another-random-fanfic-blog

[another-random-fanfic-blog]

Y/N’s friends drag her out to a club after weeks of nursing a broken heart—the kind that leaves you questioning your worth. When she flirts with a quiet, captivating stranger named San, she tells herself it’s just a one-night stand. But neither of them are prepared for how deeply one night can echo through their lives.

Pairing: Choi San (ATEEZ) × Female!Reader

Tropes: One-night stand → something more, “You’re not too much” / soft reassurance, Hurt/Comfort, Friends-with-benefits (that totally aren’t just friends), Jealousy (but cute), Flirty introvert × secretly soft extrovert, Slow-burn intimacy with payoff, Found family through chaotic friends

Genre: College AU · Romance · Angst · Smut · Fluff · Emotional Growth

Featuring: ATEEZ (as San’s roommates), OC best friends: Jia & Minji, Toxic exes, library pining, and club lighting

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

Dinner started off awkward. The grill sizzled, conversation flowed around them, and Y/N mostly stayed quiet. Her friends, however, were more than happy to bridge the gap.

“So, how do you guys all know each other?” Jia asked, smiling brightly as she shifted toward Wooyoung.

“We live together,” Seonghwa answered smoothly, ever the diplomatic one. “Same shared house. We’re all students.”

“Seven guys in one house?” Minji raised a brow. “That sounds like chaos.”

“It is,” Jongho deadpanned.

“But a fun kind of chaos,” Wooyoung added, leaning his chin into his palm as he stared straight at Jia. “Especially when beautiful women show up unexpectedly.”

Jia blinked. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

Y/N’s lips twitched.

San saw it—saw the ghost of a smile flicker across her mouth before she caught herself and went back to pretending her lettuce wrap was the most fascinating thing in the world.

His heart beat harder.

He didn’t know what it meant.

But he knew he couldn’t sit still anymore.

As the laughter grew around him and the food dwindled down to sizzling bones and cooling side dishes, San excused himself to get another drink. He stood and stepped away from the table toward the small cooler beside the kitchen.

It wasn’t far.

But far enough that the conversations faded and the pressure lifted.

He opened the cooler, grabbed a new bottle of beer, and turned—

Only to find Y/N standing there, arms crossed, like she’d been waiting.

His stomach flipped.

“Oh,” he said, eloquent as ever.

“Hey,” she said.

Her voice was quieter now. Unfiltered. She looked at him fully—no mask, no armor. Just… tired. Like she’d been carrying something heavy for too long.

Just a few feet away, Jia was mid-laugh—red wine glass in hand—as Wooyoung leaned in close, practically draped over her seat.

“You’ve got amazing energy,” he was saying with a grin that could melt steel. “Are you, like, a Leo rising or just naturally this magnetic?”

Jia rolled her eyes, but her smile stayed. “You're worse than the guys I ignore on Tinder.”

“I’m worse on purpose,” he whispered dramatically. “Because I want to be memorable.”

Y/N glanced over at the sound of Jia’s cackle, then back at San with a soft, amused smile that faded just as fast.

“You never reached out,” he said, voice quieter now that they had distance from the table.

“I know.”

San swallowed. “You… surprised me.”

“I noticed.”

He looked down at the bottle in his hand. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine.”

He raised a brow.

She sighed.

“I mean… I’ve been surviving.”

A pause.

He wanted to ask why.

But he didn’t want to sound like he’d been waiting.

So he waited anyway.

Y/N licked her lips. Her voice came out carefully, almost unsure.

“My breakup was still fresh,” she said. “I wasn’t looking for anything. That night wasn’t… planned. I didn’t expect it to feel like it did. And afterward, I thought if I called you, it would make things messier. I kept telling myself I’d wait until I figured out what I wanted. But then… it felt like it was too late.”

San stared at her.

Her eyes were shining—but she wasn’t crying.

He took a deep breath.

“You could’ve just said that,” he said softly.

“I’m saying it now.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then—almost in a whisper—San said, “That night meant something to me.”

“It did to me too.”

He looked at her, really looked at her, and something in his chest cracked open.

The resentment. The confusion. The doubt.

All of it.

“Then maybe…” he said, his voice low, “it’s not too late after all.”

Y/N was halfway through sipping her beer when her stomach dropped.

She didn’t hear his voice first.

She heard Jia stop laughing.

She heard Minji curse under her breath.

Then, the sound that made her skin go cold:

“Oh look, it’s my favorite ex.”

She didn’t even have to turn around.

She knew that voice.

Seojun.

“Hey there,” he slurred, weaving slightly as he stood next to their table, flanked by two equally drunk friends. He looked almost exactly the same—sharp cheekbones, styled dark hair, annoyingly symmetrical face. He’d always been attractive. It had never been the issue.

The issue was what lived behind his pretty mouth.

Y/N blinked at him. “You’re drunk.”

“Just a little,” he said, smiling like they were still on friendly terms. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here. Small world.”

“Bigger than your ego,” Jia muttered.

Seojun didn’t look at her. His eyes were only on Y/N.

He leaned closer, enough that she had to resist the urge to shift back. “You look good, though. Better than last time.”

She said nothing.

Seojun’s gaze flicked to San, who’d returned to his seat and was now watching like a hawk.

“What, new boyfriend?” Seojun asked, nodding toward him. “Or just another one-night rebound?”

Y/N’s jaw clenched. “Go back to your table, Seojun.”

“Oh, I would,” he said, smirking. “But sex with my new girlfriend is a disaster. She’s boring. Quiet. I miss how you used to—what was it—moan my name like you meant it?”

The table went silent.

Everyone heard it.

Even Wooyoung stopped flirting.

Seojun leaned in closer, lowering his voice just enough for the words to still carry.

“You wanna sneak away later? For old times’ sake? Just one more night. I know you’ve missed me.”

Y/N’s body went rigid.

She felt hot—then cold. Her ears rang.

Before she could respond, the chair next to her scraped back.

San stood up.

“Say that again.”

San’s voice wasn’t loud.

It didn’t have to be.

Everyone heard the steel behind it.

Seojun turned, eyebrow raised. “Who’re you? Her bodyguard?”

“I’m the guy who was sitting quietly until you disrespected her.”

“Relax, man. We used to date—”

“You don’t speak to someone you used to date like that,” San snapped. “Unless you’re trying to prove why she left you in the first place.”

Seojun chuckled, hands raised in mock surrender. “Wow. The rebound’s got a mouth on him.”

“And you’ve got ten seconds to leave.”

Seojun’s smile cracked. “You threatening me?”

“I’m warning you,” San said, stepping forward—between Y/N and him. “Get out of her face. Now.”

A beat.

Seojun looked at San, really looked, and—for the first time—seemed to understand that he wasn’t just a random guy.

That he wasn’t drunk.

That he meant it.

Seojun scoffed, shook his head, and backed off. “Whatever. She’ll come crawling back.”

“No,” Y/N said suddenly. “I won’t.”

Everyone turned.

Her voice was calm. Steady.

And her eyes—when they met Seojun’s—were clear for the first time in a long time.

“I’m done crawling.”

The air was thick as Seojun finally left.

Silence settled over the table for a second too long.

Then Wooyoung muttered, “God, what a tool.”

And the tension shattered.

Everyone started talking at once—checking on Y/N, cursing under their breath, offering jokes to cut through the heaviness.

But San didn’t sit down right away.

He turned to Y/N, his voice soft now.

“You okay?”

She looked up at him.

And nodded.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

He hesitated for a beat—then slid back into his seat beside her, his knee brushing against hers.

And this time, she didn’t move away.

San hadn’t planned to walk her home.

He hadn’t even planned to speak again after Seojun left.

He thought she might want space. That maybe the silence they shared at the table afterward—her staring down at her glass, his knee brushing hers like a silent question—was the closest he’d get to anything real tonight.

But when the group finally decided to call it a night, when coats were shrugged on and goodbyes passed between chopsticks and laughter, she looked up at him—eyes still a little wide, mouth still tight—and said quietly:

“Can you walk me home?”

And he didn’t hesitate.

“Of course.”

They didn’t talk much on the way.

Not at first.

The streets were mostly empty, city lights casting long shadows across pavement. San walked beside her, hands in his coat pockets, still wearing the heat of what had happened hours ago. Not from the fight, not anymore—but from her. From the way she’d stood her ground. The way her voice didn’t shake. The way she didn’t let Seojun crawl under her skin again.

She was incredible.

And he was completely, utterly screwed.

“So,” she said finally, halfway to her place. “That wasn’t exactly how I imagined tonight going.”

“Same.”

She glanced up at him. “You always jump into fights like that?”

He snorted. “Not unless I’m really pissed.”

She nodded. “Thanks. For standing up for me.”

He looked at her, then away. “He’s lucky I didn’t do more.”

“Would’ve ruined the bulgogi,” she muttered, and he laughed.

The tension broke a little after that.

When they reached her building, she slowed on the front steps, hand already on the railing. San hesitated, unsure whether to say goodbye or—

“You wanna come up?”

He looked at her.

Not nervous. Not shy.

Just… open.

Like she already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I do.”

Her apartment was warm, dimly lit. She kicked off her shoes near the door and padded into the living room, shrugging off her coat.

San followed, quiet as always, feeling like he’d stepped into something he didn’t deserve.

Not because of the space—but because of her.

He wasn’t used to this. Being invited back a second time. Being wanted again.

He watched her move around the room—dropping keys, flicking on soft lamps, folding her arms like she wasn’t sure what to say next.

“You want water? Or something?” she asked.

He stepped closer.

“You.”

She turned.

Eyes wide.

And then—without another word—closed the distance between them.

They kissed slow at first.

Like they were testing something. Like they wanted to know if it still felt the same.

It didn’t.

It felt heavier.

Like it meant something this time.

Her hands found his face. His arms locked around her waist. And when he pressed her gently back toward the couch, she went willingly.

San kissed her like he had something to prove. Like he was still angry at the world for the way she’d been treated—and she let him. Pulled him closer. Let him show her she was wanted. Let him show her that not all men wanted to break something just to feel powerful.

She kissed him like she hadn’t been kissed in months.

As if she’d forgotten how good it could be.

They didn’t make it to her bed at first.

The couch held them, breathless, lips pressed together in fits and starts, clothing shifting. She gasped when his hands slid under her shirt, splaying warm across her back. He groaned when she tugged at the waistband of his jeans.

But then she stopped.

Pulled away.

Breathed hard.

“We should go to my room.”

His eyes flicked to hers. “Yeah?”

“I want it to be… not rushed.”

His throat went dry.

“Okay.”

She took his hand, led him down the hall.

And this time—unlike the first night—he wasn’t dizzy with lust.

He was dizzy with her.

Her room was quiet. A little messy. Lived-in.

She didn’t try to hide anything. Not the pile of books by her desk. Not the discarded hoodie on her chair.

San stood near the door for a second, waiting.

Then she turned to face him and slowly, deliberately, pulled her shirt off over her head.

His breath caught.

Not because she was naked.

But because she was vulnerable.

More now than before. This wasn’t about seduction. It wasn’t about proving anything. She was just standing there—bare, quiet, looking at him like he had to decide if he was worthy.

He stepped forward and kissed her again.

The bed creaked under their weight.

Hands moved.

Clothes came off.

And still, they didn’t speak.

Not yet.

He kissed down her neck, across her chest, worshipping every inch like it meant something. Because it did. She arched against him. Let her hands slide into his hair. Moaned his name the way her ex said she used to—but this time, it meant something.

He wasn’t like Seojun.

He wanted her for her.

And when her hand slipped down to the waistband of his boxers, San caught it gently.

Paused.

Met her eyes.

She nodded.

And this time—it wasn’t just lust.

Later they lay tangled in the sheets, her head resting on his bare shoulder, the air thick with heat and the remnants of pleasure.

San stared at the ceiling.

He didn’t want to ruin it.

But he also didn’t want to leave without knowing her.

Not just this part of her. All of her.

“So,” he said after a while. “What’s your major?”

She laughed against his skin. “You’re asking now?”

He smiled. “Felt like a good time.”

“Graphic design,” she said. “I want to do editorial work. Magazines, maybe.”

“That’s cool.”

“What about you?”

“Psych. Counseling minor.”

She lifted her head. “Really?”

He nodded. “Surprised?”

“I don’t know. I figured you were… something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. A quiet finance bro with good hair.”

San chuckled. “I hate math.”

“I hate group projects.”

They smiled at each other.

It felt natural.

It felt dangerous.

A beat passed.

Then she said, voice lower now: “This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

San looked at her.

Heart tight.

“I know.”

“We can just… have fun. No expectations.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

But inside?

Inside, it already meant something.

She fell asleep first.

Her arm across his chest, breathing slow, lashes brushing her cheek.

San lay awake, wide-eyed, staring at the shadows on her ceiling.

She smelled like shampoo and skin and something delicate. He could still taste her on his lips. Still feel her breath on his neck.

He didn’t know how the hell this happened.

Didn’t know what spell she’d cast.

But he was wrecked.

Utterly wrecked.

He could already tell—this wasn’t casual for him.

It never was.

He wanted more than her body.

He wanted to know how she smiled when she was tipsy. What her childhood bedroom looked like. What songs made her cry.

He wanted to know everything.

And that terrified him.

Because he could already feel himself slipping.

The morning light always told the truth.

Y/N blinked against it as it poured in through the sliver between her curtains. Her room, still steeped in warmth and quiet, smelled faintly of skin, sweat, and San’s cologne. She turned her head slowly on the pillow and found him already sitting on the edge of the bed, his bare back to her, running a hand through his messy hair.

The room looked different with him in it.

More lived-in. More intimate.

More dangerous, she thought before she could stop herself.

He turned slightly when he felt her move. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

His voice was rough from sleep, deep in a way that stirred something low in her belly again. But now wasn’t the time for that—not with sunlight creeping across the sheets and reality tugging at the corners of the moment.

“You’re leaving?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

“Yeah.” He reached for his shirt, pulling it over his head. “I’ve got work. Part-time gig at the bookstore near campus.”

She nodded slowly. “Right.”

He stood, tugging on his jeans, his movements practiced and quiet. Y/N sat up in bed, drawing the sheets around her chest, watching him.

He didn’t feel like a stranger.

And that terrified her.

When he finished tying his boots, he turned to her again, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh… I left my number. On your nightstand.”

“I’ll text you,” she said before he could ask. “Promise.”

His eyes met hers.

Something passed between them—something soft, unspoken, tentative.

“I’ll wait for it,” he said with a small smile.

And then he was gone.

She stared at the door long after it closed.

Something inside her had shifted. She could feel it like an ache behind her ribs. This wasn’t just a good night. This wasn’t meaningless. And that realization was both exhilarating… and terrifying.

Because she knew what it meant to care.

And she didn’t know if she was ready for it again.

Still, she rolled over, reached for her phone, and typed a message.

*Hey… just making sure you didn’t forget something. Like, I don’t know. Your dignity? Just kidding. You were really warm. *

She hovered over the send button for a moment.

Then hit it.

And just like that—her promise was kept.

San stepped into the shared house like he was walking into a lion’s den.

The second the front door closed behind him, he was ambushed by voices.

“Someone’s up early,” Wooyoung called from the kitchen. “Or should I say… someone’s just getting back?”

San didn’t reply. Just toed off his shoes and tossed his coat over the arm of the couch.

“I swear to god,” Seonghwa said as he appeared in the hallway. “If you snuck in to avoid waking us up, I’m going to be offended.”

“I didn’t sneak. I walked in like a normal human.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung said, peeking around the fridge. “But you’re glowing like a post-sex anime character.”

“I am not,” San grumbled, but he felt the blush creeping up his neck anyway.

He made a beeline for the kitchen, hoping coffee might save him.

It did not.

Jongho leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You wanna tell us where you’ve been since last night?”

“No,” San replied calmly, pouring water into the machine.

“Because we already know,” Yeosang chimed in from the living room. “We were there.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung added with a wolfish grin. “And we saw her.”

The room erupted in teasing laughter.

San groaned. “Can you all just—“

“Relax, lover boy,” Mingi said, strolling in and clapping him on the back. “We’re just surprised.“

“Surprised is one word for it,” Seonghwa said with a raised brow. “You don’t usually… do that.”

San didn’t answer immediately. The coffee pot gurgled behind him as the machine heated up.

“No,” he said finally. “I don’t.”

They all quieted a little at that.

It was true. San wasn’t the casual hookup type. Sure, he’d had girlfriends. A couple longer relationships, a few flings—but nothing that started like this. Nothing that felt this unstable and intimate at the same time.

He turned around to face them, leaning back against the counter. “She’s different.”

Wooyoung smirked. “Different how?”

“I don’t know. Just—she doesn’t act like I’m something to win over. She’s not playing games.”

“You sure about that?” Jongho asked, more curious than skeptical.

San nodded slowly. “Yeah. And even if she is… it doesn’t feel like it.”

He didn’t mention the way she touched him like she already knew all the parts he didn’t show. Or the way she looked at him—really looked—and didn’t flinch.

“Okay, but like…” Mingi scratched his head. “What are you guys?”

San paused.

That was the question, wasn’t it?

“She said it doesn’t have to mean anything,” he said quietly. “That we could just have fun.”

“And?” Seonghwa prompted.

“And I said okay.”

A beat.

“And?” Wooyoung leaned closer with an exaggerated smirk.

San looked down at his hands.

“…I think I already want more.”

He didn’t expect the room to stay quiet after that.

But it did.

For a moment, the teasing stopped, replaced by something softer. Something closer to understanding.

“You’re falling for her,” Yeosang said, almost like it wasn’t a question.

San shrugged. “Maybe. Probably.”

“She’s hot,” Wooyoung offered. “Like, really hot. And cool. So… understandable.”

San rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Mingi reached for a banana from the fruit bowl. “You gonna tell her?”

“Tell her what?”

“That you’re into her.”

San exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Not yet.”

Seonghwa gave a slow nod. “Then don’t wait too long. Girls like her? They’ve been through enough.”

San looked up sharply.

“You saw what happened at the restaurant,” Seonghwa added. “She’s not just cool and hot. She’s hurting. If you’re gonna be in her life, even casually, you better not mess around.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.”

