~mykoreanlove~

i think in stories

[mykoreanlove]

masterlist.

🦋✨🌻🖤 catch my most recent stories here:

Hi everybody - I haven’t been too active on here since I lived in Seoul for a while but I’m back now and slowly getting back into it. This blog is still a bit chaotic so bear with me 💋

THE TASTE OF FOREVER // for my besties manifesting love // falling for you

❤️ STRAY KIDS

💚 GOT7

💜 BTS

💙 SHINee

🖤 REQUESTS

✨

the angst bundle

the smut bundle

the fluff bundle

[mykoreanlove]

What are we?

The second you say it—“이거 뭐야?”—and look up at me with that mix of bravado and fear, something settles in my chest like a lock clicking shut.

“Baby…” I slide my hand to your jaw, warm and steady. “You’re my girlfriend. 내 여자.” I don’t blink when I say it. I don’t hedge. “No guessing. No maybe. I’m here.”

You try to turn it into a joke, because that’s what you always do when you’re overwhelmed with a big feeling, but I don’t let you run from it. Not this time. My thumb drags across your lower lip, slow. “Say it back,” I murmur, eyes on yours. “Then I’ll kiss you.”

You swallow, tiny nod. “Your girlfriend.” That’s it. The gravity changes in the room.

I kiss you like a promise—and like a problem I don’t want to solve. Gentle first, then deeper when you sigh into my mouth. Your fingers curl in my shirt and I pull you into my lap like you belong there (you do). The world outside the curtains—neighbourhood noise, a distant bus —goes fuzzy. I can feel your heartbeat through your chest to mine, rabbit-fast, and it sends a shot of pride through me so hard I have to laugh against your sweet lips. “Look at you,” I whisper. “My girl. My y/n.“

You whisper, “탬,” and my control thins to silk. “Don’t,” I breathe, forehead pressed to yours, smile wrecked. “Say my name like that and I won’t stop.”

I don’t stop anyway. Why would I?

I kiss you the way I dance—tempo shifts, control, then the slip. Mouth to mouth, then I angle to your cheek, your jaw, the hollow just under your ear that makes your breath catch. “여기 좋아해?” (You like it here?) You nod, a little gasp, and I file it away: cartography of you, y/n. You like it when I grab your waist. You melt when I slide a hand up your spine. You go quiet when I kiss the soft place under your ear, and you claw at me (God, yes) when I mouth the side of your throat. “Hickeys?” I murmur, smile curving. “Say yes.”

“Yes,” you breathe, small and dangerous. “Good girl.” I keep it tasteful—slow, claiming, not too dark—and then I kiss where I’ve marked, soothing. “Mine,” I tell your soft skin, not because I need to hear it, but because maybe you do. “내 사람.”

You’re shy to dance with me, always, even though you love to dance—so I don’t ask. I just put on a slow song (yeah, “1 of 1” is queued next, because of course) and stand, keeping your small hands in mine, pulling you up into me. “No choreography,” I say, mouth against your temple. “Just this. Just us.“ We sway in my living room, your cheek under my chin, my palm sliding lazy circles at the small of your back. I feel you unclench minute by minute, your shoulders dropping, your breath syncing with mine. “You feel that?” I whisper. “That’s us. No shoe dropping. Just us.”

You tip your head back to look at me and I’m a goner. I kiss you again, slower now, like I’m sipping something expensive. When you smile into my mouth, I lose the plot and laugh. “누나… 진짜 미치겠다.” (Noona… I’m actually going crazy.) I mean it like worship.

I make you ginger tea in the kitchen without letting go for long—my fingers never leave your hip, your wrist, the hem of your shirt, like I have to keep you tethered. You sit on the counter, legs open, and I step between them, bracing one hand on the cupboard, the other around your waist. You’re watching me, eyes soft, and the urge to take care of you hits hard. “Had dinner?” I ask. You shake your head. I’m already on it—garlic, eggs, rice, quick and warm. “Not your nationality‘s treasure, but chef’s kiss,” I tease, feeding you the first bite with the chopsticks. You roll your eyes, pretending not to be charmed, but you take the bite and hum, and now I’m grinning like an idiot because your happy sounds are my new drug. “Better than being cool,” I say when you catch me smiling. “I’d rather be yours.”

On the couch again, I tuck my hair behind my ear—your “Korean long” comment lives rent-free in my head—let you card your fingers through it. You always do when you’re half-shy, half-feral. “Touch me,” I murmur, guiding your hand to the nape of my neck. “Like that.” Your nails scrape lightly and I shiver, eyes closing. “Christ, y/n.” I open them again because I want to see your face when I say this next part. “I know your past. I heard you. I’m not leaving. Stop looking for the exit when I’m trying to walk in.”

You go quiet, but the kind of quiet that means you’re listening. So I keep going, softer. “You think you’re hard to love.” I kiss the slope of your cheek. “But all I know how to do is want you.” Another kiss at your jaw. “Want you when you’re loud, when you’re quiet, when your stubborn Virgo-brain is manifesting the moon.” A smile against your skin. “I’ve been eating grapes under tables for years and didn’t even know why.” (You laugh, that snort you do when you’re trying not to, and I beam like I won something important.) “Turns out it was you.”

You pull me closer and I don’t make you say thank you with words. I let you say it with your mouth. I kiss you until you stop bracing for goodbye.

We drift toward the bedroom because gravity says so. Not rushed. I keep checking your eyes, your breath, your yes. I’m a menace, yeah—but I’m careful with what I care about. At the edge of the bed, I pause and tip your chin up with one finger. “Color?” I ask softly. (You roll your eyes at me, but the way you relax says it lands.) “Blue,” you whisper, and then you’re pulling me down.

What happens next isn’t a movie montage. It’s two people learning each other. It’s my mouth finding the places that make your back arch, and your hands finding the places that make my breath stutter. It’s me worshiping your tummy—yes, the one you say you hate—kissing it slow, telling you, “이 부분… 내가 제일 좋아해.” (This part… I like it the most.) It’s you going quiet and a little wet-eyed for a second, and me kissing that expression away. It’s your pretty eyes blowing wide when I tell you, plain and honest, “You’re exactly my type,” and then prove it with patience and a little menace, the kind that makes you gasp my name and clutch at the sheets. It’s the kind of heat that feels like home, where I don’t have to posture and you don’t have to pretend.

