#idol blind date | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bintheredreamedthat · 1 month ago

Text

𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 | 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇 : ̗̀➛

summary: when global idol Choi Soobin returns to his quiet hometown for an unexpected hiatus, the last thing you expect is to run into him—the boy you once shared everything with...until you cut him off without a word.

you swore you’d never let yourself want him again. he swore he’d stop waiting for you to look back. but this time, neither of you is quite ready to walk away.

cw: sub!soobin, dom!reader, idol!au, angsty!!, fluff, slow and i mean slowburn, friends to lovers, mentions of death, implied depression, mental health issues (pls take care of urselves), unprotected sex, smut, reader just can't process emotions well

wc: ~30k... forgive me...or love me idk....

i was really inspired by netflix's new kdrama called "our unwritten seoul" and their friendship to lovers dynamic but was also gobsmacked at txt's new tour dates announcement after writing this so...PERFECT :DDDD. this is basically both of those things. you can tell because of the humidifier mention. like bro it's so random.

part one | part two

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the space as sunlight filters through half-open blinds, casting a warm glow on the cluttered desk. You, dressed in a cozy sweater and gingham pajama pants, sit up right on your bed, losing track of time as you doom scroll on reels. Your cat, Peanut, curls up beside you, purring contentedly.

You pause, glancing at the clock—8:45 AM. With a sigh, you set your phone down and begin your morning routine which basically just consisted of just washing your face. As you make your way to your living room, you begin to tidy up last night’s dirty dishes that sat on top of the coffee table.

Your house is modest but filled with personal touches: framed illustrations, a collection of obscure game discs, and a bookshelf overflowing with novels.

After you get yourself dressed, you step outside for a walk, your sneakers hitting the pavement in rhythmic thuds. You pass by the local café, where the barista waves at you, and the bookstore, where you stop to browse the new arrivals of manga. Afterwards you take the bus to the nearby hospital.

This had become your routine every Wednesday—a bit repetitive, perhaps, but it was what you enjoyed. The endless stretch of countryside outside your window had never been the life you envisioned in your twenties.

You had imagined a high-rise apartment in the city, a high-paying job, and a life surrounded by people who didn't know your name—all amidst the buzz of urban life. But circumstances have kept you here, in your hometown.

At first, the monotony felt suffocating. The same roads, the same faces, the same small-town rhythm. Yet, over time, you began to find comfort in the predictability.

The quiet mornings, the familiar greetings, the slower pace—it all started to feel like home. You had traded the city's chaos for the calm of rural life, and while it wasn't the life you had planned, it was a life you were learning to appreciate. In the simplicity of the countryside, you discovered a deeper connection to yourself and the world around you.

You hated it from time to time, sometimes cursing and beating yourself up for staying with what feels familiar, but what could you do?

—

As you stepped into the sterile hospital corridor, the faint scent of antiseptic mingled with the soft hum of distant conversations. With a sigh, you adjusted the strap of your bag and made your way to room 307. As you approached the door, you noticed it slightly ajar.

Pushing the door open, you see your mother first, who seemingly is having a conversation with another person in the room. Upon opening it further, you found that it was your mother’s best friend, Mrs. Choi, sitting beside the bed and chatting animatedly, that was keeping your mother entertained. Mrs. Choi looked up, her face lighting up with recognition.

“There you are!” she exclaimed, rising from her seat to lead you to your mother’s bed. Her eyes flicked to the bags of home-cooked food hanging from your elbow and the two iced Americanos wrapped around your hands. “Looks like your mom will be eating for two all week!” she teased, taking the bags from you and placing them alongside her own on the bedside table.

You let out a soft laugh, extending your arm toward Mrs. Choi. "This is for you, Mrs. Choi. You must've gotten up early this morning." You bowed slightly, politely offering her the other coffee in your hands.

“Oh dear, it looks like I’ll be having a caffeine rush today!” She joked, which made your mother let out a laugh as well. You look at both of them confused, yet still wearing a smile on your face.

You see her lift up an almost empty cup of coffee, one that was exactly from the same place where you got yours. “Ahh~, I see…” Your murmur. Mrs. Choi already bought coffee for herself.

You set the other coffee down by the bedside table and turned to your mother, who was propped up on the bed, flipping through a magazine you had gifted her last week. "How are you feeling, Mom?"

Your mother looked up, offering a reassuring smile. "Better now that you're here." You smiled, sliding your hand down her cheek, your heart melting at the tender moment you were sharing.

Just then, the door swung open, and a nurse entered for your mother's morning check-up. You stepped aside to let her pass and shared a glance with the two ladies inside the room before making your way out to the hallway.

You always left the room during these times, finding that you became queasy when you saw the numerous needles they attached to your mom and the way they conducted diagnostics as if she were a machine.

Sitting down on one of the seats outside your mom’s room, you pulled out your phone to respond to some emails and refresh your news feed. A new headline caught your eye: “TXT’s Soobin to Temporarily Halt Activities Due to Health Reasons.” Your stomach sank as you skimmed the preview.

Curious and concerned, you clicked the link and quickly scanned the article, completely unprepared for what you might read. The piece confirmed that he had recently visited the hospital after showing signs of being unwell. Medical staff had advised him to take time to rest and recover.

As a result, Soobin would be absent from several upcoming events, including big awards and fan events. You scrolled down, hoping for more news, more updates. And then you saw it. A handwritten letter from Soobin himself.

Reading his words, you felt a mix of emotions—concern for his well-being, admiration for his dedication, and a deep sense of connection to someone who had been a part of your childhood for so long, despite losing contact several years ago.

The article had been published just two hours ago, but you knew that Mrs. Choi (and assuming your mother), was already aware of the news. Why they had kept it from you, you had some inkling.

The last time someone took a break for health reasons was your mom. The doctors had said she just needed some time to rest, that she was overworked and needed a break from physical labor.

The very next morning, she had gotten a fever, and her sickness never went away—just slowly eating her up from the inside out. You had been so young then, too young to understand the gravity of it all. Now, as an adult, you couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu.

Soobin, your childhood friend—the person who had unknowingly been your anchor during the darkest times, was now facing his own battle. And you were left here, unable to support him or ask how he was even doing.

You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes and letting out a deep sigh. As you relished the silence of the sterile hallways, the occasional sound of footsteps and doors opening and closing punctuated the stillness.

Then, you felt it—the unmistakable presence of someone standing before you. Without lowering your head, you slowly opened one eye, cautiously scanning your surroundings.

What you never expected was the very man whose face you had seen on your phone less than five minutes ago—standing there, staring down at you.

You jolted upright, your phone nearly slipping from your lap. Rubbing your eyes, you looked up at the man standing before you, his presence both unexpected and surreal. You shook your head, trying to dismiss the impossibility of it. But why would he be here? What reason could he have? The stress of the past week—no, the past months—had taken its toll. You wondered if this was just another symptom of your exhaustion, a moment of derealization.

But this felt different. This felt real.

—

TWELVE YEARS AGO

It was a hot summer afternoon, the kind where the sun sat high up on the horizon, casting its hot rays over the neighborhood. The summer fair was in full swing, with the distinct smell of water from popped balloons hitting the pavement and street foods wafting through the air. Children darted between booths, their laughter mingling with the distant hum of pop music.

You and Soobin, inseparable since you were both knee-high and full of dreams, strolled leisurely through the fairgrounds. Your hands brushed now and then—not quite holding, but never far apart. Every few steps, you pointed excitedly at something: a glittering ring toss booth, a caricature artist drawing wide-eyed portraits, a balloon animal vendor with a long line of sticky-handed kids. The scent of nostalgia hung thick in the air, and the moment felt impossibly alive.

Then you saw it: the talent show sign-up booth, marked by a colorful hand-painted sign fluttering in the breeze. A flyer, curling at the edges. "Are you sure?" he hesitated, his usual confidence "Absolutely!" you insisted, grabbing the pen and signing both your names.

The day of the talent show arrived, and nerves set in. You and Soobin had decided to perform a duet—his favorite song at the time, "Twinkle," by Girls' Generation. You had practiced tirelessly, but now, standing backstage, doubt crept in.

"I can't do this," Soobin whispered, his usual smile replaced by a nervous frown.

“I’ll buy you endless Kara merch if you do,” You placed your hands on his shoulders, shaking him like a soda can. “Seriously. Light sticks. Albums. Posters. Even that ridiculous towel.” A beat passed—and then, like magic, his eyes lit up. “Really?”

You watched as Soobin sat up straighter at the mention of the girl group and you couldn't help but let out a huff at how easily he was convinced. “Wow...” You shook your head, exasperated. “Remind me to never call you if I get kidnapped.”

Soobin looked up at you with furrowed brows, as if genuinely puzzled. “Why not?”

“They’d probably ask for your merch in exchange for me. Knowing you, you'd choose the merch.” He smirked, shrugging nonchalantly. “Of course.”

His nonchalance only fueled your annoyance. Without missing a beat, you grabbed him in a playful headlock, ruffling his hair. “Idiot,” you muttered, though a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

When your names were called, you stepped onto the stage, the bright lights blinding you momentarily. The audience's murmurs faded into a distant hum as the music began. Soobin's voice filled the air, and your nerves melted away. You sang your heart out, treating the talent show as if it were just a playful karaoke session. Soobin, however, seemed to belong on that stage. When the final note faded, the crowd erupted into applause—parents, teens, kids, strangers all clapping like they’d just watched something special.

You turned to Soobin.

He stood there, beaming, the mic still clutched in both hands like a prized possession. Then, without a trace of shyness, he bowed. A real bow. You stared for a moment—because in that instant, he wasn’t just your goofy best friend. He looked like someone born to be on that stage.

You stepped back, letting him shine.

That performance became a cherished memory, a testament to your friendship and Soobin's budding talent. Little did you know, that day planted the seed for his future in music.

–

“You're back.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, more a whisper to yourself than a question to him.

Soobin stood in front of you, barely resembling the old version of him that you always saw him as. Just his outfit alone–meticulously chosen, each piece exuding a quiet luxury. It wasn’t something you thought you’d see him in in a million years. You were accustomed to seeing him in school uniforms, always looking youthful despite being six months older than you. But the Soobin now before you was undeniably an adult.

His gaze swept over you, lingering just a moment too long. "You look..." He paused, as if searching for the right words. "Different."

The simplicity of his statement stung more than you expected. You had changed, hadn't you? But had it been for the better? You met his gaze, a playful smirk tugging at your lips despite the fluttering in your chest. "You look horrible yourself, too," you teased, trying to mask the unease creeping in.

Soobin chuckled, the sound warm and familiar, yet distant. "Fair enough," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words. You wanted to ask him everything—about his life, his experiences, the years that had passed—but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you stood there, two people who once shared everything, now separated by time and circumstance. Soobin shifted, his hands slipping into his pockets, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's been a while," he said softly.

"Yeah," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "A while."

The soft click-clack of the nurse’s cart rolling outside your mom’s room broke the comfortable silence between you and Soobin. Only then did you notice the small electronic device in his hands—so tiny it looked almost out of place in his grasp.

“Humidifier?” you asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. He shifted uncomfortably, his cheeks flushing slightly. “It’s a gift... for your mom. I went and filled it up with some water” he said shyly, as if embarrassed to be seen with such a thoughtful gesture. You couldn't help but smile at his bashfulness. “She’ll love it,” you reassured him, nudging him gently toward the door.

As you both entered the room, the familiar scent of antiseptic and the soft beeping of medical equipment filled the air. Your mom looked up, her face lighting up at the sight of you and Soobin together, briefly exchanging glances with Mrs. Choi.

“Look who’s here,” you said, your voice filled with warmth.

“I already saw him, honey,” she said with a playful smile, her voice tinged with that familiar teasing warmth, then gestured toward the table beside her, where several bags were neatly stacked. “He helped bring those in earlier,” she added, nodding toward the tall figure behind you.

You looked behind at Soobin, who was already crouched near the wall, carefully plugging the humidifier into the outlet. His broad shoulders were hunched slightly, the soft fabric of his sweater bunching at the elbows as he adjusted the cord, making sure it didn’t tangle with the IV stand nearby. He handled everything with the kind of quiet precision you’d come to associate with him—gentle, but steady.

The little device gave a soft mechanical hum as it came to life, a faint mist beginning to rise from the spout. Soobin straightened up, brushing his hands together as if completing a sacred task, then glanced at your mom with a nervous half-smile.

"I set it to low," he murmured. "So it won't be too much, just enough to keep the air from feeling dry."

Your mom tilted her head toward the thin ribbon of vapor swirling in the air, a flicker of surprise and gratitude crossing her face. "Thank you, Soobin," she said, her voice soft but steady. “I’ve been feeling like my throat’s been made of sandpaper.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks turning a little pink again. "It’s nothing, really. I just… thought it might help." You watched the way your mom looked at him, her gaze lingering for just a second longer than usual—gentle, assessing, as if seeing him act like this reminded her of the old times and that made her quietly glad.

Your mom’s eyes softened as she glanced at Soobin, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “You’re very thoughtful,” she said gently, reaching out to adjust the humidifier’s mist.

Soobin shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “I just wanted to help.”

You caught the faintest shadow across your mom’s face—a quiet mix of pride and something else, something like a wish she could say aloud. But instead, she chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Well, you’re doing a good job at it.” As if hinting at more than just showing gratitude for the gesture. The mist from the humidifier caught the light, casting soft shadows on the white hospital sheets, and for a moment the sterile room felt just a little more like home.

–

Before you knew it, time had slipped by, the way it always does when you're avoiding looking at the clock. The room had grown quiet again, the only sounds were the soft whir of machines and your mom’s slow, steady breathing. You stood, brushing nonexistent wrinkles from your clothes, more out of habit than anything else. Soobin followed suit just like always, moving a half-step behind you, like he wasn’t quite sure if he was supposed to leave yet.

Outside, the corridor was still and cold under the harsh fluorescent lights. It smelled faintly of antiseptic and something else—something tired. You walked side by side, just close enough to feel his presence but not enough to brush shoulders. The silence sat between you, not uncomfortable, but not easy either.

“So,” you said, voice catching slightly in your throat. “When did you get back?”

He glanced over, offering you a small, almost sheepish smile. “I assume you know?”

Right—the headlines. You’d seen them without even trying to. His name had been everywhere for days. It was hard to avoid when your past suddenly became the world’s news. You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I saw.”

He let out a short breath of laughter. Not a real laugh—one of those quiet ones that feels more like a sigh. “They really don’t let you disappear quietly, do they?”

You wanted to say something reassuring, but nothing came. What could you even say? That sucks? I’m sorry? I read every article twice, looking for signs you were okay? Instead, you settled on, “Looks like you’ll be around for a while.”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug, but it wasn’t light or offhand. There was a drag to it, something unspoken anchoring the gesture. “Yeah. Forced break.”

You raised an eyebrow, hoping a little teasing might soften the edges. “Forced break? Sounds like a long vacation.”

He gave you a half-smile, one side of his mouth curling up. “If only.”

The silence crept back in as you continued walking, your shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor. It should’ve felt comfortable—you’d walked like this before, years ago, without needing to say much. But now? Now it felt like stepping around the edges of something you both weren’t ready to touch. You stole a glance at him. The curve of his jaw was more defined now, his hair a little longer than you remembered. He still walked with that same quiet presence, like he was trying not to take up too much space. But there was something else, too—something a little more closed off.

You swallowed. “So... what now?”

He looked over at you, not stopping, just watching. “I don’t really know,” he admitted. “I’ve never had this much free time before.”

You let out a soft huff of air, unsure if it was a laugh or just a release of tension. “Weird, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said, then after a beat, added, “kind of uncomfortable, honestly.”

You nodded, because you got it—maybe not in the same way, but close enough. You understood what it was like to be stuck between chapters, unsure what comes next or who you're supposed to be without the thing that defined you. For a moment, you considered saying something real. Something like, I missed you or you don’t have to pretend around me, but your throat tightened. You hadn’t earned that kind of closeness anymore.

So instead you said, “Guess it’s a new kind of challenge.”

He gave you a look—mild, but maybe grateful. “Yeah. But... maybe not the worst kind.”

You nodded again, lips pressing into a thin line. And still, the things you wanted to say hovered behind your teeth. You wanted to ask how he was really doing. If it felt like everything had stopped too suddenly. If he was scared of what came next. But none of that would come out right, not with all this space between you.

The silence settled again as you both neared the elevator, the hum of lights overhead a constant backdrop.

“So,” you said, trying to sound casual but failing, “where are you staying?”

He shifted his weight slightly, glancing over at you with a small smile. “Uh... just down the street, actually. Back in my parents’ place for a bit.”

You blinked. “Wait. Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He let out a short breath. “Kind of surreal.”

You scoffed, the sound too sharp but real. “So... we’re neighbors again.”

He laughed, a real one this time. “Guess so.”

You nodded, trying not to smile too much. “Weird.”

“Definitely weird.”

Another pause. Another silence. But this one wasn’t so stiff. It settled more naturally between you, like maybe it didn’t need to be filled.

You both stood there, not really moving, not really sure what to do next. Just... hovering in that space where familiarity and distance existed at the same time. Where you wanted to say remember how easy this used to be? but knew neither of you quite had the words.

Maybe it would take time. Maybe it would stay awkward like this for a while.

But still, there was something in the quiet that felt like a beginning.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, but neither of you moved.

You thought that was it—that this was the part where you’d say goodbye with a tight smile and an awkward promise to “catch up later.” But instead, Soobin turned, leaned his shoulder against the wall beside the elevator, and said, “Want to walk for a bit?”

You blinked. “Around the hospital?”

His mouth tugged up slightly. “We’ve had weirder hangouts.”

That was true. Once upon a time, your “hangouts” included hiding in stairwells during school festivals and playing cards in the back of the library while pretending to study. So maybe walking quiet halls and dodging nurses wasn’t that strange after all.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I better go, lots of things to do today.”

He nodded. Then, with one last glance at you—long enough to hold, short enough not to ask too much—he turned and walked down the hallway, his steps slow, like he wasn’t in a rush to leave.

You stayed where you were, hands in your pockets, the echo of his words still lingering in the air.

It had been a while since you last saw Soobin. And you'd be lying if you said you hadn’t looked him up that very same night you saw him again. After that day, it was like something broke loose inside you—some quiet restraint you’d kept for years.

You found yourself scrolling endlessly through his performance videos, one after another, chasing something you couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was your way of making up for all the time you’d forbidden yourself from watching them.

It wasn’t because you resented him. Not really. But it had always been easier to pretend you weren’t curious than to admit the truth: watching him chase his dream made something twist in your chest. Not bitterness, exactly—just jealousy.

A quiet, aching sort of envy that you never wanted to confront. He had gone out there and done what he said he would. He lived it. All while keeping you completely in the dark. Not a message, not a word—not even a hint of what his life had become.

And maybe that’s what stung the most—not that he left, but knowing it was your fault he never reached out.

You remembered the night he left. You didn’t know it was the last time you’d see him, not then. He said something vague about having a “big audition” coming up the previous week, and you, always the loyal friend, had smiled and wished him luck, unaware that he would succeed to the point where he was at now. You hadn’t known that "audition" would become the beginning of a chapter that didn’t include you.

At first, you hesitated. You told yourself he'd text first. Call. Drop by. But days turned into weeks, then months, and eventually, you stopped refreshing your messages, stopped checking your phone late at night like a fool and stuck your nose into your studies.

The only person who stayed by your side, from your father passing, through your mother getting sick, was now gone. And you couldn’t bring yourself to be the one who reached out first, fearing that you would only receive the silence you thought you deserved.

So you buried it. Packed it into the same mental box where you kept all the “what ifs” you never wanted to admit you had. You stopped watching his interviews, muted hashtags, scrolled past his face without letting your eyes linger. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That people grow up, they move on. That it was nothing personal.

But seeing him again, in that hallway outside your mom’s hospital room, had cracked something open.

You hadn’t realized how much you still carried. How much weight was tied to his name, his voice, his smile. And now, after that one encounter, you were spiraling—late into the night, alone in your room, your screen glowing softly in the dark as you watched him perform with the same boyish intensity he’d always had, only now refined, polished. A professional.

There were moments when he’d show a dimpled smile between lyrics, or toss his hair a certain way, and you’d see glimpses of the boy you once knew. The one who used to walk you home after school. Who used to text you dumb memes and write notes on the edges of your notebooks when the teacher wasn’t looking. The boy who once promised he’d tell you everything.

But he didn’t.

And maybe that was the cruelest part—he had become someone the whole world knew, but not you. Not anymore. You didn’t deserve that chance.

You set your phone down eventually, the videos still looping on autoplay, the sound dim. You stared at the ceiling, trying to reconcile the person on the screen with the quiet boy who used to sit beside you at lunch. Trying to figure out where the thread had snapped—and if there was any way to pick it back up again.

You weren’t sure. But part of you hoped—achingly, stubbornly—that he came back not just to rest… but to remember.

To remember you.

—

The next time you saw Soobin, it was raining on a Wednesday.

Not the cinematic kind of rain that comes with thunder and dramatic declarations. Just a light drizzle that blurred the edges of the world and left your jacket damp where it clung to your shoulders.

You’d just finished your shift at the café near the hospital. You weren’t technically supposed to be working while your mom was still admitted, but she’d insisted—said the distraction was good for you. And truthfully, it was. It gave you something else to focus on besides white walls and the sound of machines beeping in the night.

You had your headphones in, your hood up, eyes on the sidewalk—when someone stepped into your path, blocking your way.

“Hey.”

You looked up.

Soobin.

He was holding a paper bag in one hand, a bottle of something green poking out the top. His hoodie was damp, darkened around the seams, but he looked almost amused by it. Like the rain wasn’t a bother. Like maybe it reminded him of something.

Your headphones hung limply around your neck now. “You stalking me?” you asked, only half joking.

“I swear I’m not,” he said, lifting the bag. “I was headed to the hospital. Thought your mom might like these.”

You glanced at the label on the bottle. Herbal tonic. Your lips curved upward despite yourself. “She’ll roll her eyes when she sees this. But this is good, she needs these.”

He grinned. “Good. Then mission accomplished.”

You hesitated. You should’ve said goodbye, should’ve kept walking—but you didn’t. Something in the way he was standing, not quite stepping forward but not walking away either, mirrored exactly how you felt. Stuck in the middle.

“Want to come up with me?” you asked finally. “She’s been asking about you.”

His expression softened. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”

You walked side by side again, like no time had passed—but with every footstep echoing on the hospital floor, you felt the gap between who you were and who you’d become. And still, he matched your pace without question.

Upstairs, your mom greeted him with a tired but genuine smile. You watched her lit up face switch over to a disgusted one in an instant as he handed her the tonic, made her laugh with something dumb, and you realized how easily he still fit into the spaces you thought time had sealed off.

Later, when she fell asleep and the lights dimmed around her bed, you and Soobin slipped out into the hallway again. It was quieter now. The storm outside had tapered into silence, and the air smelled faintly of rain on concrete.

He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. You stood a few feet away, arms crossed loosely over your chest, the distance between you filled with everything unsaid.

“She still makes that face when she doesn’t want to take medicine,” he said, glancing at the door behind you.

You smiled faintly. “Some things never change.”

He looked at you then, really looked. “You did.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s what happens when you’re not around for eight years.”

His mouth tugged to the side in something between a grimace and a smile. “Fair.”

There was another beat of silence, but this one felt warmer. You glanced down the hallway, watching a nurse wheel a cart past the far end, the soft rattle of it fading into the hum of fluorescent lights.

“You know,” he said after a moment, quieter now, “your mom was always really kind to me.”

“She likes people with manners,” you replied, then added, “and people who eat her leftovers without complaining.”

“She used to pack extra, just for me,” he said, eyes distant now. “Even when she said she didn’t have time.”

“She did that with people she loved.” The words left your mouth before you could decide whether or not to say them.

Soobin looked at you, and for a second, you almost couldn’t hold his gaze. It was too much. Too real.

The hallway buzzed faintly—the dull drone of fluorescent lights, distant intercom announcements, the occasional footsteps echoing down the corridor. Somewhere, a nurse’s soft laughter floated through the air.

The moment settled like dust, thick and heavy.

“I missed this,” he said finally, voice rough but steady. “Not just your mom. Not just the neighborhood. You.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers picked at a loose thread on your sleeve, twisting it between your fingertips like a lifeline. He turned his head slightly toward you but didn’t push you for a response.

Instead, he said, “Can I show you something?”

You glanced over, curious despite yourself. “Now?”

He nodded, pulling his phone from his hoodie pocket with a slow, deliberate motion. He flipped through his gallery, swiping a few times, then handed it to you. A video.

Not one of the polished concert clips uploaded for fans, but a raw, shaky recording from a recent show. The camera was angled toward the crowd, thousands of tiny lights flickering like stars. Then it shifted to the stage—him, standing at the microphone, eyes closed, singing a slow, acoustic song. Your breath caught, chest tightening. He must’ve seen it on your face because he said softly, “Wrote it the week I moved to the city. Never released it.”

You watched the video again, seeing a side of him you hadn’t seen in years—vulnerable and unpolished. The words carried little references, tiny fragments of shared memories—a phrase you’d said once, a place you’d both known, a worn bench you’d sat on together.

“It was about you,” he said quietly. “Still is.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the phone, heart pounding in your ears louder than the soft hospital hum. You handed it back, not because you wanted to stop watching, but because it felt too much to hold all at once.

Another silence bloomed. But this one felt different, like the air between you had shifted, charged with something fragile and new.

He stood slowly. “I should go. Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

You didn’t try to stop him, but as he turned, you called out softly, “Hey.”

He paused, looking back over his shoulder.

You gave him a small, tired smile, the kind that held hope and history all at once.

“Next time… don’t bring tonic. Bring peaches. She actually likes those.”

He laughed—a sound that was still boyish, warm, and real.

“Got it. Peaches.”

He walked down the hallway, the soft squeak of his shoes echoing behind him.

You stayed seated, staring at the empty space beside you, wondering how many more times you’d find the courage to let yourself take one step closer.

—

It had been a long week.

You’d spent most of it moving between home and the hospital, the lines between day and night beginning to blur. Your mom’s condition hadn’t worsened, but it hadn’t improved either—and somehow, that was its own kind of exhausting. Hopeful. Heavy. Endless.

So when the knock came on your door that Saturday afternoon—three quick taps and a pause—you almost didn’t answer.

But then you remembered the way he knocked.

You opened the door.

“Delivery,” Soobin said, holding up a brown paper bag like it was a peace offering. “One bottle of overpriced juice, and…” He pulled out a small carton with a mock ceremony. “Peaches. Fresh. Not those disgusting canned stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow. You really took the note.”

“I aim to please.” He grinned, wide and shameless. “Also, the guy at the fruit stand said these were ‘kissing sweet,’ which made me deeply uncomfortable. So I had to buy them.”

You snorted, stepping aside to let him in. “That’s the dumbest reason I’ve ever heard for buying fruit.”

He walked in casually, already toeing off his shoes like second nature–- like he’d done it a hundred times. “What can I say? I missed your mom’s high standards. And your judgment.”

“Both still going strong,” you said, accepting the bag. “You want coffee or are you planning to make a dramatic exit again?”

He shot you a look. “That exit was graceful and respectful.”

“That exit was weird and full of emotional tension.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully. “So… par for the course?”

You tried not to laugh, but it slipped out anyway.

He sat on the edge of your couch, glancing around like he was taking inventory. You watched the way his eyes lingered on the bookshelf, the stack of hospital visitors passes on the table, the blanket still folded from when you'd last crashed there after a long night.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he said. “Very... ‘haunted by fatigue but still trying.’”

You grinned. “That’s actually the theme of the whole apartment. You should see the bathroom.”

He laughed again—an easy, warm sound that made your ribs feel too tight.

You went to the kitchen, opened the bag, and found not just the peaches and juice, but a pack of sweet rice crackers tucked at the bottom.

“Are these for me or for her?” you called.

A beat.

“...Yes,” he replied.

“She’s going to eat all of these and then yell at me for letting you spend money on her.”

“Let her yell at me instead,” he said, already settling onto your couch like he owned the place. “I can take it. I survived our high school math teacher. Your mom has nothing on that woman.”

You smirked. “That teacher made you cry.”

He gasped. “I teared up. Once. And it was allergy season.”

“Sure it was.” It had been a strange comfort, having him around again—even if it was awkward most of the time.

“Thanks,” you said, shrugging and avoiding his eyes. “for not bringing tonic this time.”

He chuckled. “Hey, I learned my lesson. Peaches or bust.”

A silence passed. But it wasn’t heavy this time. It sat lightly between you, like an old friend resting its elbows on the table.

“So…” he said slowly. “You going to the hospital later?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just after dinner. They changed some meds, so they want someone to watch her overnight.”

He nodded, fingers curling around the mug. “Mind if I come with you?”

You looked up. Not because he hadn’t offered before. But because this time, he said it differently. Gently. Not just wanting to visit—but to be there.

“…She’ll be happy to see you,” you said. “And if you bring those crackers, she might even be nice.”

He smiled, setting his mug down.

“Oh, and by the way,” you added, pretending to inspect a peach like it was under review. “She only likes the white ones. If you brought yellow—”

“Don’t insult me,” he said, already pulling a peach from the bag and rolling it across the table toward you. “Do I look like someone who would buy the wrong kind?”

You caught it mid-roll, lips twitching. “I don’t know. You’ve been gone a while. You could’ve turned into someone completely unreliable.”

He leaned back on the couch, arms stretched along the top cushion, looking maddeningly smug. “I’m still me.”

You turned the peach over in your hand, pretending not to notice how warm your cheeks felt.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I know.”

—

NINE YEARS AGO

The living room was a mess. A good kind of mess—snack wrappers littered across the coffee table, cushions scattered like casualties, your shared laughter still lingering in the air like static. It was the Friday before the weekend, Soobin had waited for you to finish your badminton practice to walk you home to spend the rest of the afternoon with you.

Soobin was on the floor, one leg stretched out and the other tucked underneath him, controller in hand, glaring at the TV screen with the same intensity he used when talking about stage lighting or choreography.

“You’re cheating,” he said flatly. You didn’t look away from the screen. “I’m not.”

“You’re button-mashing,” he accused, pointing at your hands like he was building a legal case. “That’s not skill, that’s chaos.”

You grinned. “Chaos works.” A second later, his character flew off the edge of the map with a dramatic final explosion. KO. Soobin dropped his controller and flopped backward onto the floor like he’d just been shot. “Unbelievable. I come here in good faith and get demolished.”

You leaned over your knees, stretching out your arms with a satisfied sigh. “Maybe you just suck.”

He peeked at you through narrowed eyes. “I’m rethinking our friendship.”

“Because I’m better at Smash?”

“Because you’re a smug button-masher with no honor.”

You laughed, the kind that curled your shoulders inward and left a small warmth in your chest. This was easy. Ridiculously easy. Soobin had always been like this with you—quick to tease, slow to anger, all soft jabs and boyish huffs. Like a habit you never had to think about. He could go hours and hours just bantering with you about the most unimportant topics.

You reached for the plastic bag sitting on the coffee table, rifling through until you found what you were really after. “You want the last peach?”

He didn’t even hesitate. Sat up like he’d been summoned from the dead. “I do. Really. Deeply.”

You held it just out of reach, twirling it by the stem. “Then admit I’m better than you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then no peach.”

“You’re evil.”

You were about to answer—probably with something smug, possibly with another insult—when he lunged forward.

It wasn’t even a real lunge. More like an exaggerated grab, like he was trying to be ridiculous on purpose. But you misjudged the distance—he was faster than he looked—and suddenly he was right there, fingers overlapping yours, and the peach tumbled from your grip, rolling a few inches before coming to a stop between you.

You both reached for it at the same time.

And then you were touching.

Just barely—his knuckles brushing yours, the pad of his thumb catching the back of your hand. Your knees bumped, one of his legs tangled slightly with yours from the way he’d thrown himself forward. The closeness was sudden. Clumsy. And absolutely still.

The peach sat in both your palms now, soft and overripe, a little dented from the fall. But you weren’t looking at the peach anymore.

You were looking at him.

He was looking back.

For a second, neither of you spoke. You could feel your heartbeat shift—quicker, louder. Like your body realized something your brain didn’t want to name.

He was close. Too close.

There was something different about the way he looked at you just then. Like he was searching for something—confirmation, maybe. Permission. Or maybe he wasn’t searching at all. Maybe he was just seeing you, for the first time in a way that wasn’t casual or safe or platonic. You told yourself to laugh. To say something to break it. But your mouth was dry and your fingers were still curled around the stupid peach.

God, you thought, this is just a moment. It doesn’t mean anything. Don’t make it mean something.

Because if you made it mean something, you’d have to face the fact that everything would change between you two, and you weren’t ready for that.

And worst of all—you didn’t know if he wanted it too.

So you were the first to let go.

“Fine,” you said, easing the peach into his hands, forcing a smile. “You win. Peach privileges restored.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you for a second longer, then pulled back, sitting cross-legged again, the fruit cradled like a trophy.

“You’ll regret this,” he said, voice light again. Too light. “I’m going to crush you in the next round.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smirked. “Big talk from someone who just got obliterated.”

He took a bite of the peach—flesh soft, juice dripping slightly down his wrist.

You looked away.

Because watching him eat a peach had absolutely no right being that distracting.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a second.

“Just letting you enjoy your victory,” you replied, folding your arms.

“Mm.” He chewed, then added through a mouthful of fruit, “This is the taste of justice.”

You grabbed a pillow and lobbed it at his head.

He laughed, muffled but warm, like it lived somewhere behind his ribcage. Like it was meant just for you.

And later, after he’d gone, after the controller had been set aside and the cushions lazily put back, you sat on the couch and stared at the empty spot where his leg had touched yours.

It was nothing, you told yourself.

But your heart wasn’t convinced.

—

It had been three days since Soobin last came by to accompany you to the hospital.

Not that you were counting.

Your mom was still in the hospital. Her condition was stable, but “stable” was the kind of word doctors used when they meant unchanged, when the machines still beeped and the days still blurred, and you didn’t know how to exhale without guilt.

So you kept your head down. Worked your shifts. Folded laundry. Refilled the humidifier in her room. Then, one quiet evening, your phone buzzed.

Unknown: You up?

You stared at it for a second too long, the number was foreign to your contact list. The number wasn’t saved. But the timing, the tone—it could only be one person.

Another message came in.

Unknown: This is Soobin, by the way.

Of course it was.

You: No. I’m sleep-texting. You

The three dots appeared. Vanished. Then came back again, like he was typing and deleting and thinking too much—just like always.

Soobin:

Maybe. Or just bored.

Wanna walk?

You didn’t answer.

Fifteen minutes later, you were outside. Hoodie zipped to your chin, hands in your pockets. The air was cool, kissed with the hush that only lived in your neighborhood at night.

A faint breeze moved through the trees overhead, the streetlamp buzzed quietly, and the sidewalk stretched out ahead like a question you didn’t know how to ask.

He was waiting by the gate. Same hoodie from the other night. Same hands buried in the front pocket. His hair was a little messier now, falling into his eyes like he hadn’t bothered to push it back. He looked like someone trying not to look like he was waiting.

When he saw you, he straightened—not all the way, just enough to seem like he hadn’t been pacing.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft like he wasn’t sure if it would reach you.

“Hey,” you replied, tugging your sleeves over your hands. And then you walked. Not toward anything in particular. Just forward. Side by side. Close enough to hear the other breathe.

The silence wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt… familiar. Like this was a rhythm you both used to know. Like your feet still remembered how to fall into step with his even if your hearts hadn’t caught up yet.

After a while, he spoke.

“I’ve been writing again,” he said, just above a whisper.

You glanced at him. His eyes stayed on the sidewalk. “Yeah?”

“Mostly bad stuff,” he added with a breath of a laugh. “But… some of it feels honest.”

You nodded. “That’s the hard part.”

There was a pause.

“I used to write when I missed home,” he said.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. But he kept going anyway, his voice quieter now. Like if he said it too loud, it would sound like a confession.

“I stopped for a long time. Everything started to sound the same. Even the stuff I wrote just for me—it didn’t sound like me. It sounded like someone trying to remember what real felt like.”

Your chest pinched. Because you recognized that feeling, even if it wore a different face.

“You mean the industry?” you asked, your voice gentler than you meant it to be. He nodded, hands tightening in his sleeves. “The schedules, the shoots, the interviews where they ask you how you’re doing and expect you to say you’re grateful.”

You looked over. His face was still turned ahead, but his jaw was set—like he was fighting back something that had been building for years.

“It looks big,” he said. “To other people. All the lights and cameras and screaming fans. But most of the time, it felt… small. Like I was inside this beautiful box I couldn’t leave. Like I was shrinking in a place everyone said I was meant to grow.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Not at first. Because it was Soobin—your Soobin. The one who used to doodle lyrics on his wrists during exams. The one who used to talk about Seoul like it was a promise.

And now he was here. Telling you the promise didn’t keep.

“I used to envy you,” you murmured.

He turned his head slightly, startled. “What?”

“You had direction. Purpose. You left. While the rest of us stayed behind wondering what we were doing. You knew.”

“I didn’t,” he said quickly. “I pretended I did.”

You exhaled, eyes on the path ahead.

He slowed, enough that you had to slow too.

“I didn’t reach out,” he began to answer your life’s biggest question, “because I was afraid if I told you how bad it was, you’d tell me to come home.”

You stopped. Right there on the path.

“And that would’ve been so awful?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even. “Me wanting you to come home?”

He looked down.

“It would’ve made it real,” he said. “Made me feel like I failed.”

The ache that had been sitting under your ribs stretched, deep and familiar.

The wind stirred again, carrying the sound of distant cars and rustling trees. Then, your voice dropped. “You know, Soobin… you did a good job.”

His eyes shot up to meet yours. Cautious. Almost confused. You let the words settle before continuing.

“I mean it. You chased something you believed in. You worked hard. You got somewhere people only dream about.” You swallowed. “You just… never took a second to see how far you’d gone. You kept running like someone was going to take it away from you.”

His mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out.

“You should let yourself rest,” you said. “You deserve to breathe.”

He looked at you like no one had ever said that to him before. Not in the way that mattered.

And maybe no one had. A silence fell again, but it was different now. Thick with emotion, weighted with years of distance and grief and care that had nowhere to go.

Soobin stepped forward—not enough to cross the space between you, but enough that you felt the warmth of him again.

“I’m trying to be better,” he said quietly.

Your throat tightened.

You didn’t know what to say. Not yet. So instead, you reached for the edge of your hoodie sleeve and twisted it around your fingers, grounding yourself in the way you used to back when emotions felt too big to hold.

And beside you, Soobin just stood there.

Not asking to be forgiven, not like he had to.

Just… asking to stay a little longer.

–

The hospital room was quieter than usual.

Your mom was asleep, or at least pretending to be. Her breaths came soft and even, her fingers curled loosely around the edge of the blanket. The late afternoon light filtered through the slats in the blinds, painting thin gold bars across the white walls. Outside, the city buzzed softly beneath the window, too far away to touch.

You sat by the bed, elbow propped on the armrest, chin resting in your hand. The chair creaked when you shifted. You’d meant to read. Meant to answer that message from work. But your mind kept drifting—backward, sideways, toward things that hadn’t happened yet but already pressed too heavy on your chest.

Soobin hadn’t texted since the walk.

Three days wasn’t long. Not really.

But you found yourself reaching for your phone more than usual. Pausing at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Imagining him leaning on the doorframe again, holding some half-thought-out excuse to stop by. You hated how easily hope made a home out of silence.

Your mom stirred, just slightly, eyes fluttering open. “You’re still here?”

You smiled faintly. “Where else would I be?”

She looked at you for a beat longer than usual. “You’ve been coming earlier,” she said, voice scratchy from sleep. “Staying longer, too.”

You shrugged. “There’s not much else to do.”

“Mm.” She turned her head to the side, watching you now. Not like she was accusing—more like she was waiting. “He’s been coming around again.”

You didn’t respond right away. Just stared at the window, at the sky that had turned that in-between color of fading blue and soft orange.

“Yeah,” you said eventually.

“He’s been good to you,” she added, gently. “I see it.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, heart doing that stupid thing again—like it couldn’t decide whether to clench or melt.

“He’s not staying,” you said. Your mom didn’t answer right away. That kind of silence said more than any reply.

You leaned back in the chair, eyes flicking up to the ceiling. “I don’t know why it matters. It’s not like we’re… anything.”

“But you want to be?” she asked softly.

You didn’t look at her. “It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You exhaled, long and slow. “It doesn’t matter what I want. He came back because of his health. Because he needed space from all that. He’s not… this isn’t forever.”

And if you let yourself want something more like last time—if you gave it a name—what would happen when he left again?

