moonlitcelestial

[moonlitcelestial]

Can I request an Ateez first kiss and saying I love you for the first time (can be separate or poly up to you)

pairing: Ateez x female!reader

warnings: Fluff, emotional intimacy, soft kissing, mutual pining

disclaimer: not my pic

Hongjoong

It’s late.

Not “party’s over” late — just that soft, quiet kind of late where the world starts to settle, and the people you love feel even closer just because you made it through the day together.

You’re at his studio. Again. Sitting on the floor, back leaned against the couch while he adds another layer to a track you’ll never fully understand, but always love because it sounds like him. It’s been hours, and yet you haven’t left. He never asked you to stay, but he also never told you to go — and that’s just the rhythm you’ve built together. Not rushed. Not forced.

Just… there.

You're flipping through an old sketchbook, tracing your own little doodles from weeks ago. At some point, you offered to design cover concepts for his solo stuff. He hasn’t said much about them. You figured he wasn’t into it.

He stands and stretches, walking past you with a soft grunt before collapsing onto the couch behind you. One of his hands reaches down, fingers brushing the crown of your head as he lets out a sigh.

“Still awake?” he mutters.

“I could say the same to you,” you smirk, not looking up.

Hongjoong chuckles — the kind of quiet, nose-crinkling laugh that means he’s actually relaxed. “I think I’m done for today. My brain’s melting.”

You nod, closing the sketchbook and finally shifting to lean your back against the edge of the couch, turning your face toward him. He’s upside down from your angle, head tilted back to look at you. Messy hair, tired eyes, a bit of ink on his wrist — and still somehow so beautiful it hurts.

“Thanks for staying,” he says softly, his voice barely a murmur. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” you say.

Silence slips between you. Comfortable. Gentle. Like the softest kind of truth.

And then—

He blinks, tilts his head a little. “Hey… this design,” he says, nodding at the closed sketchbook in your lap, “the one with the compass and the stars. That was yours, right?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. I thought… it kinda looked like your lyrics, the way you always write about finding your way, guiding others.”

He sits up now, really looking at you. “You thought that deeply about it?”

You shrug, suddenly shy. “It’s just a sketch. I wasn’t sure if you’d like it.”

“I loved it,” he says — too fast, too sure.

And you freeze.

Because it’s not the words. It’s the way he said them. Like he’s been holding it in, maybe waiting for you to realize he noticed. That he always notices. The doodles. The late nights. The quiet moments when you bring him water and rub your fingers over the calluses on his hands like they mean something.

Because they do. To you.

You don’t mean to lean forward. You don’t even realize you are until he leans too, until you’re both moving like this is some unspoken code you forgot you shared. The kiss happens so naturally, you barely catch it until it's already started — his lips brushing yours once, hesitant, and then fully, with a breath of warmth that feels so completely, unmistakably real.

Not teasing.

Not by accident.

Not some impulsive thing driven by adrenaline or nerves.

Just him — all of him — in a kiss that says, “I’ve been waiting to do that.”

You pull back first, your heart racing. His eyes are open, wide, searching yours.

And then the words tumble out. Yours first.

“I love you.”

He blinks, stunned. But not in disbelief — more like relief.

And then he smiles. Soft and crooked. That beautiful, exhausted smile he only wears when he’s just… full.

“I love you too,” he breathes.

Then his arms are around you, pulling you onto the couch, onto his lap, wrapping you up like he never wants to let go. His forehead rests against yours.

“You stayed,” he says quietly.

“I always will.”

Seonghwa

The sun is starting to set when you get back to the dorms, both of you slightly out of breath from laughing too hard.

It wasn’t even a real argument — just a stupid debate over whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza. You insisted it does (even though you barely like pineapple). He called it sacrilege. Somewhere along the way, it turned into a game of who could find the most ridiculous food combination online.

Now you’re both glowing from laughter, cheeks warm, shoes kicked off in the hallway as you head into the kitchen to grab water.

“I’m never forgiving you for that peanut butter and pickles thing,” Seonghwa says as he flops onto the couch, tossing a cushion at you.

“You said weirder, I delivered.”

“I said weird, not war crimes.”

You laugh again, shoulders shaking, leaning over the back of the couch to hand him a glass. He takes it, fingers brushing yours. He doesn’t pull away right away. Just holds it. And looks up at you.

And there’s this moment.

Quiet.

Still.

His laughter hasn’t fully faded, but the look in his eyes changes. Like something’s clicked — like he’s seeing something he hadn’t let himself feel until now.

“You’re different when you’re like this,” he says softly.

You raise an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Unfiltered. Loud. Silly.” His thumb taps the side of the glass. “Most people think of you as calm. Smart. Composed. But I love this side of you.”

Love.

He says it like he doesn’t realize he said it. Like it slipped out before he could dress it up in safer words.

And you just… stare.

Because this side of him — relaxed, open, his legs stretched out and hair slightly messy — it’s not the Seonghwa the world sees. But it’s the one who always makes sure your favorite snacks are stocked. Who folds your hoodie when you forget it in the practice room. Who once stayed up past 2AM helping you fix a presentation for work, not because he understood it, but because you were stressed.

“I like this version of you too,” you say, your voice lower now. “The one who throws cushions at me but secretly folds my laundry when I leave it in the dryer.”

His mouth quirks into a smile. He sits up a little, resting his arm on the couch behind him. “That obvious?”

“You left a sticky note with a star sticker that said ‘Seonghwa Laundry Services — 10/10 would fold again.’”

He laughs, head dropping slightly. “Damn. Caught.”

The sun’s slipping lower now, golden light hitting his face. His skin glows, and for a second, you’re not thinking about anything else — just him, here, like this.

You move first.

He meets you halfway.

The kiss is unhurried. No fireworks. No music. Just a soft, slow meeting of lips that taste like water and trust and finally. His hand comes up to gently hold your waist, grounding you.

You pull away, barely a breath apart, your heart slamming in your chest. He looks stunned — not from surprise, but from feeling.

“Did you mean it?” you whisper. “What you said about love?”

His eyes soften immediately. “Yeah. I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but… I do.”

