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importantpuppystarfish · 2 months ago

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Unexpectedly ate with the most delicious Kim Minji..

Male reader (grandfather) x Minji (granddaughter)

!Male reader = grandfather

Kinks: Taboo & Incest (w/grandpa), huge gap gap, pussy eating, pissing, asshole licking, armpits licking, lots of kissings and romance & anal..

Minji, an 18-year-old K-pop idol, is the darling of millions, her princess-like beauty making her a global obsession. her agency’s managers have crafted a stage persona that’s pure sex: her choreography is a parade of hip thrusts, body rolls, and skimpy outfits that leave little to the imagination. On stage, Minji’s a brat, all smirks and teasing glances, her dances dripping with slutty energy—though she’s only following orders by made the dance moves. Offstage, she sometimes flirting shamelessly with fans, in live streams she flirts and says sexual stuff, also and pushing boundaries to feel alive amidst her controlled idol life.

Her grandfather, a 62-year-old is the family’s rock.. He's still strong and healthy. He lives in a sprawling countryside estate, a world away from Minji’s neon-lit Seoul. He’s always adored Minji, his only granddaughter. He's not like an old ass who can't walk. He's still young and strong despite his age.. Very fit enough to still work like in his prime.

The grandfather sees Minji as his legacy, the dazzling star who carries his bloodline’s beauty.. But her bratty attitude and slutty stage performances—clips he’s seen online, her thong peeking out during a twerk—alarm him. He fears she’s on a path to becoming a “public slut,” her innocence corrupted by fame’s machine. Yet, this fear twists into obsession: her provocative dances awaken his long-dormant desires, her body is a forbidden fruit he wants to both save and devour. He’s torn between guiding her back to “purity” and indulging the filthy urge to claim her himself.

Currently Minji is at her home. Her parents has planned to go to village for work, so since minji cant be alone, her parents called her grandpa for protection and support since Minji can't be lonely alone in a dark house.

Minji practices her daily dance practice in her own living room.

Her body’s is slick with sweat from an impromptu dance practice, she’s been perfecting that slutty choreography where she shakes her ass and all hip rolls, her tiny outfit clinging to her curves. She’s wearing a white crop top that hugs her perky tits, the hem barely covering her underboob, and high-waisted jeans that sit low enough to flash the band of her Calvin Klein thong. Her toned midriff glistens, her long black hair sticking to her neck, and she smells like a mix of sweet perfume and raw sexy sweat.

A sharp knock arrives to the door ... “Coming!” she says, her voice kinda loud but sweet, as she hops up, her bare feet slapping the hardwood floor. She swings the door open, and there he is—her grandfather, standing tall in a crisp button-up and slacks, his silver hair catching the hallway light, his sharp eyes locking onto her like a hawk. It’s been months since they last saw each other, and the sight of him sends a flutter through her chest. “Grandpa!” she squeals, genuine joy in her tone, though her body language screams something dirtier as she throws herself into his arms.

The hug is electric, a collision of familial love and forbidden heat. During the hug, Minji presses herself against him, her sweat-slicked skin sticking to his shirt, her tits squishing against his broad chest. Her arms wrap around his neck, these aren't intention, it's just because of actual love and they have done these hugs before.

He sets his bag down, his eyes glued to her as Minji’s outfit is exposing a lot of skin. Its a barely-there outfit—a white crop top clinging to her sweat-slicked chest, high-waisted jeans flashing her Calvin Klein thong—makes his throat tighten as we've seen. He shakes his head, trying to focus. She’s his granddaughter, for fuck’s sake. But the way she moves, so carefree and bratty, stirs something dark in him—a hunger he hasn’t felt in years.

Minji steps back, brushing her hair behind her ear, oblivious to the storm in his head. “It’s been forever, Grandpa,” she says, her voice light, a genuine smile on her lips. “How was the drive? You look tired.” She gestures toward the living room, her bare feet padding across the hardwood as she leads him to the couch. She’s not trying to seduce him—her mind’s on their reunion, her affection for him pure—but her natural energy, that bratty, confident sway in her hips, makes it hard for him to look away.

“Long drive,” he grunts, settling onto the couch, his eyes flicking to her exposed midriff before he forces them to her face. “You’ve been keeping busy, I bet. All that dancing and… stuff.” His tone carries a hint of disapproval, but he keeps it casual, not wanting to start a lecture yet. He leans back, trying to relax, but his mind keeps replaying her latest performance video where her ass is bouncing on stage, her smirk teasing the crowd.

Minji sits down beside him, tucking her legs under her, her crop top riding up just enough to show more skin. “Yeah, it’s been crazy,” she sighs, stretching her arms above her head, her abs flexing. “The tour’s killing me, but I’m on a break now, thank God. Oh—have you eaten? I was gonna make some ramen. I’m starving!”

She hops up without waiting for an answer as she heads to the kitchen, leaving him with a view of her backside that makes his mouth go dry.

“Go ahead,” he calls after her, his voice gruff. He watches her disappear into the kitchen, then leans forward, rubbing his face. He shouldn’t be thinking about her like this.. But her sweaty, perfect body, the way her ass looked in those jeans.

But as he hears her cooking noises, the clatter of pots and pans filling the apartment, he can’t resist. He stands quietly, moving to the kitchen doorway, his eyes narrowing as he peeks at her. Minji’s bent over the counter, reaching for a spice jar, her crop top lifting to expose the curve of her lower back, her thong peeking out above her jeans.

Her tirs and ass are a fucking masterpiece, round and firm, and he feels a primal hunger stir—God, he wants to bury his face in her asshole and eat off her tits.. Like taste her, make her squirm. His cock twitches, shame and lust warring in his chest as he grips the doorframe, forcing himself to stay still.

Minji feels a prickle on the back of her neck, like someone’s watching, but she brushes it off. Probably nothing, she thinks, focusing on the boiling water. She’s too caught up in her task to notice her grandfather’s hungry stare, his eyes tracing every inch of her exposed skin. She tosses the noodles into the pot, her movements casual and sensual. She’s not thinking about him that way, not consciously, but there’s a tension in her body she can’t quite place, a heat that’s been building since their hug.

A few minutes later, she carries two steaming bowls of ramen to the dining table, setting them down with a proud grin. “Ta-da! Not bad, right?” she says, sitting across from him, her crop top shifting to reveal the underside of her breasts for a split second before she adjusts it. She’s oblivious to the effect she’s having, her focus on the food, but her grandfather’s eyes catch every detail, his appetite for her growing stronger than his hunger for the meal.

They eat in comfortable silence for a moment, the clink of chopsticks filling the space.. “Minji, are you tired?".. "Ah yes Grandpa, sometimes due to excessive loads of work, but its normal for me now". She replies.

" I saw your last performance online,” he starts, setting his chopsticks down. “That dancing… it’s too much. All that shaking and showing off—it’s not right. You’re better than that.” His words are measured.

Minji sighs, “I don’t really have a choice, Grandpa,” she says, her voice softer now, less bratty. “The agency decide everything—my outfits, my moves. They want me to be… sexy, I guess. It’s not like I love it, but it’s my job.” She shrugs, taking a bite, her lips glossy with broth. She doesn’t notice the way his gaze flicks to her mouth, his mind imagining those lips elsewhere.

He leans back, his eyes narrowing slightly, a new curiosity sparking. “Doesn’t it bother you, though?” he asks, his voice lower, more probing. “All those people watching you, sexualizing you… Have you ever felt that way yourself? You know… been with someone?” He keeps his tone casual, but there’s a weight to the question..he waits for her answer.

Minji pauses, her cheeks flushing slightly, she smiles and laughs a little. “No, actually,” she admits, looking down at her bowl. “I’m… I’ve never done anything. I’m a virgin.” She glances up at him, her eyes wide, a mix of embarrassment and humour in her expression. “I mean, I’ve thought about it, you know? I kinda want to try… see what it’s like. But I haven’t.” Her voice is honest, a little shy, the bratty edge softened by her vulnerability.

He blinks, genuinely surprised,. “Wait, really?” he says, his tone lighter now, almost disbelieving. “I thought for sure you’d have… well, with the way you move on stage, I figured you’d already done it!” He shakes his head, a mix of relief and pride washing over him. His little Minji, still innocent despite her slutty persona—it makes him want to protect her even more, though the thought of her “trying” sex sends a jolt straight to his groin.

Minji bursts out laughing, the sound bright and genuine.

“Grandpa, come on!” she says, grinning at him. “Just ‘cause I dance like that doesn’t mean I’m out there doing it."

"Besides, you’ve already done it, right? I mean, that’s why I’m even here!” She gestures to herself, her laugh turning playful, her eyes sparkling with humor.

She’s teasing him now, but not in a sexual way—just her natural, bratty charm shining through.

He laughs too, a deep, warm sound, his chest swelling with pride at her maturity. “You’ve got a point there,” he says, his smile softening as he looks at her. “Smart girl. You’ve grown up so much.”. He shifts in his seat, leaning closer, his voice dropping slightly. “You haven't even tounched any guys of your age??” His tone is gentle..

Minji shakes her head, her laughter fading into a shy smile. “Nope, not even that,, leave kissing!” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know, I know—I’m all innocent, but then I go out there and dance like a total brat. It’s weird, right?” She giggles, her cheeks pink, her crop top shifting again as she leans forward, giving him another glimpse of her midriff. “I do wonder what it feels like, though. Kissing, I mean.”

"You’re too pure for your own good,” he murmurs. “Dancing like that in public, but never even kissed… my little Minji.” His hand moves slowly, brushing against hers on the table..Minji senses something’s about to happen, a nervous excitement fluttering in her chest, but she doesn’t pull away.

Their faces are inches apart now..

Minji bites her lip, her voice barely a whisper as she breaks the silence. “Btw, Grandpa… I think its time to try already,” she says, her tone a mix of frustration and longing.

“My group members, Hanni, Daniellie, Haerin—they’ve all done it already, with their boyfriends. You know, kissing, and… more. I can’t handle being the only one left out.” - Minji says.

Her cheeks flush, her vulnerability raw, but there’s a spark of determination in her eyes. She’s tired of being the innocent one, her bratty, curious side itching to catch up, even if it’s in the most forbidden way possible. Her grandpa smiles but before he can respond, she leans forward, her breath hitching, and presses her lips to his, initiating the kiss with a boldness that catches him off guard.

As they kiss, the grandfather’s mouth, at 62, isn’t fresh; his breath carries the faint tang of whiskey from the drive, mixed with the earthy, slightly stale taste of age, his lips rough and chapped from years of hard living. His tongue, when it slips into her mouth, is thick, a little clumsy, the texture rougher than a younger man’s, with a hint of bitterness that comes with his years. But to Minji, it’s her first kiss, and the sheer wrongness of it—kissing her own grandfather—makes it thrilling, the roughness of his mouth a strange contrast to her softness.

For the grandfather, Minji’s mouth is a fucking revelation and heaven!!! A total paradise he didn’t know existed. Her lips are plush, yummy, pinkish, and so goddamn soft, like biting into the ripest fruit. Her breath smells sweet, a mix of mint gum and the faintest hint of her sweat, that sexy, musky scent that’s been driving him wild all evening. When her tongue shyly meets his, it’s a burst of flavor—her saliva is young, fresh, and fucking delicious, a watery sweetness that makes his head spin. It’s better than anything he’s ever tasted, better than the finest wine, better than the women of his youth. Her mouth is so yummy, so alive, the warmth of it making him groan into the kiss, his cock hardening painfully in his slacks as he drinks her in.

Their kiss deepens, turning wet and sloppy, a mouthful of watery freshness as their tongues tangle, exchanging saliva in a messy, primal dance. Minji’s tongue is tentative at first, exploring his roughness, but she soon matches his rhythm, her youthful energy pouring into the kiss. The grandfather’s hands slide to her neck, pulling her closer, his fingers tangling in her sweaty hair as he devours her, sucking on her tongue like it’s candy, savoring every drop of her delicious spit. He can’t get enough, his arousal skyrocketing as he feels her soft moans vibrate against his lips, her scent—sweet, sweaty, and so fucking young filling his senses. His erection strains against his trousers.

Minji’s mind is a whirlwind, the kiss overwhelming her senses. She didn’t expect it to be so intense, so wet, his aged mouth is strange but thrilling contrast to her untouched lips. She can taste the whiskey on him, the roughness of his tongue making her shiver, but it’s the heat of the moment, the forbidden rush of kissing her grandfather, that makes her lean in harder, her hands gripping his shirt.

Minji pulls back from the kiss, her lips swollen and glossy, her chest heaving as she catches her breath. The grandfather’s eyes are dark, almost feral, his erection throbbing painfully in his slacks. Her taste lingers on his tongue—sweet, fresh, and so fucking delicious, like a drug he can’t get enough of.

Their dinner sits forgotten on the table, the ramen growing cold, but his hunger has shifted entirely to her. He’s starving, not for food, but for Minji—her body, her skin, her everything. The taboo of their blood tie, the fact that she’s his granddaughter, only makes the craving worse.

“Minji,” he rasps, his voice low and rough, his hands trembling as he grip her shoulders. “You’re… fuck, you’re too much.” He doesn’t give her time to respond, his hunger taking over as he pulls her closer, his lips crashing against her neck. Her skin is warm, slick with sweat from her earlier dance practice and cooking in hear, and he groans at the taste—salty, sweet, and so goddamn young.. Minji gasps, her hands clutching his shirt, her body tensing at the unfamiliar sensation, her first taste of being touched like this.

He pulls back just enough to look at her, his eyes raking over her exposed midriff, the white crop top barely covering her perky tits. “Been wanting to do this since you opened the door,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust, a dark chuckle escaping him. His hands slide under her top, pushing it up to reveal her breasts—small, perfect, with pink nipples already hardening in the cool air. “Fuck, look at these,” he growls, his mouth watering as he cups them, his rough thumbs brushing over her nipples, making her shiver. He’s hungry, so fucking hungry, and her body is a feast laid out just for him.

Minji’s breath hitches, her eyes wide, a mix of shock and curiosity swirling in her chest. She’s never been touched like this, never felt a man’s hands on her bare skin, and the fact that it’s her grandfather makes it all the more trustable. “Grandpa…” she whispers, her voice trembling, not with fear but with the sheer intensity of the moment. She doesn’t pull away, her body responding despite her racing mind.

He doesn’t hesitate, his hunger too strong to resist. He leans down, his lips wrapping around one of her nipples, sucking hard, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. Her taste explodes in his mouth—fresh, faintly sweet, her skin so soft it’s like sucking on silk. He groans against her, the sound muffled, his cock throbbing harder as he feasts on her. His other hand kneads her other breast, his fingers rough against her smoothness, pinching her nipple just enough to make her squeak. He pulls back for a moment, her nipple glistening with his spit, and he licks his lips, savoring her flavor. “So fucking delicious,” he mutters, his voice hoarse, before diving back in, sucking harder, his teeth grazing her lightly, leaving faint red marks on her pale skin.

Minji’s head tips back, a soft moan escaping her lips, her hands gripping his shoulders for support. She can feel his age in the way he moves, his lips chapped, his breath hot and slightly stale.

The grandfather’s hunger doesn’t stop at her breasts. He pulls back, his lips shiny with spit, and trails his mouth down her exposed stomach, licking and sucking at her sweaty skin. Her abs flex under his tongue, the salty tang of her sweat mixing with the natural sweetness of her body, driving him wild.

Next, His gaze shifts to her arms, raised slightly as she grips the table for support, and he notices the faint sheen of sweat under her armpit, exposed by her sleeveless crop top. It’s juicy, glistening, the skin there a little darker from her dance practice, the hair shaved but a faint stubble adding to the raw, primal allure. “Fuck, look at that,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust, a dark grin spreading across his face.

He grabs her wrist, lifting her arm higher, exposing her armpit fully, the scent hitting him immediately—musky, sweaty, and so fucking nasty. It’s disgusting in the most delicious way, the kind of nasty that makes his mouth water, his cock leaking pre-cum into his slacks.

“Grandpa, what are you—” Minji starts, her voice shaky, but her words cut off as he dives in, his aged lips pressing against her armpit, his tongue flattening against the sweaty skin. He licks hard, dragging his rough tongue across the juicy, watery surface, drinking in her sweat like it’s the finest liquor. The taste is filthy—salty, tangy, with a bitter edge from her exertion, the kind of dirty that should repulse him but instead drives him wild. “So fucking nasty,” he growls against her skin, his voice muffled, his lips sucking at the tender flesh, pulling more of her sweaty juices into his mouth.

“Your armpits, Minji… disgusting little pits, but fuck, they’re delicious. My granddaughter’s sweaty, juicy mess—better than anything.” His praise is crude and depraved

“Oh… Grandpa…” she moans, her voice trembling with a mix of love and arousal, her head tipping back as she surrenders to the feeling. It’s nasty, so fucking nasty that her armpits are getting licked, but she likes it, the taboo thrill of her grandfather worshipping such a dirty part of her making her pussy throb.

Her moans grow louder, soft and breathy, her love for him growing as she grips his hair, pulling him closer without even realizing it. “Feels… so good,” she whimpers

He pulls back for a moment, his lips shiny with her armpit juicy sweats which he just ate,. “You like that, huh?” he chuckles darkly, his eyes gleaming with lust. “My little Minji, moaning for her grandpa’s tongue in her filthy pits.” He doesn’t wait for her response, diving back in, sucking harder, his tongue lapping at every drop of her sweaty juices, the watery, tangy taste making him groan. His hands grip her hips, keeping her steady as he feasts, his cock so hard it hurts, the taboo of it—drinking from his granddaughter’s armpit juices—pushing him to new heights of depravity.

After a few more greedy licks, he pulls back, his breath hot and ragged. He can’t resist her lips again, the memory of their first kiss still burning in his mind. He grabs her face, pulling her into another kiss, his lips crashing against hers again with a wet, desperate edge. Their tongues tangle immediately, the kiss is sloppy again and a mouthful of watery freshness as they exchange saliva once more. Her mouth is still fucking delicious—sweet, youthful, her saliva is like a burst of candy.

Minji moans into the kiss,“Grandpa… love you,” she murmurs against his lips, her voice a soft, breathy moan, her innocence and affection bleeding into the nasty act. She’s lost in the kiss, her tongue moving with his, her body pressing closer, her sweaty scent filling the air.

He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips brushing hers, his voice a low growl. “Love you too, princess,” he says, his tone thick with lust and affection... “My dirty little girl… those nasty pits, that yummy fucking mouth… you’re a goddamn feast.” His words are crude, his praise a mix of love and depravity. He dives back into the kiss, his tongue dominating hers, his cock aching as he loses himself in her, the grandfather devouring his granddaughter in the most forbidden way.

The grandfather pulls back from their sloppy, tongue-heavy kiss, his lips glistening with Minji’s sweet saliva, his breath ragged as he stares at her. Her sweaty, half-naked body—crop top pushed up, jeans low on her hips, her armpits still wet from his tongue—drives him to the edge of sanity.

“Minji,” he growls, his voice low and guttural, his hands sliding to her jeans, fingers fumbling with the button. “I need more of you… all of you.” His words are thick with lust, his aged eyes dark with a primal need as he yanks her jeans down, pulling them off her legs in one rough motion. Now Minji is just in her underwear thong.

His eyes lock onto the Calvin Klein underwear thong he pulled.

He brings the expensive CalvinKlein underwear to his nose, inhaling deeply, the scent of her pussy hitting him like a drug. It’s musky, tangy, and so fucking dirty—"Goddamn, Minji,” he growls, his voice thick with desire, his eyes half-lidded as he takes another deep sniff. “Your dirty little panties… smell so fucking good. My granddaughter’s pussy, so ripe and filthy.” . He presses the thong to his face, rubbing it against his lips, tasting the faint remnants of her juices, his groans muffled as he loses himself in her scent.

Now, her pussy throbs under his gaze.

It’s fucking perfect—Minji's pussy is pink, glistening, untouched. Her pussy lips are slick with her juices, her clit peeking out, begging for attention, and he can’t hold back. “So fucking pretty,” he growls, his aged lips curling into a dark smirk, his hands spreading her thighs wider. He dives in, his rough tongue flattening against her pussy, licking a long, slow stripe from her entrance to her clit, tasting her for the first time.

