#ft. naeun

[fadinglights]

continued from here, @gcholdtrops

yujun  regards  her  with  a  raised  eyebrow,  pausing  to  gather  his  thoughts  before  responding.  “it’s  nothing  personal  —  we  both  have  jobs  to  do  and  clients  to  account  for.”  perhaps  being  a  prosecutor  who  brings  the  guilty  to  justice  makes  his  job  seem  easier  than  hers,  who  knows?  “i’m  not  getting  in  your  way.  it’s  more  like  your  clients  are  getting  in  the  way  of  the  law,  if  you  look  at  it  more  factually.”

[faerymin]

Just My Luck: Episode One

Synopsis: With the discovery of a tribe populating a remote island between Japan and South Korea, your lover and head of the broadcasting network, Kim Namjoon, temporarily demotes you from your role as a news anchor and sends you on location in favor of filming a documentary. With your already cold relationship straining further, you’re sent to film the project only with a cameraman infamous around the station for womanizing, the recently recruited Jeon Jungkook.

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader (ft. Kim Namjoon)

Tags: Drama & Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, From Sex to Love, Infidelity, Brief Friends With Benefits Situation, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Workplace Romance, Dubious Morality, Fluff, Guilty Pleasures, I'm Sorry Kim Namjoon, Secret Relationship, Mutual Pining, Substance Abuse, Rich RM, (Kind of) Slow Burn, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 4.7k

Author’s Note: Cross-posted on AO3.

━━━

“Delusion detests focus and romance provides the veil.” Suzanne Finnamore, Split: A Memoir of Divorce

━━━

IN THE FIRST HOT MONTH of the fall KBS gave an obituary to a popstar who’d been admitted to Asan Medical Center with her wrists cut in a segment on the morning news, which you watched only because you forgot to switch off the TV and must have pressed some buttons in your sleep to play that particular channel. The medical records and the anchor (who was the weather girl before you’d divorced the broadcasting system) said exhaustion but in the afternoon you spoke to Seokjin and he told you about the actor who left her for an underwear model, which is why you spoke to him in the first place, because Seokjin knew about things like that, knew about people, and to appease you he continued to tell about the news anchor, Mido Nang, becoming the frequent visitor to a surgery clinic in Hannam.

“How do you know it,” you said. You were on the long white chaise in the employee lounge, and he smoked by the open window although it was forbidden. “How do you know she got anything done?”

“I know because I know this surgeon who did her. And you want to hear something funny? Apparently she asked to get her nose cut from all sides the second time so she’d look like Shin Minah in A Love to Kill. The poor thing doesn’t understand that’s not how bones work.”

“Her performance was lackluster this morning,” you said then, swirling sugar cubes into the coffee. “She was trying to pose for the camera while pronouncing the girl dead.”

“She’s lackluster every morning. The only reason she stays the anchorwoman is because she’s screwing, I think, the president’s nephew.”

Echo of voices bounced in from the hallway, and Naeun, who was a director and wore her hair choppy and boyish, flipped a page of the copy of Cosmopolitan she’d been exhausting for the better half of an hour, her foot swinging in the air in single pendulum motion. “If HR gets another complaint about the smoke you’ll be the next one pronounced dead.”

He laughed. “What are they going to do. Fire me?”

The lounge at once became populated with insiders of another crew who were responsible for an underperforming tabloid show and seemed perpetually exhausted. They had come from location, their faces grave and cameras slung across their shoulders, and milled about the kitchenette in a terrible racket. One of them said, “I got the footage of IU, the bitch, flipping me the bird.” Somebody answered, “You think that’s good? I have a shot under Suzy’s skirt, right at the angle where you see all the cellulite.” And they all appeared at once placid and greatly weary with this particular conversation as they got their sandwiches and instant coffee and spread their banquet upon the board in the corner, a Dantesque mass of white shirts and blazers. Naeun made a point to show her back to them.

“You’re a lot of laughs this afternoon, ladies.” Seokjin threw his cigarette out the window. “I’m glad I didn’t dine out.”

“Don’t leave,” you said, draped lazily across the chaise. You’d only begun to drink your coffee.

“Can’t, I already told you. I have to see someone about a job.” Seokjin’s fingertips grazed very lightly across your arm on his way out, and before the door had closed after him someone else entered, someone you realized was the cameraman only when he’d passed you.

“Sunbae,” he said, to neither of you precisely, and continued to the coffee machine.

You noticed Naeun’s foot had stopped swinging and after a moment she retired the magazine, looking at you. She did not have to say anything. The new on-location cameraman had joined the news station that summer, after a soapy program about a ghost copulating with a diner waitress got cancelled. The management liked him for being a son to a videographer who was acclaimed overseas but everyone was sceptical due to him being only twenty-four and having completed his master’s degree earlier in the year. Naeun especially was peeved at having him dumped into her department.

He was a bewildering presence anyhow, entirely emblemed in ink and sultry, and even when he took the jewelry out of his face there were small chinks in his lip and eyebrow. The air around him had proven persistently languid, all gum-chewing naiveté and a boredom so direct that it was offensive. Bets about when he would quit had already been made in his second week on set, and Naeun Bae placed thirty thousand won on ‘until September’ then and lost, because it was already September and instead of a resignation letter there were dressing room rumors about how he’d seduced half the talk show staff. Perhaps due to the hearsay, he seemed to change more recently from simply flippant to downright and impervious.

“You’re a sunbae,” you told her.

“Don’t start with me.” She leaned closer and the bangles on her arm clattered, air cloying with the note of iris in her perfume.“Minji from archives told me the other day she suspected he snuck in there for his rendezvous. She hasn't caught him yet but an employee pass is missing.”

“You think he’s getting it on next to financial reports.”

“I think I’m getting him fired.”

Both your hands wrapped around the cup. “Do you think the editors will give you those thirty thousand won back?”

“The way I see it,” she smiled, “they’ll all be treating me to a meal.”

“You’re optimistic.”

“I’m in a good mood this week, naturally.” When you said nothing, she fixed you with a sceptical eye, as if you had blundered at picking up a thread or failed to react appropriately to some particular allusion, but you did not know what she meant even as she gave pause, a moment of extra leeway for you to continue where she’d left off. “Are you not?” she said then.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re fine,” she repeated. “We have everything well underway and you’re fine. You in particular should be ecstatic.”

“Because of what?”

“Because,” she began, and then sighed. Her bangled hand came to rest against her forehead like she was nursing an impending migraine. “Have you heard nothing from Namjoon?”

You could say nothing, because indeed you had not heard a word from Namjoon, and you suspected you should have known something that was well underway and would make you ecstatic and that others already knew. Naeun took your hand and when she looked at you, because it was very hard for Naeun not to, she failed to avoid looking superior, soft fingers bringing yours into her lap.

“Well, he’s been so busy. He’s surely planning on telling you one of these days.” Then, leaning, she said, “He has to tell you, I mean. We can’t do the segment without our star anchor. Mido Nang will be green with envy when she sees it in a few weeks, that’s a promise.”