Wooyoung hummed. “We sound like overprotective big brothers.”

“That’s because we are,” Jongho said, grabbing a yogurt and heading out of the kitchen. “Deal with it.”

San sat at the table a few minutes later, coffee in hand, phone buzzing softly in his pocket.

He pulled it out.

One new message.

*Hey… just making sure you didn’t forget something. Like, I don’t know. Your dignity? Just kidding. You were really warm. *

He smiled.

And smiled a little more.

His thumbs hovered over the screen before replying.

My dignity is overrated anyway. But if you’re cold… I can bring the warmth back sometime.

She replied instantly.

Try again with less flirting, sir.

No promises. 😌

He leaned back in his chair, heart suddenly light.

Maybe this wasn’t just dangerous.

Maybe it was worth the risk.

“Okay, but be honest… was it good?”

Jia wiggled her eyebrows as she leaned across the café table, stirring her iced latte like she hadn’t just thrown a grenade into the conversation. Her oversized earrings clinked with every excited nod, and she didn’t even pretend to be subtle.

Y/N blinked at her friend, nearly choking on her cappuccino. “What?”

“I said,” Jia grinned, “was it good? Like, life-altering? Or just… above average?”

“You’re disgusting,” Y/N muttered, taking another sip in an attempt to hide the heat blooming in her cheeks.

“Don’t dodge,” the third member of their trio chimed in—Hana, their calm and observant balance to Jia’s chaotic fire. “You haven’t smiled like this in months.”

“I’m not—” Y/N began, then sighed. “Fine. It was… good.”

Jia’s squeal drew the attention of at least three other tables.

“Good?” she repeated in disbelief. “That man is sculpted like a Greek god, and you’re giving me ‘good’? No. You don’t get to half-answer this. We’ve seen you mope over that loser Seojun for what, five months? You finally get with someone who seems genuinely hot and sweet, and you’re going to act like it was just fine?”

“It was good,” Y/N repeated, dragging a hand through her hair. “Really good. But that’s not the point.”

“So there is a point?” Hana asked gently.

Y/N looked down at her drink.

There it was—the part she hadn’t said out loud yet.

“He’s…” she started, then trailed off.

She wasn’t sure how to describe San. Sweet didn’t feel like enough. Kind of shy, but not in a boyish way. Confident in his body and movements, but a little quiet in his emotions. Not cocky, not overly flirty. Just… calm. Grounded.

He was nothing like Seojun. That part was clear.

But that wasn’t why she was hesitating.

Jia reached over and touched her arm. “You okay?”

Y/N nodded slowly. “Yeah. I just—” She exhaled. “I didn’t plan for this. For him. We were supposed to have one night and be done.”

“People say that all the time,” Jia said. “Doesn’t mean it has to stay that way.”

“I know, but… I told him I didn’t want anything serious. And now I’m not sure if I meant it.”

That got them both quiet.

Hana leaned in. “So ask yourself… what would happen if he agreed? If San told you tomorrow that he did want something more—what would you say?”

Y/N stared at the swirl of foam in her cup.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

And that was the truth.

They walked through campus after the café, the summer air thick with the kind of humidity that made everything feel sticky and still. Jia and Hana had peeled off to head to their dorms, but Y/N wandered, letting her feet guide her aimlessly.

She needed the movement. The solitude. The silence between thoughts.

She ended up near the back of the music building, where the brick walls were slightly cracked and ivy crawled up the windows. There was a quiet bench under a tree, hidden from most of the path.

She sat.

And let herself breathe.

Y/N hated how much her mind spiraled when she was alone.

It wasn’t that she regretted anything. Not the kiss, not the sex, not the way San had looked at her like she was more than just some girl at a party. But the feelings—the possibility of feelings—terrified her.

Because it always started like this.

A look. A laugh. A moment that felt like it could be more.

And then it would unravel.

Because once they saw the real her—not the party girl, not the confident flirt, but the girl who stayed in and baked cookies on Sundays, who still kept her grandmother’s knitting needles in her drawer and pulled them out when her anxiety got bad—once they saw that version, they always left.

Seojun had.

So had the guys before him.

Even her friends—bless their souls—had never really asked why she was so good at pretending.

Most people didn’t.

They saw what she projected. Short skirts, bold lipstick, loud laughter.

The fun girl. The wild girl.

Not the quiet one. The one who read romance novels under a blanket fort and sang softly to herself while she frosted cupcakes at midnight.

She picked at the hem of her shirt.

San didn’t know any of that.

He knew the club version. The girl who flirted first and danced like she wasn’t afraid.

What if he never wanted to know more?

What if that was all he ever saw?

What if that’s all he ever wanted?

When she got back to her apartment, she flopped on her bed face-first and groaned into her pillow. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she rolled over to check it.

San: Hope your day’s not too brutal. I saw a dog that looked like it committed tax fraud. Thought of you.

She barked a laugh.

Y/N: Wow. That might be the most backhanded compliment I’ve ever received.

San: Admit it. You love it.

She stared at the screen for a moment, then typed slowly.

Y/N: I don’t know what this is between us, but I’m glad we’re not pretending it didn’t happen.

There was a pause. Then:

San: Me too.

She bit her lip.

Maybe… maybe he’d want to know more.

And maybe she was brave enough to show him.

The buzz of his phone pulled San’s gaze from the half-empty takeout container in front of him. He wiped his hands with a napkin and grabbed the device.

Y/N: You busy tonight?

His stomach flipped, a reaction he was getting used to lately. He tapped out a quick reply.

San: Depends. Is there food involved?

Y/N: I can offer instant ramen and judgmental stares.

San: I’m already in love.

A beat passed.

Y/N: Don’t say stuff like that unless you mean it.

He stared at the screen for a long moment, then typed:

San: I’ll be there in 30?

Y/N: Door’s unlocked. Bring snacks if you’re smart.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been to her place. But somehow, it felt like the first. Maybe because the last visit had ended in her bed. Maybe because of the way she said don’t say it unless you mean it.

He wasn’t sure what he meant.

But he knew he wanted to see her.

San took the subway with a bag of chips and two drinks tucked into his backpack. The evening air was already cooling down, brushing against his jacket as he walked the last few blocks. When he reached her building, he paused at the door. Took a breath.

Then he climbed the stairs.

The door creaked open at his knock.

“Y/N?” he called.

“In the kitchen,” came her voice—softer than usual.

He stepped in and blinked.

Y/N was sitting at a small wooden table, legs tucked beneath her, glasses perched on her nose. Her hair was slightly messy, falling out of a loose bun. She wore a faded hoodie, socks with little stars on them, and the glow from the hanging lamp made her skin look warm and golden.

And she was… knitting?

He blinked again to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

A half-formed scarf—blue and uneven—rested in her lap. Next to her sat a mug. He could smell the cocoa from here, thick and sweet. Marshmallows bobbed at the top like they were holding on for dear life.

“Hey,” she said, glancing up and smiling faintly. “You made it.”

He stepped in, slowly. Like he might scare the moment away if he moved too fast.

“You knit?” he asked, setting the bag on the table.

She shrugged. “Kind of. I mean, yeah. When I have time. It calms me down.”

He pulled out a chair and sat across from her, watching her hands move—delicate, precise, but unhurried.

“I didn’t expect this,” he said, meaning the entire picture in front of him.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What were you expecting?”

“I dunno… fishnets and tequila?”

She laughed, and it was the first time all day he felt his chest loosen.

“I contain multitudes,” she said, mock-serious.

San watched her closely.

There was something about this version of her that wrecked him more than the one who’d danced with him in a club.

“You want cocoa?” she asked, setting down the needles. “Or chips and soda like a real adult?”

“I’ll take whatever you’re offering.”

A few minutes later, they sat together on the couch, both sipping from mismatched mugs. Y/N’s was shaped like a cat. San’s had a chip on the rim.

Her shelves behind him caught his attention.

Romance novels. Lots of them. Some well-worn, dog-eared. Others pristine.

Figurines lined the top row—tiny animals, a ballerina, a dragon holding a flower. A small knitted heart sat between them.

“You like romance,” he said.

She glanced over. “Is that weird?”

“No. I think it’s cute.”

“I bet you read only edgy dystopian thrillers and sad books about dying dogs.”

He laughed. “Okay, ouch. I’m not that basic.”

“Oh?”

“I like stories with hope.”

She blinked at that.

He saw her shoulders relax.

“I think people assume things about you,” he said softly.

She didn’t answer right away.

“They do,” she admitted. “And sometimes I let them. It’s easier than explaining who I really am.”

San set his mug down.

“I want to know,” he said.

Her eyes snapped to his.

“Who you really are. I want to know.”

Y/N stared at him, her features unreadable. Then she set her mug down too and leaned her head back against the couch.

“I like baking. Like, a lot. Muffins, cookies, pies. Especially when I’m stressed.”

“Noted. I accept edible bribes,” San said with a small smile.

“I also collect vintage spoons. Don’t ask me why. I just think they’re pretty.”

He chuckled. “I won’t judge you if you don’t judge my K-drama obsession.”

“Wait. You like K-dramas?”

“Don’t look so surprised.”

She grinned. “Okay. What’s your favorite?”

“Reply 1988. I cried three times.”

Y/N laughed, bright and warm. “I cried five.”

They kept going. Trading confessions like poker chips. Favorite foods. Secret talents. Embarrassing stories. She told him about a failed attempt to dye her hair blue in high school. He admitted he used to write poetry and hide it under his mattress.

At some point, the conversation slowed. The silence between them wasn’t empty—it was full of something unspoken.

Y/N turned to him.

“San,” she said softly, “I don’t know what this is.”

“Me neither,” he admitted.

“But I like being around you.”

His gaze dropped to her lips. “Same.”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to mean anything yet.”

He nodded. “Just have fun?”

“Yeah.”

But as she leaned into him, as her head rested on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around her waist, San knew one thing for certain.

He was already in too deep.

Because no girl had ever made him feel like this.

Not with soft smiles and knitted scarves.

Not with cocoa and marshmallows.

And definitely not with stories about vintage spoons.

He was fucked.

And all he could do was hold her closer.

There was something different about spending time with San when it wasn’t just the two of them tangled up in bedsheets and heavy breaths.

He’d invited her over for a movie night with his friends — not an official invite, exactly, more like a casual, mumbled, “You should come. The guys are doing movie night tonight at the house.”

She hadn’t expected it.

But she’d shown up anyway.

Y/N stood outside the familiar door of the shared house with a box of snacks clutched against her chest, heart hammering. She could hear voices inside already — loud, warm, familiar.

When the door opened, it was Wooyoung who grinned first.

“Hey! Look who decided to bless us with her presence!”

Y/N laughed. “Hey, Woo.”

“Is that tteokbokki?”

“Maybe.”

He took the box from her dramatically. “She’s invited to every movie night forever.”

The others shouted greetings from the couch and kitchen. She was a little stunned at how easy it felt. Jongho was arranging drinks. Seonghwa was lighting a few candles on the counter for “vibes.” Yeosang and Mingi were arguing about whether or not pineapple belonged on pizza. Yunho smiled wide when she stepped in and gave her a polite hug.

And San…

San was sitting on the couch, one knee pulled up, scrolling through Netflix suggestions on the TV. But when he saw her, his whole face softened.

“Hey,” he said simply.

“Hey.”

He patted the spot beside him, and she took it, careful not to overthink the fact that his thigh brushed hers. His hand dropped to his knee, close but not touching, and she was struck by how comfortable he looked here. In his space. With his people.

“I didn’t know if you’d come,” he murmured as the others argued over snacks and screen brightness.

“Me either,” she replied.

A quiet beat passed between them.

“I’m glad you did,” he said.

She smiled, and something settled warm in her chest.

The movie was a stupid action flick with too many explosions and a paper-thin plot, but no one really watched it. The guys kept cracking jokes, tossing popcorn, and playfully mocking each other.

Somewhere between Seonghwa threatening to ban Yunho from ever picking movies again and Wooyoung dramatically reenacting a fight scene with a broomstick, Y/N found herself laughing harder than she had in weeks.

She wasn’t just watching from the outside anymore.

She was part of it.

And San? He didn’t try to dominate her attention, didn’t make things weird. He just leaned against her from time to time, gently bumped her knee, whispered little jokes only she could hear. At one point, his fingers brushed hers while reaching for the popcorn, and instead of pulling back, she let them linger.

The movie ended, and everyone slowly started to disperse. Wooyoung and Mingi migrated to the kitchen, probably for round two of snacks. Yunho was already passed out on the floor.

San turned to her, eyes a little soft.

“Wanna walk home?”

She nodded.

The night air was cooler than before, the city humming gently in the background. They walked close, arms brushing but not linking, until they reached her block.

“Thanks for inviting me tonight,” she said.

“Thanks for coming.”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking suddenly shy. “I wanted you to meet them.”

“They’re great.”

“They like you.”

She smiled, biting her lip. “I like them too.”

They stood there awkwardly at her doorstep. Not quite a date. Not quite not a date.

San stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’m free this weekend. If you want to do something.”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

His gaze lingered, then dropped to her mouth for a flicker of a second.

But he didn’t lean in.

“Night, San.”

“Night, Y/N.”

She went inside with her heart pounding.

And for the first time in a while, she didn’t feel so unsure about where she stood.

The sunlight filtering through her window the next morning was warm and slow, and it took Y/N a moment to realize she’d fallen asleep smiling.

Not because anything particularly romantic had happened last night. But because everything had felt right.

San had stayed for hours. His presence had been quiet, comfortable. There had been no expectation, no pressure. Just soft conversation and laughter layered between the teasing banter of his friends.

And when he walked her home, something had shifted.

Not just butterflies.

Not just attraction.

Hope.

She blinked up at the ceiling and let the warmth of it all settle over her like a blanket.

It took her most of the morning to feel steady enough to send a text. Not to San — not yet. She needed to say it out loud first.

Minji and Jia arrived with coffee and croissants, dropping onto her bed like they owned the place.

“Okay,” Minji said, kicking off her sneakers. “We need a full download. Did you see him? Did he touch your knee? Did you make out?”

“We watched a movie with his friends,” Y/N replied, rolling her eyes. “Nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened… but something happened,” Jia said knowingly.

Y/N paused. Then slowly nodded.

“It wasn’t just hookup energy,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t anything physical, but it was… emotional. He invited me into his world. His friends were sweet. And he made sure I was comfortable the whole time.”

“And?” Minji asked, voice softening.

Y/N exhaled.

“I think I like him.”

Jia smiled. Minji squealed.

“But,” Y/N added, “that scares me. Because I said this was casual. And I’m not even sure how he feels.”

“Girl,” Minji said gently. “He looked at you like you hung the damn stars when we saw you together. If that wasn’t real, I don’t know what is.”

Jia leaned over and squeezed her hand. “You just have to ask yourself if you’re ready to risk being loved again. Even if it’s different this time.”

Y/N swallowed. Then nodded.

She picked up her phone and typed.

Last night was really nice. I’d like to see you again.

The typing dots appeared almost immediately.

Me too. Come over?

Her heart somersaulted.

“You’re in love,” Wooyoung declared as soon as San ended the call.

“I’m not in love,” San replied, but the way he said it lacked conviction.

Jongho threw a grape at his head. “Dude. You literally smiled at your phone like it proposed to you.”

“You just washed all the dishes without being asked,” Yunho added. “That’s how we know it’s serious.”

San flopped onto the couch. “Shut up. I just… I like her, okay?”

The others didn’t tease him further. They just nodded.

Because they’d seen it happening.

He wasn’t a hookup guy. Never had been. And something about Y/N had stuck with him since that night.

The more they talked, the more he wanted to know her. The more they laughed, the more he imagined waking up to that sound.

It was terrifying.

And exciting.

Y/N had been smiling all morning.

It wasn’t a big, flashy grin or anything that would draw attention from strangers on the street. It was subtle, quiet—tucked into the corners of her lips like a secret she wasn’t ready to share.

She scrolled back through her texts with San for what must have been the fifth time that hour. His messages were so… soft. So unlike anything she was used to. There was no double meaning, no pressure. Just warmth. Thoughtfulness.

[San] Can’t wait to see you again 🧸

[You] Same. Come over after work?

[San] Yeah, should be off by 5!

It wasn’t much, but to her, it was everything.

She had already cleaned the apartment, picked out her favorite oversized hoodie (the one soft enough to make her feel like herself), and even bought the cocoa mix she remembered he liked. It wasn’t a date, not officially. But it wasn’t not one either. Not to her.

Minji had teased her that morning, watching her move around the apartment with too much energy for a Sunday.

“You’re glowing,” Minji said over the rim of her coffee mug. “He’s got you glowing.”

Y/N hadn’t denied it.

Because maybe… she was glowing.

Maybe this was what it felt like when someone saw the real version of you and stayed.

That glow dimmed around 3:42 p.m.

[San] Hey… I’m really sorry. Hyung just asked me to cover the night shift. I can’t get out of it 😞

Y/N stared at the screen. The disappointment hit her fast, sharp.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a few seconds before she finally typed,

[You] It’s okay! Work comes first 😊

She added a smile emoji that felt like a betrayal. But she wasn’t mad. Not really.

This wasn’t his fault.

She closed the chat and sighed, tugging her hoodie sleeves down over her hands.

With the apartment suddenly too quiet, she packed her laptop into her bag and slipped on her shoes. Maybe if she studied for a while at the library, she’d feel less foolish for looking forward to something that didn’t happen.

The campus library was nearly empty that late in the afternoon. Most students had retreated to the comfort of their rooms or dorms, leaving the rows of shelves and scattered tables bathed in a muted amber light from the setting sun.

Y/N found a quiet corner, tucked between two shelves of psychology journals, and set up her things. She pulled her notes from her bag, opened a textbook she barely skimmed, and tried not to check her phone every five minutes.

Still, every time she looked at the lock screen, her heart dipped a little lower.

He said he wanted to see me again. So why does this feel like the universe disagreeing?

She shook her head. That was dramatic, even for her.

San wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t some guy playing at affection to get what he wanted. He was awkward, shy, and open in ways that unnerved her because he didn’t pretend to be someone he wasn’t.

And that scared her.

Because what if she was the one pretending?

What if all he saw was the confident girl from the club?

The flirty girl in heels and lipstick who wasn’t afraid of attention?

