fleuresjay

[fleuresjay]

Hi Moonie! Hope you don't mind me asking for your assistance. I have two extra tickets to see Ateez in New York on July 13th and ticketmaster won't let me resell them - just transfer. They're floor seats for $215 each and it would be a huge help if you could share this 💜

Hi Christine! I would be more than happy to help!

If any of you Moonpies are wanting to see Ateez in New York Please send her a message!

[fleuresjay]

Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

When Y/n accepts a position as assistant to alpha K-pop group ATEEZ, she's prepared with professional skills and scent blockers to hide her omega status. What she's not prepared for is the immediate, inexplicable connection she feels with all eight members—a resonance that defies her careful boundaries.

As Y/n becomes eerily attuned to their needs, her suppressed omega nature begins to emerge: purring for the first time in years, responding to alpha growls, feeling safe in ways she never has before. When a protective incident reveals the depth of the members' attachment to her, Y/n must confront the possibility that what binds them together is something ancient and profound.

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Masterlist Ko-Fi☕️

Chapter 20: Hidden Pages

The afternoon sun cast dappled shadows through the trees as you and Yeosang made your way down a narrow side street in one of Seoul's older districts. The buildings here were different from the gleaming skyscrapers and modern structures that dominated most of the city—older, with character etched into their weathered facades and stories hidden in their architectural details.

"It's just around this corner," Yeosang said, his voice carrying a note of anticipation that made you smile. You'd never seen him quite this animated before, his usual quiet composure brightened by genuine excitement about sharing this special place with you.

As you rounded the corner, he gestured toward a narrow building squeezed between a traditional tea shop and a small art gallery. The bookstore's exterior was understated—a simple wooden door with glass panels, a modest sign in both Korean and English that read "Hidden Pages," and large windows that offered glimpses of towering bookshelves within.

"This is it," Yeosang said, pausing at the entrance. "It doesn't look like much from the outside, but..."

"But the best treasures are often hidden in plain sight," you finished, looking up at him with warm eyes. "Just like some people I know."

The compliment made color rise to his cheeks, and he ducked his head slightly before pushing open the door for you. A soft bell chimed as you entered, and immediately you understood why this place was special to him.

The interior was a book lovers dream—floor to ceiling shelves packed with books in multiple languages, cozy reading nooks tucked into corners, and that distinctive smell of aged paper and ink that seemed to permeate everything. Soft classical music played from hidden speakers, and warm light from vintage lamps created an atmosphere that felt more like a private library than a commercial bookstore.

"Welcome back, Yeosang," came a gentle voice from behind the main counter. An elderly man with kind eyes and wire-rimmed glasses looked up from the book he'd been cataloging. "And you've brought a friend."

"Mr. Park, this is Y/n," Yeosang said, his hand finding the small of your back as he guided you forward. "Y/n, this is Mr. Park, the owner. He knows more about books than anyone I've ever met."

"A pleasure to meet you," Mr. Park said with a warm smile. "Any friend of Yeosang's is welcome here. He's one of our most valued customers—always finding treasures that others overlook."

"I can see why he loves this place," you replied, already enchanted by the atmosphere. "It feels magical."

"Books have a way of creating magic," Mr. Park agreed. "Please, explore as much as you'd like. The poetry section is upstairs, along with the café. And Yeosang knows where to find all the hidden gems."

As Mr. Park returned to his cataloging, Yeosang turned to you with an expression that was both proud and slightly nervous. "Where would you like to start?"

"Show me your favorite section first," you suggested. "I want to see what draws you here."

Yeosang's face lit up as he led you deeper into the store, past sections of contemporary fiction and bestsellers, toward a quieter area in the back where the shelves held older, more eclectic collections.

"Philosophy and poetry," he explained, gesturing to the carefully organized shelves. "But also some rare editions and first prints. Mr. Park has a talent for acquiring books that you can't find anywhere else."

You watched as he moved through the stacks with the easy familiarity of someone who'd spent countless hours here. His fingers trailed along the spines of books with gentle reverence, and you found yourself captivated by this side of him—passionate, knowledgeable, completely in his element.

"This one," he said, pulling a slim volume from the shelf, "is a collection of translated Korean poetry from the early 1900s. The translation work is incredible—it manages to preserve the emotional resonance of the original while making it accessible to English readers."

He opened the book to a page he'd clearly marked before, his voice taking on a different quality as he read a few lines aloud. The words were beautiful, but it was the way he spoke them—with such care and understanding—that made your heart flutter.

"That's beautiful," you said softly when he finished. "You have a lovely reading voice."

"I used to read to my sister when we were younger," he admitted, closing the book but keeping it in his hands. "She said poetry sounded better when I read it aloud."

The small personal revelation made you want to know more about his family, his childhood, all the experiences that had shaped the thoughtful man beside you. But before you could ask, he was already moving to another section, eager to show you more treasures.

"And this," he said, reaching for a higher shelf, "is a first edition of—"

His words cut off as he stretched upward, his shirt riding up slightly to reveal a strip of toned stomach. You found your eyes drawn to the lean muscle there, the way his body moved with unconscious grace. When he noticed you looking, a different kind of heat entered his gaze.

"Sorry," you said, not sounding sorry at all. "You're just... very nice to look at."

"Y/n," he said quietly, your name carrying a warmth that made your pulse quicken.

"What? I'm just appreciating the view while you reach for books. It's called multitasking."

Yeosang laughed, a genuine sound of delight that transformed his entire face. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Among other things," you replied with a playful smile, stepping closer to him. "But please, continue. I'm very interested in... rare books."

The way you said it, with that slight emphasis and the mischievous glint in your eyes, made his breathing catch. There was definitely a new energy building between you, something flirtatious and charged that made the quiet bookstore feel intimate and full of possibility.

"Well," he said, his voice dropping slightly as he pulled the book from the shelf, "this particular volume is quite... special. It requires very careful handling."

"I can be very careful," you assured him, moving close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "When something is worth taking care of."

Yeosang's eyes darkened as he caught your meaning, the book momentarily forgotten in his hands. "Are we still talking about books?"

"Are we?" you countered, looking up at him through your lashes.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you crackling with tension and possibility. Then Yeosang cleared his throat softly, glancing around the store.

"Perhaps," he said, his voice slightly rougher than usual, "we should continue exploring. There's so much more I want to show you."

"Lead the way," you replied, though you made sure to brush against him as you moved, enjoying the way his breath hitched at the contact.

The next hour passed in a delightful haze of literary discovery and increasingly bold flirtation. Yeosang showed you rare manuscripts, beautiful art books, and hidden alcoves filled with volumes on obscure subjects. You found yourself drawn not just to the books, but to watching him—the way his eyes lit up when he found something particularly interesting, the gentle way he handled even the most worn volumes, the quiet passion in his voice when he explained why a particular work was significant.

And he seemed equally captivated by you—your genuine interest in his explanations, your thoughtful questions, the way you laughed at his dry observations about some of the more pretentious literary critics whose works lined the shelves.

"You know," you said as you browsed through a section of vintage travel guides, "I never expected to find book shopping this... stimulating."

Yeosang, who had been reaching for a volume on the top shelf, paused and looked down at you with raised eyebrows. "Stimulating?"

"Intellectually stimulating," you clarified with mock innocence, though your smile suggested otherwise. "All this talk of rare bindings and... careful handling. It's very educational."

"I see," he said, climbing down from the small step stool he'd been using. "And here I thought you were just being a diligent student."

"Oh, I'm very diligent," you assured him, stepping closer as he descended. "I always pay close attention to my teachers."

The way you said 'teachers' made his eyes flash with something that was definitely not scholarly, and you found yourself backed against the bookshelf as he moved closer.

"Is that so?" he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "And what have you learned so far?"

"That you have excellent taste," you replied, your voice equally quiet. "In books and... other things."

"Other things?"

"Places," you said, gesturing around the intimate bookstore. "Atmosphere. The way you choose to spend your time with someone special."

Yeosang's hand came up to rest against the shelf beside your head, his body creating a small cocoon of privacy around you. "Someone special?"

"Very special," you confirmed, looking up into his dark eyes.

The moment stretched between you, charged with possibility. You were acutely aware of how close he was, the way his scent—clean and warm with hints of bergamot—surrounded you. His eyes dropped to your lips for just a moment before returning to meet your gaze.

"The café upstairs," he said softly. "Would you like to see it?"

"I'd like to see everything you want to show me," you replied, the words carrying layers of meaning.

Yeosang's smile was soft but held an edge of something more intense. "Then let's go up."

The narrow staircase to the second floor was tucked away in the back corner of the store, barely wide enough for two people. As you climbed ahead of Yeosang, you could feel his presence close behind you, the warmth of his body and the way his breathing had become slightly uneven.

The upstairs café was even more intimate than the bookstore below—small round tables scattered among more bookshelves, soft lighting from table lamps, and large windows that looked out over the quiet street. Only a few other patrons were present, all absorbed in their own books and conversations.

"Corner table?" Yeosang suggested, nodding toward a small table tucked between two tall bookshelves that would offer relative privacy.

"Perfect," you agreed, following him to the secluded spot.

As you settled into the comfortable chairs, Yeosang caught the attention of the café server and ordered tea for both of you—something called "poet's blend" that he assured you was exceptional. When you were alone again, the atmosphere felt different. More intimate, more charged with possibility.

"This place is incredible," you said, looking around at the combination café and library. "I can see why you love it here."

"It's peaceful," Yeosang agreed. "A place where you can think, or read, or just... exist without the noise of the outside world."

"Is that what you do here? Just exist?"

"Sometimes," he admitted. "When the schedules get overwhelming, or when I need to process something complex. I come here and let the quiet settle into my mind."

You reached across the small table and took his hand, enjoying the way his fingers immediately intertwined with yours. "Thank you for sharing it with me. For letting me into this part of your world."

"Thank you for wanting to see it," he replied, his thumb tracing gentle circles across your knuckles. "I wasn't sure if you'd find it interesting."

"Yeosang," you said seriously, "watching you talk about something you're passionate about is one of the most attractive things I've ever experienced. The way your whole face lights up, the way you handle the books like they're treasures... it's beautiful."

Color rose to his cheeks again, but he didn't look away. "You make me feel like the things I care about matter."

"They do matter. You matter."

The server arrived with your tea, providing a brief interruption to the intensity building between you. But as soon as you were alone again, the charged atmosphere returned.

"This is delicious," you said after taking a sip of the aromatic blend. "Complex. Layered."

"Like you," Yeosang said quietly, his eyes holding yours over the rim of his teacup.

The simple compliment sent warmth spreading through your chest. "Is that your professional opinion, Professor Kang?"

"My very professional opinion," he confirmed with a slight smile. "Though I may need to conduct further research to be completely certain."

"Research?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "What kind of research?"

"Extensive research," he said, his voice dropping to that low register that made your pulse quicken. "Thorough investigation. Very... hands-on methodology."

The academic language delivered with such obvious double meaning made you laugh, but it was breathless laughter that carried heat. "I do appreciate thorough research methods."

"I thought you might," he said, his gaze dropping to your lips again. "I'm very dedicated to my research."

"How dedicated?" you asked, leaning forward slightly.

"I believe in exploring every possible angle," he replied, his own body language mirroring yours as he leaned closer across the small table. "Leaving no stone unturned."

"Very admirable," you breathed, acutely aware of how close your faces were now, how his eyes had darkened with unmistakable desire.

"Y/n," he said softly, your name carrying a question and a promise.

"Yes?"

"I think," he said, his gaze flicking around the café to confirm that your corner table was relatively hidden from view, "that I'd like to begin my research now."

"Here?" you asked, though your tone suggested the idea was more thrilling than shocking.

"Just a preliminary investigation," he assured you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. "To determine if further study is warranted."

Instead of answering with words, you closed the remaining distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was anything but preliminary.

Yeosang's response was immediate and intense. His hand tangled in your hair as he deepened the kiss, the careful control he usually maintained slipping away in the face of his desire for you. The small table between you became an obstacle as you both strained to get closer, the need for contact overwhelming rational thought.

"This table," he murmured against your lips, "is very inconvenient for research purposes."

"Terrible design flaw," you agreed breathlessly, your hands fisting in his shirt to pull him closer despite the physical barriers.

Yeosang glanced around quickly, then stood and held out his hand to you. "There's a section in the back," he said quietly, his voice rough with want. "Poetry. Very quiet. Very... private."

Without hesitation, you took his hand and let him lead you away from the table, leaving your tea forgotten as you moved deeper into the maze of bookshelves. The poetry section he mentioned was indeed tucked away in the back corner, surrounded by tall stacks that created a sense of complete seclusion.

The moment you were hidden from view, Yeosang turned and pressed you gently back against the bookshelf, his body caging you in as his mouth found yours again. This kiss was different from the tentative exploration at the table—hungrier, more desperate, full of all the desire that had been building between you throughout the afternoon.

Your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the lean muscle beneath his soft sweater, while his fingers traced along your jawline, your neck, everywhere he could reach. The taste of tea lingered on his lips, mixed with something that was purely him, and you found yourself addicted to the combination.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered against your mouth, his hands framing your face as if you were something precious and rare. "I've been wanting to touch you like this all afternoon."

"Then don't stop," you breathed back, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him down for another deep kiss.

Time seemed suspended in your hidden alcove among the poetry books. Yeosang's mouth moved against yours with increasing urgency, his careful composure completely abandoned as he lost himself in the taste and feel of you. His hands had found their way to your waist, pulling you closer against him, while yours mapped the strong lines of his shoulders and back.

"Y/n," he gasped against your neck, having moved to trail kisses along the sensitive skin there. "We should... people might..."

"Let them," you replied recklessly, your head tilting back to give him better access. "I don't care."

The declaration seemed to snap something in him. His mouth returned to yours with renewed intensity, and you could feel the full force of his desire in the way he held you, kissed you, breathed your name like a prayer.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing hard, your clothes slightly disheveled and your lips swollen from kissing. Yeosang rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he tried to regain some semblance of control.

"That was," he started, then seemed to lose track of his words.

"Research?" you suggested with a breathless laugh.

"Very thorough research," he agreed, opening his eyes to meet yours. The heat still burning in his gaze made your pulse quicken all over again. "Though I think I need to collect more data."

"I'm always willing to contribute to scientific advancement," you said solemnly, though your smile was anything but serious.

"Good," he said, leaning down to press one more soft kiss to your lips. "Because I have a feeling this research is going to require multiple sessions."

"I look forward to it," you whispered back.

Reluctantly, you both began the process of making yourselves presentable again—smoothing rumpled clothes, finger-combing disheveled hair, trying to look like you'd been innocently browsing poetry rather than making out among the verses.

"Should we head back downstairs?" Yeosang asked, though he seemed reluctant to leave your private alcove.

"Probably," you agreed, equally reluctant. "Before Mr. Park wonders what happened to us."

