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what comes around goes around (love) by volta (sunwalker) for deadwine
Fandoms: SEVENTEEN (Band)
02 Mar 2025
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For the past half year, Seokmin has been waking up — or rather, been rudely woken up — by a pair of slippers.
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“You have to know,” Seungkwan puffs his cheeks in annoyance as he quickly scans all his texts from multiple phones, repeatedly nudging at Mingyu’s thigh with a foot, “that you could have just told him this quietly, right? Everything that you put out there on the internet, it’s immortalized in digital writing. Some sicko is archiving this moment as we speak.”
Well, yeah. But then it wouldn’t be as fun, would it? Not having an audience.
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If Minghao looked at it like the way he has learned to look at it – to look at Lee Chan as a whole, a being, his better half – what Chan is really telling Minghao is that the kind of belief Chan holds in them is unshakeable, ungovernable by anything that might be thrown their way. Whatever it is, they’ll emerge through it. It's a promise, just as much as curiosity for an answer.
Minghao meets him there, on that uneven ground, the tilted slope of a question mark.
“Was it really hate?” Minghao muses, a lopsided grin running alongside the landscape of his face. “I think you liked me back then, too. You just didn’t know how to say it.”
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“It’s just a duet,” Jihoon says placatingly, hands raised as if approaching a wounded animal. Seungkwan might as well be, with the way Jihoon — who is supposed to be Seungkwan’s manager, by the way, and have Seungkwan’s best interests at heart — has gone ahead and stabbed him in the back.
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Whatever it was, it ends up like this: Lee Seokmin, former idol trainee, at the age of 25, returns home with his tail between his legs and a crushed heart.
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save the last dance for me by volta (sunwalker) for roadmaps_paperbacks
Fandoms: SEVENTEEN (Band)
29 Dec 2023
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“I can take the floor,” Seungcheol declares, ever the gentleman.
A bony hand shoots out to grab the scruff of Seungcheol's collar, nearly choking him.
“No, you’re not,” Jeonghan mutters obstinately. He closes his eyes and furrows his brows, as if to weather the incoming headache.
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The sign definitely screams student fundraiser. First of all, there’s haphazard streaks of paint all over, like the person who had been making it forgot they were wielding wet paint in the middle of making it. It hangs wickedly in the wind, tacked on with exactly two pieces of duct tape and held together by sheer determination:
247 KISSING BOOTH
NEED A QUICK PICK ME UP?
PUCKER UP!Chan beams brilliantly, waving at Wonwoo from where he’s manning the station. “Wonwoo-hyung! You’re here!”
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This morning, Seokmin had bundled Minghao up and out the door of their apartment. “I promise it’ll be fun,” he’d kissed Minghao on the forehead and smoothed down the frown lines that had appeared on Minghao’s face, before buckling him into the passenger seat. Not a word about where they’d go — which Minghao has always hated, which Seokmin has always known.
Minghao let Seokmin take them anyways.
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There are worse ways to die.
Minghao thinks about it all the time. In the Barrel, life is about stitching the morsels and scraps of things together, about keeping one step ahead with eyes always watching the shadows; it’s about scavenging and holding onto bones in your mouth until the shards dig into your teeth so hard they draw blood. You’re always hungry. You build a life out of that.
It’s not ideal, but it is Minghao’s life now – there’s some sort of gritty, hard earned pride and comfort that he finds in it. That he learned to survive. That he still has kept some part of him soft, so that one day he might return to the life he led before this.
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“What do you want?” Hansol asks, leaning forward in a way that he knows shows all of the ink traveling up and down his arms. His sleeve isn’t yet finished — he’s not sure if it’ll ever be — but it’s his favorite piece to date, an amalgam of all the people he’s carved out a special place for in his heart.
Seungkwan very visibly flinches. But he doesn’t move away.
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Jeonghan breaks up with Seungcheol on a Wednesday night.
It’s not like he means to.
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“Did you take me all the way out here,” Minghao says slowly, fingertips trailing over the hood of the car, “so that you could break up with me?”
Mingyu gulps. The sound of the sea rushes in. It tells Minghao all he needs to know.
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Such is the way of the gods. Junhui is more familiar with this than most. They always take and take and take as they please, pushing and folding mortals to their whimsy, bending them this way and that. And then, right when you think they cannot possibly take anymore, the gods reach back in and do what they do best: pillage and plunder and pirate all that is offered to them.
But now Junhui has nothing else that he is willing to give up.
Series
- Part 1 of the gods, they're divine
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For the record, Seokmin would like to state that he never meant to start hooking up with Kim Mingyu.
But then one thing led to another – slighted pride, a fist to the mouth, faces so close to one another that Seokmin could count every single individual lash, and then, then, bruising kisses in the dark of alleyways, pushing at each other like they wanted to get away but seconds later reaching back like they couldn’t get enough, with a hatred that wobbled once, twice, before burning into something else entirely. And well, you know what they say: the rest is history.
Series
- Part 2 of we love and fight and forgive
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Mingyu had dropped everything once he heard.
Seokmin’s first thought was that he hadn’t asked Mingyu to.
It’s a knee jerk reaction, irritable and mean, he knows, but he thinks it anyway. Because he's allowed to. Because he wants to.
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“This is a terrible idea,” Minghao says pointedly when no one else speaks.
“Thank you for your opinion, Myungho-ssi,” Seungkwan sniffs. “But I will be proceeding anyways, because fuck. Lee. Chan.”
“Did I miss something?” Seokmin looks horrified. “I thought we hate Lee Chan. You want to fuck him?”
Mingyu lets out a sigh so grand he nearly brains himself on his desk table. Seungkwan pats Mingyu’s back consolingly, not once jerking his eyes away from the phone screen. He’s got his eyes on the prize.
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“Will you help me bring Soonyoung home?” Jihoon asks, without preamble.
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Minghao was always serious.
Immovable but not immutable. So proper, not prone to bending or breaking. He reminded Junhui of a tree.
Minghao was the type that liked to place down roots and settle, for lengths on end, sifting through the mysteries of the universe with the patience of someone way beyond his age, even if the answers never revealed themselves in the end.
Junhui was nothing like that.
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When he wakes, Seungkwan tilts his face up to meet the morning sun.
“You can do this,” he says around a mouthful of toothpaste, pointing at himself in the mirror. His bedhead is running rampant, and there’s a hole in the hem of his sleep shirt that he swears wasn’t there last night, but Boo Seungkwan is ready to take on the day.
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Three hours ago, Hansol had done the same thing before going to sleep for the night. Matching hole in his t-shirt and everything, too.
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“Eat,” Seokmin says, roughly but not unkindly. He grabs the ladle as an excuse for not looking Mingyu in the eye.
Seokmin can still feel Mingyu’s gaze on him, questioning, as he helps himself to a serving.
“While it’s still hot,” Seokmin gestures to the bowl with a meaningful tilt of his head.
Mingyu, ever obedient, picks up his spoon.
Series
- Part 1 of we love and fight and forgive