The flavor explodes on his tongue, its sweet and tangy, her juices fresh and so fucking youthful, better than anything he’s ever tasted. It’s like drinking nectar..His aged mouth, chapped and rough, moves greedily, sucking on her pussy, his tongue dipping into her entrance to lap up every drop of her wetness. “Fuck, Minji,” he mutters against her, his voice muffled, his lips shiny with her juices. “Your pussy… so goddamn delicious. My granddaughter’s tight little cunt… never tasted anything so good.”

Minji’s head tips back, a loud moan escaping her lips as the sensation hits her like a tidal wave. “Oh… Grandpa!” she gasps, her voice a mix of shock and pleasure, her hands flying to his hair, gripping the silver strands as her body trembles. She’s never felt anything like this—his rough tongue, the wet suction, the way he’s devouring her like she’s a meal.. “Feels… so… good,” she whimpers.

He growls into her, his hands gripping her thighs hard enough to leave marks, his mouth working her pussy with a hunger as he sucks on her clit, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud, making her hips buck against his face. Her juices coat his lips, his chin, dripping down as he drinks her in, the wet, slurping sounds filling the room, a nasty soundtrack to their taboo act.

Minji’s moans grow louder, her body shaking as the pleasure builds, her pussy clenching around nothing as his tongue works her over. “Grandpa… I… I can’t….. I love you..” she gasps, her voice trembling, her love for him mixing..

As he's eating her pussy like a beast, Minji feels something is coming out of her pussy.

She bites her lip, her voice shaky as she speaks. “Grandpa… I… I need to-- pee…” Before she can finish, the urge overtakes her, and she lets go, a warm stream of piss gushing from her pussy, splashing onto his mouth & face. The golden liquid soaks his face, shirt, dripping down his torso.

Minji’s eyes widen in shock, but as she sees the way he reacts—his groan of pleasure, his hands gripping her thighs tighter—she feels a rush of arousal, the taboo of pissing on her grandfather making her heart race. “I love you, Grandpa,” she moans, her voice soft and breathy, her love for him pouring out in the midst of the nasty act. “I really mean it... ” She’s overwhelmed, her body trembling, but she loves the intimacy of it, the way he’s accepting every part of her, even something so dirty.

The grandfather’s eyes light up, his arousal hitting a new peak as her piss soaks him, the warmth of it seeping into his skin. “Fuck, yes,” he growls, his voice a mix of lust and adoration, his hands sliding up her thighs to her hips, pulling her closer. “My dirty little girl… pissing on your grandpa like a fucking slut. I love it.”

Minji’s moans turn softer, her body relaxing as the last of her piss drips out and her grandpa swallows it, her love for him grows more higher with her senses. She reaches for him, her hands trembling, and pulls him up, her need for closeness taking over. “Grandpa… hold me,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion, her eyes shining with love and vulnerability. He stands, the scent of her piss and arousal clinging to him, and pulls her into a tight hug, their bodies pressed together in a messy, loving embrace.

He wraps his arms around her, his hands sliding to her bare back, gripping her tightly as he buries his face in her hair. “I love you too, princess,” he murmurs, his voice rough but tender, his cock still hard against her stomach as they hug. Minji clings to him, her arms around his neck, her face pressed to his shoulder, her breaths shaky but full of love.

They stay like that for a long moment, hugging tightly, their bodies pressed together, the scent of her piss and sweat mingling in the air. The grandfather’s hands move slowly, caressing her bare skin, his love for her evident in every touch, while Minji melts into him.

They kiss for what feels like forever, their lips moving in a desperate, loving rhythm, exchanging watery saliva in a messy tongue dance. Minji pulls back slightly, her breath shaky, her cheeks flushed as she looks into his eyes. “Grandpa… I’ve never felt like this before,” she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion, her love for him raw and unfiltered. “I didn’t know it could be… like this. So… intense.” She bites her lip, her body still buzzing from their earlier acts.

He chuckles softly, “You’re just starting to feel it, princess,” he says, "There’s so much more… so much I wanna show you.” He pauses, his eyes darkening with desire as he glances down at her exposed pussy, still glistening from his tongue. “You liked me tasting you, didn’t you? My little Minji… letting her grandpa eat her sweet little cunt.”.

Minji blushes, a shy smile tugging at her lips, her hands still resting on his chest. “Yeah… I did,” she admits, her voice soft, “It felt so good… I didn’t know it could feel like that.” She pauses, her curiosity taking over, her bratty side peeking through. “Can… can we do more? I wanna feel it again.” Her words are innocent but bold, her love for him driving her to explore further.

“Oh, we’re gonna do more,” he growls, his voice thick with lust, his hunger for her reigniting. “I want you on my face, Minji. Wanna taste you deeper… let you ride your grandpa’s tongue.”..he guides her off the table, lying back on the floor, the hardwood cool against his back as he positions himself beneath her.

Minji hesitates for a moment, her heart racing, but the look in his eyes—lustful, loving, commanding—makes her move. She straddles his face, her knees on either side of his head, her pussy hovering inches above his mouth. Her scent hits him immediately.. “Fuck, yes,” he groans, his hands gripping her thighs, pulling her down until her pussy presses against his lips...

Now the facesitting starts, He dives in, his rough tongue lapping at her clit, sucking on her lips, his mouth devouring her with a hunger that borders on feral.

Minji gasps, her hands gripping his hair, her hips moving on their own as she grinds against his face. “Grandpa… oh my God…” she moans, her voice a mix of love and pleasure, her body trembling as the sensation overwhelms her.

His tongue fucks into her pussy hole, lapping up every drop of her wetness, his nose pressed against her clit, breathing in her scent as he eats her out. She’s riding his face now, her movements clumsy but eager, her pussy soaking his mouth, the wet, slurping sounds filling the room. The taboo of it—sitting on her grandfather’s face, letting him devour her—makes her moan louder, her love for him pouring out in every sound.

The grandfather’s cock throbs harder, his face buried in her pussy, his hands squeezing her ass as he pulls her closer, his tongue relentless. But then, he feels her body tense, a familiar pressure building, and he knows what’s coming. Minji's about to piss again, she can't control her body..

“Do it, Minji,” he growls against her, his voice muffled, his lips still sucking on her clit. “Piss for me again… let your grandpa drink you.” His words are depraved, and Minji lets it go, she screams, a warm stream of piss gushing from her pussy, splashing into his mouth.

He opens his mouth wide, swallowing her piss greedily, the sharp, pungent taste mixing with her juices as he drinks her down. It’s nasty, so fucking nasty, but he loves it, the taboo of swallowing his granddaughter’s piss making his cock ache, pre-cum soaking his slacks. “Fuck, yes,” he groans, his voice garbled as he gulps, her piss dripping down his chin, soaking his chest. “So fucking good… my dirty little girl.” He keeps licking, his tongue lapping at her pussy as she pisses, the combination of her juices and piss a filthy cocktail that drives him wild.

Minji moans louder, her body trembling as she pisses into his mouth, the sensation of him drinking her sending a new wave of arousal through her. “I love you, Grandpa,” she gasps, her voice thick with emotion, her hips still grinding against his face. “I love you so much… feels so good…”

He pulls her off his face, his lips and chin dripping with her piss and juices, his breath ragged as he looks up at her, his eyes burning with love and lust. “I love you too, princess,” he rasps, his voice hoarse, his hands pulling her down into another tight hug. They collapse together on the floor, their bodies pressed close.

By now, he has tasted her pussy, her armpits, her piss, but his hunger for her—his own granddaughter—knows no bounds, and there’s one place he hasn’t claimed yet, the most forbidden part of her body.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with lust. “Minji,” he rasps, his voice low and gravelly, his hands sliding to her hips, gripping her tightly.

Minji’s breath hitches, her body trembling as she feels the cool air on her naked skin, her position making her feel vulnerable in a way she hasn’t before. “Grandpa… where are you going…” she starts, her voice shaky, a mix of nervousness and curiosity in her tone. She glances back at him, her long black hair falling over her shoulder, her eyes wide with innocence, but she doesn’t pull away, her trust in him and the forbidden thrill of their acts keeping her in place.

He doesn’t answer with words. He spreads her ass cheeks with his rough hands, exposing her asshole fully, the tight, pink ring a stark contrast to the glistening wetness of her pussy just below. The scent hits him immediately, which is musky, earthy, a faint trace of her sweat and piss mixing with the raw, primal smell of her ass, the kind of nasty that makes his cock throb harder in his slacks. “Fuck, look at that,” he growls, his voice thick with lust, his thumbs rubbing circles on her cheeks as he takes in the sight. “My granddaughter’s perfect little asshole… its soo tight af and so fucking dirty, just for me.”

He starts eating and putting his tongue whole full inside Minji's shithole now..

The taste is filthy—bitter, earthy, with a tang of her sweat, the kind of nasty that should repulse him but instead drives him wild. He groans against her, the sound vibrating against her sensitive skin, his tongue lapping at her asshole with a hunger that borders on feral. “So fucking good,” he mutters, his voice muffled, his lips sucking on the tight shithole, pulling at the tender flesh as he feasts.

Minji gasps, her body tensing at the unfamiliar sensation, her hands gripping the floor as a soft moan escapes her lips. “Grandpa… oh my… that feels…soo good” she whimpers, her voice trembling with a mix of shock and pleasure, lt feels good in a way she didn’t expect—his rough tongue, the wet suction, the way he’s devouring her most private place. “Feels… so weird… but good,” she moans, her voice soft and breathy, her love for him mixing with the arousal coursing through her. she can’t help but push her ass back against his face, her body responding despite her racing mind.

He growls into her, his hands spreading her cheeks wider, his mouth fully eating her asshole with relentless hunger. His tongue fucks into her tight hole, pushing past the resistance, the bitter taste of her ass mixing with the faint sweetness of her sweat, driving him wild. He sucks harder, his lips pulling at her hole, his nose pressed against near the shithole areas, breathing in her scent as he feasts. “Fuck, Minji,” he groans, his voice garbled, his face buried in her ass. “Your asshole… so goddamn filthy, so fucking delicious. My little granddaughter… letting me eat her dirty little hole.” His words are crude, his praise dripping with depravity, but there’s a twisted affection in his tone, his love for her making the act feel intimate in the most perverse way.

Minji’s moans grow louder, her body trembling as the pleasure builds, her asshole clenching around his tongue, the sensation pushing her to the edge. “Grandpa… I… I love you,” she gasps, her voice thick with emotion, her love for him pouring out in the midst of the nasty act. She’s overwhelmed, the taboo of her own grandfather eating her ass—his tongue in her most private place—minji body shakes.

The grandfather’s face is still buried between Minji’s ass cheeks, his aged tongue lapping at her tight shithole. Her soft moans fill the room, her body trembling on her hands and knees....

He pulls back for a moment, his lips shiny with her juices, his breath hot and ragged as he looks at her perfect ass, the tight circle of her asshole glistening from his tongue.

“Minji, my sweet girl,” he rasps, his voice low and gravelly, but there’s a tenderness in his tone, a love that cuts through the depravity. “You’re so fucking beautiful… every part of you. Even this dirty little hole… its my life, you know that?.” He leans in again, his rough tongue swirling around her asshole, sucking on the tender flesh with a hunger that’s both primal and adoring, his groans vibrating against her skin.

Minji’s moans turn softer but loud, her body trembling as the sensation overwhelms her, but his words—his love—make her heart swell, her love for him pouring out in response.

“Grandpa… I love you so much,” she whimpers, her voice thick with emotion, her hands gripping the floor as she pushes her ass back against his face. “No one’s ever… loved me like this… made me feel so… so special.” Her words are a mix of innocence and arousal, her love for him so deep that the taboo act—her grandfather eating her ass—feels like the ultimate expression of their bond. She giggles suddenly, a light, breathy sound that cuts through the intensity, her bratty side peeking through. “You’re really… really into my butt, huh? What’s next, Grandpa, you gonna start calling it your ‘little love muffin’ or something?”

He chuckles against her asshole, the sound muffled but genuine, his tongue pausing for a moment as he pulls back to laugh. “Love muffin, huh?” he says, his voice hoarse with lust but tinged with humor, his hands squeezing her cheeks playfully. “Fuck, Minji, you’re gonna kill me with that ass of yours… but yeah, maybe I will. My little love muffin… tastes better than any damn dessert I’ve ever had.” he dives back in, his tongue fucking into her tight hole..

Minji laughs again, her giggles turning into moans as his tongue works her asshole, the sensation sending shivers through her body. “Grandpa, you’re so lovely!” she gasps, her voice a mix of amusement and pleasure, her love for him shining through in her playful tone.

“But… I love it… I love you… feels so good…” She’s never felt so loved, so cherished, as she does in this moment—her grandfather worshipping her most private place, his love for her so deep that even the dirtiest acts feel like a romantic vow.

He sucks harder on her asshole, his lips pulling her tight shithole circle, his tongue pushing deeper, the taste of her—bitter, sweaty, so fucking filthy—making him groan into her.

“Fuck, Minji,” he mutters, his voice muffled, his face buried in her ass. “You’re my everything… my perfect little girl… this ass, this dirty fucking hole… I’d die for it, you know that? Love you so goddamn much.”

Minji’s heart swells at his words, her moans turning into soft whimpers of love, “I love you too, Grandpa… always,” She tries to push her ass more against him, her movements eager but clumsy, her love for him driving her to give him more, to let him have every part of her.

Finally, the grandfather pulls back from Minji’s ass, his lips and chin glistening with her juices, his breath heavy as he looks at her trembling form on her hands and knees. Her soft moans and declarations of love still echo in his mind, their shared laughter and deep connection making the taboo act feel like a romantic ritual between them..

Minji clings to him, “Grandpa… I love you so much,” she murmurs “but… I feel kinda bad,” she admits, her voice trembling with innocence, her bratty side giving way to vulnerability.

“You’ve been… doing all this stuff for me… making me feel so good… but I haven’t done anything for you yet.” She bites her lip, “It’s not fair… I wanna make you feel good too.”

The grandfather’s heart swells at her words, his love for her deepening even more.. “Oh, Minji,” he says, his voice rough but warm, his hands cupping her face as he looks into her eyes. “You don’t have to do anything, princess… just having you here, loving you like this… it’s more than enough.” His words are heartfelt, his love for her so deep that he’d give her the world without expecting anything in return. But the thought of her wants to please him.

Minji shakes her head, her bratty determination kicking in, a small, playful smile tugging at her lips. “No, Grandpa, I wanna do it,” she says,. “I wanna try. For you.” She pauses, her cheeks flushing deeper as she glances down at the bulge in his slacks, her eyes widening slightly. “I mean… you’ve been so hard this whole time… I can tell! It's craving something from me, right? Let me… let me help.” Her words are innocent but earnest.

He chuckles softly, “You’re too good to me, Minji,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, a playful edge to his words. “Alright, princess… if you wanna make your old grandpa feel good, I’m not gonna stop you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you—I’m a bit of a mess down there after all this!” His humor lightens the moment, his laughter rumbling in his chest, but his cock throbs harder at the thought of her mouth on him, the taboo of his granddaughter giving him a blowjob making his pulse race.

Minji giggles as she reaches for his slacks, fumbling with the zipper. “I don’t care if you’re a mess,” she says, her voice soft but teasing, her bratty side peeking through. “You’ve been… eating my butt, Grandpa! I think I can handle a little mess.” Her laughter is light and genuine. She finally gets his slacks open, pulling them down along with his boxers, his cock springing free—thick, veined, and leaking pre-cum, the scent of his arousal mixing with the faint musk of his age.

Her eyes widen at the sight,. “It’s… so big,” she whispers, her voice a mix of awe and nervousness, her cheeks flushing deeper. But her love for him drives her forward, her hands wrapping around his dick...She leans down, her long hair falling over her shoulders, and presses a soft, experimental kiss to the tip, her lips brushing against the pre-cum, the salty taste making her blink in surprise. “It’s… kinda salty,” she says, her voice curious, a small giggle escaping her as she looks up at him, her innocence making the moment both funny and deeply tender.

The grandfather groans, his hands gripping her hair gently, his head tipping back as her lips touch his cock. “Fuck, Minji,” he rasps, his voice thick with arousal, his love for her pouring out in his tone. “You’re killing me… my sweet girl… so fucking perfect.” she has her willingness to please him, makes his heart swell, his cock throbbing harder as she starts to explore him with her mouth. She takes the tip past her lips, her tongue swirling around it clumsily, her inexperience evident but her eagerness making up for it. Her mouth is warm, wet, and so fucking delicious, her saliva mixing with his pre-cum, the taste of her still lingering on his tongue as he watches her, his love for her deepening with every second.

Minji moans softly around his cock, the vibration sending a jolt through him, her hands stroking the base as she takes him deeper, her lips stretching around his thickness. She’s clumsy, her movements unsure, but her love for him drives her to keep going, her tongue lapping at the underside of his shaft, her saliva dripping down as she sucks. “Am I… doing okay, Grandpa?” she mumbles around him, her voice muffled, her eyes looking up at him with a mix of curiosity and affection..

He groans louder, his hands tightening in her hair, his hips bucking slightly as her mouth works him over. “You’re doing fucking amazing, princess,” he says, his voice hoarse with pleasure, his love for her evident in every word. “My little Minji… sucking her grandpa’s cock like a good girl… love you so fucking much.” His words are crude but heartfelt, his arousal mixing with his deep affection, the taboo of her blowjob—his granddaughter’s mouth on him—pushing him to the edge. He chuckles suddenly, a playful edge to his tone as he adds, “Careful, though… don’t want you choking on your old man’s dick..”

Minji giggles around his cock, the sound muffled but genuine, her eyes sparkling with humor as she pulls back slightly to laugh. “Grandpa, you’re so bad!” she says, her voice teasing, her lips shiny with spit and pre-cum as she strokes him with her hand. “I’m trying my best… it’s my first time, you know!” Her laughter is light and playful, their shared humor making the moment feel intimate and fun, their love for each other shining through in their banter. She dives back in, her mouth taking him deeper, her tongue swirling around his shaft, her love for him driving her to please him..

Minji pulls back from her grandfather’s cock, her lips swollen and glossy with spit and pre-cum, her breath shaky as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Her long black hair is a mess, strands sticking to her sweaty forehead..

Her grandfather pats her head, praising her for the amazing blowjob she did.

Minji smiles shyly, her cheeks flushing with a mix of pride and embarrassment, her innocence shining through as she looks up at him. “I’m glad I made you feel good, Grandpa,” she says...But then her expression shifts, a flicker of curiosity and desire crossing her face, her bratty side peeking through as she bites her lip.

“Um… Grandpa,” she starts, “do you think… maybe we should… you know, fuck?” Her words are this time direct..

The grandfather’s eyes widen, his heart racing at her words, a mix of arousal and concern swirling in his chest. His cock twitches at the thought—fucking his granddaughter, taking her virginity, burying himself in her tight, untouched pussy—but he quickly shakes his head, his protective instincts kicking in.

“No, Minji,” he says firmly, his voice gentle but resolute, his hands cupping her face as he looks into her eyes. “Not that… not your pussy. That’s your main virginity, princess… I can’t take that from you. It’s too much… too special. I love you too much to do that.” His words are heartfelt, his love for her so deep that he’s willing to deny his own desires to protect her..

Minji pouts, "But Grandpa… I want to,” she whines. “I love you… I want to feel it… I don’t care about my virginity… I just-.” Her words are raw, her love for him pouring out...She’s curious, eager to experience everything with him..

He chuckles softly, “Oh, Minji,” he says,. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that? So damn stubborn… just like your grandma was.” His words lightens the moment, his laughter rumbling in his chest, but his eyes are serious as he pulls back to look at her.

“I can’t take your virginity, sweetheart…You'll regret it in the future if I take it from you. I'm not gonna marry you.. It might cause you pregnant.. ", he continues.. "but… there’s something else we can do. Something just as close… if you’re sure you want it.”

His voice drops lower, a hint of lust creeping in, his hands sliding to her hips as he waits for her response.

Minji tilts her head, her curiosity piqued, “Something else?” she asks, “What do you mean, Grandpa? I… I wanna be close to you… I wanna feel it!!.”

He takes a deep breath. “We can… try it in your ass, Minji,” he says “It’s not your virginity… not like that. But it’s still close… still special. And we'll be gentle...”