━━━

“I’VE BEEN BUSY,” quite funnily, was what Namjoon said the following evening, while you dined at Pierre Gagnaire in Executive Tower 35F, just off the Namdaemun road. You weren’t quite so fond of the floor-sweeping, white tablecloths or the chandeliers looming overhead, but he insisted on going there and you supposed the landscape of Seoul from so far up was nice. You were wearing, you realized only then, a babydoll dress from black chiffon he had bought you last summer. “There has been an offer for one of our series to be broadcast in America but I’m sure you don’t care for the details.”

Repeatedly he ordered an entire feast, numerous plates of roasted scallops, smoked eel, and a tenderloin steak which he now cut into morosely, face sullen as he stopped a dashing waiter and ordered another bottle of wine. Dessert, too, was to be brought out soon, but you had already stopped eating at the second course. “I don’t feel so good,” you said. “I can’t drink any more wine.”

“Then don’t drink it.”

“I mean,” you leaned over the table, “I don’t feel so good and I want you to take me home. I’m too unwell for dessert.”

“You have a delicate palette,” he said, and it did not seem like a compliment. “Stay put a bit longer. Chaulkin, the American, has a reservation here at eight. I have to speak to him. Then we’ll see.”

“Speak about what.”

“The series, Y/N. I just told you about it.”

“Why do you have to speak about it now.”

He lowered the silverware. “Stop that.”

“Sorry,” you told him after a while, and stabbed the sea urchin floating in your consommé. “I didn’t mean it. I’m tired.”

“You always say things you apparently don’t mean.” Namjoon retired his fork and knife entirely in pursuit of the wine glass. “When I’ve spoken to Chaulkin we’ll go. We’ll go home and spend time alone. I’ll make you some tea. Will that make you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Then please try to stay put until we’re done. I have enough problems as is.”

Conversations with Namjoon, as it were, often bore an illusion of a problem having been solved. There was nothing else to say now and you reposed on the chair, continuing to pick on the food. You desperately wanted to order water but felt that doing so now would seem frivolous.

He noticed and then he said, “When the American comes over, please don’t look so hostile.”

You left the Haute French restaurant at quarter to ten, after finishing the bottle the American Chaulkin had ordered, and at the end of nearly two hours plump with conversation it remained unclear whether they would be picking up the series; there was a dreadful altercation about a translation issue, talk about censoring a scene in which a character gets assassinated. “Too much blood,” he had said in clumsy Korean. “This is, how do you say, a purple-rated channel, and that is leaning towards a Tarantino film. And you.” He turned to you. “You said you’re an actress. You act in this show?”

“A news anchor,” you told him for the second time.

“Shame. You should be an actress,” he said for the third.

Namjoon was quiet then and he was quiet in the car.

When you arrived at his house in the Cheongdam area, Gangnam, he did not make you tea. Instead he sat on one of the lounges in his living room, all of which were dressed in cowhide and made an ellipse around the fireplace, and stared up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and you knew the vein in his temple was pulsing. “Listen,” he said. “Come here.”

You did come, sitting beside him.

“I mean closer.” He still did not look at you when he pulled you by the waist, until you were cradled against his hip. He sighed and opened his eyes. “Listen. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered.

“Right.”

His hand settled on the back of your head to pull you closer, but he did not kiss you until you kissed him.

“I really love you,” you breathed against his lips.

“I know you do.” He led your hand to his belt. “Take it out.”

“Namjoon,” you said.

“What?” He was preoccupied with kissing your neck, and when you weren’t fast enough he pulled on the thick leather strap until it popped off the buckle.

“Nothing.” Your hand dawdled reaching into his underwear. His skin was hot, almost scorching. “I love you.”

Later, while you lay across his bed, studying the books trapped inside his vitrine which had been organized in the same way since you’d known him (English ones in alphabet, Korean by width), you asked him about the well underway project everyone knew about aside from you.

“I was under the impression that it involved me directly.”

“Nobody told you about it. I’m certain I delegated someone to tell you.”

“Tell me what.”

“There’s this uncharted island between Jeju and Fukue. Staff from some cargo ship noticed people. Turns out it’s populated by a tribe, all Korean-speaking.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“You’re going.” He rested against the headboard, naked, and put down his cigarette to chase a pain pill with wine. “Next Monday. You’re going with someone from the camera crew alone, the tribe chief wouldn’t allow it otherwise.”

“Why not some on-site reporter?”

“Because,” he said. “The footage needs a star.”

━━━

“LET’S GO TO ITAEWON TONIGHT,” Seokjin said when he picked you up in his Corvette the next morning. You could see through his sunglasses that he was eyeing the spotty discoloration on the back of your neck, but it was too hot to let your hair down and hide the marks. He would know they existed anyway.

“Why?”

“To grab drinks, listen to music, I don’t know, have fun. Seems like something you would need.”

“You think I don’t have fun.”

His hand wandered out of the car in greeting, then draped across the door. The roof had been brought down and wind was mussing his hair. “You’re cranky. We’ll fix that.”

“Do you think he knows?”

There was a long silence. “It happened a long time ago.”

“Maybe he knew for a long time.”

“We’re going to Itaewon,” he decided.

“I don’t want to do that.”

“Yes you do.”

━━━

FOUR DAYS BEFORE DEPARTURE, the cameraman chosen to accompany you ended in a small traffic accident which dislocated his shoulder. He had been a bulky man with a bent nose, your senior by a decade, and had years of experience on the scene. Seldom you’d spoken to him in the genesis of the station and remembered liking him. Somebody told you he’d been shot at before while filming. “Look,” Naeun said, tapping a mechanical pen against her desk in a deliberate, mind-numbing rhythm. There was a fleeting impression she was looking at you as she studied her hair in the wall-length mirror. “We need someone who can protect you.”

Her office occupied the highest floor in the building and was three doors away from Namjoon’s, on the corner which looked at the Jeongdong park. There were no curtains, abstract brush-stroke artwork occupied the indigo walls, and incense permanently burned in the enamel censer upon her desk.

“Don’t tell me that.”

She shrugged. “It’s true. You should know how this goes, you used to be a reporter.”

“And then I became an anchor, thinking I wouldn’t get demoted out of nowhere.”

“You’re not demoted.” She focused on you. “Listen honey, you’re not seeing this the correct way. This is a good thing for your career, this is a story nobody in the nation got a hold of yet. When the ratings skyrocket, it’ll be your face everyone remembers, and it’s nice having a documentary under your belt anyway. We’ll twist a spiel about how you’d chosen to do this yourself. Being humane is the chic thing to do right now.”

You sighed. “Just tell me who’s going with me instead.”

Naeun opened a drawer and gave you a file. Black and white headshot paperclipped to the carton. Jeon Jungkook.

“You’re serious.”

“About that. Someone from technical forgot to return their pass.”

“Who are you putting on air instead of me?” you snapped.

“Just someone.” When Naeun spoke again, her voice was flat and preoccupied. “We’re still seeing about it.”

You left her office and tried to see Namjoon, but his secretary told you he was having lunch with the American and head of the programming department and you left three messages on his machine, none of which he returned. That afternoon the bank called about your overdrawn account, your stockings ripped while filming the evening news, and once you left the dressing room you encountered Jungkook smoking at the back of the building with an apprentice journalist on his arm.