She was quiet for a long time. Then, just as you were about to change the subject, her voice returned. “You know,” she said, “I think the hardest kind of love is the kind that feels temporary.”

You blinked. “This isn’t–this isn’t love.” You protested.

She didn’t argue. Just gave you a look that said she’d been your mother long enough to know when you were lying—to her or to yourself.

You shook your head, staring down at your hands. “It’s not like I’m holding onto something that could actually last.”

“But you’re still holding it,” she murmured.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because yeah. You were.

You were holding the way his voice sounded in quiet places. The way he never pushed when you went silent, just waited with that kind of patience that only people who’d known you for years could manage. You were holding the way he remembered the things you forgot you ever told him. The way he looked at you like he didn’t know how to stop.

And it scared the hell out of you.

Because people leave. Sometimes they come back. But rarely do they stay.

Your mom reached out, her fingers brushing yours. “It’s okay to be scared,” she said gently. “It’s not okay to pretend you don’t feel anything.”

You didn’t respond.

You just stared at the sunlight crawling across the linoleum floor, and wondered how long you could keep pretending that what you felt was nothing.

–

The engine made a low, confused noise as Soobin turned the key. You braced your hand against the dashboard. Soobin sat up straighter, lips pursed like he was preparing for war. You couldn’t help watching the way his knuckles tensed on the wheel, the way he kept muttering to himself like this was more of a concert performance than a suburban test run.

"Okay," you said cautiously. "Brake. Check your mirrors. Put it in drive—no, that’s reverse. Reverse is—Soobin—!"

The car lurched backward, an alarming jolt that made your seatbelt dig into your collarbone.

“Okay! Okay! Got it!” Soobin slammed the brake, and the car shuddered to a halt. Your heart was somewhere near your throat.

“You almost ran over a mailbox,” you hissed, hands clutched tightly on your seat. “My mailbox!”

He winced. “It’s still standing.”

“Barely.” He shot you a look. “I told you I didn’t finish my license! You didn’t have to volunteer your car for this.”

“I didn’t think this was what we’d be doing when you said you wanted to ‘catch up.’

“Out,” you ordered. “Switch seats.” He didn’t argue.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you grumbled, turning the key and reversing smoothly out of the lot.

“Aw,” he said, smirking. “You like me.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

You looked at him. He looked back.

There was a beat of silence.

You circled back around the block, only to end up parked in front of your house once again. Soobin spotted the shed that sat behind your house, most importantly, what’s next to it.

“No way,” he said, rushing ahead.

Sure enough, there they were. Your old bikes. Rusted at the chains, tires flat, but still recognizable.

“I can’t believe you kept mine,” he said, brushing off a handlebar like it was a relic.

“My mom was too sentimental to throw it away. She thought you’d come back.”

He paused.

The air shifted.

“Guess she was right,” he said softly.

You didn’t respond.

–

A few minutes later, you were riding through town—laughing, breathless, avoiding potholes and startled pigeons. Soobin’s bike creaked horribly, but he insisted on pedaling like he was racing someone only he could see.

You took the long route, past the bookstore where you used to loiter, the convenience store where he once bought you a yogurt drink with his last few coins, the bus stop where you used to sit until the streetlights flicked on.

Then he slowed. You turned to look—and watched, helpless, as his front tire clipped a curb and sent him flying.

“Soobin!” He landed with a thud, half in the grass, half on the sidewalk.

You dropped your bike and ran to him.

“Oh my God—are you okay? Why weren’t you paying atten–”

He blinked up at you, dazed. “That bus stop looks exactly the same.”

“You fell off your bike because of nostalgia?!”

He groaned. “I got caught off guard.”

“By a memory?”

“You looked back at me…,” he mumbled.

You stopped. The world stilled for half a second. Then you shoved that away.

"You're bleeding," you said, kneeling next to him, choosing yet again to overlook the deeper weight hidden in his seemingly innocent words.

It wasn’t bad—just a scrape at his temple, but the sight still made something twist low in your stomach. You pulled a tissue that you luckily had in your pocket and dabbed at the cut.

“You’re so dramatic,” you murmured, dabbing at the cut with soft fingers. “What if you end up with a scar? Your fans might actually riot.”

He winced, sucking in a breath.

“You’re enjoying this,” he said, eyeing you suspiciously.

“I’m not,” you said, lips twitching.

“You’re not even trying to be gentle.”

“I am,” you lied—though your touch grew just a little softer.

But your hands had slowed. And now that you were this close, you couldn’t help but really look at him. His hair was a little damp, curling slightly at the edges. There was a faint smudge of dirt on his cheek, and the cut on his brow was still fresh—but none of it dulled him. If anything, it made him feel more real. Not the polished idol with perfect lighting and stage smiles, but Soobin—your Soobin.

The boy who used to race you home on bikes, who got grass stains on his knees and laughed until he fell over. And maybe that’s why your breath caught, just a little, because his eyes weren’t darting away this time. He wasn’t teasing or laughing. Just looking. Steady. Unafraid.

It felt like the earth was tilting under you.

He reached up, fingers brushing your wrist—soft, tentative. But you stood up before the silence could grow teeth.

“C’mon, head injury or not, we’re riding back. You can’t die dramatically knowing that it was a curb that took you out”

He laughed, clutching his ribs. “You’re such a comfort.”

You didn’t tell him that if he’d looked at you for one more second like that, you would’ve forgotten how to breathe.

Because your pulse still hadn’t returned to normal. And your heart didn’t know if it was from the fall…

…or from him.

—-

The rain started halfway through the ride home. Not a drizzle, not a soft mist. No, the sky decided to absolutely open up on you.

“Seriously?!” you shouted up at the clouds as you and Soobin coasted to a slow, skidding stop under a half-dead tree. Soobin was already laughing, clothes plastered to his skin, hair dripping into his eyes. “This is kind of perfect, though. Right? Very K-drama of us.”

You glared. “I’m going to get sick. You’re going to get sick.”

“I already feel stronger. This is character-building.”

You groaned and dropped your head back. “I hate you.”

“You keep saying that,” he said, wheeling his bike alongside yours, “but I’m starting to think you just like having an excuse to say my name angrily.”

You opened your mouth, ready to shoot something back—but a particularly angry clap of thunder cut through the air. You both jumped.

“Let’s just go home...” You muttered.

By the time you made it back to your house, you were soaked through—shoes squelching, hair matted to your cheeks, laughter still catching in your throats between shivers. You tossed your bike on the porch without care, unlocking the door as quickly as your frozen fingers would let you.

“Leave your shoes by the door,” you told him, kicking yours off with a squelch. “And try not to drip everywhere.”

Soobin peeled his hoodie over his head with a groan. “That’s an impossible task. I’m basically a human sponge.”

You grabbed a towel from the bathroom and threw it at his face. “Here. Dry off, Mr. Sponge.”

“I’ll need a medal for surviving this ride.”

“You’ll get a warm meal and some dry clothes, and you’ll like it.”

He grinned, following you into the hallway. “Wait. Dry clothes?”

"Yeah. I think I still have one of your old sweatshirts lying around" you said over your shoulder, stopping just outside your room. You glanced back at him, standing awkwardly in the hallway, damp hair dripping and clothes clinging to him like a soggy afterthought. He looked like a miserable, oversized puppy.

"If it even fits..." you mumbled under your breath.

Because looking at him now, you weren’t so sure. He’d always been tall, but somewhere between the boy who used to sprawl across your couch and the man standing there now, he'd filled out—broad shoulders, long limbs, that quiet weight people carry when they've grown into themselves. It was weird. Familiar.

“You still have that?”

You shrugged, trying not to overthink the warmth crawling up your neck. “It’s a good sweatshirt.”

“Can I have it back?”

“No.”

He laughed, and you disappeared into your room, pulling out the hoodie in question—still soft and oversized—and a pair of sweatpants you knew would be way too short on him, but it’d have to do.

You handed him the clothes and pointed him toward the bathroom. “Go. Change. And hang your stuff up unless you want it smelling like mildew forever.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, mock saluting.

When he disappeared behind the door, you exhaled. Why did this feel like something?

You pushed your wet hair back and padded into the kitchen to grab some water, heart still annoyingly thudding. Rain tapped against the windows like impatient fingers, and somewhere in the background, the bathroom door creaked as he rummaged through a drawer for a comb, a towel, who knew.

After changing into dry clothes, you settled onto the couch, towel in hand as you ran it through your damp hair. Without thinking, you reached into your pocket for your phone and opened reels—more out of muscle memory than intention.

You scrolled for a good minute before pausing.

There it was.

A video of Soobin. Blonde Soobin. All black suit, legs spread like he owned gravity, eating some sort of sour candy in that dazed, effortless idol way that did things to people.

The sound was some kind of slowed-down R&B track. The caption read: “what do you mean he’s not my boyfriend??”

You snorted and shook your head, tapping the screen like you meant to scroll past it.

“You watching fan edits of me?”

You jumped, your heart skipping a beat.

Soobin was standing just behind the couch, freshly changed, a towel draped loosely around his neck as he rubbed at his damp hair. His cheeks were flushed pink—not from embarrassment, but from the lingering warmth of the shower. The faint scent of your soap clung to him, familiar and comforting.

You scrambled for words, panic rising in your chest. “N-no.”

He raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, the hint of a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You bit your lip, trying to steady your voice. “It just popped up on my For You page!” you insisted, your tone shooting up an octave in protest.

“That’s not how the algorithm works,” he teased, eyes sparkling as he leaned in a little. “I can literally see you liked it.”

You huffed, flinging your phone onto the couch as if it had personally betrayed you. “I didn’t save it or anything.”

“I’m flattered,” he said, grinning as he walked slowly around the couch and flopped down beside you. The heat radiating from his body made the space between you feel smaller, cozier.

“I didn’t know you were into the blonde era,” he added with mock surprise.

You tried not to look at him, but it was impossible. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you in a way that made your chest ache with something tender and unfamiliar. He smelled like your soap—clean, soft, and utterly real.

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, crossing your arms defensively, “you looked ridiculous.”

He laughed—a low, easy sound that made your heart flutter. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

You risked a glance at him—and made the mistake of meeting his eyes.

Something electric passed between you, and it wasn’t from the static of the hoodie. It was heavier. Warmer. Your breath stuttered. You could say this, right? You were friends, right?

“You know,” you started, voice quieter, “it’s kinda unfair.”

He tilted his head. “What is?”

You picked at a loose thread on the couch cushion, pretending not to notice the way his thigh was pressed against yours.

“You look like that, even if you’re just eating.”

He blinked.

The teasing fell out of his expression like someone had pulled a thread loose. You looked at him—really looked.

And there it was again. That thing that hung between you like a held breath. That invisible thread that pulled tighter and tighter every time you got close enough to see each other clearly.

His hand caught your wrist just as you were about to step away.

You froze, startled by the gentle hold, your heart skipping a beat.

His hand closed around your wrist—gentle, hesitant. Like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to touch you but couldn’t let the moment slip away without trying.

You froze.

Not because it was dramatic or shocking, but because your body had trained itself to notice every tiny shift around Soobin. The way his fingers were warm against your skin. The way his thumb hovered just slightly, like he thought about brushing it across your wrist but didn’t.

When you looked at him, really looked, he was already looking away—blushing.

His ears were a little pink at the tips, and the expression on his face was… shy. Maybe even a little self-conscious, like he was trying to laugh it off before you said anything that would make it worse.

“That clip you saw…” he said, clearing his throat, his voice softer than usual. “It’s not really me looking good or anything.”

You blinked. “What?”

He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, still not letting go of you. “That livestream—the one with the blonde hair and the… uh, the sitting posture.” He made a vague motion, embarrassed. “We were just coming off a performance. Everyone was still in stage makeup, and the stylists kind of go all out when there’s press watching. It’s not really how I… look. Normally.”

He wasn’t even making eye contact now, suddenly fascinated with a dent in the hardwood floor.

“I mean, they style us a certain way. The lighting’s good. The outfits are picked for us.” He glanced up, almost sheepish. “It’s not real-real.”

You didn’t answer right away. You were too busy staring.

Because here was Soobin—not the idol, not the polished version beamed out to millions—but your Soobin. The one who got defensive about reverse parking and couldn’t cook instant noodles without supervision. The one whose hoodie sleeves still hung past his wrists, whose hair was a little damp from the rain, whose voice always got smaller when he was trying to be honest.

And he didn’t know. He didn’t know that the moment he tried to downplay it, you somehow liked him even more. Your heart was doing something dangerous. Something stupid and fluttery. And warm. You smiled, just a little. “So what you’re saying is… the Soobin in that clip is false advertising?”

He huffed a laugh—still nervous, still a bit pink. “Exactly.”

“Well,” you said, pretending to think it over, “I guess I’ll just have to get used to this version of you, then.”

He tilted his head, eyes meeting yours at last. “This version?”

You nodded, trying to act nonchalant even though your pulse was kicking wildly in your throat. “The version that wears wrinkled sweats and drips water on my floor and thinks too much about livestreams from six months ago.”

He smiled, small and real. “That version’s not very cool.”

“Good. I like him better.” You shrugged. “He reminds me of an old friend.”

There was a pause—just long enough to feel like a held breath. His hand was still on your wrist, warmer now. Closer. And even though neither of you said it, something shifted.

He lingered a second longer, still holding your wrist, his thumb brushing your skin in a barely-there touch. Neither of you moved, as if breaking the stillness might shatter something fragile between you.

And then, almost offhandedly—like it wasn’t the kind of thing that would stick with you for days—he said, “You look good too, you know. Even after all these years.”

Simple. Uncomplicated. But it cracked something open in you all the same.

You turned away first.

“I’m gonna go make dinner,” you said quickly, already halfway to standing. “Before I say something else embarrassing.”

He let go, fingers slipping away from yours slowly, reluctantly.

And you walked to the kitchen with your heart in your throat.

Dinner was on the stove.

But it wasn’t the only thing simmering now.

—

You stood in front of the pot, stirring with more intensity than necessary, trying very hard not to think about the compliment Soobin had just casually lobbed at your entire existence. His words still clung to your skin more stubborn than the rain had.

"You look good too."

What did that even mean? You were in an old hoodie, hair still damp, socks mismatched. You looked like a soggy couch cushion with a pulse.

Still. He’d said it. Earnestly. Like he meant it.

You stirred the pot a little too aggressively.

Behind you, Soobin leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching you like he had nowhere else to be—and no desire to be anywhere else. He looked so at ease there, like he belonged in this space, in your space. The hoodie he wore—the one you’d cut around the collar back in high school during a brief “DIY fashion” phase—hung slightly off one of his shoulders now, exposing a sliver of collarbone. Your brain short-circuited every time your eyes drifted that way, completely unprepared for how something so small, so casual, could feel so intimate.

His eyes drifted toward the stove, then to you—quiet, lingering. He wasn’t staring exactly, but it was close. Like he was watching something he couldn’t quite name. Something small and domestic and too warm to look at directly. And when you caught it, just barely from the corner of your eye, it sent a shiver straight down your spine.

He dropped his gaze instantly, toeing at the rug with the tip of his sock like it had personally offended him.

“What… uh, what are you making?” he asked, voice soft. Like raising it too loud might break something fragile.

You tossed chopped onions into the pan with a hiss. “Soup,” you said. “It’s quick. It’s easy. And you probably won’t die eating it.”

Soobin gave a little laugh—short and breathy. “That’s a really strong endorsement.”

“I’ve seen your cooking, Choi. This is already an upgrade.”

He gasped, hand clutching his chest like you’d mortally wounded him. “You don’t forget anything, do you?”

“Three different instant noodles. All undercooked. All aggressively beige.”

“That was years ago!” he protested, a smile tugging at his lips. You nudged him with your hip as you passed behind him. “Just don’t set anything on fire, and we’ll call it a win.”

“I can be helpful,” he mumbled, already reaching for the cutting board. “You just… never let me.”

You glanced at him, amused. “You’re the one who told me not to let you near knives.”

“Right, but like…” He shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck. “That was before.”

You handed him a block of tofu and the world’s dullest knife. “Okay, Chef of the Year. Tiny cubes. No bleeding.” He took it with an exaggerated sigh. “No faith in me at all.”

You turned back to the stove, only to hear the distinct sound of tofu being… destroyed.

You looked. “That’s a massacre.”

“I panicked,” he muttered, eyebrows drawn together like he was concentrating on defusing a bomb. You stepped beside him without thinking. “Here,” you said, adjusting his grip. “Like this.” Your fingers curled gently around his hand, repositioning his hold on the knife. Your chest brushed his arm. He stilled.

The silence bloomed wide. You felt his breath catch—just barely. Like a sound he wasn’t sure he should let out. When he turned his head, your faces were closer than they’d meant to be. Too close.

“I think I’m messing up on purpose,” he said, voice so low it barely reached you.

You blinked. “Why?” He hesitated. His eyes flicked to your lips, then away again, like he didn’t mean to. “Because, uh… getting corrected isn’t so bad?”

Your heart stuttered.

And for one wild second, you thought he might actually mean it. Not in a joke way. Not in a “we’re just friends messing around” way. But in the kind of way that stayed with you, long after it passed. You pulled back quickly, your voice higher than it needed to be. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You totally are,” he mumbled, looking weirdly pleased with himself. You turned back to the soup before your face could fully betray you. “Dinner’s almost done.”

“Smells good.” The way he said it—it wasn’t loud or performative. Just warm. Quiet. Like he meant it and didn’t know how to say much else.

“I can, um… I can set the table,” he offered after a beat, fiddling with the towel draped over the chair. “If that helps.”

“It’s just two plates.”

“Still,” he said, moving toward the cupboard. “Feels like the least I can do.”

You watched him open drawers like he didn’t remember where anything was—even though he’d been to your kitchen more than once. Even though this version of Soobin—the soft one, the one who tiptoed through domestic spaces like they were breakable—was getting harder and harder to pretend didn’t feel different.

By the time you both sat down, your pulse still hadn’t settled.

He waited until you took your first bite before speaking again.

“This feels nice,” he said, toying with his chopsticks. “Like… familiar.”

You looked up. “Familiar how?”

He hesitated. “Like, I don’t know. Like we used to do this all the time. Even if we didn’t.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that.” There was a pause. He tapped his chopsticks together gently, then added, “Not like this, though.”

Your stomach tightened. Because you knew what he meant. Not with the late rain tapping at the windows. Not with the soft glow of the kitchen light, the quiet between bites. Not with the way his leg brushed yours under the table like it didn’t mean anything… except it kind of did.

He looked down at his bowl, then back at you, cheeks faintly pink. “It’s probably dumb. Sorry.”

“No,” you said quickly. “It’s not dumb.” You both sat in the quiet that followed, tension settling like steam in the air between you. Soft. Warm. Unspoken.

And still—he glanced at you again, eyes lingering a little longer this time.

“This,” he murmured, almost to himself, “is the part I think I missed the most.”

You didn’t trust yourself to ask what he meant. So you took another bite instead. But your fingers itched where they’d touched his. And you could feel the weight of the moment, real and quiet and waiting for someone to name it.

So neither of you did.

You just stayed like that—two bowls between you, hearts too full for your mouths to keep up.

—

It had been a while since you last saw Soobin. A month, at least.

His mom had mentioned he was out of town visiting family—some cousin’s wedding, maybe. You didn’t ask too many questions. Just nodded, said “ah,” and tried to pretend your chest didn’t ache a little every time you passed his house, reminding you of how alone you felt the first time he had disappeared.

In his absence, the days blurred. You slipped too easily back into your old routine—working, grocery store runs, folding laundry half-awake, hospital visits that drained more than they gave. You didn’t have time to miss him. You barely had time to be anything other than tired.

But that night… that night was different.

The doctor had been gentle, but that didn’t soften the words. Your mom’s condition wasn’t worsening—but it also wasn’t improving. They’d be moving her into a more intensive unit, “just to keep a closer eye.” That was what they always said. A closer eye. As if that made it better.

You left the hospital numb, your body moving through the motions—bus ride, walking home, dropping your keys in the dish like muscle memory. You kicked off your shoes and sat on the edge of your bed without meaning to.

And before you knew it, you were opening your laptop. Not the mindless doomscrolling of nights past. Not some clip appearing on your for you page by accident.

You typed it out yourself this time.

Soobin. Variety show. “Faves Fave.”

Intentional.

The screen filled with thumbnails—bright, curated images of him laughing, grinning, clutching his stomach as he teased his guests. You clicked one. Then another. Then another. It was like oxygen after two weeks of holding your breath.

He looked… the same. Familiar and not. Confident, magnetic, a little shy around the edges if you knew where to look—which, of course, you did.

And then you found that episode.

The one with the “dating coach” guest. Just a cute concept—flowers, mukbang, the whole club presentation skit . You watched with your chin in your hand, blinking slowly as he fiddled with his sleeves and answered questions with his soft, hesitant smile.

Until the girl leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, and asked with a teasing lilt, “Soobin-ssi, what’s your type?”

He laughed first. Ducking his head, already shaking it. “You’re gonna make me get in trouble…” The staff cackled. The guest encouraged him.

“Someone who… leads?” he finally said, face pink and gaze darting away. “I’m more… I think I’m usually… the follower type.” The camera zoomed in. He rubbed at the back of his neck, looking utterly sheepish.

You sat frozen, mouse hovering over the pause button. Your stomach did something ridiculous.

It was the way he said it—like it wasn’t meant to be scandalous. Just honest. Earnest. And yet your brain short-circuited.

He wasn’t lying.

Over the next few days, you found yourself spiraling. Not in a dangerous way. Just… quietly. Internally. You kept replaying his words—the shy, almost whispered confession that he liked being led. That he was the follower, not the leader. It was a simple thing, but it hit you in a way you didn’t expect.

You found yourself wondering what that really meant—how it would feel to be the one guiding him, to be the person he trusted enough to follow. It was strange how just thinking about it made your chest tighten, your skin buzz with something like electricity. You tried to tell yourself it was just the stress, the exhaustion, the endless waiting for your mom to get better. But you knew better.

When you saw him again, it was like the air between you had shifted, though nothing had really changed. You were hanging out like usual—talking, laughing, stealing quick glances at each other—but now every look carried weight. Every casual brush of your hands or accidental touch sent your heart racing.

Soobin was the same—soft-spoken, a little awkward, but somehow more open, more vulnerable. He wasn’t joking when he said he liked being led. You could see it in how he deferred to you on small things, how he hesitated before making decisions, like he was waiting for your cue. And you? You were barely holding yourself together inside.

The doorbell rang just as you were finishing up dinner—your hands still a little flour-dusted, the kitchen smelling faintly of garlic and rosemary. You wiped them on your apron, heart skipping in a way that was maybe more than just nerves about having company.

When you opened the door, Soobin was there, standing with that familiar, slightly sheepish smile that always made your chest tighten. His hair was a bit tousled from the wind, and his eyes held that soft, tentative look you’d come to know so well.

“Hey,” he said quietly, voice low like he was trying not to disturb the calm.

“Hey,” you replied, stepping aside to let him in.

He kicked off his shoes like he always did—neatly, side by side by the door, like a good guest. Like someone who belonged.

You didn’t say anything, just followed him with your gaze as he wandered into the kitchen, peering into the pot on the stove.

“Ooh,” he said, drawing out the sound, his voice lilting with approval. “It smells like… actual food. I thought you were just gonna microwave ramen.”

You rolled your eyes, your heartbeat thudding annoyingly fast. “Excuse you. I am a cooking god.”

He was joking. You knew that. Just Soobin being Soobin—soft and playful and a little smug without realizing it. But the way he leaned against your counter, arms crossed, sleeves pushed up, collar loose…

Yeah. This was going to kill you. Because he had no idea.

No idea that you’d spent two nights watching him on screen—smiling, laughing, stupidly talking about his ideal type like it was just another throwaway question. Like it hadn’t rearranged something inside you.

“I’m usually the follower type,” he’d said.

And maybe it was stupid, the way your brain latched onto that. The way your body responded like it had been waiting for an excuse. You turned away quickly, grabbing bowls from the cabinet with more force than necessary. Focus.

“So,” he said behind you, “what’s the occasion?”

“What?”

“You cooked. For me. Without bribery or threats involved.” He leaned over your shoulder, just barely, just enough that you could feel the warmth of him at your back. “Should I be worried?”

You forced a laugh. “Maybe I missed having someone around who bugs me while I’m chopping onions.”

“Ah,” he said with mock solemnity. “So I am but a tool for your entertainment.”

You could feel the heat of him behind you—just barely there, just enough to make it impossible to think straight.

Tool for your entertainment, he’d said.

You nearly dropped the ladle.

God, he had no idea what that did to you.

Your brain, already frayed from too many late nights watching his interviews on loop—watching him smile at someone else, laugh at someone else's joke—now seized on that one line, innocent and offhand, like your nervous system needed a final push toward collapse.

"I’m the follower type."

Most people would’ve let it pass. A throwaway comment. But not you. Not after hearing the way he’d said it—voice low, almost shy, like it had slipped out by accident. Like it meant something.

And now here he was. In your kitchen. Wearing your hoodie. Joking about being your “tool,” like the universe had a twisted sense of humor and was testing your ability to not spontaneously combust.

“Sure,” you managed, ladling soup into a bowl with what you hoped was a steady hand. “An incredibly useful tool.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Wow. I’ve been demoted to household equipment. I used to be someone.”

You bit your lip.

Don’t laugh. Don’t think about what he said. Definitely don’t think about what that would look like.

You turned to hand him the bowl—and instantly regretted it.

He was close. Too close. Close enough that you could see the faint sprinkle of freckles near his collarbone, the soft curve of his throat. Close enough to feel the warmth of him. And worse—close enough to see his smile up close, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes in a way that felt entirely, devastatingly sincere; his dimples on full display.

You passed him the bowl with a shallow breath, eyes on anything but his face. He took it gently. But didn’t step away.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice softer now. Too soft. The kind of softness that pried things loose.

You looked up. Mistake number two. His brows were slightly furrowed, gaze searching—not teasing this time, not even curious. Just… concerned. Like he could feel the ripple of something under the surface but didn’t know where it led.

“I’m fine,” you said too fast, too light. “Just tired.”

He didn’t argue, but the way he looked at you made it clear he wasn’t buying it completely. Still, he nodded, letting the moment settle.

You grabbed your own bowl and sat down quickly, needing the table between you. Needing space. Needing something solid to keep you from doing something stupid like saying the actual thoughts screaming in your head.

He sat across from you, legs tucked up like always, like your living room wasn’t any different from his. Like no time had passed at all. Like he hadn’t just accidentally unraveled you with a single joke and a borrowed hoodie.

Like he belonged here.

And you let him. Of course you did. Even now, even with your pulse skipping and your thoughts stuck on that clip. The one where he’d smiled, soft and unguarded, and said “I don’t mind being told what to do,” and the room had laughed, but you hadn’t.

Because it hadn’t felt like a joke to you.

It had felt like a truth. One he hadn’t meant to share. One you couldn’t unhear.

And now it sat in your chest like a secret too big to hold. A glowing ember you couldn’t stamp out.

He slurped a spoonful of soup and let out a satisfied hum. “So what’s in this? Other than the tears you shed while I was gone”

You swallowed hard, fighting for focus. “Garlic. Herbs. A careful measure of what’s left of my sanity.”

He snorted. “Well, it’s seasoned perfectly.”

You gave him a weak smile, cheeks already warm, though it had nothing to do with the stove.

Because this wasn’t just banter anymore. This wasn’t normal. It was familiar, yes—but in a way that felt dangerous now. Because the more he settled back into your life, into your house, into the clothes you used to sleep in—the harder it became to separate who he used to be from what he was starting to mean now.

He had no idea. None. He didn’t know that every casual smile, every soft laugh, every offhanded comment was completely undoing you. You glanced up—and found him already watching you.

You froze.

“What?”

He blinked like he hadn’t meant to get caught. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “You’re just… quiet tonight.”

You looked down at your bowl.

“Yeah,” you said again. “Just tired.”

He didn’t press, but his gaze lingered, and in the stretch of silence that followed, you wondered—just for a second—if he saw it. The shift. The crack in your composure. The storm is blooming just beneath your skin.

But then he took another bite. Casual. Comfortable.

And you sat there, across from the boy who was quietly ruining your life, wondering how much longer you could pretend it wasn’t happening.

—-

EIGHT YEARS AGO

It had been the class field trip to the mountains—the last big outing before graduation.

Everyone had been buzzing about it for weeks: a whole day out of school. You hadn’t planned on going at first—too many people, too much noise—but your friends insisted. And somewhere deep down, beneath your careful excuses, you knew Soobin would be there.

And yeah. Maybe that was the real reason you said yes.

The day itself was easy. Light. The sun shimmered across the water, laughter bounced off the docks. Soobin had helped pass out life jackets, sleeves rolled up, hair pushed back by the wind, that easygoing smile on his face. He was joking with everyone, relaxed—but his eyes kept finding you. When he thought you weren’t looking.

You caught him once. Watching.

He smiled. You looked away.

It should’ve felt warm. Comforting. Safe.

But then, later—when everyone was crowded around a picnic table, eating soggy sandwiches and swatting mosquitoes—you overheard it.

Two classmates, sitting a few feet behind you. One of them is his friend. The other a notorious gossip.

“I’m telling you,” one said, tearing into a juice pouch. “Soobin was gonna ask her to the lake.”

“Her? Seriously?”

“Yeah. Said he’d do it if she said yes to coming. But then he got all weird. Said she shuts down whenever he gets close. But, like, you can tell. He does everything she says. It’s kind of sad.”

You froze, a sandwich half-bitten in your hand.

He was going to ask you. You hadn’t imagined it. The quiet tension, the soft attention—it had meant something. And maybe, just maybe, it still would have meant something.

But then came the second realization. The one that burrowed deeper.

He would’ve done it just because you came.

Because you said yes.

Because he always listened.

Because he always followed your lead.

And you couldn’t breathe.

Because if he liked you like that—really liked you—then that meant being wanted. Being chosen. Again. And what had that ever brought anyone?

Everyone you loved either left or got sick. That wasn't a coincidence. That was you.

You had started to believe, somewhere in the quiet dark, that maybe you were the problem. That maybe there was something inside you—ruinous and invisible—that made people go. Like you carried a sickness only the people closest to you ever caught.

And Soobin? Soobin was the kind of boy who would’ve followed you straight into the storm, no questions asked.

He didn’t deserve that.

So you shut down.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. You avoided his gaze. Didn’t laugh at his jokes. When the canoes got pulled out, you volunteered for the group on the other end of the lake. You didn’t even sit near him on the bus ride back.

And the texts, later that night? Left unread.

When he approached you in the hallway the next week, worry in his eyes, asking if something was wrong—you shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. And then walked away.

You never told him why. Never told him that your silence wasn’t about him. It was about you. What you believed you did to the people who loved you.

He didn’t chase after you. Not out loud. But you saw him watching you in class a few times after that. Quiet. Like he was waiting for a sign that never came. The last time you saw him was three days after the hike. He was standing by the bike racks after school, bag slung over one shoulder, kicking gravel. He looked up when you walked out with your friends.

You paused.

He straightened. Took a half step forward. “Hey.”

You stopped. Barely. “Hey.”

“I just wanted to ask if I… said something wrong?”

He looked so unsure, so open, so soft. All you wanted was to walk back toward him. Say something. Say everything.

But you didn’t.

You gave him a weak smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

“Don’t worry about it.” Then you left.

No final goodbye. No explanation. Just silence.

And that was the last time you saw Soobin. Before the auditions, the debut, the lights and cameras and screams and fame turned him into someone the whole world watched. You’d think about that moment by the fence. About how he would’ve done anything for you, if you’d only let him.

But you hadn’t. Because somewhere deep down, you still believed you were the thing that made people sick. And you couldn’t let him catch it too.

So instead, you let him go. Quiet. Clean. Cowardly.

And the worst part?

You were never sure if he even hated you for it.

—

The soup was gone. The dishes were rinsed, half-drying on the rack.

The living room was dim now, only the lamp in the corner still on, casting long golden light over everything. The night had settled in soft around you—quiet, still, deceptively calm. Soobin was sprawled out on your couch, legs long and socked feet hanging off the edge like he forgot how tall he was. You sat on the floor with your back against the coffee table, scrolling through a playlist on your phone, pretending like you weren’t hyper-aware of his presence. Of the warmth of his thigh brushing the cushion where your elbow rested. Of the way his eyes followed you when he thought you weren’t looking.

You were looking.

“Wanna watch something?” you offered, keeping your voice casual. “You haven’t seen the new season of that show you liked, right?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, quiet for a second. “I kinda just wanna sit like this.”

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t, really. Your mouth had gone dry. Because the way he said it wasn’t teasing. It was simple. Earnest.

Like this.

With you. In your space. With your things and your scent on the throw blanket and the memory of your hand on his guiding a knife hours ago. He turned his head a little, resting his cheek on the back of the couch.

“You’re really quiet tonight,” he said again. “Not just tired, quiet… It’s like…you’re thinking too much.”

You stared ahead at the wall, the grain in the wood, the dust in the lamp’s halo of light.

“I’m always thinking too much.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “But this feels different.”

You drew your knees up to your chest, arms wrapping around them.

“I just…” You hesitated. “I think I’ve forgotten how to be around you.”

He blinked. Sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you said, trying to laugh, trying to swallow the tension, “we hang out like this and it’s supposed to feel easy, but it doesn’t anymore.”

He looked at you carefully. Slowly.

And then, softer than before: “Why doesn’t it?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

He let the silence stretch a beat longer, then got up.

You thought maybe he was going to leave. But instead, he walked over and sat beside you on the floor, shoulder-to-shoulder. Close. Warm.

“Can I ask you something?” he murmured.

You turned your head. “You just did.”

He gave you a look, but there was no bite to it. Only hesitation.

“Did I do something?” he asked.

Your heart thudded.

“No,” you said quickly. “No, it’s not—” You exhaled hard. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then what is it?”

You turned your face toward your knees, hiding your expression. But his voice followed, low and careful.

“You didn’t do anything,” I say again, quieter this time—almost a whisper, like if I say it soft enough, maybe it’ll unravel the knot tightening in my chest.

Soobin stays still. Not a word. No response. He just waits.

And somehow, that silence makes everything harder to bear.

I press my cheek against my knee, voice muffled and uneven. “It just got me thinking… back in high school. That field trip to the mountains.” You don’t know why you’re bringing this up now.

I feel the faintest tilt of his head, a subtle sign he’s listening, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.

“After that trip…” I trail off, twisting the sleeve of my shirt around my fingers, the fabric rough beneath my skin. “I don’t know why—” The words catch in my throat, and the room feels heavy with unspoken things. I swallow hard. “I don’t know why I stopped talking to you.”

Lies. Lies. Lies. Because I know the truth, but it’s too fragile, too raw to say out loud.

Finally, I steal a glance at him—just for a moment.

His face softens. There’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes, maybe something else too. Something like understanding. Or forgiveness.

And in that quiet exchange, it feels like a small crack opens in the wall between us—fragile, but real.

He shifts beside me, the couch groaning beneath his weight. Then, softly:

“I didn’t know,” he says.

His voice is different now. Not teasing. Not soft for the sake of comfort—but careful. Honest.

“I thought…” He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck like he always does when he’s nervous. “I thought maybe you didn’t like me. That I was too much.”

My heart stutters.

“You weren’t,” You say quickly, instinctively. “You weren’t too much. You were just…”

You falter again. He looks at you now—really looks at you—and you feel like he’s seeing through every version of you you’ve built up over the years.

“I overheard some guys talking about you,” You keep going, twisting the sleeve of your shirt around your fingers. “They said you were going to ask me out, maybe confess something.”

So much silence.

“And it just... freaked me out.”

You don’t say it lightly. You say it like a confession, like a weight lifted from your shoulders but also like a wound reopened. Because it costs you something to admit.

“I didn’t know how to deal with it,” You admit, voice catching a little. “The idea that you might like me... that I might have to say it back.”

You finally glance at him—just for a second. His face softens. A flicker of surprise, maybe something else.

“So I did the worst thing,” You confess, taking a shaky breath. “I avoided you.”

You swallow hard. “I told myself it didn’t matter. That I’d forget. But I never did.”

He stays quiet longer than you want. You think maybe You’ve ruined everything.

“You know,” he says after a long moment, “I used to think about that field trip a lot.”

You turn toward him.

“I kept wondering if I said something wrong. Maybe I embarrassed you.”

“You didn’t.”

He nods. “I know that now. But back then…”

His voice drifts. There’s a different kind of sadness in it. Not bitter. Just the kind that comes from remembering a version of yourself who didn’t know better.

“…I guess I needed you to say this more than I realized,” he finishes.

You both don’t say anything for a while after that. The silence between you isn’t empty—it’s full of things finally said, finally heard.

Then—like the Soobin you’ve always known—he cracks a crooked grin, glancing sideways at me.

“So…” he says, light but sincere, “now that we’ve established we were both emotionally constipated teenagers…”

You snort. “You’re the worst.”

He nudges your shoulder again, softer this time. “Just saying. We had a lot of potential for a coming-of-age drama. Tears, longing stares, tragic misunderstandings.”

“And a bad soundtrack,” you say, trying to keep your voice light, though something twists in your chest. “You would’ve done well with a sad ballad.”

“Oh, definitely,” he murmurs, looking forward now, like he’s watching a movie that only he can see. “Fade to black. Cue emotional credits.”

You smile faintly at that. Or maybe you try to. Because the warmth between you—the comfort, the quiet—it feels like something that could settle. Something that could stay.

But then the silence stretches again. Not like before. This one sharpens. Something shifts in the air, almost imperceptibly, and you feel it before you hear it. The way Soobin suddenly exhales, the weight in his shoulders changing.

You glance at him.

He’s not smiling anymore. His eyes darken with something unsaid—an emotion too raw to voice but too heavy to hide.

In that moment, the space between you changes. It’s no longer just a shared past. It’s a crossing point.

A line drawn. Between what was… and what could be.

And somehow, without words, you both know it.

This is the turning point.

The moment everything begins to change. His eyes darken, intense and searching, as they lock onto yours. The world narrows until it’s just the two of you—breath mingling, hearts hammering in sync.

guys...i reached the 1000 word block GO TO PAHT TWO

940 notes · View notes

honeyhaeya · 2 months ago

Text

(🔐)🖇 ༘ ⋆"How to Date Discreetly"

' ╰┈ "can i go where you go? can we always be this close forever and ever?"

' ' 박성훈 x fem!reader

🎧ྀི 'ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Lover (Taylor Swift)

♫⋆₊˚ ﾟ. 'ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ genre / tags: idol!sunghoon x idol!reader, ice prince x reckless rookie, secret & established relationship, enemies to lovers (kinda), fluff, smut – MDNI, angst (minor), a pinch of comedy ੈ✩‧₊˚warnings: NSFW WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT ! smut, slight jealousy (m), language, detailed explicit scenes, angst (minor), reader on the pill (birth control), mutual hate that’s just actually horny confusion, mild hate (online), – ugh, theyre so in love, its intoxicating ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ smut warnings: unprotected sex (reader doesn't get pregnant, but you might irl, so wrap that shit up), overstimulation, oral (f. receiving), cock riding, rough sex, creampie (lol), praise kink, dirty talk, emotionally charged sex, soft dom hoon, high sex drive hoon ✩‧₊˚ wc: 6003 – 2/2 (mini series) ੈ♡ a/n: this is peak delusion. dont like, dont read. open for constructive critisism but fact checks or logical expected outcome are out of the picture, come on yall, this is fanfiction. this is the last part, y'all, pls enjoyyyy mwuah. be sure to read part 1 ! *^★ playlist: lover (taylor swift), celebrity (iu), they dont know about us (one directon), polaroid love (enhypen)

you were trembling when they handed you the trophy.

your first win.

lights blinding. fans screaming. camera zooming in.

and just when you thought you couldn’t hold it in anymore—tears starting to fall, your members surrounding you like the sisters they’ve become—

a staff passed you a note.

no name. just: practice room 3b. after stage. alone.

your heart knew before your head could catch up.

so after all the cameras stopped flashing, after the encore ended and you waved goodbye with shaky hands—

you went.

and there he was.

sunghoon, leaned against the mirror, hoodie pulled over his cap, eyes meeting yours like he’d been waiting forever.

you walked in and locked the door.

“you came,” you whispered, not quite believing it.

“of course i did,” he said. “you won.”

“we won,” you whispered, and that’s when he crossed the room and pulled you into a hug so tight your knees nearly gave out.

“i’m so proud of you,” he murmured into your hair. “i watched it live. twice.”

you laughed into his chest. “i tripped during the dance break.”

“and still looked better than me every comeback.”

you grinned. “no one’s ever looked better than you during bite me era.”