After, I do the small things that say more than speeches. Warm cloth. Water. My hoodie—“territorial behavior,” you accuse, smiling, as you tug it on; I shrug, unashamed. “Facts.” I press a kiss to your temple. You burrow into me, thigh over mine, your hand on my chest like you’re testing if I’m still there. I am. I always am.

You’re not a morning person. So I set your alarm, then set another for me two minutes earlier so I can wake you with kisses instead of a siren. I put water on the nightstand and a note under the glass where you’ll find it: No more ‘what are we.’ We are. A stupid little heart because I’m younger and cocky enough to get away with it. When you roll, half-asleep, to hide your face in my neck, I whisper, “내 사람.” (My person.) You answer in your drowsy native tongue that melts my spine and I have to bite my lip like a teenager.

Sometime around 3 a.m., you stir, the old fear flickering across your face like a shadow of a bad dream. I feel it happen. I always do. My hand rubs slow circles on your back, my mouth finds your hairline. “Shh,” I murmur. “I’m not a ghost. I don’t disappear.” You breathe out, long and shaky, and I press your palm to my heartbeat. “See? Still here.”

Morning in our city is grey-blue and soft. I slip out just long enough to grind beans, make your coffee exactly the way you like it, leave it where your hand will find it before your eyes fully open. I crawl back under the covers, cold hands on your warm waist, and you squeal, smacking my shoulder. I take the hit, laughing, and then I’m kissing you good morning like I promised—sweet, unhurried, plenty. “좋은 아침, girlfriend,” I murmur into your smile.

You squint at me. “We’re really doing this?”

I tip my head, pretend to think. Then I nod like a judge. “Yes. Sentence: unlimited kisses, public hand-holding, me singing badly in your kitchen, jealousy rights when men stare too long, and…” I lean in, drop my voice. “The right to tell me when you need gentler, and the right to demand when you want rougher.” Your eyes spark; I kiss the corner. “All appeals denied.”

You tug me close by the hoodie strings and kiss me like you mean it. I groan, happy and gone. “Look what you did,” I complain softly, but I’m already rolling over you, bracing on my forearms, hair falling around us like a curtain. Your fingers push it back, and I swear I could live in this exact moment forever.

We spend the day the way new lovers do when the question mark is gone and the exhale finally arrives. We walk along the river with your hand in my pocket and mine around your waist because I like you tucked into me. You point out dogs; I point out sunlight in your hair. You make fun of my playlist until I put on the exact song you were going to request and pretend it was your idea. We read horoscopes at a café; I scoff at mine and take yours dead seriously. We plan trips we haven’t booked and dinners we haven’t cooked. At crosswalks, I press kisses into your hair; in shop windows, I watch you watching yourself and mutter, “우와… 진짜 예쁘다,” (wow… you’re really beautiful) like it’s new information every time.

And every time that old doubt tries to creep in—when a car door slams too loud, or your phone lights up and you hesitate like you’re bracing—I’m there. A hand on your lower back. A look that says I see you. A kiss you feel in your knees. “No exits,” I remind you, grinning. “I’m already inside.”

That night, when we’re back at my place and you curl into me on the couch, I pull a folded page from the coffee table and slide it into your hand. It’s messy, written between dance drills and thoughts of you:

We are.

You asked me what this is. It’s me waking up and wanting your face before sunlight. It’s me dancing better because you exist. It’s me worshiping the tummy you think I shouldn’t love and loving it more out of spite. It’s me learning your native pet names and your favorite noodles and the exact pressure to put on your hips when you’ve had a day. It’s you, all of you. It’s home.

You read it, then look at me like I hung the moon, and I have to hide my face in your neck because I’m younger and pathetic for you. You laugh, that bright sound, and tug my hair. “Come here,” you say, and I do, because there’s nowhere else I’m ever going.

Later, in the dark, I trace the outline of your lips with my thumb and whisper the truest thing I know in both languages, so there’s no way you can miss it. “You’re my only one. 진짜 1 of 1.” You smile without opening your eyes, say, “I know,” and tuck your cold toes under my calf like you own me.

You do.

And when sleep finally takes you, I stay awake a little longer, kissing your forehead, memorizing the peace on your face, thinking how insane it is that a man can pray for something his whole life without a name for it—and then one night in a club, there you are, laughing like trouble, tasting like forever, asking me a question I get to answer every day:

이거 뭐야?

We are. Forever. 약속할게. 

[mykoreanlove]

I totally forgot about this piece of work 💎

[mykoreanlove]

Hyunjin

It’s been two days since the night Hyunjin met you in person — since the first date that turned into a serendipitous whirlwind. Two days since the quiet sex in your thin-walled apartment, the herbal tea in mismatched mugs, the soft forehead kiss he gave you like he meant it. Two full days since the bus ride home where he stared out the window like he just stepped out of a dream and wasn't ready to wake up yet.

And now?

He’s at his place at the other side of the city. Rain tapping softly on the window. His hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over his hands as he stares at his open notebook, phone to the side, untouched.

He's not texting you yet. Not because he doesn’t want to, no, because he’s gathering himself. Because there’s too much in his chest and no clean way to say it without sounding like a lovesick k-drama lead with a one-sided crush.

But it’s not one-sided. He knows that. And still, his mind is spinning. So, he picks up a pen. Starts scribbling. Not to show anyone, just to breathe it out.

Hyunjin’s Journal — February 10th, 01:12 AM

"I think I met her. The one. Y/N. No, I know that sounds crazy. Believe me, I know. But I can’t stop thinking about her. Not just the way she looks — although, seriously, 어떻게 그렇게 생겼어 (how is she this beautiful)... but the way she feels."

He closes his eyes for a moment, recollecting the night that he met you.

"She’s funny without trying. Soft, but sharp. Has this thing where she deflects a compliment like she’s swatting a fly, but underneath it I see it… the part of her that wants to believe it.

She kissed me like she wasn’t sure it would ever happen again. And then she looked at me like she didn’t know if she could handle it if it did.” His brows furrowed, pissed at the thought of you associating love with pain, with loss.

“Who taught her to brace like that? Who didn’t stay?" (smeared ink here as his hand brushed the line before it dried.)

"She kept her lights low. Jazz music playing. Asked what kind of tea I liked like she wasn’t even sure I’d stay long enough to drink it. And then sat beside me like we’d done it a hundred times. Oddly enough? It felt like we did.”