As you made your way back through the café and down the narrow staircase, Yeosang's hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in a gesture that felt both intimate and claiming. When you reached the main floor, Mr. Park looked up from his work with a knowing smile.

"Find everything you were looking for?" he asked innocently.

"And more," Yeosang replied, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "Thank you for the recommendation on the poetry section. Very... inspiring."

"Poetry has a way of moving people," Mr. Park agreed with a twinkle in his eye that suggested he wasn't entirely naive about what had transpired upstairs. "I hope you'll both come back soon."

"We definitely will," you assured him, meaning every word.

As you and Yeosang stepped back out onto the quiet street, the late afternoon sun painted everything in golden hues. The air felt different somehow—charged with new possibilities and the lingering heat of your encounter among the books.

"So," Yeosang said as you began walking back toward the main road, "how did you find your first visit to Hidden Pages?"

"Educational," you replied with a mischievous smile. "I learned a lot about... poetry."

"Poetry," he repeated with a laugh. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Among other things," you said, echoing your earlier flirtation.

Yeosang stopped walking and turned to face you, his expression serious despite the heat still simmering in his eyes. "Y/n, I want you to know that this—today, sharing this place with you, being with you like this—it means everything to me."

"It means everything to me too," you replied sincerely, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Thank you for trusting me with something so special to you."

"Thank you for making it even more special," he said, turning his head to press a soft kiss to your palm.

As you continued walking, your hands linked and your hearts full, you couldn't help but think that Hidden Pages had given you more than just a glimpse into Yeosang's world—it had given you both a perfect afternoon of discovery, connection, and the kind of romance that belonged in the pages of the poetry books you'd been kissing among.

"Next time," Yeosang said as you reached the main street, "I'll show you the rare manuscripts section."

"Next time," you agreed with a smile that promised more adventures, more discoveries, and definitely more research among the stacks.

–––

The ride back to the house was thick with tension that had nothing to do with Seoul's evening traffic. Yeosang sat in the driver's seat with white-knuckled hands gripping the steering wheel, his usual calm composure nowhere to be found. You could feel his alpha energy radiating from him in waves—controlled but barely, like a carefully banked fire that was threatening to break free at any moment.

Every time you shifted in your seat, his eyes would flick to you and then quickly back to the road, his jaw clenching with visible effort. The afternoon at the bookstore had awakened something in both of you, and the confined space of the car was making the sexual tension almost unbearable.

"You're very quiet," you observed, your voice coming out softer and more breathless than you'd intended.

"Trying to concentrate," Yeosang replied, his voice rougher than usual. "On driving. And not pulling over."

"Pulling over for what?" you asked innocently, though the heat in your gaze suggested you knew exactly what.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Don't tease me right now, Y/n. I'm barely holding on as it is."

The raw honesty in his voice sent a thrill through you. This was a side of Yeosang you'd never seen—his careful control slipping, his alpha nature more prominent than his usual thoughtful restraint. The combination was intoxicating.

You reached behind your ear and slowly, deliberately, peeled away your scent blocker.

The effect was immediate and devastating. Your natural jasmine and vanilla scent flooded the small space, but now it was laced with something else—the unmistakable sweetness of arousal that had been building all afternoon. The combination hit Yeosang like a physical blow.

His foot pressed harder on the accelerator as he sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes flashing gold for just a moment before he forced them back to brown. "Y/n," he said, your name coming out like a warning and a plea. "What are you doing?"

"Letting you know how you make me feel," you replied simply, watching as his alpha senses processed the full impact of your unfiltered scent. "How the afternoon made me feel. How right now, sitting next to you, knowing what your hands feel like, what you taste like..."

"Fuck," he breathed, the curse unusual coming from his typically composed lips. The car swerved slightly as his concentration wavered, and he had to grip the wheel tighter to maintain control. "You're going to make me crash."

"Then drive faster," you suggested with a smile that was pure temptation.

Yeosang's response was to press the accelerator further, the city blurring past as he navigated the familiar route home with newfound urgency. His alpha scent was getting stronger too—musk and cherry blossoms now mixed with something darker, more primal. The combination of your scents in the enclosed space was creating a feedback loop of desire that had both of you breathing hard by the time he pulled into the driveway.

He'd barely put the car in park before he was turning to face you, his eyes blazing with intensity. "Inside," he said, his voice carrying unmistakable alpha command. "Now. Before I do something very inappropriate in this car."

You didn't need to be told twice. You were both out of the car and moving toward the house with quick, purposeful steps, the tension between you so thick it was almost visible. Yeosang's hand found the small of your back as he guided you to the front door, the possessive touch sending electricity through your entire system.

The moment you stepped through the front door, Wooyoung bounced up from the couch where he'd been sprawled with a gaming controller, his face lighting up with excitement.

"You're back! How was the bookstore? Did you find anything good? Did Yeosang bore you to death with poetry quotes?" He was already moving toward you with his arms outstretched, clearly intending to pull you into one of his enthusiastic hugs.

But before he could reach you, a low growl rumbled from Yeosang's chest—playful but unmistakably possessive.

"No," Yeosang said firmly, his arm sliding around your waist to pull you against his side. His voice carried an authority that none of them had heard from him before, alpha dominance bleeding through his usual gentle demeanor.

Wooyoung stopped mid-step, his eyes widening with surprise and interest as he took in Yeosang's protective posture and the obvious tension radiating from both of you. "Oh," he said, a slow grin spreading across his face as understanding dawned. "OH. Well then."

Without giving anyone time to comment further, Yeosang was guiding you toward the stairs, his hand firm and possessive on your hip. "We'll be upstairs," he announced to the room at large, his tone suggesting that interruptions would not be welcome.

"Have fun!" Wooyoung called after you with barely contained glee. "Don't break anything important!"

"Wooyoung," came Seonghwa's exasperated voice from the kitchen doorway, clearly having witnessed the entire exchange.

"What? I'm being supportive! Very encouraging!"

You could hear the others beginning to gather in the living room, drawn by Wooyoung's dramatic commentary, but Yeosang was already pulling you up the stairs with single-minded determination. His room was at the end of the hall, and he led you there with the focused intensity of an alpha who had finally reached the end of his restraint.

The moment his bedroom door closed behind you, the atmosphere changed completely. Gone was the careful politeness of the bookstore, replaced by something raw and hungry that made the air itself feel electric.

Yeosang turned to face you, his back against the door, his eyes dark with desire and something deeper—possession, claim, the need to make you his in every way possible.

"Do you have any idea," he said, his voice low and rough, "what you've been doing to me all afternoon?"

"Tell me," you replied, stepping closer to him with deliberate slowness.

"The way you looked at me in the bookstore. The way you listened when I talked about the books, like what I had to say actually mattered. The way you let me kiss you among the poetry..." His hands clenched at his sides as if he was fighting not to reach for you immediately. "And then in the car, removing your blocker, letting me smell how much you want me..."

...Yeosang barely got the words out before the last of his restraint shattered. He surged forward, hands catching your face and waist at once, yanking you into a kiss so fierce it stole the air from your lungs. It wasn’t gentle—wasn’t even patient anymore. After an entire day of holding back, his need seared through every motion.

He tasted every gasp, every whimper, his scent filling the bedroom now that your own was free—jasmine and vanilla tangling with the deep, heady undercurrent of his alpha arousal. His hands slid into your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head and expose your throat.

“Yeosang—” you breathed, but your voice broke as his lips traced the line of your jaw, down your neck to the fluttering pulse there. He grazed his teeth lightly over your skin, drawing a shudder from you.

“You know what you do to me?” His voice was hoarse, barely more than a growl in your ear as he pressed you back until your knees hit the edge of his bed. “You turn every word, every look, into a promise I can’t keep—unless I have you. All of you.”

You flushed with heat, arousal sparking sharp and urgent through your veins. “Then take me, Yeosang. I’m yours.”

That, apparently, was the last thread holding him together.

He gripped your hips and lifted you easily onto the mattress, his body caging you. Your hands slid beneath his shirt, eager to touch, to feel the racing heart and tense muscles beneath. “Too many clothes,” you muttered, and Yeosang was already stripping his sweater off, baring pale skin and lean strength.

He helped you tug off your own shirt, pausing only to dip his head and press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, your shoulder, wherever he could reach. His hands were everywhere—urgent and reverent all at once—thumbs brushing the curve of your ribcage, fingers splaying at your back.

Your scent was thick in the air now, sweet and unmistakably needy. Yeosang paused, just for a heartbeat, and buried his face along your neck, inhaling deeply. A shiver ran through him. “God, you smell perfect,” he whispered. “Drives me out of my mind.”

You arched into him, whimpering when his mouth latched onto the sensitive skin below your ear. “I want you to lose control,” you admitted, voice trembling. “I want you to show me what you feel.”

He growled again, edging on feral. “Be careful what you wish for, Y/n.”

There was no more patience then. He pushed you gently but insistently down onto the bed, shedding his own clothes with quick, deft movements while peppering every bare inch of you with kisses—soft at your throat, sharper across your hip, soothing at your stomach as your breath came in panting gasps. His scent—cherry blossom and something spicy, something only you could coax out of him—wrapped around you, dizzying.

His hands found the waistband of your pants, hesitating just enough to flick his eyes up and get your breathless, urgent nod.

“Yes. Please, Yeosang, I want—”

He slid them off in one smooth motion, his palm following, caressing down your thigh, tracing upward until he found the heat between your legs. His fingers brushed your slickness, his eyes darkening further when he realized just how badly you needed him.

He spread you open, gentle but relentless, gaze raking over you as if committing you to memory. “You’re so wet,” he murmured, voice full of awe and something primal. “All for me?”

“All for you,” you gasped, hips canting toward his touch.

Yeosang leaned down, mouth hot and insistent as he kissed you again—capturing your gasp as he finally slid a finger inside you, then another, curling just right as his thumb circled your clit. You spasmed against him, back arching, and he groaned, the possessive alpha edge unmistakable now.

“I’m going to make you come for me,” he promised, voice thick and desperate. “Right here, before I claim you. Before you feel all of me.”

All you could do was nod, already spiraling—his fingers, his scent, his everything making your body vibrate with need. You clutched his biceps, nails leaving marks as you chased the edge. Yeosang’s free hand fisted in your hair, holding you steady as his touch grew rougher, more insistent, dragging pleasure out of you.

“That’s it, princess,” he encouraged, breath hot against your ear. “Let go for me. Show me you’re mine.”

You came hard, a rush of heat and light flooding your senses as you choked out his name. The noise Yeosang made was almost a snarl, and he kissed you through it—deep and hungry. His hand gentled, easing you down, stroking you as your body trembled, melting under his touch.

When the aftershocks faded, you opened your eyes to see him watching you with tender, worshipful awe—and desperate, unspent hunger. You reached for him, pulling him down, needing him closer.

“Your turn,” you whispered, voice hoarse with want. “Claim me, Yeosang. Make me yours.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. With a swift, sure movement, he positioned himself over you, pausing just long enough to look into your eyes—searching, pleading for any flicker of doubt.

There was none. You lifted your hips in invitation, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He pushed into you, slow but deep, a groan dragged from his chest that sounded like relief and possession and reverence all at once. The fullness of him, the heat, the feeling of being connected in every way—body, scent, heart—was almost too much.

Yeosang pressed his forehead to yours, shuddering as he bottomed out, holding still to let you both adjust. Then he began to move, hips rolling, every thrust pushing you tighter together, your scents mingling until the entire room felt heavy with belonging.

You clung to him, hands in his hair, his breath stuttering against your lips as he whispered your name—over and over, words breaking, dissolving into animal need.

He fucked you with abandon, claiming each gasp, each moan, as his due, marking your neck and chest with his mouth. As you knotted together, bonded in sensation and want, Yeosang finally surrendered, losing himself in you, in everything you offered.

And when you shattered beneath him again, he followed, his body locked against yours, his heart pounding out a rhythm that perfectly matched your own.

Afterward, Yeosang just held you—arms wrapped tight around your trembling form, his forehead still pressed to yours. His scent was all over you now, and yours on him, and there was nothing left hidden between you.

“Mine,” he whispered, voice still ragged, dizzy with love and shock and awe.

“Yours,” you breathed, smiling, blissfully.

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[fleuresjay]

cozy comforts

your favorite part of the day is coming home to your boyfriend

Returning home to an empty house is a luxury. The living room lamp casts a gentle ambient glow, creating tranquility that is nearly impossible to interrupt. Fatigue seeps into your limbs as you walk through your home in silence. When you pass the kitchen you spy a bright yellow sticky note fixed to the microwave sporting neatly written directions on how to reheat your dinner.

You can't help but smile subtly as you picture the faint furrow on his forehead when he discovers later that you disobeyed orders once more. You have to pick your battles for another day and continue your journey to your bedroom.

Behind the slightly open bedroom door, you can hear the TV humming. Warm and steady, the amber glow of your favorite salt lamp seeps into the hall. Mingi used to be the biggest tease about it, referring to it as "your little pink rock." But as your relationship progressed, he started flicking it on for you without even asking, reaching for that small comfort item the same way you did.

He is stretched out over the bed, face down, with one leg thrown over the tangled comforter and his face smashed into your pillow as though it were his.

Slipping into the bathroom, you start your shower. It's enough to lift some of the load of the day but it won't do anything to wake you up fully. By the time you finish, your boyfriend is still wrapped up in blankets and remains blissfully snoozing. He does slightly perk his head up when he hears you enter, barely managing to open his eyes.

Tenderly shutting the bathroom door, you say, “Go on back to bed, honey, I’ll be there in a minute.”

He softly lets out a sigh, rolls over onto his side, his soft, sleepy gaze following you as you put away your jewelry, and pad over to switch the TV off.

“How was your day?” he questions in a low, groggy tone from sleep.

"It was okay," you whispered, trying to match his quiet tone. You near the bed and kick off your slippers. "Long, but I'm so glad to be home."

Rolling onto his side, he automatically starts pulling back the comforter to make space for you as his arms slide under the blanket. The warmth of his body relaxes your back and with it, some of the tightness eases off. You exhale a long, content sigh at the comfort of your body against his.

He pecks the crown of your head, almost as a reflex. "I didn't hear you start the microwave. You know you need to eat."

You let out a soft chuckle at the tone of his voice. despitehaving your back to him you can practically see the frown on his face. "I'm more tired than hungry right now, I don't want to risk the tummy ache."

His hand reaches for yours under the cover, long fingers crossing with yours as he rests your joined hands on your chest.

"You worry me sometimes," he says into your hair, his tone almost inaudible.

You press a kiss to your joined hands, "I know, honey. I'm fine, though, you take care of me plenty."

He hums and moves you to lie on your back so you can look up at his eyes. "Still. I just wish I could do more to ease the stress off your shoulders."

You can't help but melt at the pout on his face, his eyes struggling to stay open but fighting against sleep just to look back at you. "You do more than enough, trust me when I say that you are the reason I get through the day."