“...valid.”

and then you stayed like that, forehead to forehead, laughing softly and just being.

just breathing each other in like the chaos of the world couldn’t find you there.

a week later

the fandom wasn’t ready.

a short collab tiktok. your new dance challenge.

you posted it with your leader.

he posted it with you.

and fans went feral.

“wait. is that sunghoon and y/n???” “don’t play with me—this is a power collab” “why are they so… flirty? HUH???” “they have matching energy idc this is my otp now”

even some idols reposted it with captions like “siblings or dating???” and “get a room but make it cute”

you both just smiled and ignored the chaos.

a few weeks later

the photo spread across stan twitter like wildfire.

a local park. grainy zoom.

a girl in an oversized tee and denim shorts, cap low, platinum-blonde strands peeking out.

a guy in a hoodie and mask, arms swinging beside hers, sneakers kicking up sand as they teased and fake-ran after each other.

laughing.

laughing like they had nothing to hide.

laughing like they forgot the world existed.

“wait is that them—” “sunghoon and y/n in public?!” “no way that’s not them” “i actually think this is kind of sweet???” “you can tell they’ve been in love for a long time”

of course, some fans weren’t having it.

“if it’s true i’m unfollowing” “he should focus on his career” “i don’t support this at all”

but for every hater, there were two fans saying:

“they deserve happiness” “you can tell they make each other so happy it’s insane” “i want a love like this…”

and behind closed doors, in their bubble of stolen glances and whispered phone calls and late-night snack deliveries—

you and sunghoon just smiled.

because maybe the world didn’t know for sure.

but you both did.

and that was enough.

he didn’t even say hi.

not even a “you look beautiful,” or a “i missed you”—though god knows he did. months of schedules, oceans apart, stolen glances through screens that never felt like enough.

but the moment the door shut behind you, he was already moving. one step. two. arms around your waist, lips crashing into yours like he’d been holding his breath this whole time.

your back hit the wall gently, his hands framing your face, breath trembling as if you were something fragile, sacred.

he didn’t rush. didn’t speak. just kissed you like the world had been unbearably quiet without you.

you tasted like home.

and he tasted like longing.

his lips moved with yours, slow but deep. his hands were over your waist, pulling your body close to him.

he moved fast—you didn’t even notice his hands slipping under the fabric of your shirt, touching your bare skin. you gasped, trying to question what was going on, but he just took that moment to slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. your knees buckled, but he was there to hold you. he always was.

sunghoon lifted you like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist instantly. he didn’t pull away until he laid you gently on the bed, like you were fragile glass.

his lips trailed to your cheeks, your jawline, then your neck. his hand held your chin, tilting your face to the side, giving him more access to the soft flesh.

slow. steady. nipping, but not enough to leave marks for the world to see. he was careful. he hated hiding you—hated hiding this. but he had to. for both of your sakes. thank god both your schedules lined up this week. this was his only chance. now or never again.

“hoon… i don’t get it… are you alright?” you asked, your voice soft, your body pliant as you let him kiss you like that. melting beneath him.

he didn’t reply right away. instead, he pressed a kiss to your neck, then rested his head on your stomach, settling between your legs.

“i just… missed you.”

you hummed, your fingers brushing through his soft locks. “that’s obvious. i missed you too,” you replied, giggling when he buried his face deeper into your stomach. it was cute. too cute. “tell me the real reason, pengsoo,” you teased.

he smiled. “you smell good… i want to feel you… like really be inside you,” he murmured, already tugging at your clothes. and you let him.

“it’s so hard. seeing you every once in a while, then you’re gone again,” he continued, your top slipping off, your breath hitching as your bra followed seconds after. his fingers traced your bare skin, teasing your sensitive spots with praise—calling you pretty, soft… intentional with every word.

you felt shy all of a sudden. this was the man you liked, dated, got in trouble with. the one who was always there—but somehow, not really. now he was undressing you. your cheeks heated as he pulled your pants down, and you tried to cover your face.

sunghoon noticed, smiling softly as he grabbed your wrists. “i… i love you.”

your breath caught. your cheeks burned. “…i love you too.”

and then he kissed you again. his hand tugged your panties aside, not even pulling away from your lips, keeping you distracted so you wouldn’t hide. “just tap me twice if you want me to stop,” he murmured between kisses, dipping lower. his fingers found your clit—it was already soaked. you were dripping. your grip tightened on his biceps, nails digging in.

then one finger slid inside you. then two. they curled perfectly, making your back arch, your mouth falling open as you gasped into his. he moved them in and out, finding that one perfect spot that made you moan—loudly, desperately—and he loved it.

he pulled away to watch you, fascinated. your flushed cheeks, your messy hair, your eyes rolling back. your pussy swallowing his fingers. lewd. beautiful. he didn’t even notice how hard he was until you came on his fingers, screaming his name.

“fucking beautiful,” he breathed, stripping down completely until nothing was left between you. he kissed your cheeks, muttering sweet nothings and filth that made you hide your face again.

“see how hard you make me?” he whispered. “i get so fucking mad knowing other guys get to look at you like that.”

you frowned, your hand cupping his face. “i’m yours. always.”

“i’m the only one who gets to see you like this,” he murmured, leaning into your touch.

you nodded, humming. “i want to feel you.”

his cock teased your entrance as he hovered over you, his breath heavy. “p-push it in,” you whispered, holding onto him as he slid in. your walls clenched around him, swallowing him perfectly. you were a moaning mess.

“shit… you’re so tight… perfect,” sunghoon grunted as he finally bottomed out. he stilled, letting you adjust to the stretch, to the overwhelming fullness.

the heat was dizzying. your body felt weightless. then, he drew his hips back and slammed them in again, hard. you screamed, voice cracking.

his pace started slow… but quickly turned feral.

his thrusts were deep, cock dragging along your walls like he was trying to mark you from the inside. the room echoed with the wet, obscene sounds of sex—messy. “fuck, baby,” he growled, lips brushing your ear.

he pulled back just enough to watch. your tits bounced with every thrust, your mouth open in a silent moan, your body wrecked. sunghoon grinned. “so... ha- pretty.”

suddenly, he dropped your thighs and flipped you over like you weighed nothing. he tugged your hips up so you were on your knees, his hand weaving into your hair to arch your back. “you're dripping,” he said, spreading your thighs apart before sliding back in.

you’d never seen him like this. so desperate. so rough. your mind blanked when another sharp thrust hit you.

“hoonnn!” you cried out, face buried in the sheets. his hips slammed into you, hard and fast. you felt every inch.

he leaned over, chest pressed to your back, mouth against your ear. “you like this, baby? you’re fucking perfect,” he rasped.

your moans were muffled, tears slipping down your cheeks as his fingers rubbed and twisted your clit mercilessly. your whole body was shaking.

he kept pounding into you, his cock slamming your cervix, your walls clenching tight. then, he grabbed your face, turning you to kiss him, searing and possessive.

“mouth,” he ordered.

you obeyed, dazed, and he kissed you, saliva mixing with yours before leaning back, watching you. “swallow it. please…”

you did. drunk on him and gone, and he knew. he could see it all over your face.

“f-fuck! hoonnie! i’m gonna cum!” you moaned, eyes rolling back, sobbing.

you came hard, squirting and soaking his cock. he groaned, pulling out just in time as his cum spilled over your folds, hot and thick. it dripped from your swollen pussy.

“so fucking pretty,” he whispered, staring at you like art—flushed, wrecked, dripping.

he brushed the hair from your face, kissing your cheeks. “you did so well.”

and your arms wrapped around him.

your legs were trembling, body still reeling from your high. your breath came out in short, shaky gasps as sunghoon lay beside you, brushing the sweat-damp strands of hair from your face.

"you okay?" he asked gently, voice husky from all the growling, his lips brushing against your forehead.

you nodded, eyes still glazed. "never better," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his bare torso.

but he just smirked—eyes flicking down between your legs, watching how wrecked and sensitive you were. “good,” he said. “'cause we’re not done yet.”

your eyes widened, and he loved that. the way you blinked up at him, totally ruined but still willing—still eager for more.

he sat up, leaning against the headboard, pulling you gently by the waist until you were straddling his lap.

“i wanna see you ride me,” he murmured, hands stroking your hips like he was sculpting you. “want you to learn how to take me like this. slow, deep—your pace. your rhythm.”

you blushed, chewing your lip. “i don’t really… know how.”

“that’s okay, baby. i’ll teach you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “just trust me.”

you shifted nervously, feeling his cock already getting hard again beneath you. still messy from earlier, twitching against your thigh.

sunghoon reached between you, grabbing the base of his cock, guiding it to your entrance. “sit, baby. go slow,” he said softly.

you lowered yourself, gasping as the tip slipped in. he hissed, gripping your waist tighter.

“fuck… that’s it. just like that.”

inch by inch, you sank down on him, stretching around his length again. you whimpered, gripping his shoulders. “s-sunghoon…”

“you’re doing so well,” he praised, kissing your chest. “so fucking tight. so warm. take all of it.”

when your hips finally met his, you both let out a shaky breath. you felt full, stretched, overwhelmed all over again. but god, the look in his eyes—completely ruined, in awe of you—made it worth it.

he cupped your cheeks, kissed you gently. “okay, baby. now move for me.”

you lifted yourself slowly, then lowered again, moaning softly. “ah—hah, i feel everything…”

“yeah?” he grinned. “you feel how deep i am?”

you nodded, tears forming again from the pressure and pleasure. you started rocking your hips, rolling them in slow, deliberate circles, your hands bracing on his chest. the way he groaned—low, raw, possessive—sent heat straight to your core.

“fuck, just like that,” he said, guiding your hips with his hands, helping you ride him. “you’re so sexy like this… bouncing on my cock, eyes all teary…”

you whimpered, gripping his wrists. “feels so good, hoonnie… wanna make you feel good…”

“you are.” his voice dropped. “you’re my dream, baby.”

his hips started meeting yours halfway, thrusting up into you with each bounce. your thighs were shaking, sweat clinging to your skin, but he didn’t let go—his arms around your waist, lips pressed to your neck.

you picked up the pace, moaning louder, his cock hitting that spot that made your body jolt.

“sunghoon! h-ha, i—i can’t!”

“yes you can,” he growled, eyes dark. “show me how pretty you cum riding me.”

you cried out, your body clenching down around him. “i—i’m cumming! hoonn—!”

he wrapped his arms around you tight as you came undone, hips stuttering, your walls spasming around his cock.

sunghoon groaned, teeth sinking into your shoulder as he buried himself deep, cumming inside you without pulling out.

“fuck… fuckkk, baby…”

he held you there, cock twitching inside you, both of you breathless and slick with sweat and cum.

you collapsed against his chest, and he stroked your back, whispering sweet things as you came down from the high.

“you did so good, baby. best fucking student.”

you giggled weakly. “best teacher.”

he grinned against your skin. “lesson two’s in ten minutes.”

you were slumped against his chest, sticky and spent, your thighs trembling from the effort. sunghoon gently stroked your spine, humming softly like he wasn’t the one who just had you seeing stars.

but then you felt it.

that unmistakable twitch inside you.

you gasped.

“wait—hoon… you’re still hard?”

his voice was pure mischief now, cocky and low in your ear. “i told you. lesson two’s in ten minutes. but you’re such a fast learner…” he tilted your chin up, his smirk deadly. “thought we could skip ahead.”

before you could answer, he was shifting you effortlessly, flipping you onto your back like you weighed nothing. his body hovered over yours—warm, slick, glistening with sweat. the dim lighting made his skin look like gold, hair a tousled mess, and his lips were swollen from kissing you like he needed you to breathe.

“legs up,” he murmured.

you blinked, still hazy. “w-what?”

“legs up, baby. now. hands under your knees. i wanna see everything.”

and god—you obeyed.

he groaned at the view, pupils blown. “fuck, look at this mess… all because of me.”

he didn’t waste a second. he slid back inside with ease—your walls still sensitive, wet, perfect for him. you let out a gasping whimper, eyes flying open.

“too much?” he asked, faux sweet, brushing hair from your face.

you shook your head quickly. “n-no… don’t stop…”

he grinned. “good girl.”

he started slow—too slow—just rocking his hips in lazy, deep thrusts. each roll dragged a moan out of you, your overstimulated body twitching beneath him.

“you’ve taken me so well tonight,” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek. “you’re not even trying to run away now…”

you whimpered, fingers clutching his shoulders.

“you like it when i fill you up, huh?” thrust. “like when i don’t hold back.” thrust. “you were made for this, weren’t you?”

his hips snapped into you harder now, and your moan turned into a cry. your hands scrambled for purchase, nails dragging down his back.

“fuck, you’re squeezing me again,” he groaned, pace quickening. “you gonna cum again, baby?”

“i-i don’t know—hah, too much, i can’t—!”

“yes you can,” he growled, one hand gripping your jaw. “open those pretty eyes and look at me when you fall apart.”

and when you did—legs shaking, eyes rolling, moaning his name like a prayer—he followed right after, pushing deep and cumming with a broken gasp of your name.

he didn’t move for a moment, forehead resting against yours, both of you covered in heat and breathlessness.

finally, he chuckled. “third time’s the charm, huh?”

you could only giggle weakly, completely wrecked.

“my best student,” he whispered, kissing your lips. “but you’re not graduating yet. i’m keeping you in class forever.”

your legs were jelly. like actual, boneless, no-sensation-left jelly. sunghoon didn’t even give you time to whimper about it. no—he just swept you up bridal-style, still looking like he didn’t break a sweat, and padded right into the kitchen with his bare ass on display like he owned the whole goddamn hotel room (and you. very much you).

you blinked as he set you on the cold counter, your skin prickling.

“h-hoon… water first?”

he just smirked. “i’m thirsty, yeah. but not for that.”

you knew that look.

that glint in his eye.

the same one he had the night he bent you over the shower door.

“baby…” you started, weakly trying to protest.

but he already had your knees spread again, palms pressing your thighs apart like he was flipping open a favorite book.

“can’t help it,” he muttered, eyes locked on your completely ruined core. “you look too good like this. like you want me to make a mess in here too.”

“but—countertop—hoon this is a kitchen—”

“and now,” he purred, dragging his length along your entrance with a dark grin, “it’s where i’ll eat you, too.”

you nearly screamed.

he slid in without warning—your whole body arched off the marble. he grabbed your waist, holding you still as he bottomed out again, slow and deliberate.

“still so tight,” he groaned. “after all that?”

you sobbed a little laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“fuck, you’re incredible,” he whispered, forehead pressed against yours. “ruined and perfect and mine.”

his hips started moving, hard and fast—filthy wet sounds echoing with every thrust. your back kept thudding against the cupboards, the fridge humming violently beside you.

“anyone could walk in,” you gasped.

“let them,” he growled, hand wrapping around your throat just enough to make your head spin. “let them see who this pussy belongs to.”

your moan came out wrecked.

he drove into you like a man possessed, the counter rocking beneath your bodies. sweat dripped from his jaw, and his voice went breathless:

“gonna fill you up again,” he whispered, right in your ear. “you’re gonna be leaking me for hours, baby.”

that was all it took—you clenched around him, body trembling, and he lost it, spilling inside you with a hoarse cry of your name.

he collapsed into your chest, both of you panting, sweaty, sticky, and probably going to have to bleach the counter.

after a minute, you groaned, weakly swatting his back.

“what happened to just water?”

he smirked against your skin. “hydration starts with you.”

sunghoon’s still inside you when he leans in and kisses your temple. it’s soft. way too soft for someone who just absolutely demolished you on a hotel kitchen counter.

you’re both still breathing heavy, your chest rising against his, your thighs twitching around his waist.

but hoon doesn’t move.

doesn’t pull out.

just holds you like he’s afraid the moment might dissolve if he lets go.

“baby…” he says it quietly, like he’s scared to break the calm. “we’ve got a little time, right?”

you nod, a little dazed. “mhm.”

he finally smiles. that soft one. the rare kind. the one he only gives when it’s just you and him, wrapped up in the low hum of hotel aircon and the warmth of being close.

“then i’m not done yet.”

your stomach flips.

before you can ask what he means, he’s pulling you off the counter—slowly this time, carefully—and carrying you bridal-style again, lips brushing your shoulder.

“gonna make the most of every second, angel,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “wanna remember how you sound. how you look. how you feel.”

he lays you down on the big hotel bed, sheets still crisp and hot from earlier.

and this time?

he takes his time.

his hands move slow, like he’s memorizing you. lips pressing gentle kisses from your collarbone to your thighs, whispering between every one.

“love how soft you are…”

“god, look at you—so pretty like this…”

“gonna keep you full, baby. wanna stay with you like this until the sun comes up.”

and he does.

there’s no rush. no teasing. just sunghoon, worshipping you like you’re his last good thing in the world.

he kisses every part of you, murmurs praises against your skin, and when he slides into you again—it’s slow. achingly slow. just hips pressed together, foreheads touching, fingers intertwined like he’s holding on for dear life.

you’re not just his tonight.

you’re his home.

and maybe the world outside is chaotic and cold, but here?

with him?

it’s soft. safe. sinful. sacred.

and when he finally falls asleep, arms wrapped around you, lips ghosting “i love you” into your shoulder—you believe him.

the sun barely peeks through the hotel curtains, soft light filtering in like it’s trying to give you a break. but no. no peace. not when you’re dealing with park sunghoon.

you’re standing—well, attempting to stand—in front of the mirror, trying to shimmy on your shorts. your legs feel like noodles, your thighs ache, and your hips scream in protest with every movement.

“babe,” you groan, gripping the edge of the dresser for support. “I can’t walk.”

from behind you, he hums—fucking hums—like he didn’t just ruin your entire lower half hours ago.

“you shouldn’t have looked that good last night,” he shrugs from the bed, sheet half-draped over his naked waist, eyes heavy and smug.

you shoot him a look in the mirror. “you say that like it’s my fault my thighs exist.”

he grins. “it is your fault for looking at me like that. like you wanted dessert—and not the kind on the menu.”

“sunghoon—”

but before you can finish, he's behind you, arms slipping around your waist, lips ghosting along the curve of your shoulder. you jolt.

“sunghoon, I’m literally trying to put my pants on—”

“you don’t need pants,” he mumbles, voice low and sleepy and dangerous. “just lay down for a second. just one more.”

“you said ‘just one more’ like four orgasms ago—”

he gently tugs the shorts from your grip, lets them drop to the floor again.

“baby,” he pouts, pressing a kiss to your neck, “can’t help it. you’re walking around all sore and pretty, making those little noises when you bend, acting all shy—what am I supposed to do? respect you?”

you snort. “yes?!?”

but he’s already guiding you back to the bed, back to him, back under the covers where his hands are warm and his mouth is hungry again.

and when he pushes your legs apart, head dipping between your thighs, tongue flicking slow and evil over your inner thigh, you realize—

you’re not walking out of that hotel room soon.

[THE WALK OF “FAME”]

you step out of the hotel with sunglasses too big for your face and a cap pulled so low it nearly hides your whole soul. your body’s still screaming for rest, but your manager’s van is already parked just outside, tinted windows and all. no time to cry.

well—maybe a little whimper when you shift your legs.

you glance down at yourself. hoodie? check. shorts? regretfully, check. confidence? left it in the sheets of that king-sized bed where he is probably still sprawled, proud and shirtless.

your phone buzzes.

sunghoon: you forgot to kiss me goodbye sunghoon: also i found ur sock under the bed lol. want it back or should i keep it as a trophy?

you almost trip over your own feet from laughing. covering your mouth quickly, you slide into the backseat like an embarrassed criminal on the run.

you reply with a selfie—sunglasses, pout, middle finger up.

you: keep it. bury it. i never wanna see that cursed room again. sunghoon: cursed??? wow. so u scream my name like a prayer in cursed places now huh? got it.

you physically bite your lip to keep from smiling too hard, but your manager glances at you in the rearview mirror. you straighten up, pretending you’re just… normal. functional. not completely demolished by park sunghoon.

[THE FANMEET DISASTER THAT WASN’T]

you’d been smiling all day, hearts and polaroids flying, fans whispering sweet words that made you feel lighter. until… he walked in.

disguised in an oversized hoodie, baseball cap, mask—as if that jawline could be hidden. you almost broke character when you recognized the slouch of his shoulders, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap of his bag like a schoolboy with a crush.

you play it cool when he approaches.

"name?" you ask sweetly, not even hiding your smirk.

he tilts his head. “hoon. with an h.”

you scribble it down on his photocard, doodling a heart beside it. "thanks for coming, pengsoo. you’re really cute." then you leaned close, just enough to whisper. "you crazy bastard, if you get recognized I'm out of this."

he stares at you. “...thanks,” he says, flat. and walks away dramatically like he’s the one being played.

[THE VAN]

you finally climb into the random van later, excusing yourself from your manager and members. you even dragged a rookie staff to sit in front so you and hoon could have the entire backseat to yourselves.

as soon as you slide in, sunghoon’s arms cross. he looks away dramatically.

“oh, you’re mad now?” you laugh.

he glares. “so you treat your fans better than you treat me? I waited 40 minutes in line and all I got was a you’re cute and a smile like you didn’t make me almost break the hotel furniture last night.”

you giggle, poking his cheek. “you are cute.”

“not the point!” he whines. “you called me ‘sir’ and everything—who even taught you to be that sweet?!”

you lean in, pressing a teasing kiss to his jaw. “guess I’m just that good.”

he sighs dramatically, already pulling you into his lap.

"you're gonna pay for this. you know that, right?"

you blink innocently. “what’re you gonna do? break my legs again?”

he narrows his eyes.

“…worse. I’m gonna make you fall harder.”

the van rolls through the city, a lazy sunset washing golden light over tinted windows. you’re curled into sunghoon’s lap, hoodie sleeves hiding the way your fingers keep sneaking up his sides to poke him like you’re five.

“stop,” he says, grinning, arms wrapping around your waist. “you’re gonna get us caught.”

“you started it!” you whisper back, smacking his arm as he leans in to nuzzle your neck.

“oh my god—hoon, shh,” you giggle breathlessly, swatting at him again. “what if they hear?”

he chuckles, voice low and teasing against your ear. “shoot, haha.”

and then his hands are moving—fingers spidering up your sides, making you yelp as he tickles you mercilessly.

you squirm in his lap, laughing, trying not to be loud, but his mouth is curled in that smug smirk that means he’s enjoying every second of this.

“you’re evil!” you gasp, face warm, breath hitching when you shift and feel—

“…you’re hard,” you say flatly, raising a brow, hair all over your face as you freeze in his lap.

he stops tickling, blinking at you.

“you’re definitely hard,” you repeat, a little louder, a little smugger.

sunghoon rolls his eyes. “you’re squirming in my lap like a cute little worm, what do you expect?”

you smack him again. “don’t call me a worm when you’re—”

“raging. yeah. your fault.”

you stare at him, flustered, breathless, laughing, your forehead pressed against his shoulder as you try to calm your heart—and everything else he just activated.

“I hate you,” you whisper.

“you love me,” he whispers back, arms tightening around you like he’s scared you’ll vanish.

and you do. you really do. even if he’s currently a menace in every sense.

up front, your manager exchanges a knowing glance with hoon’s, the two of them scrolling on their phones, pretending they didn’t hear any of that.

the rookie staff just sips her coffee.

“…she’s really quiet today,” she comments.

both managers nod.

“yup. probably just tired,” hoon’s manager says, deadpan.

they’ve all known for months.

they’re just pretending they don’t.

because the love these two idiots have? it’s the kind that can’t be managed out of them anyway.

the rooftop was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of fairy lights they’d strung up in a rush. takeout containers litter the picnic blanket they brought, drinks sweating in the evening air, and the city lights below blink like they’re watching—silent witnesses to a love that never stood still.

you’re lying beside him, his hoodie pulled over your head, sleeves long enough to swallow your hands. sunghoon’s cap is low on his face, but the smile he’s been wearing all night? yeah. nothing could hide that.

“you know we’re not really disguised, right?” you murmur, nudging him with your knee. “we look like staff, sure, but we still shine like dumbass stars.”

he snorts, hand reaching out to hold yours. “it’s because we are stars. duh.”

you laugh, the sound soft and small and just for him. your manager had reluctantly agreed to this—one last date before he leaves with his members tomorrow. they’d whispered, “make it quick,” but they knew damn well these fools wouldn’t listen. love like this doesn’t follow call times.

hoon sits up, arms stretched over his head as he yawns. “should we go?”

“you wanna go?”

“no.”

you grin. “then stay.”

and just like that, he pounces.

you squeal, trying to escape, but he’s already chasing you around the rooftop like a lovesick idiot. he catches you by the waist, spinning you, your laughter echoing into the sky as you crash onto the blanket again, breathless and tangled.

“you’re crazy,” you whisper.

“you’re stuck with me,” he whispers back, nose brushing yours.

and then he kisses you.

slow at first. gentle. like he’s memorizing the shape of your lips, the taste of you, the way your breath stutters when he pulls you closer.

but it doesn’t stay slow.

not when you cup his face. not when your hands disappear under his hoodie. not when he presses you into the blanket with a soft groan like he’s trying to mold your bodies into one.

his hand slips under your shirt, warm and reverent, like he’s trying to say goodbye without ever using the word.

you kiss him harder, just to shut the sadness up.

because tomorrow’s coming.

and he’s leaving.

but tonight?

tonight, he’s yours.

in every laugh.

in every kiss.

in every heartbeat pressed against yours.

it’s quieter than usual in the company building. late, after practice hours, when everyone’s tired and scattered. the hallways are mostly empty except for you and sunghoon, sneaking through the dimly lit space like you’ve got all the time in the world… but neither of you do.

you stop in front of a door tucked at the end of the hallway—a secluded little area you two like to use when no one’s around. the walls here are soft and quiet, like they understand the weight of your secret love. hoon looks down at you, his face unreadable for a second before his lips pull into a smile, a bittersweet one.

“this is it, huh?” you whisper, looking up at him.

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he just pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around your waist like it’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.

“you’re not going anywhere,” you murmur into his chest, but the words feel hollow even to you. because you know tomorrow, he’ll be gone.

hoon pulls back slightly, his eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. there’s so much unsaid in that look, but then—his lips. they’re on yours before you can stop it.

it’s gentle, a slow burn of goodbye, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. it deepens as his hands slide to your neck, pulling you closer as if he wants to hold onto this moment forever. you kiss him back with everything you have, even as the pain in your chest starts to build.

the sound of footsteps approaching pulls you both apart with a snap, hoon’s fingers brushing your cheek one last time before he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“i’ll text you. and don’t forget to check your bag,” he whispers against your skin, voice low.

you blink up at him, confused, but before you can ask—he’s gone. disappearing into the hall, leaving you standing there, heart pounding.

later that night, in your shared dorm, you slump onto your bed, exhausted from the chaos of the day. your three friends—who all know the secret—are chatting around you, unaware of what you’re about to find.

you’re digging through your bag, mind on something else, when your fingers brush against something unexpected. a plastic bag, slightly crinkling as you pull it out. it’s filled with all your favorite snacks, the ones you’ve been craving but haven’t allowed yourself to eat in weeks.

your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, you just sit there in disbelief. hoon knew. you can almost hear his voice in your head—“you’re too hard on yourself. eat the damn snacks.”

you grin to yourself, because even though he’s gone, he’s still here with you. in these snacks. in his words. in the little ways he’s still taking care of you.

you text him back immediately: “you’re an idiot. but i love you.”

his reply comes almost instantly. “just wait until i’m back. i’ll sneak way more stuff into your bag.”

you laugh softly, shaking your head, because damn, even from a distance, he’s still making everything feel so damn real.

the next day, hoon’s getting ready to leave, and his members are, as usual, teasing him. sunoo and jungwon are in the van, and they’re not even trying to hide their amusement.

“dude, you’re like obsessed with her,” sunoo teases, grinning like a little shit. “you’ve barely been here all week.”

jungwon raises an eyebrow, smirking. “i thought you were supposed to be the one who couldn’t keep your hands off her, and yet... here we are.”

hoon groans, his face flushed with embarrassment. “shut up, you guys. she’s not just anyone.”

“right, right,” sunoo grins. “she’s the one.”

“can you stop?” hoon mutters, slumping back in his seat. “this is not the time to talk about this.”

but then, sunghoon’s phone buzzes. he glances at it, a soft smile creeping onto his face as he reads the text from you. his heart clenches, but before he can respond, sunoo smirks again.

“she texted you again? still sending you love notes, huh?”

hoon doesn’t say anything, just stares out the window, because damn, he’s going to miss this. miss her.

but for now? he has one more ride with his members. one more teasing session. one more stolen moment of normal before everything changes.

your night starts normal. you're back at your dorm after a schedule, hair tied up, hoodie on, eating cereal for dinner while watching a romcom you’ve seen a hundred times. your phone buzzes with messages from your members, random memes and updates. nothing special. just another quiet night.

until one of them says, “hey, did someone order food?”

you blink. “no?”

they go to check anyway, and you hear faint footsteps in the hallway. a small knock. then—quiet.

a beat.

another beat.

“um… you might wanna see this,” your member calls.

you shuffle to the door, cereal still in hand, until you freeze in the doorway. because standing there, wearing a black cap and a freaking mask under a hoodie is sunghoon.

real. in the flesh. looking at you like no time has passed.

your cereal bowl literally drops on the floor. he flinches. “whoa—are you okay?”

you don’t even answer. you launch yourself at him, arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder.

“you asshole,” you mumble. “you’re actually here?!”

“yeah,” he whispers. “i’m here. i’ve always been here.”

later that night, you’re on the rooftop again. the same one from before. the one with memories still stitched into the wind.

sunghoon brought your favorite drink, two snacks from the convenience store, and a blanket. he didn’t need to go overboard—he just needed to be there.

he pulls you into his side, both of you wrapped in that soft blanket, backs against the wall as the city lights flicker below.

“i missed you every single day,” you whisper.

he kisses your temple gently. “i never stopped loving you. even when i had to pretend.”

you look up at him. “so… what now?”

sunghoon turns toward you with the softest smile ever. “we keep going. even if we’re shadows in our own love story. even if the world never knows.”

“we’ll still have our little world?” you ask.

“always.”

he leans in and kisses you, slow and full of all the months you’ve both spent waiting. and in that moment, even the moon feels like it’s holding its breath for you two.

and your love does continue. hiding in plain sight. anonymous glances in music shows. strangers in public, lovesick fools in secrecy. hotel rooftop dates. secret messages in fan letters. little scribbles in notebooks. a hoodie that smells like the other person. staff members who pretend not to know. call signs – he'd call you yeowoo (fox or yeobo / honey), as cringe as that sounds, you call him pengsoo(nghoon) anyway. and a love that burns quietly, brightly—behind closed doors.

and maybe… just maybe… both of you’ll last.

a/n: that's the end. thankyou for readingggg

taglist: @kpoplover-19 @kpoppiesofinternet @hooni3luvs @stta-princess @softservesungie

@starry-eyed-bimbo @jessicaradreamer @btsreadss @butterflydemons @honnieswife

@synielve

643 notes · View notes

sillymommy6969 · 7 months ago

Text

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝖄ES, PRINCESS ᝰ! M.S.

˚⟡˖ ࣪౨ৎ summary: megan's widely known as the comedian and most unserious member of katseye, but if they squint and really pay attention, eyekons will notice she does not play when it comes to a certain katsye member

disclaimers: protective!megan, she can be mean sometimes, 7th member!reader, shy!reader, mostly fluff

MEGAN BEING Y/N's KNIGHT IN ADAM SANDLER ARMOUR FOR 4 MINUTES STRAIGHT (PART ONE)

10.8k likes | 122k views | 27th Dec, 24

*Loud technical difficulty transition* In a recent video a fan took of Katseye awaiting their ride at LAX, the girls were lounging around a waiting area while their security held back the masses that began gathering around them

The camera was shaky and pretty blurry from how zoomed in it was, but it was clear enough to make out the fan favourite girl group walking out the gate and immediately being bombarded with camera flashes and excited fanfare from the crowd. Most members began waving and smiling for pictures, most of their faces covered by their caps, hoodies or masks.

In the very back of the group were you and then Megan. You had ushered Yoonchae to the middle of the group so as to not lose her, but doing so, you had accidentally pushed you and Megan behind. As the security team tried parting you a path, the amount of fans closing in on the two of you, shoving pens and phones into your faces was getting overwhelming.

[ this is sad, people need to learn to treat idols like humans ]

With your hood up and your airpod maxes around your head, you tried snaking between people to reach the end of the group again. Gradually, your hand slipped from Yoonchae’s, and the two of you were quickly held back.

You looked back at Megan for help, your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes squinting at the blinding flashes still suffocating the both of you. She had a Katseye cap on in her black hoodie, the irritated expression on her face unshielded from any of the cameras. Her hand found yours, but you were abruptly shoved back into her when a man’s camera knocked into your smaller frame. That seemed to send Megan over the edge.

She wrapped herself around you, managing to switch the two of you so she would be upfront. She held her hand up to cover the same man’s lens, pushing him back with medium force.

A few different angles of the exact same moment were thrown into the video, where Megan was clearly seen to be clenching her jaw, her eyebrows furrowed and a determined glint in her eyes as her other hand held you close to her back. It is, to date one of the more controversial videos Katseye haters used to paint Megan as ‘rude’ and ‘a bitch’.

[ Megan hulking out at the guy who pushed her girl is so real ]

You buried your face into Megan’s back, the faint scent of coconut in her hair soothed the anxiety accumulating in your throat. Your hand still warm in hers, her taller figure seemed to filter a lot of the flashes and invasive shoving.

When the security guards regained their footing and began helping Megan fight your way through the crowd.

A follow up video fans had zoomed in on the group when you had made it to the pick-up zone showed the group settling beside their mountains of baggage.

Manon and Daniela seemed to showing each other something on their phones, Sophia and Yoonchae played a finger game whilst Lara spectated. Megan had her body shielding you away from where the cameras were, her hands coming up to help brush your hair back when you yanked your hood down. Her fingers picked away the strands that fell to your face. She even goes to take her hat off, fixing it over your head before carefully setting your airpod maxes over the cap. Pulling your hood back up, she chuckled at the smile you shot her.

[ Ya’ll know I had to put the #megy/n origin video here ]

*Loud technical difficulty transition* [ KATSEYE VLOG ] Dance Rehearsal with KATSEYE | KATSEYE

The six of you were just messing around between routines, stretching or playing games to loosen up your bodies before you went at it again. Manon had gotten her sudden surge of energy and was doing cartwheels with Lara’s assistance. Yoonchae and Sophia were working through the routine alone again in front of the mirror. Daniela was checking herself out on her phone and Megan was drinking some water.

Your manager motioned for you to come entertain the cameras during your break, waving for the cameraman to approach you in one corner of the room. You smiled at the camera, waving. “Hello, eyekons. Welcome back, we just wrapped learning new moves for MAMA, and it’s been really good—really exciting so far. As you can see, everybody’s definitely super exhausted.” you joked, the camera followed your hands gesturing to the six all energetically moving in their own worlds.

“Hm, I need a snack.” You rummaged through your purse, pulling out a protein bar. You held it up to the camera, holding a palm up behind it as if it was a makeup product. “These bars?” You moaned, “They save my life. Absolutely amazing.”

You heard laughter in the background, seeing the six have now gathered in a circle and challenging each other to do the most outrageous dance move they could. Everybody’s enjoyment—especially Manon’s laughter—seemed to echo around the room when Megan does a cringe tiktok move before doing aegyo. You strolled over, the camera following you as everybody broke out in hysteria at Megan’s performance.

“N/N, come do one!” Daniela called, waving you over.

You held your bar up, the other hand covering your full mouth as you chewed. “Give me a second to finish this, I’ll be there.”

“Not your big back ass—I mean, butt eating again,” Manon teased, her hands on her hips as she panted from doing her dance. She eyed the camera, waving for it to come closer as she held her hand up beside her mouth to whisper, “Just for you guys’ information, we just had lunch before this.” When Sophia slapped her shoulder after, she chuckled, “I can already see the headline on twitter, ‘Manon of Katseye fat shaming Y/N in dance rehearsal vlog.”

“Aye, y’know food hates to see Y/N coming,” Lara joked, beckoning you closer. “Wait, is that a XXX bar? Gimme!”

You held it out for her to take a bite, eyeing Megan, who was just the loudest laughter in the room. Her laugh had now faltered to a tiny smile. Watching you feed Lara the bar.

“When you think there’s an earthquake, but it’s just N/N walking around the building—!” Daniela added, hooking an arm around your neck before grabbing the bar for a bite too.

“Okay, enough.” Megan warned, glaring at her members. “Y/N has a faster metabolism than us, so she needs more to sustain enough energy for practice.” She explained to the cameras.

[ Dang she really said queen never cry and locked in ]

You hummed, walking over to stand beside the redhead as Yoonchae and Sophia entertained the cameras now. You peeled the wrapper of the bar back, encouraging her to take a bit as well to replenish her energy. The two of your were in the background, and Megan could be seen immediately brightening her expression at you showing you cared. Her hands cupped yours, leaning in to take a bite as you smiled.

[ The things I’d give to see them behind closed doors— ]

*Loud technical difficulty transition* [ KATSEYE LIVE ] Happy First Birthday to KATSEYE! | KATSEYE

As Manon tried guessing the name of Daniela’s America’s Got Talent dancing partner, you managed your focus on the food. You felt your energy deplete with each passing moment; it had been a long day and you really needed some sugar in your body to keep going through the rest of the schedules for the day. You grabbed the bowl of powdered donut holes, popping one in your mouth as you mindlessly nodded at the girls bickering about Manon begging for an ‘effort’ point.

“So, the next question is about Sophia Laforteza,” Yoonchae read off her card, “Sophia, you can’t answer, but everybody else can answer—What is Sophia’s current favourite band?”

As everybody threw their hands up and shouted their names to answer, you stayed seated between Megan and Manon on the couch. It was obvious, even to the fans flooding the comments on the Youtube live, that you were a little off. You weren’t as engaged with the rest of the girls and you hadn’t spoken in a hot minute. Your manager, reading some comments behind the cameras gestured for Megan to check on you.

The redhead turned away from Lara answering the question to watch you bite into another donut hole. You caught her eye, offering the half-bitten treat before eating it upon her shaking her head. Your cheeks rounded out as you chewed.

[ SHES SO CUTE WHAT THE ACTUAL F*CK ]

The editor zoomed in on the two of you, Manon’s waving arms moving in the foreground as your subtle moment caught everybody’s attention. Megan chuckled at your eagerness to eat, her whisker dimples popping out. She pointed at your lips, followed by your tongue darting across your lips in attempts to clean the powdered sugar off. Her soft, yet infectious laughter was picked up quietly by the microphones around you, her hand reaching out to swipe the white powder from your lips. You pursed them, staring back at her with big, doe eyes.

She stuck her thumb into her mouth, cleaning the sugar from her fingers before picking up one of the donut holes for herself. Your head fell on her shoulder, her hand resting on your thigh.

[ If ya’ll heard a siren outside it’s me screaming from my room ]

*Loud technical difficulty transition* [ WEVERSE LIVE ] Come join Manon and Y/N in a chill fashion show <3

You had tried on your third outfit of the live, sporting some denim jorts and a zig-zagged cut long-sleeve. You adjusted Daniela’s faux fur hat on your head, pouting into the camera as you spun to show everybody the full picture. Manon whistled, staring between you and the live with a wide grin. “Chat, are ya’ll seeing this smoking woman right now?”

[ We all need a Manon to hype us up in our lives ]

You walked forward, squatting to read what the fans were saying about your outfit. You were grateful it was mostly positive praises and constructive comments on what you could add or take away to enhance the whole aesthetic.

“I don’t know how I feel about the ice going with this fit though, you guys see this?” Your thumb tugged at the multiple chains and necklaces around your neck. Your wrists clinked as your bracelets knocked into each other. Neither you nor Manon seemed to notice the brief ‘MxY/I’ charm dangling off one of the many chains. But the comments immediately began discussing what they thought they had seen.

user01 ‘MxY/I’?? ANYBODY ELSE SEE THAT

user02 i just know their pr team be sweating everytime these two go live cuz this is the second time y/n’s exposed megy/n

user03 Guys calm down she’s just a chill girl

Deciding to deescalate the amount of people immediately focusing on the charm you had accidentally flashed the live, you signalled for Manon to take over for a bit with a different topic before you went off camera to take it off.

“Okay, but like I’ve been thinking about Katseye merch line of our charms, y’know? Like you get to choose between all our charms.” Manon rambled, “do ya’ll see the orange vision?”

