friend?”

He laughs. “That’s true.” He pretends to not notice that slight hitch in your voice earlier.

“Here’s your shirt.” You hold up the oversized piece of clothing.

He pushes himself from your doorway and walks—in your perspective—at a painstakingly slow pace. His shirt is still a bit wet and still clinging just a bit in all the right places.

He stops right in front of you, a few steps too close to excuse it for a friendly distance. It absolutely was not.

He gingerly takes the shirt from your hand. To your utter surprise, he replaces it by taking your hand in his. You mask your nerves with an equally nervous laugh as you ask him, “Are you sober?”

“Yeah. Well, I can tell you that I’m sober enough to clearly know what I’m doing.” He continues even as he slowly intertwines his fingers in yours. “When we were in Italy, they said something during our wine tasting. ‘In vino veritas.’”

You were familiar with this saying. “‘In wine—’”

“‘There is truth.’” He completes the saying, taking yet another step closer. “We didn’t exactly drink wine, but can you still tell me the truth?”

You debate with light speed in your head where and how you want this conversation to end. It seemed there was only one answer the moment he decided to close the distance by settling his one hand on your waist and the other brushing your cheek—the clean shirt long forgotten on the floor.

Your heart was racing, and you knew this wasn’t because of the alcohol any longer. The air was thick with unresolved tension. You both knew what this was. This only happened when the two of you were alone, where awkward smiles and silences helped fill in the undeniable attraction that you both kept denying.

So you swallow your pride and nod in reply, and he smiles at your response before continuing, “So, were you staring?”

“I’m still staring now,” you say as you travel across his torso still wrapped in his wet shirt.

His chuckle turned into a laugh, his beautifully musical and infectious laugh, tinged with a hint of embarrassment. “Stop it! I’m losing focus. God, I really didn’t think this through, did I?”

You were nothing if honest, even more so when it came to Seungkwan. He had no problem asking you this question because that’s what he liked about you the most. You weren’t like other people—like him even—who beat around the bush and never mean what they actually say.

“Maybe not,” you say while holding back a laugh of your own.

The smile drops from his face in an instant, his smiling lips closing together in the blink of an eye. When his eyes open, they contain an unspoken depth, his expression changing into something more serious than you’ve ever seen from him before.

“Help me take this off, will you?”

“Why don’t you kiss me first before you demand such things?”

He smirks and claims your chin between his fingers. “Thought you’d never ask.”

You two always had that “will they, won’t they” dynamic for the longest time. It seems that tonight, they will. And they did.

The room smelled of sex. It was undeniable at this point to not acknowledge what had just happened between you and Seungkwan. In the heat of the moment and the throes of passion, you had both done things once unspeakable between the two of you.

If only you both knew what constantly went on in your heads the moment you two were separated from each other.

“So, is this the gift?” Seungkwan asks breathlessly, his chest heaving with exertion and his heart still racing at a million beats per minute.

“What?” Your mind was still swimming in stars, still coming down from your high as you curled yourself in his arms and folded against his warm skin.

”This.” He pulls you in closer and tangles your legs with his, endlessly craving for the touch of your skin on his.

You lightly jab his forehead jokingly. “You forget that you initiated all this with your hand-holding and sweet-talking about being honest.”

“Hey, I just wanted a kiss. You gave me so much more.” He nuzzled his nose against yours and, god, you couldn’t get enough of this Seungkwan. If only you knew that this is how he’d be with you, it would’ve been so worth it to tell him how you felt way earlier.

Wait. You haven’t told him how you felt. Not exactly.

But instead, you land your lips chastely on his. “There’s your kiss. Are you happy now?” He nods, but you could see his eyes and his smile being weighed down by impending sleep. He yawns, and you catch it as well and mirror his actions.

“Good night, sleepyhead.” With a final kiss from Seungkwan to your forehead, you both settle into an easy slumber, with both of you feeling lighter in your minds and hearts.

“Seungkwan.”

He stirs, sleep still overtaking his senses. “Hmm?”

“Seungkwan-ah.” You reach up to move his bed hair from his forehead.

“Mhmm?”