He smiles gently, eyes fluttering open. "You know, you're not supposed to steal my pick-up lines."

You laugh softly and turn to bury your face in his chest. "I learned from the best."

"True," he laughs gently, the movement from his chest slightly jostling you. A few seconds go by before he whispers, "I missed you today."

"I missed you too, I wish I were just here all day."

He kisses your hair again, his breathing starting to even out again. "Just quit your job and stay here with me then."

You can't help but snort. "Sure, I'll tell my manager that I've found my true calling, cuddling with my boyfriend."

Mingi smiles, his eyes already shut. "I could always write a strongly worded email."

"I know you would."

It's quiet for a moment before he whispers again, "I really love you, you know?"

Your heart does a dangerous flutter at the soft tone in his voice. "I know. I really love you, too."

By the time you finish speaking, there's already a soft snore escaping from Mingi's chest. You lightly shake your head, a soft smile on your lips as you press a kiss to his chest. It doesn't take you long to join him in slumber.

let me know what you think! life would be a whole lot easier if i had mingi by my side ngl

[fleuresjay]

—First Days • Ateez

✧˖°.pairing: sibling!teez x little sister!reader ✧˖°.summary: ❝its their little sister's first day of kindergarten, and time for new memories to makeᝰ.ᐟ❞✧˖°.warnings: none

"Sannie, Woo!" The little girl jumped on her brother who was hugging Wooyoung, the older man groaning. "Rise and shine," she giggled.

Wooyoung sighed, checking his phone. "It's just six am, Y/n," the man tried to reason, falling back into position. "Wake us up at seven, flower," San added.

Y/n pouted, jumped again this time with more excitement. "I start school today!"

And it makes both of the men jolt awake, sitting upright with surprised expression. Checking the date again, Wooyoung screams pulling Y/n in a hug, smothering her little face with kisses.

San smiled as he watched her fighting Wooyoung. Once he lets go, San quickly picks her up in his arms, spinning around the room. "Our baby sister is starting school today," he chirped, blowing raspberries on her little tummy.

Wooyoung took a quick video of the two, walking out of their room to be met with a house busier than the subway at rush hour.

All the guys running around the rooms, Seonghwa screaming at Mingi for burning the pancakes, Hongjoong and Yunho packing things in Y/n's little bag and Jongho stood there rubbing his chin as if he was buying real estate for his hypothetical company with Yeosang giving him suggestions.

"Wow," San mouths, letting Y/n down. Giggling, the little girl paddeles up to Hongjoong, inspecting what they were packing. "Crayons!" she beamed taking them out. Hongjoong tried to stop her having packed them just seconds prior but the smile on her face dulled anything he had to say.

Smiling, Hongjoong nodded. "Yes, Y/n, those are crayons. Can we put them back?" he tried.

"No, wanna draw!" She babbled.

Hongjoong rubbed his face in frustration, Yunho dying of laughter beside the older. "Babygirl," Yunho managed between laughs. "Lets color in our ipad, okay?" he suggested, whisking her away in his arms.

The girl was barely walking today.

Shaking their heads, Wooyoung walked towards the kitchen, saving Mingi who was just about to get bombarded with more screams from their hyung. "Calm, calm down, hyung," Wooyoung chuckled, pattinf Seonghwa.

"Calm? How can I be calm, Woo? That idiot is messing up Y/n's breakfast!"

"Hey!" Exclaimed Mingi, trying to flip another scattered pancake. "I just want to help," he pouted.

Seonghwa sighed, taking in deep breaths. "Okay, Min. How about this, you cut the veggies for her lunch and Woo handles the breakfast, alright?" He sounds just like a mother, Wooyoung thinks.

Mingi nods, happy with the offer.

Meanwhile, San leaned against Yeosang, eyes fixed on the picked outfits laid on the couch. "How about this?" he pointed at a pink dress. "No," Jongho shook his head. "She'll get it dirty," he siad, Yeosang nodding along him.

"How about that?" Yeosang suggested, pointing at a jean overall. "Yes!" Jongho clapped his hand as if he found a diamond in the rough. "That's it, hyung, good!" He praised.

Yeosang smiled smugly, fanning himself with his hand. "Keep them coming, keep them coming."

Chuckling, San left the two to get ready for the day.

And for thirty minutes, the house fell into rhythm. Jongho and Yeosang dressing up the little girl who was busy dancing to cocomelon, Hongjoong going over the list of things he had packed, Wooyoung, Seonghwa and Mingi taking care of the meals. Yunho recorded it all on his phone, while San did it on his videocam, narrating everything as if he was making a journal entry.

When it was time for breakfast, the brothers took turns feeding Y/n, placing small pieces of pancakes in her mouth. Hongjoong stood beside Seonghwa, watching as his brothers fed their dear sister. He caught Seonghwa wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. Hongjoong smiled, offering the older man a side hug.

"She's growing so fast," Seonghwa said softly.

Hongjoong nodded, "Too fast."

After breakfast, the men scurried off to their room to get dressed. "You all coming, no?" Y/n asked, her eyes sparkling brightly.

It was decided that Seonghwa and Hongjoong would drop the girl off but seeing her face, they all decided there on the dining table that all of them are coming, no matter what. Even if one car doesn't hold them all, they will take their other cars, as many as it takes to drop her off.

They will absolutely not miss it for the world.

The ride to the kindergarten was uneventful. In one car, Hongjoong drove while Seonghwa had her sit on his lap, remindeing her of all the things she should and should not do while Mingi and Wooyoung smiled like their lives were fulfilled.

"You should share your things, alright, Y/n?" Seonghwa said softly.

"Or don't if the kids are mean!" Added Wooyoung who earned a smack from the older. Hongjoong chcukled, shaking his head.

"Say good morning to the teacher," Seonghwa began again. "And what are the magic words we learned?"

"Sorry, please and thank you!" Y/n answered cheerfully.

"Yes!" Seonghwa praised, high-fiving her little palm.

"Oh and Y/n, if a boy annoys you," Mingi started, looking at Hongjoong to finish the sentence.

"Come to me and Min. We'll take care of it."

In the other car, Yunho drove while the others stared at San's phone.

"She was so small," cooed Yeosang at the pictures of Y/n San was showing. "Her fingers, oh my god," gasped Jongho. "So small!"

"You guys," Yunho sighed. "She's still small."

"But she won't be for long," Whined San, tipping his head back in agony.

Yeosang nodded thoughtfully. "She'll grow up, be in highchool, then oh my god," he covered his mouth. "Puberty," he almost whispers the word as if it was a cursed spell of some kind.

The men all collectively grimaced. "Then college, she'll move out," Yeosang started again. "She'll get a job too. It's all too fast, not fair!" he groaned.

"I think we're forgetting something...?"

The men all stared at Yunho through the rearview mirror, as if daring him to say the words.

"She'll get married...one day."

And silence falls over the car, the only sound of the wheels running against the road. San shakes his head, waving his hand around dismissively.

"Too fast, too fast! She's five! We have plenty of time before that," he reasoned trying to diffuse the sudden melancholy. Yunho nodded, focusing on the road.

In a few minutes, both car stops before the kindergarten. It was Seonghwa first who came out with Y/n in his arms, Hongjoong, Wooyoung and Mingi following him. The other men also stood around Seonghwa, as if guarding the two from some invisible danger.

There were other parents too who came to drop off their children. They moved to the sighed, murmuring amongst themselves about the strange family.

The poor teacher thought she had a mafia kid this year for sure.

"Hello, Ms. Ae-sun," Hongjoong greeted.

Letting Y/n stand, Seonghwa shook her hand. "We hope you take care of Y/n," he smiled brightly.

"She's a good kid, don't worry," San added with a smile.

The teacher nodded, taking off Y/n's bag. "She'll be alright,m don't worry," she smiled.

When it was time to leave, Seonghwa waved a quick good bye to Y/n and rushed to the car, the tip of his ears going red. Y/n stared confused. "You guys won't stay?" She asked softly.

Hongjoong sighed, kneeling down to her height. "We'll be back soon, kiddo," he ruffled her hair.

"B-but," her lips were quivering.

"We can have ice-cream after school, doll," San added quickly. "And cookies and chocolate, and-," the guys added in a hurry.

"Okay!" She beamed.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the guys slowly made their way to their respective cars.

"Bye-bye!" She waved her brothers goodbye.

do not copy, steal or translate my work on any other sites. All rights belongs to yup-thats-me© on tumblr

✧˖°.reqs are open⋆.𐙚 ̊

[fleuresjay]

didn't think i'd fall here ꒰ mingi ꒱

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ rating: 18+ (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ pairing: song mingi x female!reader ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ word count: 6.5k ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ genre: strangers to lovers, comfort, virgin!reader, virgin!mingi, friends-to-lovers energy, soft angst, smut, fluff ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ warnings: emotional manipulation, toxic friendship, crying, anxiety, self-esteem issues, first time sex, consensual sex, safe sex, soft dom!mingi vibes, realistic first time awkwardness, condom run to the convenience store lol, mentions of blood during sex (light), aftercare, mingi being obsessed with you, reader threatening to chop mingi's dick off lovingly ♡ ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ author's note: it's been a while y'all. hope you enjoy this smut, and also I've been trying some new layout lol cuz i'm not satisfied with my previous layout.

You didn't even want to come here today.

Lotte World was supposed to be fun—cotton candy, carousel selfies, maybe something gentle like bumper cars. But with Yujin and Hana, it was never about fun. It was about appearances. About pushing you into situations just to get a reaction, to laugh behind their hands at how you squirmed.

"Ugh, you're seriously scared of this?" Yujin groan, snapping a photo of the massive Atlantis roller coaster ahead, the steel tracks twisting like some cruel maze in the sky. "It's not even the scariest ride here."

"Right?" Hana chimes in. "God, you're so boring sometimes, Y/N. No wonder no guy ever looks at you."

You laugh. It's hollow.

It doesn't stop the sting.

The queue is already packed when they drag you towards the entrance. You hesitate, but Yujin latches onto your wrist like you're a toddler about to run into traffic.

"Don't be a baby. It's just a ride."

"But I really don't—"

"Do not make a scene," she hisses, smiling too widely as a group of boys glance over. "You're already embarrassing enough. Come on."

The line inches forward. Every step closer makes your chest tighter, like the straps of an invisible harness locking you in. Your stomach churns, hands tremble. But you don't say a word.

Yujin and Hana are too busy taking selfies to notice. Or care.

You stand behind them, quiet, small, barely existing.

"Swear to god," Yujin mutters at one point, "you're going to die single if you keep acting like this. You gotta be brave. Guys hate weak girls."

Hana laughs way too loud. "She needs a guy to knock some sense into her. Or just knock her up. Either one might fix it."

Your ears burn.

You try to laugh again, just to keep up the illusion. It sounds like you're choking.

And still, the line moves.

You're maybe five people from the platform when the operator suddenly shouts, "Two seat available now! Anyone here riding as a pair?"

Yujin doesn't even ask. Doesn't even glance back.

She and Hana leap forward.

"We're two!"

They disappear up the stairs in a blink. The group in front of you steps forward. And just like that, you're alone.

You don't cry, not yet.

But your body's reacting—shaking hands, clenched jaw, vision blurring at the edges. You're aware that walking backward through the crowded line would be more embarrassing than just riding the damn thing. At least, that's what your brain tells you.

The panic bubbles anyway.

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes glued to the track. It creaks and rumbles as the next cart wooshes by in a blur. Someone screams in delight. You're going to throw up. Right here, in front of everyone.

And then—

"Hey."

You jump.

The voice is gentle, low, curious. You turn around.

Three boys stand behind you, next in line. The tallest one—broad shoulders, brown hair—tilts his head at you.

You blink. "...huh?"

He offers a small smile. "You look like you're about to faint."

You open your mouth, then shut it.

The second boy, shorter but muscular with sharp features and a piercing stare, cuts in. "She was with those girls, right? They just ditched her."

The third guy, softer looking with black hair and pretty eyes, nods. "That's messed up."

You look between them, startled that they even noticed.

"I'm—fine," you lie. "I'll just... I was gonna leave."

"Back through that crowd?" The tall one says, gesturing behind.

"...yeah."

He glances at the operator, then back at you. "Well, you don't have to ride alone. I'll go with you."

You blink. "What?"

He smiles again, this time more reassuring. "I mean—if you want. We can ride together. No pressure."

"...why?"

He shrugs. "You look like you need a buddy."

The one with the sharp stare grins now. "This guy's Mingi. He's annoyingly a gentleman sometimes."

"I'm Jongho," he adds, giving you a little nod. "And that's Yeosang."

Yeosang gives you a tiny wave.

"Thanks," you mumble, feeling overwhelmed but... oddly warm. "I'm Y/N."

Jongho snorts. "Yeah, we heard your friends being total assholes. Y/N, you seriously deserve better than that."

You swallow. The words hit harder than they should.

Mingi gently touches your elbow. "You okay riding the roller coaster with me?"

You look at him—his soft gaze, his open posture, the zero judgement in his tone. And for once, someone isn't making you feel like a burden.

"...yeah," you breathe. "Okay."

The staff waves you forward.

Mingi lets you take the seat first, then slips in beside you, pulling the safety bar down. He's close—his knee brushes yours, and his scent is something clean and warm, like citrus and sun.

He glances at you.

"You're brave for doing this."

You almost laugh.

The ride jerks forward with a lurch.

Your fingers grip the bar.

Mingi's hand moves, gently resting on top of yours.

It's warm. Your fingers twitch beneath his at first, unsure, but then the roller coaster jolts forward with a hiss of steam, and you instinctively grip him back like your life depends on it.

He chuckles low under his breath. "That tight already? We haven't gone up yet."

You shoot him a panicked glance, knuckles going pale. "I'm not gonna survive this."

"You will," he says, voice soft. "You've got me now."

The ride starts its slow, agonising climb. Your heart funds like it's trying to launch itself out of your chest.

Mingi doesn't let go. Not even once. His thumb strokes over your knuckles in lazy circles, like he's trying to distract you from the threatening death drop ahead.

"Deep breath," he murmurs. "You've got this, Y/N."

The cart tips.

You scream.

It's not even cute. It's pure terror.

And Mingi just laughs—not at you though, but in joy, throwing his hands up as you fly down the track, wind whipping through your hair, your body tossed left and right.

You never let go of his hand.

By the time it slows and returns to the platform, your voice is gone, and your legs feel like jelly. You stumble forward a little when the bar lifts, but Mingi's hand on your back steadies you.

"You alright?" he asks, eyes scanning your face.

You nod, breathless, dazed.

He smiles, wide and proud. "You did amazing. Seriously! That was brave as hell."

You want to say thank you, but you're still processing the fact that your heart is beating and your limbs are still attached. You let out a small laugh instead, cheeks flushed, the adrenaline not quite fading yet.

Then you hear it.

"Wait, where's Y/N?"