You came back with your jewelry case, setting it down in front of the camera. Whilst you looked through your collection, the fans took their time to examine the necklaces on you to try and confirm or debunk what they thought they had seen. It was obvious it was missing now, and despite you trying to distract everybody by pulling out different accessories for this outfit, the comments had a common topic of interest.

user04 Great good job ya’ll made her take it off

user05 DID I IMAGINE THAT WHAT THE FUCK

user06 y/n knows sophia’s about to whoop her ahh after this

Screenshots of you wearing the necklace during the live flashed on screen. Some fans enhanced the image.

[ Nothing never escapes eyekons omg ]

*Loud technical difficulty transition* [ WEVERSE LIVE ] What’s in Megan’s Bag? The one Megan’s by herself where the iconic dyslexic meme came alone

“Girl, I wish I had a favourite book—I can’t read. I’m dyslexic.” Megan chuckled, setting her bag down once she reached the lipgloss at the bottom of her bag. “‘Where are the other members’? Well, some of them have some mysterious, secret schedules to attend to and the other half are probably out doing their own activities. I’m just at work ‘cuz I finished up a dance-line shoot with Y/N and Dani.”

user01 WHERES Y/N MEGGERZ

user02 just saw y/n’s weverse update she’s literally out with somebody rn

user03 MEGAN WHOS Y/N DATING WTF

Megan’s eyes narrowed at certain comments pointing out your Weverse post. You had posted a mirror picture of you earlier, when Daniela was still in the background picking up a drink order. Her body was somewhat in frame, but not enough for fans to coherently recognize her. The two of you went out for a quick trip downtown to shop after your schedules were up, your manager had informed the three of you Megan needed to go live for fan engagement, so you had no choice but to leave her to it. You did promise her a take-away drink though.

“Hey, hey, we don’t get into private business around here, okay?” she asked, “I’m pretty sure Y/N’s out with Dani right now, but even if she wasn’t, no invasive questions, please.”

[ YES MA’AM SPEAK UP FOR YOUR GIRL 🗣️🗣️ ]

The two of you have been under a lot of pressure from management for the overwhelming amount of people obsessing over #megy/n. You two were advised to keep your distances whenever you didn’t need to be together, and it was growing apparent to the fans after a couple days of zero content from their favourite pair.

A little later into the live, a knock at the door sounded around the room. Megan didn’t really get the chance to see who it was before you barged in, a drink in hand.

“Sorry if the ice’s a little melty, Mei. Dani had to pick Yoonchae up so I had to walk, the journey back here was brutal.” You apologized, handing her the drink. The redhead nodded towards the phone, warning you that she was live. You walked onscreen, moving to where Megan was when she wheeled back in her chair. You wore a bright smile, waving when your head peeked on camera. In Daniela’s camo cap and denim top, you looked to have just walked out a modelling catalogue. “Hey, guys. Sorry to drop in with no warning, I had to make a quick delivery,” you said, holding Megan’s drink up.

Megan popped the lid open, “Did you get me—!”

“Extra whip and two pumps of strawberry syrup?” You finished, smiling proudly when her face lit up seeing the exact toppings she hoped for. “I always do, Mei.”

[ THE NICKNAME MEGAN SAID HER MOM CALLED HER ]

“You’re a godsend.” she hummed, taking a sip.

It was almost instinctive, the way your hand dropped to rest along the small of her back as she enjoyed the drink. When you remembered what your manager had told you that afternoon, you immediately pulled away, resting on your hip instead.

user04 NO WAY YALL GOT THEM IN TROUBLE W HYBE

user05 Nooooo the immediate take back :((

user06 omg they def got yelled at for being too obvious

When you bid the live goodbye, the comments whined at your coming departure. And once the door clicked shut behind you, Megan’s smile dropped, the way it usually did when she would lock in for filming interviews.

“I said no intrusive comments, guys. I don’t want Y/N feeling uncomfortable—and ya’ll definitely wanna see her again right?” The chat flooded with immediate agreement. “Good, then be sure to be mindful of what you guys say, yeah?”

[ omg she does NOT play when people harass y/n ]

*Loud technical difficulty transition* [ WEVERSE LIVE ] Yoonchae and Lara on live in their Japan hotel room

“Have I ever told you guys this story about Y/N getting hit on at New York fashion week?” Yoonchae’s eyes widened, glaring warningly at the older member. “Okay, way to be subtle about the side-eye, Yoonchae. Nothing crazy happened, okay? It was just kinda funny, so I wanted to tell eyekons.”

Lara eyed Sophia offscreen, who gave her a thumbs up.

“So basically when we were in New York for fashion week, we were all sat together by the runway with all these cool people, right? And then these two German guys Manon and Daniela were talking to asked them what Y/N’s name was,” Lara said with a smile, “And then one of them asked her for her number and Y/N wasn’t really into it, so she was tryna like distract them and change the topic, but he was like insisting.”

user01 wait what german guys???

user02 Not Y/N getting flirted with in the wild

user03 i have a feeling ik where this is going

“So she grabbed Megan, who was sitting next to her, and like told the guy they were dating so he would leave. They looked so awkward when they were tryna act like a couple, it was the funniest thing I saw that week.”

“Yeah, Megan had to act like this tough guy and it was so out of character, I felt bad for giggling at her after,” Sophia added offscreen. “But it was actually really sweet overall.”

Yoonchae hummed, “Yes, Megan was very… like a knight.”

“Yes! Like a knight for Y/N. Like ya’ll already know our girl don’t play if you mess with her friends.” Lara cackled, “Never ever, ever, ever don’t come near us if Megan’s angry, you will never see the light of day ever again.”

user04 MEGY/N CRUMBS

user05 they don’t gotta pretend lol

user06 one thing abt megan is she locks in for y/n

[ Putting out more #megy/n content should be a mandatory Katseye schedule ]

#katseye x reader #katseye #megan skiendiel x reader #megan skiendiel #daniela avanzini #daniela avanzini x reader #lara raj #lara raj x reader #manon bannerman #manon bannerman x reader #sophia laforteza x reader #sophia laforteza #yoonchae

1K notes · View notes

fellominaarcher · 4 months ago

Text

PILLOWTALK

⤷ Pairing: Karina x idol, g!p fem!reader

⤷ Fic type: oneshot

⤷ Content warning: alcohol, smut, 18+ only, sex, penis + vagina with protection, oral sex (both receiving) and basically smut with a plot. This will be LOOONG.

⤷ Author's note: based on a real event I attended.

SM Entertainment had finally granted aespa a much-needed two-month break, a rare miracle in the idol world. No rehearsals, no packed schedules, no chaotic airport runs or 4AM music show pre-record. Just... freedom.

Well, freedom and a bit of boredom.

For Karina, more humbly known as Jimin, this sudden dose of free time was starting to feel like a curse. There were only so many shows to binge, and she’d already cleaned her closet twice.

That’s when Giselle—Aeri waltzed into her room like a pink-haired hurricane.

“You have to come with me to this thing,” Aeri said, practically vibrating with excitement. “It’s a function. Not like an awards show or a party. It’s... different.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow, lounging on her bed in sweats. “Define different.”

“It’s called Blind One Night Stand.”

Jimin blinked.

“I know how it sounds,” Aeri added quickly, holding up both hands. “But hear me out. It’s like a blind date but for idols only. No cameras. No managers. Just... one night. One person. No strings.”

It sounded ridiculous. Risky. Chaotic.

“But genius,” Aeri added with a wink. “A third-gen senior is behind it. Trust me, it’s legit.” The rapper assured the leader.

Still, she wasn't easily sold.

Jimin folded her arms. “You want me to go have sex with a stranger?” Her right eyebrow was raised high and she gave Aeri a questioning look.

“I’m going to have sex with a stranger,” Aeri corrected, grinning. “You’re going to come as my emotional support... and also maybe have sex with a stranger.” The Japanese girl added with a smug smile.

Jimin opened her mouth to argue but Aeri had already handed her a phone and pointed to a Telegram contact.

“It’s all anonymous,” she said. “You just send them your name, group, and gender preference. That’s it.” It was an easy and a simple step for such an event.

Jimin frowned. The thought of some faceless idol trying to hit on her and touch her body? It gave her mixed feelings—curiosity and anxiety.

After a long pause and one very judgmental look at her ceiling, Jimin gave in.

Karina. Aespa. Doesn’t matter. She typed and hit send.

And just like that, the wheels were in motion.

──────────────────────

The night arrived faster than expected.

The venue: a luxury hotel in Seoul, glimmering under neon lights. One of those discreet places with soundproof walls, a private lounge, and a bar stocked with designer liquor.

Jimin sat perched on a velvet barstool, a half-finished cocktail in one hand, her phone in the other. Her long black hair was let flowing free to perfection, her body wrapped in something black that clung to her in all the right places but still, she wasn’t feeling it.

The music pulsed low and steady in the background, giving her thoughts something to dance around.

Familiar faces were scattered around, some idols she recognized immediately, others she only vaguely remembered. There were more people here than she expected. A few faces she wasn’t sure she should’ve seen in this kind of setting. But nobody was acting out.

She could’ve left. She was this close to standing up and ghosting the whole thing.

Then Aeri returned.

The Japanese girl practically floated over, grinning like she’d just won the lottery. “Jimin! I’m going to my room! They said my partner’s already waiting!” she sang, flashing a hotel key card in front of her friend’s face.

Jimin blinked slowly. “Wow. That fast?” Half-amused by the whole thing.

“Mmhmm,” Aeri hummed proudly. “Catch me glowing tomorrow morning.” Her voice was almost a whisper as if it was a secret.

Jimin scoffed, a brow up. “Catch something else while you’re at it.” Giving her friend a playful dirty look.

“Relax, Yoo Jimin. I brought a whole damn pharmacy,” Aeri winked, twirling the key card between her fingers. “I’ll be hydrated, protected, and possibly sore.”

Jimin groaned. “TMI, Aeri.” As she glared at Aeri and she had her arms crossed.

“Don’t wait too long or someone hotter might steal your mystery person,” Aeri teased as she sauntered off toward the elevators.

“Don’t forget your condom, Aeri!” Jimin called after her, voice loud at first then fading mid-sentence.

She sighed, finishing the rest of her cocktail before reaching for the whiskey that had been prepped on the side. Her reflection in the glass glinted back at her—cool, composed, and slightly tipsy.

Then her phone pinged.

Anonymous: Your partner is waiting for you in the room. Go to the main counter, say your name, and get your key card.

Jimin blinked at the message. Her heart skipped once. Twice. She reacted with a single emoji: Okay.

She tapped her nails on the wood of the bar, contemplating. She could still leave. Blame a stomach ache. Say her driver was waiting.

But instead... she stood.

When else am I going to do this if not now? she reasoned. It’s our break. No one’s watching.

She adjusted her outfit, slung her small handbag over her shoulder, and made her way to the front desk. The receptionist was unbothered and clearly used to this, handed her a single keycard after a short exchange.

Room 1104.

She stared at the number for a second. Of course, she thought. That’s her birthday—April 11th. A weird little coincidence.

Her fingers curled around the keycard. No turning back now.

──────────────────────

The elevator ride was silent. Too silent.

Jimin leaned against the mirrored wall, watching the numbers climb. Floor 9. Floor 10. Floor 11.

Ding.

The doors opened and the hallway stretched before her, warmly lit and eerily quiet. Room 1104 was just around the corner.

Each step she took echoed softly, her heels clicking against the carpeted floor.

She stopped in front of the door. Her hand hovered over the handle. Then she slid the card into the slot.

Green light. Click.

The door opened.

Jimin took a deep breath as her fingers wrapped around the door handle of Room 1104. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest, louder than she’d like to admit. Everything about this situation was surreal. A blind hookup event just for idols? It sounded insane when Aeri first brought it up, and even more so now that she was actually stepping into a hotel room for it.

Who the hell am I about to see?

“This better be worth it,” she muttered under her breath.

The door clicked open, revealing the soft glow of ambient light and the silhouette of a figure standing by the large window that overlooked Seoul’s glittering skyline.

And then Y/N turned around.

The sight knocked the air right out of Jimin’s lungs.

Y/N. From Celestial. All black outfit. Sleeves rolled, shirt was well pressed, dark hair tucked behind one ear, with her piercing gaze cutting right through Jimin's soul. She was gorgeous on TV. She was divine in person.

“Holy shit,” Jimin whispered before she could stop herself.

Y/N blinked in mild surprise and slowly smirked, shoving her hands into her pockets. “I won’t even guess. You’re literally Karina,” she said smoothly. “Didn’t think you’d show up to something like this.”

Jimin swallowed and tried to snap out of her daze. “Yeah… yeah, I didn’t think I would either.” She scratched the back of her neck awkwardly. “Peer pressure.” And the awkward laugh that came out of her mouth afterwards.

Jimin froze for a split second. She blinked, taking a few stunned breaths as her eyes subtly scanned the other woman. Her face, her lips, her scent—fuck. She was even more beautiful up close. She looked like a living, breathing fantasy.

“Giselle was the reason I came,” Jimin admitted, her tone dry. “She basically dragged me into this. I’m pretty sure she’s already... getting busy somewhere in this hotel.” Her voice faded mentioning Giselle 'having fun' at this moment.

Y/N laughed softly, looking down at the carpet for a second before lifting her head again. Her smile was warm but teasing, eyes dancing with mischief. “I hope she stretches first.” Y/N added, as a joke.

She made her way deeper into the room, carefully placing her handbag on the side table. Her skin was warm already—some combination of nerves and alcohol. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she finally met Y/N’s eyes again.

Jimin chuckled and gave a slow nod. “I warned her to bring a condom.” Her eyes were quick to glance at Y/N every time she gets the chance to.

That earned another laugh from Y/N, who casually stepped toward the minibar and pulled out two glasses. “Well, happy accidents, I guess,” she said, pouring the whiskey like it was second nature. “You ended up with me.” Y/N casually shrugged.

“And you?” Jimin asked, arching a brow as she accepted the glass. “What made you come here tonight?”

“It’s my birthday,” Y/N said, clinking her glass against Jimin’s. “My member, Jiyoon, sent me here as a ‘gift.’ Thought I needed a little… chaos in my life.” Y/N rolled her eyes though there's a small smile on her lips.

Jimin raised her glass. “Then happy birthday.”

They both sipped. The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was charged, curious, thick with unspoken thoughts.

The taller woman exhaled. “I figured we should take it slow,” Y/N said casually, nodding toward the sofa. “It’d be weird to just walk in and start taking our clothes off, right? I'd actually like to talk to you first. Doesn’t matter if we end up in bed or not.” that signature smile of hers.

Jimin blinked. That was unexpected. And kind of… hot?

That surprised Jimin. In a good way. The soft assurance in Y/N’s tone, the calm confidence, it made Jimin feel strangely safe. And even more curious. She took a seat beside her, legs crossing slowly, eyes locked.

God, she smells good.

The warmth of the whiskey was already trickling through her system, mixing with the buzz from earlier drinks. It only made Y/N more captivating. The golden glow of the lamp lit the side of Y/N’s face like a scene from a movie. Her voice. Her presence. The way she casually leaned into the conversation.

Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Taking a deep breath, “Oh yeah,” Y/N said, shifting slightly to face her. “What do I call you tonight? Karina? Or… Jimin?” Y/N tilted her head as she asked the question.

Jimin's heart fluttered at the question. She let the corner of her lips lift slowly before replying. “Karina isn’t here tonight, just Jimin. Call me Jimin, Y/N.” she said, her voice lower now, more intimate.

The name you’ll moan tonight.

Wait! WHAT?! Who said that?!

Jimin choked slightly on her whiskey, caught off guard by her own inner monologue. She coughed into her sleeve, cheeks burning, embarrassed by the sudden betrayal of her own mind.

Y/N blinked, surprised, but immediately leaned forward. “Are you okay?” she asked, eyes laced with a hint of concern and amusement.

Jimin nodded quickly, trying to salvage her dignity. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just went down the wrong pipe.” Jimin cleared her throat and straightened up in her seat.

She was about to spiral into full embarrassment mode, but Y/N tilted her head and chuckled. “You’re kinda cute when you’re flustered.” A brief eye contact from Y/N was made.

Jimin felt her body react instantly. A pull in her chest. A spark between her legs. Everything about this moment screamed invitation.

“Tell me something,” Y/N began, twirling her drink between her fingers. “Is this the first time you’ve done anything like this?”

Jimin bit her bottom lip before answering, “Yeah. First time I’ve even considered it. But I figured if I’m gonna make a reckless decision, I might as well make it during our break. No schedules. No cameras. No staff.” Attending a blind one night stand was already a crazy idea.

“Exactly,” Y/N agreed, setting her glass on the table. “We’re just two people tonight. Not idols.” Y/N told the Aespa leader.

That struck something in Jimin’s chest. No pretense. No pressure. Just… her.

Jimin leaned forward slightly, closing some of the distance between them. “So if we’re not idols right now… who are we?” Her voice was low and filled with a hint of intimacy.

Y/N’s eyes flicked down to Jimin’s lips, then back up again. She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she tilted her head and whispered, “Come here and find out.” Her heart was racing a little because the woman seated next to her was just so beautiful.

That was all the invitation Jimin needed.

Her glass was set down in a flash, and the next moment, their mouths crashed together—hot, slow, and loaded with the kind of tension that had been simmering since the door opened. Jimin climbed into Y/N’s lap like she’d done it a hundred times before, her hands in Y/N’s hair, Y/N’s fingers clutching at her waist like she never wanted her to leave.

Their tongues met—wet, hungry, and perfectly in sync. The first kiss was nothing short of sinful. Jimin had kissed before, sure, but this? This was indulgence. This was drowning. Y/N tasted like warm whiskey and something darker, deeper like something Jimin never wanted to stop savoring.

Their bodies were pressed flush on the couch, tangled up, heat building under their skin like fire about to catch. Jimin’s thighs were parted over Y/N’s lap, her hips already rocking without thinking, chasing friction. The dim hotel lighting bathed them in golden softness, shadows dancing over their features and fluttering lashes.

Y/N’s strong arms locked around Jimin’s waist like a vice, pulling her in with a desperate sort of greed, as if to say don’t fucking leave me tonight. And Jimin had no intention to.

Holding her like she was something precious, and that made Jimin’s heart stutter. But that didn’t stop the way lust clawed up her spine, demanding more.

When Y/N finally pulled back, her lips were swollen and glossy with spit, a strand of it still connecting their mouths. Her eyes were dark and half-lidded, flicking down to Jimin’s mouth and back again.

But instead of diving back in, Jimin smiled and cupped Y/N’s jaw, brushing her thumb across her cheek. She kissed her again, this time slower. Sweet, even. Like she wanted to memorize the shape of her lips.

Her hands explored without hesitation, fingertips skimming down the back of Y/N’s neck, over the slope of her shoulders, and finally landing at the buttons of her black shirt. She popped them open one by one, teasing, brushing her fingers over skin with a softness that made Y/N shiver.

At the same time, Y/N’s hands found Jimin’s ass, squeezing it firmly, possessively, and sliding down to the back of her thighs. A soft gasp slipped past Jimin’s lips and her grip on Y/N’s shirt tightened.

Jimin pulled away with a laugh against Y/N’s mouth. “Take me to the bed, silly,” she whispered, playful, breathless.

Y/N smirked, pressing one more kiss to her lips before lifting her up bridal-style with a grunt that made Jimin’s stomach flip. “As you wish, my birthday gift,” Y/N teased back.

Y/N grinned and kissed her again, quick and rough, before she stood up and without hesitation she scooped Jimin into her arms. Jimin laughed, her head resting against Y/N’s shoulder, hands curled around her neck as they made their way to the bed.

Y/N laid her gently on the bed, the pristine white sheets crinkling beneath her. Jimin’s dark hair fanned around her head like a halo as Y/N stood close, helping her remove her heels. They dropped to the floor with a dull thud, and Jimin reached out, tugging Y/N closer by her waistband.

"Happy birthday." She murmured teasingly, her kissable lips were a few centimeters away from Y/N's.

There was no rush, but also no patience.

Fingers worked fast, desperate. Buttons were undone, zippers pulled. Their laughter occasionally broke through the silence was nervous and playful but was quickly drowned out by the heat building between them.

Clothes were removed in a blur of clumsy hands and stolen kisses. Buttons popped. Fabric slid. Jimin’s black cloth ended up somewhere near the lamp, her bra tossed aside. Y/N’s shirt and pants were peeled away with urgency, leaving her in nothing but her boxer, already tented, already needy.

The taller woman knelt on the bed, slotting herself between Jimin’s thighs, then kissed her again, harder this time. The kind of kiss that stole your air. That said, you’re mine tonight. She kissed her way down, lips skimming Jimin’s jaw, down her neck, across her collarbones.

She kissed her way down Jimin's flesh, sucking gently until the skin turned a pretty shade of purple. Her mouth kept moving down, down to Jimin’s chest.

She licked a slow stripe across one nipple, and Jimin’s head tilted back with a groan. When Y/N finally took the nipple into her mouth and started to suck, slowly at first, then harder, Jimin whimpered and arched into the sensation.

“Fuck,” she breathed, eyes fluttering shut.

Her own hand was already between her legs, fingers pressed firmly against her clit, rubbing slow circles as her other hand tangled in Y/N’s hair, keeping her close. “God, I can't wait anymore, Y/N.” The noises between them were wet, needy, breathless only made it worse, or better.

Her lips ghosted across her stomach, her hips, the inside of her thighs, making Jimin squirm.

And then finally, Y/N’s mouth was on her pussy.

The first lick was slow, deliberate, just to make her feel it. Y/N flattened her tongue and dragged it through her soaked folds, humming like she was tasting the best thing she’d ever had.

Jimin cried out, hand flying to the back of Y/N’s head, gripping her hair. “Holy shit, fuck!” she gasped, legs already shaking.

Y/N didn’t rush. She licked and sucked, alternating between soft teasing licks and hard flicks over her clit. Then she slipped two fingers inside, curling just right while her mouth kept working.

Jimin’s fingers threaded through the sheets, her other hand clutching her own breast, mouth open with breathless, fucked-out noises escaping every second.

“God, Y/N! Fuck, don’t stop,” Jimin cried out, voice breaking on the edge of a moan.

She gasped and cursed, her voice hoarse from the moans, and Y/N didn’t stop until Jimin begged her to.

And then… they switched.

Jimin pushed Y/N down on the bed. “You really thought you weren’t getting anything tonight?” she murmured, a small smile on her face.

“Is this my birthday gift?” Y/N teased back with a similar expression on her face and her impatience was about to break.

Y/N blinked, her smugness quickly melting into surprise as Jimin kissed down her chest, nipping at her skin with newfound hunger. Jimin’s lips left a trail of wet kisses along her abs, and then lower. Past her hip bones, down her thighs, all while holding her birthday girl’s gaze.

“You lay back,” Jimin whispered. “And let me treat you well." She continued, her voice was soft.

Y/N’s cock twitched—still hard, aching now and she needed Jimin so bad to ease the ache. Then she licked her lips. And dove in.

She started at the base, warm tongue dragging upward with zero hurry. She kissed it, sweetly at first, teasing, almost too gentle then wrapped her lips around the tip and sucked hard.

Y/N’s hips bucked instantly, a shaky sigh escaping her throat. “Fuck, Jimin—” she clenched her fists and her eyes were half-lidded.

“Mhm?” Jimin hummed, hollowing her cheeks as she sank lower, inch by inch, her tongue swirling around her shaft. She moaned deliberately around it, letting the vibrations hit in all the right places.

Her hands were firm on Y/N’s hips, keeping her in place while her mouth worked magic—deep, slow bobs of her head, saliva spilling down her chin, a filthy contrast to how fucking gorgeous she looked between Y/N’s thighs.

Y/N's head fell back against the pillow, her hand tangling in Jimin’s hair. “God, you look so fucking good like this,” she gritted out.

Jimin pulled off with a wet pop, eyes shining. “I agree. It’s your birthday... ‘course I’m gonna suck you good.” And then she dove back down, faster now, hungrier, letting the messy, obscene sounds fill the room. Her spit coated Y/N’s cock, dribbling down onto her hand as she jerked the base in time with every deep stroke of her mouth.

Once again, Jimin pulled off from Y/N's cock and she crawled back up to give her a messy open mouthed kiss, Y/N immediately wrapped an arm around Jimin's lower back and pull her in closer.

They broke the kiss to catch some breath and their eyes met as Y/N detached herself from Jimin and she reached into the nightstand for a foil packet. “I’m not stupid,” she whispered. “Wasn’t gonna raw dog Karina of aespa without wrapping it up.” She joked.

Jimin laughed and her cheeks flushed. “You're such an asshole.” the Aespa leader teased back.

“Only sometimes,” Y/N teased as she rolled on the condom, pumping herself slowly as she knelt between Jimin’s legs. “Other times, I’m very… generous.”

Y/N lined herself up, rubbing the head against Jimin’s soaked folds, groaning at how wet she was. “Fuck,” you’re ready for me, huh?” she whispered.

“Y/N, please,” Jimin whimpered, her legs wrapping around her waist.

And then Y/N pushed in.

Slowly, carefully, watching every twitch of Jimin’s brow, every gasp, every desperate clutch of her fingers in the sheets. Inch by inch, she sank in, until she was buried to the hilt, and Jimin let out a long, broken moan.

Y/N didn’t start moving right away. She kissed Jimin’s jaw, whispered, “You feel so good around me,” before finally pulling back and thrusting in slow, deep strokes that made Jimin’s toes curl.

Their rhythm built gradually, slow and sensual at first, but soon rougher, more desperate. Jimin’s back arched off the mattress, her nails scratching down Y/N’s back. Her moans filled the room, every thrust making her gasp, whimper, beg.

The bed began to rock, soft creaks beneath them as Y/N set a rhythm that's deep, slow strokes that made Jimin gasp with every thrust. Their foreheads touched, their eyes locked, breath mingling in the tight space between them.

Y/N kissed her again. It was messy, passionate, tongue sliding into her mouth while her hips rolled in smooth, deliberate motions.

“Look at you,” Y/N murmured against her lips, “taking me so well.” A shaky sigh escaped her lips.

Jimin moaned, her head falling back, exposing her throat. Y/N took the opportunity to lick and bite at her neck, then down to her chest.

She sucked a nipple into her mouth, teasing it with her tongue as she kept thrusting. The sensation made Jimin shiver, her legs tightening around Y/N’s waist.

Jimin’s hands slipped down to her own clit, rubbing circles to match Y/N’s strokes. “Don’t stop,” she gasped. “You feel so good, fuck!”

Y/N sat up slightly, hands grabbing under Jimin’s knees and pushing her legs up to her chest, folding her in deeper. The new angle made Jimin scream.

“Y/N! Fuck...” Her moan was loud. It was breathy. Jimin was going to fall apart.

Y/N watched her, eyes hooded, hips snapping faster now. The way Jimin’s body jolted with every thrust, how her tits bounced, the flushed look on her face. It was pure fucking art.

But Y/N wanted more. She wanted to see her fall apart. And she think deserved it because it's her birthday.

Without warning, she pulled out and flipped Jimin onto her stomach.

“What are you...” Jimin barely got the words out before Y/N had her hips lifted, her ass up, her face pressed into the sheets.

She slid back in with one hard thrust, and Jimin screamed into the mattress. “Oh my God,” she choked.

Y/N grabbed her waist with both hands, slamming into her with hard, wet strokes, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the room. Her hips smacked against Jimin’s ass over and over, the slick sounds of their bodies filling the space.

Jimin was a mess. Moaning, gasping, drooling onto the pillow. Her hands clutched the sheets like her life depended on it.

Jimin was panting, fingers digging into the sheets, each thrust pushing her deeper into the mattress. “Fuck, you feel so good,” she whimpered.

“Yeah?” Y/N leaned over, grabbing her hair and tugging her head back slightly. “You like being fucked like this?” she questioned and to be fair, Y/N was losing herself in pleasure too.

Jimin nodded frantically. “Yes. Yes. Don’t stop.” every hit from Y/N was making her moan loudly.

Y/N’s pace picked up, the sound of her hips smacking into Jimin’s ass getting louder, faster. Sweat dripped down her back, and Jimin’s thighs trembled.

That was all it took.

Jimin shattered as her orgasm crashing over her like a wave, thighs shaking, loud moans spilling from her lips, her body clenching hard around Y/N. She was so sensitive.

Y/N kept fucking her through it, riding out every spasm, every tremble, until she was spent and breathless.

Not long after that Y/N spilled white into the rubber and only then, Y/N pulled out, unwrapped the condom and tossed it away before flipping Jimin onto her back. She hovered above her, eyes soft now, lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was somehow both filthy and sweet.

Out of breath, Y/N collapsed besides Jimin and they laid there in silence for a moment, the only sound their panting breaths and the distant hum of the city.

Then Jimin turned her head lazily toward Y/N, cheeks flushed, hair messy, lips swollen. “That was…” she breathed.

“You felt so fucking good,” Y/N told Jimin and there's a small yet noticeable smirk on her lips.

Jimin smiled and reached for her, curling into her chest. “I don't regret this.” she murmured and she pressed a soft peck on Y/N's skin.

──────────────────────

The room was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the muted heartbeat between two people who’d just shared something intense, and unforgettable.

Y/N and Jimin sat side by side on the bed, half-dressed and freshly washed up, their backs resting against the headboard. The sheets were a mess around them, skin still warm, flushed from everything they'd done and yet, they talked like they'd known each other for years.

Like this wasn't their first time meeting, like this wasn't a one-night-only kind of thing.

Maybe it was the chemistry. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment.

Neither of them regretted it. Not even for a second.

“Giselle’s idea wasn’t half bad,” Y/N said with a crooked smile, one hand absentmindedly tracing circles on Jimin’s bare thigh. “Remind me to thank her," Y/N spoke and her eyes were never leaving the aespa's leader face.

Jimin chuckled softly, leaning into the touch. “I'll tell her just that, Y/N.” she responded as she nodded her head.

Light touches lingered between them. Fingertips brushing against forearms, soft grazes over collarbones. They talked in low voices about schedules, comeback concepts, stage outfits they hated, and how award show rehearsals were secretly torture.

It felt so domestic, so easy.

Then, Jimin’s phone buzzed.

She glanced down and read the text, a tiny laugh escaping her lips.

Aeri's text contained: waiting for you in the car, I'm glowing I think •~•

Jimin sighed and set her phone aside, her expression softening. She turned toward Y/N, eyes shining with something tender and unreadable. “Unfortunately,” she murmured, “our night has to end here.” the tone in Jimin's voice was affectionate and her voice was low as it is deep.

Y/N raised a brow. “Already?” Her voice held just a hint of teasing, like she didn’t want to say goodbye just yet.

Jimin crawled over, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N’s cheek before cupping her jaw in both hands. “Aeri’s waiting for me,” she said with a pout, her thumbs brushing softly across Y/N’s skin. “You were great tonight… Happy birthday, Y/N.” her voice was low, almost reverent.

Jimin pulled away and stood, gathering her things one by one. She dressed slowly, fixing her hair in the mirror, stretching her arms overhead with a quiet wince.

Her knees were wobbly. Thanks to someone.

Y/N swung her legs off the bed and began getting dressed as well, her eyes tracking every move Jimin made like she didn’t want to forget the sight.

“I’ll see you when I see you,” Y/N said while buttoning her pants, her voice relaxed but genuine.

Jimin smirked. “Mm, yeah. I’ll see you when I see you,” she echoed, looking over her shoulder with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Music Bank, Mnet, an award show… or maybe our groups should get together for some pork belly grilling. Something chill.” she suggested, her smile was mischievous but her intention was pure.

Y/N folded her arms, nodding her head. “I’m holding you to that.” she really couldn't tear her eyes off Jimin.

Jimin walked back over and patted her shoulder gently. “Bye-bye, Y/N. Until then… take care, okay?” her eyes bored into Y/N's.

And with a final smile, she spun on her heel and walked out of Room 1104, heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

The door clicked shut behind her, and Y/N let out a slow breath, staring at the space Jimin had just left.

And Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if she’d see that smirk again—onstage, at the backstage, maybe over pork belly and soju.

One thing was for sure.

She’d never forget the girl from Room 1104.

──────────────────────

main m.list | æspa m.list | next

495 notes · View notes

melanchoire · 4 months ago

Text

MAKE IT TO THE HIGH FASHION ──── yu jimin.

── ( 📸 ) as two of prada’s most coveted faces, you and karina, former lovers torn apart by a whirlwind of rumors and a devastating lack of trust, are unexpectedly thrust back into each other’s orbit for a high–stakes photoshoot, and as the camera flashes capture not only the clothes but also the raw emotions simmering beneath the surface, karina seizes the opportunity to finally explain the truth behind the infamous dispatch scandal, leaving you to decide if forgiveness and a second chance are worth risking your heart all over again.

pairing. dom!toxic ex girlfriend!karina x sub!ex girlfriend!fem reader

warning(s). angst (kinda), cheating, cunnilingus, degradation, fingering, making out, pet names, squirting.

word count. 10,8k

requested? yes.

the flashing lights of the stage are blinding, but you navigate them with a practiced ease. your movements are sharp, your gaze intense, and the roar of the crowd fuels you. another performance done, another wave of deafening cheers washing over you.

being an idol was everything you’d ever dreamed of, the culmination of years of grueling training and unwavering dedication. being an idol is a whirlwind of constant performances, relentless practice, and the ever–present scrutiny of millions.

but it came with a price. a price you were currently paying with a knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach.

the unspoken rule looms over you: romantic relationships are a liability. fans, in their adoration, often see their idols as belonging to them, their fantasies woven into the perfect image projected on stage. to shatter that image with the reality of a partner is to risk their ire, their disappointment, and ultimately, their support. and beyond that, dating someone within the industry is akin to walking a tightrope, a constant balancing act between public perception, competitive pressures, and genuine affection.

being an idol meant living under a microscope. wvery move you made, every word you spoke, was scrutinized and dissected by millions. maintaining a squeaky–clean image was paramount. and that meant keeping secrets. especially secrets like the one you shared with karina.

karina. the leader of aespa. your rival group. and, impossibly, the woman who held your heart.

you remembered the early days, the awkward interactions backstage at music shows. you were both rookies then, navigating the treacherous waters of the industry, trying to make a name for yourselves. aespa and your group often found yourselves promoting at the same time, leading to a whirlwind of shared stages and fleeting conversations. you always found yourself drawn to karina’s quiet confidence, her sharp wit hidden beneath a cool exterior.

you’d make silly faces at each other across the stage during encore performances, earning a playful glare from your manager later. during music show wins, you’d subtly angle your phone during a group shot to get karina in the frame, much to the amusement (and knowing smirks) of your members. you meticulously learned the choreography of “girls” just so you could tease her with it backstage. these interactions were small, seemingly insignificant to the outside world. but to you, they were everything. they were a lifeline in a world that often felt isolating and manufactured.

until finally you two had a decent interaction, meaning you had the balls to approach her without getting cold feet in the process; when your group and hers had overlapping promotion cycles, you’d make sure to seek her out. a quick hug backstage, a shared compliment about each other’s stage outfits, a genuine smile for the cameras. you remember one instance vividly: uour group had just finished performing your latest title track on a music show. exhausted but exhilarated, you spotted karina across the backstage chaos. she was radiant in a shimmering silver dress, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she laughed with her members. you approached her, offering a playful bow.

“karina–ssi, your performance was amazing today! that high note gave me chills.” you said, loud enough to be heard over the din.

she returned the bow, her cheeks flushing slightly. “ah, (y/n)–ssi, you were incredible too! that break dance was killer.”

fans, of course, noticed. they speculated. they shipped. they created elaborate fanfiction scenarios, fueling the flames of their own fantasies. “le sserafim x aespa crumbs!” they’d squeal in the comments sections. little did they know, the “crumbs” they were seeing were just the tip of a very carefully concealed iceberg.

little did they know, those fleeting moments were lifelines, secret signals in a world that demanded you keep your true feelings hidden.

but the stolen glances, the brief touches, the whispered phone calls late at night, were never enough. griendship evolved into something deeper, something undeniable. you fell in love, slowly and irrevocably, her strength and kindness drawing you in like a moth to a flame. the joy you found in her presence was intoxicating, a stark contrast to the manufactured smiles and rehearsed interactions that often characterized your public life.

keeping your relationship a secret wasn’t easy. you navigated crowded events with coded glances, orchestrated meet–ups under the cover of darkness, and perfected the art of communicating volumes with a single squeeze of the hand. but the fear of exposure was a constant companion, a nagging voice whispering in the back of your mind.

the industry thrived on these manufactured interactions. inter–group friendships were good for publicity, harmless fodder for variety shows and social media engagement. what wasn’t good for publicity was a genuine romantic relationship, especially not one between two female idols from competing companies.

you and karina knew the risks. you knew the potential backlash. but you couldn’t deny the connection that had blossomed between you. late–night phone calls stretched into hours, filled with whispered confessions and shared dreams. secret meetings in secluded cafes, faces hidden behind masks and oversized hoodies. the thrill of the forbidden, the electricity of stolen moments, only intensified your feelings.

but secrecy was a heavy burden. the constant fear of discovery hung over you like a sword. you had to be careful, always meticulously planning your rendezvous, scrubbing your digital footprint, and carefully curating your public persona. it was exhausting.

then came the fateful night. you and karina, desperate for a few hours of normalcy, had planned a late–night dinner at a small, tucked–away restaurant. you meticulously planned every detail; you’d chosen a restaurant tucked away on a quiet side street, far from the bustling city center. you both donned your best incognito outfits — baseball caps pulled low, dark sunglasses, and layers of clothing designed to obscure your identities. karina, ever cautious, had even suggested wearing masks, but you’d argued against it, fearing it would draw more attention.

the evening was perfect. you laughed, you talked, you forgot, for a few precious hours, the weight of the world and the expectations of millions. you held her hand across the table, her touch sending a familiar shiver down your spine. for a moment, you let yourself believe that you could have it all — your career, your love, your happiness.

that illusion shattered with the flash of a camera.

as you left the restaurant, a flash of light erupted from the darkness. a paparazzi, lurking in the shadows, had captured the moment. the grainy photo, capturing you and karina holding hands, faces partially obscured, was splashed across the internet the next morning.

your world imploded.

the next morning, your phone exploded. notifications flooded your screen, a torrent of comments, messages, and articles screaming the same thing: you and karina. a grainy photo circulated online — you, holding hands with a woman who was undeniably karina, bathed in the harsh glare of a flashbulb.

the world went into meltdown.

your phone became a weapon of mass destruction, buzzing incessantly with notifications. fans, stans, haters, news outlets — everyone had an opinion. the comments ranged from outright vitriol to tentative support, but the overwhelming sentiment was shock and disbelief.

“OMG! is this real?”

“unbelievable! they’re dating?!”

“my ship has sailed! i knew it!”

“(y/n) is cancelled! how dare she keep this from us?”