“Good night, sunbae,” he said, unconcerned with hiding the sneer in his voice. The girl untangled from him and bowed but you refused to look at her, in fact you refused to look directly at either of them and vaguely nodded, pulling hair over your neck. While you walked off there was a sigh, a relieved chuckle, the wet, wicked sound of a kiss.

━━━

IN A DISPLAY of what Seokjin had told you was a “self-destructive personality” streak and reason enough to “consider seeing a shrink,” in the days leading up to departure you began harboring great regard for the cameraman who’d help with the perilous expedition. Mechanics of him interested you, why the snark on his face, why join this broadcasting house in particular. There was no sleep, or hardly any at all, a continuous hovering over the coffee table, the scratch of pen as you wrote down, in order, everything you could remember he’d said or done. On Friday Seokjin copied his employee file and brought it to you, which he’d easily done not because he was the Chief Marketing Officer but because everyone knew he was Namjoon’s confidant. Just that morning there was a column about them in the tabloids, a photograph from a party of which you’d refused the invitation, with a starlet whose name you didn’t recognize.

“There’s some principle in here I’m not grasping.” He sat on your sofa, rolling a cigarette. “I’d really like to understand the inner workings of your mind.”

Papers were spread across the table, over the floor, all gridded scraps from notebooks, half-written pages that revealed nothing much in conclusion. “There’s nothing to understand. We’re going together. I want to know.”

He tapped the cigarette butt against the table, lit it, and watched you search through the file. After a time he said, “You never asked how the party went last night.”

“How did it go?”

“We went to my place afterwards.”

He left half an hour later when his phone rang, and he spoke to the person on the line all the while he put on his jacket and shoes. There was a tousle of hair, a promise he would call you later. The door banged. Silence fell upon your apartment again.

File belonging to ‘Jeon, Jungkook’ listed his place of residency as Nowon, the neighborhood on the outskirts of Seoul, nearly bordering Gyeonggi. He was born on the first of September, 1997. His social security number and financial information were scratched out with a blue pen. Korean by birth, but his education history suggested he’d lived in Australia, spent several years in Japan, and previous work experience was notched with helping his father on various documentaries, the last of which explored a jungle on the west coast of Tahiti and won numerous awards. When you searched his father’s name on the internet you found he was rather well-situated.

There were notes from HR about suspicions of “unprofessional conduct” in the workplace but no definite proof, and aside from those notes he appeared entirely clean, even competent. You copied his phone number and in the afternoon you called him.

“When we board that boat on Monday,” you told him. “I don’t want to see you being late.”

There was a smile in his voice. “I don’t know if you know this, sunbae, but you’re calling me on my day off.”

“I’m not your boss. I don’t have to call during working hours.”

“Then why are you calling me at all.”

“Because this is an important story,” you said. “Because you’re a novice.”

“I didn’t even know a celebrity had me on her phone, my heart is pounding with excitement. Who gave you my number. Naeun-sunbae?”

You paused. “Someone in HR the other day.”

“This is too fun.” His voice had a particular condescending quality that never really waned. “Am I allowed to save your number as well. Will you respond if I text you.”

You said nothing.

“It will be all right if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve filmed documentaries, I know how to make it look good.”

“All right is not good enough, this has to be great.”

He laughed and you could hear him do something, perhaps unload a car. “You’re not a fan of me, sunbae. But I’m a fan of yours. Don’t lose sleep over it.”

After the call ended you stared for a long time at the list you’d compiled, of various names which had claimed an affair with the cameraman. In the administrative department were three names, five in marketing, and in programming there were twelve. You did not know what the name of that apprentice journalist was.

━━━

WHEN THE TELEPHONE RANG on Sunday, it was four o’clock in the morning, before dawn, and you untangled the cord in darkness. The evening had been hot and your skin was wet beneath the blanket, a dreamy lethargy you’d imagine of a snake poison permeating your muscles. In those days you did not sleep in your bed but on the leatherbound, glossed couch which made a terrible creak with every dip of pressure. The dreams which played when you slept there were terrors of Mido Nang and KBS, but you continued to doze off on the couch, in a convoluted pretence of an accident for no one but yourself. The ritual eventually began to seem penitent.

No sound came from those cords until there was a long, desperate draw on a cigarette. “You may be the only person in Seoul who continues to keep a landline,” the voice said, draggy, and then came a quiet, rustling sound of moving clothes. There was only one telephone in Namjoon’s home and it was in his office on the second floor, in the room with a window that overlooked his garden, which was the only place he didn’t allow visitors to roam.

“Besides you,” you said.

“Besides me,” he repeated. “People who do business have it. You have no need for it other than the fact you’re used to it. You keep it because you have trouble letting go.”

You lay very still on your back, brushing off a lock of hair that had stuck to your forehead. “Why aren’t you sleeping.”

He sighed. You could imagine him hunched over the grand mahogany desk. “I’m depressed.”

“What for.”

“I don’t know,” he said, then silence.

You didn’t want to rush him.

“This station would be shit if I hadn’t brought you on,” he said after a while. “You know that. Everything would be shit.” You could hear him take off his glasses, and when he spoke next it was with a careful, sensible voice of declaring condolences. “Listen, Y/N. I’m not good to you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Maybe it was a mistake to mix business and feelings.”

You had always imagined that hearing him say this would hurt more than it did. “People do it all the time.”

“They do. People do all sorts of things. A little number of them are right.”

“You want me to resign,” you concluded.

“God, no,” he sighed again, “but I wouldn’t hold it against you if you did.”

Silence. Something awful was happening.

“Maybe we could try,” you said.

“Maybe we could.”

For a long time both of you thought of what to say next.

Namjoon took the coward’s way out. “Listen. Look pretty for the party today.”

Before you could get another word in, the call ended, and you stared at the telephone pensively for several minutes before you pulled the cord loose from the jack and turned around. No sleep came for you that morning, no matter how much you goaded the punishment of dreaming about Mido Nang replacing you on national television.

━━━

THAT AFTERNOON, fifteen hours before departure, the starlet you had seen in the tabloid was oiling her legs across the pool. Namjoon had thrown a party in honor of the brewing documentary and populated it with people you didn’t much like; now he spoke to an executive from Mnet two feet away from the chair she lounged on, but he didn’t seem capable of seeing her, as if she were spectral.

Her name was Binna and her last name used to be Lim, Naeun had told you so, and she was experiencing a crisis after a divorce with a B-rated movie producer which, she said, you could see in how her thighs had become rough. Now her agent begged for jobs to be given to her “as a favor to Donggeun.”

“That’s tragic,” you said, and meant it, but Naeun derived the sort of enjoyment from your words that made the lines around her mouth crease. Her eyes were not on you but on the girl’s legs. She was putting down the bottle of oil and turning to an actor’s assistant who’d been trying to get her attention for the past several minutes.

“When I see how dry her calves are, I feel almost… frightened.”