Minji’s eyes widen, a flicker of nervousness crossing her face, but her love for him and her curiosity outweigh her fear,. “In my… ass?” she says, “That… that sounds kinda… great!!…… I trust you, Grandpa!!. I love you… and I wanna be close to you… like that.” Her words are shy but earnest..

“I love you too, Minji… more than anything,” he murmurs,... “We’ll go slow…"

Minji nods, “I trust you, Grandpa,”.. “But I'm a little scared..Just… don’t laugh if I scream a little, okay? I’ve seen stuff online… this sounds like it’s gonna be a lot!”

He chuckles, his laughter warm and genuine, his hands sliding to her hips as he helps her back onto her hands and knees, positioning her on the floor. “No promises, princess,” he teases, his voice playful but loving, his humor lightening the moment. “But I’ll be gentle… we’ll take it one step at a time. You’re gonna be okay, I swear.” he spreads her ass cheeks, her tight, glistening asshole coming into view, still wet from his earlier licking. He now aims his cock inside to her shithole.

He doesn’t have lube, but her ass is already slick from his tongue, and he spits into his hand multiple times, rubbing the saliva onto his cock and then onto her asshole, working the wetness around her tight ring to ease the way. “Gonna get you ready, okay?” he says, his voice low and soothing, his free hand rubbing her lower back as he presses a finger against her asshole, slowly pushing it in to help her relax. “Just breathe, Minji… nice and slow… relax for me. I’ve got you.”

Minji takes a deep breath.

She nods, her breath shaky, and follows his instructions, pushing out as he presses forward, the tip of his cock breaching her tight shithole. The stretch is immediate and intense, a burning pain shooting through her as her asshole resists the intrusion, the lack of natural lubrication making it feel raw and tight despite the spit.

"Oh… oh God, Grandpa!” she cries out, her hands gripping the floor as tears prick her eyes. “It hurts… it hurts a lot…” Her body tenses, her anal sphincter clenching around him, the pain is high. This is her first time crying.

He freezes, his heart aching at her cry, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her hips as he pauses, only the tip of his cock inside her. “I’m sorry, Minji… I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, his love for her making her pain feel like his own. “We can stop if it’s too much… I don’t wanna hurt you, princess. I love you so much.” but his cock throbs inside her, the tightness of her ass.. The fucking his granddaughter in the ass makes his arousal almost unbearable.

Minji shakes her head, her breath shaky, “No… don’t stop,” she whispers, her hands gripping the floor as she pushes back slightly. “I… I want this to happen… I wanna be close to you… I love you, Grandpa.” She giggles through her tears, her bratty humor breaking through as she adds, “I… I guess my butt’s not ready for the big leagues yet, But… keep going… I can take it.”

He chuckles softly, his laughter warm and affectionate, his hands squeezing her hips as he starts to move again, his thrusts slow and careful. “You’re a ffuckingchamp, Minji,” he says as he eases into her, tearing her asshole inch by inch.

“My little granddaughter… taking her grandpa’s cock like a pro… love you so much.”

Minji moans softly, the pain starting to fade into a deep, intense pleasure as her body adjusts, the fullness of his cock in her ass making her pussy throb, her clit aching as she feels him move inside her. “Grandpa… it’s… it’s starting to feel good,” she gasps, her voice a mix of awe and pleasure, her hands gripping the floor as she pushes back against him, her love for him making the act feel intimate, even romantic, despite the initial pain. “I love you… I love this… being close to you like this…” Her words are raw, her emotions pouring out, the taboo of anal sex with her grandfather turning into a profound expression of their bond, her innocence giving way to a new, shared intimacy.

He groans, his thrusts picking up slightly, his hands gripping her hips as he fucks her ass, the tightness of her body making his cock throb, pre-cum leaking inside her as he moves. “I love you too, Minji… my perfect girl… my everything,” he rasps, his voice thick with emotion, his love for her deepening with every thrust.. He moans as he releases a big load of cum inside her shithole.. Minju screams also in pain and satisfaction.. Both loses their energy and collapses down on the floor..

#girl group smut #Minji smut #Newjeans smut #kpop gg smut #twice smut #izone smut #kpop girl smut #ive smut #wonyoung smut #female idol smut

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velvetvisionsaurora · 18 days ago

Text

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.

‼️NSFW Announcement‼️ This is the only announcement on a chapter I’ll be doing, so if you’re under 18 do not attempt to read from this chapter on. I do not go very mild when I write smut, this is the tamest I’ll be going so if you don’t like it and don’t want it don’t continue. I don’t let you know when smut starts and ends so read with caution. I also know knotting is a big part in a/b/o lore, however I’m not a big fan of it. I mention it, I acknowledge that it’s a thing and respect it but I don’t go into detail. My characters in this don’t wrap it up, it’s not good irl. Always wrap it up! Enjoy💜

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Masterlist Ko-Fi☕️

Chapter 9: Breaking Point

The week following the pool incident had been a study in escalating tension. Whatever barriers had been holding the members back seemed to have crumbled completely after Hongjoong's public kiss, leaving you navigating a minefield of heated glances, lingering touches, and barely concealed desire from seven different alphas.

Your body felt like it was on fire constantly now. Even with your scent blockers firmly in place, your omega seemed to be responding to their collective alpha attention in ways that left you restless, overheated, and aching for something you couldn't quite name. Sleep had become nearly impossible, your dreams filled with phantom scents and touches that left you waking up disoriented and wanting.

Wooyoung and San had become your constant shadows, their natural affectionate natures now amplified to an almost overwhelming degree. Gone were the casual touches—replaced by deliberate cuddling sessions that left your skin tingling and your heart racing.

"You look tired, Tulip," San had observed just that morning, settling beside you on the couch where you'd been reviewing schedules. Without asking permission, he'd pulled you against his side, his arm wrapping around you with possessive comfort. "Rest for a bit."

The warmth of his body against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, should have been soothing. Instead, it had sent electric currents through your nervous system, your omega practically purring at the alpha contact while your rational mind struggled to maintain professional boundaries.

Wooyoung had appeared moments later, as if summoned by some invisible signal, settling on your other side and casually draping his legs across yours. "Group cuddle session?" he'd suggested with that mischievous smile, though his eyes held a heat that had nothing to do with playfulness.

"I'm supposed to be working," you'd protested weakly, even as your body had instinctively relaxed between them.

"Work can wait," Wooyoung had murmured, his fingers beginning to play with strands of your hair. "Taking care of our Tulip is more important."

The possessive "our" had sent a shiver down your spine that both alphas had definitely noticed, judging by their satisfied expressions.

Mingi and Yunho had taken a different approach, but no less effective in driving you to distraction. Every interaction seemed to involve some excuse for physical contact—Mingi's hand on the small of your back as he guided you through doorways, Yunho's fingers brushing yours for just a moment too long when passing you documents.

"You've got an eyelash," Yunho had said yesterday, appearing beside your desk with that bright smile that never failed to make your heart skip. Before you could protest, his thumb had gently brushed against your cheek, the touch so tender it had made your breath catch.

"There," he'd murmured, showing you the non-existent eyelash on his finger. "Make a wish."

The intimacy of the moment, the way his eyes had lingered on your face, had left you speechless and flustered in a way that had clearly pleased him immensely.

Even Jongho and Yeosang, typically the most reserved of the group, had begun showing their interest in ways that surprised you. Jongho had started bringing you small gifts—your favorite coffee in the morning, a book he thought you'd enjoy, a small potted plant for your desk. Each offering came with minimal explanation but maximum impact, his dark eyes studying your reaction with quiet intensity.

Yeosang's approach was more subtle but perhaps more devastating. He'd begun engaging you in deeper conversations, his perceptive observations and thoughtful questions creating an intimacy that was purely intellectual but no less affecting. Yesterday, he'd spent an hour discussing a book you'd both read, his quiet voice and insightful commentary drawing you into a bubble of connection that had felt almost as intimate as physical touch.

"You have a beautiful mind," he'd said as you'd wrapped up the conversation, the simple compliment delivered with such sincerity that it had stayed with you for hours.

And then there was Hongjoong. The leader had become bold in a way that left you constantly on edge, stealing moments whenever you found yourselves alone. A kiss pressed against your temple as he'd leaned over to check something on your computer. His lips brushing your knuckles when you'd handed him a document. Yesterday, he'd cornered you in the supply closet, pressing you against the wall for a kiss that had left you breathless and wanting more.

"I can't stop thinking about the pool," he'd murmured against your lips, his hands framing your face with reverent care. "About how you felt in my arms."

The memory alone was enough to make heat pool low in your belly, your omega responding to his alpha presence with an intensity that sometimes frightened you.

But it was Seonghwa's behavior that confused you most. The eldest member seemed to be the only one maintaining his distance, though you often caught him watching you with an expression you couldn't quite decipher. There was warmth in his gaze, certainly, and something that might have been longing, but he kept himself carefully apart from the increasingly bold advances of his packmates.

The contradiction was maddening. You found yourself craving his touch, his attention, in a way that seemed disproportionate to his reserved behavior. Sometimes you caught him looking at you with such intensity that your skin would flush, but he never acted on whatever he was feeling, maintaining that friendly but professional distance that left you wondering if you were imagining the heat in his gaze.

Your omega was becoming increasingly agitated by the mixed signals, by the constant state of arousal without resolution. Your scent blocker felt like both a necessity and a prison—protecting your secret while preventing you from fully experiencing the alpha pheromones that your body was clearly craving.

You'd started having moments where you seriously considered removing the blocker, just to see what would happen. The thought terrified and thrilled you in equal measure. What would it be like to smell Hongjoong's scent?!Wooyoung's ? San's? How would they react to your own scent of jasmine and vanilla?

But fear always won out. Fear of changing the dynamic irrevocably, of complicating your professional relationship, of facing the reality of what you all seemed to be building toward.

---

Tonight, that careful balance finally shattered.

You'd retreated to the guesthouse early, claiming exhaustion from the day's packed schedule. In reality, you'd reached your limit for alpha attention without resolution, your body feeling like a live wire from the constant state of arousal their touches and glances induced.

You'd taken a cold shower, hoping to calm your overheated system, but even that hadn't helped. Now you sat on your bed in just a oversized t-shirt and shorts, your skin still feeling too sensitive, too aware. Every nerve ending seemed attuned to the main house across the garden, to the eight alphas who had somehow become the center of your universe.

The sharp knock on your door made you jump, your heart immediately racing. It was nearly ten PM—late for casual visits, but you'd learned that normal rules didn't seem to apply to your relationship with the members anymore.

"Come in," you called, expecting perhaps Hongjoong with another stolen moment, or maybe Seonghwa checking on your wellbeing with his characteristic concern.

Instead, Wooyoung burst through the door with the barely contained energy of someone who'd reached his breaking point. His hair was disheveled as if he'd been running his hands through it, his eyes bright with something between desperation and determination.

"I can't do this anymore," he announced without preamble, his voice rough with emotion. "I can't pretend that what's happening between us is normal. I can't keep playing these games where we touch and flirt and dance around what we all know is true."

You stood slowly from the bed, your heart hammering against your ribs as you took in his appearance. There was something wild about him tonight, something unleashed that sent both thrill and alarm through your system.

"Wooyoung," you began carefully, "what are you—"

"I'm talking about this," he interrupted, gesturing between you with frustrated energy. "About the way you look at me, at all of us. About the way your pulse races when I touch you. About the way you practically melted into Hongjoong in that pool."

Heat flooded your cheeks at his words, at the accuracy of his observations. "I don't know what you—"

"Don't," he said firmly, taking a step closer. "Don't pretend you don't feel it. Don't lie to me, to yourself, about what's happening here." His voice dropped to that register that always made your omega sit up and take notice. "I see how you watch us, Tulip. I see how you respond to our touch. And I know you want this as much as we do."

Your breath caught in your throat as he moved closer, the space between you shrinking with each step. "Wooyoung, we can't—this is complicated—"

"Why?" he demanded, stopping just inches away from you. "Because you work for us? Because there are eight of us? Because it doesn't fit into neat little boxes that society approves of?"

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the golden flecks starting to appear in his eyes as his alpha nature responded to the charged atmosphere between you. Your own omega was practically vibrating with need, with the desire to close the distance between you, consequences be damned.

"Because I'm not who you think I am," you whispered, the admission slipping out before you could stop it.

Wooyoung's expression softened slightly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek with surprising gentleness. "Then tell me who you are. Tell me what you're hiding. Tell me why you think it matters more than this."

His thumb brushed across your lower lip, and you couldn't suppress the small gasp that escaped at the contact. The sound seemed to break whatever restraint he'd been clinging to.

"Fuck it," he muttered, and then his lips were on yours.

The kiss was everything you'd been craving and more—desperate, passionate, claiming. His hands tangled in your hair as he pulled you closer, his body pressing against yours with an urgency that matched your own. You melted into him, your hands fisting in his shirt as you kissed him back with equal fervor.

This wasn't the playful, teasing Wooyoung you'd grown accustomed to. This was pure alpha, pure need, pure desire finally unleashed.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing hard, his eyes were fully golden, the alpha glow unmistakable in the dim lighting of your bedroom.

"There," he said, his voice rough with satisfaction and desire. "No more pretending. No more games. Now tell me you don't feel it too."

Looking into his transformed eyes, feeling the way your body hummed with rightness at his touch, you realized that your carefully constructed walls had finally crumbled completely. There was no going back from this moment, no returning to the professional distance you'd tried so hard to maintain.

"I feel it," you whispered, the admission both terrifying and liberating. "I feel all of it. With all of you."

Wooyoung's smile was triumphant and tender as he laid you down. His breathing hard above you, radiating energy and satisfaction, but the hunger in his gaze said he was far from done.

He pulled back just enough to drag his shirt off, tossing it somewhere into the darkness, before returning to you—his bare chest warm against your skin. His hands settled at your hips and he tugged at the waistband of your shorts; there was no pretense of patience, just a raw urgency as he peeled them away, taking your underwear with them.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, eyes devouring every newly revealed inch, heat and reverence warring there. “Wish I could breathe you in—wish I could drown in your scent—” He cut himself off, frustration flaring, but his hands were sure as he spread your legs, kneeling between them. “Guess I’ll just have to taste you instead.”

Then his mouth was on you. The first slow drag of his tongue from your entrance up to your clit was deliberate—so, so deliberate—and your hips tried to jerk from the bed in answer. Wooyoung growled, low in his throat, holding you down as his tongue circled, flicked, lapped, learning your responses by sound and the tremors in your thighs.

The world narrowed to sensation: the heat of his tongue, the tease of his lips, his hair against your inner thighs, rough and ticklish. He was messy about it—no smooth choreography, just hunger and intent, making up for everything he couldn’t sense with pure appetite. You whimpered his name, fingers curling in the sheets, desperate for anything to ground you.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, humming at your cry, then licked deeper—his tongue broad and hot, relentless—until there was only the build and build of pleasure, white-hot and unbearable. You were loud now, uncaring, every cry a thank you and a plea.

He only stopped when your thighs trembled against his cheeks, when you pleaded, broken-voiced, “Wooyoung, please—please, I need—I need—”

He growled “Let go. Now Tulip.”

You shattered with a cry, your whole body shaking.

When you finally catch your breath, body limp and aglow from Wooyoung’s unrestrained attention, you prop yourself on your elbows to look down at him. His hair is wild, lips slick and red, eyes smoky with pride and adoration—a little bit wrecked and loving it. The sight ignites something bold inside you.

Without breaking eye contact, you reach for him, fingers curling into his hair to bring him up, capturing his lips in a hungry, grateful kiss. You taste yourself on him and he moans into your mouth as if he’s never wanted anything more. You pull him close, rolling so you’re on top, knees bracketing his hips.

He laughs softly, surprised and delighted, letting his head sink back into the pillows. “Oh?” His hands settle on your thighs, stroking them encouragingly. “You wanna take over, Tulip?”

You smile, feeling a thrill at the way his voice—husky and playful—wraps around you. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I want you like this.”

He bites his lower lip, a flush creeping up his throat as he looks at you spread over him. “Whatever you want, I’m yours tonight,” he whispers. “Show me what my Tulip wants.”

Your heart thuds, but the words make you bold. You drag your palms slowly down his torso, watching him gasp and arch into you, sensitive and eager for more.

You shift, settling between his legs, and slide your hands down until you’re hooking your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants. Wooyoung lifts his hips with a helpless little sound. “Take ‘em off,” he pleads, needy but so gentle. “I want to feel you—your hands, your mouth, whatever you want to give. Please, baby.”

You oblige, slowly, teasing him with little grazes of your nails as you drag the fabric away. His cock is heavy and flushed, impossibly hard, and your mouth waters at the sight. The urge to please him, to unravel him as thoroughly as he did you, takes over.

You wrap your hand around him, just enough to make him hiss, then look up through your lashes. “Tell me what you like, Wooyoung.”

He groans, his head tipping back, eyes dark gold with want. “Touch me—just like that. A little tighter, ah—yeah, that’s good—I love the way your hands feel on me.” He cards his fingers through your hair, not pushing, just anchoring.

You stroke him, noting every twitch, every whispered curse. He’s unguarded with you, rolling his hips into your hand, whispering encouragements: “You—fuck, you’re so pretty like this. You look so good between my legs, Tulip. You have no idea what you do to me.”

You lean down, brushing the head of his cock with your lips, then your tongue, just a soft swirl. He shivers, his hand tightening in your hair. “God, yes—just like that, baby…take your time. Don’t rush. I just want to feel you.”

You tease him, kitten-licks at first, loving the way he gasps—so responsive, so vocal for you. You trace the vein along the underside, stroke him with your tongue, taking him in slowly, feeling the heat and weight of him on your lips.

Wooyoung’s voice becomes your guide, a constant thread of affirmation. “That’s it, yeah…ah, you’re driving me fucking crazy. You look incredible—don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

You work your mouth and hand together, building a rhythm, watching his face for every clue—he’s a mess for you, eyes squeezed shut, sweat beading at his brow, chest heaving with every ragged breath. You hum around him, and he bucks his hips, barely holding back.

Suddenly, urgency overtakes him. “Wait—wait—slow down, I don’t wanna come yet, not so fast—” He pulls your hair gently, guiding you off him, then dragging you up for a breathless kiss. “You’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he pants, nuzzling into your neck, “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect. I wanna last, I wanna remember every second with you.”

You giggle against his throat, giddy with power and affection, and grind your hips gently against his thigh. Wooyoung moans, hands sliding down to squeeze your waist, his cock pressed between you, slippery and aching. You reach down, stroking him again.

You sink back down, taking him in hand and mouth once more, working him with careful, practiced flicks, all the while basking in his praise. “Yeah—fuck, yeah, you’re so good, Tulip…your mouth—your hands—can’t believe you’re doing this for me, letting me have you like this.”

When he starts to grow restless, hips flexing, you stroke him a little harder, licking the sensitive spot just beneath the tip. His breath stutters, his hand a tangle in your hair.

“Close—so close—baby, you gonna let me?” His words are a shudder, trembling with vulnerability and hope. “Gonna let me come for you? Want you to see, want you to know it’s you—only you—”

You hum your ‘yes’ and don’t let up, watching him unravel, pushed to the edge by just your mouth, your hand, and the knowledge that he’s yours to wreck, to comfort, to love. He groans your name—a long, strangled sound—and spills in your mouth and over your fingers, hips jerking upward.

He’s shaking in the aftermath, loose and glowing and utterly undone. You swallow, then crawl up to kiss his flushed cheek, his jaw, his lips. Wooyoung gathers you into his arms, pulling you close as if he never wants to let go.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers, brushing stray hair from your forehead, thumb stroking your cheek. “Thank you. I could do this forever with you. I want to.”

He kisses you soft and deep, then lets his hand drift, stroking your back, grounding you both. In the quiet that follows, his voice makes you feel cherished, safe, and wanted—exactly as you are.

Next>>

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kamiiik0 · 5 months ago

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Reminder: it's not the methods it's YOU.

Yes, it's always about you and never the methods. Sure there are dozens of methods to do this to do that to shift to induce pure consciousness to manifest etc etc. But what actually makes these methods work? You. Why is that every method are so different, some being the exact opposite of one another, but they work for people? Is it because the methods are "failproof"? Or is it because YOU are the one deciding that "yeah this method is failproof"? I hope you know the answer by now, If not, then it's because you're the one lowkey deciding that this method works for you. It's always about you, because you're the operant power.