“leave them alone! it’s their life!”

the outrage, the speculation, the sheer volume of noise was deafening. you felt sick to your stomach, a cold dread creeping into your bones.

your company scrambled to contain the damage, issuing a statement that confirmed the rumors. karina’s agency followed suit. but the language was vague, both statements were carefully worded, emphasizing the “close friendship” that had “unexpectedly blossomed” into something more. the language was sterile, devoid of the warmth and passion that characterized your relationship. it felt like a betrayal, a public dissection of something so private and precious.

then came the dreaded request: the handwritten letter. you were instructed to write a letter to your fans, a heartfelt apology for “keeping this secret” and a plea for understanding. the words felt hollow, disingenuous. you wanted to scream, to defend your right to privacy, to express the pure, unadulterated joy that karina brought into your life. but you knew you couldn’t. you were an idol, a product, and your image was carefully controlled.

you stared at the blank page, the weight of expectation crushing you. how could you possibly explain the complexities of your heart to millions of strangers? how could you apologize for loving someone, for finding happiness in a world that so often seemed determined to deny it to you?

but you knew you had no choice. you were an idol, and your fans were the lifeblood of your career. you owed them an explanation, even if it felt like a violation.

you sat at your desk, the blank document on your laptop mocking you. you typed, deleted, and retyped, trying to find the right words, the words that would appease your fans without sacrificing your integrity. it felt like an impossible task.

finally, you settled on something carefully crafted, something that acknowledged the situation without revealing too much.

you wrote, pouring out your heart in carefully chosen words. you apologized for keeping the relationship a secret, explaining that you had only wanted to protect your fans and preserve the image they held dear. you apologized for not being more open, you thanked your fans for their unwavering support, and you promised to continue working hard to earn their love and respect. you carefully avoided mentioning the word “love” in relation to karina, you only spoke of your respect for karina, your admiration for her talent, and your gratitude for her unwavering support.

posting the letter felt like a betrayal. a betrayal of yourself, a betrayal of karina, a betrayal of the truth. but you knew it was necessary. it was the price you had to pay.

the response was… mixed. some fans were supportive, offering words of encouragement and understanding. they celebrated your courage and wished you both happiness. others were devastated, feeling betrayed and heartbroken. they accused you of lying, of manipulating them, of shattering their dreams. the hate was vicious, personal, and relentless.

the initial backlash was fierce. hordes of fans felt betrayed, accusing you of lying and manipulating them. they flooded your social media with hateful comments, demanding your resignation. other fans rallied to your defense, praising your courage and supporting your right to love. the fandom was fractured, divided.

the weeks that followed were a blur of damage control. you and karina faced a barrage of criticism, scrutiny, and speculation. every move you made was analyzed, every word you spoke dissected. the media feasted on the drama, churning out endless articles and videos dissecting your relationship.

the online world became a battleground, a toxic landscape of love and hate. fan wars erupted, fueled by jealousy, insecurity, and the insatiable hunger for gossip. you watched in horror as people you’d never met tore each other apart over something so deeply personal.

and then there were the whispers, the insidious rumors that threatened to undermine everything you’d worked for. accusations flew — that you were using karina for fame, that she was manipulating you to boost her own career, that your relationship was nothing more than a publicity stunt.

the hate was relentless, particularly aimed at karina. she was branded as a homewrecker, a fame–seeker, a talentless hack. the comments were cruel, vicious, and deeply personal. you wanted to shield her from the storm, to protect her from the ugliness of it all. but you couldn’t, you weren’t the emotionally strong one in the relationship; if just reading the negative comments about karina made you shed tears, how are you supposed to console her without breaking down? karina was the leader of her group and therefore always had to appear serious and mature to the public, and you knew that she cried easily, so you didn’t see yourself capable of comforting her if she felt affected by the criticism because seeing her sad would hurt you and that would end with you crying and karina consoling you.

the weeks that followed were a blur of anxiety and uncertainty. you canceled public appearances, retreated into the safety of your dorm, and tried to avoid the relentless media attention. you felt isolated, vulnerable, and utterly powerless.

you had stopped uploading photos to your social networks since the comments started to be only about the public asking about karina and leading to debates in the comments section, it hurt you to see people having opinions about things without knowing about them and having a rather questionable point of view but reading your fans defending you even without knowing if the rumors were real was like a cute bandage on a deep wound.

but no matter how much you stopped being active on social media and stopped talking on weverse, the comments didn’t stop; logging off your public social media was a relief for you, but by using your private accounts that only your members followed, even then there was content talking about you and the controversy appeared in content recommended for you — at this point, smashing your phone against the wall seemed to be the only option left.

despite the chaos, you and karina clung to each other. you found solace in her embrace, her unwavering belief in you a beacon in the storm. you reminded each other of the love you shared, the strength you drew from each other, and the dreams you still held dear.

the pressure was immense, but you refused to break. you knew that your relationship was worth fighting for, and you were determined to weather the storm, no matter how fierce. you looked at karina and saw not a rival, but a partner. you saw not a risk, but a reason to be brave. and you knew, with a certainty that defied all the noise and negativity, that you would face whatever came next, together.

karina, strong and resilient as always, became your rock. she reminded you of your worth, of your talent, and of the unwavering love that you shared. she encouraged you to focus on the positive, to ignore the noise, and to trust in the power of your bond.

the initial storm was a blur of frantic calls, hushed meetings, and the constant, gnawing anxiety of what was to come. you remember the hollow feeling in your chest as you typed out the apology, each word a carefully constructed lie of omission. you hadn’t intentionally kept it a secret to deceive anyone, but to protect something precious in a world that often felt determined to tear it apart.

the backlash was ferocious, predictable, yet still somehow shocking. the usual suspects emerged: the shippers furious that their carefully constructed narratives were shattered, the possessive fans feeling betrayed that you belonged to someone other than them, and the vultures who thrived on drama, dissecting every interaction, every lyric, searching for hidden meanings and ammunition.

you watched the news reports, read the comments, felt the weight of the world crushing you. your groupmates offered their support, but their words felt distant, muffled by the roar in your ears. the company’s damage control team worked overtime, trying to stem the tide of negativity. you threw yourself into work, rehearsals becoming a refuge, the music a momentary escape from the chaos outside.

karina, ever the stoic, seemed to weather the storm with a grace you envied. she addressed the situation with a calm, measured statement, emphasizing the importance of respect and understanding. you admired her strength, but also worried about the toll it was taking on her. you found solace in her presence, a shared understanding that transcended the noise.

slowly, painstakingly, the tide began to turn. some fans, initially hurt and confused, started to see the sincerity in your relationship. they realized that your happiness was ultimately what mattered. supportive comments started to outweigh the hateful ones. fan projects emerged, celebrating your love and advocating for acceptance. you and karina began to incorporate small, subtle gestures into your performances, a knowing glance, a matching bracelet, a shared smile, acknowledging your bond without being overtly performative.

you started doing small, public acts of support. like attending karina’s group performances and screaming your lungs out from the crowd. or karina appearing backstage at your concert, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. these little things, these small victories, slowly chipped away at the wall of negativity. you started noticing a shift in the atmosphere at fan meets, the questions becoming less accusatory and more curious. more fans were asking about your favorite memories with karina or her favorite qualities. you and karina were both careful, never revealing too much, carefully curating your image.

over time, the initial frenzy subsided, replaced by a cautious, grudging acceptance. you and karina had proven that you could navigate the treacherous waters of the industry while staying true to yourselves and each other. you had shown that love could, in fact, conquer all, or at least, most. you felt a sense of accomplishment, a quiet pride in having weathered the storm and emerged stronger, together. you had even started to feel comfortable with some of the public displays of affection, hand–holding during award shows or subtle winks at each other during interviews.

then came the bomb.

it started subtly, a whisper in the dark corners of the internet. a blind item on a gossip site, hinting at a member of a popular girl group being seen with another female artist. you dismissed it as just another baseless rumor, another attempt to stir the pot. but then came the picture.

a grainy, blurry image, supposedly taken late at night. it showed a figure resembling karina holding hands with another woman. the woman’s face was obscured, but her build and the style of her clothing were vaguely familiar to a karina’s acquaintance. the post that came with the picture claimed the unnamed woman was a popular idol from fourth–generation girl group.

your blood ran cold. you stared at the picture, your mind racing, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. doubts, long suppressed, resurfaced with a vengeance. you tried to rationalize it away. it could be a body double. it could be photoshopped. it could be anything but what it seemed to be.

you called karina, your voice trembling. she answered on the third ring, her voice sounding strained. “hey.” she said, her tone wary.

“have you seen the picture?” you asked, skipping any pleasantries.

there was a long pause. “yes.” she said quietly.

“what is it?” you demanded, your voice rising. “tell me it’s not what it looks like.”

another pause. “it’s... complicated.” she finally said.

that was all you needed to hear. the fragile peace you had built shattered into a million pieces. all the pain, all the sacrifices, all the struggles, suddenly felt meaningless. you felt betrayed, humiliated, and utterly heartbroken.

“who is she?” you choked out, the words catching in your throat.

“it doesn’t matter.” karina said, her voice pleading. “it’s not what you think.”

“then what is it?” you screamed into the phone. “tell me what it is, karina!”

she hesitated, then began to explain, her voice a jumble of excuses and half–sruths. she claimed it was a misunderstanding, a harmless encounter blown out of proportion. she said she was just being friendly, that the other woman was going through a hard time and needed support. but her words rang hollow, and you couldn't bring yourself to believe her.

the fight that followed was a blur of accusations, tears, and recriminations. you confronted her with your fears and insecurities, the doubts that had been gnawing at you for months. she denied everything, but her eyes betrayed her. you saw the guilt, the regret, the unspoken truth that lay between you.

in the end, there was nothing left to say. the trust was broken, the foundation of your relationship crumbled. you hung up the phone, your hands shaking, your heart aching with a pain you had never known before.

the breakup was messy and public. both companies released carefully worded statements, citing “irreconcilable differences” and asking for privacy. but the media frenzy was relentless. every detail of your relationship was dissected and analyzed. you felt like you were living your worst nightmare on repeat.

you retreated into yourself, isolating yourself from friends and family. you stopped promoting with your group, unable to face the constant scrutiny and speculation. you spent days in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events in your head, searching for answers, for some way to make sense of it all.

one day, your groupmates came to your apartment, unannounced. they sat with you in silence, offering their support without judgment. they reminded you of your strength, your talent, your resilience. they encouraged you to focus on yourself, to heal, to move on.

slowly, you started to listen. you started writing music again, pouring your pain and heartache into your lyrics; fans loved it when you participated in composing your group’s songs since you and yunjin always managed to write the best songs on the albums, whether it was something powerful like self–love and a response to criticism or something more basic and common like a lyric about love.

it wasn’t easy. there were days when you felt like you were drowning in sorrow, when the memories of Karina were too much to bear. but you kept pushing forward, one step at a time. you realized that you were stronger than you thought, that you could survive this, that you could even emerge from it a better, more resilient person.

you eventually returned to work, your voice stronger, your spirit renewed. your fans welcomed you back with open arms, their love and support unwavering. you continued to make music, to perform, to inspire. you never forgot karina, but you learned to live without her. you learned that love could be both beautiful and painful, that it could lift you up and tear you down. and you learned that even after the most devastating heartbreak, you could still find your way back to yourself.

until that day arrived.

the flashing lights assault your vision as you step onto the pristine white set. the air crackles with a controlled energy, the kind that always precedes high–profile shoots. you force a smile, the practiced one you’ve perfected over years in the industry, and greet the waiting team. they return your greeting with enthusiastic nods and bows, their faces a mixture of respect and anticipation. you’re used to this. you’re an idol, a performer, a brand. your emotions, raw and real, are secondary to the image you project.

“ready to work your magic, ms. (y/n)?” the photographer, a renowned name in the industry, asks with a charming smirk.

“always.” you reply, the word feeling hollow even to your own ears.

you move towards the rack of clothes, a carefully curated selection of prada’s latest collection. the vibrant colors and intricate designs usually excite you, fill you with inspiration for future performances and personal style choices. today, they feel like meaningless fabric, just another layer of armor you have to don.

the flash of the camera is almost blinding, but you’ve learned to navigate it. pose, smile, angle. repeat. the prada backdrop stares back at you, its stark minimalism a stark contrast to the whirlwind in your head. you force yourself to embody the spirit of the brand: sophisticated, aloof, powerful. it’s a mask you’ve perfected over the years, one that hides the raw, pulsating ache beneath your skin.

the news broke like a damn, a tidal wave of speculation and judgment. the breakup. it’s been a couple of months, but the wound feels fresh, a raw scrape constantly being rubbed with salt. the news spread like wildfire, fueled by speculation and fueled by the insatiable hunger of the public. every detail of your relationship with karina, every whispered secret and stolen glance, was dissected and analyzed. you retreated, focusing on your work, burying yourself in rehearsals and promotions. you refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing you break, of validating their opinions with your pain.

your manager had warned you about this photoshoot, mentioned karina’s involvement almost casually, as if it were just another detail in a long list of engagements. you had dismissed it then, telling yourself you could handle it. you are, after all, a professional. but now, standing in the sterile environment of the studio, the reality of facing her again hits you with full force, a wave of nausea washing over you.

you quickly change into the first outfit, a sleek, minimalist dress that clings to your curves. the stylist fusses with your hair and makeup, smoothing stray strands and applying a layer of flawless foundation. you stare back at your reflection, barely recognizing the composed, confident woman staring back. where is the girl who laughed with karina until her stomach hurt? where is the girl who could spend hours just talking about nothing?

the stylist steps back, satisfied. “perfect. you look stunning, ms. (y/n).”

“thank you.” you murmur, the words feeling like a lie.

you walk onto the set, striking a pose you've struck countless times before. the photographer calls out instructions, guiding you with meticulous precision. you move and pose, a puppet on a string, your mind a million miles away.

“excellent, (y/n)! now, let’s try something with a little more… emotion.”

emotion. that’s the last thing you want to tap into right now. you force yourself to focus on the music playing softly in the background, letting the rhythm guide your movements. you imagine yourself on stage, lost in the performance, the energy of the crowd fueling your passion.

“just a little more intensity in the eyes.” the photographer instructs, his voice echoing in the vast studio. you nod, focusing on a point just beyond the lens. Intensity. you know intensity. you feel it simmering in your chest, a potent cocktail of anger, sadness, and a terrifying vulnerability.

the shoot progresses in a blur. you change outfits, adjust your expression, and follow directions with robotic precision. each pose feels like a performance, a carefully constructed illusion designed to shield you from the prying eyes of the world.

during a brief break, your stylist offers you a bottle of water. you take a grateful sip, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of your heart. you scan the studio, a cavernous space buzzing with activity. assistants scurry, lighting technicians adjust equipment, and makeup artists touch up faces. but your eyes are drawn to one figure in particular, standing near a rack of clothes, her back to you.

karina.

even from this distance, you can recognize her. the elegant curve of her spine, the way her dark hair cascades down her back, the effortless grace that permeates her every movement. a wave of conflicting emotions washes over you: longing, resentment, and a desperate, childish urge to run.

she walks onto the set with an effortless grace that always captivated you. karina. she’s wearing a sharp, tailored suit, the fabric shimmering under the studio lights. her hair is styled in a sleek, modern cut, framing her face perfectly. she looks breathtaking, undeniably beautiful.

your heart clenches, a painful reminder of what you’ve lost.

you force yourself to breathe, to regain control. this is work. you are a professional. you can handle this.

but your carefully constructed facade begins to crumble as she turns around. her eyes meet yours, and for a fleeting moment, the world shrinks, the studio fades away, and it’s just you and her, standing in the wreckage of what used to be.

her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world seems to stop. there’s a flicker of something in her gaze, a mixture of sadness and… something else you can’t quite decipher. jer eyes are different, you notice. there’s a weariness there, a vulnerability that you haven’t seen before. Is she wearing the same mask as you? is she hurting too?

even though months passed, you could never stop worrying about her. first hate for dating you and then hate for her apparently cheating on you; the opinions of fans and internet users on it were varied, and with good reason. no one knew the true story, not even you knew it, you only knew the little that karina wanted you to know. however, every day you thought about how she was, if she was receiving love from her fans when her group had a new hit and extended its popularity or there were still people who hated her and attacked her for things they saw on social media — but you didn’t dare search for her name on social media, you couldn't even look at a photo of karina without wanting to turn off your phone instantly.

then, she schools her expression, a professional mask sliding into place.

“hello, (y/n).” she says, her voice cool and composed.

your throat constricts. “karina.” you manage to croak out, the sound rough and unfamiliar.

an awkward silence descends, thick and heavy with unspoken words. you want to say something, anything, to break the tension, but the words catch in your throat, trapped by a labyrinth of pain and regret.

“you look good.” she finally says, her gaze flickering over your outfit. it’s a standard compliment, the kind exchanged between acquaintances, but in this context, it feels hollow, almost cruel.

“you too.” you reply automatically, hating yourself for the banality of the exchange.

another silence stretches between you, punctuated only by the distant click of a camera shutter. you feel exposed, vulnerable, as if she can see through your carefully constructed defenses and into the mess that you’ve become.

“so,” she says, breaking the silence again, “this is... awkward, isn’t it?”

you let out a humorless chuckle. “that’s one word for it.”

“i... i wanted to say," she hesitates, her eyes searching yours. “i’m sorry. sorry for...”

the apology hangs in the air, heavy with implications. sorry for what? for the argument that ignited the firestorm? for the public scrutiny that ripped you apart? for the broken promises and shattered dreams?

“sorry for what, karina?” you ask, the words sharper than you intended.

she flinches, her eyes clouding with pain. “for everything.” she whispers.

“everything?” you repeat, a bitter taste rising in your throat. “that’s a pretty broad apology, don’t you think?”

“i know.” she says, her voice barely audible. “but i don’t know what else to say.”

“maybe you should have thought about that before you–” you stop yourself, biting back the words that threaten to spill out. before you what? before you agreed to the photoshoot? before you let the media tear us apart? before you broke my heart?

you take a deep breath, trying to regain control. this isn’t the time. this isn’t the place. you can’t afford to fall apart here, in front of everyone.

“it doesn’t matter.” you say, forcing a casual tone. “it’'s over. we both need to move on.”

she looks at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and disbelief. “is that what you really want, (y/n)?”

the question hangs in the air, a challenge, a plea. do you really want to move on? do you really want to let go of everything you shared?

the truth is, you don’t know. you’re torn between the desire to protect yourself, to build walls around your heart, and the desperate longing to reach out to her, to try to salvage something from the wreckage.

but the fear is too strong. the fear of being hurt again, of being exposed, of being vulnerable. you can't afford to let your guard down, not even for a moment.

“yes.” you say, the lie tasting like ash in your mouth. “that’s what i want.”

she nods slowly, her expression unreadable. “okay.” she says softly. “if that’s what you want.”

the moment stretches, taut and unbearable. you want to say something more, to confess your doubts, to beg her to stay. but the words remain trapped inside you, unspoken, lost in the noise of the studio.

the tension in the room is palpable. the crew shifts uneasily, their eyes darting between you and karina. the photographer clears his throat, breaking the silence.

“alright, ladies, let’s get started. we’re thinking a few shots together, a little bit of playful competition, a sense of… camaraderie.”

camaraderie? you almost laugh, a bitter sound that catches in your throat.

you and karina are positioned side–by–side, the photographer directing your poses. he wants you to look like friends, like rivals, like two powerful women supporting each other. it’s a cruel irony, a twisted caricature of what you once were.

you can feel karina’s presence beside you, a magnetic pull that you desperately try to resist. you can smell her signature perfume, a subtle blend of jasmine and vanilla, a scent that used to fill you with comfort and desire. now, it just reminds you of everything you’ve lost.

the photographer snaps away, capturing every calculated smile, every carefully choreographed movement. you’re both experts at this, masters of deception. you can project any image, any emotion, no matter how false.

but as you stand there, shoulder–to–shoulder with karina, you can’t help but feel a pang of longing. you remember the way her hand used to fit perfectly in yours, the way she would trace patterns on your skin when you were falling asleep, the way her eyes would light up when you surprised her with her favorite flower.

those memories are like shards of glass, sharp and painful. you try to push them away, to focus on the task at hand. but it’s impossible. the weight of your shared history hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you.

“okay, ladies, let’s try something a little more intimate.” the photographer says, his voice booming through the studio. “i want you two to look… close. like you’re sharing a secret.”

your stomach drops. this is it. this is the moment you break.

you glance at karina, your eyes pleading. but her expression is unreadable, her mask firmly in place.

the photographer positions you so that you’re facing each other, your bodies almost touching. he wants you to lean in, to whisper something in each other’s ear.

you hesitate, your heart pounding in your chest. you can feel karina’s breath on your face, warm and familiar.

“just relax, ladies. pretend you’re the only two people in the world.” the photographer coaxes.

the only two people in the world. that’s what it used to feel like, when you were together. the rest of the world faded away, and all that mattered was karina.

you close your eyes, taking a deep breath. you try to remember that feeling, that sense of intimacy and connection.

and then, you open your eyes.

you look at karina, really look at her. you see the sadness hidden behind her professional facade, the vulnerability she’s trying so hard to conceal.

and in that moment, you realize something. you’re not the only one who’s hurting. you’re not the only one who’s lost something.

you catch glimpses of karina throughout the day, standing in the shadows, her eyes following you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. you try to avoid her gaze, to focus on the task at hand, but it's impossible. she’s a constant presence, a reminder of everything you’ve lost.

as the day draws to a close, you find yourself standing near the exit, waiting for your manager. you see karina approaching, her expression serious.

“(y/n),” she says, stopping in front of you. “can we talk? just for a few minutes?”

you hesitate. “i don’t know, karina. is there really anything left to say?"

“please.” she says, her voice pleading. “just give me a chance.”

you look at her, really look at her, and you see the vulnerability in her eyes, the pain that she’s been trying to hide. you see a reflection of your own broken heart.

against your better judgment, you nod. “okay.” you say. “a few minutes.”

she leads you to a quiet corner of the studio, away from the prying eyes of the crew. the air is thick with anticipation, with the weight of unspoken words.

“what do you want to talk about, karina?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

she takes a deep breath, her eyes searching yours. “i want to talk about us.” she says. “i want to talk about what happened.”

and in that moment, you know that you can’t run away anymore. you can’t hide behind the mask of indifference, the facade of strength. you have to face the truth, no matter how painful it may be.

you brace yourself, ready to confront the past, ready to confront karina, ready to confront yourself. the chaos may not be over, but maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance for something new to emerge from the wreckage. the path ahead is uncertain, but for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of hope.

“but not here. come with me.”

before you could form a coherent question, a protest against her abrupt departure, or even just a simple “where are we going?” karina tugged you forward. her grip was surprisingly firm, her usually playful eyes holding a glint of urgency you hadn’t seen in a long time. she navigated the throng of exquisitely dressed guests with practiced ease, a sleek black panther moving through a jungle of sequins and stilettos.

the click of the door closing behind you echoed in the small space, a definitive sound that amplified the tension crackling in the air. you found yourself trapped, not physically threatened, but emotionally cornered. karina stood between you and the cold, unforgiving wall, her gaze locked on yours. the familiar scent of her perfume, a subtle blend of jasmine and sandalwood, both comforted and disoriented you.

the air hung thick with unspoken words, with the weight of weeks of distance and carefully constructed silences. you could see the conflict raging in her eyes, the vulnerability she usually kept so carefully hidden.

“karina.” you began, your voice barely a whisper. the name felt foreign on your tongue after so long, a word you used to utter with such ease and affection. “what’s going on?”

she didn’t answer immediately. instead, she took a shallow breath, her chest rising and falling beneath the silk of her designer dress. finally, she spoke, her voice low and laced with a tremor you could feel resonate within you.

“we need to talk.” she said, the words hanging in the air like a fragile ornament.

you knew what she meant, of course. “talk” wasn’t just a conversation; it was a confrontation with the elephant that had taken up residence in the room, the elephant that had been stomping all over your relationship for weeks.

it had started subtly, almost imperceptibly. a shift in her usual radiant smile, a slight hesitation before reaching for your hand, a growing distance in her usually all–consuming gaze. then came the late nights at the studio, the canceled dates, the vague explanations. you’d tried to ignore it, to chalk it up to the pressures of her demanding career, to tell yourself that you were being paranoid.

but the whispers had started, those insidious little rumors that spread like wildfire through the interconnected world of k–pop and its surrounding entertainment industry. whispers that had finally culminated in the gut–wrenching article splashed across dispatch, the infamous gossip site known for its relentless pursuit of celebrity scandals.

the headline screamed accusations: “karina caught in romantic entanglement?” the accompanying pictures were grainy and taken from a distance, but they were undeniable. karina, laughing and holding hands with another woman, a rising starlet named yuna, after a late–night dinner.

you knew yuna. you’d met her a few times at industry events. she was talented, beautiful, and charming. and, according to dispatch, she was also the reason your relationship with karina was crumbling.

the article was a carefully constructed narrative, a tapestry woven with half–truths and suggestive speculation. it didnt explicitly accuse karina of cheating, but it didn’t have to. the implication was clear: karina was having an affair with yuna while still dating you.

the fallout had been immediate and devastating. your phone exploded with messages from concerned friends, frantic family members, and opportunistic journalists. your social media was flooded with hateful comments, accusations of being naive, and gleeful pronouncements of your impending doom.

you’d tried to talk to karina then, but she’d been elusive, distant. she’d denied the accusations outright, but her voice had lacked its usual conviction. “it’s just a misunderstanding,” she’d said, her eyes avoiding yours. “the company is handling it. don’t worry, everything will be fine.”

but everything wasn’t fine. the seed of doubt had been planted, and it had taken root, poisoning the foundation of your relationship. the dispatch article had not only exposed your personal life to the harsh glare of public scrutiny, but it had also driven a wedge between you and the woman you loved.

now, standing in this sterile dressing room, with karina so close yet feeling so far away, you finally understood. the “misunderstanding” wasn’t going to magically resolve itself. your relationship wasn’t going to survive on platitudes and empty reassurances. you needed the truth, no matter how painful.

“karina.” you said again, your voice stronger this time. “tell me what happened. tell me about yuna. tell me everything. i don’t want secrets this time, i don’t want you to hide from me the things you’re afraid to tell me because you don't know how i’ll react. i need you to tell me things as they are, no matter how harsh the truth is..”

she closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering her strength. when she opened them, they were filled with a raw honesty that pierced through your defenses.

“it’s… complicated,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “yuna and i… we were working on a collaboration, you know, sometimes artists have group performances with members of other groups. we spent a lot of time together, late nights in the studio, brainstorming sessions… it was intense, creatively fulfilling. and… and she made me laugh. she understood the pressures i was under, the isolation of being in the public eye. she was… supportive.”

she paused, searching for the right words. “it started as friendship, a genuine connection. but… there was an undeniable attraction. something… electric between us.”

your heart clenched. you knew it was coming, but hearing the words spoken aloud was like a physical blow.

“did… did anything happen?” you asked, the question scraping against your throat.

karina looked away, her gaze fixed on some invisible point beyond your shoulder. “we kissed.” she admitted, the word barely audible. “once. maybe twice. it didn’t go further than that. i swear. it was just a moment in the moment, when we were left alone without the choreographer and backup dancers… we only kissed because we finished the night practice exhausted and at one point we just stopped talking and– there was some tension. i can’t help it, she looked very beautiful and i just had the urge to kiss her.”

the world tilted slightly. you felt a wave of nausea wash over you. just a kiss. twice. but that was enough, wasn’t it? enough to shatter the trust you had placed in her, enough to make you question everything you thought you knew about your relationship.

“and what about me?” you asked, the question laced with a bitterness you couldn't suppress. “what about us? were you just going to pretend nothing happened? Were you just going to let the company handle it, let dispatch write the narrative, and hope i would just… disappear? would you have even informed me of this if dispatch hadn't found out about all this before i did?”

tears welled in her eyes, blurring the perfectly applied eyeliner. “no!” she said, her voice cracking. “that’s not what i wanted. i was terrified. i didn’t know what to do. i was afraid of hurting you, of losing you. i still am.”

she stepped closer, reaching out to cup your face in her hands. her touch was gentle, tentative, as if she were afraid you would recoil. “i love you.” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “i do. and i’m so, so sorry. i messed up. i made a mistake. olease… tell me what i can do to fix this. tell me what i can do to earn back your trust.”

the desperation in her eyes was palpable. you saw the years of shared laughter, whispered secrets, and unwavering support reflected in her tearful gaze. u saw the vulnerability she usually kept hidden behind a carefully constructed facade.

you also saw the doubt, the fear, the uncertainty that had been eating away at your own heart for weeks. the dispatch article had been a catalyst, but the underlying issues, the unspoken anxieties, had been there all along.

you wanted to believe her. you wanted to forgive her. you wanted to erase the image of her kissing another woman from your mind. but could you? could you ever truly trust her again? you wanted to do it, but you weren’t entirely sure.

the answer, you realized, wasn’t going to come easily. it wasn’t going to be found in a sterile dressing room in the middle of a chaotic after–party. it was going to require honesty, vulnerability, and a willingness to confront the uncomfortable truths that had been lurking beneath the surface of your relationship for far too long.

“we have a lot to talk about.” you said, finally meeting her gaze. “but not here. not now. we need to go somewhere quiet, somewhere private. somewhere we can be completely honest with each other, without the pressure and the expectations of the world watching us.”

you reached for her hand, your fingers intertwining with hers. her grip was firm, reassuring.

“and karina.” you added, your voice firm but laced with a hint of hope. “if we’re going to fix this, we need to be honest about everything. no more secrets, no more half–truths. just us, facing the truth, together.”

the words hung in the air, laden with unspoken expectations and a fragile hope. the honesty in your voice seemed to give her strength. she took a shaky breath, her eyes searching yours.

“okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but filled with a newfound determination. “okay, let’s do that. let’s be honest. let’s fix this.’

the tension in the room was still thick, but now it was mixed with a flicker of hope. you squeezed her hand, offering silent encouragement. she looked down at your intertwined hands for a moment, a small, sad smile gracing her lips. then, she lifted her gaze back to yours, her eyes filled with a raw vulnerability that made your heart ache.

and then, she did something unexpected.

she leaned in, her eyes never leaving yours, and gently pressed her lips against yours. it wasn’t a passionate, fiery kiss like you might expect after such a confession. it was soft, tentative, a plea for forgiveness, a silent promise of honesty.

your initial reaction was one of shock. you had braced yourself for tears, for arguments, for a long and difficult conversation. but this… this was something else entirely.

but as her lips lingered on yours, a slow warmth began to spread through you. it was a familiar warmth, the warmth of her touch, the warmth of her love. it was a reminder of all the good times you had shared, of all the reasons you had fallen in love with her in the first place.

you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to sink into the kiss, to savor the delicate brush of her lips against yours. the kiss deepened slightly, her hand moving from yours to cradle the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair. you responded in kind, your own hands moving to her waist, pulling her closer.

the kiss wasn’t just an apology; it was a reawakening. it was a reminder of the intense connection you shared, the unspoken language you spoke with your bodies. it was a promise of more, of deeper intimacy, of rediscovering the passion that had perhaps been overshadowed by the pressures of her career and the anxieties of public life.

as the kiss intensified, the world around you seemed to fade away. the sterile dressing room, the chaotic after–party, the prying eyes of the media – none of it mattered anymore. all that mattered was karina, her lips on yours, her body pressed against yours, her heart beating in sync with your own.

you parted slightly, gasping for breath, your foreheads touching. her eyes were dark with desire, her lips swollen from the kiss.

“i…” she started, her voice husky. “i want you. i need you to know that. yuna... it was a mistake. a stupid, awful mistake. but you, you are everything to me."

her words were like a balm to your wounded heart. you knew that there was still a long road ahead, that rebuilding trust would take time and effort. but in that moment, with her arms wrapped around you and her lips whispering promises against your skin, you knew that it was possible.

you leaned in and kissed her again, this time with more passion, more urgency. it was a kiss that spoke of forgiveness, of hope, of a future where you could both be honest and vulnerable with each other, free from the secrets and the lies.

her hands roamed your body, tracing the curves of your hips, the line of your spine. you moaned softly, the sound lost in her mouth. you felt her smile against your lips, a genuine, heartfelt smile that reached her eyes.

“i missed you so much, i missed being with you so much, having your body against mine… i really missed you a lot, your absence was noticeable and every day that passed i felt it more than the last. and you have no idea how much i fantasized about you every time i missed you and needed to settle just thinking about you.”

her fingers found the hem of your skirt, gently pulling iupwards. you didn’t resist. the need to feel her, to be close to her, was overwhelming. the touch of her skin against yours sent shivers down your spine.

once you give her a nod of confirmation, karina pushes you gently but firmly against the brick wall, her hands roaming over your curves possessively. she captured your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth to claim you thoroughly.

her hands slid down to grope your ass, squeezing the firm globes as she ground her hips against yours. you could feel the heat of her core even through her clothes, the evidence of her intense arousal.

karina broke the kiss to trail her lips down the column of your throat, her teeth grazing your pulse point. she sucked on your skin, nibbling the flesh between her teeth, leaving a reddish bite mark that would soon turn purple and darken a couple of shades, letting you know that it would be noticeable for a couple of days and would probably take around a week or so to fade completely — but you didn’t care about that, in fact, that was what you longed for. being back with karina felt like heaven, and you wouldn’t complain at all if she felt the need to mark you,

after all this was what you wanted: although you had missed her so much in the loving and emotional sense, you also missed her so much in the... physical and intimate sense. you were so used to her touch on your body and how good she made you feel that at the time of the breakup it was a pain having to satisfy your needs yourself, but the past is over! and now, karina is here, ready to fuck you.

she murmured huskily against your skin. “fuck, i want to devour every inch of you, (y/n). i want to taste your essence, feel you quiver and shake with pleasure as i take you to heights you’ve never experienced before… i need to make up for my absence and all my mistakes. show you how sorry i am.”

her hands slid under your skirt to caress the smooth skin of your thighs, inching higher and higher until her fingers brushed against the damp fabric of your panties. she rubbed you through the material, feeling the growing wetness that slowly wet your underwear.

karina’s voice was a low, lustful growl as she panted softly against your neck. “spread your legs for me, baby. let me feel that sweet little cunt that’s just begging to be filled. i’m going to make you come so hard, you’ll forget your own name.”

“what if someone hears us?” fear and anxiety were evident in your tone. well, of course, you were locked with your ex in a room and about to fuck at your workplace, while your stylist was probably looking for you all over the building. being found out was something you were terrified of because it put you in danger of losing your job and leaving a bad image in front of the public, and they would have the right to be so in that case! but in this case, maybe you could have fun properly and have a good time just by knowing how to be stealthy…

karina smirked wickedly at your nervously spoken words, a devilish glint in her eye. “mmmh, what if someone does hear us? wouldn’t that be so hot, having an audience listen to you scream in ecstasy as i fuck you senseless? when i say i miss you, i mean it, and i want everyone to know that. everyone knew how much i loved you and i was never afraid to make it clear, so what’s the difference now? is my love language.”

she punctuated her words by slipping a hand into your panties, her fingers finding your slick folds and stroking them teasingly. her thumb circled your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips buck involuntarily.

“but don’t worry, baby, no one’s going to interrupt us. everyone here is busy: the other models are on the sets in the middle of photo shoots and the staff is with them to make sure everything goes perfectly. no one will walk near here, this little hideaway is our secret spot.”

she murmured under her breath, giving you a suggestive look from under her eyelashes, along with a glint of mischief that seemed similar to that of a animal watching its prey in detail. karina brings her face closer to yours, nibbling on your earlobe, making you sigh and unconsciously move towards her touch. “besides, i want to hear you moan, to cry out my name until the whole city knows who’s making you feel this good.”

karina slid two fingers deep into your tight channel, pumping them in and out at a steady pace. her palm pressed against your clit with each thrust, stimulating the sensitive bundle of nerves until your walls fluttered around her invading digits.

“that’s it, baby, let me hear those sweet sounds. fuck, your cunt feels incredible, it’s gripping my fingers so tightly.” she praised, her voice ragged with lust. “i can’t wait to feel it squeezing my tongue, my lips, while my fingers fucking you hard and deep until you’re sobbing with pleasure.”

karina scissored her fingers inside you, stretching you open as her thumb continued its relentless assault on your throbbing clit. she could feel your juices dripping down her hand, coating her fingers with your arousal.

“come for me, love.” she urged, her voice a low, seductive purr. “let me feel you come on my fingers like the dirty girl i know you are. drench my hand in your cum, baby, show me how much you need it.”

karina could feel your body tensing, your walls clenching around her plunging fingers as your orgasm rapidly approached. she curled her digits just right, rubbing that special spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

“that’s it, baby, give in to it. let it happen.” she coaxed, her voice a low, encouraging rumble. “i want to feel you shake and tremble, want to hear those beautiful sounds falling from your lips as i make you cum so fucking hard.”

she captured your mouth in a fierce, passionate kiss, swallowing your moans and cries of ecstasy. her thumb rubbed tight circles on your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

with a final, hard thrust and press of her thumb, she sent you hurtling over, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. your cunt clenched and spasmed around her fingers, gushing your release all over her hand and wrist.

karina groaned into the kiss, feeling your essence coat her fingers and drip down to her palm. she worked you through your climax, her fingers pumping and stroking until the last aftershock faded away.

finally, she pulled back to look at you, her eyes dark and hungry as she brought her soaked fingers to her mouth. she licked them clean, savoring your taste with a low, appreciative moan.

“i need your mouth on me.”

you don’t know where that came from. you don’t know where you got the courage to talk to karina like that without blushing in the process. not even when you were dating karina were you so daring, because you were always embarrassed when you got intimate with her, blushing at the simple fact of having to take off your clothes in front of her even though you had already done it multiple times before, leading karina to be the one who takes the situation into her own hands — but it’s not like it was something that bothered karina, on the contrary, she loved being the one who took control. maybe it was the position of leader that made her love being the one to take the lead, but karina just loves to take charge and let you lie in bed while she takes care of the situation.

karina’s eyes flashed with intense lust at your desperate plea, a wicked grin spreading across her face. she wasted no time in giving you what you needed, what you craved.

“mmmh, as you wish, my naughty little minx.” she purred, dropping to her knees before you. she hitched your skirt up around your waist, exposing your dripping panties to the cool air.

with a wicked smirk, karina leaned in and pressed her mouth against the soaked fabric, her tongue delving between your folds to lap at your essence. she groaned at the taste, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties and tugging them down your legs.

“fuck, you’re absolutely drenched.” she murmured appreciatively, tossing your panties aside carelessly. she pushed your thighs further apart, making room for herself as she settled between your legs.

karina’s hands gripped your ass, pulling you flush against her eager mouth. she dove in, her tongue parting your glistening folds to seek out your aching clit. she circled the sensitive nub teasingly, flicking and stroking it until your hips bucked against her face.

“oh fuck yes, ride my face, baby.” karina encouraged, her voice muffled against your cunt. “grind that sweet pussy against my mouth, use me for your pleasure.”

she sealed her lips around your clit and sucked hard, her tongue flicking rapidly over the throbbing bud. at the same time, she thrust two fingers deep into your dripping channel, pumping them in and out at a steady, relentless pace.

the combination of sensations was almost too much to bear, and you could feel another orgasm building rapidly deep in your core. your walls clenched and fluttered around karina’s plunging fingers, drawing them in deeper.

karina could feel your body tensing, your thighs trembling on either side of her head as she brought you closer and closer to the edge. she doubled her efforts, sucking and licking and fucking you with wild abandon, determined to make you come undone.

karina could feel your body shaking, your thighs quivering with the force of your impending climax. she could sense that you were right on the cusp, teetering on the brink of a mind–blowing orgasm.

she pulled back just slightly, her heated gaze locking with yours. her lips and chin glistened with your juices, a few stray drops dripping down her chin. she licked her lips slowly, savoring your taste.

“come for me, babe.” she commanded, her voice low and thick with lust. “i want to feel you come all over my face, drench me in your sweet nectar. give me what i need, baby girl. give me one more.”

with that, she dove back in, her mouth latching onto your clit as she sucked hard. her fingers pumped furiously in and out of your clenching cunt, curling to rub that perfect spot inside you with each thrust.

the combination of sensations, combined with her filthy words, pushed you over the edge. your orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing and shaking as you cried out your ecstasy.

“oh fuck karina–!” you screamed, not caring who might hear your cries of pleasure. your cunt clenched and spasmed around her fingers, gushing your release all over her hand and face.

karina moaned against your core as she felt your essence flooding her mouth and dripping down her chin. she greedily lapped it up, swallowing every last drop of your offering.

she worked you through your climax, her fingers and tongue never stopping their relentless assault until the last aftershock faded away. finally, she pulled back, her face a mess of your juices.

shit, you had cum on her face. you had ruined her makeup. in another context it wouldn’t have bothered you too much, but first of all, you guys were in the middle of work things, to be more specific, a photoshoot with a prestigious brand that doesn’t allow things like this during work hours and you were more than sure that your contract would be terminated and your career ruined if some worker discovered that you were fucking your ex girlfriend in one of the locker rooms — and secondly, you had just cum on your ex girlfriend’s face.

karina laughed, a deep, sultry sound that sent shivers down your spine. she swiped at her face with the back of her hand, smearing your essence across her cheek. her lipstick was smudged, her eyeliner slightly smeared, but she looked utterly debauched and gorgeous.

“don’t apologize, baby. it’s just a little makeup, it’ll wash off.” she assured you with a playful wink. “don’t worry about my makeup, baby. It's not like it's the first time I've gotten messy for a pretty girl like you, and i think the just–fucked look suits me, don't you? besides, seeing you come undone like that, so fucking sexy and uninhibited... it was totally worth it.”

she leaned in and captured your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth. you could taste yourself on her lips and tongue, the musky essence of your arousal mingling with the lingering flavor of her lip gloss.

karina pulled back after a moment, a satisfied smirk playing on her kiss-swollen lips. she gestured to your skirt, still bunched up around your waist. “but don’t think we’re done yet, gorgeous. that was just the appetizer.”

“i’ve got so much more in store for you tonight. so many dirty, nasty, utterly fucking amazing things i’m going to do to this sexy body of yours…” she purred, her hand sliding possessively over the curve of your ass, squeezing the firm globes as she grinded her hips against yours. even through your skirt and her jeans, you could feel the hard, insistent press of her arousal — karina needed to let you know how much she needed you and the effect you had on her body, the type of reactions that your body generated every time it reacted to her touch and the actions that she had on your body, regardless of whether it was something minimal and mild or something more obscene and daring.

karina’s voice was a low, lustful rumble in your ear. “i’m going to take you back to my place, to my bedroom. and there, i’m going to worship this sexy body of yours all... night... long. Ii need to make up for all the lost time.”

she punctuated each word with a sharp nip to your earlobe, sending jolts of pleasure–pain racing down your spine. her hands slid under your sweater, caressing the smooth skin of your back before dipping lower to unhook your bra with deft fingers.

karina’s eyes glinted wickedly as she gazed down at you, a devilish smirk playing on her lips. “what do you say, baby? ready for the main course? we can still have one more before your stylist starts looking for you.”