Your stomach sinks.

You turn your head toward the exit ramp and spot them—Yujin and Hana—posing near a churro cart, phone angled high, lips puckered in matching fake smiles.

The voice is unmistakable.

"Probably chickened out and left the roller coaster," Yujin mutters, loud enough that you catch every word.

Hana scoffs, adjusting her hair. "We should find her, I guess. We did come with her car, after all."

"Ugh," Yujin groans. "So annoying. I hate her sometimes."

Hana snorts. "Sometimes?"

They both burst into laughter.

It hits you harder than the drop on the coaster.

You freeze. The sting behind your eyes burns hot, and you blink rapidly, refusing to let the tears win. Not here. Not in front of Mingi, Yeosang and Jongho.

But Mingi heard it too.

You feel the shift in his posture beside you, the way his jaw clenches just slightly. He glances back at Jongho and Yeosang, who both clearly clock the situation. A silent nod happens between them.

Then, without warning, Mingi gently grabs your wrist.

"Come on."

You look up, startled. "Wait—what? Where are we going?"

He's already walking you in the opposite direction.

"I—I need to go to them," you say, stumbling to keep with his pace. "I need to send them home—"

"Are they your close friends?" he asks, cutting you off calmly.

You stop walking. "Huh?"

"Do you hang out with them a lot?"

"…No. We used to be close in high school. But now… not really. We're all in different universities and barely meet up anymore."

Mingi hums like that’s exactly the answer he expected. "Good. So you can cut them off."

You blink. "What?"

He turns to face you properly, his expression serious but not harsh. "Why spend the rest of your day with people who treat you like that? Just hang out with us."

You open your mouth to argue, but then Jongho jogs up beside you, slinging an arm over your shoulder like you've been besties for years.

"You didn't hear what they said? They're literally using you for your car and shitting on you behind your back."

"Yeah," Yeosang says, catching up, a rare frown on his usually passive face. “That's not what friends do. That's just… sad."

"I don't wanna ruin your guys' day though," you say quietly, unsure.

Mingi shakes his head. "You're not. I asked you to stay. You're not an obligation. You're a choice."

That line makes your heart skip.

Jongho smirks. "Besides, Mingi's in his hero mode now. You're stuck with us."

Yeosang chuckles. "He only gets like this when something really pisses him off."

You glance at Mingi, who's pretending not to listen, but the way he nudges your arm with his elbow says otherwise.

And for once… it feels okay to be pulled in a different direction.

You're still holding your tray with half-finished tteokbokki when Mingi takes a seat beside you at the picnic table. Jongho and Yeosang are opposite, poking fun at each other while stealing bits from the fishcake skewer pile.

"You okay?" Mingi asks quietly, sipping from his soda.

You nod. "Actually… yeah. Thanks to you guys."

He hums. "Good."

It feels so normal, sitting here with them. You were smiling. Genuinely smiling. For the first time in weeks, maybe.

The stand nearby is selling fresh corndogs and hotteok. You notice Jongho eyeing them, and your stomach grumbles too.

"I'll grab some more snacks," you say, standing. "My treat."

"Are you sure?" Yeosang asks.

"Yeah," you smile. "You guys saved me today. Least I can do."

You approach the snack cart, debating how many corndogs to grab when—

Shove.

It's not hard enough to knock you down, but enough to make you stumble forward a step. You turn, startled.

"Oh my god, we knew we saw your big back over here," Yujin says with a laugh, like it's the funniest thing in the world.

Hana smirks, standing beside her, arms crossed.

You step back, lips parting. "You guys left me."

Yujin rolls her eyes. "No we didn't? We were waiting for you by the churros stand."

"I was standing alone in line," you reply, your voice still soft, careful not to escalate anything. "You jumped ahead without even checking on me."

"Please," Hana mutters. "You probably didn't see us because you were too much of a pussy to ride."

They both burst into laughter.

You feel it again—that familiar sting in your chest. But this time, before you can say anything, another voice cuts through the air.

"Hey, Y/N. Is there a problem here?"

You look to your side.

Mingi's there, standing tall, eyes dark, jaw clenched. And when he looks at Yujin and Hana, the playful energy around them dies instantly.

Yujin straightens up, adjusting her top. "Oh heyyyy~" she says, her tone suddenly flirty. "And who might you be?"

"Do you know him?" Hana adds, nudging you.

"Yes," you reply clearly. "He offered to ride the roller coaster with me."

Yujin raises an eyebrow. "Really now…"

Then Mingi steps closer, resting a firm hand around your wrist—not hard, just protective.

"If you don’t have anything decent to say to Y/N," he says, voice sharp like a knife, "you can leave. She's hanging out with me and my friends now."

He doesn't wait for them to respond. He gently pulls you away, guiding you back toward the table where Jongho and Yeosang are already watching with narrowed eyes.

You think it's over—until Yujin and Hana follow you.

"Oh my god, Y/N," Yujin says loudly. "Don’t be such a whore and take three guys at once~ At least leave one for us."

You freeze mid-step.

"…Excuse me?" you blink slowly, not even sure you heard her right.

Yujin grins, proud. "Sharing is caring, babe."

You glance at Hana, who won’t meet your eyes.

"…Yujin," you say softly. "You have a boyfriend."

"So?" she scoffs. "You're being a greedy whore with three guys up your ass. You're no better than me."

Your breath catches. You stare at her, shocked. Embarrassed. Ashamed, even though you've done nothing wrong.

Hana still won't look at you.

And that's when Mingi steps forward.

"You know what's actually disgusting?" Mingi says, his voice suddenly cold. "That you think humiliating someone publicly makes you funny. That mocking someone you call a friend is just a joke. That dragging her down is the only way you feel better about yourself."

Yujin's face stiffens.

"And calling her a whore?" Mingi scoffs. "Girl, she's more decent than either of you. If having three people care about her makes her a whore, then maybe you should ask yourself why no one treats you that way."

Hana lets out a tiny breath like she's been slapped.

Mingi turns to them fully now, shielding you with his body.

"Don't talk to her again," he says firmly. "Don't call her. Don't look at her. Don't even think about her. Got it?"

Yujin crosses her arms. "Oh really? But she's our ride. She drove us here."

Jongho suddenly stands from the table. "Then go ask your boyfriend to pick you up."

The silence is loud.

Yujin's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Hana still won't look at you.

You don't say a word. You just follow the boys as they walk away, head high, shoulders squared. Mingi's hand brushes yours. You don't pull away.

Behind you, you hear Yujin groan like a spoiled brat not getting what she wants.

And you don't look back.

You're quiet as you sit back at the table. You feel small again—not because of what they said, but because of how much it still hurts.

Jongho passes you a drink without a word. Yeosang silently offers you the hotteok you didn't get to buy.

Mingi sits beside you again, elbows on the table, glancing sideways at your face.

"You okay?" he asks for the second time today.

You nod, eyes glassy.

"You don't have to be," he adds softly.

"…I don't get it," you murmur. "I never did anything to them. I was always… trying to be nice."

"You were too nice," Yeosang says, voice calm. "Some people take kindness as weakness. That's not on you."

"She was jealous of you," Jongho adds bluntly. "Both of them were. You're quiet and kind and people like you without having to perform for it. That's threatening for girls like them."

You stare at your lap. "…I just hate that it got so ugly in front of everyone."

Mingi leans in closer, dropping his voice low. "If anything, you should be proud of yourself. You stood your ground. And you have three guys now who will never let anyone talk to you like that again."

You look up, eyes wide, lips parting.

Yeosang raises his soda. "To cutting off shitty people."

You laugh, finally.

And Mingi… he just watches you.

Like he's proud.

Like he’s already planning to keep you close all day.

The sun had dipped low by the time you all wandered back to your car, arms full of leftover snacks, plastic bags rustling with street game prizes and bottled drinks. The entire afternoon had gone by in a blur. One that smelled like honey butter corndogs and felt like safe hands holding you up.

"This your car?" Jongho asks, tapping the roof lightly.

You nod, unlocking it. "Yeah. It’s not fancy, but she gets me from A to B."

"It's cute," Yeosang says, popping a piece of candy into his mouth. "Matches you."

You glance at him, surprised. "Matches… me?"

"Yeah." He shrugs, smiling. "Kind of cozy. And a little beat up, but still standing."

You laugh. "Are you calling me emotionally damaged?"

"Absolutely," he says without blinking.

Mingi chuckles, watching you giggle as you swing the backdoor open to stash the snacks.

Jongho leans against the trunk, stretching. "We should hang out again sometime."

"Seconded," Yeosang says.

You smile. "I'd like that."

Mingi steps beside you and pulls out his phone. "Give me your number."

You blink. "Just like that?"

"Yeah," he grins. "No games. Just want to be able to text you."

Your heart skips.

You rattle off your number, and he saves it under Y/N 🎢, making you groan and hit his arm.

"What? You survived that roller coaster like a champ."

"I screamed."

"And held my hand the whole time," he says, low and teasing.

You turn away before your face gives too much away.

They all pile into their own car a few minutes later—Yeosang at the wheel, Jongho arguing over aux cord rights. Mingi rolls his window down just before they drive off.

"Hey, text me when you get home."

You glance up. "You too."

He smiles. "I will."

One week later.

You're sitting under a shady tree, picking at your sandwich while scrolling on your phone. Midterms are creeping up and your brain is half-fried. You barely notice the tall figure walking toward your bench until a shadow falls across your lap.

"Hey."

You look up—and blink.

"…Mingi?"

He grins, hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket. "Surprised?"

"Uh—yeah?? What are you doing here?"

"Your university's not that far from my dorm. I was in the area… and I was hungry."

You raise a brow. "So you decided to find me?"

"Obviously," he shrugs, plopping down beside you like this is the most normal thing ever.

Your heart does a backflip. "You're really bold, huh?"

He leans back on his palms, tilting his head toward you. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. After all… I haven't heard much from someone."

You flush. "I—I've been busy…"

"I know. I'm just teasing."

There's a pause.

The breeze rustles the leaves above. He's looking at you again, but this time with something softer in his expression.

"You seemed kinda quiet that day when we left," he says. "Was worried."

You glance down at your hands. "I was just… processing everything. It felt weird cutting someone off like that."

"They deserved it," Mingi says, voice firm. "You don't need people who treat you like garbage just because they've known you for a long time."

"…I know," you admit. "It just takes time to process all that."

He nods slowly. "Makes sense. Still. You're stronger than you think."

You smile, small. "You really don't have to keep being this nice to me, you know."

"But I want to."

That makes your breath catch.

He sits up straighter, taking a bite of the snack he brought—some triangle kimbap from the uni convenience store.

"Anyway, what's your major again?" he asks, chewing.

"Communications," you say. "Why?"

"Just wondering what kind of power you'll have in the future. I gotta make sure I stay on your good side now."

You laugh. "What about you?"

"Dance," he says proudly. "But I'm also thinking of minoring in theatre. I like performing."

"That… makes sense. You're kind of a natural."

"At performing?"

"At… pulling attention," you admit, looking away. "You make people feel comfortable."

He hums. "Not everyone. But I guess I try."

There's a comfortable silence again.

Then Mingi glances at your phone screen, noticing the time.

"You have class soon?"

"Yeah. In twenty minutes."

"Damn," he says, standing slowly and stretching his long arms. "Time flew."

"It did," you say. "I didn’t think I'd talk to anyone this long today."

"Lucky you. I'm charming."

You roll your eyes.

He steps a little closer now, towering over you just slightly—but he's not intimidating. He's playful. Easy. Gentle.

"Hey," he says, voice low.

You look up. "Yeah?"

"Do you wanna go out Friday night?"

Your heart skips a beat.

"Like… just us?"

He smiles. "Yeah. Just us."

You swallow, trying not to look too flustered. "Sure. That sounds nice."

He winks. "It's a date then."

And with that, he turns and walks off toward the exit gates, hands still shoved in his pockets like nothing happened.

You just sit there, dumbfounded, heat crawling up your face.

You're pretty sure you don't taste your sandwich after that.

Friday.

When you open the door, the last thing you expect to see is Mingi in all black—loose button-up tucked into slacks, gold necklace glinting faintly under the porch light—and a massive bouquet of pastel flowers in hand.

Your mouth opens. But nothing comes out.

He smiles. "Too much?"

"I—no, no," you sputter, staring at the bouquet. "These are gorgeous. Are those peonies? Wait… are these imported?"

He glances at them. "I dunno, I just told the florist I wanted something that looked like you."

Your face burns instantly.

"Stop saying stuff like that so casually!"

Mingi laughs, handing you the bouquet as you step aside to let him in briefly. "It's true though. Pretty, soft, and a little expensive-looking."

You glare, trying not to melt.

Once the flowers are safely in a vase, you both head out. He opens the car door for you like a damn drama male lead, and you have to mentally scream at yourself not to act too giddy.

The drive is filled with music, light banter, and the occasional glance that lingers too long at red lights. When he pulls up to a high-rise building with a fancy valet and dim chandelier lighting peeking from the glass walls, you blink twice.

"Wait," you say slowly, reading the restaurant sign. "We're eating here?"

"Yeah," he says, unbuckling his seatbelt casually. "Why?"

"Mingi… this place is expensive. Like, minimum 5-digit bill expensive."

"So?" He laughs, turning to look at you. "It's not every day I take someone out on a date. Plus, I invited you. I can't just take you to the food court."

You stare at him. "You're rich…"

He snorts. "Does that make you look at me differently?"

You shake your head. "Of course not. It's just… I grew up thinking that when people date, it should be fifty-fifty. I feel kinda guilty when someone spends too much on me."

Mingi looks at you for a second, soft but amused. "That's cute."

Your cheeks flush.

He continues, voice warm, "But seriously, Y/N, today's my treat. Maybe in the future you can treat me. But for now… your presence is already more than enough."

You make a face. "You're such a flirt.”

He grins. "You haven't seen the half of it."

Dinner is unreal. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the Han River, and your seats are by the glass. The food is plated like art, the conversation flows effortlessly, and the wine Mingi orders (which you swear costs as much as your monthly internet bill) is surprisingly good.

At one point, you both laugh over nothing, and Mingi leans his cheek on his hand.

"You know," he says, "Jongho hasn't shut up about that day."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. For someone who's a year younger than me, he sure loves teasing me like he's older."

You pause. "Wait—Jongho's younger than you?"

Mingi blinks. "Oh, we didn't clarify that, huh?"

"Oh my god, I thought he was the oldest!"

Mingi bursts out laughing. "You're not the first person to say that! Everyone thinks that! He's just too mature for his face."

"Or," you smirk, "maybe you and Yeosang are just too immature."

He gasps. "Hey! I'm mature!"

"I stalked your tagged photos on Instagram," you say nonchalantly. "Your friends call you a big princess."

He chokes on his drink. "You what?"

You grin. "That's right. I did my research."