Are methods needed?

simple answer: absolutely not. All you gotta do is decide, and bingo. It's done because creation is finished. Yes distraction technique yes lullaby method yes psych - k, but they will NOT work for you if you decide it won't. Don't get me wrong, the methods are AMAZING and have helped many people in their journey, but then of course some people put these methods on a pedestal and when it "doesn't work" for them they complain, like bffr. You are the one that set yourself up for failure. They work because you DECIDE that it works for you. There's still time, realise your power. Decide that you have it and move on KNOWING that you already have it (cause you do, CREATION IS FINISHED!), or keep trying different methods hoping(😟) they work for you. I'm being dead serious here, your dream life is one decision "away" from you. If you set a firm decision tonight or today that you're gonna shift/ induce pure consciousness/ manifest or that you have already shifted, Induced pure consciousness or manifested xyz, then guess what? It's gonna happen/ it has already happened. It's lowkey that easy.

How to set a decision?

How do you think you opened tumblr? Because of listening to "click tumblr effortlessly, ✨️ 1X MAX; POWERFUL GUARANTEED BOOSTER SUBLIMINAL" and then watching 10 different eye popping jaw dropping videos on how the muscle on your finger works and how to move your finger to open tumblr by the 333 method"? No. Exactly, you decided to open tumblr, and guess what? It opened. Easy as that. How do you think you woke up and ate today? By deciding. how are why are you reading this post right now? Because you decided to read this far. Sure enough you did not need to chant "I can move my fingers easily" or "my eyes can see tumblr effortlessly" 1000 times while reading 50 different reddit articles from Neville Goddard on "how to open tumblr: quick and easy guide" with 4 different subliminals playing in the background to reprogram your mind to click tumblr, right? you knew you could effortlessly move your fingers and click tumblr by just deciding, and boom what YOU decided is what happened. Sure enough deciding doesn't seem so hard now does it?

Seriously, get your game on and DECIDE you have your dream life, stop playing around. I'll be awaiting your success stories, much love. 💋🫶

#law of assumption #law of attraction #manifesting #void state #reality shifting #shifting consciousness #lucid dreaming #neville goddard #shiftblr #shifting blog #i am state #pure consciousness

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h4nj1sunggg · 2 months ago

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𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 — ( h. jisung. )

pairing: Han Jisung x fem!reader [multiple characters mentioned]

genre: fluff, idol-fan to lovers

words: 11.1k

summary: At fifteen, Jisung’s music becomes your comfort. You send him letters, never knowing he treasures them. When the letters stop, your connection is lost. Years later, you are 22, at a Stray Kids concert, you hold a sign with a familiar phrase. As Jisung steps on stage, your eyes meet—fate reconnecting you.

desc: I care about this ff in really deep and distinct way from the others, some things really happened. I hope y'all will like it. the first letter event - and what jisung said - actually happened. <3

ᯓᡣ𐭩　 ( masterlist ) . Spotify playlist. @cherryheaart @hijadeplutao @diekleinesuesse

The first time you listened to a Stray Kids song, you were in your room, knees pulled up, back pressed against the headboard. Your phone’s glow cast soft shadows across the walls, blending with the warm, amber light of the salt lamp on your nightstand. Outside, the world was asleep. Inside, your thoughts were restless.

The music from your headphones filled the room, drowning out the hum of loneliness that had settled in your chest like an old, unwelcome friend. It wasn’t just sound—it was something else. Something alive, something electric, something that made the walls feel a little less suffocating. It was loud enough to make your pulse quicken, yet comforting enough to make your shoulders relax. Exactly what you needed.

Your phone buzzed. Messages. Conversations waiting for a reply.

You had been diving headfirst into the world of K-pop, losing yourself in vibrant performances and voices that felt like a safe place. BTS, GOT7… Their music had been your first taste of something different, something exciting. And they were beautiful, too—effortlessly captivating in a way that made you wonder if people like that even existed in real life.

But you still felt like something was missing.

Like your entire life.

You were missing something. You weren’t sure if it was something or someone, but you were always searching for it as if your life depended on it.

But still, something felt… off. Like an itch you couldn’t quite reach, a gap you couldn’t name.

You had always carried this feeling—a quiet, persistent yearning, as if you were chasing something just out of reach. You didn’t know if it was a person, a place, a dream, or just the idea of belonging. But the search never stopped. It was stitched into your skin, woven into the way you looked at the world, always waiting for that moment when everything would finally click into place.

It was as if Stray Kids were the flicker of light in the darkness you had been wandering through. Their music wasn’t just something to listen to—it was something to hold onto. Each beat, each lyric, felt like it was speaking directly to you, as if they understood that deep part of you that was searching, the part that couldn’t quite put into words what was missing.

Their voices, raw and full of emotion, seemed to pull you out of the silence that often echoed in your mind. The chaos of the world around you was still there, but it didn’t matter anymore. In those moments, when the rhythm of their songs wrapped around you, it felt like you weren’t alone. Like someone, somewhere, was lighting a path for you to follow.

There was a comfort in knowing that Stray Kids, despite being miles away, were somehow close enough to touch. They didn’t promise to solve everything, but their music became a refuge, a constant in a world that often felt too big, too overwhelming. You could feel it—their energy, their passion, and that undeniable sense of unity. It was as if their light was meant for you, guiding you through the quiet darkness you didn’t even know you had been hiding in.

You stare at the blank sheet of paper in front of you, the pen clutched tightly in your hand. It’s a little crinkled from the several times you’ve picked it up and put it back down again. The clock on your wall ticks loudly, as if mocking you for still not writing a single word. You take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and then glance at the paper again. Blank. Still blank.

"Dear Han Jisung." Nope. Too formal. You scratch it out quickly, the line looking way too stiff and impersonal.

"Hey Jisung!" Ugh, that’s even worse. Is that too casual? Is it weird? Maybe it’s weird. What if he thinks it’s weird? He probably gets a million “Hey Jisung!” ‘s every day. Okay, scrap that. You grab the pen again, staring down at the page like it’s some sort of exam you forgot to study for.

"Hi Han Jisung!" Nope, not that either. Now it looks like you're writing an email to your grandpa. You just want to say something to him. Why is this so hard? Why is writing a letter so difficult? You’re overthinking it. This is just a letter. Just… write. You tap the pen on the table, trying to find the right balance between casual and too casual.

"Hello stranger!" Yeah. Simple. It’s a start, right? Sure. You nod to yourself, like that was the breakthrough of the century. Now you just have to… actually write something. You wince and let out a tiny sigh. You take a deep breath, then, with some hesitation, scribble the first sentence.

Hello stranger! I have no idea what I’m doing right now. Seriously, I’m probably overthinking this way too much, but here I am—writing to you. Why? Well, because your music has literally been the soundtrack to my life for the past few years, and I thought maybe—just maybe—you’d want to know? I don’t know. I could be totally wrong, but here we are. You might not even read this. This could end up in some random staff member's hands or the “fan mail pile” for all I know, but hey, I’m doing this anyway because I really need to get it out there.

You pause and re-read the last line. Oh my god. Why did you write that? That’s so awkward. You’re cringing already. Why can’t this be easier? You take another deep breath and keep going.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, your music means so much to me. I’ve been listening to it for years, and it’s honestly helped me through some really tough days. It’s not just the beats or the lyrics, but there’s something about it that makes everything feel… less heavy. So, thanks for that. Really. You probably don’t know this, but your songs have been like my personal comfort food. Which sounds weird, but I think you get what I mean.

You stop again. Comfort food? Did you just compare his music to food? Why do you always sound like a weirdo? You shake your head and cross out "comfort food," then quickly scribble:

Okay, scratch that. What I meant to say is, your music is like a little piece of happiness in my life. Better? Probably not, but it’s all I’ve got right now. Anyway, you probably don’t need to know all that, but here we are.

You stare at the page again. Why is this so hard?

P.S. If you do happen to read this, I just want you to know that you’re amazing, and please keep being you. I’m rooting for you all the way, Jisung.

You set the pen down and lean back in your chair. Your heart is racing like you’ve just run a marathon, and now that it’s finally done, you're not sure whether to be relieved or hide under your bed.

You take one final look at the letter and squint. But then, in the silence, you decide to just do it. You fold the letter, seal it in an envelope, and—without thinking too much about it—write “Han Jisung” on the front. And with that, you shove the feeling of nervousness down and send it off into the universe. Maybe he’ll read it. Maybe he won’t. But you don't actually care, you liked the shaky feelings of writing for him, for only him.

A month or so later, you’re sitting in your room, staring at your phone screen. You’ve checked the notification tab for the hundredth time, just in case, but there’s still no sign of anything that might be important. You’re about to give up and go back to scrolling aimlessly when you see it.

A new Stray Kids video.

It’s one of their weekly promotion updates, just a casual vlog-like video. You freeze. It’s not like you didn’t know the video would drop eventually, but suddenly you feel... jittery. You pull your knees up to your chest, nervously adjusting your glasses, and hit play. It starts with Jisung grinning at the camera, a little wave. Typical. But as you watch, something makes your heart stop.

You blink.

Jisung’s holding letters in his hands.

Your stomach drops, and you lean forward, gripping the edge of your desk. Is that... your envelope? It looks like it, but this can’t be real, can it? You never imagined he'd actually hold your letter, much less... read it. He looks up at the camera, holding it for all to see, and smiles. "Ah, It’s in English, but it’s okay because we can communicate with our heart."

Your heart stops.

He... he read it. He actually read your letter, and what’s even crazier is that he’s holding it up, like nothing. Like it is nothing. But for you? Oh for you it’s the entire world. The camera catches a glimpse of his expression, a small smile creeping on his face. You can’t help but notice how soft his eyes look as he reads, his voice filled with warmth as he says the words.

The video continues, but you can barely focus on what he is doing or saying next. You’re too busy re-reading that line in your head.

He actually read it.

Your heart flutters, and you feel this mix of emotions you can’t even begin to describe. Excitement. Nerves. Awe. And somewhere deep down, a strange sense of warmth. He’s not just an idol on a screen anymore. He’s someone who’s heard your words, someone who knows... you exist. In a small part, of course.

You laugh to yourself in disbelief, eyes wide. “He… he actually said that.” Your hands are trembling as you watch the video again, replaying that part over and over.

Suddenly, the awkwardness of it all hits you again—he’s never going to see you the same way again, right? This is totally insane. What do you even do now? Do you keep writing to him?

From that moment, you kept writing him, only once a month, just to... support him from afar at your way. He was your little secret, your hour to write something that only one person, that could understand you in a unique way.

11.07 maybe we're not all meant to be loved for every time I say to myself "I'm okay" I find a hundred more reasons not to like me to tell myself again that I'm not okay I have severe self-esteem issues and I think you have noticed this for a long time Maybe I'm not made for love feel it yes, you find it in every action, a pinch of love is in everyone maybe it's just me who finds it distant Or is it distant But I feel a gash in my chest Because I can't be loved like everyone else because everyone finds the one who can love him, even just a little bit is it me? is it me who is not good enough for everyone? is it me who just don't go? who knows where the future will take us I know I wish it was with you but oh Jisung, you had me at hello. I love you, yours y/n

After that small phase, that changed your whole world, he didn’t say or do anything anymore. Then after 5 years, you stopped; between high school and the search for a work, your little reality stayed like that. But your passion for the Stray Kids music, never stopped.

It’s a typical afternoon, and you’re scrolling through your phone, trying to pass the time. Your mind is in autopilot mode as you check social media, not really expecting anything exciting. But then, something catches your eye. You blink, and your heart skips a beat.

A post from Stray Kids’ official account.

“Stray Kids DominATE World Tour: coming to your country!”

Your breath hitches. You blink again, as if the words on the screen will change if you look at them long enough. But no, it’s still there. Stray Kids, your favorite group, is coming to your country.

You feel your heart thudding in your chest. It’s been years since you last sent a letter to Jisung. Years since you even thought about the idea of seeing him in person. After everything—the letters, the time passing, and the uncertainty—you never thought you’d have the chance to see them live, let alone in your own country.

You would have flight to the other side of your country to see them.

You stare at the screen for a moment, hands trembling as you scroll through the details. The venue, the date, the tickets—it all feels like a dream. You think about how much you’ve changed over the years, how different you are from the shy girl who used to write to Jisung from her small room, unsure of what the future held.

But this… this is real.

You can already picture it in your mind: the stage, the lights, the energy of the crowd. And then, suddenly, you imagine standing there in the front row, surrounded by your friends, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement.

Your stomach flips with anticipation, but there’s a flutter of nervousness too. You haven't seen Jisung in person yet, and even if you’ve followed him for years, this is different. It's real. You can’t help but wonder if he’ll recognize you, if he’ll remember the letters from so long ago.

You lean back in your chair, the excitement taking over. Your best friend’s message from earlier pops into your head: “Are you really going to let this chance slip by?”

You pull your phone up again, heart pounding as you consider what to do next. The thought of being that close to him, seeing him perform live… the nerves and excitement mix into something a little more overwhelming than you’re used to. But this is your chance.

This is your chance to finally see him.

You take a deep breath and, without overthinking it too much, text your best friend: “I’m going to the concert. I have to. I can’t miss this.”

Their reply comes almost instantly. “I KNEW you would. You’re going to make it happen!”

You stare at the screen for a moment, your hands shaking a little. You don’t know what the future holds or what might happen at the concert, but one thing’s for sure: you’re not letting this moment slip away.

You sit there for a second, staring at the ticket page like it’s a dream. You feel like you’re about to faint, but you don’t care. After what feels like an eternity of checking your bank account, double-checking your credit card, and almost losing hope when the page freezes for a second—there it is. The confirmation email.

Your hands shake as you open the email, your eyes scanning over the details.

“Your tickets are confirmed.”

Your chest tightens. It feels like everything is crashing in all at once. You did it. You actually did it. You’re going to the concert. You’re going to see Stray Kids in person.

You sit there, staring at the screen, feeling a wave of pure euphoria wash over you. It’s like the weight of everything you’ve been holding onto for years suddenly melts away. The letters, the waiting, the uncertainty—it doesn’t matter anymore. You did it.

You spring out of your seat, almost tripping over your own feet in your excitement, and run to your best friend’s room.

“I got them! I got the tickets!” you scream, practically bouncing with joy.

Your best friend, who’s sitting casually on their bed, looks up at you like you’ve just won the lottery. You’re already tearing up, and your best friend’s eyes widen with surprise.

“Oh my god, y/n,” they say, standing up quickly. “Are you crying?”

You nod, wiping your eyes quickly but not really caring that you’re already a mess. “I can’t believe it,” you choke out, barely able to keep it together. “I’m actually going to see them. To see Jisung. In person. Like—I’m really doing it!”

Your best friend wraps their arms around you in a tight hug, clearly more than ready to celebrate with you. They hold you close as you try not to sob into their shoulder, laughing between hiccups of breath. It’s the most emotional you’ve felt in a long time.

“I’m so happy for you,” your best friend says, gently pulling back to look at you. “You deserve this. You’ve wanted it for so long.”

You laugh again, your tears turning into happy, shaky giggles. “I can’t believe it’s real,” you whisper, holding your phone to your chest like it’s a precious treasure. “I really thought I was just dreaming about this.”

You sit down on the floor with your best friend, still in disbelief. You clutch the phone and tickets like they’re your lifeline, feeling overwhelmed by the sheer joy of it all. Your emotions are a whirlpool—excitement, happiness, a touch of fear, and this deep sense of relief.

"I’ve never been this happy," you admit, a few more tears slipping down your face. "It feels like everything is falling into place."

Your best friend smiles softly, their eyes a little misty too, because they know how much this means to you. “I’m so proud of you. I can’t wait to see you finally living this dream.”

You snuggle up to them, feeling a comforting weight in your chest, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself be completely overwhelmed by the moment. You let yourself feel every ounce of happiness, even if it means crying like a total mess.

But you don't care. Not anymore.

This is real. And nothing is going to stop you from seeing Jisung and Stray Kids. Not now, not ever.

You’re still holding onto your phone like it’s the most precious thing in the world when your best friend suddenly squints at the confirmation email on your screen.

“Wait… y/n.”

You sniffle, wiping at your face as you try to calm yourself down. “What?”

They grab your phone, scrolling through the email like they’re scanning for something important. Then, suddenly, they freeze. Their mouth drops open slightly before they whip their head toward you, eyes wide.

“Y/n.”

You blink at them, confused. “What? Why are you saying my name like that? You’re scaring me.”

They turn your phone around and point aggressively at a specific section of the email. Your eyes dart over the words, still teary and a little overwhelmed, until one sentence jumps out at you.

VIP Standing – Early Entry & Soundcheck Access

Your brain short-circuits.

“Wait…” you breathe, staring at the words like they might morph into something else. “Wait, no. That can’t be right.”

Your best friend grabs your shoulders, shaking you a little. “You got VIP, you idiot!”

Your stomach drops. Your heart flips. Your breath gets caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. The realization hits like a lightning bolt to the chest.

“I—I what?”

Your best friend practically cackles. “You have VIP! You’re going to be in the first row! You’re going to see them up close! You’re going to breathe the same air as Jisung!”

Your entire body freezes. You suddenly feel like your soul has left your body. First row. Close to the stage. Seeing them up close. Seeing Jisung up close.

Oh. Oh no.

Your face instantly heats up, your hands gripping your phone as if that’ll somehow keep you grounded. A nervous giggle escapes your lips, but it’s high-pitched and slightly deranged. Your best friend is watching you with pure amusement as you slowly curl in on yourself, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of what just happened.

“I can’t—I can’t do this,” you whisper, eyes wide. “That’s too close. That’s too real.”

Your best friend laughs, nudging you playfully. “Too late! You’re gonna be right there, front and center. If you make eye contact with Jisung, you might actually pass out.”

Your brain goes into meltdown mode. The thought of seeing Jisung from the crowd was already a lot to handle, but this? Having a chance to be in the first row, close enough to see every little detail, every expression on his face? The mere idea makes your cheeks burn.

You groan dramatically, flopping onto your bed and burying your face into your pillow. “I’m going to die. This is how I die. I’m going to stand there, blushing like an idiot, and Jisung is going to think I’m some weird giggling mess.”

Your best friend flops down next to you, grinning. “Oh, absolutely. You’ll be the most adorable, awkward VIP in the history of Stray Kids concerts.”

You peek at them from the pillow, lips pursed. “That’s not comforting.”

They just laugh, ruffling your hair. “Hey, you’ve been waiting for this for years. Freak out all you want now, but when the day comes, you know you’re going to love every second of it.”

You groan again, but deep down, you know they’re right. No matter how shy or overwhelmed you feel now, the reality is… this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You’re going to be right there.

Jisung is going to be right there.

You kick your legs a little, giggling into your pillow again, feeling like your heart might actually burst. You don’t know how you’ll survive it, but one thing’s for sure—this is going to be the most unforgettable experience of your life.

Your best friend is staring at you with that mischievous glint in their eyes—the kind that only means trouble. You don’t trust it. You know this look.

“…What?” you ask cautiously.

They flop onto your bed dramatically. “You need a sign.”

You groan, already regretting everything. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.” They sit up, pointing at you with way too much enthusiasm. “You have VIP. You’re going to be right in front of the stage. If you don’t bring a sign, how will Jisung know it’s you?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “He’s not going to remember me just because of a sign.”

“Uh, yes, he will,” they argue, scooting closer like they’re about to hit you with the most brilliant idea ever. “You need something eye-catching. Something that will force him to look at you.”

You squint. “Like what?”

They pause, thinking. And that’s when you know you’re doomed.

“Okay,” they start, clapping their hands together. “Option one: A huge, bright neon sign that says, ‘Jisung, you had me at hello.’ Since you used to write that in your letters, he’ll definitely notice.”

You chew your lip. That one’s actually kind of cute. But before you can say anything, your best friend is already moving on.

“Option two: A wanted poster with Jisung’s face on it. But instead of ‘wanted for crimes,’ it says, ‘wanted for stealing my heart.’”

You burst out laughing. “That’s so embarrassing!”