#yu jimin #yu jimin x fem reader #yu jimin x reader #yu jimin smut #yoo jimin #yoo jimin x fem reader #yoo jimin x reader #yoo jimin smut #karina #karina x fem reader #karina x reader #karina smut #aespa #aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #aespa smut

495 notes · View notes

pinkmoontaco · 5 months ago

Note

can you do one about idol jeonghan x idol reader that gets into a dating scandal but ends up actually dating? pretty pleaseee i love u work btw

Caught in the Spotlight || Yoon Jeonghan

Pairing: Idol Jeonghan x Idol reader Summary: When a dating scandal erupts, Y/N’s career is put at risk, forcing her to face public backlash and betrayal. Amid the chaos, Jeonghan stands by her side, determined to protect her no matter the cost. As they navigate fame, heartbreak, and tough choices, they discover that love — even in the harshest spotlight — can shine the brightest. Genre: Drama, Romance, Fluff

Authors note: Hey everyone, 😊!! I'm back with a story that was requested by one of you! First off, I just want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the love and support you’ve shown. Your sweet comments, reblogs, and kind words truly inspire me to keep writing, so please keep them coming and please don't forget to follow for more stories like this!! Love you guys ❤️ And also feel free to make any request for any other members or other group M.list

The night air was crisp, the streets dimly lit by flickering streetlights as Jeonghan stepped out of the upscale restaurant. His fingers tugged his mask higher over his face, hoping to slip away unnoticed. The dinner had been a quiet one — a casual gathering with a few industry friends — nothing to raise eyebrows.

But luck clearly wasn’t on his side tonight.

"Jeonghan-ssi?"

He turned at the familiar voice. Standing just a few feet away was you, still adjusting the strap of your bag. Dressed down in a hoodie and jeans, you looked far from the glamorous idol the public was used to seeing.

“Oh… hey,” Jeonghan said, surprised.

You offered a polite smile — the kind idols mastered after years in the spotlight — and gave a small nod. “Didn’t know you were here too.”

“Yeah… just dinner with a few friends,” he explained, pointing over his shoulder.

There was an awkward pause. You weren’t exactly strangers — award shows, backstage run-ins, and overlapping schedules had put you in the same circles before — but you were hardly close.

“Well… have a good night,” you said, turning to leave.

But just then —

Flash! Flash! Flash!

The blinding burst of camera flashes lit up the street like fireworks. Shouts filled the air as a group of paparazzi rounded the corner, cameras firing wildly.

“Jeonghan-ssi! Is this your girlfriend?”

“Are you two dating?”

“Y/N! Did you spend the night together?”

“What the—” Jeonghan barely had time to react before you instinctively grabbed his arm.

“Let’s go!” you hissed, pulling him down the street. The two of you weaved through the crowd, the sound of hurried footsteps and shouting reporters echoing behind you.

“Here!” Jeonghan yanked you into a side alley, pressing his back against the wall as you both caught your breath. Your fingers were still gripping his sleeve tightly.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

“I think so,” you panted, dropping his arm like it burned. “But that… that looked really bad.”

Jeonghan ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah… really bad.”

The next morning

[BREAKING] SEVENTEEN’s Jeonghan and Y/N caught in late-night date — ‘Secret Romance Revealed?’ ‘Caught Leaving Together?’ Dating Rumors Explode Online Fans Demand Clarification After Jeonghan and Y/N's Late-Night Sighting

You scrolled through your phone in disbelief. The blurry photos plastered across the screen showed Jeonghan standing too close, your hand gripping his arm as if you were clinging to him for dear life. #Jeonghan_YN_Dating was already trending.

“Unbelievable…” you muttered. Your phone buzzed. Unknown Number.

“Hello?”

“You saw the articles, right?” Jeonghan’s voice came through the line, sounding both frustrated and tired.

“Yeah…” You rubbed your temples. “This is insane.”

“PR wants us to ‘clear things up,’” Jeonghan said. “They’re asking us to… I don’t know, act friendly? Like we’re just close industry friends.”

You sighed. “Great. So now we’re fake besties.”

“Apparently.” Jeonghan’s voice held a bitter chuckle. “We’re meeting tomorrow for a staged café run. Try not to look too miserable, yeah?”

“Only if you promise not to look smug.”

“Me? Smug?” He laughed, and for a moment, the tension lifted.

But as you hung up, reality set back in. This was going to be a disaster.

The café was buzzing with quiet conversations and clinking cups, yet all you could hear was the rapid thudding of your own heartbeat. Jeonghan sat across from you, casually stirring his iced americano as if this wasn’t the most awkward situation imaginable. The small corner table — handpicked by your managers for “privacy” — felt like a stage under the weight of curious stares.

“Smile,” Jeonghan muttered through his teeth, still pretending to focus on his drink.

“I am smiling,” you shot back, lips barely lifting.

“Try harder.”

Rolling your eyes, you plastered on the fakest grin you could manage.

“That’s terrifying,” Jeonghan chuckled, unable to hold back.

You groaned, adjusting your sunglasses for the third time. “Why did they think this would fix anything?”

“Apparently,” Jeonghan said, voice dipped in sarcasm, “if we sit here long enough looking ‘friendly,’ people will believe we’re just pals.” He took a casual sip of his drink, pausing before adding, “You know… instead of lovers escaping a secret date in the dead of night.”

“Please don’t say that out loud,” you muttered, heat rushing to your face.

Unfortunately, Jeonghan’s comment wasn’t far from the truth. The rumors had spiraled overnight — fans digging through old footage, claiming your eyes met too often on music show stages or that Jeonghan’s smile was “different” when you were nearby. Theories ran wild.

“I can’t believe they think I’m dating you,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Jeonghan nearly choked on his drink. “Excuse me?” He placed a dramatic hand over his chest. “Wow. I’m hurt.”

“You’ll survive,” you muttered.

“Unbelievable,” he huffed, shaking his head with a smile that was entirely too smug. “You could’ve at least pretended to be flattered.”

“Flattered?” You snorted. “I’m too busy drowning in hate comments to feel flattered.”

That wiped the grin off his face. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Same.”

For a brief moment, the tension shifted — less awkward, more… real. Jeonghan’s fingers tapped restlessly against his cup, his gaze flickering to the café window where two girls lingered, phones in hand.

“Don’t look now,” he murmured. “But we’ve got an audience.” You instinctively glanced anyway — a terrible decision. The girls' eyes widened as they registered your face, one of them hurriedly whispering to the other.

“Great,” you muttered. “They’re definitely posting that.”

“Guess we better sell this, huh?” Jeonghan grinned — a mischievous one this time — and before you could ask what he meant, he reached across the table and plucked a crumb from the corner of your mouth.

Your heart stopped. “W-What are you doing?” you stammered, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Helping,” Jeonghan said casually, popping the crumb into his mouth like it was no big deal.

“Unbelievable…” you muttered under your breath, but you knew the girls by the window were practically vibrating in excitement.

“We’re making headlines again, aren’t we?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jeonghan said, voice full of smug satisfaction.

Later That Night

Your phone buzzed non-stop — articles, tweets, and fan edits were already flooding the internet.

“Jeonghan and Y/N spotted on a cozy café date — new couple in the industry?” “Jeonghan’s sweet gesture has fans melting — ‘Did you see him wipe her mouth?!’” “#Jeonghan_YN_CoupleGoals” trending No. 1 worldwide

You groaned, dropping your phone onto your bed. “This is never going to end…”

A text from Jeonghan popped up seconds later: Jeonghan: We should start charging for this. We’re practically giving K-drama scenes for free. 😎

Despite yourself, you laughed.

Jeonghan: Hey… hope you’re okay. Don’t let the comments get to you.

For the first time since the scandal broke, you felt something ease inside you.

You: Thanks. You too.

It had only been three days since the scandal broke, but it felt like weeks. Your name hadn’t left the headlines since the café outing, and no matter how many statements your agency released, the rumors only seemed to grow. The media twisted every tiny detail — analyzing your outfits, digging up old footage, even speculating that SEVENTEEN’s latest album hinted at Jeonghan’s “secret romance.”

Today was no different.

“Ready?” your manager asked, peeking into the waiting room.

You sighed, adjusting your oversized blazer — something your stylist had picked to make you look “more serious and professional” for the upcoming press event. “As I’ll ever be,” you muttered.

“You’ll be fine,” your manager encouraged, though the tension in her voice betrayed her worry.

But the second you stepped outside, you realized fine wasn’t on today’s agenda.

The reporters swarmed like bees, microphones shoved dangerously close to your face. Flashes blinded you, and voices overlapped into a deafening roar.

“Y/N! Over here!”

“Is it true you’ve been dating Jeonghan for months?”

“Did you meet his family?”

“Is this a PR stunt?”

“Excuse me—” you tried, your voice shaking.

Your breath hitched. The air suddenly felt too thick, your head spinning from the overwhelming noise.

“Y/N, look this way!”

“Are you moving in with him?”

“Hey! Back off!” Suddenly, a hand gripped your wrist — firm but steady — and you felt yourself being pulled away from the chaos.

Jeonghan.

He barely looked back as he guided you through the crowd, one arm instinctively moving behind you as a barrier. He didn’t let go until you were safely tucked inside a black van, the door slamming shut behind you.

“Are you okay?” Jeonghan asked, his voice softer now.

You exhaled shakily, pressing your palms to your temples. “I… yeah. Just... overwhelmed.”

Jeonghan frowned, his usual playful smile nowhere to be seen. “They’re insane out there.”

“Tell me about it,” you muttered. “They think I’m halfway down the aisle with you.”

That earned a dry chuckle from Jeonghan. “Well, I am a catch.”

You let out a weak laugh despite yourself, grateful for the tension lifting.

But then Jeonghan’s voice turned serious again. “You know… you don’t have to deal with this alone.”

You looked up, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know you’re getting a lot of hate because of me. And I hate that. So if you… if you need space, or if you want me to back off —”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, surprising both of you.

Jeonghan blinked. “What?”

Your fingers fidgeted in your lap. “I just… I’m tired of feeling like I have to deal with this alone. It’s stupid, but… you make it a little easier.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Jeonghan’s gaze softened, and his usual teasing smirk faded into something gentler.

“Well…” He shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours. “I guess that makes two of us.”

The warmth of his presence lingered long after you’d parted ways.

Later That Night — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“Hyung… what is this?”

Jeonghan nearly choked on his water as Seungkwan slammed his phone on the table. The screen displayed a photo of Jeonghan guiding you into the van — his hand lingering on your waist a little too comfortably.

“‘Jeonghan’s Protective Boyfriend Era?’” Joshua read aloud, grinning. “Ohh, this is gold.”

“Did you see the comments?” Seungkwan added dramatically. “They’re calling you ‘Jeonghan-oppa’ now.”

“You guys are so annoying,” Jeonghan groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Mingyu leaned over with a wolfish grin. “We’re just getting started.”

The charity event was supposed to be simple — smile, wave, and look composed. But of course, nothing was ever simple when you were standing beside Yoon Jeonghan.

The second you stepped onto the carpet together, the whispers began.

You kept your expression calm, but the tension coiled tight in your chest. Jeonghan, walking just a step ahead, seemed unfazed — effortlessly charming as he greeted photographers.

“Look, it’s them…”

“They’re totally dating.”

“Did you see that café video? He wiped her mouth!”

“Smile,” Jeonghan muttered through his teeth, barely moving his lips.

“I am smiling,” you shot back, your grin strained.

“Then why do you look like you want to set something on fire?”

“Because I do.”

Jeonghan huffed a soft laugh, barely audible over the noise of cameras clicking. To the crowd, it probably looked like the two of you were flirting — as if the fake smiles and forced laughter meant something more.

“Relax,” Jeonghan murmured. “I’ve got you.”

The words — simple as they were — eased something inside you.

Inside the ballroom, the chaos had dulled to murmured conversations and clinking glasses. Your manager had instructed you and Jeonghan to stay close for appearances, which meant you were stuck together for the evening.

“Here,” Jeonghan said, pressing a glass of water into your hand.

“Thanks,” you muttered, barely managing a smile before taking a sip.

He didn’t move away, hovering beside you instead. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied.

But you weren’t. The stares hadn’t stopped, and the whispers felt deafening. Each smile you forced felt like a crack in your armor.

“Come with me,” Jeonghan said quietly.

“What?”

“Just… trust me.”

The air was cool, crisp against your skin as Jeonghan held the door open for you. The hum of the event below faded, replaced by the stillness of the city lights stretching far into the horizon.

“Breathe,” Jeonghan said softly.

You did. The cold air stung your lungs, but at least out here, you could think.

“I know this is a lot,” Jeonghan murmured, leaning against the railing beside you. “I didn’t think it’d get this bad either.”

“I hate it,” you admitted, your voice quieter than you expected. “The rumors, the comments… I feel like I can’t even breathe without people twisting it into something else.”

Jeonghan was quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he said, voice softer now. “I get that.”

You turned to him, surprised. “You?”

He huffed a dry laugh. “Trust me, being SEVENTEEN’s ‘angel’ gets exhausting.” He smiled bitterly. “If I’m too nice, people think I’m fake. If I’m too quiet, they say I’m cold. And now…” He gestured vaguely between you two. “Now I’m the guy who’s apparently been sneaking around with a secret girlfriend for months.”

You laughed weakly. “I’d be a terrible secret girlfriend.”

Jeonghan grinned, his usual mischief flickering back. “Yeah… you’d totally blow our cover.”

The joke was light, but the air between you shifted — quieter, heavier.

“I don’t know how you do it,” you admitted. “You never seem to let it get to you.”

“I do,” Jeonghan said quietly. “I just… don’t let people see it.”

There it was — a rare crack in his usual playful mask. And before you could think better of it, your hand reached out, resting lightly over his.

“You don’t have to do that all the time,” you said softly. “You don’t always have to be the one holding everything together.”

Jeonghan’s fingers curled slightly under yours — warm and steady — and you realized with a jolt that you didn’t want to pull away.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

And for a moment, the noise, the rumors, the chaos — none of it mattered. It was just you, Jeonghan, and the quiet comfort of knowing you weren’t alone in this mess.

The comments wouldn’t stop.

Every time you unlocked your phone, they flooded your screen like a raging storm.

"She’s not even pretty. Why would Jeonghan date her?" "She’s using him for attention." "She’s ruining his image."

Your fingers hovered over the screen, scrolling mindlessly through the endless wave of insults. Each comment felt sharper than the last — words that twisted in your chest like knives.

At first, you tried to ignore it. You told yourself it would pass. That people would move on.

But they didn’t.

Instead, your name stayed trending — not for your music, not for your hard work, but because people were convinced you weren’t good enough to stand beside Yoon Jeonghan.

And today… today was worse.

An edited photo of you — your face distorted, mocked, and plastered with cruel captions — had gone viral. The quote beneath it read:

"Proof Jeonghan could do so much better."

Your vision blurred as you locked your phone and set it face-down on your desk. The lump in your throat burned, and no matter how hard you swallowed, it wouldn’t go away.

A shaky breath escaped your lips, and before you knew it — you were crying. Silent, angry tears that spilled faster than you could stop them.

Later That Evening — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

Jeonghan had barely stepped into the living room when he heard the conversation.

“...Did you see what they’re saying about her?” Joshua’s voice was quiet, but laced with concern.

“Yeah,” Mingyu muttered. “It’s brutal.”

“I don’t get it,” Seungkwan huffed. “She’s talented. She’s gorgeous. And she’s one of the nicest idols I’ve met. Why are they—?”

“Because people love tearing others down,” Joshua said grimly.

Jeonghan’s stomach twisted. He didn’t need to hear more. He already knew — the hateful comments, the constant targeting — he’d seen it all.

And you were enduring it alone.

Your Apartment

The knock at your door startled you.

You dragged yourself off the couch, wiping your face as best you could before opening it.

“Jeonghan?”

His eyes flickered over you — the red-rimmed eyes, the dull expression, the exhaustion etched into your face. His teasing smile was gone, replaced by something softer… something that looked dangerously close to concern.

“Can I come in?” he asked quietly.

You stepped aside, too drained to argue.

Jeonghan didn’t say anything right away. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, watching you like he wasn’t sure where to start.

“You didn’t answer my texts,” he finally said.

“I know,” you muttered.

Jeonghan exhaled heavily. “Have you seen what people are saying?”

“I’ve seen plenty,” you said bitterly. “Kind of hard to miss when your face is everywhere.”

“Hey…” His voice softened. “You can’t let them get to you.”

“Easy for you to say,” you snapped, your voice cracking. “They’re not calling you ugly. They’re not saying you’re only famous because of some fake scandal.”

Jeonghan’s gaze sharpened. “That’s not fair.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Isn’t it?”

“I know what people are saying,” Jeonghan said firmly. “But they’re wrong. All of them.”

“Doesn’t really feel that way.” Your voice wavered. “It feels like no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

Jeonghan’s expression softened. Without warning, he reached out, his hand curling gently around your wrist.

“You’re more than enough,” he said quietly.

You blinked up at him, startled. “You don’t have to say that just because—”

“I’m not.” His grip tightened — not enough to hurt, but enough to ground you. “I mean it.”

And when your eyes flickered to his, you saw it — the warmth, the sincerity… the way Jeonghan was looking at you like you were someone worth protecting.

Your breath hitched. “I don’t know how to keep pretending this doesn’t hurt,” you whispered.

Jeonghan’s fingers slid from your wrist to your hand, threading between your fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Then don’t,” he murmured. “You don’t have to be okay right now. Just… let me stay?”

Your walls — the ones you’d spent weeks building — finally crumbled. The tears came faster than you could stop them, and before you knew it, Jeonghan’s arms were around you.

“I’m right here,” he whispered against your hair. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time in weeks, you believed it.

The hateful comments didn’t stop. If anything, they’d gotten worse.

Every new headline dragged you back into the spotlight — "Jeonghan’s Rumored Girlfriend Under Fire Again!" — and your face was splashed across every gossip site. The cruel words felt endless, no matter how much you tried to ignore them.

But there was one unexpected shift.

Jeonghan.

Since that night in your apartment, he hadn’t left your side. Texts every morning asking if you’d eaten. Calls before performances. Quiet glances from across crowded rooms — a silent check-in only you seemed to notice.

You should’ve been grateful. But instead, it was starting to scare you.

Because Jeonghan wasn’t acting anymore.

At the Music Show Recording

“You’ll be okay?” Jeonghan asked quietly.

You nodded, adjusting your mic pack with shaky fingers. “Yeah… I’ll be fine.”

“Hey,” his voice softened. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

You swallowed hard, your gaze flicking toward the backstage monitors. The audience outside was louder than usual, and you already knew why. The crowd was buzzing with signs, banners — some supportive, others cruel.

Jeonghan followed your gaze and sighed. “Unbelievable…”

“I’m used to it,” you muttered.

“Well, I’m not.” His tone sharpened, and before you could stop him, Jeonghan was already moving toward the stage entrance.

“Wait — Jeonghan, what are you doing?” you called after him.

“Fixing this.”

On Stage

It started with a simple interview — routine questions about SEVENTEEN’s comeback. Jeonghan smiled, cracked a few jokes, and kept the mood light.

But when the MC shifted gears, you knew things were about to get messy.

“So, Jeonghan,” the host began, smirking, “I have to ask… how’s your special someone doing?”

Laughter rippled through the audience — some genuine, some mocking. Cameras panned to the crowd, flashing glimpses of posters with your face crossed out.

Your chest tightened.

“Yeah,” the MC chuckled, “I heard her group’s getting a lot of… attention lately.”

The comment stung, disguised as a joke but loaded with malice.

Jeonghan’s smile vanished.

“Actually,” he said, voice firm, “I think her group’s doing amazing. They’ve worked hard, and they deserve the attention they’re getting — positive attention.”

The room went silent.

Jeonghan’s gaze hardened as he continued, “And I think people forget that no matter how famous someone is… they’re still human. They still feel things. So maybe instead of hiding behind keyboards and tearing someone down, people should focus on supporting the artists they claim to love.”

His words lingered in the air — sharp, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.

The host shifted uncomfortably. “Well… that’s very… thoughtful of you, Jeonghan.”

“Yeah,” Jeonghan said dryly, “I’m thoughtful.”

And just like that, he grabbed his mic stand and strolled off the stage.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said the second Jeonghan appeared backstage.

“Yes, I did,” he shot back, his voice unusually tense.

“Jeonghan…”

“I’m serious.” His gaze softened, and he took a step closer. “They’ve been dragging your name for weeks. I couldn’t just stand there.”

“I can handle it,” you whispered, your voice barely steady.

“You shouldn’t have to.”

You stared at him, unsure how to respond — unsure how to deal with the way his words made your heart ache in a way that had nothing to do with the hate.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked softly.

Jeonghan’s eyes locked on yours — steady and unwavering.

“Because I care,” he said simply.

Your breath caught. “This is starting to feel… too real.”

“It is real,” Jeonghan murmured, his fingers brushing your hand. His thumb ghosted over your knuckles — soft, lingering, far too gentle to mean nothing.

Before you could stop yourself, your fingers curled against his.

“Jeonghan…”

“I’m not pretending anymore,” he whispered.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure where the lines between fake and real even existed anymore.

Later That Night — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“I knew it!” Seungkwan’s voice rang through the living room. “He’s gone! Completely whipped!”

“I called it first,” Mingyu shot back.

“You did not!”

Joshua grinned from the couch. “I’m just saying… I’m free on Friday if you guys need help picking out wedding tuxedos.”

Jeonghan groaned, slumping face-first into a pillow.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

“Unbelievably cute,” Seungkwan corrected.

From under the pillow, Jeonghan’s muffled voice rang out:

“I’m never leaving this dorm again…”

The headlines spread like wildfire.

"Yoon Jeonghan Defends Rumored Girlfriend — 'She’s More Than Enough!’” "Jeonghan Stuns Fans with Emotional Statement — Is Their Relationship Real After All?" "SEVENTEEN’s Jeonghan Steps In — Fans Divided Over His Bold Move."

Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Fans. Reporters. Even people you hadn’t spoken to in years — everyone had something to say about Jeonghan’s outburst.

The pressure twisted in your chest, and no matter how many times you told yourself to breathe, your heart wouldn’t slow down.

“Are you two really dating?”

“Is he only defending you because the scandal’s true?”

“Why is Jeonghan acting so… protective?”

At the Practice Room

“You’re not answering your phone,” Jeonghan said quietly, standing in the doorway.

“I needed some air,” you muttered, hugging your knees to your chest. The practice room was dark except for the faint glow of the city lights outside. It was quiet — the only place that felt safe these days.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

You swallowed hard. “I just… I didn’t know what to say.”

Jeonghan sighed, stepping further inside. He crossed the room slowly, like he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to get. “I know things are… messy right now.”

“That’s an understatement.” You let out a humorless laugh. “Half the internet thinks I’m some manipulative, fame-hungry girl who tricked you into falling for her.”

“Yeah?” Jeonghan’s voice sharpened. “Well, the other half thinks I’m some careless jerk playing with your feelings.”

You blinked. “That’s not true.”

“Neither’s what they’re saying about you,” he shot back.

Silence settled between you — thick, uncomfortable, and impossible to ignore.

“You shouldn’t have said all that,” you muttered. “Now everyone’s even more convinced this is real.”

Jeonghan scoffed. “You think I care what they believe?”

“You should!” you snapped. “Your group — your career — you put all of it on the line because of me.”

“Because I care about you!” Jeonghan’s voice rose — louder than you’d ever heard it.

The words seemed to echo in the room, both of you frozen in their aftermath.

“You…” Your voice faltered. “You what?”

Jeonghan let out a shaky breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “I care about you,” he repeated, softer this time. “I know this whole thing started as damage control, but…” His voice broke slightly. “It’s not just that anymore.”

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest. “Jeonghan…”

“I know,” he cut in quickly. “I know this is bad timing, and I know you’re tired, and I know you probably think I’m just —”

“I don’t,” you whispered.

Jeonghan blinked. “You don’t?”

“I don’t think you’re just… anything.” Your fingers toyed anxiously with the hem of your sleeve. “I just don’t understand why. Why now?”

Jeonghan sighed, stepping closer. “Because I’ve been watching you try to hold yourself together for weeks now — pretending it doesn’t hurt when I know it does.” His voice softened, like he was afraid of pushing you too far. “And every time I see you smile like you’re fine when I know you’re not… it makes me crazy.”

He took another step — so close now you could feel his warmth. “I don’t care what people say,” he murmured. “I just… I couldn’t stand watching you go through this alone.”

Your breath hitched. “I wasn’t alone.”

“You felt alone,” Jeonghan corrected. “And I’m not letting that happen again.”

His hand lifted, fingers brushing your cheek so gently it felt like a whisper.

“You’re not alone anymore,” he said softly.

The warmth of his touch lingered long after he pulled away.

Later That Night — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“I told you!” Seungkwan declared, dramatically flopping onto the couch.

“Unbelievable,” Mingyu grinned. “Hyung’s down bad.”

“Can you two stop?” Joshua chuckled from the kitchen. “Jeonghan’s already regretting everything.”

“I heard that,” Jeonghan groaned from his room.

“We know,” Seungkwan yelled back.

“Good luck keeping this one quiet,” Mingyu added smugly. “At this rate, you’ll be holding hands on stage by next week.”

Jeonghan pulled his pillow over his face and groaned louder.

The night should’ve been simple — just another music show broadcast with groups performing and greeting fans.

But of course, things were never simple anymore.

Since Jeonghan’s public defense, the tension had only grown worse. Some fans called his speech romantic, praising him for standing up for you. Others… weren’t so kind.

Tonight, those cruel voices felt louder than ever.

Backstage at the Music Show

You stood quietly in the hallway, scrolling through your phone. The comments were brutal.

"Still riding Jeonghan’s fame, huh?" "She’s lucky her face isn’t part of their concept, ‘cause wow…” "Why can’t she just disappear already?"

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat and locked your phone.

“Don’t read that stuff.”

You turned to see Jeonghan standing a few feet away, his expression softer than usual.

“I wasn’t,” you lied.

“You were,” Jeonghan said firmly, stepping closer. “And you don’t deserve any of it.”

Before you could answer, a staff member called for SEVENTEEN to head to the stage.

Jeonghan hesitated, gaze lingering on you. “I’ll be back, okay?”

You forced a smile. “I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t look convinced.

On Stage — The Ending Segment

The music show’s closing ceremony was chaotic — idols packed together, waving to fans while confetti rained down. Cameras scanned the groups, lingering on certain faces longer than others.

That’s when you heard it.

“Hey.”

A voice, low but cutting, came from somewhere behind you.

“You should’ve quit while you had the chance,” the voice sneered. “Maybe then Jeonghan’s career wouldn’t be going down with yours.”

You froze. The words hit like a slap, sharp and humiliating.

Slowly, you turned. A junior idol — someone desperate for attention — stood smirking, clearly pleased with himself.

“Excuse me?” you said quietly, your fingers curling into fists.

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged. “You’re dragging him down. Maybe if you weren’t so —”

“What did you just say?”

The voice wasn’t yours this time.

Jeonghan appeared like a shadow, stepping between you and the other idol. His usual teasing smile was gone — replaced with something colder, sharper.

“Jeonghan, hey,” the guy stammered, suddenly looking less confident. “I was just joking —”

“That wasn’t a joke.” Jeonghan’s voice was low, dangerously calm. “If you have a problem with me, fine. But don’t you ever talk about her like that again.”

The crowd was starting to notice — cameras turning, staff whispering.

“Relax, man,” the guy mumbled. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I don’t care what you meant,” Jeonghan snapped. “If you say one more word about her, you’re gonna regret it.”

And then — before you could even process what was happening — Jeonghan grabbed your hand.

Firm. Protective. Unapologetic.

The noise around you blurred as he pulled you offstage, ignoring the murmurs and stares. His fingers didn’t loosen their hold until you were backstage — away from the cameras and the judging eyes.

Backstage — Moments Later

“Jeonghan…” you started, still stunned. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” he shot back. “You think I was just gonna stand there and let him humiliate you?”

“It’s not your fight,” you said quietly.

“Yes, it is.” His voice softened, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t care what people say about me. But you?” His hand slid down your arm, fingers curling over your wrist again — softer this time. “I’m not letting anyone treat you like that.”

Your breath hitched. “You’re going to get dragged into more rumors if you keep—”

“Let them talk.” Jeonghan’s voice dropped lower, quieter. “None of that matters to me.”

His fingers brushed against yours — barely a touch, but enough to make your heart race.

“Why?” you whispered.

Jeonghan exhaled shakily, like he’d been holding it in for too long.

“Because I’m tired of pretending,” he murmured. “I don’t care what anyone thinks. I care about you.”

The weight of his words hit you all at once. Your eyes searched his, finding nothing but quiet honesty.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you whispered.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Jeonghan’s thumb traced the back of your hand, a soft gesture that lingered longer than it should have. “Just… don’t push me away this time.”

And for once, you didn’t.

Later That Night — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“I cannot believe this,” Seungkwan gasped, pacing the room. “He really just — in front of everyone?!”

“He grabbed her hand, hyung!” Mingyu grinned like he’d just won the lottery. “No more rumors — this is officially real.”

Jeonghan groaned from his spot on the couch, tugging his hoodie over his face. “I’m never showing my face in public again.”

Joshua chuckled, patting Jeonghan’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. If the fans didn’t think you were in love before… they definitely do now.”

From under the hoodie, Jeonghan’s muffled voice muttered:

“…totally worth it.”

The headlines didn’t waste time.

"Jeonghan’s Public Outburst — What’s Really Going On?" "Jeonghan Caught Holding Hands with Rumored Girlfriend — Dating Confirmed?" "Fans Divided Over Jeonghan’s Growing Attachment."

Your social media had become impossible to manage. Some fans flooded your posts with hearts and encouragement — others weren’t as kind. The comments were brutal.

"What did she even do to deserve this?" "She’s clearly manipulating him." "Jeonghan’s ruining his career over some nobody."

You were exhausted — mind clouded with anxiety, heart caught between frustration and confusion.

At the Practice Room

You pressed your forehead against the mirror, eyes closed tightly. The tension in your chest wouldn’t go away — like a constant knot that refused to loosen.

“Deep breaths,” you whispered to yourself. “You’re fine. You’re—”

“You’re not fine.”

Your eyes snapped open.

Jeonghan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, gaze locked firmly on you.

“You’ve been ignoring my texts,” he said quietly.

“I’ve been busy,” you muttered.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Jeonghan corrected.

You let out a heavy sigh, turning back to your reflection. “It’s easier that way.”

“Easier?” His voice rose slightly. “You think ignoring this — ignoring me — is gonna make things better?”

“I think dragging you into this any more than I already have is a bad idea,” you shot back. “The fans hate me. Your company’s probably furious with you. And for what? Because you can��t stop defending me?”

“Because I care about you!”

The room went silent.

“I care about you,” Jeonghan repeated, his voice softer now. “And I don’t regret standing up for you — not for a second.”

You shook your head, swallowing hard. “Jeonghan… you can’t keep putting yourself in the middle of this.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” he said firmly. “I chose this.”

His eyes softened, and for the first time in days, you let yourself really look at him. The way exhaustion weighed on his features… the way he still stood there, unwavering, like no amount of public backlash could change his mind.

“Why?” you asked quietly.

“Because…” Jeonghan took a careful step closer. “Because when all this started, I thought I was just protecting you. But somewhere along the way… I stopped pretending.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“I don’t care what they say,” Jeonghan murmured. “I don’t care what the media writes or what strangers on the internet think they know about me. All I know is…”

He paused, gaze locking with yours.

“All I know is that I’m falling for you,” he whispered. “And nothing else matters.”

The air between you felt heavy — thick with unsaid words and emotions too overwhelming to ignore.

“Jeonghan…”

“I mean it,” he said softly. “But if you tell me to back off, I will.” His fingers curled at his sides, like he was forcing himself not to reach for you. “If you don’t want this — if you don’t want me — just say the word.”

You opened your mouth to speak… but the words wouldn’t come. Because the truth — the one you’d been burying under fear and self-doubt — was that you wanted him, too.

“I don’t want you to back off,” you whispered.

Jeonghan’s breath caught. “You don’t?”

You shook your head, voice trembling. “I just… I didn’t think you really meant it.”

“I do,” he murmured, stepping closer. “I really, really do.”

And this time, when his fingers brushed yours, you didn’t pull away.

Later That Evening — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“You what?!” Seungkwan practically shrieked, nearly knocking over his drink.

“You heard me,” Jeonghan muttered from his spot on the couch, face half-buried in a pillow.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Mingyu held up his hands like he needed to process it all. “So you confessed — and she didn’t reject you?”

“Nope,” Joshua grinned. “She didn’t.”

“Which means…” Seungkwan’s eyes widened. “You two are, like… together now?”

“I don’t know!” Jeonghan groaned. “I think so?”

“Oh my God,” Seungkwan gasped dramatically. “Our Jeonghan… in an actual relationship?!”

“I give it three days before you start acting disgustingly cute,” Mingyu teased.

“Don’t be jealous,” Jeonghan smirked from behind his pillow.

“Oh, I’m not jealous,” Mingyu shot back. “I’m just glad I don’t have to hear you whine about your crush anymore.”

Seungkwan flopped beside Jeonghan with a smug grin. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep you two humble.”

“Please don’t.”

“No promises.”

The call from your company came faster than you expected.

“You need to stop seeing Jeonghan.”

Your manager’s voice was firm — no room for argument.

“This scandal isn’t dying down,” they continued. “And now that Jeonghan’s gotten involved? Fans are turning on both of you. If you don’t cut ties soon, this could hurt your group’s comeback — not to mention your career.”

You swallowed hard, fingers curling tightly around your phone. “So you’re telling me to pretend he doesn’t exist?”

“I’m telling you to protect yourself.”

Meanwhile — At SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“You want me to what?” Jeonghan’s voice was sharp — a rare crack in his usual calm.

“Take a step back,” the manager warned. “Pledis doesn’t want this blowing up any more than it already has.”

“So I’m just supposed to ignore her?” Jeonghan’s voice rose. “Like none of this ever happened?”

“You’re risking the group’s reputation,” the manager said firmly. “If you care about her as much as you claim… you’ll leave her alone before this gets worse.”

Days Later — Practice Room

You stared blankly at the mirror, eyes glassy. The weight of your manager’s warning had been gnawing at you for days.

“...if you care about him, you’ll stay away.”

The words haunted you.

And so, you kept your distance. No texts. No calls. No lingering glances when you knew Jeonghan was nearby.

It hurt — more than you wanted to admit.

“Y/N…”

You flinched at the sound of his voice. Turning slowly, you found Jeonghan standing at the doorway — eyes dark, face tense.

“You’re ignoring me,” he said quietly.

“I’m just… busy,” you mumbled.

“That’s not true,” he said firmly. “You’re avoiding me.”

“Jeonghan, I—”

“Don’t.” His voice cracked slightly. “Don’t push me away.”

“It’s not that simple,” you whispered.

“It is that simple,” Jeonghan insisted. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I know what they’re telling you — I know what they’re saying about me, too.” His hand reached for yours, fingers barely brushing your wrist. “But none of that matters. Not if we—”

“It does matter,” you cut in, voice trembling. “If we keep this up, you’re going to get hurt. Your group — your career — I can’t be the reason you lose all of that.”

“You’re not,” Jeonghan said fiercely. “This isn’t just some passing scandal. This is us. And I’m not letting anyone tell me I can’t have that.”

Your breath caught as he stepped closer — so close you could feel his warmth.

“Tell me you don’t feel the same,” he murmured. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll walk away.”

You swallowed hard, willing yourself to say it — to end this before it spiraled even more out of control.

But the words wouldn’t come.

“I can’t,” you whispered instead.

Jeonghan’s shoulders dropped with relief. Without warning, his hand slid up to cup your face — thumb brushing your cheek so gently it made your heart ache.

“I don’t care what they say,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Later That Night — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“So…” Seungkwan perched on the arm of the couch, grinning like he knew something.

Jeonghan sighed. “What?”

“You did meet up with her, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh please.” Mingyu flopped beside him. “You’ve been grinning like an idiot since you walked in.”

“Yeah,” Hoshi chimed in. “And you’re still wearing her bracelet.”

Jeonghan’s eyes widened. He glanced down at his wrist — the small braided bracelet Y/N had given him months ago.

“…oops.”

Seungkwan gasped dramatically. “Oh my God. You’re not even trying to be subtle anymore.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Joshua grinned from the kitchen. “Jeonghan’s finally gone soft.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “I’m not soft.”

“Sure,” Mingyu smirked. “Tell that to the smile you’re trying to hide.”

Jeonghan’s face burned, but he couldn’t bring himself to wipe the grin off his face.

The article dropped like a bomb.

"Jeonghan’s Secret Romance — How Long Have They Really Been Together?" "Insider Reveals Y/N’s History of Using Connections for Fame." "Did Y/N’s Group’s Success Depend on Jeonghan’s Influence?"

The accusations weren’t just cruel — they were personal. The article painted you as manipulative — someone who clung to Jeonghan to boost your career.

Fans flooded social media. Some defended you, but the louder voices were full of anger.

"She’s been leeching off SEVENTEEN’s popularity this whole time." "I knew she wasn’t genuine. Poor Jeonghan." "I hope Pledis makes him end this soon — she’s ruining him."

It was suffocating.

At Your Dorm

“Just stay offline,” your manager urged, pacing the room. “We’ll issue a statement — deny everything.”

“It won’t matter,” you muttered. “They’ve already decided I’m the villain.”

Your voice broke at the end, and your manager softened. “This will pass,” they promised. “People forget these things quickly.”

But you weren’t convinced.

Meanwhile — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

Jeonghan’s phone buzzed nonstop. His inbox was overflowing — texts from worried staff, Pledis representatives warning him to “avoid further controversy,” and comments that cut deeper than he expected.

"I never thought Jeonghan would fall for someone so desperate." "He deserves better." "I can’t believe he’s risking everything for her."

“You okay?” Joshua’s voice was soft.

Jeonghan let out a bitter laugh. “No.”

“You should talk to her,” Joshua said.

“I don’t know if I should,” Jeonghan mumbled. “What if I make things worse?”

“You think ignoring her will make things better?” Joshua shook his head. “She’s hurting, Jeonghan. And you’re the only one who can fix that.”

Later That Night — Outside Your Dorm

The knock at your door startled you.

“Y/N…” Jeonghan’s voice was quiet, barely audible through the door.

You wiped your eyes and opened it. He stood there — hair tousled, eyes heavy with concern.

“Can I come in?”

You hesitated but stepped aside.

“I saw the article,” he said softly. “I know what they’re saying, and I…” He paused, like he was trying to find the right words. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you murmured. “It’s not your fault.”

“It is, though.” Jeonghan’s voice hardened. “They’re attacking you because of me. And if I had just —”

“Stop,” you cut in. “I’m tired of pretending this is just your fight. It’s our fight, Jeonghan. And I’m scared.”

Your voice cracked, and Jeonghan’s face softened.

“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”

For a moment, you just stood there — hearts racing, words unspoken.

Then Jeonghan reached out, gently brushing a tear from your cheek. His fingers lingered, warm and comforting.

“I don’t care what they say,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You should,” you whispered. “You should let me go before this gets worse.”

“I can’t,” Jeonghan said, his voice breaking. “I don’t want to.”

The weight of his words hit you like a tidal wave — all the worry, the pain, the longing you’d tried so hard to bury.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in — and Jeonghan was already there, meeting you halfway.

His lips pressed softly against yours — tentative at first, like he was still giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Your fingers tangled in his hoodie, holding him closer as the tension finally broke — weeks of fear and frustration melting into something warmer, something real.

When you finally parted, Jeonghan’s forehead rested against yours, breath shaky.

“We’ll get through this,” he murmured. “Together.��

The Next Day — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“You WHAT?!” Seungkwan’s scream practically shook the walls.

“You kissed her?” Mingyu grinned like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Finally!” Hoshi cheered. “I thought I was gonna have to lock you two in a room together.”

“Please don’t,” Jeonghan muttered, sinking into the couch.

“Too late,” Seungkwan declared dramatically. “I knew this was happening — it was only a matter of time!”