Mingi leans in closer, voice suddenly low and playful. "Why were you stalking me, hmm? Miss this princess that much?"

Your heart slams in your chest.

"Mingi, stop it," you say, rolling your eyes to hide your very real flustered state.

He chuckles, pleased. "I love teasing you."

"And you're way too good at it."

He shrugs. "Only with people I like."

That line hits harder than it should.

By the time you finish eating, the staff clears your plates and refills your glasses with water. You sit back, full, sipping slowly.

You glance at him. "So… where are we going next?"

Mingi raises a brow. "Someone's excited."

You smirk. "I mean… I haven't been on a real date in a long time. This already beat my expectations."

He leans forward slightly, tilting his head. "Wanna do something more relaxed? We can go for a walk near the river. There's a quiet park close by with lights and benches."

You nod. "That sounds really nice."

"Cool," he says, standing and reaching for your coat. "Let's go. I've got a playlist ready and everything."

"You have a date playlist?"

"I might have made one last night."

You stare at him.

He shrugs. "What? You make me nervous."

Mingi walks you to your door, still chatting about some guy from his dance class who tried to moonwalk in socks and almost dislocated his knee.

You laugh softly, fingers brushing your keys, reluctant for the night to end.

"Y/N?"

You glance up. "Yeah?"

He leans in quickly, and before you can process it, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. Warm. Quick. Sincere.

He pulls back, eyes wide, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry if that was too sudden. You can tell me if you're not okay with it—seriously."

You blink—then laugh, cheeks warm.

"Thanks. I don't mind."

He exhales, a tiny puff of relief, then smiles as he starts walking back toward his car.

"Wait—Mingi!"

He turns around. "Yes?"

You grin, still standing by your door. "Let's go out next week. My treat."

His smile stretches so wide it almost splits his face.

"Okay, princess. See you next week. Update me always, okay?"

He winks, hops into his car, and drives off—while you stand there, clutching your warm cheek and thinking about nothing but him.

A few months later.

You've gone on more dates than you can count now.

Some were cute and simple—arcades, cafés, late-night convenience store runs. Others were more put-together, gallery dates, dance showcases, even grocery shopping for dinner you'd cook together. There's a comfort between you and Mingi now.

Tonight, it's just a Netflix night.

It's Saturday, you're at your place, and Mingi's stretched out on your couch, arm around you while a movie plays. You're curled beside him, blanket over both of your legs, a half-finished bag of popcorn resting on his thigh.

And then—on screen—an erotic scene plays out. Soft moaning, slow kissing, heavy breathing.

Mingi shifts slightly.

"Are you okay watching this?" he asks, voice low, cautious.

You scoff, barely glancing at him. "Uh, yes? I'm not a child, Song Mingi."

He laughs, head tilting. "Well, excuse me. Just making sure."

There's a beat.

Then he glances down at you again. "What are your thoughts on doing this kind of stuff… y’know, as a couple?"

You pause for a second, then answer honestly.

"Um… I don't mind, honestly. Everyone's different, right? But for me—it's about trust. It doesn't matter whether it's before or after marriage. What matters is… being safe, knowing the risks, and being sure you're with someone who respects you."

Mingi nods slowly. "Yeah. I feel the same way."

You turn your head slightly. "Have you done it before?"

That question slips out faster than you meant.

Mingi blinks.

Your eyes go wide. "Oh my god—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make that weird. You don't have to answer—"

"No, no!" he says quickly. "It's just surprising coming from you. But nah—I haven't. I'm a virgin. And I'm not embarrassed."

You smile. “There's nothing to be ashamed of. Some people just use sex like it's a status thing. Like if you're not doing it, you're behind."

"Exactly!" Mingi grins. "It's such a stupid mindset."

He turns slightly toward you. "What about you?"

"I'm a virgin too," you admit. "But I've always been curious. Just never wanted to give that part of me to someone random. One-night stands never appealed to me."

Mingi nods, biting the inside of his cheek. "It's so weird that we both feel the same."

You squint. "Are you just saying that to get on my good side? Trying to look all respectful and boyfriend-of-the-year?"

Mingi gasps, dramatically offended. "What?! I would never! I swear I mean it!"

You elbow him lightly, both of you laughing.

Then—

"…Do you want to try it together?"

You freeze. Eyes wide. "Wait. What?"

Mingi blinks hard. "In the future!! I meant—in the future! Not now—God, Song Mingi, you're an idiot—"

You laugh. Full-on giggle that makes your shoulders shake.

Then you lean in, gently place your hand on the back of his neck, and pull him into a kiss.

It's deep. Soft. Lingering.

He stiffens slightly at first, surprised, but then relaxes—his hand finding your cheek as his lips move slowly with yours. His eyes shut. The world fades.

When you pull away, your forehead rests lightly against his.

"I trust you."

His eyes flutter open and you can see the blush rising to his ears.

You also can't help noticing the very obvious bulge forming in his pants.

You smirk.

"Are you hard just from kissing?" you tease gently.

"…Yeah," he admits shyly. "And because I love you so much, that's why."

He kisses you again, deeper this time, one hand stroking up your back, careful and slow like he's memorizing the shape of you.

And your fingers start to tighten around his shirt.

You're kissing him.

You don't remember when the shift happened—from sitting side by side, to lying down with your fingers gripping his shirt, his hand on your waist, mouths moving together slowly. But you don't care. Mingi's lips are hot, breath a little shaky, body pressing against yours like he wants to crawl inside your skin.

You moan softly when he licks into your mouth—hesitantly at first, then with more confidence as you whimper and tug at his hair. His hand slides under the back of your shirt, fingers brushing up your spine. It's slow. Careful. Nervous.

He pulls back, panting slightly. "Is… this okay?"

You nod, cheeks flushed. "Yes."

"I mean, we can stop anytime."

"I know."

He hesitates, and you see it in his eyes—nervousness, excitement, a little disbelief. You lean forward, kissing his jaw, then whisper in his ear,

"Let’s keep going."

That makes him groan.

Mingi's hands start to explore more freely—stroking your thighs, up your shirt to caress your sides, then cup your breasts over your bra. He's still tentative, like he's worried he's doing it wrong.

"Touch me," you whisper.

"I am," he says, confused.

"No—touch me for real, Mingi."

You guide his hand under your shirt, placing it over your bare skin. He swallows hard, fingers trembling just a little. When he finally cups your breast fully, brushing your nipple with his thumb over your bra, you arch into his touch with a quiet moan.

He gasps. "Holy shit…"

You laugh breathlessly. "What?"

"You feel… really good."

"You're cute when you're this overwhelmed."

"You're evil," he groans.

You switch positions slightly, tugging your shirt off and tossing it aside. He stares at your chest, clearly enchanted.

"You can touch more, you know," you tease.

"Permission granted?" he raises a brow, smiling.

"Permission granted."

His hands roam—soft kneading, lips kissing between your breasts before he pulls your bra down and takes one nipple into his mouth. You gasp, threading your fingers through his hair, while he moans against your skin.

"You're a quick learner," you mumble, breath hitching.

"Porn and imagination," he replies.

You snort. "Didn't you learn this in school?"

"Yeah," he scoffs. "As if the teacher taught us about sex positions and nipple sucking."

You both burst into laughter—even mid-makeout—and it's oddly comforting how fun this is. Messy, awkward, real.

Your hands slide down his chest, under his shirt, feeling lean muscles flexing under your touch. When you unbutton it, he lets you strip it off—his skin warm, his face flushed, his body trembling just slightly.

You reach between his legs, palm cupping the hard bulge in his pants. He jerks.

"Fuck—Y/N…"

You kiss his throat, voice low. "Wanna keep going?"

He pauses.

Then—his eyes widen. "Shit. I—I don't have a condom."

You blink. "Wait, seriously?"

"I didn't think—fuck—I'll go get one!! There's a 7-Eleven like two streets down—"

"You're gonna run to the convenience store right now??"

He's already scrambling off the couch, grabbing his t-shirt with his chest still bare. "I'll be back in ten minutes! Don't fall asleep!!"

You burst into laughter, watching him panic-shuffle into shoes and sprint out the door like a man on a mission.

12 minutes later.

He returns, slightly out of breath, holding a small plastic bag.

You arch a brow. "How many did you buy?"

"Three boxes."

"…Why?"

"I panicked!"

You're both half-laughing when you strip again, kissing between giggles, settling back into each other's arms. But this time, it's different. Calmer. More focused.

Mingi slowly pulls your shorts down, kissing your thighs, his breath hitching when he sees your panties already damp.

"Y/N…"

"Don’t be shy," you whisper.

He slides them down and tosses them aside. His fingers brush between your legs, and when he finally touches you—fingers stroking through your folds—you whimper and press into his hand.

"You're so wet," he says, awed.

"For you."

He swears softly under his breath.

You moan louder when he finds your clit, gently rubbing, unsure at first—then more confidently as your hips twitch under his touch. You reach down, palm cupping his erection through his boxers.

"You're hard again."

"Yeah. You're kinda ridiculously sexy."

You roll him onto his back and tug his pants off.

And when his boxers come down—you both freeze.

"…Oh," you blink.

"Too big?" he teases nervously.

"Guess we'll find out."

Condom's on.

You lie back, legs spread, heart pounding.

Mingi positions himself between your thighs, hands on either side of your face, eyes locked with yours.

"You sure?" he whispers.

You nod. "I trust you."

He lines himself up and pushes in slowly.

It hurts.

Not unbearable, but a deep stretch, an ache that makes your body tense.

Mingi stops instantly.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just go slow."

He pushes in again, carefully, slowly—

And then you both freeze.

"…Is that… blood?" Mingi asks, voice rising slightly.

You look down. Just a bit. But enough.

Mingi freaks. "Oh my god. Are you okay?? Did I hurt you?!"

You put a hand on his cheek, trying not to laugh at his horrified expression. "Mingi—it's normal."

"But—are you sure? Should we stop?"

You smile. "Let’s just take a break. Five minutes. You're overreacting."

"I'm not overreacting! You're bleeding. I've seen horror movies that start like this!"

You burst into laughter, gently shoving his shoulder.

After a short pause (and a lot of overthinking from Mingi), you kiss him again—slow, soft, grounding.

"I still want to keep going," you whisper. "If you're okay."

He nods, exhaling. "Yeah. Just don't die on me."

This time when he slides in—it's easier.

Your body's more relaxed, your hands are tangled in his hair, and Mingi is whispering "so beautiful" and "you feel amazing" into your skin like it's the only language he knows.

The pace is slow, careful. You moan under him, hips rolling together, your bodies finally syncing.

He kisses your neck, your lips, your forehead. You're both sweaty and shaky and a little uncoordinated—but it's perfect.

You're his first. He's yours.

You cling to each other like the world is too small to contain what you're feeling.

And when you come—whimpering his name, shaking underneath him—Mingi follows right after, burying his face in your neck with a moan so sweet it makes your heart throb.

Afterward, you lie tangled on your couch, barely covered by the throw blanket.

Mingi's still red in the face. "I think I panicked like ten times."

You giggle. "It was cute."

"Was it… good?"

You nod, nose brushing his cheek. "It was more than good."

Mingi's breath is still a little shaky as he pulls out of you carefully, rolling the condom off and tying it, tossing it into the little trash bag beside the couch. You hiss faintly at the sudden emptiness and sensitivity.

He notices immediately.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just sore. And… wow."

He lets out a soft laugh, brushing your hair out of your face.

"We should clean you up," he murmurs. "Don't want you to get an infection."

You nod, and he helps you sit up slowly. Your thighs are sticky, a little shaky, and you wince slightly as you stand.

"Shit," Mingi mumbles, catching you. "Are you hurting?"

"Not really. Just sore and, you know… my pussy probably looks like a war zone."

Mingi laughs, even as he scoops you up bridal-style without warning.

"MINGI—!"

"We're washing you properly, princess," he says, grinning as he carries you into your bathroom like some romcom idiot boyfriend. "Gotta take care of my girl."

He helps you sit on the toilet, then kneels in front of you, helping you clean. Every touch is gentle now—damp tissue wiping your thighs, warm water trickling slowly, his hands making sure not to rub too hard.

"Sorry if this feels weird," he mumbles.

"It doesn't," you whisper. "I like this."

He smiles at you, so soft, so genuine it makes your chest ache.

Once you're clean and dry, he carries you again—back to your bed this time, gently laying you down before slipping beside you under the blanket.

Your head rests on his bare chest, legs tangled, fingers tracing random patterns on his stomach.

Mingi shifts a little, looking down at you.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N."

You glance up, smirking. "Took you long enough to say that."

"I was busy panicking."

You both laugh.

But then he kisses your forehead.

"I'm serious," he says quietly. "You're so fucking beautiful. Your body… your heart… your whole existence. I've never felt this way before. Not even close."

You blink slowly, heart beating in your throat.

Then he murmurs—

"We're a thing now."

You grin. "We better be a thing. If not, I'll chop your dick off."

Mingi wheezes out a laugh, pulling you into a kiss. "God, I love you."

"Thank you for coming into my life." His arms tighten around you.

"No, you saved me," you say, brushing your nose against his. "Thank you for coming into mine."

You breathe in deeply, warm and full in his arms.

A few minutes later, while cuddling in silence, you shift a little.

"Mingi?"

"Mm?"

You glance up at him, playful sparkle in your eyes.

"…Should I satisfy you more?"

He blinks. "Huh??"

You smirk. "You’re still a little hard. I can feel it against my leg."

He flushes red instantly.

[fleuresjay]

jealosy, jealosy - a oneshot smau

san ver. / yunho ver.

request: hii! i wanted to put in an smau req since uve opened then :D if its okay, myb an smau with the ateez members (id rily like san and yunho) where idol! fem mc is being shipped w another member or the txt boys instead of them aft a tiktok challenge or performance stage, so jealousy but fluffy asw hehe.

genre: smau, oneshot, texts, fluff, crack, humour

pairing: idol! yunho x idol! fem! reader

tags/warnings: jealosy obviously, but nothing crazy, y/n's in a duo called starlight with nana, she was also an mc with yunho for a music show and that's how they became really good friends, timestamps/numbers don't mean anything, awkwardness, swearing, wooyoung is a menace

note: this one got super long compared to pt 1, but i think here i got the hang of one shot smaus so i'm sorry 😭 i hope you enjoy it! <3

[fleuresjay]

Ateez Fake Texts

The one where they miss you

Genres and warnings: humor, fluff, established relationships, suggestive, overall cuteness

Hongjoong

Seonghwa

Yunho

Yeosang

San

Mingi

Wooyoung

Jongho

.

.

[fleuresjay]

Pictures: C.J

I love him so much it hurts

->Starring: JonghoxAfab!Reader ->Genre: Fluff ->Cw: fluffy fluff

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist

“Please, Jongho! The sun is perfect today. Just a few pictures?” you begged, standing over him as he lounged on the couch, completely ignoring your pleas. The sky was painted a clear, brilliant blue after days of dreary rain, and all you wanted was to wear the new dress Jongho had bought you and capture the moment. But he just wanted to stay lazy and comfortable.