You let the silence fill the room again — not awkward, but electric. Then you whisper it back.

“I love you too.”

He exhales, almost a laugh, almost a sigh, and pulls you closer until you’re sitting on his lap, head tucked under his chin.

“I think I knew,” he murmurs against your hair. “I just didn’t want to rush it.”

You smile against his chest. “Then don’t. Let’s just… be like this.”

And so you are — tangled together in the late afternoon light, two people who finally said the thing they’d both been feeling all along.

Yunho

You didn’t expect to spend your Saturday like this.

Trapped in a blanket fort with Yunho, surrounded by half-eaten snacks, an unplugged fairy light strand, and a controller he accidentally stepped on five minutes ago.

“Okay, don’t laugh,” he warns, lifting the broken controller in mock grief. “This thing has been through battles with me.”

You snort. “You stepped on it because you tripped on your own feet. That’s not a battle. That’s sabotage.”

He gapes. “My own girlfriend, betraying me like this?”

“Tragic,” you say with mock sympathy, tossing a marshmallow at him. It bounces off his forehead. He freezes dramatically. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You both go still.

His eyes widen.

Your breath catches.

You hadn’t meant to say it — it just slipped out. Teasing. Playful. But the second it left your mouth, the air shifted.

He stares at you like his brain short-circuited, the corners of his mouth twitching like he doesn’t know whether to panic or grin.

You scramble to backtrack. “Wait, I didn’t mean— I mean, not like that— I was just joking—”

“Don’t,” he says, gently. “Don’t take it back.”

You blink.

He puts the controller aside and scoots closer, knees brushing yours under the blanket fort. The glow from the room lamp is warm, softening his features, and for once, he’s completely still. No fidgeting. No goofy grin.

Just Yunho. Fully present.

“I know we mess around a lot,” he says, “but… I’ve wanted to say that for a while. I just didn’t know how.”

He looks down, fiddling with the seam of the pillow beside him. “You’re the first person who ever made doing absolutely nothing feel special. Like it counts for something. Like I don’t have to try to impress you.”

You swallow hard, heart thudding. “You don’t.”

He meets your gaze again. “Then… let me just say it. For real.”

You nod once.

“I love you.”

The way he says it — simple, steady, soft — it fills up the little blanket space you’re in and spills into your ribs, curling around your lungs. You want to laugh. Cry. Both.

So instead, you kiss him.

It’s not wild. There’s no big build-up. But it means something. His lips move with yours like he already knew how this would feel — like he’s thought about it more than once but waited for the right moment. And somehow this is it. A half-collapsed blanket fort. Leftover snacks. Broken controller. But him. Always him.

You pull back slowly, forehead pressed to his, breath shallow.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

He lets out a little laugh — one of those soft, giddy ones that doesn’t need an audience. Then he wraps his arms around you and leans back into the pillows, pulling you with him.

You rest your head on his chest, and he kisses the top of your hair, still smiling.

“Who needs a working controller,” he murmurs, “when I’ve got this?”

“This?”

“This,” he confirms, “my girlfriend who throws marshmallows and accidentally confesses her love.”

You laugh against him. “Accidentally?”

“Well, now you really mean it.”

You hum in agreement.

And just like that, you both fall quiet — your limbs tangled, hearts calm. And the fort, with all its crooked blankets and flickering fairy lights, suddenly feels like the safest place in the world.

Yeosang

It starts with silence.

Not the awkward kind. Not even the kind that needs to be filled.

Just... quiet.

The kind that happens when two people are fully comfortable being alone — together.

You're both at the park. Not doing anything special. Just laying on your backs on a picnic blanket Yeosang brought. He didn’t even tell you where you were going. Just showed up at your place earlier and said, “Put on something comfy. Trust me.”

You trusted him.

Now the sun is dipping lower, casting long shadows from the trees. His hand is beside yours on the blanket, pinkies nearly brushing. You haven’t talked in ten minutes — maybe longer.

He’s watching clouds. You’re watching him.

He’s got that look on his face — distant but not cold. Like he’s somewhere between dreaming and thinking too hard.

And then, out of nowhere, he speaks.

“You remembered my favorite chips.”

You blink. “Huh?”

Yeosang turns his head toward you, still lying flat, hair a bit messy from the wind. “Earlier. In the bag you packed. You brought those honey butter chips I like.”

“Oh.” You flush slightly. “Yeah. I remembered.”

“I didn’t even mention them,” he says, and there’s something softer underneath his voice now. “I haven’t had them in forever.”

You shrug, suddenly shy. “You looked at them in the store the other day. I saw you hesitate like you wanted them, but you didn’t grab them.”

Yeosang doesn’t say anything for a moment.

Then he sits up — not fast, but deliberate. He turns toward you with that unreadable expression of his, the one he wears when he’s thinking way more than he lets on.

“You always notice things like that,” he says quietly. “The little stuff.”

You sit up too. “So do you.”

He tilts his head. “I don’t talk much.”

“I don’t need you to.”

He looks at you for a long time. And not the kind of long that’s awkward or searching — but the kind that feels like he’s committing you to memory. Like he’s holding a thought just behind his lips and isn’t sure if he should say it.

And then—

“I think I love you.”

Just like that.

Soft. Honest. Straightforward in a way that shouldn’t make your breath hitch — but it does.

You blink. “You think?”

His lips twitch, almost a smile. “No. I know.”

You laugh, caught off guard by how Yeosang that is. Quiet but blunt. Honest without flourish.

You reach forward, brushing a piece of hair from his face. “I love you too.”

His eyes drop to your lips, then back to your eyes — silently asking.

You lean in first.

The kiss is slow and hesitant at first, like you’re both testing something that feels too delicate to rush. But then his hand cups the side of your face, and something deeper melts between you.

It’s not possessive. Not hurried. Just real.

When you pull away, your foreheads rest together, and you both laugh under your breath at the same time.

Yeosang whispers, “You brought honey butter chips to a confession.”

You grin. “Well, I thought you’d be hungry after falling in love with me.”

He smirks and finally, fully smiles. The kind of smile that’s rare from him but glows brighter than the sunset behind him.