About the party there were crowded tables and a band and a thousand white napkins folded into doves, as if the courtyard had been dressed for a wedding. Nobody milling around registered to you as anything other than a foreigner, a hussy or a gangster, and there was a circle of people who’d gathered on the long cantilever deck and danced what seemed to be the tarantella. Someone, a girl, had stumbled and fell into the pool, and two or three people jumped after her, their costumes soaked as they dove out of the water and began to play Marco Polo. The ruckus made Namjoon’s forehead crease and he murmured something to the executive before they disappeared inside.

The crowd and the noise had made you queasy, and for a long time you listened to Naeun report on who was coming and going and pretended to study the small letters on the card, the digest of the upcoming documentary where “the star anchor Y/N” would uncover the traditions of a previously unknown tribe. This woman written about on the card seemed to you someone other than yourself, a grinning television representative you might see if you switched on any channel other than the one you acted for. You wondered if Mido Nang would be sent to a deserted island with only one cameraman.

“Your first documentary,” someone said behind you, and when you turned you saw that it was Min Yoongi. “Looking good, baby. It’s going to look great. Superb.”

Seokjin stood beside him and flicked the gold lighter closed, smiling as Yoongi kissed you on both cheeks like a European.

“How’s Namjoon?”

“Namjoon’s around,” you told him, but Min Yoongi was staring at the very young girl who’d fallen into the pool.

His head canted to get a better look. “I’d like to get into that,” he said contemplatively to Seokjin.

“I wouldn’t call it an impossible mission.”

“Not much competition tonight, mostly sissies. Foreigners.”

“Maybe she’d go for a sissy.”

“Maybe I show her what a good time looks like.”

“Riddle of the week, Min.” Naeun showed her polished teeth and leaned over the table. “Whose ex-wife has been spotted whoring herself out at this very party?”

“Let me guess.” He searched the courtyard until he spotted Binna Lim kissing the actor’s assistant and looked wayward at Seokjin, allowing him to light his cigarette. “Your friend from the tabloids?”

“Friend?” Naeun was scoffing now. “Did you enjoy fucking her?”

He smiled. “Not particularly.”

Min Yoongi was staring at the girl again. He absently patted your arm. “How’s it going, baby? How’s Namjoon?”

At the table on the terrace where Naeun and you sat for dinner, aside from Seokjin and Yoongi, there were a Japanese actor, the director of his latest film, and two talk show hosts who lived in the skyscrapers across from Samsung Town. You sat next to the director, who spoke no Korean, and during dinner Seokjin and the Japanese actor disappeared into the house. You could see the white specks under their noses, the thin red fissure of vessels on the cornea, but this was not mentioned on the terrace. The director and two talk show starlets were discussing the dehumanizing aspect of film succumbing to westernism, in Japanese. When the actor got up to dance with a girl in a red halter dress, you excused yourself to the bathroom, only to find once you stood before the mirror that your eyes were wet, and the mascara was beginning to blotch beneath them. Why were you crying, you wondered. You couldn’t think of an answer.

[atinyjules]

Timeless Love Ft. Choi Seungcheol

A/n: Another Valentines special! Someone asked for a Seungcheol fic a LONG time back, and this fic is long overdue, but while writing, I saved it but it didn't save so I lost the request and the draft so I had to rewrite everything from the beginning.

But I hope y'all still enjoy it so let's goo

Genre: mild angst, romance, fluff, comfort

Pairings: Choi Seungcheol x Kang Naeun (fem oc)

Warnings: None

Naeun rubbed her temples as she sat at her desk, the soft glow of her laptop screen the only light in her dimly lit apartment. Her to-do list was never-ending, deadlines looming over her like storm clouds, and yet… she couldn’t focus.

Her phone lay beside her, screen dark.

It had been over a week since she and Seungcheol had last properly talked. Sure, there were messages here and there—quick check-ins, rushed “I miss you” texts—but no real conversations. No late-night calls, no stolen moments of laughter, no warmth.

And it wasn’t just him.

She had been drowning in work too—back-to-back meetings, endless revisions, and nights spent staring at her screen until her vision blurred. They were both busy, both exhausted, both barely keeping up with their own lives, let alone each other.

The distance between them was growing, and she hated it.

Had he noticed? Did he miss her as much as she missed him? Or was he… used to it by now?

Her chest ached at the thought.

Just as she was about to shove those feelings away and get back to work, her phone vibrated.

Seungcheol: Are you home?

Her heart skipped.

Naeun: Yeah.

There was a pause. Then—

Seungcheol: I’m coming over.

Naeun’s breath hitched. She stared at the message, rereading it as if it would change. He’s coming over?

Her apartment was a mess—papers scattered, empty coffee cups piled on the counter, blankets tossed haphazardly over her couch. But none of that mattered.

She stood up, her pulse quickening.

It had been too long.

The knock on her door came faster than expected, and she nearly tripped over herself getting there.

She hesitated for half a second before opening it.

Seungcheol stood there, slightly out of breath, his dark eyes scanning her face. He looked exhausted—his hair was slightly dishevelled, his hoodie loose over his frame, and there were faint shadows under his eyes. But more than that, there was something else in his gaze.

Something hesitant.

Like he wasn’t sure if she still wanted him here.

The sight of him—of them—like this made something inside her crumble.

Naeun didn’t think. She stepped forward, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, pressing her face into his chest.

Seungcheol froze for a heartbeat before his arms came around her, strong and secure, pulling her even closer. His breath shuddered against her hair, like he had been holding it in for too long.

“I missed you,” she whispered, voice barely above a breath.

His grip tightened instantly. “I missed you too. So much.”

For a long moment, they just stood there, wrapped up in each other, neither moving, neither speaking—just feeling.

It was the closest they had been in weeks, and neither wanted to let go.

When she finally pulled back slightly, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks, his eyes searching hers.

“We’ve both been busy, huh?” he murmured.

She nodded. “Too busy.”

His lips quirked up slightly, though there was still something vulnerable in his expression. “I hate this. I hate feeling like we’re drifting apart.”

Her heart clenched. “Me too.”

Seungcheol exhaled slowly. “Then let’s fix it. Just for tonight, let’s forget everything else.”

And before she could respond, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that stole the breath from her lungs.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was slow, deep, full of every unsaid word, unspoken feeling that had built up between them.

Naeun melted into him, her fingers threading through his hair, anchoring herself to him. Seungcheol’s hands slid down her back, holding her as if he was afraid she’d slip away again. The warmth of his lips, the way he tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss—it was all so familiar, yet it sent shivers down her spine like it was the first time.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested against each other’s, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them.

Seungcheol’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “I love you, you know that, right?”

Naeun let out a shaky breath, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I know. And I love you too.”

His arms tightened around her again, as if trying to make up for all the lost time. “I’m sorry for not making more time for us.”

She shook her head, her fingers brushing against his jaw. “It wasn’t just you. I should’ve tried harder, too.”

A comfortable silence settled between them, but it wasn’t heavy like before. It wasn’t filled with doubt or insecurity—it was warm, reassuring, theirs.

Seungcheol finally pulled back, tilting his head toward the couch. “Come here.”