“Exactly!” They grin. “He’ll love it.”

You shake your head, covering your face. “No way. Not happening.”

“Fine, fine.” They wave you off. “Option three: You hold up a sign that says, ‘Jisung, if you read this, you owe me a high-five.’”

You pause. That… actually doesn’t sound too bad.

“Wait,” you mutter, lowering your hands. “That one might actually—”

“Or,” they cut in, way too excited now, “we go completely insane with it.”

You regret ever opening your mouth.

“Like?” you ask, already knowing you’re going to regret this.

They take a deep breath, dramatically extending their arms. “A giant sign with the worst pick-up line possible. Something so dumb, so cringe, that Jisung will have no choice but to notice you.”

You snort. “Like what?”

They immediately pull out their phone and start scrolling. “Let’s see… oh! How about: ‘Jisung, are you a magician? Because whenever I look at you, everyone else disappears.’”

You groan, covering your face again. “Nooo, that’s so bad.”

“Or—wait, this one’s even worse: ‘Jisung, are you a bank loan? Because you’ve got my interest.’”

You throw a pillow at them.

They dodge, cackling. “Oh! Oh! Or, ‘Jisung, I lost my number, can I have yours?’”

“Stop!” you wail, flopping back on the bed. “I am not holding up a cringey pick-up line at a concert!”

Your best friend leans over you, grinning. “You’re right. We should make it worse.”

They sing, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you gently. “Come on, Y/N, you have to do something. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

You bite your lip, thinking. You’re so shy, and the thought of holding up something ridiculous in front of Jisung makes your stomach twist into nervous knots. But at the same time… you do want to do something. Something just for fun. Something that might make him smile.

With a deep sigh, you finally give in.

“Fine,” you mumble. “But no pick-up lines.”

Your best friend fist-pumps the air. “Yes! Okay, okay, we’ll come up with something perfect.”

This is how, unfortunately, you ended up there. Pressed against the barricades, right in the front line.

Your hands are slightly shaking, your heart is sprinting like it’s in the Olympics, and your sign—the one your best friend practically bullied you into making—is clutched tightly between your fingers. Big bold letters, scribbled with a mix of nerves and nostalgia, stare back at you:

"You had me at hello."

It feels surreal. You’re so close to the stage that you can see the setlist taped down, the microphones arranged neatly, and the faint outlines of shadows moving behind the curtain. Every time the lights flicker or the music changes, your breath catches in your throat like a glitch in your chest.

Your best friend is next to you, vibrating with excitement and nudging your shoulder every thirty seconds. “y/n,” they whisper for the hundredth time. “This is really happening.”

You nod, too stunned to even speak.

The crowd behind you is wild, cheering and chanting, ocean waves of sound crashing all around you—but you’re in your own little bubble. One where your knees are jelly, your cheeks are on fire, and your brain is screaming something like, “WHAT IF HE SEES IT? WHAT IF HE ACTUALLY REMEMBERS?”

You glance down at your sign again. That phrase—it’s more than just words now. It was in every letter you sent him. A silly little line you always ended your thoughts with, back when you were fifteen and awkward and full of hope. Back when you never thought he’d even open one of your letters, let alone read it out loud with that soft voice and smile.

“Oh, it’s in English, but it’s okay… we can communicate with our hearts.”

You clutch the sign tighter, heart squeezing. Suddenly, the lights go out and the crowd erupts. The music booms through the stadium like a thunderstorm of joy and adrenaline. And then— Stray Kids walk out.

You don’t scream. You forget how to. You forget how to breathe. Because he’s right there. Jisung.

He’s laughing at something Changbin says, mic in hand, messy brown hair slightly tousled from movement, and he looks even more unreal in person. Like someone sketched him out of your dreams and pressed copy-paste into real life.

Your best friend is elbowing you, but you barely notice. Your eyes are locked on him and then—he’s scanning the front row. You panic. Instinctively, you lift your sign. Your arms are trembling. Your lips are slightly parted. You don’t even know if he’s looking. But then—his gaze stops.

Right on you.

His eyes flick down to the sign, and for a split second, something changes in his expression. His smile falters—not in a bad way, just like someone pressed pause on his face. His lips part, just a little, like maybe he recognizes it. Like maybe…

Maybe he remembers. Your heart explodes. And just as quickly, he smiles. A small, warm, knowing smile and then the music kicks in, and he turns away—off to his next cue.

But your legs feel like Jell-O. Your eyes sting. Because just for a second, it felt like he saw you. And maybe—just maybe—he did.

The music is pounding, the lights are flashing in every color imaginable, the crowd around you is bouncing and screaming—but all you can think about is that moment. That split second when Jisung looked at your sign. Really looked.

And then… He doubles back.

You swear your soul almost leaves your body when Jisung turns his head and glances your way again. Just briefly—but it’s enough to make your heart catapult into your throat.

He squints, grinning, and this time he definitely reads your sign properly. His eyebrows lift in recognition, and he points—actually points—right at it. Right at you.

Your best friend shrieks beside you, shaking your arm like they’re trying to restart your brain. Then it happens. Jisung raises his mic, leans slightly toward your side of the stage, and mouths something exaggeratedly with a huge grin— "HELLOOOO!"

The fans scream like crazy, but all you can hear is your heart breaking in the best way possible.

You’re laughing and covering your face at the same time, suddenly so aware of your cheeks burning up. You feel stupid and giddy and emotional all at once. You peek between your fingers, only to see him doing a cheesy little heart with his arms and tossing it right in your direction.

You don’t even care if it’s just fanservice. In this exact moment, it feels like the world is narrowing down to just the two of you.

Like he remembers, like your letters meant something. Like this stupid, beautiful sign actually found its way to him again after all this time.

Your best friend is crying now too—probably from secondhand embarrassment, or maybe they’re just as soft as you. You scream. You cry. You laugh. You want to vanish and also replay that second a thousand times and even though the rest of the concert is still ahead of you, packed with lightsticks and choreo and noise— that moment?

That was yours. And he saw you.

You start noticing it somewhere around the third song.

At first, you think maybe you’re just being delusional. Wishful thinking, overwhelmed from that one unforgettable “HELLOOO” moment and still floating miles above Earth. But then… it keeps happening. Jisung keeps drifting to your side of the stage.

Every. Single. Time.

Whether it's during choreo or while they’re walking around to wave at fans, he’s always near. Hovering within your section, sneaking glances more often than your heart can handle. Sometimes his gaze flicks toward you so quickly, so naturally, it almost seems like habit. Like he's checking.

Your best friend notices first. “Okay, I’m not crazy, right?” they yell over the music. “He’s literally glued to this side. I swear, he’s looking at you again.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. You’re too busy trying not to combust.

There’s a song where he kneels near the edge of the stage, close enough to make out the shape of his earrings, his breath catching under the lights—and while the others wave and smile at the crowd, his eyes scan the front row. When they land on you, you feel it. The tiny pause. The almost imperceptible softening in his expression.

He smiles. Not big or loud like on TV, but something smaller. Something that feels personal. You can barely function.

He’s performing—singing and rapping and dancing like the powerhouse he is—but still, he sees you. Not just your sign, not just your face in a sea of fans. It’s deeper.

You can tell by the way he keeps looking like he’s trying to confirm something. Like he’s thinking: Is it really her? After all these years?

And maybe your face has changed a little. Maybe your hair’s different or your style’s matured—but the phrase on your sign hasn’t changed. Neither has the way your eyes shine when you look at him.

When the stage goes dark between songs, you catch him glancing over again. This time, he lifts his water bottle to take a sip and… winks. WINKS. You nearly pass out on the barricade. Your best friend has to literally fan you with the concert pamphlet.

And all night long, he’s still there. Dancing dangerously close. Sending hearts in your direction. Like a loop. Like a full circle. Like fate standing onstage in front of you wearing black boots and a mic. Han Jisung is a lot of things—idol, performer, artist. But tonight, he’s the boy who recognized you. And that might just ruin you forever.

The concert ends in a blur of lights, confetti, and screams that echo in your bones. As the last note fades and the boys disappear backstage, you’re left standing there, gripping the barricade like your life depends on it.

You can’t move.

Your knees have officially turned into jelly. Useless, wobbly jelly. The kind that doesn’t support a person who’s just experienced 2+ hours of direct Han Jisung fanservice.

Your best friend catches you the moment your legs give out. “Oh my God—okay, okay, I got you, sit down before you melt into the concrete.”

You let them half-carry, half-drag you a few steps back, where the crowd is slowly thinning out. Your heartbeat still hasn’t gone back to normal. Your eyes are wide and glassy, your cheeks hurt from smiling too much, and your brain is… not functioning.

You plop down on the ground, legs out, clutching your sign to your chest like it’s a priceless artifact. Your best friend crouches beside you, eyes shining with the kind of joy reserved for someone who just watched the most surreal rom-com moment happen in real life.

“Okay,” they say, “I know you’re about to spontaneously ascend into the clouds or whatever, but can we talk about how Jisung, THE Han Jisung, literally spent the whole concert stalking our section?”

You blink. You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Then—“I. I don’t. Did that even. Was he—? Was that me?”

They let out a wheeze. “Yes, babe. That was you. He was looking at you. You were like… his anchor point on stage. His little human lighthouse. His—”

“Okay stop,” you squeak, slapping their arm lightly. “I’m already not breathing.” You fall back onto the ground dramatically, hands over your face, kicking your feet in the air like an overwhelmed anime character. “I literally cannot walk. I’m never recovering. This is it. I peaked.”

They lie down beside you in the parking lot chaos, laughing like you’re both ten years old again. “So when’s the wedding?”

“I’m gonna faint.” “You already did.”

You both just lay there, staring up at the Roman sky filled with leftover glow from the stadium, and for the first time in forever… you feel like maybe the universe really did hear all your letters. Because Han Jisung saw you and tonight, you’re more than just a fan. You were seen.

You’re still on cloud nine—maybe cloud ninety-nine, honestly—when it happens. You and your best friend are waddling toward the stadium exit, limbs aching in the best way possible, still squealing every five seconds about “THAT LOOK” and “HIS SMILE WAS FOR YOU,” when two staff members in sleek black jackets gently stop you with polite but firm smiles.

“Excuse me,” one of them says, glancing at your badge. “You were in the VIP section, yes?”

You blink. “Uh… y-yeah?”

“There’s just one quick thing we need to double-check with you and security. Won’t take long.”

You exchange a look with your best friend, confusion furrowing both your brows. But everything seems official enough—lanyards, radios, serious vibes—so you nod slowly. “Just her,” the second staff member adds. “Won’t take more than a few minutes. You can wait outside.”

Your best friend looks very skeptical, but you give their hand a squeeze. “I’ll be fine,” you whisper, heart already fluttering with curiosity, nerves, and—somehow—a sense of déjà vu. They guide you down a hallway behind the stadium, past doors labeled “Authorized Personnel Only.” Your heart is pounding again, the post-concert haze starting to shift into something else entirely—something warm and terrifying and electric.

You expect to find a security desk. Maybe someone with a clipboard asking you about your badge. Instead, they open a nondescript black door and gently motion you inside. And then?

They close it behind you. Leaving you in a quiet room, with one Korean staff member sitting by a small table…And Han Jisung. Standing there. Looking right at you.

You freeze. Your brain full-stops. Your hands go clammy, your vision tilts a little.

He’s dressed in casual post-show clothes now—oversized black hoodie, damp hair pushed back, skin still glowing under the fluorescent lights. And he’s holding a stack of papers in one hand. A Non-Disclosure Agreement.

“Hi,” he says, smiling nervously, like he’s the one about to faint. “I—I hope this isn’t too weird. But… I think we have a lot to talk about.”

You blink once. Twice. You point at him, dumbly. “You—uh—you’re real.”

He laughs. “So are you.”

You stare at him, brain not computing. “I—what—what’s going on?”

The staff member slides the NDA toward you gently and nods. “We just need you to sign this first. Then you can talk.”

You glance down at the document, then back up at Jisung, who suddenly looks very, very shy. “You had me at hello,” he murmurs, voice soft.

And that’s when it hits you. Your fingers are trembling. Not dramatically—just enough to make the pen slip weirdly between them like you’ve never held one before in your life. “This is… this is a prank,” you whisper, laughing nervously as you eye the NDA in front of you like it might suddenly morph into a math test. “Is this a prank? Are there cameras? Am I on Korean Punk’d right now?”

“No prank,” the staff member replies kindly - in a broken English you would say, and even they look a little amused.

You glance at Jisung again. He’s still standing there, fidgeting slightly with the sleeves of his hoodie, like he’s the nervous one. Which makes absolutely zero sense because he's Han Jisung. Global superstar. Idol. Rapper. The guy who lives in your playlists. The guy you once wrote a letter to while wearing pajamas and eating Nutella from the jar.

“I—okay,” you mutter, cheeks burning. “Yeah. Cool. Sure. Just signing… a totally normal legal document. In front of Han Jisung. Casual.” You bend over the table, but your hand stutters halfway through your name, and the result is this ridiculous, uneven signature that looks like a toddler tried to draw a bird.

You stare at it for a second.

“Oh my God,” you mumble. “That looks like a sneeze. That doesn’t even look like letters.” Jisung chuckles quietly behind you, and it sends a warm buzz all the way down your spine.

You slap your palm over the signature in defeat. “Can I get a redo? Please? Just one?”

“Don’t worry,” the staff member says, gently taking the paper. “You signed it. That’s what counts.” You nod quickly, awkwardly, then stand up so fast your chair squeaks loudly against the floor and you wince like you just stepped on a puppy.

Jisung steps closer. “You really didn’t think I’d remember you, did you?”

You meet his eyes—those soft, too kind eyes—and feel your heart thump all over again. “I didn’t even think you’d read the first letter,” you admit quietly.

He smiles. “Well… I read all of them.”

You blink up at him, brain still rattling around like a loose marble in a washing machine. Everything is surreal. The room. The papers. Him. Especially him. So, naturally, the words that tumble out of your mouth next are: “You’re lying.”

Jisung’s smile drops into something halfway between offended and dramatically scandalized. “Lying?!”

You immediately regret it. “I didn’t mean—I mean, I did say that, but—what I meant is—it just doesn’t make sense!” He crosses his arms, eyebrows lifting as he leans back slightly, all mock betrayal. “Wow. I invite you to my post-concert secret lair, I give you an NDA, and this is how I get treated? Accused of perjury?”

You let out a wheezy laugh, covering your face with both hands. “Okay, okay, but come on! You get like, thousands of letters! There’s no way mine stood out.”

Jisung’s expression softens. “Yours did.” Your breath catches in your throat. He shrugs a little, looking suddenly bashful again. “They weren’t like the others. Yours were messy. Honest. Funny. You rambled a lot.”

“I do ramble,” you say into your palms.

“And you always ended them with ‘You had me at hello.’ I started looking for that line every time a new letter came in. It felt like a secret code.” Your heart flips so violently it could probably qualify as a gymnastics routine.

“You’re… serious?” you whisper, peeking at him through your fingers.

Jisung steps a little closer, eyes locking with yours.

“I’m very serious. You made me feel… seen. Not like an idol. Just a guy. A guy who drinks too much iced coffee and overthinks song lyrics at 3 a.m.” You slowly lower your hands, blinking at him in disbelief.

“…You’re still a liar.”

He groans, dragging his hands down his face with a laugh. “Unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry!” you giggle, cheeks hurting from how hard you’re smiling. “I’m just—I don’t know how to believe this is real.”

He gestures to the room. “You signed an NDA. This is legally real.”

You snort.

Jisung grins again, “Wanna sit down? We have a lot of catching up to do… and I want to know everything.” You blink at him again, still partially convinced this is some elaborate prank or a very intense lucid dream. But then Jisung grabs two water bottles from a mini-fridge in the corner like it’s the most casual thing ever, cracks one open, and hands it to you.

“Alright,” he says, flopping onto the couch like he owns the universe. “Welcome to today’s episode of 'So You’re the Girl Who Wrote Those Letters,' hosted by me, your favorite idol-slash-detective, Han Jisung.”

You’re still standing awkwardly by the door, clutching the water like it’s a stress ball. “Is this really happening?”

He pats the seat next to him. “Very real. Very much happening. NDA signed, remember? No turning back now.”

You shuffle over, sitting on the edge of the couch like you're scared it might swallow you whole. He wiggles dramatically to make space, grinning at your stiff posture.

“So!” He clears his throat with fake professionalism. “Question one: On a scale from one to microwave popcorn, how nervous are you right now?”

“…What?”

“You heard me.”

You laugh—loud and surprised—shaking your head. “I don’t know… burnt popcorn?”

Jisung gasps. “That bad? Harsh. Okay, question two. Favorite ice cream flavor. Go.”

“Strawberry.”

He nods seriously, typing nothing into his imaginary clipboard. “Noted. Question three: why did you stop writing to me?”

You freeze.

He says it so casually, but his eyes—his eyes are serious now. You look down at your hands in your lap, fingers tightening around the bottle cap. “I think I just.. felt like I was bothering you for years. So I stopped.” A beat of silence.

"Y/n, you were never a bother."

Your heart cracks a little.

“And now…” he continues, voice lighter again, “Question four: What does ‘you had me at hello’ actually mean? Because I googled it once and ended up in a rom-com spiral.”

You snort, feeling your whole body loosen just a bit. “It’s from Jerry Maguire! It means… I liked you from the beginning. From the very start.”

“Ohhh.” He squints at you. “So you liked me before I even read your first letter?”

“I liked your music!” you clarify quickly, feeling your cheeks flame. “You were just… really inspiring and talented and—ugh, don’t look at me like that!”

“I’m not looking at you like anything!” he says, leaning forward, clearly enjoying your slow descent into social panic. “I just think it’s cute.” You groan into your hands.

He chuckles. “Okay, final question: do you still write letters?”

You peek at him through your fingers. “Sometimes. I just never send them anymore." Jisung leans back, arms crossed, giving you the softest smile you’ve seen all night.

“Well,” he says, “maybe you don’t have to send them anymore. Maybe you can just… say them. To me.” And just like that, you’re microwave popcorn again.

Your eyes finally rise to meet his again, and it hits you like a quiet storm.

Han Jisung is right in front of you. Up close, he’s unfairly beautiful in a way that your brain isn’t equipped to process. His hair is longer than usual, falling in damp strands that cling to his forehead and the sides of his face, still glistening with sweat from the concert. His honey skin shines under the backstage lights, flushed with heat and adrenaline, and there’s a soft heaviness to his breaths, like he ran straight from the stage just to see you.

You shouldn’t be staring. You know you shouldn’t. But how are you supposed to look away?

His eyeliner is slightly smudged at the corners, making his eyes look even deeper, darker, almost like they’re pulling you in. His lips are parted just a little, and for a terrifying second, you’re not sure if your legs are still functioning. Your whole body feels like it’s melting—cheeks burning, hands clammy, stomach turning into a rollercoaster.

Oh god. He’s looking at you too.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice soft, still slightly breathless. “You look a little—uh… pink?”

You want to respond, say something clever, but all that comes out is a panicked squeak and an awkward cough as you drop your gaze to the floor. Your heart is doing parkour. Your brain has gone offline. You’re ninety-nine percent sure you’re blushing in every shade known to man.

This is not how you imagined meeting your favorite person.

You’re still trying to gather the shreds of your dignity from the floor when he suddenly reaches behind him and pulls something out from the table.

A pen and a notepad, he holds them out to you like he’s offering you his soul. “Write me one,” he says, eyes twinkling, lips curved into that signature mischievous grin. “A letter. Right now.”

You blink. “What?”

“You heard me.” He nudges the pen into your hands. “You wrote the first one when I didn’t even know your name. Now that I do…” He shrugs, leaning back on the couch with way too much confidence. “It’s only fair.”

“I—I can’t just—write something now,” you stammer, gripping the pen like it might explode. “You’re literally watching me.”

“Yup.” He grins wider. “And I won’t read it until you’re done. Promise.” He covers his eyes with one hand, peeking through his fingers. “Okay, mostly promise.”

You sit down slowly, legs still wobbly from concert-induced jelly mode, and rest the paper on your lap. The room goes quiet except for your shaky breathing and the rapid tap-tap of the pen against your palm.

hello stranger, This is so awkward I might actually pass away—

You pause. Scratch it out.