“No regrets,” he says.

And you believe him. Because you don’t need grand gestures or big speeches with Yeosang.

Just moments like this — where the world quiets down enough to let you hear what’s always been there.

San

You don’t realize you’ve fallen asleep until San gently nudges your shoulder.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low and raspy from his own nap. “You okay?”

You blink awake, groggy. The couch under you is warm, your cheek pressed against his chest. One of his arms is still around you, the other dangling over the armrest like he never meant to move. His hoodie is bunched under your chin, and you realize you’d curled into him sometime between the movie’s third and fourth unnecessary car explosion.

“I passed out,” you mumble.

He laughs softly. “You drooled a little.”

“What?”

“I’m joking.” He smiles down at you. “Kind of.”

You swat at him, embarrassed, but he just catches your hand and threads his fingers through yours. No teasing. No tension. Just… soft. Comfortable. Safe.

That’s the thing with San — he’s chaos wrapped in calm. Everyone sees the wildness first — the energy, the performance, the smile that could probably start a small riot — but with you, he’s different. Quieter. Still bright, but warm like a home light, not a spotlight.

“You always fall asleep when you’re stressed,” he says gently, brushing your hair out of your face. “I can tell. Your body just kind of… shuts down.”

You freeze for a second.

Because not even you put that together.

San reads your silence and immediately backtracks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean— That probably sounded weird. I’m not, like, monitoring your sleep patterns or anything, I just—”

“You notice things,” you interrupt, voice soft. “Things I didn’t know were obvious.”

San’s lips part like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

So you say it instead.

“I think that’s why I’m so comfortable with you. Even when I don’t realize I need comfort.”

The room stills. The light from the muted TV flickers over both of you, casting soft blue shadows across the room. His thumb rubs a slow circle on your hand.

You glance up at him.

He’s already looking at you.

And something in his gaze shifts — like something breaks wide open and spills right there between you. Not heavy. Just real.

“You’re my safe place too,” he whispers.

And then — like it’s the most natural thing in the world — he kisses you.

It’s not rushed, not hard. Just full. Full of all the things he’s been holding back in laughter and teasing touches and protective stares across crowded rooms. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, and his lips press yours a little deeper, like he’s trying to memorize the exact shape of this moment.

When you pull away, breathless but steady, you rest your forehead against his.

You feel him smile before you hear the words.

“I love you.”

Your chest stutters.

And then you laugh — quietly, surprised at how easy it is to say back.

“I love you too.”

San leans back slightly, his expression full of something glowing and awestruck. “You really mean that?”

“More than anything,” you whisper.

He wraps both arms around you and tugs you closer until you’re practically on top of him, your ear against his chest. You can hear how fast his heart’s beating.

He kisses your hair. “You fell asleep on me and woke up in love. That’s pretty iconic.”

“You make everything feel safe,” you murmur, eyes already heavy again. “Even my worst days.”

He tightens his hold just a little.

“So stay,” he says.

You already are.

Mingi

You hadn’t been yourself today.

Not in a dramatic way. You weren’t crying or snapping at people or spiraling — you were just… off. Quiet. A little slower than usual. Not really laughing, not really engaging. The kind of mood where even smiling feels like too much effort.

And Mingi noticed immediately.

He didn’t push. Didn’t ask a million questions. Didn’t say anything like “Cheer up” or “What’s wrong?”

He just… stayed close.

He brought you water without asking. Pulled your chair out at the ramen shop. Walked a little slower so you didn’t feel rushed. When you sat down at the park bench near the river and didn’t say anything, he sat beside you and didn’t say anything either.

It’s the stillness that gets you.

Most people see Mingi as loud. Funny. Bright. But right now, with you, he’s quiet. Patient. Present. Like silence doesn’t scare him. Like he’s waiting for you — not your words, just… you.

You sigh, still looking at the water.

“Sorry I’ve been so weird today.”

“You’re not weird,” he says softly. “You’re just… tired.”

You blink at that. It’s such a simple answer, but it lands deep.

“I guess I am,” you admit.

“I get that.”

You glance at him. He’s leaned back against the bench, arms crossed, eyes on the river. His jaw is relaxed. No tension. No forced cheer. He’s not performing — not for you, not for anyone.

And you realize: he’s showing you the same thing you’ve shown him.

That it’s okay to not be on all the time.

You reach out slowly and lace your fingers with his. He doesn’t look at you. Just squeezes your hand once and keeps looking forward.

“I’m glad it’s you,” you say quietly. “Sitting here with me.”

Now he looks at you. A little surprised — not that you said it, but how you said it. Like it came from your bones.

His voice is barely a whisper. “I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

“I know,” you say, heart thudding. “That’s what made it better.”

Your thumb brushes across his.

“I love you,” you say, and it’s not dramatic. Not a moment of adrenaline or passion.

Just truth.

And Mingi — eyes wide, lips parting, body still — lets the words hit him full force before he breaks into the softest, realest smile you’ve ever seen on him.

He shifts forward slightly, and then his hand cups your jaw, warm and steady.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

You nod, breath caught.

When he kisses you, it’s gentle but sure — lips soft, lingering, like he doesn’t want it to end too soon. It’s not rushed or hungry. It’s just… safe. Like he’s pouring all the things he doesn’t know how to say into that one kiss.

When he pulls back, your noses brush.

“I love you too,” he says quietly.

You let your forehead rest against his, eyes closed, finally feeling like you can breathe again. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side.

You don’t talk much after that. Just sit on the bench, watching the river turn gold in the sunset.

And for the first time that day, you don’t feel heavy anymore.

Just held.

Wooyoung

The arcade is nearly empty.

Just the low hum of machines, scattered laughter from a group near the racing games, and the soft clink of coins in your pocket.

You’re on a sugar high from the slushie Wooyoung made you try. He’s grinning like a kid, face flushed from running around and losing dramatically in every game you played.

“Alright,” he says, eyes sparkling with mock seriousness, “this is it. Redemption. Skee-ball. Loser buys ice cream.”

“You already owe me three scoops,” you remind him.

“Fine. Winner gets to gloat. Forever.”

You shake hands on it.