She let him lead her to the sofa, where he sank down first and pulled her into his lap effortlessly. She curled into him, her head resting against his chest as his arms encircled her.

For the first time in weeks, she felt at peace.

His fingers traced light patterns on her back. “You’re not working tonight,” he murmured. “Not while I’m here.”

She huffed a soft laugh. “And what if I have deadlines?”

He tilted her chin up, a teasing glint in his tired eyes. “Then I’ll just have to distract you.”

Her heart fluttered. “Oh? And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Seungcheol smirked before leaning in, brushing his lips against hers in the softest, sweetest kiss.

“I have a few ideas.”

She giggled, swatting his chest lightly before settling back into his arms.

Tonight, there were no deadlines, no schedules, no missed calls—just them, wrapped in each other, their love as strong as ever.

How was it?

I hope you liked it! 🥹🤍

Likes and rebloggs are appreciated ♥️✨️

[fadinglights]

it’s  not  hard  to  see  how  uneasy  naeun  feels  in  her  presence.  a  subdued  kind  of  ache  returns  to  her  chest.  isn’t  it  funny  how  much  life  can  derail  from  what  they  have  originally  envisaged?  there’s  a  time  they  believed  that  by  this  age,  they’d  still  be  by  each  other’s  side  and  being  the  happiest  selves  they  could  be.  now  they  can  barely  look  into  each  other’s  eyes  without  the  phantom  of  their  memories  stirring  the  pain.  jia  nods,  knowing  that  to  be  true  before  naeun  admits  to  that  fact.  her  gaze,  too,  gravitated  to  the  ghost  of  her  past  without  permission.  naeun  didn’t  even  have  to  say  a  word  or  spare  her  a  glance.  it’s  like  part  of  her  soul  recognised  her  presence  in  the  room,  the  piece  that  splintered  from  her  own  and  had  been  missed  since.  “well,  i’m  not  with  anyone  now.”  a  half-truth,  but  everyone  else  can  wait.  she  gently  nudges  the  woman  to  the  direction  to  the  bar  and  the  two  make  their  way  across  the  crowd.  she  gives  the  bartender  a  friendly  smile  and  waits  for  him  to  come  close.  “still  the  same  old  or  have  you  got  a  new  favourite?”  

Small world, indeed. To be honest, Naeun thought she will never hear from the woman who she used to call her first love. Her eyes don't seem to move away from the female's face. Her appearance has changed. In a good way, obviously. Matured. Prettier. Shit. She will have a difficult night. "What a small world indeed." An awkward laugh leaves her, and an awkward smile is even offered. She needs to calm down. Her dark hues drop down to the glass she's holding, and then they immediately move back to the woman in front of her. "Uh... Sure." She can't just say she's actually done for the night. Yes, the female thought she was done for the night and she will go home, but she can't do it when Jia is in front of her and she doesn't know when is the next time she will see her. "I actually saw you earlier." She all of a sudden reveals, pointing towards the direction where the woman was standing earlier. "But... Well, you were with people and I didn't want to interrupt."

[ofdamnation]

eavesdrop 🤍

send me   “eavesdrop”   and my muse will describe your muse like they’re talking to a third party  .

            eyes  widen  ,  he  really  has  to  be  careful  in  how  he  responds  to  any  questions  he  receives  about  naeun  .     ‘  she’s  just  a  patient  .  ’     unbelievable  that  he  can  so  easily  lie  like  this  when  it’s  needed  ,  heart  races  in  his  chest  but  if  anyone  were  to  find  out  about  their  affairs  they  could  possibly  tell  his  wife  and  then  all  hell  breaks  loose  between  both  their  families  ,  it’s  not  worth  it  to  hyungmin  ,  not  when  naeun  could  even  get  bored  of  him  eventually  and  then  what  does  he  have  left  ?  nothing  .    no  ,  this  was  the  best  way  around  it  .     ‘  why  do  you  ask  ?  ’    eyes  narrow  upon  the  other’s  words  ,  slowly  coming  to  a  horrible  realisation  .    ‘  wait  ,  you’re  not  thinking—  ?   NO  ,  no  way  .  no  way  in  hell  ,  don’t  even  think  about  asking  her  out  .  ’

[illcgal]

❛   do   you   love   me   ?  ❜   ft. @alterose​

‘  te quiero  más  de  lo  que  tú  puedes  creer.  ’  no estaba ebrio. o quizás si. un poco, pero no lo suficiente como para no saber lo que decía aunque después finja demencia por ello. ‘   te quiero  , nae.  ’  ya lo había dicho.  iban a ser padres. ¿como no quererla después de todo? si iba a ser la madre de su hijo o hija en un par de meses. ‘  ¿ por  qué  nunca  me crees ?  ’  

[thecryptidcottage]

techniicollor​.

“ i think i might be coming down with something , ” as if to prove the point, a cough hacked its way out of her lungs with violence. “ i can’t afford to miss work tomorrow , or my classes, i’m in finals right now. ” body sore, the girl didn’t make to get up & instead asked the other : “ can you make me some tea and help get the fever down , please ? just until alex is home. ”

          the sharp rattle of a cough elicits an involuntary twitch of a wince from mars and he tries to remind himself that when others are sick, he’s meant to be sympathetic ― not off-put. he frowns at naeun, able to feel for her plight in spite of his own vague discomfort as she explains her circumstances. ❝ the irony is that the current demands of your schedule are likely a contributing factor in you catching cold. ❞ not helpful, mars. ❝ undue stress is directly linked to increased levels of cortisol, which can inhibit your immune responses.❞ still not helpful. hands twitch in his lap as he tries to figure out what he should do next when he’s suddenly given a task ― and he’s grateful for it, evidenced by the nervous flexes of his hands before he rises and moves toward the flat’s kitchenette. ❝ fever ? ❞ mars tries not to sound too concerned, but a fever means infection, and infection means possible contagion. as he flits about the kitchen, he’s suddenly grateful for his own very carefully cultivated immunities and makes a mental note to up his vitamin intake tonight. ❝ you’ll want echinacea and elderflower, then — lemon balm too, if we’ve got it, they’re all anti-inflammatory. ❞

[illcgal-archivos]

✧ › MOONSIK & NAEUN  [ @alterose ]

‘   I want to taste your blood in my tongue and... make you mine.    ’

La noche es fría y la Luna sobre su cabeza brilla como nunca, en una noche despejada sin nubes ni estrellas. Los pasos de Moonsik apenas si resuenan por las hojas secas de los rosales que rodean el enorme jardín, inundado de un aroma que penetra en sus fosas nasales exquisitamente dulce; empalagoso. Su piel refleja un tono pálido que le brinda completa y eterna belleza, labios rojos como la sangre y una mirada intensa y oscura que, inquieta, se pasea por el lugar en búsqueda de algo --- o más bien, alguien --- con lo que entretenerse esa noche. Una presa. Una persona desafortunada con deseos de explorar dentro de una noche abierta, a la luz del astro nocturno que ilumina hasta el mínimo rincón de la enorme y jovial mazmorra, de donde una animada música instrumental proviene, anunciando que ha llegado la hora del baile. 