“Jongie, pleeeeaaassseeee,” you whined again, pulling at his sleeve.

He finally looked up, sighed, and gave in. “Fine. Only a couple.”

“Yay! Thank you, thank you!” You kissed him quickly before grabbing his hand and pulling him out the door.

“Okay, now move your hand like that, and cross your foot—yes, just like that,” you instructed, surprised at how into it Jongho was. “Now turn and look over your shoulder. Put your other hand here... perfect.”

Twenty minutes in, your arms were sore, and the sun was starting to feel too warm on your skin. “Ugh, Jongho. How much longer?” you groaned.

He kept clicking away. “Hey, you’re the one who asked for this.”

“Okay, just a couple more... aaaand done!” You hurried over to him, practically bouncing. “Let me see! Let me see!”

He smiled and handed over the phone. “I think you’re gonna love them.”

You swiped through the pictures, your face unreadable. Jongho watched you carefully, trying to read your expression.

“Choi Jongho, what the actual fuck is this?” you finally asked without looking up.

“What? You asked me to take pictures,” he shrugged, throwing his hands up like an innocent child.

“Of me, not you! There are like fifty pictures of you and literally not one of me.”

“Are you saying you don’t love them?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

Of course you loved them. How could you not? One after another, his adorable smile and silly faces filled the screen.

You couldn’t help but smile. “Exactly. You love my face.”

You muttered, “I love more than just your face.”

If you would like to be part of the taglist please fill out this form

[fleuresjay]

TWO PRINCES: J.W&C.S

->Starring: Prince!WooyoungXPrincess!readerXPrince!San ->Genre: Slice of life, love triangle ->Cw: J.Y P appearance

Part 2

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist

"Stand up straight, (Y/N)! A princess never slouches," your mother scolds gently as you prepare to enter the ballroom.

It’s your 18th birthday, but instead of spending it curled under your blankets, you're trussed up in a gown you can barely breathe in, about to enter a room packed with people you can barely tolerate. Still, you tell yourself this is for your parents. For your people.

"Yes, Mother," you sigh, adjusting your posture into something more regal.

Your mother nods to the guard, signaling him to begin.

"NOW PRESENTING, QUEEN (M/N)!" She descends the grand staircase gracefully, every inch the monarch she was raised to be. Your father awaits her at the base, offering his arm with the kind of pride only love and duty can shape.

"NOW PRESENTING, PRINCESS (Y/N)!"

You freeze momentarily at the sound of your title echoing through the hall, then begin your descent. Eyes follow you—some familiar, many not. You recognize a few foreign dignitaries, ambassadors, and distant royals, but you hardly feel grounded until your eyes meet your mother's again. Her expression is unmistakable: Don’t even think about hiding in a corner tonight.

This wasn’t just a birthday celebration. It was a debut, a pageant, a matchmaking opportunity. Most princesses your age were already betrothed. Some even married. But boys never really… peaked your interest. Not in the way they were supposed to.

You sigh quietly and make your way through the crowd, bowing politely to the elders and nobles who greet you. The food table becomes your safe haven. The sweet, buttery aromas pull you in, and you momentarily forget where you are—until a voice startles you.

"Have you danced with anyone yet?"

You jump, hand flying to your chest. Turning, you find none other than your best friend, Prince Wooyoung, grinning like the troublemaker he is.

"You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that. It’s not very princely," you mutter, trying to recover your breath.

"I’ve been standing here for five minutes. You were basically drooling," he teases, pointing dramatically to your chin.

You swat his hand away with a laugh. "You're insufferable."

"Ah, Prince Wooyoung!" your father's booming voice cuts through the noise as he makes his way over. "What a pleasure to see you at (Y/N)'s birthday."

Wooyoung bows respectfully. "It’s an honor, Your Highness. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world."

Your father claps a hand on his shoulder. "(Y/N), why don’t you and Wooyoung have a dance?" There's a hopeful twinkle in his eyes. Before you can decline, Wooyoung grabs your hand.

"Brilliant idea, Your Highness. Don’t worry, I’ll wear her out for you," he says with a cheeky wink.

You slap his shoulder as he pulls you onto the dance floor.

You and Wooyoung have been inseparable since the nursery. He’s always been loud, over-the-top, and maddeningly affectionate. Like a brother—but not exactly. Over the past few years, he’d changed. Broader shoulders. A deeper voice. A more defined jawline. And those arms… It was harder and harder to ignore how warm you felt whenever he was near.

Still, he was your best friend. Thinking about him that way was a dangerous game.

His hand settles lightly on your waist, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. He’s looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to join him in the dance. You stiffen slightly before placing one hand on his shoulder, the other into his.

You’ve danced together before, but this time it feels different. His touch is warm, grounding. But your anxiety simmers just beneath your skin. You keep your eyes down, afraid that one look into his would send your feet tangling beneath you.

"Have you found a suitor yet?" he asks casually, though there’s an edge of curiosity in his voice.

You roll your eyes. "You already know the answer to that."

He spins you, his signature smirk in place. "Hey, maybe tonight’s your lucky night."

"I’d prefer if everyone just left me alone," you mumble, scanning the crowd for potential escape routes.

The song finally ends and you begin to step away, but Wooyoung gently catches your wrist.

"I’ll be right back, okay?" he says before disappearing into the crowd.

You barely have time to breathe before a voice you desperately hoped not to hear cuts through the noise.

"Princess (Y/N), I trust you’re enjoying your birthday?"

You turn to face Duke Park Jinyoung—the most condescending man to grace a royal court. You summon your most polite smile.

"Good evening, Your Grace. I’m honored by your presence," you say, dipping into a slight curtsey.

He hums, eyes scanning you. "So, have you finally found yourself a husband? You're not getting any younger, you know."

You clench your teeth, still smiling. "How’s your wife?" you ask, knowing full well she’d left him—a scandal still whispered about behind fans and wine goblets.

His expression darkens. Without another word, he storms off.

Satisfying.

You turn, searching the crowd for Wooyoung, when you spot him—at least, you think it’s him. Same height, same build. But when you reach out to tap his shoulder, the person turns—and you freeze.

It isn’t Wooyoung.

It’s Prince San.

The world tilts. You haven’t seen him in over five years, not since his family sent him away to train… in something important, though you can’t remember what now.

He looks… different. Gone is the gangly boy who used to race you on horseback and fall into lakes on purpose. This San is tall. Solid. Handsome in a way that makes your heart skip a full beat. His eyes are wide with recognition and just a hint of surprise.

And he’s staring right at you.

Oh shit.

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[fleuresjay]

Perfect: J.Y

YunhoXReader

Fluff

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Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist

Everything was coming together, it had to, Yunho spent 2 weeks planning this date so it had to go perfectly. Each and every detail was carefully picked from the blanket to what food he packed. He didn’t tell you what he had planned wanting to see your expression when you saw the scene. He found a gorgeous clearing filled with beautiful daisy’s in full bloom, he picked a time when the sun shone bright but not too bright where it hurt your eyes, he forced Wooyoung to make food that he KNEW you would love. Everything had to be perfect.

As soon as you arrived to the clearing all his hard work paid off. Seeing the look on your face made everything worth it “oh Yunho! It’s amazing! You didn’t have to all this” you gushed as he guided you to blanket “I wanted to make sure our first date was everything you could ever imagine” he smiled as you both sat down. The warm of the sun could not compare to feeling Yunho was making you feel, no one had ever gone to the lengths he had and you couldn’t help admire him in the golden sunlight. Everything was exquisite from the food to the scenery and you didn’t want the date to end.

Yunho was over the moon that everything was going according to plan that is until he felt a raindrop fall on his forehead. His eyebrows furrowed hoping it was just one. His disappointment grew as more raindrops fell and he scrambled to gather everything into the basked, taking your hand and rushing back to the car. The rain fell heavier with each step you took until you were both drenched to the bone. You stopped Yunho halfway to the car “come on Sunshine, we’re gonna get sick” he said confused as to why you stoped.

You said nothing as you stepped up to him and pressed your lips to his. His eyes widened in surprise not registering the warm feeling of your lips. You pulled away a little embarrassed that he didn’t kiss you back that is until you hear the sound of the basket hitting the floor and in an instant his hands grab your face before slamming his lips against yours. He didn’t care that he was soaked, he didn’t care that he was most likely going to be sick tomorrow, all he cared about was that he was here, in the rain, kissing you.

The next morning you texted him a picture of you bedridden with a nose red from sneezing. Even though you both were very sick you didn’t regret a thing. The date was perfect.

[fleuresjay]

Stuck In Traffic

Smut 18+

You were stuck in a long traffic lane… so you had been standing still for 20 minutes.

You were minding your own little business staring out the window while your friend Yunho enjoyed himself.. while watching some of your nudes he’d saved in secret. Before he knew it he’d become rock hard in seconds but he didn’t care, he just couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen.

Having a boner with a giant dick could not possibly go unnoticed by the eye. You smiled for yourself and bit your lip.

”Yunho…?”

”Mmm?” He responded.

”Like what you see?” You teased.

He didn’t have time to respond before your tiny hand grabbed his cock through his pants.

”Wha- fuck” he groaned.

”Someone’s excited” you said looking at him.

Yunho continued looking at the screen pretending that your actions didn’t have any effect on him. His own body betrayed him when he slowly began bucking up his hips into your fist, wanting more friction.

*Green light* You suddenly stopped.

”Hey idiot it’s green.” You laughed.

Yunho put down his phone and headed straight home to his apartment.

”Hey why didn’t you drive me home?” You said crossing your arms.

”You really think I’ll let you leave that easily huh??” He chuckled, grabbing the steering wheel hard.

”Really Yunho, it’s not my fault your dick gets hard” you mocked.

He pulled up infront of his apartment and pulled you out from the car, he almost dragged you in and closed the door behind him.

”I’ll drive you home later, you’ll need it.” He said, attacking your lips.

[fleuresjay]

ATEEZ & Their Significant Other Who Struggles to Express Emotions

Hongjoong – The Leader Who Notices Everything

Hongjoong has always been someone who appreciates unspoken love. He’s perceptive and sensitive, so he quickly catches on to the way his significant other struggles with words. At first, he worries does this mean they don’t feel as deeply as he does? But then he notices the way they always make sure his workspace is tidy when he’s too overwhelmed to clean, how they leave his favorite snacks on his desk when he’s working late, how they sit beside him in silence when he’s exhausted. He realizes that love doesn’t have to be loud.

One day, after an especially hard week, Hongjoong finds a small note on his desk. It’s short just a simple, “I’m proud of you. You’re doing so well.” But it makes his heart squeeze in his chest , and for a moment, he just stares at the note, running his fingers over the ink as if to make sure it’s real. His significant other has never been good at saying how they feel, but this… this means everything.

When he turns around, they’re standing in the doorway, shifting nervously. He can see it took a lot for them to write that, to leave it for him. He doesn’t say anything at first he just crosses the room and pulls them into his arms, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of their head.

“Thank you,” he murmurs against their hair, voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

They don’t answer, just wrap their arms around him a little tighter. But they don’t have to say anything Hongjoong already knows.

Seonghwa – The Gentle Protector

Seonghwa is patient. He doesn’t rush his significant other to say things they’re not comfortable with. Instead, he learns their language the way they press extra slices of fruit into his hands when he’s busy, the way they straighten the collar of his shirt before he leaves, the way they rest their head on his shoulder when words fail them.

One night, after a particularly stressful day, Seonghwa finds himself exhausted, drained from everything. His significant other doesn’t ask what’s wrong. They don’t push him to talk. Instead, they simply take his hand and lead him to the couch, gently tugging him down until his head is resting in their lap.

Their fingers card through his hair in slow, soothing strokes, and he feels himself relax under their touch. It’s such a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes.

“You always take care of me,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering shut. “Let me take care of you too.”

For a while, there’s only silence. But then, softly, almost hesitantly, they whisper, “I like taking care of you.”

It’s rare for them to say things like this, and Seonghwa treasures every word. He turns his head just enough to press a kiss against their wrist, heart swelling with warmth. “And I like you,” he says, voice full of affection.

They don’t say anything more, but the way their fingers tighten ever so slightly in his hair is all the answer he needs.

Yunho – The Sunshine Who Loves Freely

Yunho is naturally expressive. He’s affectionate, always ready with a hug or a bright smile, so at first, he worries about the way his significant other holds back. He wonders if they feel uncomfortable, if they need space. But then he starts noticing the little things how they always save the last bite of their favorite snack for him, how they lean into him just the slightest bit when they think he won’t notice, how their fingers brush against his hand before quickly pulling away, as if they’re testing the waters.

So he waits. He never forces them to say things they’re not ready to say. Instead, he keeps loving them in the way he knows how openly, freely, without expectation.

And then one day, when he’s rambling about his day with his usual enthusiasm, he feels their hand slip into his. Their fingers are hesitant, unsure, but they don’t pull away. Yunho stops mid-sentence, blinking down at their joined hands before looking up at them.

Their gaze is fixed on the floor, their face slightly pink, but their grip tightens just a little. “I like listening to you talk,” they mumble, barely audible.

For a moment, Yunho just stares. And then he beams, squeezing their hand gently. “Then I’ll talk forever if it means you’ll stay with me.”

They huff, rolling their eyes, but there’s a tiny smile on their lips. And to Yunho, that’s more than enough.

Yeosang – The Quiet Observer

Yeosang understands silence better than anyone. He’s not one for big, dramatic declarations himself, so when his significant other struggles with words, he doesn’t mind. He notices the way they show love instead the way they straighten his gaming chair so it’s always comfortable for him, the way they put an extra blanket on his side of the bed when it’s cold, the way they always look at him like he’s the most precious thing in the world, even if they never say it aloud.

But one night, as they’re sitting side by side, their pinkies just barely touching, they suddenly whisper, “You make me feel safe.”

Yeosang turns to them, startled. It’s rare for them to say something like this, to put their feelings into words so directly.

His throat feels tight, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm them, so he simply laces their fingers together, squeezing gently. “You’re safe with me,” he promises, his voice soft but firm.

They don’t respond, but the way they lean into him just a little more tells him everything he needs to know.

San – The Passionate Lover

San is intense when it comes to love. He feels things deeply, expresses them freely, so at first, he doesn’t understand why his significant other holds back. He craves reassurance, affection, words of affirmation, and sometimes, their silence makes him doubt.

But then he starts noticing the little ways they show their love how they always make sure he has a bottle of water before he leaves for practice, how they send him pictures of things that remind them of him, how they instinctively reach for him in their sleep, as if seeking comfort even in unconsciousness.

One evening, as they’re sitting on the balcony, watching the city lights, San sighs. “Sometimes I wish you’d tell me how you feel.” His voice is quiet, unsure.