You win. Again.

He groans, dragging both hands down his face like he’s experiencing emotional devastation. “How are you this good at everything? Who trained you?”

“You’re just bad,” you tease, grabbing the prize tickets from the machine and holding them up like a trophy.

He stares at you — and you don’t notice right away, too busy gloating. But then he doesn’t say anything. Not a joke, not a comeback. Just… quiet.

You turn to him, puzzled. “What?”

He blinks, and his whole expression softens.

And then he says, almost to himself: “I’m so in love with you.”

You freeze.

Your mouth opens slightly, stunned into stillness. “What?”

Wooyoung snaps back to reality. “Shit— I mean— I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. It just—”

“Wooyoung—”

He laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “You were just standing there with your ridiculous slushie-stained lips and your victory speech like you just won an Olympic medal, and I don’t know. It hit me. All at once. Just—you.”

Your chest tightens — in the best way.

You step closer. “You’re really in love with me?”

His eyes meet yours, steady now. “Yeah. I really am.”

You drop the tickets. Grab his face. And kiss him.

It’s quick at first — like a spark too big to hold in — but then it deepens. His arms wrap around your waist, hands curling into your jacket, and he kisses you like he’s waited longer than he’ll admit. It’s dizzying and real and electric.

When you finally pull back, breathless, you whisper:

“I love you too.”

He stares at you like he can’t believe you just said that — like winning a hundred skee-ball games couldn’t compare to this one moment.

He kisses you again. Softer this time.

“Say it again,” he breathes against your lips.

“I love you,” you smile, pressing your forehead to his.

He grins, eyes crinkling. “Even though I suck at games?”

“Especially because you suck at games.”

You both burst into laughter, the kind that makes your cheeks hurt, and you don’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.

Even as you walk out hand-in-hand with no prize but each other.

Jongho

You’re perched on a low wall outside the bookstore, swinging your legs slightly, paper bag of used books cradled in your lap.

Jongho stands beside you, sipping from a convenience store juice pouch like a judgmental child. You try not to laugh. You really do.

“You picked up another poetry book?” he says, squinting into your bag. “You know they don’t rhyme anymore, right?”

You gasp. “Blasphemy.”

“Just saying,” he shrugs. “The last one was about, like, a sad plum.”

“It was a metaphor.”

“It was a fruit.”

You elbow him lightly. He doesn’t budge — solid as ever. And still, for some reason, it makes your chest tighten in a way you don’t expect.

Because Jongho is always there. Always steady. Always slightly teasing but never cruel. He walks on the street side without making a show of it. Carries your bag without asking. Holds open the door even when you’re five steps behind.

He’s never called you baby or sweetheart or anything overly soft — but he always listens. Always remembers. You mentioned once, in passing, that your hands get cold easily. He’s never forgotten. You’re always warm around him.

You hop off the wall and fall in step beside him again.

“I like this,” you say suddenly.

“What?”

“This. Just… walking around. Talking about nothing.”

He glances at you. And then — for the first time in a while — doesn’t joke back.

“Me too.”

You pause near the crosswalk, and for a long moment, it’s just you two and the low hum of the city. You glance over and find him already watching you — unreadable, but softer than usual.

“I think I love you,” you say.

No buildup. No warning. Just… truth.

Jongho blinks. His mouth opens. Shuts. His hands shift awkwardly in his hoodie pocket.

And then he lets out a quiet, stunned laugh.

“What?” you ask nervously. “Too soon?”

“No,” he says, stepping closer. “I was just trying to figure out how to say it first.”

You stare at him.

He clears his throat, then adds: “I love you.”

It’s so plain. So honest. So Jongho. It doesn’t need flair. It lands like a solid anchor dropped right into your chest.

You lean forward and kiss him — a little tentative at first. He stiffens for half a second, caught off guard. But then his hands rise to cup your face, and he kisses you back like he means it. Like he’s held that exact moment in the back of his mind a hundred times but waited until he was sure.

When you pull away, there’s a quiet in the air that feels reverent.

“Was that okay?” you whisper.

He nods, almost breathless. “I’d do it again.”

“Then do it.”

And he does — this time slower, with both hands still framing your jaw like you’re something precious. When he finally pulls back, his thumb brushes your cheek once.

“Even your metaphors,” he murmurs, “are starting to grow on me.”

You grin. “That’s love.”

“Unfortunately,” he teases, and kisses you again before you can argue.

The walk home is even quieter. But not because there’s nothing to say.

Because now, everything’s already been said — with a glance, a laugh, a fruit metaphor, and a kiss that finally felt like coming home.

[moonlitcelestial]

★ ATEEZ REACTION: When you hugging them while they prepare breakfast

★ PAIRINGS: Ateez x fem!reader | ★ GENRE: Romance, Domestic, Suggestive, Smutty Tension, Fluff, Slight Humor | ★ WORDS COUNT: 1,850 words

★ WARNINGS: Heavy romantic, sensual content, Implied sexual tension, Shirtless boys and lots of kitchen counter temptation, Touching, kissing, teasing, innuendos

★ HONGJOONG / 홍중

You wrap your arms around his waist from behind, cheek resting against his bare back — still warm from bed, muscles shifting under your skin.

“Morning,” you whisper.

He chuckles under his breath, still stirring something in the pan.

“Thought you were sleeping.”

“Was,” you murmur, nuzzling lower. “Then I smelled you.”

He smirks. “The food or me?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you press a kiss to his spine.

He stops stirring. Just for a second. You feel the tension shift, slow and deliberate.

“If you keep kissing me like that,” he says, voice dipping, “we’re gonna be eating cold eggs.”

You slide your hand down his abs, let your fingers rest just at the waistband of his joggers.

“So let them go cold.”

He turns slowly, grabs your waist with one hand, the spatula discarded.

“Breakfast can wait,” he says, eyes dark. “But I won’t.”

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★ SEONGHWA / 성화

He’s cutting strawberries in a perfect line, shirt tucked up on one side, the morning light turning him golden. You slide your arms around him and sigh.

“You’re too pretty to be up this early.”

He gives a quiet laugh and sets the knife down carefully.