Not this version of her. Not the one in fuzzy socks who liked watching baking shows and crocheting plushies while listening to romance audiobooks.

She closed her textbook, suddenly unable to concentrate.

Maybe some air would help.

The sun had dipped low by the time she left the library. The streets were quiet, the glow of lamplight spilling across the sidewalk in soft halos. She adjusted the strap of her bag and headed toward home, mentally reciting her to-do list just to keep her thoughts from spiraling.

That’s when she saw him.

San.

He was walking up the street on the opposite side, his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead, a bag slung over one shoulder. He looked tired—still in his part-time uniform—but he had a soft smile on his face, the kind that tugged unexpectedly at something inside her chest.

She opened her mouth to call out.

But she wasn’t the only one approaching him.

A girl stepped beside him, matching his pace. Pretty. Stylish. Laughing at something he’d just said.

And San—he chuckled. Rubbed the back of his neck. Looked a little flustered.

Y/N slowed.

Her ears caught only snippets of their conversation across the street.

“…seriously, you’re cute when you’re shy, you know that?” the girl said, her voice lilting with flirtation.

Y/N couldn’t hear San’s reply. Maybe he said something to brush her off. Maybe not.

But he didn’t step away.

He didn’t stop her.

Her stomach twisted.

She wasn’t angry. She had no right to be.

But the sharp sting of jealousy bloomed in her chest before she could reason her way out of it.

So she walked faster.

Head down. Heart racing.

She didn’t hear her name the first time.

But she heard it the second.

“Y/N!”

Her feet only moved quicker.

Because if she turned around, he’d see the panic in her eyes. He’d see all the fragile insecurities she tried to hide behind smirks and casual texts and late-night cuddles.

She wasn’t going to let him see that version of her.

The one who always wondered if she was too much.

Or not enough.

By the time she reached her building, her chest ached.

It wasn’t just the jealousy.

It was the voice in her head—the one she thought she’d silenced months ago—whispering:

Maybe he only liked the version of you that was easy to love.

The girl who danced. Who flirted. Who laughed too loud and looked like she belonged in a room full of flashing lights and strangers.

Maybe he doesn’t want the quiet you. The one who’s afraid to hope.

Maybe no one does.

She dropped her bag by the door and sank onto the couch, still wearing her shoes.

She wasn’t angry at San.

She was angry at herself.

For hoping.

For letting it matter.

She pulled her knees to her chest and stared at the wall, letting the silence grow loud around her.

„Y/N!“

San jogged a few steps after her, the bag on his shoulder bouncing awkwardly as he moved.

But she didn’t stop.

She didn’t even glance over her shoulder.

She just… kept walking. Fast. Like she couldn’t hear him—or didn’t want to.

He slowed to a halt at the edge of the sidewalk, watching her retreat until she disappeared into the crosswalk and turned the corner, swallowed up by the fading light.

His breath caught somewhere between confusion and panic.

What just happened?

He turned back toward the girl who had been walking beside him—someone he vaguely knew from work. Her name was Ara or something close. Friendly, flirty, persistent in a way that made him uncomfortable, but too polite to say outright.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, not really looking at her. “I have to go.”

Without waiting for a reply, San turned on his heel and started in the opposite direction—away from his apartment, toward the place where he’d seen Y/N vanish.

He didn’t find her.

Not at the nearby cafés, not in the convenience store across from the dorms. And when he passed her building and didn’t see the light in her window, he finally gave up.

Back in his room, San sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone like it held the answer to everything.

[You] It’s okay! Work comes first 😊

That was her last message.

But it didn’t feel okay now.

She had smiled at him. That smile—right before she disappeared into the crowd. It had been soft, hopeful. He remembered how it made his chest tighten.

And then she walked away like he didn’t exist.

He raked a hand through his hair, letting it fall over his eyes as he leaned forward with a groan.

The knock on his door startled him.

“Hyung,” Wooyoung’s voice called from the other side. “You alive?”

“I’m good,” San muttered.

“Liar,” Jongho said, clearly outside too.

With a sigh, San stood and pulled the door open.

Four of them stood there—Wooyoung, Jongho, Seonghwa, and Yunho—crowded in the hallway like concerned parents. The expressions on their faces ranged from smug to suspicious.

“You look like someone ran over your puppy,” Yunho said, pushing his way inside. “What happened?”

“Didn’t you say you were gonna see that girl again today?” Wooyoung added. “The cute one with the sharp tongue?”

San rubbed at his face. “I was. She said I could come over after work.”

“And?”

“I had to cancel. I covered a shift.”

“And??” Wooyoung pressed.

“I saw her after,” San muttered, flopping onto his bed. “Tried to say hi. But she just walked away. Fast. Like she was pissed.”

“Did something happen?” Seonghwa asked, brows furrowed.

“There was this girl walking next to me. From work. She was flirting a little, but I didn’t flirt back.” He paused, remembering the tight twist in his chest. “I think Y/N saw. I tried to call out to her, but…”

“Ah,” Wooyoung said, flopping dramatically onto the bed beside him. “The classic misunderstanding. Timeless. Tragic.”

“Not helpful,” San grumbled.

“You like her?” Jongho asked quietly.

San looked up.

The room went still.

He swallowed. “I don’t… I mean…”

“You like her,” Wooyoung said, grinning. “Oh my god, you like her.”

“I thought we were just having fun,” San said. “But… I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like her. And it’s not just the sex or anything like that. It’s—she’s her.”

“Does she know?” Seonghwa asked.

San let out a slow exhale. “I don’t think so.”

Later that night, San stared at his phone again, thumb hovering over the message app.

He considered texting.

He even opened the thread.

But what was he supposed to say?

Hey, I’m sorry some girl flirted with me in passing, I didn’t even say anything back, please don’t hate me, I really like you and I’m scared shitless that you don’t feel the same.

He shut off the screen.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow he’d talk to her.

Face-to-face.

The next morning was foggy and quiet, and San didn’t get much sleep. His shift ended early, and as soon as he had time to shower and eat, he made his way to campus, determined to find her.

Fate, it seemed, was on his side.

Because just as he crossed the quad, there she was—coming down the path near the language building, a thermos in one hand, hair loose and wind-tousled, her eyes downcast.

He jogged toward her before he could lose his nerve.

“Y/N!”

She startled slightly, turning to see him.

Her face was unreadable.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Can we talk?” he asked, stopping a few feet in front of her.

She hesitated. Then nodded.

They found a quiet bench near the corner of the campus garden, shielded by early-blooming trees and the low hum of distant traffic.

San sat beside her, but not too close.

“I saw you walk away yesterday,” he said after a beat. “I called out.”

“I heard,” Y/N admitted, voice low.

“Then why didn’t you stop?”

She was quiet for a long moment.

And then she said, “There was a girl with you.”

He blinked. “Ara?”

“I don’t know her name,” she said with a shrug that was too casual. “She was flirting. You didn’t stop her.”

San’s brows furrowed. “I didn’t encourage her either.”

“I know,” she said. “It was stupid. I know it was.”

“But it still bothered you,” he said quietly.

She looked away.

And that was answer enough.

“I’m not mad at you,” she added after a pause. “I was mad at myself. For caring. For… for letting myself get invested. And then I saw her, and I thought—what if that’s the version of me you liked? The party girl. The one who doesn’t overthink everything. What if the real me—this me—isn’t what you want?”

San turned toward her, his expression unreadable.

“Do you think I’m that shallow?”

“No,” she said immediately. “But I’ve been with people who were. And I guess… I got scared.”

A silence stretched between them.

Then San leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and said quietly, “I’ve only ever hooked up with one person before you. Just once. It wasn’t even good.”

Y/N blinked.

“I’m not a casual guy,” he said. “Not really. I thought maybe I could be. With you. Because I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“You didn’t.”

He looked at her.

“You didn’t scare me,” she repeated. “I scared myself.”

Another long beat.

San’s voice was soft. “I like all the versions of you I’ve seen. The loud one. The soft one. The one who knits and wears giant glasses. And the one who drinks too-sweet cocoa.”

She flushed. “You noticed all that?”

“Of course I did.”

Y/N’s gaze dropped to her hands.

“Look,” she said, “I’m not good at this. I don’t know what we are or where we’re going, and I’m scared of messing it up.”

“Me too.”

She glanced up.

“But I want to try,” he said. “Even if it’s messy. Even if we don’t have it figured out yet.”

She bit her lip.

Then nodded. “Me too.”

Then San leaned in just a little closer, his voice low but steady.

“I think I fell for you the second you walked up to me at the club.”

Y/N froze, wide-eyed.

“You looked at me like I wasn’t invisible,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “Even after you ghosted me… that feeling didn’t go away. It only got stronger. Every time I saw another piece of you—the loud parts, the quiet ones, all of it—I just…”

He took a breath. “I like you. A lot. And I want to be with you—officially—if you want that too.”

For a second, she couldn’t speak. The words tangled somewhere in her throat, held hostage by the intensity of his gaze and the quiet vulnerability on his face.

Then, softly, she asked, “You mean that?”

He nodded once. “Every word.”

The tightness in her chest loosened, a breath escaping that she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

“I think I want that too,” she whispered.

His smile bloomed—gentle, boyish, disarming.

“Then we’ll figure it out together.”

She smiled back, and this time, it reached her eyes.

San reached out slowly, brushing a lock of hair behind Y/N’s ear, his fingertips light against her skin.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice barely audible over the wind.

Y/N nodded, her breath catching. “Please.”

The space between them vanished.

San kissed her softly—tentative at first, like he was afraid she might disappear if he held on too tight. But she didn’t. She leaned in, pressing her hands lightly against his chest, kissing him back with a tenderness that said I’m here.

The world seemed to hush around them.

Then—just as their lips lingered in a second, deeper kiss—a cool droplet hit her cheek. Then another. And another.

It was raining.

Neither of them flinched. They just stayed there—eyes half-lidded, smiles slowly spreading—as the rain fell gently over their shoulders, darkening San’s hoodie, curling Y/N’s hair.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

“You’re getting soaked,” she whispered.

San smiled like it didn’t matter. “So are you.”

They both laughed—a little breathless, a little stunned—and just stood there, smiling at each other like idiots under the soft curtain of rain. And they kissed each other again, the world forgotten.

For the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t feel like she had to perform. She didn’t have to be fun or sexy or confident.

She just had to be here—with him.

The shared house was louder than usual tonight.

Not that Y/N minded.

The scent of grilled meat still lingered in the air from the impromptu samgyeopsal dinner San and Seonghwa had pulled together. Music played quietly from a speaker in the living room, the playlist clearly curated by Wooyoung—bouncing between dramatic K-pop ballads and aggressively flirty hip hop. Laughter, half-hearted bickering, and the clinking of drinks filled the space as everyone settled into their usual chaos.

Y/N sat curled up on the couch, her legs tucked under her as she leaned into San’s side. His arm was slung lazily over her shoulders, thumb brushing against her arm without thought. She felt his chest rise and fall under her cheek and smiled into his hoodie.

This was... nice.

No pressure. No pretending. No wondering.

Just them.

One month since that rainy night. One month of figuring it out. Of sharing texts full of inside jokes. Of late-night walks, accidental sleepovers, and deliberate ones, too. Of soft smiles across the room and good morning kisses that turned into “who needs class anyway?” detours.

One month, and it already felt like forever—in the best way.

Across the room, Minji sat on the arm of a chair, one eyebrow raised as she poked at Jongho’s bowl of snacks.

"You're really eating that? You do know what’s in those, right?"

Jongho looked up without missing a beat. “Satisfaction and zero judgment. Unlike you.”

Minji scoffed. “Please. I judge out of love.”

“Is that what we’re calling passive aggression now?”

“Absolutely.”

Y/N smiled at the back-and-forth. Honestly, she didn’t know how the rest of her friends had clicked so easily with San’s housemates—but it was like puzzle pieces falling into place. She didn’t need to worry about fitting in. Not when everyone had decided they liked her already.

She tilted her head to look at San. “You okay?” she asked softly.

He looked down at her with that crooked smile that still made her stomach flip.

“Better than okay,” he murmured, eyes scanning her face like he still couldn’t believe she was real.

God, he was so annoyingly soft. And hers.

“Y/N,” Wooyoung sing-songed from across the room, flopping dramatically into the chair beside her. “Are you sure I can’t steal you away from San yet? You’re wasting prime flirting potential by staying loyal.”

Jia, perched on the floor in front of the coffee table, rolled her eyes. “You wish, Woo.”

He winked at her. “Don’t distract me with your beauty, Jia. I’m working.”

Jia shoved a grape in his face. “Work harder, then.”

San chuckled beside Y/N, shaking his head. “Don’t encourage him.”

Wooyoung sighed, flopping back dramatically like a wounded hero. “I’m surrounded by cynics.”

“You’re surrounded by people with taste,” Minji muttered from across the room.

Jongho smirked. “She’s not wrong.”

As everyone devolved into another round of playful teasing, Y/N felt San’s fingers gently squeeze her side.

He didn’t need to say anything.

She turned her head, looking up at him again.

And just like that—like always—everything faded out.

They ended up in the kitchen later, just the two of them. The others were arguing over what to watch, so naturally, San had grabbed her hand and pulled her away like they had a secret to keep.

“You need water,” he said, filling two cups. “You’re always dehydrated after hanging out with them.”

“You make me sound fragile.”

“You are. In a cute way.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re lucky I like you.”

He handed her a cup with a grin. “I’m very lucky.”

They stood in silence for a beat, sipping water in the yellow glow of the kitchen lights

Then she said, softly, “You’re really happy, huh?”

He leaned against the counter. “Are you not?”

“I am,” she said, nudging his leg with her knee. “I just... I think I didn’t know I could be.”

His expression softened. He reached out, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear.

“You’re not too much, Y/N,” he whispered. “You never were.”

She blinked, throat tightening unexpectedly. “I know.”

But it still meant everything to hear it from him.

He opened his arms. “Come here.”

She stepped into his chest like it was second nature now.

When they returned to the living room, someone had managed to choose a movie. Judging by the complaints, it was something cheesy and dramatic.

Y/N didn’t mind.

She settled into the couch with San again, his arm wrapping around her like muscle memory. Jia winked at her from the floor. Minji gave her a mock salute. Jongho just handed her the remote with a smirk.

They all felt like home.

She looked up at San again.

He was already looking down at her.

God, she thought. She was so gone.

But for once, that didn’t scare her.

Later that night, when everyone was sprawled out like sleepy cats and the movie credits were rolling, San kissed the top of her head and whispered, “Let’s go to bed.”

She blinked up at him. “Your bed?”

“Our bed, if you want.”

She didn’t hesitate. “I do.”

As they passed by the others, Wooyoung called out, “Try not to be too loud!”

Minji added, “San, remember to hydrate.”

Jongho muttered, “Good luck surviving them.”

Y/N turned around and flipped them all off playfully while San pulled her into his room, cheeks pink with laughter.

Behind them, the shared house buzzed with life, jokes, and music.

And in the middle of it all, Y/N realized—she’d found something better than the comfort of disappearing.

She’d found something worth staying for.

Someone worth staying with.

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

[another-random-fanfic-blog]

Y/N’s friends drag her out to a club after weeks of nursing a broken heart—the kind that leaves you questioning your worth. When she flirts with a quiet, captivating stranger named San, she tells herself it’s just a one-night stand. But neither of them are prepared for how deeply one night can echo through their lives.

Pairing: Choi San (ATEEZ) × Female!Reader

Tropes: One-night stand → something more, “You’re not too much” / soft reassurance, Hurt/Comfort, Friends-with-benefits (that totally aren’t just friends), Jealousy (but cute), Flirty introvert × secretly soft extrovert, Slow-burn intimacy with payoff, Found family through chaotic friends

Genre: College AU · Romance · Angst · Smut · Fluff · Emotional Growth

Featuring: ATEEZ (as San’s roommates), OC best friends: Jia & Minji, Toxic exes, library pining, and club lighting

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

Y/N had barely moved from the couch in days.

The TV played some rom-com she’d seen a dozen times, its dialogue drifting in and out of her awareness like static. Her legs were curled beneath her in a loose pile of blankets, an old hoodie drowning her figure, sleeves pulled over her hands. Her hair was unbrushed, pulled into a lazy bun that sat crooked on top of her head like a sad crown. A mug of cold tea rested on the table beside her, forgotten after three sips.

The blue light of her phone screen lit up again.

[Jia 💃🏻]: You’re not ghosting us tonight.

[Minji 💄]: Get up. I’m wearing lashes. You’re not ruining this.

She sighed and let the phone slide off her chest and onto the blanket.

The energy it took to feel anything was monumental lately. She had crashed hard this week—no work, no school, no social media, no appetite. The only thing she had energy for was disappearing.

But Jia and Minji weren’t going to let her do that.

The doorbell rang five minutes later, three loud knocks that were entirely too cheerful.

“Don’t even try pretending you’re not in there,” Minji called through the door. “We brought tequila.”

Y/N winced.

Jia added with mock threat, “I know the manager of this building. I will bribe my way in.”

Y/N groaned and dragged herself upright, tossing the blanket aside. Her limbs felt like they were moving through molasses. She shuffled to the door and opened it a crack.

Minji beamed at her, immediately pushing it open wider.

“There’s my favorite hermit!”

Jia held up a pink bag like a prize. “Emergency glam kit and moral support. We come bearing both.”

Y/N tried to look annoyed, but it didn’t stick.

“You guys are relentless.”

Minji waltzed past her and plopped onto the couch. “You’re lucky we’re this hot and loyal.”

“Also,” Jia added, “you’ve had your mandatory post-breakup sulk. Now it’s time for phase two: revenge glow-up.”

“I don’t want a glow-up,” Y/N mumbled. “I want chocolate and to scream into a pillow until winter.”

Minji held up the tequila like it was a holy relic. “Even better. Liquid revenge.”

Y/N gave them a look. “You realize I haven’t showered today.”

Jia tossed her a towel. “Then start there. You have twenty minutes. Minji and I will pick your outfit.”

Y/N stared between the two of them—perfect eyeliner, glitter nails, high ponytails and thigh-high boots—and wondered how she ended up with such aggressively fabulous friends.