His fingers itch, even in your absence his body is longing to touch you. Like the thought alone activated his hands, put his nerves on fire.

"I liked her before I touched her. Before the night even started. From the DMs. From her voice. From the way she sent voice notes mumbling sweet nothings when she was sleepy. But after that night? I’m ruined. 완전히 (totally)."

"The worst part is I can’t even be smooth about it. I want to ask her out again. Like right now. But I also want to say: hey, I think I wished for you. Hey, I think you’re the reason none of the others ever worked out.“

He lets out a scoff, painfully aware of how ridiculous he sounds.

"She’s going to think I’m intense. Or clingy. Or full of shit…. But I’m none of those things. I’m just a guy who met a woman who makes him feel like the whole world just clicked into place."

He leans back in his wooden chair. Stares at the ceiling. Breathes in deep, four in, eight out. Yet, his heart’s still racing.

Not from panic. From certainty.

Hyunjin grabs his phone. Opens your chat. Thumb hovers over the keyboard.

But he doesn’t type the usual “what are you up to?” He doesn’t ask if you’re free sometime. No, he opens with:

Hyunjin: Okay, I can’t stop thinking about you. When are you free? I need to see you again. Not want. Need. Second date. Real one. I promise I’ll try not to look at your lips the whole time. (No promises.) 😶‍🌫️

He can‘t sit still, like texting you is not enough. He needs you to know how serious he is about you. A minute later, a voice note:

“Y/N, this is me trying to play it cool, but failing, so I’m just gonna say it. I really, really like you. Let me take you out again. For real this time. Not because I’m bored, not because I want more of your body — even though, yes, obviously but because I can’t stop thinking about your brain… Your laugh.. Your tea.”

A smirk escapes his lips.

“You’re the one I waited for, 진짜 (really). And if that’s too soon to say it…then I’ll just say it quietly. Until you’re ready to hear it out loud.”

And when you open your phone the next morning, half-asleep and blinking, you find it waiting for you. A boy who met you once and already knew. A boy who is already writing you into his future.

[mykoreanlove]

glad you're back!

i missed you all <3

[mykoreanlove]

San

It happens randomly on a Tuesday night. Not in the middle of a heated fight. Not after sex. Not during one of your usual flirty texting marathons.

It happens over takeout. Chinese. You’re on his velvet couch, knees tucked up, chopsticks in hand. He’s sitting beside you, legs wide, relaxed, one arm thrown over the backrest like he’s settled in — not just physically, but emotionally.

And you feel it before it even happens. That shift in him. That quiet intention. He’s been softer all evening. Not playful soft. Not teasing. But… ready.

So, when he glances at you nervously between bites, tilts his head, and says: “We should stop pretending this is casual, y/n” —your body goes still. Rigid.

You blink. Look at him. “What?”

He swallows, puts his food down and turns to face you more directly. “I want to date you. Like, for real. Not this ‘see where it goes’ thing. I already know where it’s going. I want you, y/n. Fully."

He says it calmly. Firm. No build-up. No rambling. Just truth laid in front of you, open-palmed.

But you freeze. Your heart flips. Your stomach twists. And everything inside you screams yes — but your lips? They form the word you hate saying most. “No.”

His whole expression changes. Not hurt. Not yet. Just confusion, a bit stunned, like the wind’s been knocked out of him.

“뭐라고?” (What?)

“No,” you repeat, a little louder now. “I can’t.” He stares at you. You can see him scanning your face, trying to read you, to decipher you, trying his best to understand.

“…I don’t get it.”

And that’s when it hits you. The need to explain. To defend the mess inside you before he assumes it’s about him. So, you put your food down. Turn to face him. Your voice is quieter now, but there's an edge to it; something raw and shaky.

“San, no offense, but I know how this goes. You’re all hot and bothered now, texting me good morning and looking at me like I hung the moon, but I’ve lived this.” You sigh.

“Guys always want me like this — when it’s new, when it’s exciting, when the sex is still a mystery. But once they get used to me?” You shrug, try to smile, but fail miserably. “They get bored. They leave. All they do is leave…”

You pause for a second, processing the hurt of the past. “I’m always the one they hook up with. Never the one they date. Never the one they choose.”

His breath catches, barely audible. You keep going before he can say anything.

“So yeah, I like you. Way too fucking much actually. And if I let this happen, if I let you in for real, it’s going to fuck me up. You are going to fuck me up. And I can’t do it again. I won’t.”

The silence after is brutal. You can’t even look at him now. Your eyes are fixed on a spot near his knee, too scared to see his reaction.

Then he shifts. You feel the couch dip. You expect him to pull away, maybe laugh, maybe get defensive. But instead… You hear him exhale sharply. Frustrated. Emotional. And then he mutters it — half to himself, half to you: 대체 누가 너한테 이런 걸 믿게 만든 거야… (Who the hell made you believe this about yourself…)

You blink, look up, surprised by his reaction. His face is tight. His jaw is clenched, his brows pulled together like he’s holding something back — anger, maybe, but not at you.

He runs a hand through his hair, then looks at you. Fully. Square in the face. And speaks slowly, with more force behind every word: “Listen to me. I’m not here to use you. I’m not here to play.”

You swallow as you listen to him speak. “Yeah, I’ve had casual. I’ve had hookups. But I didn’t stay up on the phone till 2AM with any of them. I didn’t send good morning texts to any of them. And I sure as hell did not kiss any of them like I was scared they might disappear when I opened my eyes again.”

His voice drops now. Tender. But still fierce. “You think I’m gonna get bored of you? Y/N, I can’t stop thinking about you. Not just your body. Your everything. Your voice. Your ridiculous opinions on protein shakes. The way you bite your tongue, but your face does all the talking. The way you always burn your eggs, hell even the way you’re trying to push me away right now.”

He shifts closer, eyes still on you, hand reaching for yours — not demanding but offering. His thumb brushes against your knuckles.

“You’re scared? Good. So am I. But I’m not walking away. So, if this gets messy, if you spiral, if you need reassurance for the hundredth time? I’ll give it.”

Then, sharper, full of heat again: “But don’t block me out because some assholes before me didn’t know what they had. I’m not them. And this? This isn’t going to end the way you think it will.”