“You always say that when you’re trying to start something.”

You kiss between his shoulder blades. Once. Then again.

“You’re warm,” you whisper.

He leans back into you, hand trailing over yours. Then he turns, pulling you by the hips into him.

“You really want me to forget breakfast?” he murmurs, nose brushing yours. “Because if I kiss you now, I won’t stop.”

You don’t reply — just tilt your chin up.

His lips find yours, slow and deliberate. His hands are firm on your waist. One slides lower, under the hem of your shirt.

“Bedroom. Now. Or the counter,” he mutters against your mouth. “Pick fast.”

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★ YUNHO / 윤호

You sneak up behind him while he flips pancakes, arms slipping around his waist as you hug him tight.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You okay?”

You nod against his back. “You smell good. And I’m cold.”

He grins, flipping one more pancake and turning off the stove without a word. Then, he turns in your arms and lifts you onto the counter like it’s nothing.

“Let me warm you up.”

You giggle, but he leans in, kissing you slow — hands braced on either side of your thighs.

The kiss deepens. His thumb brushes under your shirt. His hips press between your knees.

“You hungry?” he asks, voice rough.

“Not for pancakes.”

He groans softly and drops his head to your neck.

“You can’t say things like that unless you mean them.”

“Oh, I do.”

And you both forget the breakfast part entirely.

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★ YEOSANG / 여상

He’s quiet in the kitchen, focused on chopping, sleeves rolled, hair still damp. You wrap your arms around his middle and he flinches slightly.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

He exhales through his nose, places the knife down gently, then rests his hand over yours.

“You know how dangerous that is?”

“You?” you tease. “Terrifying.”

He turns slightly in your hold, your lips brushing his shoulder. You’re still in his t-shirt — and nothing else.

“You’re not wearing anything under that, are you.”

It’s not a question.

“What if I’m not?”

He looks over his shoulder, mouth twitching. Then slowly turns, presses you into the fridge behind you, both hands braced on either side of your head.

“Say it again,” he whispers.

“I’m not wearing anything under—”

He kisses you hard, hips flush against yours, voice low and dangerous.

“Breakfast can wait.”

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★ SAN / 산

He’s dancing a little in front of the stove, loose sweats hanging low, arms flexing as he stirs something in a pan. You walk up and hug him from behind, chest against his back.

“Whoa—good morning to you too,” he says, laughing.

Your fingers slide under his hoodie, brushing against his stomach. He stills immediately.

“Baby…” he warns, voice suddenly lower. “That’s not fair.”

You kiss the back of his neck. “You smell like cinnamon.”

“That’s the oatmeal. Or maybe it’s just me.”

He turns around, slow, like he’s trying to keep control. When he sees you in nothing but his t-shirt, his gaze darkens instantly.

“You doing this on purpose?”

You just look up at him, innocent. He bites his bottom lip, hands finding your hips.

“God, you’re dangerous.”

He presses his forehead to yours.

“Let me turn the stove off.”

“Why?”

“So I can focus on you.”

And he does — clicks it off, then walks you backward until you’re against the counter, kissing you like you’re breakfast.

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★ MINGI / 민기

You sneak up behind him mid-beatbox, his hips swaying in front of the stove as he flips bacon. He jumps slightly when your arms wrap around him.

“Jesus—baby,” he says, startled, then laughs. “You tryna kill me?”

You press against his back, swaying with him. “You’re cute when you cook.”

“I’m cute always.”

“You’re cocky always.”

He grins, flipping the bacon, then pulls your hands tighter around his waist.

“Is this your way of saying you want something else for breakfast?”

You kiss between his shoulder blades. His breath hitches.

“You better stop,” he mutters. “Because if you keep touching me like that, I’m gonna burn this entire pan.”

You run a hand down his chest and under his shirt. He groans, low and thick.

“Okay. Stove off. Hands on me.”

He turns, lifts you onto the counter like nothing, and stands between your legs, lips brushing your neck.

“You knew exactly what you were doing when you hugged me like that.”

And you do.

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★ WOOYOUNG / 우영

He’s humming to himself, boxers low on his hips, coffee brewing. You wrap your arms around him from behind and press a kiss to the curve of his spine.

“Damn,” he murmurs. “That’s how you wanna start the day?”

You nod, wordless, just breathing him in. He sets his mug down and smirks.

“Didn’t even give me a chance to drink my coffee first.”

Your hands slide under his shirt. He groans softly, then spins around, pinning you between his body and the counter.

“You think I’m letting you go after that?” he whispers.

His hand cups your jaw, mouth brushing yours but not kissing. Yet.

“Say please.”

You meet his eyes, pulse jumping.

“Please.”

That’s all he needs. He kisses you deep, with tongue and teeth and no space left between you. The coffee machine beeps, but neither of you notice.

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★ JONGHO / 종호

He’s shirtless, muscles working as he cracks eggs into a bowl. You hug him from behind, cheek resting against his shoulder blade.

“Smells good,” you whisper.

“The eggs?”

“You.”

He flushes a little, but doesn’t stop whisking.

“You’re distracting.”

You press a kiss to his back. “You’re strong. It’s hard not to touch you.”

He exhales, sets the bowl down, and turns slowly. His eyes are dark now — heavy, focused.

“If I kiss you right now, it’s not stopping there.”

You nod.

He steps into you, hands cupping your face like you’re fragile, but his kiss is anything but gentle. His hips press against yours, voice low in your ear.

“Back to bed. Now. Before I lose all patience.”

And you both forget the kitchen ever existed.