Entrecierra la mirada para enfocar el panorama, más como una pequeña costumbre humana pues ante la eternidad que le ha sido brindada más de uno de sus sentidos se han avivado. Así como el hambre que gruñe en su garganta y que cosquillea bajo la piel porcelana que recubre su cuerpo, pidiéndole el elixir carmesí capaz de saciar su persona noche con noche. De brindarle poder y vigor, belleza y encanto. Gruñe un poco frustrado por pensamientos que cruzan su mente y por encontrarse ahí, entre la arboleda como si fuera un salvaje esperando saltar sobre su víctima cuando fácilmente puede adentrarse en el gran salón, endulzar el oído de una doncella y llevarla a un sitio privado, donde sin piedad y sin pensarlo dos veces, le arrancaría la vida hasta ahogarse de placer bajo el sabor de joven sangre.

Es por ello que comienza su camino al interior, decidido en atacar de una vez por todas. Sin embargo, antes de siquiera llegar a la puerta, antes de poner un pie fuera de aquel amplio laberinto de rosales, una presencia ajena es la que llama su atención. Un aroma, para ser exactos. Detiene sus pies en seco y se gira sobre sus talones, descubriendo así a no más de un par de metros a una doncella, una mujer paseando bajo la luz de la luna... sola. De forma automática y bajo sus instintos bestiales, abandona su plan y avanza en dirección de la jovencita, sintiendo como a medida que se acerca el ardor en su garganta incrementa ante el olor de tan deliciosa sangre.

Carraspea entonces, deteniéndose junto a una banca de concreto con detalles forjados a mano. ‘  ¿Disfrutando de la noche?   ’ Cuestiona en voz alta para llamar su atención. ‘  ¿Y a solas?   ’ Una sonrisa que pretende ser amistosa crece en sus labios, dejando entrever apenas los puntiagudos incisivos que se encarnan contra la piel de sus gruesos carmines. ‘  ¿Es que acaso lo suyo no son los bailes, señorita ---?   ’ Hace una pausa prudente, esperando que mencione su nombre al menos.   

[minkisus-blog]

there were positives to having a roommate that was never around much at night. namely that being nami always had the space, and freedom, to do whatever he wanted during that time. usually it consisted of so much studying that his brain hurt, but occasionally it meant alone time. instinctively, nami usually left the door unlocked for vince, but he locked it when needed. tonight he’d forgotten, however, but it wasn’t like many people visited the dorm, anyways. his laptop was resting in front of him as he did his business, but the sudden opening of the door had nami jerking his entire body and slamming his laptop shut, fumbling to pull a pillow over his lap in time. chest heaving and cheeks flushed, he peered up at naeun. “uh... hi,” he started, “i wasn’t... i didn’t think anyone would visit this late, but it’s okay! i’ll just... if you give me a minute...” // @ofnaeuns

[akoinefish]

OMFG STARTING YG FSO NOW!!! Yalls watch it as well. Let’s support out baby ❤️❤️❤️

[the-swan]

WALTZ FOR THE MOON ft :: @a-gorgeous-tragedy

et dans les pénombres, brillaient les joyaux les plus purs ! ceux que l'on ne voyait jamais , au loin : ceux auxquels l'on ne venait jamais à s'intéresser ! mascarade, de ces visages masqués, ils viendraient à valser ! là, sous les lumières de vitraux joyeux, comme pour en recevoir bénédiction illusoire. car tout résonne, ici, de quelques notes à ensorceler, de berceuses presque trop angéliques, pour en faire s'éveiller ange déchu pris au piège sous les voûtes de pierre.

et regarde ,,

les sols en sont couverts :

de pétales.

de lys ô jamais piétinés ! ils en fleurissaient sous chacun de ses pas pour en mener aux retrouvailles. suis les ! que l'on venait à lui murmurer. quand les doigts à se faire virtuoses, à arrêter le temps dans ces tranquillités qu'elle avait maladroitement brisées ; sommeil perturbé : d'une voix à l'effrayer ! quand elle s'en était crue seule, dans les entrailles du monde.

archet retiré !

figure à se relever !

panique ,, à émouvoir.

les épaules avaient tressauté ! toute petite, contre son siège esseulé au milieu des lieux, elle cligna légèrement des yeux à tenter d'en démasquer silhouette si délicate. ô hérésie ! à en avoir briser là les sceaux qui en avait libéré de sa prison Morphée. "— Oh...Naeun ?" et des paniques contre son visage ,, venaient à fleurir les sourires radieux ! léger rire presque trop timide, à venir en poser son instrument dans un coin quand le petit corps s'en releva pour venir trottiner vers la Belle des lieux. "— Et bien...je répétais ! comme il va bientôt y avoir un concert ici..." ô sincérité sublime, à venir rayonner rien qu'à la vue de celle à inspirer !

car elle en était : sculpture sublime !

"— Et toi...? Je ne t'avais pas vue...tu te cachais ?" et c'est les innocences, qui viendraient à parler ! à se moquer des injures, comme si elle venait d'en trouver Graal sacré, par magie. "— Désolée...de t'avoir dérangée..." moue à faire s'en baisser les yeux sur l'allure de la jeune femme, les mots venaient à filer ! sans une seconde de répit. quand regard inquiet à finalement : réaliser, elle tira tout doucement sur la main de la muse qui lui faisait face. "— M-Mais...tout va...bien ? Tu as l'air pale et...fatiguée..." quand les visions s'en faisaient pur cauchemar. d'un sacre oublié, c'est que semblaient en avoir été faits sacrilèges dans ces lieux ô miraculeux. repentance oubliée ,, quand sur les joues elle en essuya traces noires du bout des doigts. paillettes et strass comme petites étoiles éparpillées ,, et c'en était délivrance à crier les chaos intérieurs.

et regarde !

tu brilles : Naeun,

à ses yeux.

WALTZ FOR THE MOON ft :: @a-gorgeous-tragedy

volent les mirages, à s'amouracher de quelques images : idyllique figure ! à prétendre les repentances dans ces lieux mystiques. tintent les cloches, résonnent les orgues ,, à en créer symphonies si harmonieuses pour en atteindre les cieux, celles à se faufiler entre les colonnes et les vitraux pour en faire renaître les archanges ! c'est que les souffles renaissaient, ici, à admirer les lieux pour les simples ossatures de pierre : car Ash ne croyait plus en rien ! d'une chance abandonnée, d'un monde où les fantômes en venaient à en effrayer les regards.

et ici :

tranquilités !