“I’ll admit,” Joshua added with a smile, “I’m impressed you managed to last this long.”

Jeonghan sighed, face buried in his hands. “I hate you all.”

“No, you don’t,” Mingyu teased. “You’re too busy being in love.”

Jeonghan groaned loudly — but deep down, he knew they were right.

The photo spread like wildfire.

Blurry yet unmistakable — you and Jeonghan standing outside your dorm, his hand on your face, your head leaning against his chest. The dim streetlight barely masked the intimacy of the moment.

"Jeonghan and Y/N — Secret Late-Night Meeting CONFIRMED!" "Rumors Were True All Along?" "Fans Furious Over Jeonghan’s Lies."

The backlash hit immediately.

"I can’t believe he lied to us." "So they’ve been sneaking around this whole time?" "He’s throwing away SEVENTEEN’s hard work for her?"

Your heart sank reading the comments — each one sharper than the last.

“You need to deny it.”

Your manager’s voice was cold and clipped. “Your group’s comeback is weeks away, and if you don’t fix this now, they’ll blacklist you from promotions.”

“I can’t just—”

“You can,” they interrupted. “And you will. Unless you want to lose everything you’ve worked for.”

Their words hit hard. You thought about your group — the years spent training together, the exhausting schedules, the moments you’d fought so hard to earn your place in the industry.

Were you willing to risk all of that… for him?

Meanwhile — At SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“They want me to lie,” Jeonghan muttered, voice low. “Say it was a misunderstanding. Say we’re just friends.”

“Are you gonna?” Joshua asked gently.

Jeonghan shook his head. “I can’t.” His fingers clenched tightly around his phone. “I’m not letting her take the fall for this. Not alone.”

“You’re really serious about her,” Joshua said softly.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” Jeonghan admitted.

Later That Evening — Outside Your Dorm

You opened the door to find Jeonghan standing there — hair damp from the rain, eyes sharp with determination.

“Jeonghan…”

“I know what they’re asking you to do,” he said quickly. “I know they’re telling you to end this — to act like none of this ever happened.”

You swallowed hard. “They said I’ll lose everything if I don’t.”

“And if you do?” Jeonghan’s gaze softened. “You’ll lose me.”

Your breath caught.

“I don’t want you to choose between me and your career,” Jeonghan said carefully. “But I need you to know… I’m not hiding this anymore.”

“What?”

“I’m going public.” His voice was firm. “If they want someone to blame, they can blame me. If they want someone to drag through the mud, I’ll take it. But I’m not letting them tear you down for this.”

“You can’t,” you whispered. “You’ll ruin your career—”

“I don’t care.”

His hand reached for yours, fingers curling tightly around your own.

“I love you,” Jeonghan said softly. “And I’d rather face the whole world knowing I chose you… than lose you trying to save my reputation.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare — stunned, overwhelmed, and hopelessly in love.

“Jeonghan…” your voice shook. “I love you, too.”

His eyes lit up — like hearing those words made everything else disappear.

“Then let’s fight this,” he whispered. “Together.”

The Next Day — SEVENTEEN’s Press Conference

The room buzzed with reporters, cameras flashing from every angle. The members sat in a neat row, tension thick in the air.

Jeonghan’s mic clicked on.

“I know there’s been a lot of talk about me recently,” he began, voice calm but steady. “So I want to be honest — with my fans, with my members, and with everyone else watching.”

He paused, exhaling slowly.

“Y/N and I… we’re together.”

The room exploded with noise — reporters shouting questions, camera shutters clicking furiously.

“But I need to say this,” Jeonghan continued firmly. “Y/N isn’t to blame for this. If anyone deserves criticism, it’s me. I’m the one who pursued her, I’m the one who refused to let her walk away. So if you’re angry… be angry with me.”

He glanced down at his members, who — to his surprise — were smiling.

“Yah,” Seungkwan muttered loudly enough for the mic to catch. “We told you to confess to her months ago.”

The room erupted in startled laughter.

“Yeah,” Mingyu added, grinning. “Took you long enough, hyung.”

The tension lifted — even if just slightly — and Jeonghan felt his chest unclench for the first time in weeks.

Later That Night — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“I still can’t believe you actually did it,” you said, resting your head against Jeonghan’s shoulder.

“Me neither,” Jeonghan admitted, fingers threading through your hair. “But I’d do it again if it means I get to keep you.”

“You know they’re still talking about us, right?”

“Let them talk,” Jeonghan said quietly. “As long as I’ve got you… I don’t care what they say.”

His lips brushed your forehead, lingering long enough for you to feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “Not now… not ever.”

The air inside Pledis felt suffocating.

“You can’t be this reckless, Jeonghan.” The manager’s voice was tight with frustration. “You might think this is romantic, but SEVENTEEN’s comeback is in two weeks. The media’s still focused on this scandal, and it’s dragging the group down.”

“I’ll take the blame,” Jeonghan said firmly. “Leave the others out of it.”

“That’s not how this works,” the manager snapped. “You’re part of SEVENTEEN. Everything you do reflects on them.”

Jeonghan clenched his fists. “So what? You want me to apologize for loving someone?”

“I want you to be smart about this,” the manager shot back. “For now, you’re off the next few promotions. The group can handle it without you.”

Jeonghan’s stomach dropped.

“You’re pulling me from the comeback?”

“No.” The manager’s tone softened. “But until this dies down… lay low.”

Meanwhile — At Your Company

“You won’t be joining the group’s next variety appearance,” your manager informed you bluntly.

“What?!”

“It’s better this way,” they added quickly. “The more you’re seen right now, the worse things get for your group. We can’t risk that.”

“But this isn’t just about me,” you said, voice shaking. “I worked just as hard as the others—”

“And you’re risking all of it because of this relationship,” they cut in. “You need to understand… if you keep this up, you won’t just lose your career. You’ll drag your members down with you.”

Your stomach twisted painfully.

Two Days Later — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

Jeonghan sat on the floor, knees drawn to his chest, as Mingyu quietly placed a can of soda beside him.

“Hyung…” Mingyu began softly.

“I’m fine,” Jeonghan muttered.

“You’re not fine,” Mingyu shot back. “You’ve barely spoken since Pledis pulled you from promotions.”

Jeonghan let out a bitter laugh. “What’s the point? I’ve already messed everything up.”

“You didn’t mess things up,” Seungkwan cut in, appearing in the doorway. “But you are being dramatic.”

Jeonghan shot him a tired glare.

“I’m serious,” Seungkwan said, plopping down beside him. “We’re a team — one stupid scandal isn’t going to ruin SEVENTEEN.”

“But what about her?” Jeonghan’s voice faltered. “Her company’s freezing her out. If she loses everything because of me…”

“Then stop sulking and do something about it,” Hoshi said, suddenly popping his head into the room.

“Like what?”

Hoshi grinned. “Leave that to us.”

The Next Day — Social Media Buzzes

"OMG SEVENTEEN’s Seungkwan just posted a hilarious dance cover — he’s in a full dinosaur costume!" "Mingyu’s live? Why is he making pancakes… at midnight?" "Hoshi’s teaching choreography on TikTok and... failing miserably?!"

Fans were confused — but entertained. SEVENTEEN’s chaotic antics became an instant distraction, drawing focus away from Jeonghan’s scandal.

Later That Night — Quiet Streets

The hashtags shifted.

#JeonghanScandal → #SeventeenDinoDance

#BoycottY/N → #MingyuPancakeKing

You barely recognized Jeonghan with his cap pulled low and mask covering most of his face. He stood just beyond the streetlamp’s glow, waiting for you.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come,” you said softly, guilt weighing heavy on your heart.

“I needed to see you,” Jeonghan whispered. “I don’t care what they’re saying. I just… I had to know you’re okay.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I am.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jeonghan murmured, stepping closer. His hand reached for yours, fingers lacing tightly between your own. “I never wanted this for you.”

You shook your head. “You’re not the problem, Jeonghan. It’s… everything else. My group’s upset. My company’s turning its back on me. I feel like I’m losing everything I worked for.”

“You’re not losing me,” Jeonghan said quietly.

Tears welled in your eyes. “But what if that’s not enough?”

“It is enough,” he said firmly. “You’re enough.”

His arms slipped around you, pulling you close — warm and steady in a way that made the noise of the world seem distant.

“I love you,” he whispered into your hair. “And I’m not giving up on you — or us.”

“I love you, too,” you whispered back.

For the first time in days, you felt like you could breathe again.

The leaked recording hit social media like wildfire.

"Y/N’s agency planned her removal from the start?" "Insider reveals Y/N’s relationship was just an excuse to sideline her." "Did Y/N’s company sabotage her own career?"

The recording — muffled yet painfully clear — played over and over online.

“She’s too independent. Too popular. This scandal just makes it easier to push her back a little. It’s better if we let her fade quietly.”

Your heart sank when you heard it.

“They were planning to get rid of me,” you whispered.

Your manager’s voice echoed in your mind, cold and calculated. “This is better for everyone. The group will do fine without her.”

So all the late-night practices, the sleepless nights, the sacrifices you’d made for your career… had never been enough.

Meanwhile — At SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

Jeonghan stared at his phone screen, fingers clenched tightly around it.

“They’re using her,” he muttered. “All this hate... they planned it.”

“Hyung…” Joshua’s voice was calm, but worried. “You need to be careful.”

“They’re already blaming me,” Jeonghan said bitterly. “Rumors about a dating ban are everywhere.”

“You know Pledis,” Joshua said. “They’ll do whatever keeps the fans happy.”

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened. “I don’t care. If they think I’m giving up on her, they’re wrong.”

Later That Night — Your Dorm

You barely reacted when Jeonghan knocked on your door.

“I heard about the recording,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”

You shook your head. “I’m tired of fighting.”

Jeonghan’s hand reached for yours, fingers threading together.

“You can’t let them win,” he said firmly.

“I don’t know how to keep going,” you confessed. “My company’s turned against me. Fans still hate me. My group is…” Your voice broke. “I’m scared, Jeonghan. What if I end up with nothing?”

“You won’t,” Jeonghan said quietly. “Because you’ll still have me.”

His words hit you hard. The tears you’d been holding back spilled over.

“I don’t want you to lose everything because of me,” you choked out.

Jeonghan’s arms circled you tightly, holding you like you were something precious — something he refused to lose.

“I’d risk it all for you,” he whispered. “Every last bit of it.”

You pulled back, eyes searching his. “But what if—”

“I’m not letting go,” Jeonghan cut in, voice firm. “Not unless you tell me to.”

His fingers brushed your cheek, wiping away your tears.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I’ll fight for you — as long as you’ll let me.”

In that moment, all the fear, all the pressure, all the noise seemed to fade.

“I love you too,” you whispered back.

The Next Morning — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“We need something big,” Seungkwan declared, pacing the room like a man on a mission. “Something so distracting that no one’s talking about the scandal anymore.”

Mingyu’s face lit up. “What if we—”

“No,” Joshua interrupted. “No food fights. No pancake stunts. No chaos.”

“But—”

“Let’s go viral on purpose this time,” Seungkwan insisted.

“You mean… coordinated chaos?” Hoshi grinned.

“Exactly.”

Later That Day — Online

The internet didn’t know what hit it.

Mingyu live-streamed himself reading dramatic poetry while wearing sunglasses indoors. Seungkwan and Vernon posted a dance cover in dinosaur suits — with Dino chasing them in the background.

Then came Hoshi’s masterpiece — a staged “news interview” where he dramatically whispered into the camera:

“Breaking news: Jeonghan is still a menace to society. Please send thoughts and prayers.”

The hashtags shifted overnight.

The energy changed. Suddenly, people were laughing again — not at you, but with SEVENTEEN.

#BoycottY/N → #JeonghanMenace

#Y/NScandal → #DinoDanceChallenge

#JeonghanDatingScandal → #MingyuPoetryKing

A Few Days Later

You and Jeonghan sat side by side, his fingers gently tracing circles on the back of your hand.

“I think things are getting better,” you said softly.

“Because of those idiots,” Jeonghan chuckled.

You smiled — a real one this time.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” you admitted. “But… I’m glad you’re still here.”

Jeonghan turned toward you, his gaze softening.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “Not now… not ever.”

Then, with a smile so warm it made your heart skip a beat, he leaned in — pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead.

The message had been simple.

"Meet us at the practice room at 7 PM. Don’t be late."

You sighed, adjusting your mask as you entered Pledis. Lately, everything felt heavy — the constant whispers, the judgmental stares, the endless rumors. Even your own members seemed distant, their smiles feeling more forced than genuine.

So when Jeonghan’s text arrived, you didn’t think much of it. Maybe SEVENTEEN wanted to talk — or maybe they were just checking in. Either way, you didn’t expect much.

But the practice room was empty.

Confused, you noticed a small envelope taped to the mirror. Your name was scrawled across it in Jeonghan’s familiar handwriting.

“Follow the stars.”

Frowning, you stepped back into the hallway — only to see small glow-in-the-dark star stickers trailing along the floor.

The Performance

The stars led you to a different room — one of Pledis' larger rehearsal spaces. The lights were dim, but as soon as you stepped inside...

Music started playing.

"✨ Baby, baby, baby... ✨"

The soft, familiar tune of SEVENTEEN’s Adore U echoed through the room — and suddenly, Seungkwan burst through the door, dramatically clutching his chest like he was personally serenading you.

“I adore youuuu...” he sang loudly, spinning in slow motion as Vernon popped up beside him, striking an exaggerated pose.

Then came Hoshi — dancing like he was auditioning for Broadway. Joshua followed, holding a fake rose between his teeth. Dino dramatically slid across the floor as if this was some grand love confession.

It was ridiculous. It was chaotic.

And for the first time in days... you laughed.

“I know, I know... you're my angel...”

One by one, the members circled you — reaching out, pointing dramatically to you as the "star" of their performance. Jeonghan appeared last, grinning as he sang his part directly to you.

His gaze never left yours.

When the song ended, Mingyu shot you finger-hearts. “You’re welcome,” he teased.

“You guys are insane,” you laughed breathlessly.

“And you’re smiling again,” Jeonghan murmured beside you, voice softer now. “That’s all that matters.”

“Come with me,” Jeonghan said quietly.

You followed him upstairs, your fingers brushing his as you walked side by side. The rooftop was quiet — but breathtaking.

Fairy lights were strung across the railing, glowing softly against the evening sky. A blanket was spread out beneath a cluster of pillows, and a small box sat beside a flickering candle.

“You did all this?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Well… technically Mingyu nearly set the candles on fire, and Hoshi tried to hang the lights upside down,” Jeonghan chuckled. “But yeah... this was my idea.”

You sat down together, the soft hum of the city below filling the silence. For the first time in weeks, you felt calm — like the world outside couldn’t touch you here.

“I know things have been hard,” Jeonghan said quietly. “I hate that you’re carrying all this alone.”

“I just...” Your voice wavered. “I feel like I’m losing everything. My group, my career... I don’t even know if I belong here anymore.”

“You do belong here,” Jeonghan said firmly. He reached for the small box and placed it in your hand. “And you’ll never lose me.”

You opened the box — inside was a delicate silver bracelet, a tiny star charm dangling from the chain. Engraved on the charm were the words: "나의 별 (My Star)."

Your breath hitched. “Jeonghan…”

“You’ve always been my star,” he said softly. “Even when things feel dark... I just look for you, and somehow, I know I’ll be okay.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

“I love you,” you whispered.

Jeonghan smiled — warm, soft, yours.

“I love you, too.”

He leaned in slowly, brushing your hair back before pressing his lips to your forehead. His lips lingered there, soft and steady, before moving to kiss you — gentle at first, but deepening as you melted into him.

For the first time in weeks, the noise of the world faded away — leaving only the warmth of Jeonghan’s arms and the quiet rhythm of his heart against yours.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jeonghan murmured against your lips. “I promise.”

And for the first time in a long while... you believed him.

The public’s reaction to the leaked voicemail felt like a storm finally shifting direction.

"I can’t believe Y/N’s company did this to her..." "She’s been working so hard, and they just threw her away??!" "#StayStrongY/N — you’ve got people who love you!!"

The tide was changing. Fans began flooding social media with messages of support. Edits of you smiling on stage resurfaced. Clips of Jeonghan sneaking glances at you during award shows went viral again — but this time, the captions were softer.

"He’s been in love with her all along... you can see it."

For the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe.

A Few Days Later — Outside a Café

The cold air nipped at your skin as you stepped outside, adjusting your mask. You’d been hesitant to go out lately, fearing judgment — but Jeonghan had encouraged you to step back into the world, even if just for a short walk.

“Excuse me…”

You froze. A soft, nervous voice called from behind you. Turning slowly, you saw a young girl — maybe fourteen — standing there, clutching her phone tightly.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I just… I saw you, and I—”

You braced yourself for the worst.

“I just… I wanted to say…” Her voice shook. “I believe in you. And... I think you’re really amazing.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“You… you do?”

She nodded quickly. “When I saw everything people were saying, I... I knew it wasn’t fair. You worked so hard, and you deserve to be happy.”

Tears threatened to spill, but you blinked them away.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “That… that means more than you know.”

The girl smiled, her eyes lighting up. “Oh! Wait!” She dug through her bag, pulling out a small letter — folded neatly, your name written across the front.

“I wrote this,” she said shyly. “Just in case I ever got to meet you.”

Before you could even respond, she gave you a quick bow and hurried off down the street.

You stood frozen, clutching the letter to your chest — warmth spreading through you for the first time in what felt like forever.

The Next Day — Jeonghan’s Interview

“Hyung, are you sure about this?” Seungkwan asked, shifting nervously.

Jeonghan adjusted his mic, his expression calm but determined. “I have to.”

The interviewer greeted him with a polite smile, but the tension in the room was undeniable.

“So, Jeonghan… there’s been a lot of talk about you and Y/N recently. Would you like to address the rumors?”

Jeonghan’s gaze didn’t waver. “I would.”

The room fell silent.

“I know a lot of people have opinions about this,” he began slowly. “And I get it — being an idol means people watch everything we do.” He paused, exhaling deeply. “But what hurts the most is how much Y/N’s suffered because of this.”

He looked directly at the camera now, voice stronger.

“She’s one of the hardest-working people I know,” Jeonghan said firmly. “She’s passionate, kind, and she’s given everything for her career. The hate she’s faced… it’s unfair.”

Jeonghan swallowed hard, his voice faltering for a moment.

“I care about her,” he continued softly. “A lot. And I’m not going to hide that.”

The interviewer’s eyes widened, clearly not expecting Jeonghan’s open confession.

“She’s been my friend, my biggest support... and the person I love,” Jeonghan finished. “If people want to blame me for that, fine. But please… stop hurting her.”

Hours Later — Online Reaction

"Jeonghan just openly confessed on live TV???" "I’m crying — he really said, 'She’s the person I love.' 💔" "This is the softest thing I’ve ever seen. #WeSupportJeonghan."

The hashtag #WeSupportJeonghan trended within hours. Support poured in from both SEVENTEEN’s and your fans.

For the first time in weeks, things felt... brighter.

Later That Evening — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“You’re a legend, hyung,” Mingyu declared dramatically, tossing a pillow in Jeonghan’s direction.

“You’re lucky Pledis didn’t kill you,” Seungkwan added. “But honestly… worth it.”

“I figured we should celebrate,” Hoshi chimed in, holding up his phone. “Going live in 3… 2…”

“Wait, what—” Jeonghan started.

But it was too late.

SEVENTEEN’s Live Stream

“HELLOOOOO!” Hoshi yelled into the camera. “We’re here to talk about the true hero of today — Jeonghan the Romantic King!”

Mingyu grabbed a hairbrush, singing dramatically into it. “Jeonghan and Y/N, sitting in a tree... K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

“Hyung, confessing on live TV?” Seungkwan grinned. “We knew you were whipped, but this is a whole new level!”

“Enough, enough!” Jeonghan tried to grab Hoshi’s phone, but Mingyu tackled him before he could.

The comments flooded in instantly:

“OMG they’re so chaotic I can’t breathe.” “Mingyu STOP HAHAHA.” “I stan Jeonghan’s love story more than my own life.”

Amidst the chaos, Jeonghan finally gave up and laughed — a real, carefree laugh that echoed through the room.

And for the first time in what felt like forever… everything felt okay again.

The warmth from Jeonghan’s interview still lingered in your chest. His words — “She’s the person I love” — played in your mind like a song stuck on repeat.

For the first time in weeks, the world felt softer — less suffocating. Fans were rallying behind you, Jeonghan’s members were your biggest cheerleaders, and you finally felt like you could breathe again.

But the moment of peace didn’t last long.

Two Days Later — Meeting Room at Your Agency

Your manager’s face was stone-cold. The tension in the room felt suffocating as your company’s CEO folded his hands on the desk.

“You need to cut ties with Jeonghan,” he said flatly.

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said firmly. “This scandal isn’t over yet, and now Jeonghan’s confession has made you both an even bigger target.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “We’re giving you two options — either publicly deny your relationship… or we pull you from your upcoming comeback.”

Your breath hitched. “You’re threatening to take away everything I’ve worked for?”

“Don’t be dramatic,” your manager snapped. “It’s for your own good.”

Your own good?

“You mean for your good,” you shot back. “Because now people know you tried to sideline me.”

“Think carefully, Y/N,” the CEO warned. “Jeonghan’s career will survive this. But yours?” He shook his head. “You don’t have the same luxury.”

Later That Night — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

The moment Jeonghan opened the door, you fell into his arms.

“Hey, hey…” His voice softened as his arms wrapped around you tightly. “What’s wrong?”

You buried your face in his chest, the warmth of his embrace breaking the dam you’d tried so hard to hold together.

“They’re forcing me to break up with you,” you choked out. “Or they’ll pull me from my group’s comeback.”

Jeonghan’s arms stiffened. “What?”

“They’re giving me two choices — either I deny everything, or they ruin my career.”

Jeonghan pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. “We’ll fix this,” he promised. “I won’t let them hurt you like this.”

“But what if they—”

“I’m not losing you,” Jeonghan cut in, his voice firm. “Not after everything.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His thumbs brushed softly across your cheeks, and the quiet comfort of his presence made your heart ache.

“Whatever happens,” he whispered, “I’m with you. Always.”

The Next Morning — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“You’re telling me they’re threatening her?” Seungkwan’s voice rose an octave. “That’s insane!”

“Hyung, this is serious,” Joshua said, pacing the room. “If Y/N’s company doesn’t back down…”

“We’re not letting them win,” Jeonghan said firmly. “I’ll talk to Pledis if I have to.”

“And if they try to keep you quiet?” Joshua asked.

Jeonghan’s gaze hardened. “Then I’ll make sure the world knows exactly what they’re doing to her.”

“Hyung…” Seungkwan’s voice softened. “Are you sure? You’ve worked so hard to get here.”

“I know,” Jeonghan said quietly. “But she’s worth it.”

Later That Day — Social Media Erupts

Jeonghan’s next move wasn’t subtle.

@JeonghanOfficial "Love shouldn’t come with conditions. No one should have to choose between their career and their heart."

The post went viral in minutes.

“Is Jeonghan throwing shade at Y/N’s agency?” “He’s protecting her AGAIN I’M SOBBING.” “This man is fighting for her like it’s a K-drama.”

That Evening — Your Dorm

“Y/N.”

You froze when your manager stormed into your room, phone clutched tightly in his hand.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I didn’t—”

“Jeonghan’s post is everywhere,” he snapped. “Now you’re both trending, and we’re getting flooded with press inquiries.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” you shot back. “People are starting to see what you’re doing — and they’re not okay with it.”

Your manager’s expression twisted. “If you don’t fix this, you’re out.”

Hours Later — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm Rooftop

“I’m scared,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “What if I lose everything?”

“You won’t,” Jeonghan said softly, reaching for your hand.

“But if my company doesn’t back down…”

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” Jeonghan said firmly. “You’re not alone in this.”

His fingers traced the bracelet he’d given you — the one engraved with 나의 별 (My Star).

“Remember what I told you?” he whispered. “You’re my star… no matter what happens, I’ll always find you.”

This time, when you leaned into him, you didn’t just feel comfort — you felt safe.

And for the first time in weeks, you believed that somehow… you’d both be okay.

The message came late at night.

Your phone buzzed on your nightstand, the screen lighting up with a notification from your manager.

"You are no longer a member of the group. The company will release an official statement in the morning."

You stared at the message for a long time, your fingers trembling as you gripped the phone.

It was over.

The group you’d poured your heart and soul into — years of sleepless nights, endless rehearsals, and sacrifices — all taken away because you refused to let your love be a scandal.

Your phone slipped from your hand as you pressed your palms over your face. The tears came quickly, silent but unstoppable.

The Next Morning

"I can’t believe Y/N’s company actually kicked her out!" "She’s been with them since DAY ONE — and this is how they treat her??" "#BringBackY/N is trending worldwide OMG."

Fans flooded social media. Within hours, hashtags like #JusticeForY/N, #BringBackY/N, and #WeSupportJeonghan dominated the trending list.

Clips of you performing on stage resurfaced — moments where you sang with unwavering passion, moments where you pushed through exhaustion just to stand alongside your group. Fans remembered everything.

"If Y/N isn’t part of the next comeback, I’m DONE supporting this company." "We’re not buying a single album unless they bring her back!"

The boycott movement spread like wildfire — fanbases from other groups even voiced their support.

At SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“Have you seen this?” Joshua’s voice broke the silence, phone in hand. “The fans are seriously threatening to boycott.”

“It’s working,” Seungkwan muttered, scrolling through his feed. “Her company’s getting destroyed online.”

Jeonghan exhaled shakily. “I should be happy,” he said softly. “But none of this matters if she’s still hurting.”

“She’ll get through this,” Joshua reassured him. “You’ll get through this... together.”

A Few Hours Later — At Your Apartment

The pounding at your door startled you.

“Y/N!” Jeonghan’s voice rang out. “Please — just let me in.”

You hesitated, wiping your face before opening the door. The moment he saw you, Jeonghan’s face softened.

“I heard…” His voice broke. “I’m so sorry.”

“I knew they’d do this,” you said quietly. “But it still... hurts.”

Jeonghan cupped your face, his thumb brushing away a tear. “Everyone’s fighting for you right now — your fans, other idols... everyone.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But I can’t go back.”

Jeonghan’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”

“Because…” Your voice trembled. “Even if they let me back in the group, I’d be walking back into the same toxic environment. They never treated me well, Jeonghan.” You swallowed hard. “I can’t go back to a place that made me feel like I didn’t belong.”

Jeonghan’s grip on you tightened — not out of frustration, but out of understanding.

“Then don’t,” he said softly. “You don’t owe them anything.”

“But the fans…” Your voice faltered. “I don’t want to let them down.”

“You’re not letting them down,” Jeonghan reassured you. “They’re fighting for you because they love you — not because they want you to suffer.”

His fingers found the bracelet on your wrist — the star charm shining softly in the light.

“You deserve better,” Jeonghan murmured. “And I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

You felt yourself break down, falling into his chest as the weight of everything finally caught up with you. His arms held you tightly, like he was trying to piece you back together.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered into your hair. “For choosing yourself... for being strong.”

For the first time in weeks, you believed it.

Days Later — A Surprise Statement from SEVENTEEN

Jeonghan’s agency broke the silence with an unexpected announcement.

"Jeonghan will be stepping back from activities for the time being to support Y/N during this difficult time. We ask for your understanding."

The fans erupted with mixed emotions — some worried, others praising Jeonghan’s unwavering loyalty.

But the loudest voices? The ones demanding your former company be held accountable.

"This isn’t over until Y/N gets the respect she deserves." "Even if she doesn’t go back to the group — we’ll support her no matter what." "We’re with you, Y/N — always."

For the first time in weeks, the noise didn’t feel so loud anymore.

Instead, it felt like a chorus of voices — not shouting against you, but standing with you.

And when Jeonghan reached for your hand, his fingers lacing tightly with yours, you knew that somehow… you’d both make it through this.

The days following Jeonghan’s statement felt like a blur. Messages of love poured in from fans, old friends, and even strangers. Despite the warmth, a lingering emptiness clung to you — a hollow reminder of the career you’d spent years building, now gone.

You knew walking away from your group was the right decision, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Three Days Later — SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed at his phone screen.

“Hyung, what’s wrong?” Seungkwan asked, noticing the tension in his face.

“Look at this.” Jeonghan handed him the phone. An article was spreading online — an exclusive interview featuring a former idol from your company.

[EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW: Former Idol Speaks Out Against Agency’s Mistreatment]

"I saw it firsthand," the idol confessed. "They treated Y/N horribly behind the scenes — constantly blaming her if things went wrong. The managers pressured her to hide injuries and pushed her harder than anyone else."

"And after the dating scandal? They deliberately sabotaged her — cutting her lines, pulling her from promotions, and forcing her to take the blame for something she didn’t even do wrong."

"Y/N’s been through so much… and she didn’t deserve any of it."

Seungkwan’s eyes widened. “Wait… they cut her lines?”

“I knew they treated her badly,” Jeonghan muttered, “but this?”

“It’s not just her fans now,” Seungkwan said, scrolling through comments. “People are furious.”

"Y/N’s company better apologize — this is disgusting." "She was dealing with this and a dating scandal? She’s stronger than I’ll ever be." "#JusticeForY/N — we’re still here for you."

Later That Evening — Your Apartment

“Did you see the interview?” Jeonghan asked softly, sitting beside you on the couch.

You nodded. “I can’t believe they said all that. I thought... no one knew what was happening.”

“People know now,” Jeonghan said firmly. “And they’re fighting for you.”

You offered a small smile, but doubt lingered in your eyes. “It’s just… what am I supposed to do now?”

“You still love music,” Jeonghan said quietly. “I know you do.”

You sighed, fingers tracing the charm on your bracelet — the tiny star that had become your comfort.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“You don’t have to.”

Jeonghan smiled softly, reaching into his pocket. “Because I already figured that out for you.”

He handed you a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” you asked warily.

“Just… trust me,” he said with a grin.

The Next Day — Surprise at Pledis Studio

When Jeonghan brought you to Pledis, you felt your stomach twist.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you mumbled, anxiety creeping in.

“You can,” Jeonghan said firmly, squeezing your hand. “Just trust me.”

He led you to a practice room — but when the door opened, you froze.

Inside, SEVENTEEN’s members stood scattered across the room — some with instruments, others by microphones. Hoshi grinned from behind a speaker, while Woozi stood by the keyboard, adjusting sound levels.

“What… is this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Your new beginning,” Jeonghan said proudly.

“We’re helping you record a song,” Joshua explained, stepping forward. “Woozi’s been working on a track for you.”

“You’re… serious?” Your voice shook.

“Of course we are!” Hoshi beamed. “This is your comeback — your real one.”

“We believe in you,” Woozi added quietly. “And I know this won’t fix everything… but it’s a start.”

You blinked rapidly, overwhelmed. “I don’t know what to say…”

“Say yes,” Jeonghan said softly, his eyes warm and full of quiet encouragement.

And so you did.

Hours Later — Inside the Recording Booth

Your hands shook slightly as you put on the headphones. The melody started — soft, comforting, yet powerful.

Woozi’s voice came through the speaker. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and sang — quietly at first, then louder as the music swelled.

The emotions poured out — the hurt, the fear, the heartbreak... but also hope. A flicker of strength you didn’t know you still had.

When you finished, you turned to the glass where Jeonghan stood, watching proudly. He gave you a small thumbs-up — his smile warm and full of love.

For the first time in weeks… you felt like yourself again.

Two Weeks Later — Online Reaction

The song — “Unfinished Star” — was released quietly, but it didn’t take long for fans to find it.

"Y/N’s voice sounds even more powerful than before. I’m crying." "She’s back... stronger than ever." "We’ve been waiting for this, Y/N — we never stopped believing in you."

The overwhelming support washed over you, filling the void you once feared would never heal.

And as you scrolled through the comments, Jeonghan’s voice echoed in your mind:

"You’re my star... no matter what happens, I’ll always find you."

You smiled, clutching your phone tightly.

He had found you — and this time, you knew you weren’t shining alone.

The success of Unfinished Star took you by surprise.

In just a few days, the track had climbed the charts — not just because of SEVENTEEN’s involvement, but because fans believed in you. Their comments flooded every platform:

"Y/N’s voice has always been amazing — now the world’s finally listening." "Her emotions hit so hard… I’m so proud of her." "She doesn’t need her old group — she’s a star on her own."

But for every supportive message, there was still noise from your former company.

At Your Former Agency’s Office

“Are you sure we can spin this?” your former manager asked, pacing the room.

The CEO scowled, reading the latest headlines.

"Y/N’s Emotional Return Shines Brighter Than Ever!" "Ex-Idol’s Comeback Outshines Her Former Group’s Promotions."

“She’s gaining sympathy,” the CEO muttered. “And sympathy sells.”

“What if we… I don’t know… claim the song was ours?” your manager suggested.

The CEO’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll say we supported her from the start. Flip the narrative — make it sound like we encouraged her to pursue solo activities.”

“But that’s a lie,” your manager said cautiously.

The CEO smirked. “It doesn’t have to be true — it just has to look true.”

Later That Day — Online Statement from Your Former Agency

"We are proud to have supported Y/N throughout her journey. Her recent success is a reflection of the dedication we nurtured during her time in our company. We look forward to celebrating her continued achievements."

Your phone nearly slipped from your hands.

“They’re really trying to twist this?” you muttered under your breath.

Before you could even process the betrayal, your phone buzzed again — this time from Jeonghan.

At SEVENTEEN’s Dorm

“I can’t believe they’re doing this,” Jeonghan muttered angrily, pacing back and forth. “They’re acting like they didn’t kick you out!”

“I should just ignore it,” you said quietly, still processing the statement. “I don’t want to drag this out.”

“You don’t have to ignore it,” Joshua said firmly. “They’re taking credit for everything you did on your own.”

“Yeah,” Hoshi chimed in. “You deserve to speak up.”

Jeonghan stopped pacing, turning to you. “If you’re ready… we’ll help you.”

The Next Morning — Your Statement

With Jeonghan beside you, you started the live stream.

“I didn’t plan to say anything,” you began, your voice soft but steady. “But I can’t stay silent anymore.”

You took a deep breath, feeling Jeonghan’s quiet presence beside you.

“My former agency claims they supported me through this,” you said slowly. “But the truth is… they didn’t.”

Your fingers gripped the bracelet on your wrist — the star charm grounding you.

“They cut me from performances. They isolated me from my group. And when I refused to deny my relationship with Jeonghan, they forced me out completely.”

Pausing, you swallowed hard, feeling your emotions build.

“But despite everything… I’m still here. I’m still singing because of the people who believed in me — my fans, my friends… and Jeonghan.”

You turned to him briefly, and his warm smile gave you the courage to finish.

“I won’t let anyone rewrite my story,” you said firmly. “Because this is only the beginning.”

A Few Days Later — SEVENTEEN’s Concert

“Come with me,” Jeonghan said, tugging your hand as the concert neared its end.

“Wait, what?” you stammered. “Where are we—”

Before you could protest, you were backstage — and SEVENTEEN’s encore had just begun.

“We’ve got one more surprise,” Seungkwan announced, his voice echoing through the venue.

Your heart stopped as Jeonghan took your hand and led you on stage.

The crowd erupted in cheers — deafening, overwhelming, yet so full of love.

“Everyone!” Jeonghan shouted into his mic. “This star right here?” He turned to you with a smile. “She’s been through so much… but she never gave up.”

The cheers grew louder.

“You believed in her when no one else did,” Jeonghan continued. “And because of you… she’s back where she belongs.”

He gave your hand one final squeeze before stepping aside — motioning for you to take the mic.

The crowd went quiet.

And then… you sang.

Later That Night — Backstage

“You did it,” Jeonghan murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“We did it,” you corrected, smiling softly.

“You know…” Jeonghan smirked. “I still remember the first time I saw you on stage. I knew back then you were something special.”

“You’re just saying that,” you teased.

“I’m serious,” he insisted. “Back then… you were just my crush.” He leaned in closer, voice low. “But now? You’re the love of my life.”

The warmth in his eyes stole your breath away.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you more,” Jeonghan smiled, his fingers gently tracing the bracelet on your wrist.

“You’re still my star,” he murmured. “And no one’s ever going to dim your light again.”

416 notes · View notes

scoupsakakitty · 5 months ago

Note

Helloo! Can I request a story like this: Seungcheol and YN (a soloist) are secretly dating. They're both idols, but from different companies. YN's company has been treating her poorly. For example, when they went to an award show like MAMA, YN's company didn't provide her with any security guards. As a result, fans swarmed her at the airport. Seventeen happened to be at the airport at the same time, and Seungcheol saw YN trying to escape from the fans.

Lost In The Crowd | idol!scoups x idol!reader | angst, fluff

The airport was a warzone.

Fans, flashing cameras, and relentless shouts filled the space, suffocating in its chaos. The moment Y/N stepped into the arrival hall, a swarm of people surrounded her like a tidal wave crashing down. Her breath hitched as she tried to navigate through the crowd, her hands gripping the strap of her bag tightly.

Where were her security guards?

Right. There weren’t any.

SM hadn’t provided her with any. Again.

This wasn’t the first time they had neglected her safety, but it was certainly one of the worst instances. Hands reached out, pulling at her sleeves, tugging at her hair. She flinched at the aggressive push and pull, trying to force her way through the suffocating crowd. The flashing lights of cameras blinded her vision, and the cacophony of screaming voices made her ears ring.

She wasn’t going to make it. Her body was trembling, her breath quickening with panic. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.

And then—

“Y/N!”

That voice.

Her head snapped up, and there he was. Seungcheol.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. But he was. And he was running toward her.

Seungcheol didn’t hesitate. He pushed through the crowd, his larger frame making it easier to shove past the people swarming her. His eyes locked onto hers, and for a brief second, she saw the storm raging in them—anger, concern, desperation.

“Cheol,” she gasped when he reached her. She didn’t even realize her hands had automatically reached for him, seeking comfort, seeking safety.

His heart clenched at the way her voice trembled, at the sheer panic in her eyes. He had never seen her this afraid before, and it made his blood boil.

“I’m here,” he murmured, instantly pulling her into his arms. His hold was firm, reassuring. Protective. “I’ve got you.”

The crowd didn’t matter anymore. The flashing cameras, the prying eyes, the risk of exposing their relationship—none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was her.

She buried her face into his chest, gripping onto the fabric of his jacket as if it was the only thing keeping her grounded. “I was so scared,” she admitted in a broken whisper. “They just kept coming—I couldn’t get away.”

His jaw tightened. He ran a hand over her hair, trying to calm her, trying to will away the fear in her voice. “You don’t have to be scared anymore. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He wasn’t going to let her suffer through this alone.

But he also wasn’t going to let himself be reckless.

That’s when he heard them.

“Hyung!”

Seungcheol turned his head just in time to see Jeonghan, Mingyu, Dino, and Seungkwan making their way through the mass of people. They had seen him rush off and had immediately followed.

Jeonghan was the first to reach them, his sharp eyes scanning the situation. “This is bad,” he muttered, looking at the growing crowd. “We need to get out of here.”

Mingyu didn’t hesitate to step beside Seungcheol, shielding Y/N with his broad frame. “Noona, are you okay?”

Y/N managed a small nod, though her grip on Seungcheol hadn’t loosened. “Just… overwhelmed.”

Dino placed a hand on her shoulder, his usual playful demeanor replaced with pure concern. “Don’t worry, noona. We’ve got you.”

Seungkwan, ever the quick thinker, pulled his cap lower and glanced around. “If we don’t move now, we’re going to get completely trapped.”

Seungcheol nodded. “Let’s go.”

Together, they moved as a unit, shielding Y/N from the suffocating crowd. Cameras flashed, fans screamed, but they didn’t stop. They didn’t let go.

And in that moment, Y/N realized something.

She wasn’t alone anymore.

Seungcheol had made sure of that.

619 notes · View notes

mona-risms · 24 days ago

Note

There's this book scene where:

he gets a call from his bank to verify a $500,000 charge on his card after he misses a meeting with his fake girlfriend.

"Sir, we're calling to verify that you made a purchase for $216,700.64 today at Divine Floral Arrangements. And $286,801.10 online at La Cornue. If you cannot confirm it or it is fraudulent, we can cancel the transactions."