She sighed. “Fine. But I’m not wearing anything with sequins.”

Minji smirked. “Darling, you’ll wear what we pick and you’ll thank us.”

The steam from the shower helped more than she wanted to admit.

Warm water washed away the week’s worth of apathy clinging to her skin. As she massaged conditioner through her hair, Y/N forced herself to breathe deeper. To stand taller. To not think about him.

But he was still there. In the quiet, in the spaces between her ribs.

You’re too much, Y/N.

She dug her nails into her scalp.

His words had sliced sharper than she expected. He hadn’t even yelled. That was the worst part—he said it calmly, like a statement of fact.

My mom thinks you’re not a good fit. She says girls like you burn out fast.

I just think I need someone... easier.

The tears that welled in her eyes weren’t fresh, just leftovers she hadn’t managed to cry out yet.

By the time she got out and wrapped herself in her towel, she felt hollow but clean.

Jia was waiting on her bed, already spreading out outfit options.

“Black or red?”

“I don’t know—”

“Red,” Minji called from the kitchen, pouring drinks. “You’re not a ghost.”

Jia held up a satin red dress. “This one’s short. With the corset detail. And we’ll do your hair like we did for Yuna’s birthday.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “The night we got kicked out of that rooftop bar?”

Jia grinned. “Exactly. Iconic energy only.”

The transformation was always strange to witness.

Half an hour later, Y/N barely recognized herself in the mirror. The red dress clung to her body like a second skin. Her hair framed her face in soft waves, her lips painted wine-dark. Her collarbones gleamed with subtle shimmer. Minji was applying one final layer of setting spray.

“God, you’re so hot when you’re miserable,” Minji said. “It’s kind of unfair.”

Y/N gave a weak laugh, but her chest tightened again.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can,” Jia said firmly. “You’re not doing this to meet someone. You’re doing it because you’re allowed to take up space again.”

“Because you were never too much,” Minji added. “He was just not enough.”

Y/N stared at her reflection. She didn’t look sad. She didn’t look like someone who’d been discarded like expired yogurt.

She looked... alive.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”

Club Luna was already pulsing by the time they got there.

It sat tucked into the lower level of an upscale building—one of those places with a velvet rope and a bouncer who looked like he bench-pressed for sport. But Minji, as always, had a guy on the inside.

They skipped the line.

As they entered, the world shifted. Basslines thudded through her ribs. Colored lights slashed through the dark. The smell of sweat, perfume, and alcohol was overwhelming—but familiar.

Y/N blinked.

Something in her started to crack open.

It wasn’t comfort, exactly. But it was something she remembered from before.

Before she forgot how to feel good in her own skin.

The moment they stepped past the velvet curtain, it hit her.

Bass, light, color, heat—like walking into another universe. People moved like waves across the dark floor, all glitter and sweat and bodies pressed too close together. A sea of strangers with too much perfume and not enough space.

Y/N blinked as her eyes adjusted, lashes fluttering under the strobe.

Minji turned to her with a knowing smirk. “You remember this place?”

Y/N nodded. “We got kicked out last year because Jia tried to dance on the speaker.”

“Correction,” Jia shouted over the music, “I succeeded in dancing on the speaker!”

“And you flashed the DJ,” Minji added.

“Totally accidental.”

“You were wearing a mesh top and no bra.”

Jia grinned. “Still counts.”

Y/N laughed, the sound surprising herself. The tight feeling in her chest loosened a bit. Maybe… just maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

They moved toward the bar, weaving through a blur of bodies and bursts of color. The floor vibrated beneath her heels. She could feel the music in her bones now. Sharp. Loud. Alive.

Minji ordered the first round of shots without asking. Tequila. Of course.

Y/N raised her glass along with them. “To bad decisions?”

“To good legs,” Minji said.

“To burning the past,” Jia declared.

“To forgetting his stupid name,” Y/N added, tossing the shot back with a grimace.

The alcohol hit hard, warmth blossoming in her throat and stomach. She shivered slightly, but it was the good kind—the kind that meant she might survive the night.

Or even enjoy it.

They danced for the first hour with no real structure—just movement, rhythm, letting go.

Y/N’s body hadn’t remembered how good it felt to move. Her arms above her head, her hips rolling to the beat, her hair sticking slightly to her neck as she spun under the lights.

Jia’s glitter top caught every strobe. Minji sang along to every song like it was a concert. The three of them formed a little gravitational field in the chaos, keeping each other close, laughing between lyrics and twirling like drunk fairies in heels.

“Now this,” Jia said, breathless and grinning, “is the therapy I believe in.”

Y/N smiled, letting herself forget the ache in her chest for one moment. One song. One breath.

Then another round of drinks appeared.

Jia handed Y/N a cocktail with a wink. “Something sweet. Something dangerous.”

“You are something dangerous,” Y/N muttered, sipping.

The drink tasted like sugar and citrus and regret. She drank it anyway.

It wasn’t until later—maybe the third or fourth song after that last round—that Y/N noticed him.

She wasn’t even looking for anyone. She’d stopped scanning the crowd and was just swaying now, eyes half-lidded, smile soft on her lips.

But when her gaze drifted lazily across the club, it landed on a figure tucked in the shadows near the far wall.

And everything else fell away for a second.

He wasn’t the flashiest guy in the room. Not the one with the loud laugh or the overstyled hair. He wasn’t even dancing. He just leaned against the wall like he owned it, arms crossed, posture relaxed but watchful.

He was dressed in simple black—fitted jeans, a casual button-down rolled up to the elbows, a few rings glinting on his fingers. His dark hair curled slightly at the ends, and there was a quiet sharpness in his eyes, even from this far away.

He wasn’t doing anything.

He was just… watching.

And the strange thing?

He didn’t look bored.

He looked like he was listening to the night.

Her body kept moving to the beat, but her mind was suddenly quiet.

Jia noticed her change in energy immediately.

“Who are you staring at?” she teased, bumping her hip against Y/N.

“No one.”

“That means someone.”

“Just a guy.”

“That’s a generous understatement,” Minji said, following her gaze. “Damn. Who is that?”

Y/N didn’t answer. She was too busy watching him shift his weight, laugh at something one of his friends said, and then glance back toward the crowd—toward her.

Their eyes met.

And for a moment, the room shrank.

Y/N blinked, startled by the weight of it. His gaze wasn’t heavy or invasive, just steady. Curious.

Then someone stepped between them, and the spell broke.

Minji nudged her. “He’s cute.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t.”

“But you’re looking at him like he’s a buffet and you skipped lunch.”

“I am not.”

“Oh, you are,” Jia confirmed. “You’re mentally unzipping him right now.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You two are the worst.”

“You say that now,” Minji said, raising her brows, “but if you don’t go talk to him in ten minutes, I will.”

“No you won’t.”

Minji smirked. “Try me.”

Y/N spent the next song trying not to look for him again.

She failed.

His group had shifted a little closer to the bar, but he was still where she’d last seen him—watching the crowd, nodding absently to the music. His friends were rowdy, laughing and pushing each other, one of them dramatically pantomiming a dance move gone wrong. But he stayed a little to the side, smiling softly, like he was observing more than participating.

An introvert in extrovert drag, she thought.

And that intrigued her more than it should have.

Guys like him didn’t usually pull her attention. She liked loud confidence. Flashy energy. The ones who knew they were hot and weaponized it with a wink and a smirk.

But this guy?

He looked like the type who’d rather die than make the first move.

Y/N took another sip of her drink and felt her heartbeat flutter.

Maybe that was what made her want to walk over.

He wasn’t asking for her attention.

But he had it.

San wasn’t exactly sure how he got talked into this.

One moment he’d been in sweatpants, curled up on the couch with his headphones on, lost in a lo-fi playlist while thumbing through his sketchbook. The next, Wooyoung had barged into his room with the force of a hurricane and announced:

“We’re going out. You’re coming. End of discussion.”

San had blinked. “I’m sorry, are you under the impression that I agreed to this?”

“Don’t care,” Wooyoung said, already rifling through his closet. “Put on something black and sexy.”

“Why do I need to be sexy?”

“Because I have a reputation to uphold, and I don’t hang out with trolls.”

San had groaned and buried his face in his hands.

Now, an hour later, he was standing in Club Luna, drowning in strobe lights and vibrations, silently counting the minutes until it would be socially acceptable to leave.

He loved his friends. He really did.

But clubs were not his scene.

The lights were too bright, the music too loud, the people too sweaty. Everyone seemed to be screaming at each other over the bass, spilling drinks, grinding on strangers like they were trying to physically erase themselves.

San didn’t get it.

He liked silence. Stillness. Conversation that didn’t involve yelling into someone’s ear. He liked dim, cozy cafés where you could sip coffee and people-watch without fear of being dragged onto a sticky dance floor.

But he’d promised to show up—just for a little bit.

So here he was, leaning against the wall with a watered-down drink in one hand, watching Wooyoung and the others be their usual chaotic selves.

Yeosang was the only other one who looked mildly uncomfortable, perched on a barstool scrolling through his phone like he was trying to manifest an exit.

Mingi was in full party mode—already half-sweaty, already pulling Hongjoong toward the dance floor while babbling about “just one more shot.”

Jongho and Seonghwa stood near the bar, chatting with two girls who’d clearly made it their mission to flirt with both of them at once. Jongho looked vaguely amused. Seonghwa looked terrified.

San exhaled, sipping the melting ice from his drink. He hadn’t touched the alcohol.

“You good?” Wooyoung asked, sliding next to him. His shirt had a glittering chain sewn into the collar and his hair looked freshly styled.

San shrugged. “Not really my vibe, you know that.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung said. “But it’s Friday. You haven’t left the house in two weeks.”

“I was content.”

“You were antisocial. There’s a difference.”

San gave him a look.

“Look,” Wooyoung continued, “I know you hate this crap. But just… vibe. You don’t have to dance. Just hang out. There’s always someone interesting to meet if you’re paying attention.”

San rolled his eyes. “I am paying attention. That guy’s been hitting on the bartender for the last ten minutes and failing. The girl in the gold dress has stepped on her own heel twice. And the couple behind us is either about to make out or fight.”

Wooyoung blinked. “Wow. Creepy. But accurate.”

“I’m observant, not creepy.”

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that, Sherlock.”

San snorted. But he appreciated the company.

Wooyoung could be intense, but he was also one of the few people who understood him. Or at least accepted him without trying to fix him. Most people mistook San’s quiet for shyness, or awkwardness, or arrogance. It wasn’t any of those things. He just didn’t talk unless he had something worth saying.

He didn’t know how to pretend to be excited about things that didn’t move him.

But tonight wasn’t about him, he reminded himself. It was about being present. Trying.

Even if that meant standing in the same corner for two hours and pretending he wasn’t thinking about how loud everything was.

He was just about to pull out his phone and scroll Instagram when the energy in the room shifted.

He couldn’t explain it. It was subtle—like a change in the wind.

He looked toward the entrance.

And then he saw her.

Three girls walking in, all dressed like they belonged on the cover of a nightlife magazine. But his eyes didn’t flit between them like they usually did when observing a group. They landed on one, and stayed.

Her.

She was in red.

Not flashy. Not overdone. Just… striking.

She held herself like someone who hadn’t quite decided if she wanted to be here. Like she was dressed for war but hadn’t figured out if she wanted to fight or flee.

Her hair framed her face in loose waves, and there was something in her eyes that made San stand up a little straighter.

He didn’t know what it was exactly.

She didn’t look at him.

She didn’t even glance around yet.

But he watched her laugh at something her friend said, and the way she tilted her head made something in his chest catch.

Wooyoung followed his line of sight and grinned.

“Called it.”

“Called what?”

“You saw someone interesting.”

San was quiet.

His heart thudded for the first time that night—not from the bass, but from something he couldn’t name.

He looked back toward the girl in red.

And for once, he didn’t mind the noise.

San tried not to stare.

He really did.

But the girl in red had a gravitational pull he couldn’t seem to resist. And she didn’t even seem to know it. That made it worse.

She wasn’t the loudest or flashiest in her group—those honors went to the tall one in the glittery dress and the petite one with the silver boots who was already dragging them onto the dance floor. But even as they moved, even as the three of them disappeared into the pulsing mass of people, San’s eyes didn’t follow the crowd.

They followed her.

She hesitated at first.

She didn’t dive into the music like her friends did. She stood at the edge for a moment, smoothing her dress down and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Her hands were curled a little stiffly at her sides, like she hadn’t quite convinced herself this was a good idea.

But then the beat shifted—low and dirty, the kind of rhythm that moved your bones whether you liked it or not—and she let go.

Not all at once. But enough.

Her hips started to sway in time with the bass. Her head tilted back. Her eyes fluttered closed for just a breath too long.

And San was mesmerized.

“You’re doing it again,” Wooyoung said beside him.

San blinked. “Doing what?”

“Staring like you’ve just seen the ghost of your soulmate.”

San scoffed. “I’m just people-watching.”

“That’s what perverts say.”

He ignored him, though a faint blush rose in his cheeks.

Mingi popped up from the bar with two shots in hand and a goofy grin. “San, drink. You look like you’re watching National Geographic.”

San took the glass, but didn’t drink it. “I’m good.”

“Then at least loosen up,” Mingi said, following San’s gaze. “Oh. OHHH.”

“Don’t start,” San muttered.

“Dude, she’s hot.”

San said nothing.

“Wait,” Mingi blinked, then nudged Jongho, who had just joined them. “San’s checking someone out. San. Choi San.”

Jongho raised a brow, intrigued. “Where?”

Mingi pointed, not subtly.

San shoved his arm down. “Would you not make it obvious?”

But it was too late. His friends were now following his line of sight, all of them collectively nodding with approval like a board of judges.

“Yeah, okay, she’s pretty,” Seonghwa said mildly, joining from the side.

“Pretty?” Wooyoung laughed. “She’s a ten and a half.”

Yeosang, still nursing his drink, smirked. “What happened to the San who said he didn’t come here to talk to anyone?”

“He’s still here,” San muttered. “Shut up.”

“Mm-hmm,” Wooyoung teased. “Sure. That’s why you haven’t blinked in three minutes.”

San turned away from them with a grumble. “I hate you all.”

But the truth was… he couldn’t stop looking.

Because the longer he watched her, the more he noticed.

The way she danced wasn’t for attention. It wasn’t practiced or exaggerated. It was fluid, sensual in a way that didn’t feel forced.

There was a kind of honesty to it.

Like she was shaking off something heavy. Like the music was the only thing holding her together tonight.

And for some reason, he felt that in his bones.

His chest tightened again.

He’d never understood what people meant when they said someone had a presence. But now, standing here in a club he didn’t want to be in, surrounded by neon and strangers and his loudest friends, San understood it perfectly.

She glowed.

She threw her head back at one point, laughing at something her friend said. The lights caught the shine on her collarbones. Her hands slid through her hair as she turned, swaying with the beat, drink in hand, dress hugging her curves like it had been made for her.

San barely noticed the guys who glanced at her. Who eyed her like she was on display.

What he noticed was the way she brushed them off—subtly, politely, but firmly. She didn’t even stop dancing. Just turned her back, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and rolled her hips to the rhythm.

She wasn’t here to be picked up.

She was here to forget something.

And God, did he understand that.

The moment happened just after her second drink.

She lifted it to her lips, took a slow sip, and then scanned the room.

San hadn’t expected her to notice him.

He’d done his best to look casual—leaned against the wall, head tilted slightly down, gaze half-lidded like he was just idly observing the world.

But when her eyes found his across the room, he forgot how to breathe.

She paused.

For just a second. Like she recognized something.

Then—

She smiled.

It wasn’t big. Not a grin. Just a small, slow curve of her lips.

But it hit San like a slap.

His spine straightened. His fingers clenched around his untouched glass.

And then she turned back to her friends… and danced.

But now it was different.

Now she knew she had an audience.

Her movements grew smoother, more confident. She swayed with the kind of lazy sensuality that made San’s mouth go dry. Her eyes drifted back to him once, just briefly, and there was a spark there—a challenge.

He couldn’t look away.

Wooyoung leaned in and whispered, “You’re fucked.”

San didn’t answer.

He was already in too deep.

San was not panicking.

He was not.

Sure, his heart was racing and his palms were suspiciously warm despite the ice in his drink. But he’d played this cool, right? He hadn’t stared like a creep (okay, maybe a little), and he hadn’t sent any signals besides the occasional stolen glance. So the fact that she smiled at him—that little secret curve of her lips—it couldn’t mean anything too serious.

Could it?

She had choices. The kind of choices that circled the dance floor like sharks—handsy frat boys in designer shirts, glossy-haired finance guys leaning against the bar with the smugness of a good credit score. Guys with confidence oozing out of their pores.

San was not one of those guys.

He was the kind who watched. Waited. Tried not to get in the way.

And yet—

When she started walking toward him, heels clicking against the dark floor, hips swaying like a promise, he forgot how to breathe.

Wooyoung’s voice rang out, low and amused. “Ohhh shit. Is she actually—”

Yeosang cut him off with a raised brow. “She’s walking straight to him.”

Mingi’s jaw dropped. “San? Our San?”

Seonghwa snorted. “I’ll be damned.”

San didn’t hear them.

Couldn’t.

Because she was in front of him now.

And her eyes were locked on his like she already knew what she wanted.

“Hey,” she said.

Her voice was smoky. Smooth. Confident, but with a flicker of playfulness.

San blinked. “Hi.”

God. His voice cracked a little.

She smiled wider.

“You’ve been watching me.”

That wasn’t a question.

San scratched the back of his neck, trying to play it cool. “I—uh. You stood out.”

“Oh?” She tilted her head. “How so?”

He met her gaze and forced a slow breath. “You looked like you didn’t want to be here.”

She laughed at that—really laughed. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to someone who gets it.”

She stepped closer, just enough that her perfume—vanilla, citrus, and something a little sharp—wrapped around him. Her lips curved.

“You don’t look like you want to be here either.”

“I don’t,” he admitted. “I was dragged.”

“Same.” Her fingers danced around the edge of her glass. “Friends can be relentless.”

“Wooyoung is a menace.”

She grinned. “So that’s his name.”

“You noticed him?”

“Hard not to. He sparkles.”

San chuckled under his breath. “He does.”