His significant other doesn’t respond right away. Then, slowly, they reach for his hand, intertwining their fingers. “I don’t know how to say things,” they admit, voice barely above a whisper. “But I feel them. I hope you know that.”

San swallows hard, his grip tightening around theirs. “I do,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to their knuckles. “I really do.”

Mingi – The Gentle Giant

Mingi has a soft heart, and he’s more sensitive than people realize. He craves warmth, reassurance, but he knows his significant other struggles with expressing emotions. So he never pushes. Instead, he watches for the small things the way they always let him rest his head on their lap when he’s tired, the way they text him reminders to eat, the way they laugh just a little louder when he’s the one making jokes.

One night, as they’re cuddled up together, Mingi whispers, “I love you.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, very quietly, they whisper back, “I love you too.”

Mingi freezes. They’ve never said it before. His heart stutters, his throat goes dry, and then suddenly, he’s pulling them into the tightest hug, burying his face in their shoulder.

“You don’t have to say it often,” he mumbles, voice thick. “But when you do, it means everything.”

They don’t answer, just hold him tighter.

Wooyoung – The Affectionate Tease

Wooyoung thrives on affection. He loves touch, loves words, loves anything that makes a relationship feel alive. But he also understands that love looks different for everyone.

So when his significant other struggles to say how they feel, he doesn’t pout (too much). Instead, he watches for the signs the way they always save the best pieces of food for him, the way they sit a little closer than necessary, the way their eyes soften when they look at him.

And then one day, out of nowhere, they whisper, “I missed you today.”

Wooyoung nearly chokes. “Say it again.”

They groan, shoving him playfully, but their ears are red. Wooyoung grins, heart swelling. He’ll treasure this moment forever.

Jongho – The Steady Rock

Jongho is calm and grounded, but he also has a soft spot for sincerity. He isn’t the type to ask for grand romantic gestures, but he values honesty and openness. So at first, when his significant other keeps their feelings tucked away, he finds himself feeling unsure. But over time, he begins to understandlove, for them, is shown in the quiet consistency of care.

They don’t say much, but they always walk beside him in silence when he’s had a long day. They always bring him tea when his throat is sore from practice. They wrap his scarf just a little tighter on colder mornings.

Jongho starts to realize that their silence is full of love it just speaks a different language.

Then one day, as they’re sitting on the couch watching a movie, Jongho feels a hand slip into his. Not just resting holding. Firmly. With intention. When he glances over, they don’t look at him. But their voice, quiet and unsure, floats in the air:

“I don’t always know how to say it… but I think about you all the time.”

Jongho’s heart stutters. He’s quiet for a moment, and then he lifts their hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

“I know,” he says. “I feel it, even when you don’t say it.”

He doesn’t need flowery words. That one sentence those few brave, vulnerable words mean more than anything else ever could

[fleuresjay]

You deserve to be loved

heads up: family issues, reader is insulted (not by San)

San never raises his voice at you

He'd rather lose his voice altogether than screaming at you. He'd rather lose the argument itself and, damn, that's a lot coming from him. It doesn't matter if he is obviously right, if the world has been trying his patience lately or if it's hurting his pride.

He will never raise his voice at you.

You have told him how your family treated you before. You didn't seem bitter about that, you barely seemed to notice the effects it had on you. But he's seen your family.

He has heard the way they scream at the minor inconvenience and how they always take it all on you. How they constantly seem to call you names just because they can. Stupid, slow, ugly, slut, undeserving. And they'd always laugh it off.

You hadn't noticed this isn't normal yet. You loved your family and they claimed to love you too. Maybe this is just how people work? Maybe they just struggle a little bit with affection, maybe they are just playing around, maybe you're the one who's too sensitive.

But San has seen it. The way you look up so you don't cry. The way you flinch when someone gets too close too fast. The way you don't give yourself the credit you deserved just because their words made roots in your being.

Well, he decided that he was not going to be like that. You chose him out of all people to be with you. You chose him to be with you for the rest of your life. He wanted to be your family from now on, and for that he would not be like your family until now.

He never screamed at you. He was never rough. It didn't matter how angry or how impatient he was. Never, in all those years you've known him, had San offended or actually hurt you. Nothing but compliments, praise and kindness left his lips when he was around you.

That's because if no one taught you what love really is supposed to be like, he had no problem showing you the truth.

Masterlist | you'll probably like: hold me

Daily click

Reminder this is just fiction!! I'm not trying to portray real life and you shouldn't believe that this is how the members actually are. This is just for the vibe and the delulu!

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans @sheraayasherrecs @queenofdumbfuckery @lezleeferguson-120 @diarylogbook08

Dividers by @saradika-graphics | images 1, 2 and 3

[fleuresjay]

Pairing: Mafia Ateez OT8x Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, poly ateez, violence and weapons, mafia ateez, organized crime, parental death and grieving process, bullying, possessive and controlling behavior, mentions of suicidal thoughts.

Summary: When Y/n Ricci is forced to marry Kim Hongjoong—leader of the notorious ATEEZ organization and one of eight men who cruelly abandoned her seven years ago—she finds herself trapped in their heavily guarded compound with the ghosts of her past. As she navigates the dangerous world of mafia politics and her own wounded heart, Y/n discovers that all eight powerful, irresistible men still harbor deep feelings for her, suggesting an unconventional solution to their shared dilemma. But before she can consider forgiving them, let alone loving them again, she must uncover the dark secret that tore them apart—a truth that could either heal their fractured bonds or destroy them all completely.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

18+ only- Minors do not enter

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Masterlist

Chapter 3: The Dinner Declaration

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, jaw set with determination. If they expected you to play the part of the grateful, compliant bride-to-be, they were about to be sorely disappointed. Your fingers work methodically, pulling your hair into a messy bun and scrubbing away the last traces of makeup from earlier.

The silk pajama set you slip into is designer—black with delicate lace trim—but unmistakably sleepwear. Let them see exactly how little effort you're willing to put into their charade.

Your phone buzzes against the nightstand. Marco's name lights up the screen, and for the first time today, you smile genuinely.

"Little sister," his warm voice fills your ear as you answer. "How's life in the wolves' den?"

"About as welcoming as you'd expect," you reply, sinking onto the edge of the bed. "They're all here, Marco. All eight of them."

A pause. "And how are you handling that?"

"Like a Ricci," you say, but your voice wavers slightly. "Though I'll admit, seeing them all together again... it's harder than I thought it would be."

Marco's voice turns serious. "Y/n, listen to me. These men broke you once. They shattered you so completely that I almost lost you." His words carry the weight of that terrible night seven years ago, when he'd found you on the balcony, ready to step over the edge. "Whatever game they're playing now, whatever excuses they have—don't let them do it again."

"I won't," you whisper, but even as you say it, you remember Wooyoung's enthusiastic embrace, the way Mingi looked at you with such longing.

"Steel your heart, sorellina," Marco continues, using the Italian endearment that always makes you feel protected. "Make them pay for every tear you shed, every night you cried yourself to sleep wondering what you did wrong. You owe them nothing but contempt."

His words straighten your spine, reminding you why you're here—not by choice, but as a pawn in a larger game. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right. I'm your big brother." You can hear the smile in his voice. "Now go show them exactly what kind of woman you've become. The kind who doesn't break twice."

After ending the call, you sit in the silence of your temporary prison, Marco's words echoing in your mind. Steel your heart. Make them pay.

By the time you descend the stairs at exactly seven o'clock, your armor is in place—not silk and steel this time, but defiance and deliberate disrespect.

* * *

The dining room falls silent as you enter. Eight pairs of eyes track your movement, taking in your appearance with varying degrees of shock and something that might be appreciation. The massive table is set with formal china and crystal, multiple courses already laid out with military precision.

Hongjoong's jaw twitches as his gaze sweeps over your pajamas, his knuckles whitening where they grip his wine glass. Good, you think with savage satisfaction. Let him see exactly how little this arrangement means to you.

"Y/n!" Wooyoung's voice cuts through the tension, bright and welcoming as if no time has passed at all. "You look comfortable! I love that you're making yourself at home already. Oh, and your hair looks so cute up like that—remember when we used to braid it? You'd sit between Seonghwa and me while we watched movies, and—"

"Wooyoung," Seonghwa's voice carries a warning, but Wooyoung barrels on, his energy filling the room like an unstoppable force.

"—and you'd always fall asleep halfway through, so we'd have to carry you upstairs. Your mom would laugh and say we spoiled you rotten, but honestly, we loved taking care of you. Remember that time you got sick with pneumonia and I learned to make your mom's minestrone from scratch because it was the only thing you'd eat? I must have made it twenty times that summer—"

Your heart clenches traitorously at the memory. You do remember—the fever, the way Wooyoung had sat beside your bed for hours, spooning soup into your mouth and reading to you when your throat was too raw to speak. The gentleness in his hands as he smoothed your hair back from your fevered brow.

But then the storm clouds gather, dark and vengeful, reminding you of other words he'd spoken. God, Y/n, you're exhausting. Do you know that? You're exhausting and needy and you never know when to stop.

The memories collide—past tenderness and past cruelty warring in your chest until you can't breathe properly. You look around the table, seeing all of them watching you with expressions ranging from hope to wariness to barely contained longing.

That's when it hits you. The sheer audacity of it all.

"Are you all fucking delusional?" The words explode from you like shrapnel, sharp enough to draw blood. "Do you think you could each break my heart over and over with your words, and I would come here and play house with all of you?"

The temperature in the room drops ten degrees. Wooyoung's smile falters, his hand halfway to his wine glass freezing in mid-air.

Hongjoong sighs, setting down his utensils with deliberate care. "We were trying to—"

"Protect me? Right?" you sneer, cutting him off. The word tastes like poison in your mouth. "Poor little Y/n. Needs everyone to protect her with secrets and lies. I don't give a fuck why you did it."

You stand so quickly your chair topples backward, the crash echoing through the silence like a gunshot. Every eye in the room is fixed on you now, but you don't care. Seven years of buried rage is clawing its way to the surface, demanding to be heard.

"You were all my first friends," you say, your voice deadly quiet, look at Hongjoong. "You took away my first kiss." Your gaze shifts deliberately to Yunho, whose face goes pale as understanding dawns. Around the table, surprise ripples through the others—apparently, he'd never shared that particular secret.

Yunho's mouth opens as if to speak, but no words come. His eyes are wide, almost panicked, as if he's afraid of what else you might reveal.

"Now you want to take away my marriage?" You laugh, but there's no humor in it—only broken glass and bitter irony. "What's next? Am I going to be expected to have a child with you too?"

Hongjoong's eyes flash with something dangerous, possessive. His grip on his wine glass tightens until you're surprised it doesn't shatter.

But you're not done. Not even close.

You smile then—sharp and vicious and completely without warmth. "Don't worry, dearest fiancé. You won't have to take my virginity. That honor went to someone else."

The silence that follows is deafening. You can feel the jealousy rolling off them in waves, thick enough to choke on. Hongjoong looks like he could murder every man in the city with his bare hands, his carefully controlled facade cracking to reveal something primitive and possessive underneath.

San's knuckles are white where they grip the edge of the table. Mingi has gone completely still, like a predator preparing to strike. Even gentle Yunho looks stricken, as if you've physically wounded him.

Good, you think viciously. Let them feel a fraction of what they put me through.

"Enjoy your dinner, gentlemen," you say with false sweetness, gathering what remains of your dignity around you like armor. "I'm sure you have much to discuss."

With that, you turn on your heel and head for the door, your bare feet silent on the marble floor. Behind you, you hear the scrape of chairs, raised voices, the sound of something shattering—whether it's glass or composure, you neither know nor care.

You've delivered your message loud and clear: the naive girl they once knew is dead and buried. In her place stands someone who won't be broken twice, someone who learned that the only way to survive wolves is to become something more dangerous than they are.

As you climb the stairs to your room, you don't look back. But you carry with you the image of eight faces, each reflecting a different shade of devastation, and for the first time since arriving, you feel like you've won a battle.

Even if the war is far from over.

***

The silence after your departure stretched like a taut wire, ready to snap. Eight men sat frozen around the dinner table, the wreckage of your words settling over them like fallout.

Hongjoong's wine glass lay shattered on the floor where he'd thrown it, red liquid seeping into the pristine white marble. His chest rose and fell with barely controlled fury, his carefully maintained composure crumbling piece by piece.

"When did you two kiss?" His voice was deadly quiet, but his eyes burned as they fixed on Yunho.

San's hand slammed against the table with enough force to make the crystal jump. "That's what you're focusing on? Did you hear what she said?" His usually charming features were twisted with anguish. 

"We broke her," Seonghwa said steadily, though his face had gone ashen, the careful mask he wore stripped away to reveal raw devastation beneath. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for his wine, the only outward sign of the turmoil raging inside him.

Yunho shifted uncomfortably under Hongjoong's intense stare, running a hand through his hair. "It was nothing," he said, but his voice cracked slightly. "We were fifteen, at that beach bonfire. Everyone was drinking, and she was upset about something—I don't even remember what—and I just... I comforted her. It didn't mean anything."

But his eyes told a different story. His eyes remembered everything—the taste of salt on your lips from tears and ocean spray, the way you'd looked up at him with such trust, such innocent affection. The way his heart had stopped when you'd pressed your mouth to his, soft and tentative and perfect.

"Bullshit," Hongjoong snarled, starting to rise from his chair. "You never—"

"Enough." Jongho's voice cut through the air like a blade, stopping Hongjoong mid-motion. The youngest of them rarely spoke with such authority, but when he did, they all listened. "You weren't the only one in love with her, Hongjoong. Just because you're going to be her husband on paper doesn't change that. It doesn't give you the right to interrogate the rest of us about our feelings."

Hongjoong's jaw worked furiously, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "I'm her—"

"Her what?" Jongho challenged, rising to his full, intimidating height. "Her fiancé? A title forced on both of you by circumstances and family politics? You heard her tonight—she doesn't want this any more than we do. So don't stand there acting like you have some special claim when we all lost her seven years ago."

The words hit like physical blows, each one landing with devastating accuracy. Hongjoong's face cycled through emotions—rage, pain, frustration, and underneath it all, a grief so profound it was almost unbearable to witness.

Across the table, Wooyoung had begun to cry—silent tears streaming down his face as he stared at his untouched plate. His shoulders shook with the effort of containing sobs that wanted to tear free from his chest.

"She hates us," he whispered, his usual bright energy completely extinguished. "Did you see her face when I was talking? She looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I was nothing." His voice broke completely. "I used to make her laugh every day. Every single day, and now she can't even stand to hear my voice."

Mingi hadn’t moved since you’d left, his eyes fixed on the doorway as if he could still see you standing there. His face was a mask of quiet devastation, all the light drained from his features. Of all of them, he seemed the most deeply affected, as if your words had physically wounded him.

“Someone else,” he murmured, almost to himself. “She gave herself to someone else.”