à renaître.

quand de ces vitraux aux lumières colorées, les pas s'approchaient d'une discrétion si légère, et Ash, petite fée à visiter les lieux, cachée derrière son grand instrument : elle valse ! là, se sourires à se tracer ,, car le temps était compté. c'est que les doigts devaient en virevolter contre les cordes, de notes trop virtuoses, pour en plaire aux muses des lieux. surveillée ,, de quelques cierges à danser dans les pénombres ,, douceur et grandeur d'un lieu : à en obliger les épaules droites malgré tout.

et de ces prestiges, église à venir l'accueillir, elle s'était faufilée ! petite figure à regarder un peu partout, venir s'installer, là, aux devants de tous les bancs esseulés. violoncelle à prendre pieds, petite chaise attrapée du bout des doigts, c'est que les notes déjà accordées viendraient à vibrer comme pour en demander le respect. et si Dieu venait à l'écouter, peut-être s'en sentirait-elle honorée ! quand d'une croyance absente, elle en portait pourtant regard respectueux à ces bâtisses élégantes.

brille ,,

brillent :

elle ,, et les regards.

morceau débuté, c'est que le bout de ses fins doigts en trouvaient chemin si facilement sur les cordes ! sourire sur les lippes, yeux à pétiller ,, amour certain ! accordé à ce bout de bois verni. et douceur si radieuse, elle en semblait insignifiante : de ces sonorités sublimes. "— le son est si beau...!" murmuré, là, comme extase : quand à redécouvrir les mélodies en permanence, elle ne faisait qu'à en aimer toujours plus, encore et encore, ces quelques sons sacrés ! comme seul moyen de pouvoir respirer de quelques libertés, dans les solitudes imaginées !

[yeevm-blog]

moodboard: nari  ( @narihq ) x yeeun (1/?)

Everytime I can't see ahead and am about to collapse You always give me courage with that smile of yours When I feel sad and alone, you make me smile If it's not for you then there wouldn't be the me now. good times, bad times we are always together. even if we are apart, we can help each other we are not alone this was in my drafts forever eggghgh

[magariis]

❪ a starter for @mlilk ! ❫

     his eyes are glued to the large house in front of him. it was where his ex-girlfriend lived. the same girl who he hadn’t seen in two years. two fucking years. was he still bitter about the fact that the same night she would give him his answer about whether she would want to work things out together and give them another chance, she fled? yes. she disappeared without a single trace. when his fiance, anabelle, calls out his name, he’s pulled out of his thoughts. ❝ let's go. ❞ he flashes a quick grin before getting out of the car and walking up the front steps with her hand in his. it was almost unbelievable the situation he was in -- showing up to his ex-girlfriend’s mother’s birthday celebration while being engaged to someone for a business venture. he needed a drink. 

[nct-krown]

❝ 𝐇 𝐎 𝐍 𝐄 𝐘 ❞

ⓘ BASICS ¡!

STAGE NAME honey ˒ 호니

BIRTH NAME kim minji ˒ 김 민지

ENGLISH NAME katie kim

REPRESENTATIVE GEM citrine

BIRTHDAY 11 march 2001

ZODIAC pisces ˒ ♓︎

PLACE OF BIRTH incheon ˒ south korea

HOMETOWN songdo ˒ incheon

ETHNICITY korean

NATIONALITY korean

LANGUAGES korean ˒ english ❪ basic ❫

ⓘ PHYSIQUE ¡!

FACE CLAIM kim chaeryeong

HEIGHT 165cm ˒ 5'5

BLOOD TYPE A-

ⓘ CAREER ¡!

OCCUPATION idol

LABEL sm ent.

GROUP nct ❪ 2019 - ❫

SUB-UNIT nct krown ❪ 2019 - ❫ ˒ nct u ❪ 2020 - ❫

POSITION main dancer ˒ lead vocalist

TRAINING 4.5 yrs @ sm ent

DEBUT 20 may 2019 ❪ nct krown ❫ ˒ 23 nov 2020 ❪ nct u ❫

ⓘ FAMILY ¡!

MOTHER im seohyeon

FATHER kim sangyeon

SISTERS kim minah ❪ ‘97 ❫ ❪ deceased ❫

kim minseol ❪ ‘04 ❫

ⓘ PERSONALITY ¡!

MBTI infp

POSITIVE hardworking ˒ loyal ˒ compassionate ˒ sweet

NEGATIVE delusional ˒ clingy ˒ push over ˒ sensitive

ⓘ HISTORY ¡!

adopted from my beloved @ik1ssmark <3

ft. @inter-stellar-jyp

kim minji was born to kim sangyeon and im naeun on the 11th of march 2001 in songdo , icheon ,south korea. minji grew up with her 2 sisters minah and minseol. minji’s family is very close and she often calls all of them her best friends. she was particularly close with her older sister minah and through out her life she was a pillar of strength for minji. when minah unfortunately took her own life at the end of 2019 minji was devastated beyond comprehension and went on hiatus for almost a year. she almost didn’t come back but minah was her biggest supporter and with some love and support she returned because she knew that minah would want her to continue following her dreams.

in 2014 when minji was 14 she participated in one of sm’s famous saturday auditions, theyre notoriously known for being difficult to pass but minji made it through first time. she auditioned with her cover of electric shock by f(x) her favourite kpop group to date. after less than a year of training on july 8th, 2015, she was introduced as a member of smrookies, she made her tv debut weeks later on the mickey mouse club. the mouseketeers consisted of 10 smrookies members: five boys: mark , jeno , donghyuck ( haechan ) , jaemin & jisung and five girls: stella , kelsey , yunhee ( cleo ) , minji ( honey ) & herin. whilst on the show minji grew very close to all of the other rookies with the english speaking ones even giving her her english name katie. however her close friendsship with mark lee on the show was a fan favourite.

when stella and jinah were announced to debut in nct u many fans were disappointed to not see minji in the lineup after waiting 4 years. minji finally made her long awaited debut in nct’s new all female subunit nct krown. she goes by the stage name honey as she wanted to have some type of separation from her idol persona and the real minji. her dance skills always make her stand out as her years of contemporary and urban dance training really make her beautiful to watch on stage.

[fadinglights]

it  would  make  sense  for  him  to  push  her  away  after  he’s  aware  of  her  predicament.  rationally  speaking,  she  is  in  no  headspace  to  fall  for  someone  new  after  a  recent  breakup.  but  life  rarely  unfolds  in  a  sequence  that’s  perfectly  timed  and  she  would  be  damned  if  she  lets  him  slip  away.  every  fibre  of  her  being  yearns  to  be  close  to  him  and  if  this  is  bound  to  end  in  flames  and  ashes,  so  be  it.  her  smile  widens  when  he  accepts  her  offer  with  enthusiasm,  before  taking  her  breath  away  easily  in  the  following  moment.  paying  no  attention  to  the  fallen  decorations  caused  by  their  stumbling,  she  focuses  solely  on  the  taste  of  his  lips  and  the  warmth  of  his  embrace.  as  soon  as  her  back  hits  her  mattress,  she  flips  him  over  and  straddles  him.  “you’ve  been  on  my  mind  all  day.”  emboldened  by  his  returned  affection,  she  admits  in  a  shameless  breath  as  her  hands  wander  down  his  chest  to  the  waistband  of  his  jeans.  “it’s  so  unfair.”  she  whines  but  she  means  none  of  it.  who  is  she  to  complain  about  fairness  when  his  situation  is  anything  but?  