She tilted her head, studying him now. “You’re not like the rest of them.”

“Is that a compliment or a warning?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

God. She was quick. And smooth. And too pretty to be looking at him like that.

“I’m Y/N,” she said after a moment.

He smiled. “San.”

They didn’t shake hands. It would’ve felt too formal. Too distant.

And the air between them was anything but distant.

After a beat, she took a slow sip of her drink, then said, “So. San. You gonna just stand there all night?”

He raised a brow. “That was the plan.”

She stepped in just a little closer, lips only a few inches from his ear now. “Wanna dance with me?”

San’s brain short-circuited.

Dance?

In public?

With her?

His instinct was to say no. Politely. To explain that he wasn’t the dancing type, that he didn’t like the crowd, that he was more comfortable exactly where he was.

But then she leaned back and looked up at him through her lashes.

And he knew he wasn’t saying no.

“…Yeah,” he said, voice quiet. “Okay.”

Her smile turned wicked. She reached for his hand and tugged gently.

The guys’ reactions were immediate.

“No way,” Mingi whispered behind him.

“Is he—he’s going?” Jongho gawked.

Yeosang nodded slowly. “And willingly.”

“I didn’t even know he could dance,” Seonghwa murmured.

“San has hips,” Wooyoung said proudly. “He just doesn’t use them in public.”

San ignored them all, too focused on the warmth of her hand in his as she led him into the crowd.

The music swelled.

The lights dimmed.

And just like that, he was being pulled into the fire.

Y/N didn’t know what she expected when she pulled him onto the floor.

Maybe for him to freeze up. Maybe to smile sheepishly and sway a little like most guys who said yes just to be polite. He seemed like the type to hover awkwardly at best, standing close but not really dancing — just there.

But Choi San?

Apparently had hips made of sin.

The moment he stepped into the beat, she almost stopped moving.

His body rolled with the bass like he felt the rhythm in his bones — smooth, controlled, but never showy. He didn’t overdo it. No flashy moves. No awkward flailing. Just fluid confidence. A natural sensuality in how he shifted his weight, how he matched her movements without overpowering them.

He didn’t grab her. Didn’t push.

He danced with her.

And it was… hot.

Unreasonably hot.

She blinked up at him, caught between surprise and interest. “So you can dance.”

He grinned, a little bashful, but the mischief in his eyes was unmistakable. “Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe.”

He stepped closer.

They hadn’t touched yet, not really. A hand on her arm. A brush of fingers.

But now his palm landed lightly on her hip.

Warm. Gentle. Grounding.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t step away.

She swayed into it.

And then they were dancing — actually dancing — their bodies moving in tandem like they’d done this before, like this was muscle memory.

Her hands found his shoulders, then slid down the curve of his arms.

He felt solid under her fingers. Warm and steady, like a tether in the chaotic swirl of lights and noise.

When her hips rolled, his followed. When she turned, he mirrored her without hesitation, one hand trailing the curve of her lower back before settling just above her waist again.

It didn’t take long for her pulse to quicken.

And it wasn’t just the dancing.

It was him.

The way he kept his eyes on hers — not devouring, not cocky — just focused. Present. Like he was watching her dance, not looking around for a better option.

Like he wanted her here.

Like he saw her.

The music shifted — lower now, slower. A bassline that buzzed low in her chest. The lights softened into a haze of purples and reds.

She leaned forward just enough for her mouth to brush his ear. “You sure you don’t come to clubs often?”

He tilted his head, so his lips were at her temple. “Very sure.”

“Then why are you so good at this?”

His breath was warm. “Because I like the way you move.”

A rush of heat bloomed under her skin.

Okay.

Okay, so he was shy.

But also a menace.

A quiet menace who could say something like that — gently, sweetly — and still make her thighs clench.

She stepped in closer.

Their bodies aligned — front to front, thigh to thigh, the space between them reduced to heat. Her hands slid up his chest, resting on his shoulders again. His arms settled low on her back, fingertips just grazing the edge of her spine.

They weren’t grinding. Not like half the couples around them.

But it was intimate.

The way her hips rocked into his, slow and deliberate.

The way his hands smoothed up her sides and back down again.

The way her breath caught when he shifted forward just slightly, and she felt the solid press of his thigh between hers.

San exhaled quietly.

She felt it — the way he tensed a little, just for a second.

The way his gaze flicked down to her mouth and then back up again.

He was just as affected as she was.

That realization sent a thrill through her stomach.

They danced like that for… she didn’t know how long. Two songs? Three?

Time got weird.

All she knew was that her skin was buzzing, her pulse was loud in her ears, and her body was pressed against someone who somehow made her feel both grounded and completely unhinged.

At one point, he leaned in again — mouth at her ear.

“You okay?”

She smiled. Nodded.

She wasn’t sure she was, but not in a bad way.

She was buzzing.

High.

Not on alcohol, but on him.

The way he smelled — clean and masculine with a hint of spice.

The way he moved — deliberate, focused, but not demanding.

The way he looked at her — like she was something rare. Like she was worth paying attention to.

She felt wanted.

Not the shallow kind. Not the usual club gaze of men who stared like she was a piece of meat.

No.

San watched her like he was still trying to understand her. Like every time she moved, she revealed another piece of herself, and he was dying to learn more.

She couldn’t remember the last time she felt like that.

Her hand slid up the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair.

He stiffened slightly — not in discomfort, but in surprise — and she swore she felt the subtle tremor that passed through him.

She leaned in.

“Wanna get some air?”

San blinked. Pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

There was heat there.

But also something cautious.

She softened her tone. “Just air. Promise.”

His lips quirked into a shy smile. “Yeah. Okay.”

They stepped off the floor together, breathless.

And behind them, the music kept playing — but neither of them really heard it anymore.

The club doors hissed shut behind them, sealing the music inside like a secret.

Outside, the night air hit like a soft slap — crisp and cool against the heat of her skin. Y/N breathed deep, letting the quiet wrap around her like a blanket. Her heart was still pounding from the dance floor. The bass still echoed in her chest, but now it was matched by something else.

San.

He stood beside her, hands tucked into his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched as he looked up at the hazy night sky. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone, the collar of his shirt slightly askew, and his hair was a little messy now — like he’d run his fingers through it too many times.

He looked… flustered. And unfairly handsome.

She swallowed, her throat dry.

“So,” she said softly, breaking the silence.

He glanced over at her, lips parting.

His eyes were still dark — not from exhaustion, not even from lust, really — but something deeper. Curiosity. Interest. Hunger, maybe, but the kind that wasn’t just about the body.

“You okay?” she asked.

San nodded. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“About what?”

He gave a tiny half-laugh. “How this isn’t how I thought tonight would go.”

She arched a brow. “You mean you didn’t plan to be seduced by a stranger in a red dress?”

“I didn’t think I’d dance at all, to be honest.”

“You were good at it,” she said, unable to hide her smile. “Too good. You’ve definitely done that before.”

He looked down, cheeks flushing faintly. “Not like that.”

Her pulse jumped.

She turned to him, fully now, one foot angled toward him like her body was already making decisions her mind hadn’t caught up to. “You keep surprising me.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I think so,” she murmured.

The space between them felt thinner than air now.

One more breath and she’d be in his arms again.

And then… San stepped closer.

His gaze dropped to her lips.

Her stomach twisted — anticipation curling up her spine, heat sparking low in her belly.

He hesitated. Just long enough to ask for permission without words.

Y/N tilted her chin up, just a fraction.

That was all it took.

His hand found her cheek, calloused thumb brushing along her jaw. And then his lips were on hers — soft, warm, tentative at first.

But then her hands found the front of his shirt.

And he kissed her again.

Deeper this time.

His mouth moved with a rhythm that was all confidence and slow-burning need. He kissed like he danced — fluid, intentional, just a little dangerous. Like he wasn’t in a rush, like he wanted to savor.

Y/N let herself fall into it — the scent of him, the feel of his hand sliding to her waist, the way he exhaled against her skin when their mouths broke for air and then found each other again.

It wasn’t just a kiss.

It was a yes.

A quiet, breathless yes.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathing harder than they should’ve been.

San blinked at her, stunned for a second, then let out a soft breath that was almost a laugh. “Okay.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Okay?”

“That was…” He paused. “Yeah. Okay.”

She bit back a grin. “You’re adorable.”

He frowned. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Take it back.”

“Not a chance.”

San gave a little groan, rubbing the back of his neck like he couldn’t believe what was happening.

And still — still — his fingers didn’t fully leave her waist.

She reached up and traced his collar, straightening it absently.

“My place is close,” she said.

San met her gaze again.

No hesitation this time.

“Lead the way.”

They walked in silence.

Not awkward. Just… simmering.

Every step felt like an echo of what they didn’t say. Their fingers brushed once — twice — until San reached over and laced his hand through hers.

His palm was warm.

She squeezed.

The moment the door shut behind them, the silence settled.

Not the kind that meant discomfort—but the kind that vibrated with everything left unsaid.

Y/N turned the lock with a quiet click. Then she turned around slowly.

San was standing in the middle of her living room, hands still in his jacket pockets, eyes scanning the space with wide-eyed curiosity. It was dim, only the streetlights through the blinds casting shadows across the hardwood floor.

He looked like he wasn’t sure whether to relax or brace for something.

Y/N stepped toward him, slow, measured.

San’s gaze snapped back to her.

They stood there for a moment, heartbeats loud in the quiet.

Then she whispered, “Come here.”

That was all it took.

His hands finally slipped out of his pockets. She stepped into him. He met her halfway.

Their mouths found each other again like magnets—desperate, slow at first, then deeper. His lips moved over hers with the same careful intent he’d danced with. Hands on her waist. Fingertips brushing the hem of her dress.

She slid her fingers into his hair, tugging gently as she pressed him back, step by step. He let her lead, like he wanted her to.

The hallway narrowed. Lights flickered from the window at the end. She kissed him again as she walked him backward toward the bedroom, their bodies pressed so close she could feel the way his breath caught every time she bit his bottom lip.

When the backs of his knees hit the edge of her bed, he froze.

Y/N leaned into his ear, voice low. “Sit.”

He obeyed.

Not hesitating. Not questioning.

His eyes were locked on her now, dark with anticipation, flickering with disbelief—like he couldn’t quite believe she was real, standing there in front of him, mouth kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed.

Y/N stepped back just slightly. Enough to reach for the zipper on her dress.

San’s breath caught.

She pulled it down, slow, letting the fabric slide off her shoulders. It pooled at her feet.

Lace clung to her hips. Her skin was warm, still buzzing from the club, from the street, from him.

She watched his eyes trail down her body.

And for the first time all night, he looked like he didn’t know what to say.

She liked that.

Y/N stepped forward again, climbed into his lap.

Straddling him, she cupped his face and kissed him—soft at first, then deeper, tasting the way his breath hitched.

He grabbed her hips, fingers tightening as her body pressed flush against his.

One hand slid down.

He gripped her ass with both hands now, groaning softly against her mouth. She grinned against his lips, grinding down slightly and earning a muffled curse in response.

Then her hands moved to his shirt, tugging it up, fingers brushing the skin beneath.

“Take it off,” she whispered.

San pulled back slightly, lips parted, and tugged the shirt over his head.

The second it dropped to the floor, Y/N’s breath caught.

Holy hell.

His chest was firm—sculpted in a way that felt unfair, like it should come with a warning. Sharp collarbones, smooth skin, defined abs that flexed with every breath. And that V-line…

She was staring. She knew it.

Didn’t care.

“You’re fit,” she murmured, voice dipping into something darker.

He laughed, quiet and breathless. “I work out.”

“No kidding.”

She leaned forward and kissed the base of his throat. Then lower. Her tongue traced the dip of his collarbone, lips brushing over his chest. His fingers curled into her thighs.

When she looked back up at him, his eyes were molten.

“You still want that?” she asked.

He nodded. Then leaned up to kiss her again, harder this time.

Like an answer.

San looked like a statue carved from heat and disbelief.

Y/N watched him from where she sat astride his lap, his flushed chest rising and falling beneath her palms. His skin was warm, slightly damp from the trail her kisses had left across his torso. He hadn’t said a word since she leaned in to kiss him again — only looked at her with wide, dark eyes like he wasn’t sure whether to blink and miss something.

“I want to see you,” she whispered.

His breath caught, and he nodded without a word.

Her fingers trailed down from his shoulders, along the lean lines of his chest. He had the kind of body sculpted by discipline, not vanity — toned, athletic, quietly powerful. The ridges of his abs flexed under her hands. She took her time, brushing her thumbs over the shallow dip just below his ribs, and felt the way he tensed beneath her.

“You’re beautiful,” she said softly.

His brows flicked up, clearly not used to the word being applied to him. But he didn’t deflect, didn’t try to argue. Instead, he swallowed hard and murmured, “So are you.”

She leaned down and kissed him again — slower this time, deliberate. Their mouths met with the practiced rhythm they’d already learned, lips parting just enough to allow the soft press of tongue and breath. San’s hands cupped her bare waist, his fingers gripping like he was afraid she might vanish.

Y/N pulled back only far enough to kneel between his legs.

She kept her eyes on him as her fingers went to his belt, then the button of his jeans.

San’s lashes fluttered, but he didn’t move — didn’t stop her.

She took her time dragging the zipper down, then sliding the denim past his hips. His boxers followed next, revealing all of him — hard, thick, flushed, and already leaking at the tip.

San made a noise low in his throat as she reached for him.

And when she wrapped her hand around him, he cursed under his breath.

“Fuck…”

Y/N smiled — slow and wicked.

Then she lowered her head.

The first brush of her lips made his hips twitch.

She licked him first, a long, deliberate stripe from base to tip. San’s head fell back against the pillows. She could see the tension in his jaw, the grip of his fingers against the sheets.

Then she wrapped her mouth around him — just the tip, tongue swirling gently, tasting the salt and heat of him.

He groaned.

“Y/N…”

Her name on his lips did something to her.

She took him deeper, slow and steady, adjusting her angle as her lips slid down the length of him. Her hand stroked what she couldn’t take, building rhythm with her mouth. She could feel him pulse against her tongue.

San’s breaths grew louder, broken.

She looked up and saw him watching — his eyes glazed and dark, lips parted in awe.

His hand reached down to her hair, not pushing, just holding — his thumb caressing her temple like he didn’t know what else to do with himself.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. “You’re gonna kill me…”

She hummed in response, and the vibration made his whole body jerk.

“God—Y/N, I…”

His voice cracked on her name. He looked down at her like he couldn’t believe she was real, like he was seconds from losing control.

Her pace stayed slow, focused, letting him feel every flick of her tongue, every wet, tight pull. The way he writhed, the way he whimpered when she moaned around him — it was intoxicating. Powerful. She loved the way he fell apart.

His thighs trembled.

“Stop,” he choked suddenly, voice rough and urgent. “Wait—fuck—if you keep going, I’m gonna—”

She pulled back slowly, lips sliding off him with one last flick of her tongue.

San lay there for a moment, panting.

His eyes met hers, dazed.

Then he surged forward and kissed her — fiercely, almost clumsily, like he didn’t know how else to say thank you.

His hands found her waist and flipped her gently onto her back.

Now he was above her, staring down with blown pupils and flushed cheeks.

“You’re unreal,” he said.

She smirked, breathless. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

His lips curved, but then he leaned in, mouth brushing hers.

“I want to make you feel the same,” he murmured. “Let me?”

The way he said it — soft, reverent — made her heart stutter.

She nodded.

San kissed her again — slower this time.

Then his hands began to roam.

San’s lips kissed a trail down her collarbone, slow and reverent, like every inch of her was something he wanted to memorize.

Y/N lay beneath him, chest rising in shallow breaths, heart pounding loud enough she was sure he could feel it. His hands roamed her sides with a gentleness that contradicted how strong they were — as if he didn’t want to overwhelm her, even though every inch of him radiated restraint barely held in check.

“Still good?” he asked softly, lips brushing her neck.

“Yeah,” she whispered, her voice trembling for reasons that had nothing to do with nerves. “More than good.”

His smile was small — crooked and just a little awestruck. Then he kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue sweeping past her lips as he pressed his hips against hers. She could feel him — hard, warm, solid — resting against her thigh, and every cell in her body begged for more.

But San pulled back slightly, meeting her eyes.

“Turn over for me,” he said, voice husky but tender.

The command sent a spark straight to her core.

She obeyed.

Her bare skin prickled in the open air as she shifted onto her hands and knees, hair spilling over one shoulder. She heard San’s breath hitch behind her — quiet, strained — and then felt the heat of his palms at her hips.

He leaned forward.

Kissed her shoulder.

Then her spine.

Then lower.

Y/N gasped when his lips found the dip of her back, then the curve of her ass, open-mouthed kisses that made her thighs tremble. His hands spread over her, reverent, worshipping.

“San…”

“I know,” he murmured, kissing the spot just above where her thighs met. “I’ve got you.”

And he did.

The next thing she felt was the head of his cock nudging gently at her entrance.

He went slow — achingly slow — as he pushed inside, giving her time to adjust to the stretch. Her fingers clenched the sheets, a soft moan slipping from her lips as he filled her completely.

“Oh my God…”

“Fuck…” San hissed behind her, voice shaking. “You feel so good.”

Once he was fully seated, he paused, brushing his hand along her back again — grounding her, anchoring them both.

Then he moved.

The rhythm started slow, smooth, his hips rolling into hers like he was learning the tempo of her body. Every thrust was deliberate, drawn out, the sound of skin meeting skin building softly in the room. Y/N dropped her forehead to the mattress, her breath catching each time he drove into her — deep and perfect.

Then his hand slid down.

Found her clit.

“Ah—San—”

He circled it slowly, in sync with the thrusts, his fingertips slick from how wet she was. The pressure sent sparks through her, her body jerking against his. She whimpered, thighs tightening.

“Just like that,” he breathed. “Let go for me.”

The combination — his voice, the way he moved, the rhythm of his touch — pulled the orgasm from her like a string unraveling. Her whole body shook as it hit, pleasure bursting white-hot behind her eyes. She cried out, barely aware of anything but the way San held her together.

She collapsed to her forearms, gasping.

He slowed, letting her ride the aftershocks, one hand stroking her back as she trembled.