[moonlitcelestial]

Bloodlines & Bulletproof Hearts — Masterlist📜

💀 Genre: Mafia AU | Slow Burn Romance | Action/Drama

💀 Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (Y/N) 💀 Featuring: Full ATEEZ + SEVENTEEN (Antagonists) (btw im a CARAT too but SVT was best suited for the role so sorry if I made anyone mad) 💀 Rating: Teen+ (eventually mature: violence, language, romantic tension), MDNI (Guns and yea)

🌒 ATEEZ ROLES IN THE STORY:

(If any of you guys are creative enough to create a mood board for me I would greatly appreciate it because unlike me I don't have enough creativity to do it)

Hongjoong – Captain (Leader of ATEEZ’s mafia syndicate, code name: "Rook")

Seonghwa – Vice Captain (Strategic enforcer, calm & refined, code name: "Halo")

Yeosang – Tactician / Planner (Handles missions, maps, and tech, code name: "Ghost")

San – Combat Medic / Interrogator (Sharp, quick, unpredictable, code name: "Saint")

Wooyoung – Spy & Disguise Expert (Flirtatious, unpredictable, code name: "Joker")

Mingi – Weapons & Explosives Expert (Loyal, wild-card energy, code name: "Boom")

Jongho – Muscle & Interrogations (Strongest, quiet but fierce, code name: "Ox")

Yunho – Driver / Tracker (Reliable, big brother energy, code name: "Falcon")

📚 Chapters & Links

Chapter 1 (The Wake): Link

Chapter 2 (The Red Ledger): Link

Chapter 3 (The Ghost and the Girl): Link

Chapter 4 (Code Name: Rook): Link

Chapter 5 (House of Knives): Link

[moonlitcelestial]

genuinely i think everyone would be so much happier if we simply accepted that fanfiction isn’t supposed to be realistic at all, it’s just supposed to make you happy. ​these freaks are currently 20k words into pining for each other while living under the same roof and working the same job, fuck realism tbh

[moonlitcelestial]

this is aaron hotchner btw.

[moonlitcelestial]

yeosang in logbook#184

[moonlitcelestial]

[moonlitcelestial]

All the above are beautiful but Hongjoong, San & Wooyoung's are the ones that hit the most for me 🫂

Credit tagged on rhe photos 🙏

[moonlitcelestial]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝑾𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅 ~ 𝑩𝑪

⤜WORD COUNT: 17.8K

⤜ PAIRING: Chan x Fem!Reader

⤜ GENRE: fake dating, grumpy x sunshine, destination wedding romance, emotional hurt/comfort, slow burn, found family, fluff with a splash of angst, fade to black (mentions of weight gain, bullying from family about weight)

⤜ TROPES: fake dating, one bed, ex-hockey player, protective male lead, grumpy x sunshine, mutual pining, he falls first, standing up to toxic family, strangers to lovers, secret softie, small town charm, leads on to more fics for each member

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - August 2025

⤜MASTERLIST

The morning sun was spilling through the living room windows of your house, making it warm under your bare feet. You were sitting in the bay window seat reading through the local gossip column of your small town - Citrus Cove - and the gossip was popping off this morning. The owner of the local bakery - Mrs Jones - had spotted a moving fan coming into the town, and the dinner owner had commented, mentioning the guy moving in was incredible to look at. You smirked to yourself as you shook your head, reading through the comments.

Citrus Cove was a small town with a population of maybe 800 people, which meant that everyone knew everyone, and of course, gossip was a must in a small place such as this one. It had been the same when you’d first moved here; everyone knew who you were before you’d even finished unpacking your boxes, but you wouldn’t change a thing about it. 

You loved the small coastal town in the middle of nowhere. It had almost everything you could need, sure, the nearest mall was almost an hour's drive, but at least you weren’t surrounded by millions of people. Besides, who didn’t want to live somewhere where the main street was filled with small businesses and cafes? It was the heart of Citrus Cove. Then you had the local coffee shop where everyone hung out. The daily squeeze. Which was run by the cutest elderly lady - Mrs Dalloway - who had given you your first job in the town until you worked in the local inn. 

The place was lovely, but there wasn’t too much to do besides the pier where everybody seemed to hang out, and the library/Rec center, where there was also a nursery where you tried to help out as much as possible. The joys of small-town life meant everyone was willing to help one another. 

“Oh my god,” You giggled to yourself as you saw the old football coach mentioning the guy moving in was handsome as well. It seemed that whoever the mystery guy was, he already had a lot of the elder generation wrapped around his fingers. You sipped your coffee and looked up and out of the window when you saw it:

A white van pulled into the house next door. The For Sale sign had come down last week, but no one knew who had bought the place — and in Citrus Cove, that was basically a national emergency. Which now explained the gossip in the town's group.

You squinted out the window, trying to get a peek at the guy everyone was chatting about.

A guy jumped down from the driver's seat. Tall. Broad shoulders. He was wearing a baseball cap turned backwards. He moved stiffly as he picked up the boxes, and you could almost swear that there was a slight limp as he moved.

New neighbor alert.

And you were wearing pajama pants with a hole in the knee.

You hesitated for like a full thirty seconds, then grabbed your hoodie and headed outside anyway. It was the neighbourly thing to do to offer to help, right? You wanted to help him, and it had nothing to do with wanting to know more about him…Though curiosity always won in this town, and you were going to be neighbours with him.

“Hey!” you called, jogging up the drive as he wrestled with a lamp sticking out of a box. “Need a hand?”

Chan looked up — and you blinked. No wonder the guy had won the hearts of people in town. He was breathtaking. But even then, that didn’t feel like the right way to describe him; truly, the man looked like something ripped from a magazine.

Dimples. Brown eyes that looked like the shade of a perfect hot chocolate at the start of autumn. Then his smile?! It was the kind of smile that probably ruined a few hearts over the years. Chan grinned as he looked at you, his eyes lingering on the PJs you were wearing that had a few holes in them, and the cartoon characters were slightly faded. 

“Nice pajamas.” He chuckled softly, and you detected an Australian accent, your heart skipped a beat, a little before you felt the self-consciousness creeping in. Here he was looking like he just came out of a magazine, and you had just gotten up.

You tugged the sleeves of your hoodie a little and could feel your cheeks beginning to heat up. He’s not like them. You tried to convince yourself. You’d grown up with a family that made it known to you that you were being judged heavily by them, and sometimes it still played on your mind when someone would playfully tease you.

“Thanks. I call this look ‘just woke up and emotionally unprepared for social interaction.’” You laugh softly and do a small spin for him so he can get a good look at you, and Chan laughs wholeheartedly. He’d barely spoken to you, and he already felt at ease…And you weren’t screaming in his face, asking for a photo or autograph, so that was always a plus.