Hello stranger, You’re very sweaty right now and I’m trying not to faint—

Oh god. No.

You quickly fold the page over, hiding it from his view.

Jisung’s shoulders are trembling from silent laughter, his hand still over his face. “That good, huh?”

You grumble, “This was a terrible idea.” But you keep writing anyway. Because deep down, it kind of feels like everything you never thought could happen… is actually happening.

You chew on the tip of the pen, brow furrowed in concentration, totally lost in your own little whirlwind of panic and ink-stained emotions. The world has shrunk down to this piece of paper, this moment, this boy who once lived in your headphones but is now sitting across from you, waiting with a soft grin and stars in his eyes.

And while you're focused on your shaky handwriting, completely unaware of how adorable your nose scrunches every time you get stuck on a sentence—

Jisung is staring at you like you hung the moon.

He leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, chin propped up by his hand. His expression shifts, playful grin softening into something quieter, something a little stunned. It’s like he’s watching something rare, something fleeting. Something that doesn’t even realize how beautiful it is.

You’re right there, nervously scribbling out sentences and sighing dramatically when things don’t sound perfect. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, your cheeks still warm from the earlier fluster. You keep whispering the words under your breath as you write them—like you want to make sure they feel right.

And Jisung can’t take his eyes off you.

He’s seen crowds of thousands. Stages filled with flashing lights and screaming fans. But somehow, in this quiet room with your knee bouncing anxiously and your fingers smudged with ink—

You’re the only thing he can focus on.

For the first time in a long time, Han Jisung isn’t thinking about lyrics, or cameras, or performances. He’s just watching you, heart thudding in his chest like a drum beat only he can hear.

You’re still hunched over the paper, determined to finish your masterpiece of a letter, when the door suddenly creaks open with a sharp click. You flinch, nearly dropping the pen. Jisung doesn’t even look up. He’s too busy watching you like you’re made of stardust.

"Yo, Jisung—" Chan’s voice cuts through the soft stillness. "We’re leaving in five, man, so if you’re—" He stops dead in his tracks when he notices you.

The silence that follows is loud.

Your head snaps up. Chan stares. You blink. Jisung turns his head slowly, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "...Oh," Chan says.

"Hyung," Jisung coughs, straightening up so fast his hair bounces, "I can explain."

Chan raises an eyebrow. "Should I be... concerned or congratulating you right now?"

"I—um—neither?" Jisung scratches the back of his neck. "She’s the letter girl."

Chan's eyes widen just a bit. “The letter girl?” You give the most awkward little wave in human history. Chan just laughs under his breath and runs a hand through his hair. “Well, that makes sense now. You were obsessed with those letters.”

Jisung shoots him a look. “I wasn’t obsessed.”

“You read them like bedtime stories, bro.” You shrink slightly in your chair, cheeks burning. Chan notices and immediately softens, raising his hands.

"Sorry—didn’t mean to embarrass you. Just… this is kinda surreal."

"Tell me about it," you mumble, still gripping the pen like a weapon.

Chan smiles and backs up toward the door. "Alright, alright. I’ll give you two a few more minutes. But Jisung—three tops, or I’m dragging you out myself."

“Got it,” Jisung says, not even looking away from you.

And just before Chan slips out, he glances at Jisung one more time and adds with a smirk, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” The door shuts again.

Silence returns. You glance at Jisung, heart racing. “So… ‘letter girl,’ huh?”

He grins. “Told you were unforgettable.”

The room settles again after Chan’s exit, but your heartbeat refuses to calm. You’re pretty sure it’s echoing off the walls. You try to focus on the letter again, but your hand feels shaky, and Jisung’s eyes haven’t left you since. He leans back a little, resting his palms on the edge of the couch, lips pressed together like he’s holding back a thousand things at once. “So…” he says slowly, voice warm and teasing, “you’re kind of famous in our dorm, you know.”

You snort, embarrassed. “Yeah, well, I didn’t expect that anyone actually read those letters. Let alone… multiple people.”

“I didn’t just read them,” he says, more serious now. “I waited for them.”

You look up. He’s already looking at you.

“Every month,” he continues, softer now. “I’d hope for your handwriting. Your awkward little jokes. The way you signed them with those weird doodles in the corners.”

You blink quickly, swallowing a sudden knot in your throat. “They were really bad doodles.”

“They were the best part,” he grins.

A quiet beat.

Then Jisung shifts forward a little, fingers nervously tapping his knee. “Hey, um…”

Uh-oh. The stammer is back. His usual confidence slips for just a second.

“If you’re not—like—leaving right away, or busy, or… I dunno, allergic to Korean food…” he chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Would you maybe… wanna grab dinner? With me?”

Your brain short-circuits.

Dinner.

With Han Jisung.

Dinner.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first. You have to take a breath and reboot your voice system entirely.

“I—I mean, yeah, I could eat,” you say. “Not, like, desperately hungry or anything, I just… yeah. Food. Cool.”

Jisung laughs, the tension in his shoulders easing immediately. “Cool. Awesome. Yeah.”

You both sit there for a moment—smiling like two idiots, hearts pounding, cheeks burning, knees brushing under the table without meaning to.

And just like that, the boy you once only knew through a screen is standing up, holding the door open for you, and smiling at you like a sunshine, “C’mon, Letter Girl. Let’s get you some dinner.”

The hallway is quiet as you and Jisung slip out of the room, flanked by a silent Korean staff member who guides you toward a black van parked just behind the venue. You can barely feel your feet on the ground—everything’s a blur of fluorescent lights, adrenaline, and the fact that you’re walking beside Han Jisung like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Except it’s not.

Not even close. As the staff opens the side door of the van, Jisung gestures for you to go in first. You nod and awkwardly half-bow, then climb into the seat behind the driver. Jisung hops in right after you, sitting beside you with barely a few inches of space in between.

And that’s when it hits you.

You’re in a car with Han Jisung. After a concert. His concert. Sweaty Han Jisung. Oh god sweaty Jisung. Who invited you to dinner.

You inhale through your nose—trying so hard to be normal—but it doesn’t help. Because the smell of his cologne, mixed with just a little leftover sweat and stage energy, is literally intoxicating. And unfair.

He buckles in, leans back, and casually glances over at you. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you blurt, way too fast, your voice cracks on the word “fine.”

He stifles a laugh. “You sure? You look like you might short-circuit.”

“I feel like I might,” you admit, covering your face with your hands and groaning softly. “This is so weird.”

“Not in a bad way, I hope?”

“No! No, no. Just… weird in a ‘how is this my life right now’ kind of way.”

Jisung smiles, shifting to face you more directly. “It’s weird for me too. In the best way.”

The car starts moving, and you both fall into a gentle silence—one that feels warm and oddly familiar despite the circumstances. You sneak a side glance at him.

His hair is still slightly damp, a few strands curling at the tips. His cheeks are flushed from the show, his eyes soft now, not wide-eyed and loud like on stage. He looks… real. And that’s when he catches you staring. “Something on my face?” he grins.

You snap your head forward so fast your neck nearly cracks. “No! I mean—yes. I mean—your face is on your face, but nothing wrong with it—”

He chuckles, low and fond, and leans his head back against the seat. “You’re cute when you panic.”

You press your lips together, letting out a weak little whimper. “Why would you say that out loud?”

He smirks and shrugs, gazing out the window. “Just speaking from the heart.”

The restaurant is dimly lit, stylish but cozy, tucked in a quiet corner of Rome. The kind of place you would never walk into alone, let alone with Han Jisung sitting across from you.

The server seats you both in a corner booth. Jisung shrugs off his jacket and settles in, his damp hair finally drying into soft waves that brush the tops of his ears. He stretches a little before glancing at you. “What do you wanna eat? I’m starving.”

You open the menu and nearly forget how to read. Confused words blur into nonsense, and your eyes dart nervously to the little pictures beside each dish. You point randomly. “That one looks… food.”

Jisung snorts. “That one is food. Solid choice.”

The server returns and Jisung takes over with shocking ease, placing the order in basic but charming Korean. You blink at him, because that was hot as hell.

“You’re nervous,” Jisung says through a laugh, resting his chin on his hand, smiling lightly. “It’s okay though. you're cute when you're nervous.” Despite the mess, despite the way your nerves are doing backflips, this already feels like a core memory. And Jisung—he doesn’t seem fazed at all.

You mumble lightly with hands that cover your face. “You’re really going to ruin me tonight, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” he says with a wink. “But in the sweetest way possible.”

The dinner wraps up and the two of you step out into the cool city evening, the air crisp and fresh after a long, heated meal. The city feels different at night—quiet yet alive, with a gentle hum of conversation and the soft clink of glasses from nearby cafes. You can see the faint glow of the lights in the distance, and it feels like the perfect backdrop for a night out with Jisung, though you’re still trying to convince your body it’s actually happening.

You and Jisung walk side by side, the streets gently bustling with life, but it feels as though the world around you has slowed down, just for a moment. Every few steps, your hands brush together, sending little jolts up your arm, and each time, you quickly pull your hand away, your heart racing like it’s trying to escape your chest.

You’re not sure if he notices, but it feels like you’re walking in a dream. You’re not supposed to be this close to him. You can barely remember how to keep your hands to yourself.

And then—he stops.

Right in the middle of the cobblestone street. A car passes by, headlights painting the two of you in a fleeting, golden light. Your breath catches. “Uh… Jisung?”

He’s standing there, staring ahead, his hands shoved in his pockets, his face tight. You can see the muscles in his jaw working, and for a second, you think he might be upset. But when he looks at you, there’s a storm behind his eyes—a frustration you can’t place.

“Y/n…” he starts, his voice low, almost like he’s trying to keep it steady. “I need you to stop.”

“Stop?” You blink, confused, trying to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stop what?”

He turns to face you fully now, his shoulders tense. “Stop pretending like you don’t know what’s going on here.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you frown. “What do you mean?”

His expression softens for a second before the frustration creeps back. “I mean… stop acting like you haven’t noticed how I’ve been looking at you all night.”

You freeze. “Jisung, I—”

“No, listen,” he cuts you off, running a hand through his slightly damp hair. “I’m not saying you’re doing this on purpose. But you keep pushing me away, like you’re scared. But I’m not some... some idol you have to be afraid of, okay? I’m just me.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he continues, voice rising a little more in frustration now. “Every time I think maybe you’re starting to trust me, you pull back. And then when I think I’ve done something wrong, you just—” He stops, taking a deep breath. “You don’t understand, do you? You don’t get how much I’ve thought about you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, your eyes wide, and it’s like the world slows down even more. You stand there in silence for a moment, processing what he’s just said. Your chest feels tight, your palms sweating.

And then you manage to speak, voice shaking, “I—I didn’t know you felt that way.”

He laughs, but it’s a low, frustrated sound, not like before. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been terrible at showing it. But I want you to know, Y/n… I’m trying here. And I don’t want you to keep pushing me away. I want you to let me in.”

You swallow hard, your heart beating faster now, and for the first time, you realize how ridiculously close you are to him. You’re both standing on the cobblestones, inches away, and your pulse is thundering in your ears.

“Jisung…” Your voice falters.

He looks down at you, eyes softer now, but still intense. “I know you’re scared. I know it’s a lot. But I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

And just like that, the tension in the air shifts. His words—raw and unfiltered—wrap around you, and for a moment, everything feels different. The world feels a little smaller. His gaze softens, and he reaches out, barely brushing his fingertips against yours.

This time, you don’t pull away. Your fingers tangle with his, just a touch, like a quiet promise. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself feel it. Whatever this is.

You stand there, still trying to wrap your head around everything that’s just been said. Jisung’s words are echoing in your mind, like a melody you can’t shake. You’ve been trying so hard to keep it together, trying to make sense of the whirlwind that is him, that is this. But you’re still so shocked, still so shaken by everything happening, you can barely breathe. You look at him—really look at him—and the storm inside your chest only grows.

“I’m just—” You shake your head, your words tumbling out in a rush. “I’m still trying to figure all this out. I’ve never been in something like this, Jisung. I don’t even know how to react. You’re you and I’m just… me. And I don’t get why you even… want this, want me.”

You let out a short, shaky laugh, but it’s all nerves. “I’m just—so surprised, and it feels like I’m waiting for someone to wake me up and tell me it’s not real. It’s a lot to handle, and my brain is still catching up.”

Jisung stands there, silent, watching you with an expression that’s almost unreadable, but his eyes never leave yours. You feel the weight of the night, of the connection between you two, hanging in the air like an unspoken truth. Your pulse quickens as the words tumble out of your mouth, but the moment they do, you feel silly for saying them.

“I just don’t know if I’m ready for all of this, Jisung,” you whisper, stepping back slightly, almost as if you’re trying to distance yourself from the intensity of it all.

His gaze softens. He’s still standing just a few inches away from you, but there’s a distance between you now—a distance you can’t seem to bridge. You look at him, your chest tight with a hundred different emotions, and before you can continue your rambling thoughts, he steps forward in one fluid motion.

And then, without any warning, he reaches up, his hand cupping your face with a tenderness that takes your breath away. His thumb brushes your cheek, a silent gesture that sends a wave of warmth rushing through you.

“You don’t need to figure everything out right now, Y/n,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m not asking for all of you at once. I just want you to be real with me. You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

You swallow hard, still lost in the weight of his words, when you feel his fingers gently lifting your chin. His gaze drops to your lips, his breath brushing across your face. Everything about the moment feels like a slow-moving storm. You don’t even realize you’ve been holding your breath until it catches in your throat.

And then, without any warning, Jisung closes the small gap between you two. His lips are soft, tentative at first, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. But you don’t. You don’t want to.

The kiss starts slow, almost hesitant, but as soon as his lips press against yours, a quiet fire blooms in your chest. Your mind blanks for a split second, everything else fading into the background. It’s gentle at first, just a brush of lips, a quiet meeting of worlds that shouldn’t fit but do, somehow. You feel his warmth, the soft pressure of his lips against yours, and it all feels like something you never could’ve imagined before.

But then he deepens the kiss ever so slightly, his hand shifting to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you in closer, and your knees feel like they might just give out. The kiss becomes more urgent, more alive, and the world tilts around you as his lips move with a careful urgency, like he’s telling you something without words.

You respond instinctively, your hands coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart through the fabric of his shirt. You can’t help but melt into him, your senses overloaded by the sensation of him—his warmth, his touch, the way his kiss makes everything else feel so far away.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. You’re both still, your chest rising and falling together, and for a long moment, neither of you says a word. The city around you fades away completely, and all that’s left is the feeling of his lips, the softness of his touch, and the steady rhythm of your hearts beating in sync.

“I don’t want you to be scared anymore,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your cheek as he speaks. “You don’t have to be.”

You stare up at him, your heart still racing, still trying to comprehend what just happened, but there’s no denying it. The quiet promise in his words, the sincerity in his eyes—it makes something inside you stir.

“Jisung…” You whisper his name like it’s the only thing that matters right now.

His eyes meet yours again, and this time, it’s clear. He’s not going anywhere. Neither are you.

"You had me at hello."

#han jisung #( skz. — 💭! )#stray kids #han jisung skz #han jisung x reader #han jisung smut #skz #han jisung fluff #fan x idol #fan x idol relationship

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1004sface · 1 year ago

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TV Guide 1997.01.23 - 'Solving the H.O.T. Syndrome' (pt. 1)

Scans credit: hot.dataclub.net (but the opening section is missing!) · part 2, part 3

[Measuring their popularity]

1,000 fan letters in a day

Companies scrambling to cast them in commercials

The 5-member boy group H.O.T., who after "Warrior's Descendants" are furthering their popularity with "Candy", are gaining 5 times the popularity of a solo artist with their individual characters, good looks, and exceptional talents.

In a single day, over 1,000 fan letters rush to their company's office. They're the sole group where posts related to them gather explosive amounts views on PC communication networks like HiTEL, Chollian, and Nownuri. They've dominated the net to the point where finding posts about other celebrities is near-impossible. Not only is their every move both on-stage and off shared, but rumors and guesses about the group are prevalent too. A fanclub on PC communication fanclub "Oh Bang Jang Gun" meticulously provides news about H.O.T. and also serves the role of leading public opinion.

There were a few instances where Seo Taiji and Boys released new music after eight to nine months of silence and livened up PC communication, but H.O.T. are the first singers since them to integrate themselves into the public view. H.O.T. are also setting audience attendance records for public live broadcasts and events. Not just in Seoul, but also in other districts are H.O.T. gathering audiences ranging from 500 to over 1,000 people, even though they lack an official fanclub. During the MBC Starry Night public broadcasts last December that toured Korea's major cities, H.O.T.'s popularity was unrivaled. Particularly at the Daegu stop, H.O.T. fans flocking in roves waiting for the group's appearance led to two deaths and a number of injuries. Upon hearing the news, H.O.T. had to cancel the performance and hurry back to Seoul.

Damin Planning is the company in charge of H.O.T's portrait rights. The company says that "H.O.T. postcards and posters are so short on supply we can't sell enough of them." Companies that focus on celebrity portrait rights like Wi Productions, Star Focus, and Pudaim are operating in large numbers domestically. These companies produce merchandise targeted towards primary and middle schoolers like postcards and posters, and according to them H.O.T.-related products sell three to four times as much as the few top class solo singers.

In the commercial industry, advertisers are picking H.O.T. as their "number 1 target." Offers are piling up from over 20-30 companies, and the group have already received down payments of $150 to $250 million won from companies they've signed with. Their appearance fees have been reaching the sky.

"Candy" is dominating the charts of the big 3 TV stations' music programs, and it's the same on music-focused cable channels like KMTV, M.net, and Downtown. It doesn't seem like there's anything in the music industry that can stop H.O.T.'s rise.

[Dance & Music]

Comical motions, "double hammer dance" fever

A sweet, melodic change to their singing style

The boys of H.O.T. have reigned the streets as famous dancers since high school—it's no wonder their choreography is nothing short of extravagant. The members have 5 at least to 9 years of experience at most, and they favor hip hop dance the most.

Right after their debut, H.O.T. offered a stunning performance in the form of "Warrior's Descendants", whose choreography contains 3-4 high level techniques. A hip-hop based group dance with many twisting movements, the main point then was the "fan dance." The five members would dance using isolating motions, then suddenly fall down and spin on their knees. Next was Jang Woohyuk's "eagle dance", a type of electric boogie (in which one follows the beat with slow movements). The movement, like the spread out wings of an eagle, conveys a tremendous strength.

In the follow-up track, "Candy", Moon Heejun presented the "power racer", while Jang Woohyuk presented the "hammer dance"—the key point is the "double hammer dance", which Heejun and Woohyuk perform together. A creative "needle dance" (imitating the motion of being shot by a needle) also shows up here and then. The comical hammer-hit movements that seem to recoil to the person next to them, which match the song's cute mood, have also been key factors in H.O.T.'s rise to popularity. Back in "Warrior's Descendants", H.O.T hit our ears with a unique assortment of raps—Tony's nasally English rap, Kangta's so called "Jeong Joo-young style" twangy rap, and Jang Woohyuk's rock-style shouting built variety and tension. But unlike "Warrior's Descendants", which stood out for its intensity, "Candy" puts softness above everything else. As Kangta and Moon Heejun lead vocally, all of the members contribute to the vocals and rapping, building a solid harmony.

[Fashion]

A flashy, candy-colored pastel style

Mittens and overalls trending big

The promotions of "Warrior's Descendants" had all 5 members wear the same hip hop-inspired, black-colored street fashion. But with "Candy", the group's made a change by using colorful palettes.

This "candy fashion" has recently gotten popular with the young generation, and is the newest fashion item selling like hotcakes.

When a star is born, it's natural for their hairstyle, fashion, and every little move to start a trend. Moon Heejun's sun cap and the mittens and overalls H.O.T. wear have boomed in popularity, thus creating the name "candy fashion" or "H.O.T. fashion."

Like the name implies, "candy fashion" puts candy colors, i.e. bright and cute pastels like pink, orange, and chartreuse on artificial mink to give a soft, comforting feel. The jumpers worn by the group are mostly popular with girls, probably on account of their colorful hues. But individual items like Moon Heejun's sun cap, Jang Woohyuk's bucket hat, Kangta's bag, as well as all five members' oversized mittens, are in with teens regardless of gender.