“Holy shit,” she whispered.

San chuckled breathlessly. “You okay?”

She turned her head, cheek against the sheets. “Yeah. Just… wow.”

He leaned down and kissed the curve of her shoulder.

And then he gently pulled out.

She barely had time to whimper at the loss before he guided her onto her back again. His eyes met hers — dark, warm, almost reverent — and then he leaned in for another kiss.

This one was different.

Deeper. Slower. Like he was asking a question without using words.

And she answered it by wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Come here,” she whispered.

He entered her again with a groan — this time facing her, filling her completely. Her fingers threaded through his dark hair, nails scratching lightly along his scalp as he began to move.

Missionary felt too simple a word for what this was.

He moved like he wanted to live in her skin, like he needed to feel every reaction — every shift, every breath, every flutter of her lashes. His hand found hers and pinned it beside her head, fingers lacing together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered against her jaw. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Y/N laughed, breathless. “Me neither.”

But it was real.

San moved slowly at first, watching her face, then picked up his pace — every thrust deep and focused, the kind that made her toes curl. She arched into him, moaning his name, and he groaned low in response, his body shuddering. At the end her legs ended up on his shoulders and he was pounding into her. Her free hand clutched at his back, feeling every muscle ripple under her touch.

And then he started whispering.

“You’re so beautiful like this…”

“I wanted you from the moment I saw you…”

“I don’t want this to be just one night…”

Her heart clenched.

Something in her chest cracked wide open.

“San…”

He kissed her again — slow, deep, full of promises she hadn’t asked for but desperately wanted to believe.

She tightened her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper, letting the sensation build again. His hand dropped between them, circling her clit once more, and that was all it took.

She came with a cry, back arching, stars behind her eyes.

San followed almost instantly, burying his face in her neck, moaning her name like a confession as he spilled inside her.

They stayed like that for a long time — breathless, tangled, wrapped in the quiet afterglow.

San finally rolled to his side but didn’t let go. He pulled her into his chest, one hand stroking her back gently, lips brushing her temple.

“Are you okay?” he asked again.

She nodded against his skin. “Yeah. More than okay.”

“Good,” he murmured. “I didn’t want to mess that up.”

“You didn’t.”

He chuckled quietly. “Okay. Because I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Y/N blinked up at him. “A one-night stand?”

He nodded, looking suddenly sheepish.

Her heart softened.

“Me neither,” she whispered.

They lay in silence, wrapped in each other, listening to the sound of the city outside the window.

Then San said, “I don’t want this to be just tonight.”

She swallowed hard.

Neither did she.

The first thing Y/N registered was warmth.

Soft, steady warmth behind her and the low thrum of someone breathing close. For a moment, she wasn’t sure where she was—caught in that hazy space between sleep and awareness where nothing hurt and everything felt distant.

Then she shifted slightly… and felt the arm around her tighten.

Right.

San.

The memories from the night before didn’t come back in fragments. They hit all at once—his mouth on her skin, her name groaned against her shoulder, the way he looked at her like she was the most important thing in the room. The sex, yes—but more than that. The way it felt. The way he felt. Like something rare and unfiltered and real.

She kept her eyes closed a little longer, trying to stretch out the moment.

San’s chest was pressed to her back, his breath soft against her hair. His hand rested on her waist, fingers curled loosely, and every now and then, she felt him exhale deeply—as if even in sleep, he hadn’t completely relaxed.

He didn’t strike her as someone who let go easily.

Neither was she.

When she finally opened her eyes, sunlight had just started to peek through the blinds. It was barely morning. The room still held the scent of sweat and skin, of something heady and masculine and warm that she already associated with him.

She didn’t want to move.

Didn’t want to end whatever this was.

But at some point, he’d have to go.

And she’d have to figure out what came next.

She must have dozed off again, because the next time she stirred, the space behind her was cold.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, and her stomach sank before her thoughts caught up.

San was gone.

The sheets beside her were still slightly warm, but his scent lingered only faintly. For a moment, panic flickered in her chest—had he really just left? No goodbye? No note?

But then, she sat up.

And saw it.

A slip of paper on her nightstand, neatly folded, weighed down by the corner of her phone. Her name was written on it in quick, sharp handwriting.

She reached for it, heart already thudding.

“Hey. Sorry I had to dip early — my part-time job called me in. You were sleeping so peacefully I didn’t want to wake you.

I meant what I said last night. This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing.

If you want to talk… or just see me again… here’s my number.

San 😊”

Her eyes lingered on the smiley face.

Something about it made her throat tighten.

She traced the ink with her thumb, then flipped the paper over to see his number scribbled carefully on the back.

So he hadn’t just disappeared.

He left the door open.

It was up to her to walk through it.

But she didn’t.

5 Months later

She never meant to let it go that long.

A few days of hesitation became a week. Then a month. And then the time passed so awkwardly, so long, that she didn’t know how to reach out without looking like a coward.

Or worse—like she thought he was still waiting.

Maybe he had someone else by now.

Maybe he forgot.

She told herself it was better this way. That it was just a night. That it didn’t have to mean something just because it felt like it did.

Her friends never pried. Not even Jia. She’d disappeared the morning after without explanation, and when she came back to life, she just said she’d needed the day to herself. Her silence must have said enough, because neither of them brought up that night again.

Not once.

And still…

There were nights she’d stare at the folded paper, still tucked in the drawer beside her bed.

She hadn’t deleted it.

She hadn’t thrown it away.

She just… hadn’t used it.

“Table for three,” the hostess said, motioning them inside.

Y/N blinked, stepping into the buzzing warmth of the BBQ restaurant. The place was packed — as expected on a Friday night — but Jia had managed to score a reservation after badgering the manager through her food blog account.

The three of them filed in, winding through the narrow aisle of booths and hot plates until they were shown to the very back corner. The table was one of those half-circle setups meant for large groups.

Except half of it was already filled.

“Oh—sorry,” the hostess said quickly. “Looks like this table’s being shared. It’s a bit busy tonight.”

“No problem,” Jia chirped before anyone could protest.

Y/N was too busy pulling off her scarf to notice anything—until her friend Minji tugged at her sleeve.

“Uh… Y/N?”

“What?”

She looked up.

And froze.

There—on the far side of the table—sat San.

And he looked just as shocked to see her.

He was wearing a black bomber jacket over a white tee, his dark hair slightly tousled like he’d just run his hands through it. His eyes widened the moment they met hers.

For a second, no one moved.

Then Wooyoung — because it had to be him, judging by the grin — leaned around San and waved enthusiastically. “Hey! You’re the girl from the club!”

Y/N blinked.

She barely remembered him from that night, except in flashes — San’s friend with the sharp eyes and loud voice. The others around the table were familiar too. Not by name, but by vibe. The group San had come with that night.

San didn’t say anything.

His hand twitched against his glass of water, but he didn’t look away from her.

“Looks like we’re tablemates,” Jia said brightly, clearly noticing the tension but deciding to bulldoze right through it. “Hope you guys don’t mind.”

The other boys quickly made room, scooting down so Y/N and her friends could slide in.

Fate, it seemed, had a sense of humor.

And terrible timing.

They ended up sitting almost directly across from each other.

Y/N tried to focus on the menu, on the grill, on the fire that hissed and cracked in the middle of the table. But every few seconds, her eyes flicked up—and every time, they landed on him.

San looked… older. Or maybe just more solid. His jaw was a little sharper. His shoulders broader than she remembered. But he still had that same unreadable calm—except for his eyes.

His eyes were anything but calm.

He kept glancing at her like he was debating whether to say something—or maybe debating whether she would.

Their server came by, dropping off side dishes and grilling tongs. Conversation broke out across the table like nothing was weird. Her friends were laughing with his friends, swapping stories about the worst professors, the best all-night cafés, the dumbest things they’d done while drunk.

Y/N sipped her beer too fast.

“You okay?” Minji leaned over to whisper.

Y/N nodded mutely.

Minji followed her gaze, then hummed in understanding.

“Is that San?”

She winced. “Yeah.”

“He’s hot.”

“Please don’t.”

“Are you gonna talk to him?”

“I don’t know.”

She hadn’t expected to ever see him again.

And now he was sitting across from her like a memory turned real, watching her with the same quiet intensity as the first night they met.

When the meats were finally brought out, San was the first to reach for the tongs. His hands moved expertly, flipping slices of pork belly with the precision of someone used to the routine. He placed a perfectly grilled piece onto her plate.

Y/N looked up, startled.

Their eyes met again.

This time, she didn’t look away.

“Thanks,” she said, voice soft.

He nodded once.

Then smiled.

Small.

Tentative.

But real.

San wasn’t even supposed to come.

He’d worked a double shift the night before, closed the studio early, and his shoulders still ached from carrying audio equipment up three flights of stairs. He’d practically begged for the night off, ready to collapse on his couch with ramen and a documentary he’d pretend to watch before passing out.

But Wooyoung, naturally, had other plans.

“Come on,” he’d whined earlier that day, hanging off San’s shoulder like a koala. “You’re always tired. You’re like twenty-four going on forty. You need meat. Beer. Laughter.”

“I need sleep.”

“You need friends. Human connection. Galbi.”

That had been the winning argument.

And now here they were, crammed into the corner booth of a crowded BBQ restaurant, the grill already hot, and Wooyoung talking enough for all of them.

San leaned back against the wall, nursing a cold beer, eyes half-lidded. The laughter and chatter around him faded to white noise. He was glad to be with the guys—Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Jongho, Yunho, Mingi, Yeosang, Wooyoung —but he still felt off. Like a wire inside him was slightly out of sync.

He didn’t expect the moment to snap back into focus.

But it did.

The second she walked in.

Y/N.

San blinked, and for a moment he thought he was hallucinating.

But no—there she was. Her hair a little longer, her makeup subtle but polished, her eyes scanning the table with that familiar guarded sharpness.

And then those eyes landed on him.

It was like a punch to the chest.

San sat up straighter, the air suddenly thicker. His fingers tightened around his glass. The room around him seemed to blur, noise dropping into a muffled hum as his focus tunneled on her.

Jongho, who sat closest, noticed immediately.

“What’s up with you?”

San didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Wooyoung leaned around Jongho, followed his gaze, and grinned like the devil spotting prey.

“Ohhh shit.”

San tore his eyes away—barely—and shot him a warning glance.

“What?” Yunho asked, leaning in. “What’s going on?”

“That’s her,” Wooyoung whispered, nudging Hongjoong hard in the ribs. “The girl. You know, the girl.”

Hongjoong blinked. “Wait—the girl? Like, the one-night-stand-who-broke-San’s-heart girl?”

“I thought she ghosted you,” Seonghwa said.

“She did,” San muttered.

The guys all turned to look at her—subtly, but not subtly enough.

She hadn’t seen them yet. She was laughing with two friends—the same ones from the club, he thought. The shorter one with straight-cut bangs and the taller one who had glared daggers at every guy that came too close.

“God, you’re sweating,” Wooyoung whispered with a grin. “You look like someone hit you with a shovel.”

San wiped his palms discreetly on his jeans.

He didn’t respond.

Because in truth—he hadn’t gotten over it.

After that night, San had waited.

Not right away. He’d played it cool, assuming she needed time. Maybe she was busy. Maybe she wasn’t the type to text first.

But by the third day, his confidence had cracked.

He checked his phone constantly. Wrote and deleted messages. Thought about texting her himself but hesitated every time. It wasn’t desperation—it was fear.

What if she didn’t want more?

What if he was just… a rebound?

The number he left sat in silence.

And he had pretended it didn’t bother him.

But the guys had known.

He had stopped showing up to club nights. Got quieter during dinners. Started pouring all his focus into work and school like burying himself would erase the memory of her mouth on his skin.

Now, here she was.

Sliding into the seat across from him like no time had passed.

Looking just as beautiful.

Maybe more.

And when her eyes finally found his, they both froze.

The moment stretched like elastic—tense, fragile, threatening to snap.

San’s throat tightened.

He wasn’t angry.

He wasn’t even surprised.

He was… unprepared.

The seat next to San remained open.

He watched in stunned silence as Y/N and her friends squeezed in on the other side of the curved table, laughing with the hostess, shrugging off their coats. Jia was the one making small talk, something about how hard it had been to get a reservation, but Y/N said nothing. Her focus flicked briefly toward him once, just once—so fast he could’ve missed it.

But he didn’t.

Not even a little.

“Damn,” Mingi muttered under his breath, leaning toward San as he reached for a side dish. “Is this… awkward for you or hot? Be honest.”

San shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

“She’s prettier than I remember,” Jongho added, reaching across the grill with calculated innocence. “Which is wild, considering you talked about her for a month like she was Aphrodite reincarnated.”

“I did not.”

“You really did,” Yunho said helpfully, grinning. “You said she had, and I quote, ‘a laugh that made your chest feel warm.’”

“Are you trying to kill me right now?”

“Honestly?” Wooyoung chimed in. “You did that all on your own, buddy.”

San groaned quietly and covered his face with one hand. He didn’t want to be rude. He didn’t want to ignore her. But he also didn’t know what he did want—except to understand why she hadn’t called. Why the girl who made him feel everything that night had disappeared like she never existed.

He didn’t even have the right to ask.

But he wanted to.

So badly it hurt.

He glanced up again—just in time to catch her looking away.

Her cheeks were slightly flushed from the warm restaurant. She lifted her beer with both hands, drinking slowly. Her fingers trembled. Just barely. But he noticed.

Because he was watching her like his life depended on it.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one unprepared.

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

[another-random-fanfic-blog]

Please And Thank You

Summary: Working as a receptionist at a flower shop that serves as a front for organized crime, you find yourself falling for San. The family’s most polite and terrifyingly effective enforcer who says “please” and “thank you” and always apologizes for the inconvenience.

Fandom: ATEEZ

Pairing: Choi San x Reader

Genre: Romance, Dark Comedy, Mafia AU, Fluff with Dark Themes

Warnings: Violence (bone breaking/torture, not in detail), organized crime activities, dark humor, mentions of blood/injury, morally ambiguous characters

====================================

You’d been working as a receptionist at a quaint little flower shop, which used to be a regular flower shop, before the owner sold the business to the mafia. Then your employer changed from a 60 year old lady to 28 year old Mafia Don. You thought that would be the end, but apparently Kim Hongjoong, the boss, wanted the flower shop to keep it's business. So, your job continued being the same, the only exception being the back room being used for some meetings that you'd rather not be a part of.

You got used to the noise of bones breaking, nails getting pulled, scary threats being passed around by very scary macho men. That was until, Choi San got assigned to your flower shop's back room meetings.

Exactly three weeks later, you first witnessed San’s… unique approach to enforcement.

“Excuse me, sir?” San’s voice drifted from the back room, polite as always. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but could you please hold still? This will only take a moment.”

CRACK.

“Thank you so much for your cooperation! I do apologize for any inconvenience.”

You nearly dropped the bouquet of roses you were arranging. Through the slightly ajar door, you could see San, all broad shoulders and perfectly styled black hair, standing over a whimpering man whose leg was bent at a very unnatural angle.

“Oh! I’m so sorry you had to hear that,” San said, suddenly appearing beside you with that devastating smile of his. Not a hair out of place, not even breathing hard. “Please don’t mind the noise. Would you like me to turn on some music? I have a lovely classical playlist that you might like.”

You stared at him. He was still wearing his pastel pink apron that read “Bloom Where You’re Planted” in curly script.

“San,” you managed, “did you just”

“Break his kneecap? Yes, I’m afraid so.” He untied his apron with practiced ease. “He was three weeks late on his payment to Mr. Kim. Very inconsiderate, really. But don’t worry, I made sure to explain the situation thoroughly before proceeding. Consent is important, you know.”

“Consent? For breaking his-”

“Well, informed consent,” San clarified, hanging his apron on its designated hook. “I always make sure they understand exactly what’s going to happen and why. It’s only polite. Speaking of which, I know you're not supposed to, but Wooyoung is not answering my calls and I couldn't contact anyone else, would you mind helping me dispose of- I mean, escort our guest to his vehicle? Please?”

This was your life now, apparently.

====================================

Over the following weeks, you began to understand that San’s reputation in the family wasn’t built despite his manners- it was built because of them. There was something absolutely terrifying about a man who would apologize profusely while destroying your ability to walk.

“I’m really, truly sorry about this,” you heard him telling someone during a particularly busy Tuesday. “But you did threaten Mr. Kim’s daughter, and I simply cannot allow that to slide. I hope you understand. Could you please place your hand flat on the table? Thank you ever so much.”

The sound that followed made you wince and accidentally squirt floral foam all over Mrs. Chen’s funeral arrangement.

“Oh dear, are you alright out there?” San called. “I heard a commotion. Do you need assistance? I’ll be right with you!”

“I’m fine!” you squeaked back, frantically trying to clean up the mess before he could see.

But it was too late. San appeared in the doorway, surveying the disaster with concerned eyes. Behind him, two of Hongjoong’s other men were dragging out what appeared to be an unconscious body.

“Oh my, what a mess,” San tsked sympathetically. “Here, please allow me.”

He immediately set about helping you clean, his movements efficient and gentle. It would have been sweet if not for the fact that his knuckles were split and bleeding.

“San, your hands-”

“Oh, these? Don’t worry about it, please. Just a minor occupational hazard.” He smiled that bright, dimpled smile that made your heart do stupid things. “I should probably clean them up though. Wouldn’t want to get blood on the flowers. That would be terribly unprofessional.”

You watched him rinse his hands in the small sink, humming what sounded like a lullaby under his breath.

“Can I ask you something?” you said finally.

“Of course! Please, ask away.”

“Why are you so… polite? Even when you’re…” you gestured vaguely toward the back room. You already got used to the violence, that was regular occurrence. What caught you off guard was his very polite demeanor while perpetrating the said violence.

San considered this seriously, drying his hands with a clean towel. “Well, my mother always taught me that good manners cost nothing,” he said. “Just because someone has chosen to cross the family doesn’t mean I should abandon basic courtesy. Everyone deserves to be treated with respect, even if I do have to break their bones afterward. It’s not personal, you see.”

He said this as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

“Plus,” he added, hanging up the towel with precise care, “people remember politeness. If you’re going to send a message, might as well make it memorable, don’t you think?”