IT WOULD HAVE BEEN WISE for him not to let a one time thing go far especially if it's with someone who just got out of a relationship fresh from a breakup. Na-eun doesn't do complications, preferring to keep things simple. With his burgeoning career, the last thing he needs is a controversy, yet every inch of him gravitates towards Ivy. She'd ignited his desire and passion. No woman has ever drawn it out of him. Not even his ex-girlfriend. How he was with Jia compared to Ivy was the total contrast. His connection with his ex was calm and peaceful, whereas with Ivy it's intense and and burning. It's addictive, and he's hooked. Cupping the back of her neck, their lips connect ardently as he pours his pent-up yearning into the kiss. Her wandering hands encourages him to go further. He doesn't want to break away just yet. He only does when he realizes that they need some air. Pulling away briefly to catch his breath, he looks into her eyes, pleased to hear the invitation. That's exactly what he needs. "Oh, I will. Gladly." He presses his lips to hers once again, wrapping her arms around her waist, and lifting her up to head to the bedroom.

[serenityseventeen]

S.Coups (최승철):

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

“The Return of Supercheol.”

synopsis: Choi Seungcheol, well known as the leader of SEVENTEEN, stage name S.Coups, is joining ‘The Return Of Superman’ show with his beautiful two-year-old daughter, Si-Eun. What is it like on the first morning with the new family?

genre: TROS(the return of superman)!au, parents!au, fluff

pairing: father!seungcheol x mother!reader (ft. daughter!si-eun)

a/n: I already made a previous one where he had a daughter so I decided to use the same name hehe + it's been a while since I've actually watched TROS but I only watched Seungjae, Haru, Hao (or Ha-oh), Jam Jam, William & Bentley, Naeun & Gunhoo, and Sian, now I don't watch much of it anymore but I remembered enough to make this :) + don't mind the title of this one, I didn't know what to call it lol

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

Si-Eun woke up to the sound of birds chirping.

Her room was dark like usual. She quickly reached for her pink stuffed bunny that was always resting beside her bed with her.

After finding it, she dragged it along with her as she climbed out of her crib and headed for the door.

The MCs that were watching the show called her a smart and strong girl for being able to climb out of her rather tall crib.

Si-Eun walked into the living room with her bunny, whom she named Cherry.

Sunlight was shining through the house but Si-Eun did not see her mother or father in the living room.

Upon seeing the living room, the MCs commented on how large and clean the place was.

Si-Eun looked around to see some cute little pink houses (which were not actually houses) with a camera peeking out of them. She was a bit wary because she could see the people in the little houses.

There was a moment of complete silence before Si-Eun suddenly dashed off. She ran so quickly that even the MCs were impressed. She had left Cherry behind.

Si-Eun quickly opened the door to a bedroom, which was the parent's bedroom. She waddled quickly to Seungcheol, who was still sleeping and tapped his shoulder.

You were sleeping in Seungcheol's arms but awoke when the door busted open.

“Daddy, daddy,” Si-Eun said, her voice cute. To wake her father up, she gave him a quick peck on the lips. “There is someone in the house.”

You sat up and decided to play along. “There's someone in the house?”

You saw Si-Eun nod. Then she pressed her tiny index finger to her lips and made a “shhhh” sound.

Whispering, your daughter said, “If they are robbers, only dad can beat them with his strong arms, right?”

You tried to hold in your giggle. “That's right, let's wake him up.”

The MCs laughed at your daughter's cute words.

You lifted your daughter onto the bed and both of you leaned into your husband's ear. “Wake up, dad~~”

Seungcheol slowly opened his eyes, probably still half asleep.

“Dad, there are people in the house~!” Si-Eun got out of bed, taking her father's ring and pinky fingers with her tiny hand, dragging him out of bed. “Hurry, or else they might take Cherry!”

Seungcheol laughed and the MCs did too while watching the episode. They talked a little bit about your husband too.

You got out of bed and quickly followed after them.

“Dad, you're strong, right??”

“Of course, I'm superman.”

“Okay, then can you fly?”

Seungcheol laughed. “No, not yet~”

Together, he and Si-Eun walked back to the living room, where the ‘houses’ were at.

Si-Eun pointed to the houses when they walked into the living room. “That's them... are they bad people?”

“No, they are not bad people, but you did a good job running to me. You even left Cherry behind, didn't you?” Seungcheol walked over to Cherry, who was laying on the floor and picked him up.

Seungcheol handed Cherry back to his daughter, the natural sunlight flowing through the window blinded his eyes. Seungcheol laid down on the hard floor.

Si-Eun walked over to you, who was in the kitchen after brushing your teeth and washing your face.

“Si-Eun~ tell your father to go help you brush your teeth~” You said.

Si-Eun ran back to the living room and told her father what you said. They brushed their teeth together while looking at each other's reflections, Si-Eun in her father's arms so that she could see herself in the mirror.

-

While your husband and daughter ate their breakfast sweetly, you put on a coat. For the day, you were going to leave those two alone, by themselves.

Of course, you felt a bit uneasy, but considering how much time Si-Eun spends with her father, you also felt relieved.

You tied up Si-Eun's hair into cute pigtails and dressed her up in a cute white shirt with a lamb on it and some denim overalls.

When it was about time for you to leave, you went to Si-Eun to say your last goodbyes for the day.

“Where are you going, mom??” Si-Eun asked.

“I'm going to my mother's house. I'll be gone for a long time so stay with your dad, okay?”

“Okay!” Si-Eun happily agreed in almost an instant.

You waved goodbye again and gave both Si-Eun and Seungcheol a kiss on the cheek.

-

“Now that mom is gone, what would you like to do?” Seungcheol asked his daughter, who was jumping around with Cherry in her arms.

Si-Eun stopped to think, pouting a little.

“Is there something that your mommy didn't let you do?” Seungcheol asked, taking the hand of his beautiful daughter, Si-Eun. Si-Eun chuckled mischievously and then leaned toward her father's ear.

“Mommy didn't let me go to the playground yesterday because it was too cold,” Si-Eun said in a cute voice. Then she pointed to a large window. “It's bright today, isn't it?”

Seungcheol smiled and patted his sweet daughter on the back. “Should we go for a father-daughter picnic?” Seungcheol suggested.

Si-Eun nodded.

Your husband and daughter ended up going to the park, prepared for a picnic. They ate together and played on the playground together. Not only that, but Seungcheol also helped Si-Eun climb a tree!

The day ended with the two of them going back home and Si-Eun helping Seungcheol write lyrics. Seungcheol also taught Si-Eun to rap a little but in the end, she became a dancer instead.

Si-Eun copied the dances that her father used to perform and they had their own little concert in the house while you were gone.

In the end, Si-Eun was getting tired so Seungcheol picked her up and held her in his arms, talking to her as he wrote lyrics. She fell asleep in his arms.

-

“Such a lovely first day! After all that playing, beautiful Si-Eun must've been so tired!” The male MC said, with a small laugh.

“We have to appreciate Father Cheol too, he played with her so well and took such good care of her without her mother there,” The female MC continued. “Their father-daughter chemistry was truly superior!”

“Right, and Si-Eun was so cute! I'm going to look forward to all of their episodes!” The male MC exclaimed.

You were sitting in front of the TV, watching with a smile on your face throughout your husband and daughter's first episode on The Return of Superman.

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Request:

-serenityseventeen