H.O.T.'s fashion items can be seen from shops in Shinchon, Dongsung-dong, and Myeong-dong, all the way to handcarts, with names like "the Jang Woohyuk hat" or "the Moon Heejun hat". "The doll-shaped claw pins on Jang Woo-hyuk's hat aren't being sold just on hats, but also as stand-alone hair pins," says a shopkeeper in Sinchon, explaining the H.O.T. boom in street fashion, "and hairbands imitating the duck shape on Moon Heejun's sun cap are also popular."

These items differ in price depending on the area and shop, but their cheap costs, ranging from ₩3,000 to ₩15,000 won, make them more tempting for youths to buy. It's also a trend amongst schoolgirls to tie their with colorful rubber bands, imitating Lee Jaewon's babyish and slightly dowdy hairstyle, and the color painting on all 5 members' faces is seeing explosive popularity in ski resorts. clothing, items, and style are trending en masse, giving a brilliant color to the previously grey winter streets.

Stylist Go Kyeong-min speaks about H.O.T

Every member has a clear-cut image

They can pull off any style of clothing

H.O.T.'s biggest strength is their members' fair, bright skin. Accordingly, they look good no matter what color they wear, from dark blacks to brilliant primary shades. The members aren't all the most handsome faces, but their baby faces and distinct images make them able to pull off even the most unconventional styles. Lee Jaewon's "fountain hair" or Moon Heejun's sun-cap, for instance, may look old-fashioned, but it accentuates their cuteness and gives them each a strong impression. Kangta wasn't given any special accents due to his clean-cut, manhwa character-like image, but that serves to differentiate him from the other members.

Their unique, individual impressions and styles that allow them to try experimental fashions make me say as a stylist that they're the perfect models.

[Their debut process]

Members scouted through newspaper and magazine ads

1 year of "free housing" while practicing choreography

H.O.T. are the idol stars of the future, born from the thorough, perfectionist calculation of their production team. The music industry, too, has now reached the stage where commercial strategies need to be planned through precise market research. One can see H.O.T. as a "character product" created with that marketability in mind. Jeong Haeik, SM Entertainment's head manager, formed a dance group in snatches of time while managing the R&B singer Yoo Youngjin.

"I planned it to be a five member group from the start. There were already many duos and trios in the music scene. I did think of making a quartet, but thinking about the group's on-stage appearance, I figured a five member ensemble would look the most cool and balanced."

Jeong started by printing recruitment ads in newspapers and magazines. The first members he scouted were Moon Heejun and Kangta. It's said that the two most popular of H.O.T. immediately caught Jung's interest. The next member to be chosen was Jang Woohyuk, who won over 700 people to become the 3rd H.O.T. member.

Feeling the need to add a member who can rap in English, Jeong printed an ad in a Korean-American magazine in LA. The two people who passed by sending in their pictures and documents were Tony Ahn and Lee Sunho. Lee Sunho was a middle school senior at the time, and his parents refused to let him join the group, so he quit and only Tony was added. Lastly, Lee Jaewon's scouting completed the framework for H.O.T. Tony, who lived in America, trained by watching videos he was mailed of the other members dancing, and in June he came to Seoul, officialy becoming a member.

The only members without living places in Seoul were the Korean-American Tony and the Gumi resident Jang Woohyuk. Jeong Haeik accommodated the two with meals and lodging in a boarding in Bangbae-dong. Ever since then, Jeong Haeik has done Woohyuk and Tony's laundry and made their food.

H.O.T.'s first TV appearance was through Saturday Night Music Show, broadcast on September 7 last year. But their real TV debut was on KBS 2's Super Sunday, which broadcast on the 8th but was recorded two days prior. When the MCs of that show asked the group to introduce themselves to the audience, H.O.T. responded with "please let us grow." These words promptly became a hot topic, and they've come to signal the H.O.T. craze.

#h.o.t #에쵸티 #에이치오티 #1st gen kpop #1st generation kpop #old school k-pop #tv guide #TV가이드

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emperordinozenmon · 4 months ago

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Celebration

A little something for y'all

Cube’s end-of-the-year party was a bizarre event shrouded in mystery, a legend whispered about in hushed voices among trainees and industry insiders. No one outside its invite list had ever confirmed what went on inside, but that didn’t stop the rumors from spreading like wildfire.

Your friend group had spent years speculating, each person pitching their own wildly different theory. You leaned toward the idea that it was some kind of exclusive, over-the-top karaoke party where idols got blackout drunk and embarrassed themselves in front of their seniors. Nathan suggested a big aphrodisiac induced orgy where idols and staff let off steam and fucked rapaciously. Danny swore up and down that it was a cosplay event, where the biggest names in K-pop dressed up as anime characters and took part in elaborate skits. And Q—well, Q liked to claim it was an annual ritual sacrifice, though whether he actually believed that or was just being Q was anyone’s guess.

It had always been harmless fun, something to gossip about late at night when you were all exhausted from work and just hanging out and needed a distraction. Until now.

The door burst open, and Nate strode in, looking equal parts exhilarated and overwhelmed. He ran a hand through his hair as he shut the door behind him, as if he needed to physically close himself off from whatever whirlwind had just hit him.

“Guys,” he started, breathless, his eyes flicking between you. “You’ll never believe what I got invites for.”

Q scoffed, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. “What, the Cube end-of-the-year party?” he said, grinning. “Nice try, Nate.”

The air in the room shifted when Nate didn’t immediately laugh or roll his eyes. Instead, his face went completely still, his hands tightening around the strap of his bag.

“Wait…” he said slowly, voice deadly serious. “How did you know?”

A silence settled over the room, thick and unnatural. You felt your pulse pick up as you and the others exchanged glances.

Dani leaned forward. “Nate,” she said carefully, as if afraid of spooking him, “you’re joking, right?”

But he wasn’t. You could see it in his face.

He swallowed hard. “No,” he said. “I got us invites. All of us.”

The words sat heavy in the air. For years, the Cube party had been nothing more than an untouchable myth, a fun mystery to poke at from a safe distance. But now, the distance was gone.

“How did you nail that?” you ask.

Nathan blushed and said, “well there's been thig girl I have been Nailing,” he stammered before he said. “Her name is Nayoung.” the name reminds you of something buy you can't place why. Regardless you were excited to go.

Here’s an expanded version of your scene, adding more detail, atmosphere, and character moments:

Over the next few days, Nate drip-fed information about the party to the rest of you, each new detail adding another layer to the mystery. The most surprising revelation came from Nayoung—apparently, the party was both costume and karaoke-themed. That, at least, explained the secrecy. If a single photo of top idols drunkenly belting out power ballads while dressed in ridiculous outfits got out, it would be chaos.

With that in mind, you and Dani wasted no time in deciding on your costumes: Persona protagonists. The moment Q heard, he took it upon himself to make sure your outfits were perfect.

“Alright, if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right,” he declared, cracking his knuckles like a man preparing for battle.

You hadn’t expected him to be so skilled at costuming, but over the next few days, he guided you and Dani through every step of the process—choosing fabrics, cutting out patterns, even distressing certain parts to make them look more authentic. Watching him work, you realized he had a real talent for it.

“You’re scarily good at this, Q,” Dani said one evening, watching as he sewed intricate silver buttons onto your jacket with precise, practiced hands.

Q shrugged, eyes focused on his work. “I used to help my sister with cosplay when we were younger. And, y’know, I have to live vicariously through you two since my costume options are limited.”

Neither of you missed the way his tone dipped slightly at the end. It was an unspoken reality—Q’s darker complexion and broad frame meant that many of the characters he admired weren’t ones he could easily portray, at least not without running into criticism. But instead of letting it get to him, he poured his enthusiasm into helping you and Dani.

By the time the night of the party arrived, you, Dani, Nate, and Eraqus were ready.

The four of you stood outside the venue, a sleek, high-end building that didn’t look like the kind of place where chaotic karaoke and costumed idols would be running around. You adjusted your jacket, trying to shake off the nerves, while Dani smoothed down her gloves. Nate was already bouncing on his heels, the anticipation buzzing off him in waves, while Eraqus stood a little more stiffly, scanning the entrance like he half-expected security to turn you all away.

Then, the doors swung open, and a tiny blonde woman stepped out. You barely had time to process her sharp eyes and confident stance before she grabbed Nate by the collar and kissed him, right there in front of all of you.

Your jaw dropped. “Oh.”

It all made sense in an instant.

When she finally pulled away, Nayoung turned her attention to the rest of you, a smirk playing on her lips. “You guys look great,” she said, giving you all a quick once-over. “Now get in. Before someone sees you.”

She stepped aside, motioning for you to follow, and just like that, the four of you were stepping into the legendary Cube end-of-the-year party—where, for better or worse, the mystery was about to unravel.

The party was already in full swing by the time you stepped inside. The air buzzed with energy—idols in elaborate costumes laughing over drinks, half-shouted conversations competing with the pounding bass of a remix that someone had taken too seriously. Neon lights flickered in hypnotic patterns against the walls, casting shifting shadows over the chaotic mix of people.

Eraqus (Q) quickly found himself enmeshed between a couple of well known idols praising his zombie costume.

“Wow those exposed ribs are so good how did you do that?” Chowon from Lightsum asked asked.

“How did you find glowing contacts?” Sakura of le Sserafim asked.

“Ah well you know…” Eraqus stammered not used to all the attention. While this was going on you couldn't sense the encroaching presence behind you

You barely had time to take it all in before someone appeared beside you, slipping into your personal space so smoothly you almost didn’t notice until she spoke.

“You clean up well.”

You turned your head and found yourself face-to-face with Karina.

She looked effortlessly cool, dressed in a sleek, all-black ensemble that could have been a costume or just an excuse to look devastatingly good. The sharp contrast of dark fabric against her fair skin made her seem even more striking under the shifting lights.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh—”

Her lips quirked up at the corner, amused at your hesitation. “Yu Narakami the Persona protagonist, right?” She reached out, barely brushing the lapel of your jacket between her fingers before letting go. “Nice choice. Thought I was the only one who cared about good taste.”

Your brain scrambled to keep up. You had never really spoken to her before—at most, you’d been in the same rooms during fan events, maybe exchanged a polite nod in passing. But now, here she was, looking at you like you were the only person worth talking to in the room.

“Thanks,” you finally managed, fighting to sound casual. “Didn’t think anyone here would notice.”

Karina hummed, tilting her head slightly. “Oh, I notice a lot of things.”

Before you could figure out what that meant, she took a step closer, her voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “How about you ditch your friends for a bit?”

You hesitated, glancing over your shoulder where Dani and Ersque were deep in conversation, completely oblivious. Nate was off somewhere with Nayoung. No one was paying attention to you.

Karina smirked, reading your hesitation like an open book. She leaned in, just close enough that you could smell the faint trace of perfume clinging to her skin.

“Come on,” she murmured, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Let’s have some real fun.”

Then, before you even had a chance to agree—or process what was happening—she took your hand, lacing her fingers through yours, and tugged you deeper into the party.

And just like that, you were gone.

Here’s an expanded version of your scene, adding more emotion, tension, and atmosphere:

Karina led you through the maze of hallways until she found an empty practice room, slipping inside without hesitation. The moment the door shut behind you, the noise of the party outside became a distant hum, leaving just the two of you in the dimly lit space.

She turned to face you, her expression unreadable for a moment, before a small, playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“So,” she said, leaning against the mirror with her arms crossed, studying you with open curiosity. “Which Persona is your favorite?”

Her eyes gleamed, pupils slightly dilated—not just from intrigue but something deeper, something hungrier.

You hesitated for half a second before answering, “Persona 4. I had a similar experience when I was younger.”

Karina arched a perfectly shaped brow. “Oh? You fought demons and gods in a shadow world?” she teased, tilting her head slightly.

You huffed out a small laugh, shaking your head. “That’s not what I meant… I had to spend a full school year with extended family because my parents were having issues.”

Her teasing expression softened, her gaze turning more thoughtful. “Where at?”

You shrugged, answering offhandedly, “Oh, [redacted].”

The reaction was immediate. Karina’s eyes went wide—wider than before, not with curiosity but with something bordering on shock. Her posture stiffened, her body leaning forward slightly, as if she needed to be closer to confirm what she was hearing.

“No way,” she breathed, searching your face with sudden urgency. “I went to [redacted] too. What year?”

Your brows furrowed, a flicker of confusion passing over you. “Uh… 20XX.”

Karina gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Wait—” Her voice caught, her breath hitching as realization dawned in her expression. “Ace?”

Your entire body locked up. Your pulse pounded in your ears as your brain scrambled to catch up.

She knew.

Your eyes widened, the breath stolen from your lungs as everything snapped into place.

“Yu???”

The name tumbled from your lips before you could stop it, the childhood memory flooding back in full force.

The long afternoons spent wandering the quiet town, the laughter shared over convenience store snacks, the whispered conversations about dreams and fears, the silent understanding that had always existed between you—until life had pulled you apart.

Karina—Yu—stood there, her face a perfect mix of shock, nostalgia, and something even deeper, something raw.

Neither of you moved for a moment. The air in the room was thick with tension, an electric charge crackling between you like a live wire.

Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you reached for her.

She met you halfway, surging forward as your lips crashed together in a desperate, almost frantic kiss. Karina made a soft, breathy noise against your mouth, her hands gripping the front of your jacket as if she was afraid you might disappear again.

You felt her hunger, her longing, the years of separation dissolving in the heat between you.

“I missed you so much,” she whimpered against your lips, her voice trembling with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to look at her, your forehead resting against hers, trying to ground yourself in the reality of the moment.

“Holy hell, Yu,” you murmured, your hands cupping her face, your thumbs brushing against her flushed cheeks. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening against you as if she was afraid to let go.

Here’s an expanded version with more romance, affection, and warmth:

“Well,” she whispered, her breath fanning against your lips, her voice barely above a murmur, “you found me.”

Her eyes shimmered with something between teasing amusement and deep, unfiltered joy. The kind of joy that only came from reconnecting with someone who had once been your whole world. Her fingers traced light, ghosting touches along your jaw, as if she were memorizing the feel of you all over again.

A slow smile spread across your face before you leaned in, capturing her lips once more. The second kiss was softer, more intentional—less of a desperate reunion and more of a lingering promise. Her lips felt just as you remembered, warm and inviting, but now there was a sweetness to them that hadn’t been there before. Maybe it was her lipstick, or maybe it was just her.

Emboldened, you gently nipped at her bottom lip, earning a surprised, breathy laugh against your mouth.

“Okay,” she murmured, her forehead resting against yours, “as much as I love this, I gotta ask… what are you doing now?”

You exhaled a small chuckle, still a little lost in her touch, before pulling back slightly. “I’m a stuntman and stunt coordinator now. Director too, for some projects. The last one we worked on was Train to Busan III.”

Karina’s eyes widened so much you were worried they might pop out of her skull.

“No way!” she gasped, pushing against your chest lightly as if to confirm you were real. “You—what?! That’s amazing!”

Her excitement was contagious, and you felt heat creep up your neck at the way she looked at you—like she was genuinely proud.

“I remember how obsessed you were with Taekwondo when we were kids,” she continued, her fingers now absentmindedly tracing patterns on your sleeve. “You were always practicing, always trying to perfect your form… and now you’re actually doing something huge with it. I love that.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but her enthusiasm made your chest feel light.

Then, with a cheeky glint in her eye, she smirked and nudged you. “So, think you could get me a role as an action heroine? I am a rocket puncher, after all.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I don’t know, Yu… I haven’t seen you in six years. Might be a little rusty.”

Karina let out an exaggerated gasp, her hand flying to her chest as if you had wounded her. “Wow. Abandon me for six years and then insult my skills? Unbelievable.”

Her pout was devastating, and you immediately felt bad—not that you weren’t enjoying the way she was hamming it up.

You sighed dramatically, then softened. “Alright, alright. I might be able to pull some strings,” you conceded, and she grinned victoriously.

“But enough about me,” you added, giving her a look. “You’re, like, a world-famous idol now. That’s insane.”

Karina smirked, tossing her hair over her shoulder in mock arrogance. “Yeah, I’m pretty savage, right?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. Without thinking, you leaned in and kissed her nose.

Karina blinked, stunned for half a second before a warm, slightly bashful smile took over her features. Her hands curled against your chest as she tilted her head, gazing up at you.

“So…” she murmured, quieter now, her voice holding something a little more vulnerable. “Are you back forever? Or is this just a visit?”

The weight of her question settled between you, the unspoken hope lingering in her eyes.

You reached up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, your thumb brushing against her cheek.

“I don’t know yet,” you admitted honestly, watching as something flickered across her expression.

Karina studied you for a moment before exhaling softly, then resting her head against your chest. “Well… I hope you stay,” she whispered.

You wrapped your arms around her, holding her close, breathing her in.

“Me too,” you murmured, meaning every word.

While you and Karina were lost in your own world, elsewhere in the building, Eraqus was being dragged through the dimly lit hallways by none other than Magenta from QWER, whose mischievous grin practically glowed in the dark.

“Magenta,” Eraqus hissed, glancing around as they weaved between corners, avoiding wandering partygoers. “Why are we sneaking? You do realize you’re famous, right? You literally can just walk places.”

Magenta turned, still moving backward like some kind of rogue in a heist film. “Shhh, Eraqus, you’ve gotta commit to the bit.”

“What bit?”

“The vibe of sneaking! It makes things more exciting.”

Eraqus pinched the bridge of his nose but followed anyway, resigned to the fact that Magenta operated on a wavelength no one else did.

“Why are we even looking for a practice room?” he asked.

Magenta shrugged. “To talk.”

“You dragged me through this whole building like we’re infiltrating a government facility just to talk?”

“Exactly,” Magenta replied, completely unbothered.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a practice room door, and Magenta leaned in dramatically, pressing an ear against the wood. Eraqus, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow.

“Magenta, I swear if someone is in there—”

Ignoring him, Magenta slowly—oh-so-slowly—turned the doorknob and peeked inside. Then, with all the grace of a cartoon character, Magenta took a single step in, turned to Eraqus, and whispered, “Oh, yeah, someone’s in there.”

Eraqus groaned. “I told you—”

Before he could finish, Karina’s sharp voice cut through the room.

“…Are you two gonna stand there and gawk, or do you wanna come in?”

Eraqus grimaced and finally stepped into the room to see Karina still nestled comfortably against you, both of you staring at the intruders with varying degrees of amusement.

Magenta blinked, then grinned. “Ohhh, we totally interrupted something, huh?”

Karina sighed dramatically but didn’t move from your side. “A little, yeah.”

“We’re so sorry,” Magenta continued, not looking sorry at all. “Should we leave? I feel like we should leave. Eraqus, should we leave?”

Eraqus, who was already turning to walk out, nodded. “Yeah, I think we should.”

Before they could escape, you waved them off. “Nah, it’s fine. You guys can stay.”

Eraqus hesitated. “…Are you sure? We really don’t wanna intrude.”

Karina rolled her eyes but smiled. “Just sit down before Magenta gets another idea to sneak into someone else’s room.”

Magenta gasped in mock offense. “I would never—okay, I would. But that’s beside the point.”

With that, the four of you settled onto the floor, forming a loose circle. There was a beat of silence before Magenta, ever the instigator, grinned and leaned forward.

“So… you two childhood lovers reunited by fate or something?”

Karina scoffed, but her cheeks warmed slightly. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

Eraqus, who had taken one glance at the way you two had been sitting when they walked in, deadpanned, “Yes.”

You chuckled, wrapping an arm around Karina’s shoulders as she nestled in a little closer. “Yeah, turns out we knew each other as kids.”

Magenta gasped, hands clutched over their chest. “That’s adorable.”

For a moment, the conversation drifted, with Karina and Magenta comparing industry horror stories, Eraqus chiming in with his usual dry wit, and you just sitting there, enjoying the moment. The tension from earlier melted away, replaced by something lighter, easier.

Eventually, Magenta stretched dramatically, flopping against Eraqus, who let out a long-suffering sigh but didn’t push them off.

“This is kinda nice,” Magenta mused. “Just… sitting and talking.”

Karina hummed in agreement, her fingers lazily tracing patterns against your knee. “Yeah, it is.”

Eraqus, always the pragmatic one, muttered, “I still don’t know why we had to sneak here.”