And he goes:

"No, it's not fraud. That's just my future wife throwing a tantrum. Go ahead and run the bills through,"

Now, imagine this but with Rumi. I've already seen your post about Rumi with a patient girlfriend, now how about the opposite?🤭

.......sugar mommy Rumi???¿?? Hello

Let's be so real rn considering the Sunlight Sisters' success and Celine's direct support in Rumi's career, add on the fact that Rumi's most likely been a solo idol for a while anyway AND HUNTR/X is literally ranked Top 1 K-Pop group, this girl has MONEY this girl a NEPOBABY. A very SKILLED nepobaby but let's not lie pls. This doesn't mean she's money-blind, no, but like she HAS MONEY

She genuinely feels REALLY bad for every time she has to ditch you bc demons have popped up again, even more so for every time she misses a date or literally anything with you 😞😞😞 and she is TERRIFIED of the possibility of you leaving her until Ping! A transaction was made with her card. And every time she hears or sees that goddamn notification it actually snaps her out of her spiral and makes her snort in laughter

You send her a photo of exactly what you bought too for good measure and she ends up laughing, maybe crying a little bc instead of texting her that you wanna break up bc you're sick of her you're texting her about the 24k gold labubu 2p 2wk holiday package to Crete you bought for when they're planning to take a hiatus after the Idol Awards for both you and her (and Mira and Zoey can book their own tickets if they wanma tag along but they gotta weigh out how much DISGUST /j do they wanna put up with for when you and Rumi act like the world's most OBNOXIOUS couple). I imagine the interaction would've gone like "if you're too busy rn then I'm making you make it up to me when you're not" "okay!! No distractions then I swear" "better not or I'm going to Turkey too" "do you want Turkey????" "yes" "book it too :]"

It's not like she just lets you use her card whenever you feel like it—in fact she DOES put her foot down if it's something genuinely unreasonable—but one, she doesn't really USE her money idt (for someone so rich she seems like she's actually sensible with it) so she may as well give it to someone who will, and two, it's most likely that the two of you have formed an arrangement beforehand about this sort of thing so it's not like you're ACTIVELY leeching off her all of a sudden. For someone like this, she's also observant about whether people are just with her for money too, so for her to just let it happpen? She knows you're not just there bc of the cha-ching

Plus whatever you buy ends up as a fun little thing that both of you can use or have or experience anyway, esp if it's a holiday, so realistically it's just like moving your dates 🤷‍♀️

#mona's appetisers...#rumi x reader #kdh rumi x reader #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters imagines #kdh x reader #kdh imagines #huntrix x reader #huntrix imagines #huntr/x x reader #huntr/x imagines

249 notes · View notes

ktownshizzle · 24 days ago

Text

Magic & Mayhem | Masterlist

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader, Kim Namjoon x Reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: So your relationship with Namjoon has gone to shit. Your solution? Hit up a sex shop and try to salvage things in the bedroom instead of dealing with the real issues. (Solid plan, right?) What you didn’t expect is to walk out with a blind box and pull a toy called SUGA—magical, stupidly hot, and guarantees to fix your 99 problems, but he actually becomes one. ✎ ˎˊ˗ Alternately: Yoongi is a Labubu / Sonny Angel. (Kind of.) ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Crackfic galore, Magical realism slash sci-fi, Non-idol ✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Again, Yoongi is a toy (be aware of that, but, well, he grows life-size.) ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Hello!!! And welcome to another vaguely planned series. I know it’s not the type/genre I usually post, but this idea has been in my brain for months now. I promise it’s gonna be a fuckin' good time! 🎉 TAGLIST IS OPEN

Masterlist

🔮001 ✨ 🔮002 ✨ 🔮003 ✨ 🔮004 🔮005

Extras:

Drabble 001 : Laboongi is 'Lost' ✨

Read the introduction under the cut

You always thought relationships ended dramatically—with screaming matches and shattered plates, and doors slamming hard enough to shake termites off the walls. But you learned the painful truth with your first love Kim Namjoon: relationships often crumble quietly, fading so gradually, so infinitesimally, you barely notice until the warmth has completely vanished, hearts once filled with everything is completely weightless.

Like now, seated across from him at your favorite café, sunlight streaming through tall windows, you sip your coffee and glance at him over the rim. Namjoon is buried in his phone, thumb scrolling endlessly. A small sigh escapes your lips, but he doesn’t notice. Hasn't noticed, actually, in a very long time.

"Did you hear what I said?" you ask softly.

"Hmm?" He lifts his eyes, distracted. "Sorry, work shit. Sup?"

"Never mind," you say with forced brightness, waving away your disappointment. But the heaviness in your chest stays, quietly and gradually expanding.

You’d planned this coffee date to rekindle something—anything—but now it feels like a futile effort. The silence stretches until your coffee turns cold. Just like your 10-year relationship.

Maybe love wasn’t supposed to feel thrilling forever, but it shouldn’t feel this empty either. Maybe it’s because you fell in love too early, too soon. But you miss the laughter, the passion, the nights tangled together in bed until dawn. Lately, all you've shared are polite good mornings and goodnights, passing like polite strangers under the same roof.

Desperate situations call for desperate measures, you suppose. Which is exactly how you find yourself standing in front of "The Magic Shop", the quirkiest little sex shop tucked in an alleyway of boutiques you've always avoided entering. A glowing neon sign flickers playfully above the door:

Cum Inside. Happy Endings Guaranteed

Wow. How subtle.

Inside, you're met by walls of purple velvet, shelves crowded with vibrant boxes and toys in every conceivable shape and size. It's whimsical and overwhelming, scented faintly of vanilla and spice. You're about to lose your nerve when a warm, amused voice interrupts your anxious thoughts.

"First time in the Magic Shop?"

You whip around to meet a pair of moon-like eyes and a mischievous smile, belonging to a man behind the counter whose nametag reads: Jimin.

… to be continued

A/N: Alright! Are we sat??? Leave me a note if you’re excited. 🥹

TAGLIST IS OPEN | Just drop a note or leave an ask so I can tag you when the first part is out. Or you can join my permanent taglist :)

Permanent Taglist: (Part 1)

@wonh0oe @woozuzu @glossdebut @kiki-zb

@agustblog @maryhopemei @perfectiondazesworld @kimsaerom @kam9404

@00-sleepdontweep-00 @tea4sykes @mggv97 @marnz1990

@whydoeyecare @pastelmin @tarahardcore @minjenna @chimmchimmm

@aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @tinytan-gerine @vesperbells @butterymin

@eve1633455 @baechugff @lilkittenjenjen @wobblewobble822 @coffeedepressionsoup

@futuristicenemychaos @jadestonedaeho7 @granataepfelchen @whoa-jo @annyeongbitch7

@chimmisbae @sexytholland @idkjustlovingbts @kpophosblog @tinyelfperson

@yoongicatagenda @codeinebelle @parapiop7 @diame93 @janeelizabeth1216

@withmuchluv-tannie @abadiimm- @angellekookie

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

247 notes · View notes

folkwhoreberry · 5 months ago

Note

Can u make an Oscar x reader story where they’re childhood best friends and reader is like a famous singer or something and they’ve been hinting about their relationship but no one even knew they had a connection

This was super long 😭 sorry if u don’t understand

steering hearts

oscar piastri x reader

or... the one where you swear you’ll be moving on with his favourite athlete

word count : 1.7k

warning : reader wrote “good graces” by sabrina carpenter, english is not my first language!!!

on the radio : good graces by sabrina carpenter

🐨☘️

sweat dripped down your forehead, but you didn’t mind it, not even one bit.

with the microphone in your hand and the blinding flashes coming from the crowd, chanting your name and lyrics as you sang, how could you?

you stood in a line with your backup dancers, singing your hit song from your latest album, ‘good graces’.

“I’ll tell the world, you finish you chores prematurely,” you sang into the mic as you danced, “break my heart and I swear I’m moving on with your favourite athlete.” and that was the line that made the crowd scream. all because of a simple hand movement you did while singing - your free hand moving in circles imitating a steering wheel.

one simple hand movement - and the internet went crazy. because you wore an orange bodysuit while doing so. and lando norris and oscar piastri just so happened to be in the crowd.

an hour later the concert finally finished, you said your final thank yous to the crowd and crew before going backstage, where you were met with your manager and assistant, handing you a bottle of water and a towel to wipe of the sweat.

“you absolutely smashed it out there!” you manager praised you, a big smile on her lips as she patted your back.

you smiled and nodded and response, too out of breath to talk. you leaned against the nearest wall and kept drinking your water, until a familiar figure appeared in the corner of your eyes, along with another person trailing behind them.

“you did amazing, love!” oscar immediately said after coming close enough to you, his arms wrapping themselves around you without caring about the sweat covering you. “aw, thank you, osc.” you responded with a smile. “hey, it’s my nickname for him!” lando said from behind oscar, to which you rolled your eyes and clicked your tongue at.

“you’re tiring, aren’t you?” oscar whispered in your ear, making you hum in agreement. he chuckled, bringing one of his hands up to play with the ends of your hair. “so should we go back to the hotel?”

——————

the next morning was a mess on stan twitter. rumours of you dating the mclaren so-called ‘playboy’ lando norris were circulating all over the internet.

there were pictures of him and oscar going backstage after the show, videos of you smiling and waving to where the two boys were during the concert, sightings of the 25 year old filming you on his phone while you performed, and of course the orange outfit you wore that night, a colour that is often associated with mclaren, lando’s team.

——————

a week had passed since then, everyone somewhat calmed down from it, only sparking when lando was asked about it in interviews.

now, it was the morning of the australian grand prix - the first race of the 2025 season, and also oscar’s home race.

the paddock was full of excitement, reporters walking around with their cameramen and microphones, fans eager to meet their idols, and the drivers just trying to peacefully get from one place to another.

and there was you - walking through the paddock with you manager, just casually talking to her and occasionally turning to wave to a camera pointed at you pf take a picture with a fan.

“miss l/n, miss l/n! is it true that you’re dating lando norris?” one of the reporters asked you, pointing a microphone at you to hear your answer. you just smirked and snickered, ignoring g the question. “then why are you wearing a mclaren jacket?”

they weren’t wrong, you were wearing a mclaren branded jacket, white leather with their logo on the back, which you wore to support you boyfriend of course. you just kept on ignoring the cameras as you made your way to the mclaren garage, which luckily was the first one out of the rest of the teams. you walked inside, where you were met with oscar, who promised you he’ll meet you at the entrance.

“hey there, love. how was the drive here?” he asks you kindly, wrapping his arm around your waist and leading you further inside, to the front of the garage. “alright, not too much traffic.”

he hummed in response, leading you to the secluded spot he prepared for you in the back of the garage to watch the race.

“I gotta go get in the car now, darling. cheer for me, yeah?” oscar said with a smile, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head before he moved aside to take his gloves and helmet, walking to the front of the garage towards the track, where the national anthem will be played before the start of the race.

the race started just minutes later, and your heart was beating with each turn oscar took and each place he gained or lost.

after almost two hours the race ended, and you were happy that your boyfriend ended the race with no missing kind of any serious injuries, not even caring what place he finished in.

you watched oscar’s car roll into the pit lane and saw him climb out. you were glad he was safe, your heart finally settling after nearly two hours of tense turns and overtakes. the mclaren garage erupted in applause, but you stayed in your secluded spot, waiting for oscar to come over.

a few minutes later, you saw him approaching, wiping sweat off his forehead with a towel. his smile brightened the moment he spotted you, and you grinned back, leaning against the wall of the garage.

“how was that?” he asked, his voice still a little breathless from the race.

“you were incredible,” you said, stepping closer to him. “I swear my heart was in my throat the entire time.”

he chuckled, pulling you into a quick hug, the scent of sweat and fuel faint on his race suit. “you’re always so dramatic,” he teased, his lips brushing the top of your head.

“I think it’s justified,” you quipped, lightly smacking his chest. “especially after that last turn. I was ready to jump on the track and drag you off myself.”

oscar laughed, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’m just glad I didn’t give you another heart attack. next time, I’ll make it easier for you.”

you smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before stepping back. “well, go do your interviews, mr. piastri. I’ll be waiting for you back here.”

“yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” he said, giving you a wink before heading off toward the media pen.

you found a spot near a screen in the garage to watch him and lando give their interviews. they stood side by side, casual as always, but you knew they were in for the usual bombardment of questions. sure enough, one interviewer didn’t waste time.

“lando, there’s been a lot of speculation about your relationship with a certain singer. any comment?”

lando smirked and shot oscar a sideways glance. “oh, we’re really doing this again?” he said, crossing his arms and pretending to think. “well, I can’t blame people for talking. she’s a fantastic performer, you know?”

oscar snorted beside him, shaking his head. “he’s full of it,” he added with a grin. “no relationship there, sorry to disappoint.”

they both shared a laugh, shrugging off the question as the interviewer quickly moved on to race-related topics. you had to bite back a smile as you watched the whole thing unfold. the internet was going to lose it - again.

——————

the next day, you had a concert in the same city, and once again, oscar and lando made an appearance. as the show started, the crowd was electric, and the energy only grew when you hit the chorus of your song, ‘good graces.’

“break my heart and I swear I’m moving on with your favourite athlete,” you sang, throwing in that same steering wheel motion you did at the last show. the screams from the audience were deafening, and you couldn’t help but grin at the chaos you’d created again.

you stole a glance toward the back of the venue, where you knew oscar and lando were. it was hard to miss them, even in the dim light of the concert hall. oscar had that proud, supportive look on his face that never failed to make your heart swell, while lando - well, lando was grinning like the mischievous devil he always was.

once the concert ended and the cheers died down, you headed backstage. it wasn’t long before oscar and lando followed, dodging a few cameras as they made their way through the halls.

“well, if it isn’t the star of the show,” oscar teased as he approached you, his smile lighting up his whole face.

“that’s me,” you said, still catching your breath from the performance. “did I live up to your high standards?”

“always,” he replied softly, stepping closer to pull you into his arms.

just as you leaned into him, you felt a flash of a camera, and before you could react, oscar’s lips were on yours. it was a quick kiss, nothing too showy, but the click of the camera and the flashing lights around you meant only one thing—the internet was about to go wild.

“oh great, here we go,” lando muttered from the side, raising an eyebrow at the photographers. “guess we’ll be dealing with questions about this tomorrow.”

you and oscar both laughed as you pulled apart, but deep down, you knew this was going to cause another storm online.

sure enough, overnight, the internet exploded with headlines, pictures of oscar kissing you backstage, and a new wave of speculation about your relationship. it was everywhere - your fans, his fans, random gossip accounts.

the next morning, after a quick talk with oscar, you decided it was time to put an end to the rumors once and for all. you posted a simple picture on your social media - one of you and oscar, arms wrapped around each other, lips interlocked, and of course a cheesy caption.

oscar did the same, posting a cute picture of the two of your from a random cozy night-in you had, paired with a caption you made him change three times because of how oscar-ish it was.

the response was instant - fans flooding the comments with excitement, support, and some playful teasing.

lando even chimed in, posting a candid picture of you he took with the caption “wrong papaya mate guys”.

you couldn’t help but laugh as you scrolled through the reactions. it was all out in the open now, and honestly? it felt pretty damn good.

————————————————————————————

a/n : took me so long to write it (two days lol) but oh my godddd am I a sucker for singer!reader it feeds the oc’s in my head

#folkwhoreberry #f1 #f1 x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x y/n #x reader

370 notes · View notes

seonghwaddict · 1 year ago

Text

flattery — choi san

in which your boyfriend just looked so good in his group’s music video that you can’t help but be all over him.

idol!choi san x fem!reader. genre. smut, fluff, established relationship. warnings. barely any plot, swearing, explicit sexual content mdni, ab riding, brief unprotected sex, filming, brief cowgirl, dirty talk, praise, nickname (baby, pretty, sweetheart, my girl). wc. 1.3k. rating. mature.

lilo’s notes. did i make a post abt wanting to ride san’s abs a while ago? yes, i did. it’s not my fault that the music video curled those thoughts even more 🤷‍♀️ something was def purring… guys i’ve been so obsessed with blind and shaboom it’s actually not even funny anymore. what’s y’all’s fav?

listening to. nasty, ariana grande.

masterlist.

you really love your boyfriend’s abs.

like really love them.

it started off as a harmless little date, if you can call lounging together in his empty dorm that. as you had promised, you didn’t watch the new music video until you were with him, seonghwa and mingi out somewhere. despite there being no one home, you and san confined yourselves to his bedroom, basking in his smell as you cuddled up to him in bed while he pulled up the video on his phone.

you watched with rapt interest, giggling at the absurdity of the scenes, commenting on some details every now and then. he watched you instead, grinning from ear to ear and revelling in all your praises, occasionally leaning down to sneak a kiss on your head.

“you’ve outdone yourselves, really,” you turned your head to look at him from his chest as the music video ended and he set the phone on his bedside table, “and you looked good doing it!”

he snorted as you wiggled your eyebrows, shifting you to lay on top of him, “yeah? you think so?”

“mhm,” you hummed and nodded, leaning down to peck his lips teasingly, “very handsome.”

“flattery’s not gonna get you anywhere, baby,” he rolled his eyes playfully despite the tender caresses of his fingers on your hips, brushing under the hem of the shirt you stole from his closet a while ago. one of his hands left your hip to tangle into your hair, pulling your face closer to his as he muttered, “come here.”

you complied, leaning down the rest of the way to press your lips against his softly, smiling into the kiss as your eyes fluttered shut. teasingly, you pulled away a few times, grinning as you pecked his li s repeatedly until he had had enough and held you in place by the back of your neck.

he sighed quietly and you felt all his muscles relax under your touch. his tongue ran along your bottom lip before dipping in, making you gasp softly as the kiss turned heated.

one kiss led to more, usually, because in a matter of moments his shirt had been discarded along with his sweatpants and your panties as he guided you over his length with his hands on your hips. your whimpers and his groans melded together as they echoed of his bedroom walls and you were silently grateful his roommates weren’t home.

san’s head tipped back against his pillows as you leaned down to kiss his neck sweetly, whining against his skin as his pounded up into you to meet the rolls of your hips. he groaned as you clenched around him, the feeling of his thick cock inside you and his pelvis hitting your clit with each thrust quickly making a knot form deep in your abdomen.

you mewled softly, stuttering out a quiet “‘m c-close” between your moans and whimpers. your abdomen clenched, heat spreading throughout your body as you prepared yourself to be hit with an orgasm.

only for him to lift you off his dick right at the last second, making you lift your head to look at him with a frown as your thighs twitched and your chest heaved, catching your breath. he grinned in return, holding your hips firmly so you had no way to move for a few moments. your core pulsed and clenched around nothing, the wetness of it making a faint squelching sound that had him raising a teasing eyebrow at you.

“you’re mean.” you pouted once you finally caught your breath, wiggling your hips in attempt to sink back down on him.

“hush, i just wanna try something,” he rolled his eyes and pulled your hips forward before setting you down on his stomach; his abs. he caught the way your eyes fluttered as your clit pressed against his skin, or at least he assumed so—the shirt you had on obscured your heat from his view as you pressed yourself down on him. his voice came out mildly cocky, “ride.”

“w-what?” your eyes snapped open, blinking almost comically.

“ride my abs,” he repeated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “and when you finish i’ll let you cum on my cock.”

you didn’t have to be told twice, letting him slide you against him slowly at first, dragging your pussy along him and making your your clit catch on every ridge of his abs.

“that’s it, baby, you look so pretty like this,” he practically purred as he felt you move on your own, pressing against him desperately as little sounds tumbled from your lips. he moved his hands to knead your thighs before lifting one, grabbing a fistful of the hem of your shirt and lifting it to your waist, groaning as he noticed the sticky threads connecting your pissy to his abs whenever you lifted off him, “fuck… can i film this? please, babe?”

unable to form any coherent sentences, you merely nodded, slowing your movements as his hands leaves your thigh to grab his phone off the bedside table, the hem of your shirt still balled up behind your back as he tugged lightly. his hand shook a little as he opened his camera app, holding it close to his face as he recorded the way your hips stuttered as he tensed his muscles, making you let out a breathy whine.

“look at you,” he cooed softly, almost a teasing lilt his voice, “you sound so pretty for me, don’t you? that’s right, baby, keep going just like that… does it feel good? hm, sweetheart?”

his tone made your cheeks flush, giving him a shy nod as you subconsciously pick up your pace, your moans growing louder as your puffy clit glides along his torso greedily. “y-yes, sannie, ‘s so good.”

“that’s my girl,” he smirked as he felt your legs press against his sides a little harder at his praises, practically feeling your cunt pulse against him. he tugged at the hem of your shirt, prompting you to pull it off clumsily, your arms trembling. his hungry gaze roamed all over your naked form, angling his phone to capture your face as well as he hummed appreciatively, “as much as i love fucking you in my shirts, i think you’re much prettier like this… all bare and all mine.”

his words seemed to be your last straw as you cried out, his name slipping between your moans as your hips stuttered and slowed and your body twitched. he groaned as he watched you come apart on top of him, shutting off his phone and tossing it aside before sitting up, making you slide down to sit on his lap.

his length of his hard cock covered your pulsing heat, making you twitch from the brief overstimulation as he pressed his lips against yours, muttering between kisses, “you did so well, baby, so perfect for me.”

you laughed breathily against his lips, melting against him and winding your arms around his broad shoulders. you let him kiss you for a few moments before your hips absentmindedly rocked against him, smiling when his breathed hitched.

“still want more, pretty?” he rasped as he pulled away, kissing the corner of your lips as his hands helped moving you against him.

you hummed softly, nodding as your hand ran through his hair, twirling a short lick around your finger before slipping them back down around his shoulder.

“you’re always so needy, hm?” he chuckled lowly. a moment later you were on your back, pressed against the mattress as he hovered over you, his heavy tip sliding against your clit teasingly and making your hips buck against him, whimpering. he leaned down, biting your earlobe as he whispered, “god, you’re insatiable.”

networks. @cromernet @wonderlandnet @cultofdionysusnet @pirateeznet @atzhouse

permanent taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo @yalyallic @yunhoswrldddd @coffee-addict-kitten @thunderous-wolf @chngbnwf @okdudeiime

#cromernet #wonderlandnet #cultofdionysusnet #pirateeznet #atzhouse #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez imagines #ateez san #choi san smut #san smut #san x reader #san imagines #san scenarios #san fluff #ateez reactions

1K notes · View notes

kikyoupdates · 11 days ago

Text

Hidden Patterns ⭑˚🎵⭑ 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑛

yandere!kpop demon hunters x f!reader

yandere, harem, yandere!kpop demon hunters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

You are a lone demon who defies the norm. Resolved to protect humanity, instead of bringing it to ruin, you expected to be on your own forever. You certainly never thought that you’d become an idol, of all things, forced into the limelight you avoided for so long. And you also never thought that humans and demons alike would fall for you.

prologue | story masterlist | next

“It was really nice meeting you, but we should get going now,” Rumi says.

You nod, still smiling. Even if it was only a brief encounter, you’re grateful for it. Keeping a generous distance between you and humans is always the best course of action, and you obviously know that, but that’s exactly what makes these little moments all the more meaningful. They offer you comfort and warmth in times of need.

If you ever start to feel lonely—which you inevitably will—you’ll think back to the kind words Rumi offered you today. When she said you had a pretty voice.

You really, really liked hearing her say that.

“Yeah, let’s head home. I’m starving,” Mira groans. “I need my ramyeon, now.”

Mira starts to link arms with the other two girls, but all too abruptly, Zoey’s eyes widen.

“Wait!” she cries out. “We can’t leave yet! Shouldn’t we at least give her our autographs?”

“I’m telling you, she doesn’t even know who we are,” Mira sighs.

“No, I do.”

All three of them freeze up, as if they’ve been petrified by your words. It’s kind of cute, you have to admit. The slightest twinge of panic is starting to set in. Maybe they’re worried you’re about to scream out their names, prompting dozens of fangirls and fanboys to come flocking in.

Obviously, you’re not going to do that.

But the way their expressions just did a full one-eighty is rather amusing.

“You’re Huntrix,” you say, voice calm and steady. “I didn’t realize it at first, but it clicked pretty fast. I’m not really good at staying up to date with social media, trends, and all that stuff… but you’re so popular that even I’ve heard of you. I usually am pretty disconnected from everything, though. But now I think I’d like to start supporting your music however I can.”

They all blink at you, perhaps a bit blind-sided by how mature, collected, and uh, otherwise relaxed you are. They really have been blowing up lately. They’re probably used to screaming fans and jam-packed concert venues.

So, yeah. They just blink. For a while, at least.

Then, once more, Zoey’s eyes widen.

“So, we should give you our autographs!” she enthuses. “I mean, you’re basically a fan already!”

Mira squints at her. “That’s not really what she just said.”

“It basically is!”

“I’m pretty sure you’re getting ahead of yourself, but—ah. Okay, cool. She’s not listening to me at all.”

Sure enough, Zoey has already begun signing her name across a piece of paper she ripped from a notebook. Based on the title of the notebook, it looks like that’s where she keeps the group’s upcoming song lyrics. You can’t help but wonder what that must be like. To create something of your own.

It makes you dare to dream that maybe, just maybe, you might be able to come up with a song as beautiful as Jinu’s.

But then again, dreams are only dreams for a reason.

“Here you go!” Zoey beams, handing you the autographed paper. She nudges the other two girls and hands them papers as well. “Come on. Give her your autographs too! Actually, sorry. What should we call you…?”

You fall silent for a while. Having lived hundreds of years, you’ve never been able to forge any real connections, although it’s not like you have much of a choice. You always need to hide. Hide who you are, what you are, and keep your distance from others for their own good.

The world has changed quite a bit. The country has become more densely populated than ever, so living in complete isolation within the city isn’t as easy as it was before. You’re bound to pass by countless people during your day-to-day life. And you need to work to afford your rent, so it’s not like nobody knows who you are.

But they don’t actually know. Not really. You’re always changing your name, adopting fake aliases, moving, and doing whatever you can to cover your tracks as you go. People may have seen you, but their knowledge of you remains superficial at the very best. And the truth is, you’ve never told a single soul. Not even Jinu.

For as long as you can remember, no one has ever known your real name.

“[Name],” you say, and immediately, your heart clenches.

What did I just do…?

You didn’t mean to tell them. If anything, you could have picked from the countless pseudonyms you’ve acquired over the years. You could have. It would have been easy too, because it’s not like they would have known the difference.

And yet, you didn’t.

Perhaps it’s because Rumi offered you those gentle, sweet-sounding words earlier. You’re not sure, to be honest. You doubt you’d be able to pinpoint the exact reason, even if you stood here for hours. Either way, it doesn’t matter.

At long last, someone—and more than just one person, in fact—finally knows who you are.

“Ooh, it suits you!” Zoey gushes, excitedly clapping her hands. After a pause, her brows quickly lift. “Wait, let me take that paper back for a second. I need to add onto it!”

You hand the paper over, and within about a minute or so, you have a full collection of autographs. Courtesy of HUNTR/X themselves.

As you glance down at the message Zoey wrote to you, a pleasant heat rises to your cheeks.

Thank you for letting us interrupt your night (and for saving our ramyeon LOL), you’re super cool! And pretty! And you have a really nice voice! I know you said you haven’t really listened to our music much yet, but I hope you’ll give our songs a try! And maybe one day you could come to one of our concerts! We’d definitely spot you from the crowd right away! Because you’re so pretty. And cool. Oh wait, I already said that before haha, whatever! Sometimes my brain can’t keep up with the rest of my body. But I should probably end this message here. At least, until we see each other again next time!

Hope to run into you again someday,

— ZOEY ♡

“Holy shit, did you write a novel?” Mira gapes at her.

Rumi rolls her eyes. “What were you saying earlier about swearing?”

“That only applies to you and Zoey. Everyone already knows what I’m like. And they love it, obviously.”

Mira flips her hair back for dramatic effect. She was probably trying to make a statement just then, and it definitely worked. Compared to Zoey’s message, hers is a lot shorter, but it doesn’t make it any less genuine. The same goes for Rumi’s. Actually, in Rumi’s message, she even wrote your name.

Just… wow. When was the last time you smiled this much?

“Have a good night, [Name],” Rumi says, readjusting her grip on the ramyeon containers. “I know Zoey’s all excited right now, but don’t feel pressured into listening to our songs. We don’t want to force anyone. Make sure to do what makes you happy.”

They all take their turns to wave at you before walking away. You suppose it’s not such a revolutionary thought. Do what makes you happy. It’s a common, well-known expression, but the reality is that few are able to live their lives the way they actually want to. In your case, happiness always seemed so far out of reach.

It’s not that you’re miserable or anything. Of course not. You live for the sake of others, which is a noble pursuit. Still, it gets tiring. And lonely. Being lonely is arguably the worst part of it. You always have that itch—that fervent, burning desire to connect to someone, as unobtainable as it may be.

Is it okay for you to be a bit selfish every now and then? Is it okay for you to want to be happy too?

You’re not sure. When all is said and done, you’re still a demon. Your ancestors and fellow kin are cruel beasts that have raged war upon these lands, since time immemorial.

Still, one thing is certain.

Rumi’s words bring you peace. And whether it’s selfish or not, you’d like to try believing in them.

Night comes slowly, but it always comes. And when it does, you go out.

Your life hasn't changed, not really. Not where it matters. The same cracked sidewalks. The same flickering neon signs of noodle shops and bars casting their reflections onto the pavement. The same yawning alleys that stretch endlessly between buildings. And the same duty weighing quietly, stubbornly, in your chest.

You still walk alone.

But there's a difference now, however small. You're not only walking toward danger anymore. These days, sometimes, you're walking with a song stuck in your head.

The music of HUNTR/X has become your unexpected comfort. Just because you met them in the flesh doesn’t mean that their music would enrapture you, and yet, it has. You didn’t anticipate falling for their sound the way you did, but there’s something honest in the way they sing. Something you haven’t felt in a long, long time. Maybe not since Jinu. More often than not, you hum along to the warm, familiar tunes. And sometimes, when the streets are empty and the moon is high, you actually sing.

Rumi’s words stuck with you. So did Zoey’s messy autograph. And Mira’s gruff, unapologetic honesty. You like them—like knowing them—even from afar. Even if you’re not supposed to.

Then again, if you were a stickler for the rules, you wouldn’t be a demon that slays your own kind.

You tug your hood up tighter, the night breeze threading its fingers through your hair. Your eyes scan the skyline, sharp and practiced. You’re searching for the subtle signs, like a warped shimmer in the air. That’s how you can already predict where it’ll appear. A crack in the veil that divides the human world from theirs. Or perhaps you should say yours. Even though that place has never felt like your actual home.

Suddenly, it happens.

It pulses like static through your body. A weak spot. An opening. A place where the realms are bleeding into each other.

Your footsteps quicken, boot soles as quiet as possible against pavement. You turn down a dim alley, shadows pressing in on you from every direction. Rarely does your intuition ever turn out to be wrong. As much as you hate to admit it, this comes naturally to you. It’s a part of yourself that you wish you could reject, but of course, you can’t.

There.

Unsurprisingly, you see it. That crack, jagged and relatively transparent to normal eyes, like a broken mirror catching the light just wrong. You know better, though. And before long, the crack grows. It spreads. It starts to glow.

The demon comes through before you even make it a step closer.

He’s rather tall. Lanky and coiled with sinewy muscle. His skin is ashen gray, eyes like scorched pits, and when he grins, he has far too many teeth. After innumerable years spent living alongside humans, their appearances are what you’ve become accustomed to. You can’t even remember the last time you adopted your true form—and you don’t even want to imagine it.

There’s no time to reminisce. If you can even call it that. The first thing the demon does is lunge straight at you, because in his eyes, he’s already found his target. He doesn’t recognize you as one of his own.

Which you aren’t, to be fair.

You've long since mastered the art of hiding what you are. Your skin is smooth, unmarked. No more radiant patterns, even just the faintest shade. 400 years ago, you were already good at masking your appearance, but whenever you would fight demons, and your emotions would peek through the surface, they would inevitably see who you truly were. But much like the world has changed, so have you. You’ve gotten stronger. More skilled. So much so that this state has become completely natural for you.

To this demon, you’re just prey. A human. Weak, helpless, and breakable.

He snarls and lunges. Claws slash forward, unforgiving in their approach. Meanwhile, you merely stand there, visibly unfazed.

Finally, you inhale, preparing to retaliate—

And someone slams into you from the side.

“[Name]!”

…huh?

That’s a familiar voice. Actually, not just a familiar voice. It’s a voice that you’ve been playing on repeat, for the past several weeks.

The main vocalist of HUNTR/X. Rumi.

You hit the ground hard, but not painfully. You manage to twist just in time to see her standing between you and the demon, sword already mid-arc. A silver streak of light flashes, clean and lethal. Her blade slices clean through the demon’s chest, sending it crumpling into bits and pieces.

The alley is silent again, although you can hear the sound of your heartbeat, deep from within.

You just stare at her. Wide-eyed. Disbelieving. Trying to wrap your head around… whatever this is.

Rumi’s chest heaves with effort. She’s gripping the sword with both hands, its polished surface reflecting the dim city lights. She still looks like her usual self, at least appearance-wise, but her demeanor is arguably different. It’s not quite like her stage persona. Her expression is so much more stern than you’re used to. And her body language is so poised. Tactical. Almost as if she’s some kind of soldier.

You blink slowly. The truth is, you’ve actually heard of people like this. Demon hunters. Humans with strange abilities, trained to defend mankind. They’ve existed for centuries. Even you, who lives apart from other demons, has caught wind of the rumors before. You just never imagined that Rumi would be one of them.

And more than that…

She saved you.

Guilt washes over you, because you realize, in that moment, that a demon hunter just saved a demon, without even realizing it. It’s so ironic that you’re almost tempted to laugh. Granted, you’re not like other demons (ugh, that came out sounding cringier than you meant it to), but still. It’s a ridiculous situation all the same. Your brain is struggling to keep up with what��s happening. It’s all just so absurd.

“Are you okay?” Rumi eventually breathes, voice shaky. “Did it hurt you?”

You open your mouth. Close it. You don’t even know what to say. And it’s not like you to be lost for words.

Rumi stumbles forward, clearly in a panic now. Her sword quickly disappears, although it’s too late to try and cover things up. “God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into this. You shouldn’t have seen that. You’re not supposed to know any of this. This was a mistake. It’s just that I saw you, and I didn’t think. I couldn’t let it hurt you, no matter what. I—”

You’re not listening.

Not entirely, anyway.

Your eyes catch on something else. The sleeve of her jacket, torn in the scuffle, most likely while she scrambled to push you to safety. The fabric is sliced just beneath the shoulder, exposing the skin underneath.

And there they are.

The patterns.

Not quite glowing, but faint and unmistakable. Sharp, cracked sigils, ancient and cursed. The same kind that cover your own body when you don’t bother to hide them. The kind that only demons bear.

You point, softly. “Your arm, it’s…”

Rumi freezes. Her eyes follow your gaze, slowly, begrudgingly, as if she’s already foreseen what comes next.

Predictably, the blood drains from her face.

“No,” she whispers.

You continue to stare at her. Not with fear. Not with judgment. Just quiet understanding. In fact, more so than she could ever even fathom.

“You know what those are, don’t you?”

Rumi’s breathing grows shallow. She staggers back, her voice cracking. “It’s not—it’s not what you think. I swear, it’s not. I didn’t ask for this. I was born like this. My mom was a human, but my dad, he was… I-I didn’t want to be like this! I never asked to be a mistake!”

Tears well up in her eyes, which seem to shine underneath the city’s neon lights. She looks like she’s on the verge of breaking.

“I’m not like them, okay?” she whispers. “I’m not a monster. I’m not—”

“You saved me.”

The words are quiet, and gentle. Much gentler than she must have expected, in any case, which is why her eyes snap up, trembling.

“You didn’t hesitate,” you continue. “You jumped in front of me, and you tried to protect me. There’s no reason for any excuses. I was surprised at first. I mean, obviously I was. I’ve had encounters with demons before, so I know what they’re like by now. I always manage to escape or fight them off somehow. I guess I’m lucky that way. That’s how I know what those patterns are. But if you really were like them, then you wouldn’t have bothered to help me.”

Her lip quivers. She stares at you, hunched over slightly, just shy of collapsing onto her knees.

You didn’t realize that she was waiting for someone to say these exact words to her.

“You’re not a mistake, Rumi.”

You step closer, careful and unthreatening. Then you wrap your arms around her. She stiffens, stunned, but only for a moment. Then she crumples into your embrace, face buried in your shoulder, and sobs quietly into your hoodie.

You hold her tighter.

You don’t tell her that you’re a demon. That you’re not half, but whole. That the same patterns she’s tried to hide have burned across your skin for centuries. That you’ve taken down more demons than you can count, but still, you’ll never be the human you always wished you were born as.

You don’t say any of it, because you fear, or perhaps you know, that just because you’ve accepted Rumi’s truth doesn’t mean that she’ll accept yours.

You just whisper, “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

And for a moment, Rumi lets herself believe it. Her breathing starts to slow. Her shoulders begin trembling less, and even her tears sound like they’re steadily drying up.

But then, footsteps.

No, that’s wrong. Rumi’s quiet sobs were echoing in your ears, but you actually heard that faint, staticy pulse of souls as they approached from a distance. It’s just that they closed in so fast, much faster than you expected. The two people heading this way aren’t ordinary civilians. They’re too nimble and quick on their feet. And you’re starting to get a really bad feeling about this.

“Rumi?” Mira’s voice calls out. The second you hear her, Rumi’s entire face turns pale as a sheet. “What do I keep saying about splitting up? At least let us know beforehand if you’re gonna run off, like damn.”

They’re right around the corner. They’re just about to turn the corner, in fact, and the horrified look on Rumi’s face says it all. She even frantically clutches at her torn clothing, trying to hide the patterns on her skin, but to no avail.

Ah, shit.

Mira and Zoey don’t know, do they?

You barely have a second to react. In one fell swoop, you tear off your hoodie and shove it over Rumi’s head, forcing it down until her entire torso is covered. However, you don’t quite have the chance to pull away. One of your arms is still wrapped around Rumi’s back—and by that point, Mira and Zoey have already stepped into the scene.

Suffice to say, they’re really fucking confused.

“Wait…” Zoey squints. There’s a slight pause, but then her face lights up. “Aren’t you that girl from before? [Name]? Oh my god, yay! We really did run into each other again! I mean, I knew we would, but still! This is such a nice surprise!”

As much as you appreciate Zoey’s enthusiasm, you don’t know what to say. Beside you, Rumi stiffens, visibly paling. At least her patterns aren’t exposed anymore. You just barely managed to cover them up in time.

However, Mira’s brow furrows, with obvious scrutiny. “What’s going on? Why does it feel like I just walked into some weird intimate moment? Also, Rumi, are your eyes red? You look like you’ve been crying.”

There’s no right answer for any of those questions, unfortunately. You’re not even sure what kind of excuse to offer.

At least, not until Rumi’s eyes flicker over to you, as if she has an idea forming in her mind.

“U-Um.” Rumi slowly pulls away, arms wrapped around her sides. It takes a second, but her lips spread into a sheepish smile. “So, listen. There was a demon, and [Name] was about to get hurt. I had no choice but to step in. She kind of… saw. Everything.”

Silence. Long, agonizing silence. Not that you expected any different, but holy hell, is it heavy.

Although, maybe silence would have been better.

The next second, both Mira’s and Zoey’s jaws drop open.

“What?!”

taglist: @purple-lemon-8 @mel0diq @fuzzym4m4 @wonnina @beel-mcburger @chesesstuff @yanderesobsession @iits-lexie @merciless-perseus66 @teachillvibes @azalieee @mysticsportsflapfriend @seraph101 @ayna-mystory @hyukkja @eliengoddes @the-nomand @zomqiez @mywhorelover @takikyou @odevote118 @fandommess3 @alexismynon-binaryname @casiimiranda @dany-world97 @yunahmygfreal @ghostqmeh @yumgiechi @emoguardian @bossannova @kitkatpattywhack2808 @eli1412 @markos-hypocrises @pretty-pink-princess-16 @bystander7012 @angie0722 @xxqueendragon14xx @viviknivez @lordminmi56 @24hrsoflanii @misty-3 @animegirl-12s-world @whoismippe @hatsukemikurealtrust @soleaaa @jazbutgay @kbkw1111 @ifear-myrerefrigerator @gremlinartstudio @massivegladiatorflower @itsberrydreemurstuff @51v4n @eneiaa @life-neutral123456 @nmgxox @thesimppotato11 @shr-00-m @lazypersonabitchmaker @zoey-draws @vikizzy @onyxzyz @boothillsgun @odysreblogs @jamiesaurus @sciflyieshigh @babymooncacao @annaannabobana @regalheartluck @gamer-kat @freshwobblerhairdoduck-blog @kanroji-san @smoljimmine @aminegirl27 @x1sunday1x @celestialskyystar @jadeproductions @lynketa @kpopcraxylover @mey-archive

More chapters are available on Quotev , Wattpad, and Ao3!

⊱.⋅follow + post notifications on for story update announcements or join the author's discord!⋅.⊰

🎵 main masterlist | taglist

207 notes · View notes