You don’t say anything at first. Your throat’s tight. Your hands are cold. But his are warm. Anchoring.

And in that moment, something cracks. Not the love.

The fear.

Because you realize: He’s not the storm but the shelter.

[offlinedream]

[mykoreanlove]

What are we?

The second you say it—“이거 뭐야?”—and look up at me with that mix of bravado and fear, something settles in my chest like a lock clicking shut.

“Baby…” I slide my hand to your jaw, warm and steady. “You’re my girlfriend. 내 여자.” I don’t blink when I say it. I don’t hedge. “No guessing. No maybe. I’m here.”

You try to turn it into a joke, because that’s what you always do when you’re overwhelmed with a big feeling, but I don’t let you run from it. Not this time. My thumb drags across your lower lip, slow. “Say it back,” I murmur, eyes on yours. “Then I’ll kiss you.”

You swallow, tiny nod. “Your girlfriend.” That’s it. The gravity changes in the room.

I kiss you like a promise—and like a problem I don’t want to solve. Gentle first, then deeper when you sigh into my mouth. Your fingers curl in my shirt and I pull you into my lap like you belong there (you do). The world outside the curtains—neighbourhood noise, a distant bus —goes fuzzy. I can feel your heartbeat through your chest to mine, rabbit-fast, and it sends a shot of pride through me so hard I have to laugh against your sweet lips. “Look at you,” I whisper. “My girl. My y/n.“

You whisper, “탬,” and my control thins to silk. “Don’t,” I breathe, forehead pressed to yours, smile wrecked. “Say my name like that and I won’t stop.”

I don’t stop anyway. Why would I?

I kiss you the way I dance—tempo shifts, control, then the slip. Mouth to mouth, then I angle to your cheek, your jaw, the hollow just under your ear that makes your breath catch. “여기 좋아해?” (You like it here?) You nod, a little gasp, and I file it away: cartography of you, y/n. You like it when I grab your waist. You melt when I slide a hand up your spine. You go quiet when I kiss the soft place under your ear, and you claw at me (God, yes) when I mouth the side of your throat. “Hickeys?” I murmur, smile curving. “Say yes.”

“Yes,” you breathe, small and dangerous. “Good girl.” I keep it tasteful—slow, claiming, not too dark—and then I kiss where I’ve marked, soothing. “Mine,” I tell your soft skin, not because I need to hear it, but because maybe you do. “내 사람.”

You’re shy to dance with me, always, even though you love to dance—so I don’t ask. I just put on a slow song (yeah, “1 of 1” is queued next, because of course) and stand, keeping your small hands in mine, pulling you up into me. “No choreography,” I say, mouth against your temple. “Just this. Just us.“ We sway in my living room, your cheek under my chin, my palm sliding lazy circles at the small of your back. I feel you unclench minute by minute, your shoulders dropping, your breath syncing with mine. “You feel that?” I whisper. “That’s us. No shoe dropping. Just us.”

You tip your head back to look at me and I’m a goner. I kiss you again, slower now, like I’m sipping something expensive. When you smile into my mouth, I lose the plot and laugh. “누나… 진짜 미치겠다.” (Noona… I’m actually going crazy.) I mean it like worship.

I make you ginger tea in the kitchen without letting go for long—my fingers never leave your hip, your wrist, the hem of your shirt, like I have to keep you tethered. You sit on the counter, legs open, and I step between them, bracing one hand on the cupboard, the other around your waist. You’re watching me, eyes soft, and the urge to take care of you hits hard. “Had dinner?” I ask. You shake your head. I’m already on it—garlic, eggs, rice, quick and warm. “Not your nationality‘s treasure, but chef’s kiss,” I tease, feeding you the first bite with the chopsticks. You roll your eyes, pretending not to be charmed, but you take the bite and hum, and now I’m grinning like an idiot because your happy sounds are my new drug. “Better than being cool,” I say when you catch me smiling. “I’d rather be yours.”

On the couch again, I tuck my hair behind my ear—your “Korean long” comment lives rent-free in my head—let you card your fingers through it. You always do when you’re half-shy, half-feral. “Touch me,” I murmur, guiding your hand to the nape of my neck. “Like that.” Your nails scrape lightly and I shiver, eyes closing. “Christ, y/n.” I open them again because I want to see your face when I say this next part. “I know your past. I heard you. I’m not leaving. Stop looking for the exit when I’m trying to walk in.”

You go quiet, but the kind of quiet that means you’re listening. So I keep going, softer. “You think you’re hard to love.” I kiss the slope of your cheek. “But all I know how to do is want you.” Another kiss at your jaw. “Want you when you’re loud, when you’re quiet, when your stubborn Virgo-brain is manifesting the moon.” A smile against your skin. “I’ve been eating grapes under tables for years and didn’t even know why.” (You laugh, that snort you do when you’re trying not to, and I beam like I won something important.) “Turns out it was you.”

You pull me closer and I don’t make you say thank you with words. I let you say it with your mouth. I kiss you until you stop bracing for goodbye.

We drift toward the bedroom because gravity says so. Not rushed. I keep checking your eyes, your breath, your yes. I’m a menace, yeah—but I’m careful with what I care about. At the edge of the bed, I pause and tip your chin up with one finger. “Color?” I ask softly. (You roll your eyes at me, but the way you relax says it lands.) “Blue,” you whisper, and then you’re pulling me down.

What happens next isn’t a movie montage. It’s two people learning each other. It’s my mouth finding the places that make your back arch, and your hands finding the places that make my breath stutter. It’s me worshiping your tummy—yes, the one you say you hate—kissing it slow, telling you, “이 부분… 내가 제일 좋아해.” (This part… I like it the most.) It’s you going quiet and a little wet-eyed for a second, and me kissing that expression away. It’s your pretty eyes blowing wide when I tell you, plain and honest, “You’re exactly my type,” and then prove it with patience and a little menace, the kind that makes you gasp my name and clutch at the sheets. It’s the kind of heat that feels like home, where I don’t have to posture and you don’t have to pretend.

After, I do the small things that say more than speeches. Warm cloth. Water. My hoodie—“territorial behavior,” you accuse, smiling, as you tug it on; I shrug, unashamed. “Facts.” I press a kiss to your temple. You burrow into me, thigh over mine, your hand on my chest like you’re testing if I’m still there. I am. I always am.