Magenta cackled. “Because it made for a way better story, obviously.”

Everyone laughed, the room filled with an easy warmth. And for the first time that night, it felt like the world outside didn’t matter—just the four of you, lost in the comfort of old and new friendships, in a quiet little room where, for a moment, time didn’t exist.

As the conversation lulled, Eraqus stretched his arms over his head, letting out a dramatic sigh. “You know, for all the mystery and hype, this party is… kinda cute,” he mused. “I was fully expecting chanting, ritual sacrifices—maybe even a secret underground fight club or something.”

Magenta snorted. “Right? With the way people talk about it, I thought we’d at least have to swear an oath of secrecy.”

Karina, who had been lazily tracing circles on your knee, perked up at that, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Oh no, that’s SM’s flow,” she said, her tone casual but far too knowing. “They bring in a bunch of boys for the female idols to pick from so they can blow off steam the whole night.”

Eraqus and Magenta froze.

A long, stunned silence filled the room as their expressions contorted into a mix of horror and disbelief. Magenta’s jaw practically hit the floor, while Eraqus blinked rapidly as if trying to reboot his entire thought process.

“…You’re joking,” Eraqus finally said, voice wary.

Karina held his gaze for a beat longer, face completely serious—then she cracked, bursting into laughter. “Oh my God, the look on your faces!” She clutched her stomach as she doubled over, shaking with laughter.

Magenta smacked Eraqus’s arm. “Dude, I believed her! My soul left my body for a second!”

Eraqus, still recovering, rubbed his face. “You can’t just say things like that, Karina!”

Watching them lose their minds, you couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head fondly before turning to Karina. “God, I missed you.”

She tilted her head up at you, her laughter softening into something more tender. Her fingers curled lightly around your wrist as she murmured, “Well, I missed you more.”

The teasing bickering between Magenta and Eraqus faded into the background for a moment as you and Karina just sat there, basking in the warmth of familiarity.

Eraqus, regaining his composure, finally exhaled. “Alright, I think I’ve had enough emotional whiplash for one night.”

Magenta, still fanning themselves dramatically, nodded. “Same. But I gotta admit, this is way better than a ritual sacrifice.”

Karina grinned. “Glad I could keep things entertaining.”

You squeezed her hand gently, meeting her gaze. “You always do.”

And just like that, the four of you fell back into easy conversation, laughter echoing through the practice room, turning what was supposed to be a legendary, mysterious party into something even better—something simple, warm, and unforgettable.

#aespa karina #kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #karina #karina x reader #aespa fanfic #karina fanfic #karina x you

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mascaraandmojitos · 7 months ago

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Source: http://overclassy.tumblr.com

#Sneaker culture #Jewelry gems #Music festival survival guide #Volunteerism #K-pop fashion trends

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f1-mcmuffin · 2 months ago

Note

Hii i was wondering if u can do my request where reader is like the fifth member of bp and she is dating lando and she came to the race

YESSS!!! Of course. I was planning on doing something like this, and you just gave me the motivation, so thank you. Hopefully, I met your standards.

an - updated, i'm trying to wither out the use of (y/n)

Spotlight & Slipstream

(Requested) Lando Norris x 5th Member of BLACKPINK Reader

| Lando Norris Masterlist| Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |

Barcelona Grand Prix – Saturday Morning, Quali.

The sun was already high and golden over the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya. Fans were pressed against the barricades lining the paddock entrance, phones raised, merch clutched tight, waiting for glimpses of drivers, team principals, or—if they were lucky—someone unexpected. And then, just as the buzz began to dip…

They appeared.

Lando Norris, in some baggy blue jeans, wife-beater with a button-up as a cover, tinted sunglasses, and casual shoes, cool and composed, walking hand in hand with her —member of BLACKPINK, global pop phenomenon, and the most reserved of the group until now.

She was effortlessly striking in her outfit: tailored black wide-leg trousers, a crisp white corset top, sleek sunglasses, and her long hair pulled into a low twist that framed her face with soft elegance and her signature silver “BP5” ring caught the Mediterranean sunlight. On her shoulder, a small bag with a silver McLaren logo—a gift from Lando, customized for her. Subtle. But personal.

Click. Click. Click.

Cameras erupted like fireworks.

The paddock practically froze. They hadn’t seen a launch like this in a while. Not through Instagram. Not a blurry paparazzi shot. Hand in hand, side by side—no room for doubt. PR staff members tensed. Journalists exchanged frantic glances. Fans screamed. And somewhere in the blur, someone whispered:

“Is that…?”

“Is this for real?!”

“Wait, she's my bias”

“She’s dating Lando?!”

“Wait… are they dating?”

“That’s Lando’s girlfriend?”

Lando kept his hand wrapped around hers, thumb gently rubbing over her knuckles—a grounding gesture, one that steadied her even with the chaos humming around them. She leaned into him slightly as they walked, letting him lead her past the sea of cameras.She took it all in—the garages, the engineers, the humming sound of the cars being prepped. Every now and then, a camera lens would catch her, and soon, fans on Twitter were piecing it all together.

Twitter/X: @f1updates: NEW WAG FROM GIRL GROUP BLACKPINK JUST WALKED IN HOLDING LANDO NORRIS’ HAND??? THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

People pretended not to stare—but they stared. Mechanics, media crews, engineers, interns, even other drivers mid-conversation paused just a beat too long. The Paddock had seen supermodels, celebrities, and even royals. But not like this. Oscar Piastri looked up from his water bottle and nudged someone. “Lily, that’s (Y/n), right?”

“From BLACKPINK?” asked his girlfriend, Lily, blinking hard.

Oscar grinned. “I guess we’re having a real K-pop moment.” In the hospitality suite, Lando gently introduced her to Oscar and Lily,

“This is Oscar. And Lily—his better half.” Lando said, his arm now around her waist. the energy a little awkward at first. She smiled warmly as Lily stepped forward. “You’re glowing,” Lily said, leaning in for a friendly cheek kiss. “Aw, thank you.”

“I can’t imagine walking in here with everyone staring at me like that,” Lily said gently.

She laughed, small and polite. “It feels like walking into a lion’s den covered in meat.”

Lily snorted. “Perfect analogy. C’mon, I’ll show you where to escape the cameras.”

“I’d love that,” She said, immediately relieved. Lily looped her arm around hers. They walked ahead, letting the boys talk strategy. Within ten minutes, the two were chatting like they'd known each other for weeks. Lily guided her through the paddock rhythm—where to stand, when to move, how not to accidentally get run over by a scooter. And most importantly, how to survive the internet later.

Barcelona Grand Prix – Race Day

The sun was harsher today, the air heavy with race-day nerves. Fans had already started lining the barricades before the teams had even finished breakfast. Reporters sharpened their pens. The broadcast crew had their cameras locked in. And like the most anticipated sequel, they returned.

Hand in hand again, this time walking slower, quieter—but no less magnetic. Gone was the sleek, polished “statement” energy of the day before. Today, it was personal.

She wore a cropped vintage McLaren tee—cut just enough to show a sliver of skin above a black MUI MUI Velour mini skirt. Her hair was down with curls that bounced with each step. Simple gold hoops, black sunglasses, and McLaren-designed acrylic nails with a subtle nod to Lando’s livery completed the look. She looked like a girlfriend, not a global pop star. And that somehow made it all the more stunning.

Lando kept it casual too: black relaxed-fit trousers, crisp white trainers, and a grey quarter-zip layered over his race tee, the collar tugged slightly open at the base like he’d been rushing. His McLaren backpack was slung lazily over one shoulder, and with his free hand, he squeezed her fingers now and then, the way you’d tap someone just to say I’m here.

Photographers were more aggressive, some even tried jogging backwards to get a cleaner shot.

Some fans screamed their names. Others… less friendly.

“Lando, focus on the race!”

“We love y'all!”

“She’s not even wearing a pass—oh, wait, it’s on her bag.”

“They’re kinda iconic, I won’t lie.”

“This is not a music video, it’s Formula One!”

A teen girl behind the barrier shouted, “GIRLIE, YOU LOOK AMAZING!”

She turned, smiled, and blew her a kiss

The girl screamed like she’d won the lottery.

They didn’t say much as they crossed the paddock. They didn’t have to. She caught glimpses—team members pretending not to stare, a Sky Sports camera shifting toward them, a McLaren PR assistant whispering urgently into a mic. But Lando kept his pace steady, his hold on her hand firm, and when they reached the McLaren entrance, he leaned in.

“You alright?” he murmured, eyes scanning her expression.

She nodded once. “Yea, you?”

He smirked just slightly. “I mean, we’re trending. Again.”

She rolled her eyes and bumped her shoulder into his. “Hope your car’s faster than your Instagram feed.” Lando let out a quiet laugh and pulled her a little closer so he could wrap his arm around her shoulders. Her arm went to his waist as they disappeared into the team suite, camera shutters echoing after them. And that was it. Just a walk, on a Sunday morning, between a pop star and her driver. But to the world, it was everything.

When the race began, She stood just behind the McLaren pit wall, headphones on, sunglasses up, watching every second of it.

The moment She was shown on the global broadcast, everything exploded. She’d just pulled her hair up into a loose claw clip, sipping water, nodding at something Lily pointed out on the grid when the commentator’s voice broke through screens worldwide:

“And there’s BLACKPINK’s fifth member—here supporting her partner, Lando Norris. The paddock’s real showstopper this weekend!”

Her name trended within minutes.

Twitter/X [Screengrab of her in Lando’s garage] @/F1teaqueen: WHO is the girl in Lando’s garage, and WHY is she hotter than the sun?? @/landohive: Not her looking calm while Lando is fighting for his LIFE in that last stint 💅 that’s a WAG if I’ve ever seen one @/blinkontrack: Blinks are invading F1 Twitter rn sorry but we’re HERE FOR OUR GIRL 😭💅 “WAG era unlocked” ”SHE’S SOO PRETTY” “The grid girls could never”

The cars roared past with violent beauty, but she wasn’t looking at the track. It was louder than she expected. She gripped Lily’s arm once when Lando overtook someone on a corner and again when his engineer called in with urgent tire strategy changes.

Lando had started P5. But through sheer grit—and a well-timed pit stop—he was P1 in the final ten laps. She was on her feet, clapping, heart racing. And when he crossed the finish line in first, a poll finish, the crowd and garage erupted. Mechanics cheered—and the cameras found her instantly. His name lit up on the timing screens, the McLaren garage erupting in cheers. Mechanics jumped, engineers clapped, and Zak Brown released a full-bodied “YES, mate!”

Still strapped in his McLaren, Lando slammed his fist against the top of the wheel in celebration. The orange beast was sitting in its box— first on the podium. He unbuckled fast, snatched off his steering wheel, and launched it into the car holder. Helmet off. Balaclava peeled. Hair sweaty, eyes wide, heart pumping like mad. But he wasn’t looking at the cameras.

He was looking for her.

Across the barrier, She stood with her hands pressed to her mouth, eyes glistening under the brim of his McLaren cap. Her voice was hoarse from cheering. And when he spotted her? He bolted.

No cameras. No press. No protocol.

full race suit, gloves half-off, Lando dodged past a Sky mic and made a beeline straight to the barrier. A security guy instinctively stepped forward, but Lando waved him off and leaned across the partition. She didn’t wait.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he grabbed her in an unfiltered, full-body hug. Lifting her off the ground just slightly, arms locked around her middle like he never wanted to let go. She laughed—light, breathless, near tears. “You did it.”

He mumbled something into her hair, something no mic could catch, but she nodded and pressed her forehead to his. The crowd’s noise faded into a low hum for just a second. A moment stolen between champagne and ceremony.

“P1, baby,” he whispered. “That was for you.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, hands on his flushed cheeks. “I’m so proud of you.” He grinned, breath still uneven, and rested his forehead against hers one last second before pulling back. “Okay. I gotta go do the whole... champagne thing.”

She laughed, eyes dancing. “Just don’t hit me with it.”

“No promises.”

The photos hit the internet minutes later:

Lando in his sweaty race suit, hugging her like they hadn’t just soft-launched the day before. Her smile mid-laugh, his eyes closed, their bodies pressed tight like no cameras were there at all.

Twitter/X: “He ran STRAIGHT to her omg my heart 🧡” “Not Lando looking like a Disney prince in race gear.” “She whispered ‘I’m proud of you’ is cinema.” “They’re just…ugh. The way he held her.”

When he climbed up to the podium, her jaw dropped seeing how effortlessly he belonged up there—confident, flushed with adrenaline. Their eyes met. He stood P1, cap slightly askew, heart still racing. But his eyes? His eyes were only on her. She stood just beyond the fence with the McLaren team, eyes locked on his like the world had slowed down for just them.

She wasn’t filming on her phone. She wasn’t looking at the crowd or the jumbotron.

She was looking at him—shoulders straight, McLaren hat now turned backward, sunglasses tucked away on her shirt. Her lips parted just slightly, a breath caught in her chest, hands wrapped tight around her pass lanyard.

She looked like she was trying to memorize him. Like she didn’t want to blink and miss this version of him: sweaty, grinning, flushed with victory. He stared back. Not at the trophy. Not at the camera. Not at the crowd.

Just her.

It was a silent conversation stretched over a sea of noise.

When the anthem ended and the trophies were handed out, he lifted his bottle, shook it once—and in a bold, mischievous spin, he aimed his champagne bottle right at her.

“NO—!” she shrieked, ducking just a second too late as cold, bubbly mist splashed across her shoulders, her legs, and her shoes. She laughed, mouth open in disbelief as the crowd howled, the cameras zooming in on her shocked but giggling face. “Lando!” she shouted, half-laughing, half-scolding—but with that grin she got when he made her feel sixteen again.

He just threw his head back and laughed, pointing down at her like it was the best aim he’d ever had. Charles, on the top step, clapped him on the back while Max raised a brow, smirking.

“Love’s got you reckless, mate,” Max muttered under his breath.

Lando winked.

Twitter/X: @blackpinkglobal: LANDO SPRAYING HER WITH CHAMPAGNE ON THE PODIUM I'M GOING INSANE

Back down in the crowd, couldn’t stop smiling. She wiped her legs with a towel a mechanic handed her, muttering “unbelievable” with a shake of her head, but her eyes never left the podium.

Even after the music faded and the ceremony wrapped, even as the drivers were ushered away for media and debriefs, Lando turned one more time before stepping off the stage.

She was still watching him. And he gave her one last look. She kissed her hand and waved it at him. A smile stretched across his face before he was ushered away

After the media, the champagne, and the photos, they found a moment alone—tucked away in one of the private corners of the McLaren motorhome, lights dimmed, the buzz of the race slowly fading outside.

She curled in an oversized hoodie—his hoodie—draped down to her thighs, sleeves swallowing her hands. She still smelled faintly of champagne and summer air, skin warm from the Spanish sun.

Lando leaned against the wall beside her, cheeks flushed from adrenaline and a thousand camera flashes. His curls were messy, still damp from the podium celebration.

For a second, they just looked at each other—silent, smiling, suspended in the calm after the storm.

“You looked good up there,” she said softly, her voice still a little hoarse from screaming trackside. “Like… born to be there.” trying to figure out the words.

“And you,” he replied, stepping closer, “looked like my lucky charm.”

A breathless laugh left her lips as she glanced up. “Is that your way of saying I should come to every race?”

“I’m saying,” he murmured, reaching out to tuck a damp strand of hair behind her ear, “I drove like hell because I knew you were watching. I didn’t want to let you down.” Her lips parted. Her breath hitched.

“I could never be disappointed in you,” she whispered, and before she could say anything more, he leaned in—pressing his lips to hers. It was soft at first. Warm and steady. Her hand rose to the side of his neck, his arms wrapping around her waist like he couldn’t believe she was there, real and glowing and his. Then he deepened it—urgent now, like everything that had built up between them finally burst open. His hands slid up to cup her face gently, her hoodie sleeves bunched between them. She smiled mid-kiss, tilting her head just enough to match his rhythm. He tasted like adrenaline and Gatorade and something entirely Lando.

When they pulled back, foreheads still touching, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“You kiss like you’re trying to kill me.”

She grinned, brushing her thumb along his jaw. “You kissed me first.”

He laughed—full and soft- and then kissed her again, quicker this time, just because he could.

The Morning After

Sunlight filtered in through gauzy curtains, painting gold across the sheets. She stirred first, her cheek pressed to his bare chest. His arm was slung over her bare back, heavy and warm, fingers resting at the dip of her spine. His heart beat steady beneath her ear. She shifted slightly, and his arm tightened.

“Mmm… stay,” he murmured, his voice gravelly and half-asleep.

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” she whispered back, lips brushing the skin just over his heart.

He cracked one eye open, curls a mess, lashes tangled from sleep. “You’re real, yeah?”

She smiled, nudging his chin up with her fingers. “Very.”

He leaned in and kissed her slowly—like a secret, like a promise—and then buried his face in her hair, mumbling, “Best podium I’ve ever had.”

She giggled, tracing lazy circles on his chest. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you love it.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The way she held him said everything.

Same Night — Internet Breaks

@F1HARDWIRE "BLACKPINK's fifth member spotted with Lando Norris—hand in hand 👀 Relationship soft-launch confirmed?"

@BLACKPINKGLOBAL "Our girl supporting Lando at the Barcelona GP. The way he sprayed her with champagne and she LAUGHED? Soulmates."

@Formula_tea "BLACKPINK showing up in the McLaren garage is actually the wildest crossover of 2025."

@trackratforever: “I’m sorry, why is a KPOP IDOL in the garage like she knows what DRS is 💀 stick to dancing.”

@lovesickf1: “ Her in a paddock dress and sunglasses while Oscar tries to explain tire degradation to her is PEAK WAG behavior. I’m obsessed.”

@blinksy: “The way Lando LOOKS at her… I’d quit my job for less.”

@landoismybfnotreally: “As long as he treats her right, we’re cool. If he breaks her heart, we riot.”

@girlsontrackk: “WHO HAD BLACKPINK X F1 ON THEIR 2025 BINGO CARD??”

@lanpink_edits: “When a literal global superstar dates the grid’s golden retriever…”

Comments ranged from chaos to thirst to full support:

“I know Lando hasn’t seen her live because he would NOT survive ‘Tally’ or ‘Pretty Savage.’”

“If she’s bringing the girls to a race, the entire paddock is done for.”

“Imagine Toto Wolff trying to understand a BLACKPINK lightstick.”

Within hours, hashtags exploded

#PinkPitstop #Blackpinkinyourarea #ProtectLando #BLACKPINKOT4 #HeCanDoBetter #KickherOUT #SheDeservesBetter #F1BLINKS

She didn’t say a word. She just posted a photo on Instagram:

@/yourusername

❤️ 5.7M 💬 36.3k ➤ 512k

Yourusername been together for a while now. 🧡🏆 finally get to show you off 🧸

Comments:

@/USER1 GRID PRINCESS

@/jennierubyjane I saw you on TV. You are so pretty 🥺

↳ Yourusername stawpp 🙂‍↔️

@/USER2 F1 just got 10x hotter

@/GeorgeRussell63 Still waiting for BLACKPINK to teach us choreo. I’ll bring the helmet

@/USER3 THIS CROSSOVER IS INSANE

@/USER4 power couple 🤞

@/pierregasly Never seen Lando smile that much before. Congrats mate 👀

@/paddocktea y’all she was wearing his chain in the garage HIS CHAIN AHH

@/USER5 god really has favorites 😔😔

@/chaoticblink First Jennie dated Kai, NOW shes is dating an F1 driver? Blackpink's dating rosters stay elite

@/USER6 can’t believe Lando is now known as “Her boyfriend” to half the internet 🥹

@/Sooyaaa_ 의심스러운 활동 🕵🏻‍♂️🤔 (suspicious activity)

↳ Yourusername 🫣

@/Teamlando If she shows up to Silverstone, it’s OVER for all of us

@/yn’sluvbot LANDO YOU BETTER BE TREATING OUR GIRL RIGHT OR we’re coming for u

@/charles_leclerc Me and Alex want VIP tickets

↳ Yourusername Straight to the point 😭

@/lalalalisa_m 😍👏👏

↳ Yourusername 🧡

@/danielricciardo Can I meet Rosè? 😁

↳ roses_are_rosie 🙋‍♀️

Part 2

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