The words sent another ripple of tension around the table. The implication that you had been intimate with someone else—someone not in this room—was like salt in an open wound for all of them.

“Who?” Hongjoong demanded, turning his fierce gaze to Seonghwa. “You’ve had people watching her. Who was it?”

Seonghwa’s expression remained carefully neutral. “Our surveillance was for her safety, not to monitor her personal life. If she was involved with someone, we weren’t aware of it.”

“Find out,” Hongjoong ordered.

“Why?” Yeosang spoke, his quiet voice cutting through the tension. “So you can what—track him down? Threaten him? Kill him?” He shook his head. “Her life is her own. It always has been.”

“She’s going to be my wife,” Hongjoong said through gritted teeth.

“On paper,” Yeosang countered. “This is a business arrangement, remember? Your words, not mine.”

The two men stared at each other across the table, years of friendship straining under the weight of the moment.

"She's gone," Mingi said quietly, his deep voice barely audible. "Even when she's here, she's gone. The girl we knew... we killed her that day."

San laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and broken. "And for what? To protect her? Look how well that worked out. She's alive, sure, but she's nothing like the person we fell in love with."

"She's stronger," Yeosang said quietly, speaking for the first time since you'd stormed out. His observant eyes had been taking in every detail of the confrontation, analyzing and processing. "Harder. She's built walls that would make ours look like paper."

"Strong enough to hate us," Yunho added miserably. "Strong enough to look us in the eye and tell us exactly what we took from her."

Seonghwa set down his wine with shaking hands. "The way she looked at me when I walked in yesterday... like I was a stranger. No, worse than a stranger. Like I was an enemy." He closed his eyes, pain etched in every line of his face. "She used to run to me when she was scared. Used to trust me with everything."

"We all lost that," Jongho said grimly. "The way she used to light up when she saw us, the way she'd curl up between us during movies, how she'd share every thought and feeling without hesitation." His massive frame seemed to shrink in on itself. "She was so open then. So trusting."

"And now she threatens to shoot anyone who touches her," San said flatly. "We did that. We created this version of her."

Hongjoong finally sank back into his chair, burying his face in his hands. When he looked up, his eyes were wild with frustration and something that looked dangerously close to desperation.

"We had no choice," he said, but the words sounded hollow even to his own ears. "The threats were real. They would have killed her."

"Would they?" Yeosang asked quietly. "Or did we just make the easy choice? Take the money, break her heart, and tell ourselves it was noble?"

The question hung in the air like an accusation. Around the table, seven men faced the weight of a decision made in desperation and fear, a choice that had saved your life but destroyed your soul.

Wooyoung's sobs finally broke free, raw and devastating in the silence. "I can't do this," he choked out. "I can't sit here and pretend this is fine. She's upstairs right now, alone and hurting, and I can't even comfort her because I'm one of the reasons she's in pain."

Mingi's chair scraped against the floor as he finally moved, standing abruptly. "I need air," he muttered, heading for the terrace doors. "I can't... I can't breathe in here."

"Running away again?" San called after him, his own pain making his voice cruel. "That's what we do best, isn't it? Run when things get difficult?"

Mingi stopped at the threshold, his broad shoulders rigid. "What would you have me do, San? Go upstairs and beg for forgiveness? Explain that we broke her heart to save her life? You think that'll make her hate us less?"

"At least it would be honest," San shot back. "At least it would be something other than sitting here feeling sorry for ourselves."

"Enough," Seonghwa said wearily. "Fighting each other won't fix this."

"Nothing will fix this," Yunho said hollowly. "Don't you see? We can't go back. We can't undo what we did. And she's made it clear she doesn't want our explanations or our apologies."

Hongjoong's hands clenched into fists on the table. "So what? We just accept this? We marry and spend our lives as strangers? She lives in our house, bears our name, and hates us every second of every day?"

"Maybe that's what we deserve," Jongho said quietly. "Maybe that's the price we pay for the choice we made."

The words settled over them like a death knell. Seven years of guilt and regret crystallized into a single, awful truth—they had saved your life, but in doing so, they had lost any chance of sharing it.

Yeosang stood quietly, pushing in his chair with deliberate care. “You all keep talking about her like she’s a problem to be managed,” he observed. “She’s not. She’s Y/n. Our Y/n. And right now, she’s alone and hurting.”

“Where are you going?” Seonghwa asked as Yeosang moved toward the door.

“To do what none of you seem capable of,” Yeosang replied. “Listen to her.”

“Yeosang,” Hongjoong warned. “The agreement—”

“I won’t tell her anything she doesn’t need to know,” Yeosang assured him. “But someone needs to make sure she understands that whatever happens next, she’s not alone in this house.”

Without waiting for permission, he left the dining room, his steps purposeful as he headed toward the staircase.Before anyone could stop him, he was gone, his footsteps echoing up the stairs toward your room—toward a conversation that was seven years overdue and might already be too late.

Next>>

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[fleuresjay]

I love to love you: J.W

I'm working on getting a posting schedule now that i have so many groups i wanna write for... sigh not enough time in the days

->Starring: WooyoungxReader ->Genre: Fluff ->Cw: Typical yapping Wooyoung, fluffy fluff fluff, this man has my entire heart... they all do... I'm a whore

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist

Seonghwa | Hongjoong | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Mingi | Wooyoung | Jongho

“You know what I’ve never understood! How—” Wooyoung’s mouth was moving, his hands animated as he launched into another impromptu rant, this time about cereal mascots, or maybe it was weather apps, you weren’t entirely sure.

But your mind was somewhere else.

You blinked, watching the way his eyes lit up when he talked, the way his hands cut through the air with every word, and how he didn’t just speak, he performed. You weren’t really listening, and not because he was boring (he never was), but because you were so utterly overwhelmed by the love bubbling in your chest.

You didn’t know why you were feeling so sentimental today, but you couldn’t help it.

You love loving Jung Wooyoung.

No, he didn’t make it easy. He was a handful and a half, loud, dramatic, chaotic in the most endearing way. He made everything a competition, talked in his sleep, and danced at completely inappropriate times. He could be a little impatient, sometimes stubborn, and had a flair for being just a bit too honest.

But maybe that’s exactly why you loved it.

Because with Wooyoung, nothing was ever halfway. He loved with his whole heart. He felt things in all caps. He made life feel like a song stuck in your head, inconvenient at times, but you wouldn’t trade it for silence.

He’d surprise you with the smallest gestures: your favorite candy tucked into your bag, post-it notes on your mirror with dumb doodles and captions like “today’s outfit: 12/10 would date.” He’d shove socks onto your cold feet and whine, “Why are you always freezing? Are you a ghost?”

He’d talk your ear off one second, then fall asleep mid-sentence with his head in your lap the next. He’d show up to your workplace just to drop off coffee, but stay too long and make everyone laugh until your coworkers were all a little bit in love with him too.

Loving Wooyoung wasn’t always easy. But it was worth it. Because for all the fire and noise, he was also the softest soul you’d ever known.

Like the way he rubbed gentle circles on your back when he thought you were asleep. Or how he always saved the last bite of dessert for you—even if it was his favorite. Or how he said “I love you” like it was breathing, like the words were stitched into the rhythm of his heart.

You came back to the present just in time to see him pause, eyebrows raised.

“Wait! Are you even listening to me?” he asked, mock-offended, poking your cheek. “I was giving you my most passionate argument yet.”

You smiled, leaned in, and kissed him, right on the nose.

“I just love you,” you whispered.

He blinked. His smile faltered for just a second, like he’d been momentarily stunned. Then it came back, softer now. Slower. All the theatrics melted away, and it was just him.

“Yeah?” he murmured, voice low and full of something warm and steady. “Good because I love you too.”

He leaned forward and kissed you properly this time—no rush, no showmanship, just all the quiet ways he meant it. Then he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, that signature crooked grin returning.

“Okay, now that we’re emotionally bonded for life,” he said, already perking back up, “can I please finish explaining why Tony the Tiger is a corporate lie?”

And you just laughed, letting your heart settle in that messy, beautiful, sugar-sweet place he’d made inside it.

Because loving Jung Wooyoung?

Loving him back was the easiest part of all.

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[fleuresjay]

★ title - asking ateez if they'd still love you as a worm ⋆·˚ ༘ *

★ genre - fluff, crack ⋆·˚ ༘ *

★ character - maknae line ⋆·˚ ༘ *

★ warnings - cursing, san being freaked out in a funny way, mingi being cute and a bit of a dummy, mentions of drowning, wooyo is a menace, mentions of feet/feet pics, bomb threat from jongho, name calling, jongho is scary...i think thats it! ⋆·˚ ༘ *

★ a/n - i was rereading hyung ver and why am i lowk funny... ⋆·˚ ༘ *

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱

★ san. c ⋆·˚ ༘ *

★ mingi. s ⋆·˚ ༘ *

★ wooyoung. j ⋆·˚ ༘ *

★ jongho. c ⋆·˚ ༘ *

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱

★ ateez m.list ⋆·˚ ༘ *

[fleuresjay]

Ateez members falling asleep on top of their S/O

Hongjoong

Hongjoong isn’t someone who falls asleep easily, especially when his mind is full of ideas, lyrics, or unfinished projects. But last night, exhaustion finally caught up with him. He had been lying with his head on your chest, talking about music, upcoming schedules, and the little things that had been occupying his mind. Your fingers lazily ran through his hair, massaging his scalp and gently scratching at the nape of his neck. He sighed contentedly, eyelids growing heavy as the sensation lulled him into a rare moment of complete relaxation.

When he stirs awake in the morning, his first instinct is to panic he never falls asleep like this. His eyes flutter open, still drowsy, and he finds himself curled up against you, cheek pressed to your chest, your warmth surrounding him. His arms are lazily wrapped around your waist, fingers twitching slightly as he adjusts to the reality of his position.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, just listening to your steady heartbeat beneath his ear. A soft smile tugs at his lips as he closes his eyes again, deciding that, just this once, he doesn’t need to rush out of bed.

Seonghwa

Seonghwa had been mumbling sleepily about his day, his voice growing softer with each word as your fingers combed through his silky hair. He sighed every now and then, melting into your touch while you continued to scratch at his scalp, his long eyelashes fluttering against your skin. Before you knew it, his words had faded into quiet breathing, his body fully relaxed as he slipped into slumber.

Now, in the early morning light, Seonghwa stirs slightly, nuzzling closer to your chest as he wakes. He’s warm, his body curled into yours like he belongs there because he does. He peeks up at you sleepily, blinking the sleep from his eyes before a slow, lazy smile spreads across his lips.

“Did I fall asleep on you?” he asks, his voice thick with drowsiness.

You hum in response, your fingers resuming their gentle motions through his hair. He closes his eyes again, sighing happily.

“Wake me up in ten more minutes,” he murmurs, though he knows you won’t. And neither of you mind.

Yunho

Yunho had been in the middle of telling you a funny story, his deep laughter vibrating against your chest as your fingers played with his soft hair. He had started to slow down mid-sentence, his voice trailing off as your nails traced gentle circles against his scalp.

Now, as he wakes up, he’s a little confused. He blinks a few times, his cheek still pressed to your chest, arms loosely draped around you. The realization dawns on him, and a grin stretches across his face as he tilts his head up to look at you.

“Did I seriously knock out on you?” he asks, his voice still raspy from sleep.

You nod, suppressing a laugh as he groans dramatically. “You put me under some kind of spell,” he teases, stretching slightly but making no effort to move away from you. Instead, he tightens his hold on your waist, burying his face against you again.

“Mmm, nope. I think I like it here too much,” he murmurs, clearly content to stay in your arms a little while longer.

Yeosang

Yeosang isn’t someone who lets his guard down easily, but something about your touch had completely unraveled him last night. The way your fingers gently scratched through his hair, soothing every ounce of tension in his body, had made his eyelids impossibly heavy. He had fought to keep them open, trying to keep the conversation going, but eventually, he had succumbed to the comfort.

Now, in the soft morning light, Yeosang stirs slightly, but instead of immediately pulling away, he stays still, taking in the warmth of your body beneath him. His arms are wrapped loosely around you, his body relaxed in a way that’s rare for him.

When he finally shifts to look up at you, his lips part slightly as if he’s about to speak, but then he stops. Instead, a small, content smile forms on his lips, and he simply nestles closer, letting his eyes drift shut again.

“Let’s stay like this a little longer,” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep. And you’re more than happy to oblige.

San

San had been whispering sweet nothings to you the night before, his voice laced with affection as your hands worked their magic through his soft locks. He had sighed happily, his body molding into yours as you gently massaged his scalp, his words growing slower and softer until they faded altogether.

Now, as he wakes up, he doesn’t move immediately. Instead, he shifts just enough to wrap himself around you more, pressing his cheek against your chest and inhaling deeply. His arms are snug around your waist, fingers lazily tracing patterns against your skin.

When he finally peeks up at you, his expression is one of pure bliss. “Good morning,” he murmurs, voice husky. He grins, pressing a lazy kiss to your collarbone before burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Can we stay like this forever?” he mumbles, his voice laced with sleep. And in that moment, it certainly feels like forever wouldn’t be long enough.

Mingi

Mingi had been rambling about something random before he fell asleep, his voice getting softer and softer as your hands worked through his hair. He had let out little hums of approval, shifting closer to you with each stroke of your fingers, until he finally dozed off completely.

When he wakes up, his first instinct is confusion. His cheek is pressed against something warm and steady, and his body feels completely at ease. It takes a moment before he realizes he’s lying on top of you, his arms wrapped securely around you.

Instead of pulling away, he lets out a content sigh, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “This is dangerous,” he mumbles against your skin. “Now I’m never gonna want to get up.”

You laugh softly, resuming your gentle strokes through his hair, and he practically melts all over again.

Wooyoung

Wooyoung had been mumbling about his day, his words slurring together as your fingers danced through his dark locks. He had fought sleep at first, but eventually, the warmth of your touch had won him over.

Now, as he wakes up, he groans softly, burying his face further into your chest before even opening his eyes. “I know I fell asleep on you,” he mutters, his voice muffled.

You hum in confirmation, and he groans dramatically. “Ugh, this is so embarrassing.” But despite his words, he doesn’t move away. In fact, he shifts even closer, nuzzling into you.

“You have to wake me up like this every day now,” he demands playfully. And honestly, you don’t mind one bit.

Jongho

Jongho had been talking in his soft voice, his words fading into quiet hums as your fingers played through his hair. He had tried to resist sleep, but the way you gently scratched at his scalp had made it impossible to fight.

Now, as he wakes up, he stays still for a moment, listening to your heartbeat beneath his ear. He sighs, adjusting his position slightly before tilting his head up to look at you.

“You’re too good at that,” he murmurs sleepily. “I never fall asleep like that.”

You smile, running your fingers through his hair again, and he lets out another content sigh.

“Guess I’m staying here a little longer,” he says, voice still drowsy. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.