You’re not a morning person. So I set your alarm, then set another for me two minutes earlier so I can wake you with kisses instead of a siren. I put water on the nightstand and a note under the glass where you’ll find it: No more ‘what are we.’ We are. A stupid little heart because I’m younger and cocky enough to get away with it. When you roll, half-asleep, to hide your face in my neck, I whisper, “내 사람.” (My person.) You answer in your drowsy native tongue that melts my spine and I have to bite my lip like a teenager.

Sometime around 3 a.m., you stir, the old fear flickering across your face like a shadow of a bad dream. I feel it happen. I always do. My hand rubs slow circles on your back, my mouth finds your hairline. “Shh,” I murmur. “I’m not a ghost. I don’t disappear.” You breathe out, long and shaky, and I press your palm to my heartbeat. “See? Still here.”

Morning in our city is grey-blue and soft. I slip out just long enough to grind beans, make your coffee exactly the way you like it, leave it where your hand will find it before your eyes fully open. I crawl back under the covers, cold hands on your warm waist, and you squeal, smacking my shoulder. I take the hit, laughing, and then I’m kissing you good morning like I promised—sweet, unhurried, plenty. “좋은 아침, girlfriend,” I murmur into your smile.

You squint at me. “We’re really doing this?”

I tip my head, pretend to think. Then I nod like a judge. “Yes. Sentence: unlimited kisses, public hand-holding, me singing badly in your kitchen, jealousy rights when men stare too long, and…” I lean in, drop my voice. “The right to tell me when you need gentler, and the right to demand when you want rougher.” Your eyes spark; I kiss the corner. “All appeals denied.”

You tug me close by the hoodie strings and kiss me like you mean it. I groan, happy and gone. “Look what you did,” I complain softly, but I’m already rolling over you, bracing on my forearms, hair falling around us like a curtain. Your fingers push it back, and I swear I could live in this exact moment forever.

We spend the day the way new lovers do when the question mark is gone and the exhale finally arrives. We walk along the river with your hand in my pocket and mine around your waist because I like you tucked into me. You point out dogs; I point out sunlight in your hair. You make fun of my playlist until I put on the exact song you were going to request and pretend it was your idea. We read horoscopes at a café; I scoff at mine and take yours dead seriously. We plan trips we haven’t booked and dinners we haven’t cooked. At crosswalks, I press kisses into your hair; in shop windows, I watch you watching yourself and mutter, “우와… 진짜 예쁘다,” (wow… you’re really beautiful) like it’s new information every time.

And every time that old doubt tries to creep in—when a car door slams too loud, or your phone lights up and you hesitate like you’re bracing—I’m there. A hand on your lower back. A look that says I see you. A kiss you feel in your knees. “No exits,” I remind you, grinning. “I’m already inside.”

That night, when we’re back at my place and you curl into me on the couch, I pull a folded page from the coffee table and slide it into your hand. It’s messy, written between dance drills and thoughts of you:

We are.

You asked me what this is. It’s me waking up and wanting your face before sunlight. It’s me dancing better because you exist. It’s me worshiping the tummy you think I shouldn’t love and loving it more out of spite. It’s me learning your native pet names and your favorite noodles and the exact pressure to put on your hips when you’ve had a day. It’s you, all of you. It’s home.

You read it, then look at me like I hung the moon, and I have to hide my face in your neck because I’m younger and pathetic for you. You laugh, that bright sound, and tug my hair. “Come here,” you say, and I do, because there’s nowhere else I’m ever going.

Later, in the dark, I trace the outline of your lips with my thumb and whisper the truest thing I know in both languages, so there’s no way you can miss it. “You’re my only one. 진짜 1 of 1.” You smile without opening your eyes, say, “I know,” and tuck your cold toes under my calf like you own me.

You do.

And when sleep finally takes you, I stay awake a little longer, kissing your forehead, memorizing the peace on your face, thinking how insane it is that a man can pray for something his whole life without a name for it—and then one night in a club, there you are, laughing like trouble, tasting like forever, asking me a question I get to answer every day:

이거 뭐야?

We are. Forever. 약속할게. 

[mykoreanlove]

His private journal

The Night I Saw You

“Don’t stare, idiot.”

That’s what I told myself when I saw you across the club.

But I couldn’t help it. You weren’t like the others — not dressed to be looked at, gazed at, not playing a part, wearing a mask, no. You just… were. Laughing with your friend like nothing else in the world existed. I wondered what made you laugh like that. I wanted to be the reason - silly, right?

And when your eyes finally met mine? My stomach dropped. Like a warning. Like a promise.

“Don’t do this,” I thought. “You don’t even know her.” But my body betrayed me before my mind caught up. And then you opened your mouth and said, “서울에서 좀 살았어요.” (I lived in Seoul for a while.)

My brain short-circuited. Actually circuited. „Okay. I’m done. I’m actually done for.”

Your Voice in My Apartment

I wasn’t supposed to take you home. Not because I didn’t want to — fuck of course I did. Too much. But because I know what these nights turn into.

Except… you didn’t feel like “one of those nights.” You made fun of my apartment, called it the most “진짜 한국 남자 집 (real Korean bachelor pad)” you’d seen.

I laughed. Really laughed, y/n. When we kissed, I thought, Okay, this is just lust. Chill, Hyunjin.

But then you touched me like you weren’t just trying to take — like you wanted to know me. Like I was more than just a body to use for a night. Like you wanted me for… me.

And when you curled up against my chest after, like you belonged there? „Shit. She just feels right here.” How did you fit that easily?

And the worst part? I wanted to you to. I didn’t sleep much that night. Not because I couldn’t — but because I didn’t want to stop listening to your breathing.

The Morning I Knew

You left with a soft kiss on my cheek and a “See you.” No games. No fake sweetness. Just you.

I sat there for far too long after the door closed. Looking at the pillow you’d used. Still smelled like you. „I don’t want this to be over. Did you?“

I hate how easy it felt. How natural. Why hasn’t it ever felt like that before? Before you even made it home, I texted: “잘 도착했어? (Did you get home okay?)”

And when you sent me that sleepy selfie? Yeah. I smiled like an idiot.

When I Saw Your Walls

A week later, you joked, “You’ll probably ghost me too.” And something inside me snapped. „Who the hell did this to you? Who made you think you’re disposable? And why did you agree?“

I didn’t care if it was too much, too soon. I grabbed your chin, made you look at me. Really look at me.