“I like it,” he said easily, shifting the box into one arm. There was a chance you had no idea who he was, which was a relief to him. When his manager had suggested this small town to get away from everything, part of him worried people would know him, but everyone he’d seen that morning was the wiser.

“Very bold.” He teases, and you roll your eyes, but you can’t stop your smile. It seemed as though he was going to be a nice neighbour to have at least. And he didn’t seem like the guy who lived there before. He’d been a huge hoarder. After he’d left Citrus Cove, you’d helped Alan, the real estate agent, get the home ready for pics, and there were thousands of board games everywhere as well as plastic spoons. 

“I’m Y/N. I live next door.” You tell him with another smile, picking up one of his boxes and following him inside as you both put them down. Chan turned to look at you and nodded,

“Chan,” he offered, then paused. There was a chance that if he gave you his last name, you might Google him…but would it look weird if he didn’t give it to you?  “Like... just Chan. No last name right now. Still unpacking that part of my identity.” You laughed a little and nodded.

“Mysterious. I like it, Just Chan.” You laugh, and he chuckles shyly, going back out to the van with you.

The two of you continued to bring in the boxes from the van and into the house, you following his every order on where he wanted things put. You’d also popped out to get changed and grabbed you both some coffee and had insisted on paying for it all since he was new in town.

“When you’re unpacked, we should check out Mrs Jones’s cafe. I swear to god, she puts crack in the cinnamon rolls.” You tell him as you sit on the kitchen counter, sipping on your coffee, as Chan chuckled,

“Yeah? Is it close?” Chan wasn’t exactly used to small towns. The last place he’d lived was a city, and everything was pretty far from where he lived in his apartment.

“Five-minute walk, and then next to her place, there's a diner, which by the way, has the best breakfast burrito, and you’ll totally be getting one of those at some point this week.”

“Is that an excuse for you to get one and just give me one too?” He smirks, nudging you with his foot a little, and you whine at him,

“I usually get one on Wednesday mornings on my way to work,” You corrected him, and he smirked at you. Usually, Chan didn’t want to be around people too much, but there was something about you that made him feel at ease, and he wanted to get to know you more.

“Where do you work?” he quizzes as he jumps up onto the counter opposite you and drinks from the to-go cup you’d gotten. Damn, the coffee was amazing. He didn't even want to imagine the baked goods Mrs Jones was selling.

“There’s an inn just outside of town, the Clementine Inn.” You mentioned, and Chan nodded. It was where he was supposed to stay originally when he was coming into town, but he’d managed to get the house earlier than he’d expected.

“Oh! Yeah, I was meant to stay there, but my real estate agent got the paperwork finished early.” You smiled a little and nodded. You couldn’t remember speaking to anyone with an Aussie accent over the phone, so you could only assume it was your friend who had booked him in.

“You probably spoke with me on the phone then, that or-”

“It was a girl who sounded like she’d had a little too much sugar that morning?” He offered, and you giggled a little and nodded, it sounded like your best friend, alright.

“That would be our other neighbour. She’s away on holiday, so you don’t have to worry about her for now.” You tease and shake your head at him.

“Do you know everyone in town then?” He arched his brow. 

“Almost, but it’s nice. Last winter, the hardware store owner came out and fixed my window and lock because my front door was shit.” You shake your head. You’d been so glad to Fred since you didn’t have to freeze your ass off all winter.

“Seems like a nice town then,” He kept talking, but your phone buzzing inside your pocket drew your attention away for a second, and you pulled it out, checking it over, but you wished you hadn’t. As soon as you saw your sister's contact information on the screen, your stomach bottomed out.

Sister 🐍: Just a reminder about the wedding next week. I assume you’re still coming? You'd better have booked that room — we don’t have space otherwise.

Sister 🐍: Also, please don’t wear anything weird. This is my big moment. Try not to make it about you for once x

Right, as if you could forget about it. The wedding. Her wedding…To your ex.

Your sister had taken a lot from you over the years: clothes, friends, your confidence. But this? This had been the final nail in the humiliation coffin for you. You and Daniel had been together for almost six months when you finally took him home to meet your family. You knew you weren’t able to avoid them forever, and you’d been wise to do it until then. 

But as soon as you’d introduced him to your sister, you knew your mistake, instantly. She spent the whole night batting her lashes at him, flipping her hair, and giggling at everything he said, and your parents went along with it. 

“Yn? You okay?” Chan asked as he tilted his head, bringing you back into the room. You hesitated a little and shook your head, putting your phone down onto the counter.

“My sister is getting married…to my ex, and she expects me to show up to the wedding and smile about it,” You sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose, and instantly Chan feels rage. She’s taken someone from you? Not only that, but someone had left you for her? What kind of shit eating human did that kind of balls?

“Are you fucking kidding?”

“Trust me, I wish.” You groan a little and shake your head. Whenever people found out about this, they had the same reaction. Every single person thought you were joking and then they'd either side with your sister, if they knew her, or call her a raging bitch, which you agreed with.

“Was it someone from here?” He questioned, ready to fight the guy if he ever came across him around the town.

“God no, it was before I moved to Citrus Cove. It was the reason I moved here; here, no one knew me. I know that probably sounds silly.” You grumbled and shook your head. Chan bit back the urge to tell you he understood more than you would think.

“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking…”

“My whole life, my sister has just been awful to me…I never knew why. I figured when we were younger, she’d grow out of it, but she never did. She took my clothes, friends…Toys…Every boyfriend I’d had in high school.” You shook your head a little, and Chan’s heart softened even more for you. He’d never imagined growing up with someone like that; his family had always been close, and he and his siblings got along.

“I was always referred to as the plain Jane…I wasn’t anything special, I wasn’t ugly, but I wasn’t pretty either compared to her. My family likes to remind me every now and again I’ll never be like Stacey.” You sigh and stop, realising you were now trauma dumping on someone you’d met less than three hours ago,

“Keep going,” he urges, poking your leg with his foot.

“Stacey is big on special media…Like huge. When I took Daniel home to meet my family, she set her eyes on him, and that was it. Not even a day after we got home, he ended things with me, and she posted him all over her feed, and they’ve been together since.”