You had to admit, he had a point. You’d certainly never forget the image of San in his floral apron, apologizing sincerely while snapping someone’s wrist.

====================================

The day you realized you were completely gone for this ridiculous man was the day he brought you coffee.

“I noticed you seemed tired,” he said, setting down a perfect latte with a little foam heart on top. “I took the liberty of getting your usual from the café down the street. I do hope that’s alright? I can get you something else if you prefer.”

You looked up from the books you’d been balancing -because apparently your job description had expanded to include light accounting- and felt your heart melt a little.

“San, this is so sweet, but you really didn’t have to-”

“Nonsense! It’s my pleasure. Really.” He settled into the chair across from your desk, looking unusually hesitant. “Actually, I was wondering… that is, if you wouldn’t mind… could I perhaps take you to dinner sometime? Please?”

The way he asked, shy and hopeful and still somehow devastatingly attractive, made you forget momentarily that this man’s day job involved bone breaking.

“I’d love to,” you heard yourself say.

His face lit up like Christmas morning. “Really? Oh, that’s wonderful! Thank you so much! I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Would Saturday work for you? I know this lovely little place that does excellent pasta. Very romantic. Completely legitimate business, I assure you- no money laundering or anything of that nature.”

Only San would think to specify that a restaurant wasn’t a money laundering front.

“Saturday sounds perfect,” you said, taking a sip of your latte. It was exactly how you liked it. “But I have one condition.”

“Anything! Please, name it.”

“No breaking anyone’s kneecaps during dinner. It might ruin the mood.”

San laughed. A bright, genuine sound that made your chest warm. “I solemnly promise. Scout’s honor. Although,” he added thoughtfully, “I was never actually a scout. Is it still binding? I wouldn’t want to mislead you.”

God, you were so whipped for this silly guy.

====================================

Saturday arrived, and San picked you up in what was definitely a suspiciously expensive car for a flower shop employee but normal for an enforcer, wearing a perfectly tailored suit that probably cost more than your rent.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he said, offering you his arm like a proper gentleman. “Thank you for agreeing to this. I’m really quite nervous, to be honest.”

“Nervous?” You couldn’t hide your surprise. “You break people’s bones for a living.”

“Well, yes, but that’s different,” San said reasonably. “I’m very good at that. Dating, however… I’m rather out of practice. I do hope I don’t mess this up. I’d be absolutely devastated.”

He opened the car door for you with a soft “Please, after you,” and you were struck again by the surreal nature of your situation. This morning, you’d watched him explain proper bone setting technique to a very frightened loan shark. Tonight, he was worried about using the right fork at dinner.

The restaurant was indeed lovely and completely legitimate as far as you could tell. San was the perfect date; attentive, funny, and genuinely interested in everything you had to say. He asked about your family, your dreams, your favorite books. He told you about his own childhood, his love of cooking, his inexplicable fear of butterflies.

“They’re so unpredictable,” he explained seriously over dessert. “You never know which direction they’re going to fly. It’s deeply unsettling.”

“More unsettling than your job?” you teased.

“Oh, absolutely. At least with work, I know exactly what’s going to happen. Very straightforward. Someone doesn’t pay, I ask nicely for them to reconsider, and if they refuse, I break something non essential. Simple cause and effect. But butterflies? Pure chaos.”

You nearly choked on your tiramisu. “Non-essential?”

“Well, yes. I’m not a monster,” San said, looking slightly offended. “I always start with fingers or toes. Work my way up to more important joints only if absolutely necessary. It’s about graduated consequences, you see. Very important to be proportional in these matters.”

He said this while carefully adjusting your napkin because he’d noticed it slipping.

“You’re incredible,” you said, and meant it.

San’s cheeks turned pink. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say. I do try my best.”

====================================

Three months into dating San, you’d grown accustomed to the duality of your boyfriend. At home, he was soft and sweet, bringing you flowers from the shop (secretly putting the exact charge to the safe, of course) and cooking elaborate meals while humming off key. He remembered every little thing you mentioned, left you cute notes in your lunch, and once spent an entire evening braiding your hair while you watched movies.

At work, he remained the family’s most effective enforcer, just with slightly more spring in his step.

“I’m really sorry about this, Mr. Park,” you heard him saying one Thursday afternoon. “But you’ve been skimming from the family’s cut, and that’s simply unacceptable. I hope you understand. Could you please choose which hand you’d prefer to keep functional? I don’t want to make that decision for you, it seems presumptuous.”

You shook your head and went back to arranging the new shipment of lilies. Your boyfriend was absolutely insane, and you were completely in love with him.

“Darling?” San appeared at your side sometime later, somehow managing to look both dangerous and adorable simultaneously. “I’m finished with work for the day. Would you like to grab some ice cream? Apparently there’s a new flavor at that place you like- lavender honey. I thought you might enjoy it.”

“That sounds perfect,” you said, letting him help you out of your apron. “Good day at work?”

“Oh yes, very productive. Mr. Park has agreed to return the money he borrowed, plus interest. We came to a very amicable understanding.” San’s smile was bright and innocent. “He was surprisingly cooperative once we discussed the situation properly.”

You decided you probably didn’t want to know what “discussed the situation properly” entailed.

As you walked to the ice cream shop, San’s hand warm in yours, you reflected on how strange your life had become. Six months ago, if someone had told you you’d be dating a psychopath with manners who broke bones for a living and apologized for it, you’d have recommended therapy.

Now? You couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.

“Penny for your thoughts?” San asked, swinging your joined hands gently.

“Just thinking about how perfect you are,” you said honestly.

San stopped walking and turned to face you, his expression soft and vulnerable in the golden afternoon light.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For accepting me as I am. I know I’m not… conventional. But you make me want to be the best version of myself, even if that version still occasionally involves strategic bone breaking.”

“San,” you said, reaching up to cup his face, “you’re the kindest, most considerate person I know. The fact that you also happen to be a terrifying enforcer just makes you interesting.”

He leaned into your touch, eyes closing briefly. “I love you,” he whispered. “If that’s alright with you.”

“It’s more than alright,” you whispered back. “I love you too.”

When he kissed you, soft and sweet in the middle of the sidewalk, you could feel his smile.

Later, as you shared lavender honey ice cream and San told you about his plans on how to reorganize the flower shop’s inventory system, you decided that maybe unconventional was exactly what you’d been looking for all along.

After all, anyone could date a normal guy.

But how many people could say their boyfriend always apologized before breaking kneecaps and said please?

The End

[another-random-fanfic-blog]

Can you write something about Yeosang? Maybe about him being jealous and clingy, like a koala, when you’re at a company dinner and lots of people are looking at you? 😭 No smut please, just fluff (suggestive is okay)

Thank you you're the best🩶

Mine to Keep ⊹₊⟡⋆ K.YS

pairing: jealous!Yeosang x reader (feat. OT7 ateez) wc: 2k content: established relationship, clingy boyfriend behavior, fluff, company dinner setting, protective!yeosang, soft moments, the members teasing yeosang for being possessive a/n: sorry for the kind of late response anon 🙂‍↕️ but ask and you shall receive, enjoy !! taglist: @adriftingsnowflake @norihoyeon

════════════════════════════════════ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　 ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

The restaurant hummed with conversation as KQ Entertainment's end-of-year dinner reached full swing. You adjusted your outfit, hyperaware of unfamiliar gazes tracking your movement through the space. As ATEEZ's lead stylist, you typically remained behind the scenes. Tonight, however, you were simply another guest at the company celebration.

"You look perfect," Yeosang murmured, his voice pitched low. His palm settled against the small of your back—gentle but undeniably possessive.

"Says the one who literally glows," you countered, taking in his styled-back hair and fitted blazer. Even surrounded by idols and industry professionals, Kang Yeosang commanded attention.

His lips curved into that subtle smile you'd memorized over months of secret dates. "I only glow around you."

"Cheesy."

"Yeosang! Y/N!" Wooyoung waved enthusiastically from across the restaurant. "We saved seats!"

Conversations paused as you wove between tables. The stares felt different tonight—lingering, appraising, curious.

"Y/N, you clean up nice!" San beamed as you arrived. "We never see you dressed up."

"Because someone," you looked pointedly at Hongjoong, "schedules comebacks during every company event."

"Guilty," the captain laughed. "But hey, you made it tonight!"

Yeosang pulled out your chair, fingers brushing your shoulder as you sat. Rather than claiming the empty seat across from you, he settled directly beside you, close enough that your thighs pressed together beneath the table.

"Clingy much?" Jongho observed.

"I'm being a gentleman," Yeosang replied smoothly, though his hand had already found your knee under the tablecloth.

Throughout the evening, you began to understand the attention. Without your usual backdrop of makeup stations and clothing racks, colleagues saw you differently. People who typically rushed past now lingered to chat.

"Y/N, I had no idea you were so young!" A marketing manager hovered near your chair, interest obvious in his expression. "How long have you been with the company?"

"Two years."

"Impressive! Rising to lead stylist so quickly. You must be very talented." He leaned closer, cologne overwhelming. "We should grab coffee sometime. I could introduce you to—"

"They're busy," Yeosang interjected, his typically soft voice carrying an edge. His arm had migrated to drape across your chair back. "Comeback season."

The manager blinked at the interruption—Yeosang rarely spoke up in social situations. "Surely there's time for—"

"Hyung, have you tried the steak?" Seonghwa smoothly redirected. "Let me show you where they're serving it."

As Seonghwa led the man away, you found Yeosang glowering at his water glass.

"Subtle," you murmured.

"He was too close. And that cologne—how did you breathe?"

"Professional hazard. I've endured worse." You thought of countless hours in vans with eight post-practice boys.

"That's different." The intensity in his eyes made your breath catch. "You shouldn't have to endure anything tonight."

Before you could respond, a rookie idol from KQ's newest group approached, all bright smiles and admiring eyes.

"Your styling for ATEEZ's last awards show was incredible! Could you maybe give me some advice?"

"Of course," you said warmly, remembering your own uncertain beginnings.

As you chatted with the rookie, Yeosang shifted beside you. His chair scraped against the floor as he pressed impossibly closer, arm dropping to wrap around your waist.

"Yeosang?"

Rather than answering, he buried his face against your neck. To observers, it might've appeared like whispered conversation, but you felt the gentle press of his lips against your skin.

The rookie's eyes widened, cheeks flushing. "I should—I'll head back. Thank you, Y/N!"

She retreated hastily, and you turned to face your boyfriend. "What has gotten into you?"

"Nothing," he mumbled against your shoulder, arms fully encircling your waist. "Tired."

"At 8 PM?" Yunho laughed.

"Leave him alone. He turns into a baby when he's sleepy."

"M'not a baby." The pout against your neck suggested otherwise.

"He's more like a koala," Mingi observed. "Look at him clinging!"

"Did you see his face when that manager was flirting?" Wooyoung added gleefully. "I thought he might bite!"

"I don't bite," Yeosang said with dignity, finally lifting his head while maintaining his hold. "I simply don't appreciate people who ignore boundaries."

"Says the one practically in Y/N's lap," San pointed out.

Heat rose to your cheeks as you realized how entwined you'd become. Yeosang had essentially pulled you halfway onto his chair, your back pressed to his chest.

"Sangie, people are staring."

"Let them." His boldness surprised you—typically, Yeosang insisted on discretion at work. "I'm tired of watching them circle you like—"

"Sharks?" Hongjoong supplied.

"Vultures?" Jongho suggested.

"Perverts," Yeosang decided firmly, making the table dissolve into laughter.

"The rookie wasn't a pervert. She wanted fashion advice."

"She wanted more. She kept touching your arm. And laughing." He grumbled, "You weren't being that funny."

"Are you saying I'm not funny?"

His embrace tightened. "You're hilarious. To me. Because I love you. She doesn't get to find you funny."

The casual confession made your heart stutter. This possessive, openly affectionate version of Yeosang was new and thrilling.

"Okay, lovebirds," Seonghwa intervened with fond eyes. "Maybe tone it down before HR gets involved."

"HR can—" Yeosang started.

You quickly covered his mouth. "We are not getting fired because you're feeling clingy."

He licked your palm in retaliation, making you squeal. "Yeosang!"

"Yes, darling?" He blinked innocently, mischief dancing in dark eyes.

"You're impossible tonight."

"I'm affectionate. There's a difference."

"You literally scared away three people," Wooyoung counted. "The manager, the rookie, and that choreographer who complimented Y/N's shoes."

"Your shoes are perfect," Yeosang agreed. "But he doesn't need to notice."

"That's not how the world works, baby."

The pet name slipped out, and you immediately felt him melt against you. His tension eased into something softer, though his embrace remained secure.

"Say it again," he requested quietly.

"Later," you promised, aware of your audience.

"Disgustingly cute," Mingi announced. "But maybe let Y/N breathe?"

"Y/N's breathing fine. Aren't you?"

"Oxygen is slightly limited," you admitted. "But it's not unpleasant."

"See? They like it." He pressed a kiss to your temple. "My perfect Y/N."

The rest of dinner passed in warm blur. Yeosang remained attached throughout—feeding you dessert bites, playing with your fingers, occasionally shooting warning glances at lingering gazes.

"Jealousy isn't usually considered attractive," you mentioned as the evening wound down.

"I'm not—okay, maybe a little." He pressed his forehead to yours. "But can you blame me? You look incredible, and everyone noticed."

"I dressed up for you. Only you."

His expression softened. "Really?"

"Really. My clingy koala."

"I like that better than jealous."

"Though you were definitely both."

"Extremely. Did you see how that manager looked at you? I wanted to throw kimchi at him."

Your laughter rang bright in the dimming restaurant. "My hero. Defending my honor with fermented vegetables."

"I'd defend your honor with anything. Kimchi, choreography, my devastating good looks..."

"There's the confidence!" Wooyoung called out.

As the group prepared to leave, Yeosang helped you into your coat, hands lingering on your shoulders. The others filed out, granting you privacy.

"I'm sorry if I was too much tonight." Vulnerability crept into his voice. "Seeing everyone realize how amazing you are... I got scared."

"Scared of what?"

"That you'd realize you have options. Better than an idol who can barely function at social events without clinging to you."

You cupped his face gently. "Yeosang, listen. You're not a barnacle. You're my favorite person. There are no better options because there's no one else I want."

"Promise?"

"Promise. Though I might need a back brace if you plan to koala-cling at every event."

He laughed, pulling you close. "Only when people flirt with you."

"So... all of them?"

"Exactly. Guess you're stuck with me."

"Good thing I like koalas," you said, kissing his nose. "Especially jealous, impossibly handsome ones."

"Very specific."

"I'm particular."

"Mine," he corrected, taking your hand.

"Yours," you agreed, squeezing his fingers. "Always."

[another-random-fanfic-blog]

hi!!! could you do sub!mingi but he desperately tries to dominate u but fails?? i would love that !! tyy

𝗔𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗸. ♡

warnings ─ husband!mingi, established relationship, whole bunch of fluff, min is clingy and adorable like a big ‘ole baby, size difference

tags ─ @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @jeonride

m.list ┃ nsfw warnings under the cut.

warnings ─ dom fem!reader, sub!mingi, unprotected sex, fingering (f), oral (f), vanilla sex, praise, mingi tries his best to dom you but…it doesn’t workout!, BIG DICK MINGI, size kink

The sound of the doorknob rattling was Mingi’s favorite sound, along with your keys jingling on the other side of the door indicating you had returned home from work. He excitedly sat on the couch with his hands in his lap, the front door to your shared apartment creaking open.

As you stepped through the door, all of the weight on your shoulders lifted as you let out a sigh of relief and kicked your heels off to the side. You put your purse on a nearby table and hang your keys next to the front door. As you reveled in the comfort of your own home, Mingi turned the corner and rushed over to you.

There, now standing in the middle of the room with a smile on his face, stands your clingy husband Mingi. His eyes lit up when he caught the sight of you and he walked over, effortlessly picking you up as if you weighed nothing. He kisses you on the cheek and you giggle. You loved how strong he was. Being able to quite literally sweep you off of your feet.

“You’re home!” he says cheerfully. “I got home early today and didn’t have anything else to do but watch TV. I made you something to eat if you’re hungry?”

You smiled and nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I am, actually. Haven’t eaten anything since eight this morning.”

“Why didn’t you eat? I made you breakfast this morning?”

“I simply wasn’t hungry.” you pinched his cheek and he set you down, taking your hand and dragging you into the kitchen. You were a bit taken aback by his reaction since he wasn’t normally this clingy when you came home from work. Something was up.

“I thought of something today,” he says while sitting you in a chair and walking toward the fridge. “I think we should try it.”

“Oh? And what’s this idea?” you cross your legs.

“Well..” he turns. “I thought maybe I could try and dom you? Just once!”

You knew it. You thought him sending you videos of boyfriends pushing their girlfriends head first into the pillow was just a fantasy he had but never truly wanted to act upon, but he actually wanted to dom you. This time he wanted to be in control and at first, you were skeptical. But the idea of trying something new was fun.

“Alright. Let’s try it.” you smile. “When did you want to try?”

“Today…” he chuckled. “Now, maybe?”

The room was dark, save for the dim light of the moon bleeding into the room through the thin curtains. Your window was open, so cool air came rushing into the room, making you shiver a bit but ultimately making you more excited. Mingi was going to try and be in control and you were pretty excited to see how it’d go.

You lay there, naked and exposed, completely to Mingi’s will as your heart raced with anticipation. He knelt beside you, eyes boring into yours with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. Ever since the two of you met, he’s been submissive in bed. There hasn’t been a time where he’s tried to take control. But tonight, was different. Tonight, he was going to be the one in control. Having you beg to come around him instead of him doing so.

You agreed to doing this, and now he towered over you, muscles tensed and breaths in ragged gasps.

“Honey,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful,” he trails a finger down your chest. “So perfect,” you couldn’t deny it, his touches were sending many shivers down your spine. You arched your back to his touch and whined softly. “I’ll show you what it’s like to be submissive.”

His words only made you more excited. As he leaned closer, you could feel the tremor in his large frame. This was new territory for him, and you couldn’t wonder how far he’d go with this new idea. What kind of kinks would he unleash on you tonight? He gently presses his lips against yours and you give into the sensation, allowing yourself to be swept away by the foreign feeling of being submissive to him.