“나는 그 사람들 아니야. (I’m not them.) 나는 안 떠나. (I’m not leaving.)” You didn’t believe me. I saw it in your eyes.

But you wanted to.

The Day I Fell

It wasn’t a dramatic moment. It wasn’t something you did. It wasn’t the sex, though that’s burned into my brain. It wasn’t your laugh, though I crave it like oxygen.

No, it was watching you brush your teeth in my bathroom. Humming off-key. Wearing my old t-shirt. Acting like you belonged.

„I want this. I want this every day.” That’s when I knew. All I need is you, y/n.

How I Love You

Loving you is…

Bringing you iced coffee without asking. Switching my playlists to songs you like. Texting you in Korean at 2 AM: “네 생각만 해. (I’m only thinking about you.)” Watching your stories three times in a row just to hear your voice. Letting you win arguments when I know I’m right, because your smile is worth it. Noticing when you’re quiet and asking, “What’s going on in your head?”

You think I’m leaving? You really think I’m leaving you behind? „How do I explain that leaving isn’t even in my vocabulary anymore?”

The Moment You Believed Me

It took a while. But somehow someday you stopped flinching when I was loving you.

It was a lazy morning. You rolled over, half-asleep, wearing my shirt, hair sticking out everywhere. I was just staring. Because… how is this real? How are you real, y/n?

You groaned. “What?” I brushed your hair back and whispered, “너는 진짜 집 같아.” (You feel like home.)

And for the first time, you didn’t flinch. You let me love you. All of you.

Now

You still ask sometimes. „What if you get bored? What if you meet someone better? What if you leave me?“

I just pull you closer and tell you the truth: „그럴 일 없어. (That’s not happening.) You’re stuck with me.” And I mean it. Every damn time. Until my last breath.

[mykoreanlove]

met my hobi last night 💜

[mykoreanlove]

is your rquest open?

Yes, I rarely write these days but feel free to shoot your shot :)

[mykoreanlove]

i love all of your taemin pieces so much 🩵🩵🩵 i’m always re-reading them over and over again 🥰

🥺🥺🥺 made my day thank you 💖

[mykoreanlove]

call me poet artist

Y/N...

I don't really know how to start this, no write this, without sounding dramatic, but maybe that's just what you do to me. You turn everything into poetry without even trying. Did you know that?

I've been quiet, I know. But it's not because I don't feel anything. If anything, it's because I feel too much and I'm scared to mess it up. Scared.. that if I show too much, it'll come off wrong or won't be enough for you.

But I think about you.

A lot.

The way you talk, making up new words by mixing different languages. The way your brilliant mind spins so fast, but you still pause for beauty. The way you shine the brightest, even though you hold so much pain in your heart.

You're unlike anyone I've ever met.

Sometimes I imagine you in my space. Waking up in my kingsize bed, hair all messy, stealing my hoodie and drinking your matcha on the balcony like you own the view. And maybe you do.

Us walking around Seoul like it's our city - laughing, arguing about music and art, holding hands, fingers intertwined like it's nothing, but feeling like it's everything.

You bring chaos and calm all at once. How'd you do that?

When you told me you might come visit, my heart did something I don't even know how to name. Like it skipped and caught fire in the same breath. And when you didn't come - fuck, I missed you more than I thought I could miss someone I haven't even really had.

I want to try, y/n.

Not just to flirt. Not just to pull you in for a weekend and forget about it. Not to play pretend anymore. I want to explore this thing we've barely scratched the surface of. I want to know what your laugh sounds like when you're not holding back. What you look like when you're sleepy and safe. What you look like when I get lost in you, all of you... What it feels like to reach for you without wondering if you'll pull away.

So yeah...

Come be my Seoul girl.

Let's date in the sunlight and worship each other in the dark. Let's forget what's smart or safe or logical for once. Let's just... feel.

And if we fall?

At least we'll fall into something real. Would you like that?

Always waiting,

Hyunjin

[mykoreanlove]

fitting room.

“Wait – you want to come inside with me?!”

Panic flooded your whole body as you realized that Felix was about to enter the fitting room with you. He smiled at you broadly: “Of course pumpkin! I want to see how you look in those clothes.”

Your boyfriend, whom you started dating a couple of weeks ago, took you out shopping on this warm summer night. You welcomed the idea as you loved spending time with him, but you dreaded the thought of him seeing you change.

“Wait… don’t you want me to come with you?”

His pained expression tore your heart apart. Of course, you wanted to be with him. If it was up to you, you would spend every minute of your day with him. This dark-haired personification of sunshine stole your heart the minute he smiled at you.

But you were hesitant at the idea of him coming with you into the monstrous invention that were fitting rooms. Those small spaces always made you feel insecure and ugly. The bright lightning highlighted all the parts of your body that you wanted to hide so badly. You had no intention of taking him with you in there.

Felix noticed the war you fought internally, so he grabbed your hands and squeezed them, hoping to distract your inner monologue. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

His eyes held so much compassion for you, he was dearly worried about your well-being. Realizing how much he cared for you made you beyond happy. You took a deep breath before confessing your insecurities to him. “I don’t want you to see me change…”, you mumbled silently.

Felix frowned as he did not understand your discomfort. “But why? It’s nothing I haven’t already seen, pumpkin.” He smiled again, hoping you would make it make sense to him.

You huffed out in despair: “Lix, those fitting rooms are every woman’s worst nightmare. They are super narrow so of course you naturally feel like a fat giant. And that hospital lightning – I mean you will see every lump, every dimple and all of my stretch marks. I don’t want you to see my flaws.”

Felix had wondered why you would always turn off the lights when you got intimate with him, but he never dared to ask. He fought his own self love battles a long time ago, but the memory of the shame that came with it was still fresh in his mind.

He never wanted to rush you, but he just did. Guilt was flooding his body as he saw what his careless remarks did to you.  Felix squeezed your delicate hands again and apologized.

“Pumpkin, I am sorry. I had no idea you felt that way about your body. Just so you know I don’t agree with you, but I don’t want to pressure you into anything you don’t want. Go ahead and change, I’ll wait over there with the other boyfriends.”