And for a moment, you forget what you were supposed to say because you were struck by the beauty of this unguarded version of Seungkwan. You trail your hand from his forehead to the apple of his cheeks, where you feel them move as he smiles.

“Could you turn on the heat? It’s getting a bit cold.”

He opens his eyes to the most beautiful sight of you in the near break of dawn, the first light filtering through the sheer curtains and starting to illuminate your room.

In response, as if by instinct, he leaned down to kiss you, much to your surprise. When he broke away, he could still feel the curve of the smile of your lips against his. “Why don’t I keep you warm, instead?”

He pulled you closer, the heat from his hand traveling across and over your body. Just as he predicted, you feel the heat rising on your cheeks as you recall the intensity and fervor of last night. But you could care less.

Wordlessly, you take him up on his offer, wrapping your arms around his neck and meeting him in another kiss. Wordlessly, he accepts this as your response and he parts your lips open with his to allow entrance to go in deeper, tasting you for all you are against the ecstasy of your tongue.

While his mouth plays with yours, his hands continue to roam the ebbs and flows of your body, from your neck, your breasts, your waist, and finally tracing the curve of your ass with his hands. He buries himself in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent, leaving open-mouthed kisses as he raises your one leg, allowing it to wrap around his waist.

In this position, your heated core was wide open for his evident arousal. It was as if the events of last night were not enough to satiate your wants, your needs, and deeper down, your true feelings. Your bodies stay flush against each other, skin to skin as if you could not come any closer. You move in sync, accompanied by the gasps and moans, the hitches in both your breaths, as you feel his fingers working their way down there dictating the rhythm that you two would move to while your own fingers clench to fist his hair.

If last night was desperate, needy, almost making up for lost time, this morning was deliberate, languid, almost lazy with the way his lips never left yours to swallow all the delicious sounds coming from your mouth. When he finally filled your awaiting entrance, your bodies felt like a natural fit with one another. Each thrust between your slick bodies felt like a resounding mantra in the stillness of the daybreak—a mantra of unsaid promises and unresolved thoughts spoken through actions with every moment that his lips latch, tug, bite at yours.

The light of the dawn filtered through your room, casting an ethereal glow on your bodies. Yet this morning, you both see nothing but stars. When you both come down from the heavens, you take the time to go to the bathroom, while he takes the time to turn on the heat despite your complaints.

“You’ll thank me later,” Seungkwan said as you returned to his welcoming arms. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, you tangled your limbs in his and let sleep take over your senses once more.

By the time you come to again, it’s 9 am. The sun was fully shining through your curtains to the point of almost blinding you. The urge to pee was overwhelming, so you disentangled yourself from the sheets in your sluggish state. Sitting on the toilet, you rub your eyes and feel the aches of your body settle in—along with other realizations.

Like the fact that you were butt naked. In your bed. With Seungkwan.

And you two did not just fuck last night. You made love with him in the wee hours of the morning.

Holy shit.

As you splash water on your tired face, you look in the mirror and see…an unexpected glow. You touch your lips, trailing your hand down your neck and your chest, recalling all the other places where Seungkwan’s hands caressed you. You start to smile, yet it is gone as quickly as it came.

Now what?

With resolve, you step out of the bathroom to face the reality of the morning. What greets you is the sight of Seungkwan propped up against the headboard, checking his phone, with his bed hair and bare chest turning to look at you. He smiles, one that reaches his eyes.

He is so beautiful.

His eyes travel across your naked body, and you suddenly feel shy. You look across the floor for the discarded shirt from last night, pulling it over you and grabbing a clean pair of panties from your drawer.

He just watches you throughout this charade.

“I…uh, went through some of your clothes. Borrowed a pair of shorts. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, that's okay.”

“For a moment, I thought you left me. I woke up to an empty bed.”

You stop, fully turning to see the amusement in his expression. “You may have forgotten that this is my room. If anyone should have left, it would be you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Did you want me to? Leave?”

You don’t answer, afraid that whatever comes out of your mouth will betray your sensibilities. Instead, you sit down on the empty space of bed beside him.

“Are we still telling the truth?”

One side of his mouth quirks up. “Always, I hope.”