“I’ll be gentle,” he mumbled in your ear, kissing down your body and caressing your skin. He makes it to your belly button, kisses surrounding it, and continuing down, gripping your thighs and pulling them apart.

His touch was gentle yet firm, caressing your skin as he guided your body into positions that he was familiar with, not you. Positions that usually saw you as the one in control. Gently, he uses his thumbs to part your lips and stare at your entrance. He leaned in closer, breath fanning across your most sensitive parts, beginning to lick up your navel and to your clit. On instinct, you grab his hair, pulling at it and moaning.

"J-Jesus, fuck-!" you shuddered, hips arching into the bed and your heels digging into his back. He held you down by your hips and sucked on your clit, your scent filling his nose, a mixture of sweetness and musk that drove him wild. He lapped your juices, keeping your legs apart and forcing you to keep them open.

You struggled to stay still, your body giving up on you and giving in to the sensations. He began to feel your body respond, your hips moving on their own accord, seeking more contact. Taking this as his cue he engulfed you in his mouth. Immediately your cries filled the room, growing even louder when his fingers entered you and began to curl up to hit your sensitive parts. You twist and turn, grabbing the pillow from underneath your head and holding it on your face, your moans now muffled by the pillow but audible enough to send shivers down his spine.

Normally, Mingi loved eating you out. Hearing your moans would turn him on. Pleasing you and being at your will would turn him on, but eating you out being the one in control, it felt different. He liked it. He liked knowing you'd have to ask to cum this time.

Soon, he found himself lost in the sensations that your body elicited, thrusting his fingers into you roughly and flicking his tongue against your clit. The way you arched your back and cried out his name made him go crazy.

"Cum, baby. Cum all over my face," he mumbles, the vibrations from his voice spiking through your body.

"I'm-" You gasp, legs beginning to close around his head. "I'm gonna-" You came apart in his hold, twisting and turning as the strong orgasm ripped through your body and made you feel lightheaded. He held your hips down, fingering you through your high.

Kissing up your body, he wasted no time grabbing his cock and pushing it inside of you, ultimately stretching you open and causing you to feel like your insides were being ripped apart. Even being the dom in the relationship, you'd struggle to ride him sometimes due to how big and girthy he was. You gasped loudly and grabbed onto him, your noises being cut off by his lips attaching to yours. You were trapped beneath his body with no escape, a cold hard reminder of his dominance. His tongue thrust in your mouth and you tasted - well - yourself on his tongue, but didn't mind it.

He began to thrust, pressing against you in a demanding, insistent rhythm. You arched your back to meet his thrusts with your own. The pleasure overwhelmed you feeling like your skin was on fire in the best way possible. Your breath came in ragged breaths and your eyes fluttered close.

"So good..." he moans in your ear. "Good girl, baby. Such a good girl, taking me so easily. So wet you could barely stay still, hm?"

"I-I..." your orgasm was creeping up. "Mingiii~"

His cock found the perfect spots inside of you making you writhe in pleasure, thrusts becoming faster as his own climax approached. You noticed his hips stuttering and him mumbling sweet nothings into your ear. You thought it was the heat of the moment causing you to hallucinate until he whimpered your name.

"Just wanna fill you up," he thrust deeper. Just as he seemed to be hitting his stride, something shifted in his expression. The same glistening look he'd have in his eyes when you'd take control of him. You realized then that he was falling into sub-space with his impending orgasm, losing himself completely in the feeling of your pussy clenching around him like always.

Your heart raced as you began to stroke his hair, kissing his neck gently, your body responding to the intensity of the situation. You didn't want to lose focus but it was impossible to stay focussed anyway with how cute his whimpers were in your ear. You began to guide him, whispering words of encouragement in his ear.

"Good boy," you whisper. "Just cum in me like a good boy. You did so good trying to dom me, baby."

His movements became less controlled, more primal. He brought his hand down to rub your clit, inching you closer to your orgasm. You dug your nails into his skin and moaned, thighs clenching around him as you exploded around his cock, his thrusts moving faster trying to fuck you through your orgasm. His breath hitched in his throat as he came afterward, warm, white strips of cum filling you up.

As he collapsed onto you, spent and satisfied, you ran your fingers through his hair and held him close, still shaking from your own orgasm.

"You tried," you chuckle. "But it was good."

"I wanted to dom you..." he mumbles. "But you liked it so, that's all that matters." he sighs deeply, pushing his face into your breasts. "I love you."

"I love you too, Mingi."

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cum covered

pairing: mingi x panty thieving

genre: suggestive. (MDNI)

wc: ??

as you slowly sat, crocheting a simple shirt, you looked over into your basket of art, possessing a peculiar talent for crocheting, your most prized creation sitting at the top of the basket, a special thong adorned with intricate patterns in beautiful colours, treasuring it as your first ever success creation and for the general craftsmanship you had to will to make it.

One sunny morning, while you were engrossed in a new project, a figure slinked out of his room. Mingi, your roommate known for his stealth and mischief, quickly spotting your pretty pink thong nestled in your shared dirty clothes basket, Mingi's eyes gleamed with mischief, quickly realizing you'd only just taken them to the basket, quickly snatched them and disappeared into his room, to... study them~

later, as you returned your basket to wash the clothes, staring at the sight of the empty bottom of the basically where it once lay. annoyance gripping your mind as you quickly heard slight moans coming from mingis room, quickly opening into his room, seeing his thighs spread out, panties around the pretty pink tip of his cock, quickly walking to him snatching them out of his hand

"you're a freak"

Mingi quickly denying any wrongdoing, cock still in hand , even after spitting in his face.

As you quickly went back in your room with your now, cum covered thong, only being able to reflect on the unexpected bond, though they came from different places, slowly realizing that... blah blah blah, either way, mingi no.1 freak

a/n: kinda loved making this

© yuyubeans 2024

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Birthday sex, breeding kink and Belly bulge with princess Mingi? 🫣 Since it's his birthday tomorrow

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I was supposed to release this ON his birthday but I totally forgot about it😭

Sub!mingi x Dom!m!reader

Cw: breeding kink// belly bulge// mingi gets called princess (cause he is one)

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You and mingi had been together for basically the whole day for his birthday, you wanted to give him an extra special day before your plans before the end of the night. You had given him the princess treatment the whole day, letting him sit on your lap instead of the hard uncomfortable seats, feeding his food to him, giving him lots of head pats and of course lots of little kisses every so often.

The treatment he had been given the whole day by you completely conflicted against how you currently have him bent into the mating press, pounding your cock into him so deep and at such a rough pace. His eyes are squeezed shut as moans are spilling out his mouth at the overwhelming amount of pleasure.

Your grunting and growing almost animalistically as your cum from your previous orgasm is dripping out from him as you fuck him. Your body after a while begins to get a little sore from this position so you lower yourself down and back into missionary. Mingi's legs hooking around you and pulling you close to him as you push into him deep. His hole is so wet a sloppy from how long you've been fucking him for, making it and easier slide for you. You hold onto his hands and pin them on either side of his head, grinding your hips slowly into him and watching as the bulge in his tummy from your cock shows through earning a groan from you.

"Fuck princess, you looks so good with my cock bulging in your stomach" you moan as you speed up your thrusts again. Your cock is beginning to feel a little sensitive but you ignore it, only wanting to make your princess feel so good. His eyes are watery as he looks down at his stomach, biting his lip at the sight of your cock so prominent in his gut. His legs move up as your bend down to find a better angle to speed up your thrusts.

"Gonna cum in you again, gonna breed my princess, get him nice and full yeah? Give him his favourite birthday present for today" you groan as your hips slam into his. His back arches up into you as he tries to grind his cock onto your stomach since his hands are restraint by yours.

"You want me to breed you baby? Fill you to the fucking brim with my cum hmm?" You growl in his ear. He begins to not his head frantically, begging you to fill him up with your seed. His walls squeeze around you as his orgasm begins to build up, the knot in his stomach tightening as his breath picks up. Your hips snapping into him as your cock twitches and jumps inside him, ready to fill him up.

About a minute later you finally relese into him with a shaky moan, mingi following closely with a loud whine, his fingers squeezing your hand. His hips jerk up onto your stomach as he shoots his load over both of you. His legs shaking as his hips twitch, trying to calm down from his climax. Once you both calm down you slightly pull away from his body, looking him in the eyes.

"Happy birthday princess"

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ok but imagine giving mingi the best head of his life…

it starts off like any other session would. some small innocent pecks grow into a steamy make out session that quickly turns into mingi pulling you into his lap and grinding his hard cock up against you. “pretty girl…” he praises in between kisses, biting your bottom lip softly and sucking marks onto your neck. “you gonna make me feel good? yeah?”

and oh god that was what you were gonna do even if it was the last thing you ever did.

you make quick work getting to your knees in front of your boyfriend, peeking up at him through your long lashes as you begin to run your hands up his strong thighs. “yeah..that’s it…” he encourages, leaning back in his seat enough that the hem of his shirt rides up and reveals a small peek of his stomach and boxers peeking out of his sweats.

you waste no time getting his cock out, pressing soft kisses to the head as you begin to stroke your boyfriend slowly. you feel yourself get a bit embarrassed under your partners stare as you work him up. his dark, piercing eyes never leaving you as he watches you over the frame of his glasses that have now fallen down the bridge of his nose and sit low on his face.

you feel your stomach do a flip at the sounds of mingi’s shaky breath as you take him into your mouth, going straight down to the hilt. “fuuuuuck, that’s a good girl~” he groans, voice deep and raspy as his head tilts back. you take the words of encouragement and push yourself to set a steady pace, taking mingi’s cock all the way as tears begin to gather in your eyes.

you feel droplets begin to cover your face and run your eye makeup as you fall deeper into your rhythm, bringing one of your hands up to rest on his toned stomach as you pick up your pace. “fuck-“ mingi grunts, “fuck, that’s good, baby. such a good slut for me.” he praises as his hips begin to thrust upwards into the tight heat of your mouth.

you open your eyes to look back up at mingi with that same innocent stare that drives him insane as you bring your other free hand up to begin stroking your boyfriends cock as you suck him off, moaning softly around the length. you feel another rush of arousal shock your body at the reaction mingi gives, only pushing you to want to hear his moans even more.

“fuck- gettin’ close, babygirl..” mingi warns, one of his hands coming down to the armrest of your shared couch to grip it tightly. “s-slow down a little, angel. d-don’t wanna- fuck- don’t wanna cum so soon.” he pleads, hips beginning to twitch under your touch.

you feel a new fire unlock within you that only pushes you to pick up the pace as your head begins to swim from the sounds coming from the man above you. “do it. cum.” you think as your motions speed up.

“baby- y/n- fuck i can’t..!” he whines, deep raspy voice breaking as he tips his head back. “fuck- gonna cum..!” mingi groans, hips stuttering as he fills your throat and cums with a loud groan.

you hum softly as you slow down to catch mingi’s release, looking up at your now ruined boyfriend as he rides out his orgasm. cute.

now, this would be a great time to pull off and let your man catch his breath. who knows, maybe even get some head and great back shots after! that was the easy route…

but you never really liked making things that easy.

you pick your pace back up once again, taking all of mingi’s cock to the hilt and swallowing around him. “baby..?” he chokes out, both of his eyebrows knitting together as he watches you continue to suck him off. “baby- ah..! ohfuck, you d-don’t gotta..” he pleads, not wanting to make you feel like you have to give more than you already have.

you ignore mingi’s words, closing your eyes softly as you fall back into your previous rhythm and drink in all of your boyfriends moans that begin to slip through. who would’ve known that song mingi, ultimate fuckboy and charisma master would fall apart this easily for you? it was a discovery that was both exciting and intoxicating.

“y/n, honey- f-fuck! thatssogood…” mingi moans out, his chest rising and falling quickly as his face heats up from the overstimulation. you open your eyes again to watch your boyfriends face closely, taking in the view of your overstimulated partner. his eyes begin to cross slightly, glasses barely staying up on his face before he shakily pushes them back into place. you feel another wave of arousal wash over you as you watch him begin to fall apart right in front of you. hands gripping at the couch cushions trying to groups himself, thighs shaking intensely as he tries to escape the white hot heat of his own pleasure and his lips beginning to puff up from constantly biting them.

“y/n- baby, oh my fucking god~” mingi moans out, his voice pitching up as his whole body begins to twitch around you. “pleasepleaseplease..!” he begs, “gonna fucking cum oh my god, so fucking good baby.” he babbles, his eyes rolling back as his hips buck upwards into your mouth.

you pull off quickly, stroking mingi’s cock quickly as you rip a second consecutive orgasm out of him. you smile softly as you watch your boyfriend paint his entire torso in his own cum and completely fall apart in front of you. he twitches softly as he works through his pleasure, small whines and moans leaving his lips as his body tries to come down from its own high.

the room is quickly filled with a deafening silence as mingi catches his breath, his groans gradually slowing down and coming to a halt as he gulps for air to calm himself down. “holy fucking shit..” he curses, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling as his cock softens against his thigh. “where the fuck did that come from?” he asked, voice slightly more normal now but still strained.

you giggle softly at the reaction of normal mingi, shrugging softly. “just wanted to make you feel extra good, i guess.” you explain,

“uh, no fucking shit!” mingi quips back, causing both of you to fill the room with laughter. “seriously though,” he continues, “that was fucking amazing. thank you, baby.” he says, pulling up his boxers before pulling you into his lap. “i love you so much.” he coos, pulling you in for a sweet kiss.

“now, i think it’s time i return the favor. don’t you?”

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[ 5:45 PM ] bttm! mingi x m!reader

mingi’s confused as to why you suddenly dragged him to the bedroom. why he’s suddenly on the bed cabed under you.

“baby, please,” you breathe out, it’s dim in the room despite the blaring sun shining through the curtains.

“eh? what?” he asks innocently. curious, what are you on about?

he pauses when your fingers graze the skin of his thighs, under his shorts. it’s a hot day, of course he’ll show skin. that’s when he feels it, your aching boner inside your sweats against his inner thigh.

“princess,” you beg into his ear, causing his own dick to harden. just the nickname does things to him. “let me fuck your pretty thighs, they look so good.”

“okay…” he nods breathlessly, “they’ll look better with your cum all over them.”

you groan. he always knows how to talk back. it’s why you take everything off of him and you in the blink of an eye and graze your sensitive dick over his thigh. he’s enjoying the view, the way you desperately hump his thigh, the way your fingers play with his nipple. when you put his legs over your shoulders and fuck his inner thighs.

the way your leaking dick grazes his aching one as you chase your high. it’s all too fast yet so good. he gets lost in the way you moan and whine while fucking his thighs raw, skin burning deliciously. and he enjoys your short mewls when he squeezes his thighs together and causes you to gasp.

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okay so sub!ateez hours is open and that for me always gives me an excuse to talk about feminine princess mingi.

Just the thought of overstimulating mingi whilst he's wearing a pink tutu skirt and is wearing a tiara with tears down in his face and his bright pink lipstick is all smeared down his mouth.

It makes me want to chew on drywall the urges get me WILD

oh you make me INSANE.

He would be sooooo cute all flushed out, his cheeks matching the pink of the cute little tutu. The fat tears that would roll down his face as you prevent him from reaching his peak for the nth time that night... i love seeing pretty boys cry AUGHWHEHW. i can imagine the glassy and fucked out look in his eyes as he pleads for you to give him that sweet release, all the while he's helplessly bucking into your fist.

When you'd stop again he'd practically be vibrating with sobs and moans. Even worse when your hand moves away and the tutu falls back down onto his leaky cock, the light touch is enough to send him over the edge accidentally, causing him to make a mess all over the delicate material. He'd cum soooo hard, poor little thing would be shaking as he comes down.

is there any more drywall for me to chew? 😃

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something about a heavily tatted and pierced mingi that’s super intimidating in public but who’s just so fucking submissive in bed…oh it just really gets me going

like in public people find him really off-putting, and they think he’s mean and scary.

but in bed? he’ll just give you the biggest puppy eyes while you tie him up. and cry and beg to cum when you edge him within an inch of consciousness.

(i’d peg him too but idk if you’re into that)

You got me so fucked up over this. And yeah I’m SO into that (I’ve never done more than kiss a man) | MDNI 18+

MINGI is the perfect example of don’t judge a book by its cover. One would assume he is a dominant, assertive, and downright evil in bed - but they couldn’t be further from the truth.

MINGI would probably shock a few people if they saw the way he acted in private with you, practically shaking like a wet puppy when you give him a certain look.

MINGI goes crazy when you suck his nipple piercings. He got them done specifically for you since you’d been fixated on his chest from the first date. He couldn’t help but snake his fingers through your hair, hips bucking off the bed.

MINGI has an extensive box of sexual paraphernalia for you to use on him - he’s constantly showing you the newest releases and begging for you to try them out with him.

MINGI nearly nuts in his pants every time your lips softly pull on his extensive piercings, his flesh sensitive.

MINGI is a big crier. Just a little bit of stimulation and he’s already tearing up. If you begin to edge him, he’s soon a blubbering, pleading mess.

MINGI shamelessly begs. He knows the exact phrases that will drive you crazy, that will cause you to slip up and finally gives in. He knows each and every single expression/action that will have you overstimulating him until there’s no cum left.

MINGI clings to you when you peg him. His nails dig into wherever he’s holding you, and he arches against you, body shaking. If you’re fucking him real good, drool will begin to roll down his cheek.

MINGI retreats into subspace after you’re done with him. He loves the way you gently clean him, kissing each part softly before moving onto the next.

MINGI will happily hold you in public, only pouting when the two of you are alone.

While most see him as a possessive dom, you were privy to the little known fact that MINGI is simply a clingy baby. 🎀

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cuddle bear

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♡ gifs of hongjoong that make me feel so sane ♡ [11/∞]

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I'll set you free from your sanity

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can you caption (just in text here, you don't have to edit the video) what yeosang says in that video with san? i have a bit of trouble audio processing and can't make the joke out 😭

Sure! In the future I'll do my best to include captions.

Yeosang: "Thank you San...Jose"

(Wooyoung starts laughing, repeats the line)

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Yunho TTL : WTP 2025

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Hongjoong ✦ Nylon France