He was about to turn around when you stopped him. “Lix, wait!” Felix turned around and looked at you guessingly. You had never been with someone like Felix before – someone that understood you and let you breathe. You were used to guys that criticized or ridiculed you for your body, so you never had the courage to open up to them.

But not with Felix – it was as if he grasped your every concern with his whole being. You felt safe with him, so you tried to show him more of your vulnerable side. You grabbed him by his hand and ushered him into the next dressing room.

It was just as you had dreaded – narrow, brightly lit and full of mirrors positioned on every side. You watched yourself mortified before your gaze landed on Felix.

Felix, who was looking at you as if you put the stars in the night sky. Felix, who hugged you from behind and whispered into your ear: “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, pumpkin. Because you’re marvelous.” He placed a sweet kiss on your cheek. His love gave you the courage to undress in front of him.

And now you were standing in this small space, exposed in nothing but your underwear, displaying all of your flaws to your godlike built boyfriend. Your bravery ended at stripping down though; you couldn’t face him right now. You felt Felix’ hands caressing your hips and crossing in front of your stomach as his soft lips found your ear. “Now tell me, baby, where exactly are all those flaws you mentioned?” You felt your cheeks fill with heat as you sensed his hot breath on you. “Well for starters, you’re holding one of my flaws right now.”

This was killing you. Your insecurities were eating you from the inside. You already started imagining the worst he could say. “You’re right, y/n. Your stomach is horrific. Why won’t you lose some weight? It’s not that hard.”, followed by him looking at you disgusted and leaving the fitting room.

Felix’ snort let you come back to reality.

“You think this”, he was applying pressure on your stomach as he was talking, “you think this is a flaw?” You nodded your head in agreement. “Oh pumpkin, you little fool.”

Felix turned you around and got down on his knees. Looking up at you he flashed you a warm smile before pampering your stomach with sweet kisses. His actions made you laugh, so you ushered him to stop. “Lix, what the hell, stop.”, you giggled in front of him. He had a devilish smirk on his lips as he looked up at you again.

“I love your stomach, y/n. I love how it holds all of your organs for you. I love how it lets you eat and digest and breathe in deeply. I love how it looks. I love your little navel. I love to kiss it. I love to lay my head on it. I love feeling it rise with every breath. I really, really love your stomach, pumpkin.”

Tears started to form in the brink of your eyes. No one had ever adored your stomach like that, not even yourself.

“What else?”, he whispered. You took a deep breath before pointing out the stretch marks on your hips. “I hate them.”

Felix’s hands landed on your hips again. He was tracing the outlines of your stretch marks, touching the skin cautiously. “Maybe I shouldn’t call you pumpkin anymore.”

Panic arose in your body once more. You knew it. You were disgusting. Of course, he wouldn’t want to be with someone like you. The tone of his voice getting more playful with every touch: “Maybe I should call you tiger instead. Look at the swings of those lines, they are impeccable!”

You felt like an idiot. Here you were being worshipped by your perfect boyfriend, yet you played out one worst case scenario after the other. You looked down at Felix as you grabbed his dark hair, pulling at it lightly. His eyes sparkled with desire for you, they always did. “Where else, baby?”

With a heavy heart you turned around. You grabbed your ass and squeezed it lightly for him to examine. “Do you see all this cellulite?” Due to the many mirrors in the stall, you were able to see Felix’ expression firsthand. His eyes wide from excitement, his tongue licking his lips and hands ready to grab your ass, as well.

“Babe, all I see is your fantastic bubble butt. Do you really think I care about cellulite?” He squeezed your butt eagerly which caught you by surprise. You squeaked and jumped up, only to land in his arms again. He joined in on your laughter and held you close.

“Y/N, I think you’re beautiful. Like all of you is beautiful. I understand that it’s hard to see your body go through changes as you get older but that’s not a bad thing. Baby, you get to get older, not everyone does.” You shared an intimate look with each other in the mirror in front of you.

„Why don’t you think of age as levels? With each passing year you get up one level in the game of life. And getting dimples or stretch marks means you get to wear a new armor. Isn’t that exciting?”

You loved the way he saw life. You knew that his mindset was built on many hours of struggle and hard work, which made you love him even more. You still looked at him in the mirror, but this time you smiled. A whole genuine smile, one that reached your eyes, as well. Felix smiled back at you before ushering you to move your head. “Gimme a kiss, pumpkin.”

You two kissed, tenderly and sweet, while being embraced in the small confines of the dressing room. “Now, will you put on the clothes we’ve picked out for you? I wanna get out of here and show you how much I adore your body in private.” He smirked one last time before kissing you again.

[idkluvutellme]

This was so sweet yet it’s fiction.

The part where Felix describes why he doesn’t hate something mc sees as an insecurity. Gurl u hit home ! I love your writing and I just want to say that this is personal because I had an incident where I showed myself to someone intimately and they responded with a blank look and ‘it’s fine’ that had been huge trauma now and I have never opened up ever since !

But that’s my shit anyway loved this fic I am defo a fan now

[mykoreanlove]

Just saw this and it reminded me of the time I wrote this.

I remember clearly standing in the fitting room (before my first trip to Korea) and feeling super disgusted because I felt like a whale in those bright unrelenting lights. And then I went home and consoled myself because it’s bullshit to see yourself that way and I don’t want to live my life with hate, not anymore.

And once I got home I got to write this story because I figured not everybody talks to themselves like they should, like a best friend would, so I invented a Felix for this situation. I also remember clearly how happy I was with the outcome, how overwhelmed with your loving and vulnerable replies. I even remember showing my friend the story while we were riding the Seoul subway (she was one of the first people to ever read my stuff) and I remember my heart hammering against my rib cages lol.

I dearly miss those times, hopefully my author self comes back to me someday 💔

[mykoreanlove]

Es ist mein 2. Jahrestag auf Tumblr 🥳

Happy birthday baby

[mykoreanlove]

Heey can I ask for a very domestic scenerio for Taemin? Like his wife is at home with their baby (who is a boy and looks exaclty like Taemin) and then he comes home after a show, event, concert whatever and just chill together...Thank you!!

I am sorry it took me so long - here it is, hope u like it :) thank you for reading my work, really appreciate it <3

You took a concerned glance at the clock hanging on the pastel-colored wall – 11 pm.

“He should be home soon”, you muttered to yourself as you held your sweet baby boy in your arms. Life changed drastically ever since you became a mother, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You thought you’d love Taemin with all of your heart, but your little boy taught you a whole new level of love.