“You should know that there’s a reason why I never wanted you to come over here in the first place.”

He physically winces, anticipating the worst from that statement. “And that is?”

“Because I don’t think I’d ever let you leave. That’s the truth.”

A sigh of relief. “Come here.” He closes the gap between you by clasping your hand and pulling you back into bed, encircling you in his arms.

You lay there together, your head on his chest as he mindlessly plays with your hair. He’d always been a handsy person—all his friends knew that—but most especially to the people he had taken a particular liking to. His fixation was always different with each person. With you, it was your hair.

“Would you like to hear my truth?” He asks.

You wordlessly nod.

“I’ve always wanted to do that with you.”

“Do what?”

“You know…last night, this morning,” Seungkwan trails off.

“No way.”

“Yes, way.”

Your eyes were as wide as a doe’s. “You…never made it obvious or anything.”

“That’s because I’m a decent person who doesn’t act on my primal impulses out of nowhere. Please, you’re too damn pretty and sexy for me to ignore you from the moment we met.”

You slap his chest. “You’re playing. Stop it.”

“I’m serious! It didn’t help at all when I found out that you listened to all the same girl groups that I did. You think I don’t see you when you dance? When you move your damn hips? I have eyes, you know. I’m a simple man.”

“Okay, okay. I see you, girl group enthusiast.” You smiled up at him. “I guess I’ll shake my ass at you more often, then.”

“Oh, please, you will ruin me.” He bites back a grin. “No, but honestly—beyond that,” he said as he looked at you pointedly, “you unlocked this little kid inside me again whenever I was with you, and…I realized I wanted to do more with you. And be more with you. It just grew and grew until it hit me that I just I always wanted you around.”

As if to prove his next point, he meets your eyes and doesn’t let go of your gaze. “If you let me in and let me stay, I don’t think I’d ever leave if you don’t want me to.”

You purse your lips to hold back the smile growing on your lips. Your heart was pounding, pondering the consequences of the next few words you were about to say.

“Well, if you say that then another truth I have is that I’ve always held back from you. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed that.”

“I did.”

“Well, I guess I didn’t do a good enough job of hiding it.”

“Why though?”

“I couldn’t trust myself around you.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “Have I not made you comfortable enough around me? Have I not been the definition of a poster boy best friend?”

“Exactly. You think I could let you go if I mess up and start kissing you on a whim? Seungkwan, your friends can be full of shit sometimes. Believe me when I say that a lot of times, you’re definitely the hottest guy in the room.”

“Wow, you must love me a whole lot for you to say something like that.”

“What if I do?”

He stills. “Do you really?”

You give him a reassuring smile. “We’re still telling the truth, aren’t we?” But the truth also gives you away. You look down as your smile falters. “Friendship is always such a fragile thing to break. And I don’t think I ever want to lose you.”

“Like I said,” he says while lifting your chin up to meet his eyes. They were glowing, and you realize it reminded you of your own eyes when you looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror. It was as if you two were reflections of one another—the way you two always were without realizing it. “If you let me in and let me stay, I don’t think I’d ever leave if you don’t want me to.”

You could do nothing but smile.

And you hear both of your stomachs growl at the same time. You both laugh, loud, full, and deep-bellied, the only way you two do when you’re with each other. There were never any fake laughs if you were together.

You land a quick peck on his lips. “I’ll make you breakfast. Consider it a gift.”

You stood up to leave the bed, and you wait until it clicks in his head. “So you never got me a gift?” The disbelief on his face was almost enough to move you to guilt. But you had another ace up your sleeve.

“Why don’t you get your ass out of bed first and help me make breakfast so I can give you the real gift?”

He huffs. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I’m lucky you’re telling the truth.” You wink and leave him smirking. In wine there is truth, they say, and in truth there is a newfound sense of freedom he can’t wait to share with you.

#SCREAMS WITH YOU #BC SAME #this seungkwan all day every day in all ways #theres a reason why hes my first ever svt bias #this is it THESE HEADCANONS #thank u for enjoying the seungkwan brainrot with me 😭#chanranghaeys feedback

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chanranghaeys · 1 month ago

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