“Don’t you wanna go to sleep, Jongi?”

Big brown eyes looked back at you, cackling joyfully. Your baby was not only a direct replica of Taemin in regard to looks, but also personality. The little boy was cheerful most of the times, smiling widely and brightening the day of everybody around. People couldn’t get enough of this little fella, always visiting and gifting him stuff.

“You know he looks exactly like his dad?”, your mother teased. “Is there anything of you in him?”

“Well, I hope so”, you replied as you swayed him from side to side.

12 pm.

Cries filled your apartment as the little one was getting impatient.

“What’s wrong, sweetie? Do you miss your daddy? He should be home any minute, Jongi.”

Sadly, that promise wasn’t enough to stop the energetic cries, so you started swaying him while walking through the big apartment. Jongi was used to falling asleep to Taemin’s voice – he always sang him to sleep. “Daddy’s gotta sing for his fans tonight, sweetie. They also need him, you know?”

More cries.

Even louder ones as if he had understood what you were saying. An idea flashed through your mind.

Quickly, you played a video of Taemin giving an acapella performance on the TV. Jongi squeaked in excitement as he recognized his dad on the screen. You placed a kiss on his head and smiled: “same, honey, same.”

Slowly, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep as his dad was filling the room with the loveliest serenades. It didn’t take you long to join him in slumber, after all motherhood was one hell of a beast.

You felt plush lips on your forehead as you slowly woke up, trying to make sense of your surroundings. “Y/N, sweetheart. I’m back.”

A big smile formed on your lips. You never doubted he would come back to you but every time he did felt magical. “Did my little boy behave?”

Taemin sat next to you and took Jongi from your arms, cuddling with him on the couch. “Your little boy was getting cranky because he couldn’t fall asleep. He needed his daddy’s concert badly.”

“Is that why you’re replaying old videos of me?”, he motioned to the TV.

“Yeah”, you nodded tired. Taemin kissed his son and whispered silently: “I am so sorry it took me so long, Jongi. I hope you didn’t give your beautiful momma a hard time, though. Because that’s my job.” He laughed diabolically.

“Hey”, you pouted.

“Come here, baby”, he invited you to lay next to him.

You crawled over to the two most important men in your life and laid your head on Taemin’s arm, sighing contentedly.

“Hey”, he whispered. You tilted your head to look up at him – you could tell that he was exhausted, yet deeply grateful. Taemin kissed you tenderly, enjoying every second with you and his son. He rubbed his nose with yours while holding your hand. “Did you enjoy the concert?”

Taemin nodded. “Yeah, I did. But I couldn’t wait to get home as soon as it was over. I missed you so much. I missed Jongi. You guys are my whole life.”

Moments like these were common for you, Taemin was very vocal about his love and appreciation. “Baby”, you whispered. He looked at you with deep compassion. “I mean it. I really, really mean it, y/n. You are everything to me.”

Moments like these made you think about creating a sibling for Jongi right this second. “I love you”, you whispered. Taemin closed his eyes with a big smile and started singing soundly – your family ritual to drift off to sleep.

[mykoreanlove]

Caught myself grinning like an idiot in the gym re-reading this

[mykoreanlove]

the ex-fling

Yesterday I ran into you. In a crowded space full of people on the most random day I ran into you. Aren’t I lucky. All I could see was you. My eyes got worse, yet all I could see was you. It had been months since you last touched me. It had been weeks since I last heard from you. And by chance, by pure will alone I ran into you. What a funny coincidence, huh?

Seeing you made me stop in my tracks. My little heart – all that was left of it - was beating so fast. You used to make my heart flutter like that. Arousal and excitement turned into anxiety and panic; spring turned to winter. You looked so happy though.

You weren’t alone. No, not at all. Another face, another body, like all the countless ones that came after me. One glance was enough to capture mundanity; Not even coming close to me. But apparently that’s more your type than I ever will be. You even dressed the same, did you notice? Dark hoodie, leather jacket, white sneakers. Me? I strode around in black fur, jewelry and leather boots. I was exquisite, you were basic.

And yet, I fell for you. I believed your every word, how foolish of me. I saw the truth in your eyes; how did you deceive me with lies? Was it easy? Was it easy getting over me? Using me? Throwing me away like trash?

Do you ever lie awake at night and think of me? Do you miss me? Do you remember the taste of my rich lips on yours? Do you remember the touch of my soft hands on your skin? Do you remember me listening to your fears? Do you hate yourself for screwing this up so badly?

Was it because you had never been on my level? I saw your mediocracy yesterday, I did. My feelings were the ones that made you shine special, almost as bright as me. But now they’re rotten and so are you.

Funnily enough, it’s me who’s suffering. It’s me sitting here, shedding salty tears for someone that never even cared about me. At all. How did you turn the prettiest things into disgusting little lies?

Sometimes I wonder if hating you was easier. Or if I should rather hate myself. For believing you. For falling for you. For opening up to you. I turned back around and followed you. I wanted you to see me. I wanted you to feel ashamed of yourself. Do you even realize what you did to me?

And then it happened. You walked past by me. Looked at me once. Looked at me twice. What did you think? I saw the panic in your eyes. Did I make you uncomfortable? Did you feel afraid in the presence of your new fucktoy? Did you?

I felt prideful. I felt petty. I felt better, for a moment or two. I nodded at you, not even bothering to open my mouth. Remember how I used to? And off I went.

I should had been better by now, shouldn’t I? Why am I not? Why are you still lingering in the back of my mind? Why am I still so sad?

Did you open our chat last night? Did you think of messaging me? Explaining yourself? I wanted you to. Does that make me pathetic? Pathetic in love?

Remember your last words? I can’t wait to see you again. I really, really want to see you again.

I don’t.

I don’t ever want to see you again. With anybody. I wish I could wish you the best of luck. But fuck you. Fuck you for making me feel this way. Fuck you for letting me put down my walls only to get hurt again. I didn’t deserve this.

But you don’t care, Do you? All you ever cared about was you.

[mykoreanlove]

I ran into you again while you were holding some girl‘s hand. And nothing. Good riddance 🖕🏾

[mykoreanlove]

I love everything you write with Jackson, so I'm ready to sleep crying 💕

Ooohhh baby I’m crying with you ❤️