“What a piece of fucking shit,” He growls out. He could hardly believe what he was hearing from you,

“First, you’re fucking stunning, even in your faded pajamas and just woken up to right now, with sweat covering your head and tired from lugging my boxes around,” He rambled a little, and your heart began to pick up speed. He thought you were pretty? God, you were fighting butterflies right now.

“T-Thanks, Chan. I’m honestly dreading it, the wedding is in Spain, and I keep trying to tell myself I can avoid them, but I know them. They’ll organise meals together and make snide comments about how I’m clearly not over Daniel.” You sigh, pushing your head in your hands. Chan bit down on his lip. 

For some reason, he had the overwhelming urge to help you. He knew exactly how,

“Do you need a fake boyfriend?” He questioned. You finally pulled your hands away from your face and blinked at him, afraid you’d heard him wrong.

“Huh?” Chan shrugged casually. It happens in books and movies all of the time, right? What was the issue with doing it in real life? It would help you out, and he would get to go to Spain for a while…Plus, he was really enjoying his time with you. 

“It’s a classic. Works in movies all the time. I’m new here, and have nothing to do. You need moral support. Boom. Win-win.” He made it sound as if this was something he would do on a regular basis, and you laughed a little but stared at him.

“You want to fly to Spain with me to pretend we’re dating?” You gestured between the two of you, and he grinned at you.

“Sure. I’ve got a passport. And I look great in wedding photos,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you. You had no doubt in your mind that he looked good in all the photos that there ever were of him. 

Your mouth opened. Closed. It opened again. You weren’t entirely sure if he was just pulling your leg or was giving you a real proposition for you to consider…and part of you hoped it was real.

“…are you serious?” You ask him slowly, unsure if this is some kind of joke.

“Deadly,” Chan said as he took your empty coffee cup and put it into the bin, moving around the kitchen as he unpacked some of the plates and bowls, putting them into various cupboards, all the while you watched him.

“Let me get this straight,” you said slowly, handing him a mug and then another. 

“You’re willing to fly across the world with a girl you just met, pretend to be in love with me, survive my toxic family, and eat hotel food for four days?” You looked up at him, and he grinned down at you with a shrug of his shoulders.

“You forgot ‘look great in photos.’” You gave him a look, one that said you didn’t believe him or you were unsure of it. 

“You’re either very nice or a little unhinged,” Chan smirked at you and shook his head.

“Can’t I be both?” You shook your head at him, completely flustered by his offer. This was insane, right?

“I can’t ask you to do this.”

“You didn’t. I offered.” You stared at him, unsure of what to say. Chan seemed calm…Almost too calm, as if he’d done things ten times more intense than faking a relationship before.

“…What did you used to do before moving here?” you asked casually. He’d not mentioned what he’d done before coming to Citrus Cove; there was something about him that seemed like he wasn’t your normal townie. Chan glanced away for a second, just a flicker as he made himself seem busy:

“A little bit of travel. Some sports stuff. Mostly just... noise.” He shrugged, trying to keep it as vague as possible. For the first time in years, he wasn't a famous hockey player (Well, ex-hockey player), he was just Chan, next door neighbour to the incredibly cute girl he wanted to get to know.

“Noise?” You arched your brow this time, following him as he moved to put some more kitchenware away

“Yeah. Big crowds. Cameras. It got loud,” he grumbled a little. Everything had gotten too much toward the end. A giant accident on the ice left him unable to skate. He’d snapped two bones in his ankle and nearly lost two of his fingers. The constant paparazzi following him everywhere, never any privacy. This was his one shot at being normal, and he could see that with you. 

“You were famous?” Chan chuckled under his breath, not meeting your eyes and shaking his head. 

“Not really. Just... known.” He lied a little, playing it down as though it wasn’t a big deal. He used to be, not anymore, but you didn’t need to know everything. There was something about the way he deflected that made your curiosity spark.

Before you could press further, your phone lit up again, and you sighed.

Sister 🐍: Did you book your plus one? Or are you still coming alone?

Your chest tightened as you stared at the screen. You knew she wanted you to be alone. So she could stand at the altar, beside your ex, and know she had won again. You’d be the pathetic sister in the corner. The forgotten one.

Your jaw clenched. You thought about Chan again and then nodded your head. This would be the one thing you could do to get back at all of them. To show you that you didn’t give a shit about Daniel because you truly didn’t. 

The second he’d gone after your sister, you’d lost all feelings for the man, and sure, it had hurt, but you weren’t going to stay hurt about it when there was nothing you could do to change the outcome. That and you knew that being hurt would only give your sister more fuel against you.

“…Okay,” you said suddenly. “Let’s do it.” Chan looked over at you, his heart picking up ever so slightly. 

“Yeah?” He smirks, and you nod. 

“You’ll have to meet my family. They’re... a lot.” You warned him, but Chan didn’t seem to waver. In fact, he seemed more sure that he could do this than before.

“I can handle it.” He promises you as you bite your lip a little. Your family was the worst. You knew everyone said that, but they truly were.

“They’ll probably judge your entire life.” You warn him, hoping you weren’t somehow talking him out of this, but Chan simply shrugged it off again with his shoulders.

“I’m used to critics.” You blinked at that. Now you were more focused on seeing what it was he did in his life to make him used to critics and noise. You narrowed your eyes a little and moved closer to him as if you could see it written on his skin,

“Okay, see, now you sound like a retired popstar.” Chan chuckled and looked at you, smirking as you got closer and narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Promise I’m not.” You hum a little at his answer and fold your arms over your chest. 

“Were you on The Bachelor?” He laughed out loud. If he had, it would have made national news. No. Chan had never been one to date - at least in the public eye. 

“God, no. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.” He still didn’t elaborate further, and you were about to open your mouth and ask him more about it, but he cut you off by holding out his hand,

“Deal?” You looked at his outstretched palm. His hand was callused and strong, but there was a scar on one knuckle—like it had been split open once. You swallow a little. It wasn’t like your family would ever know you were faking a relationship. It would be a few days in Spain together, and you could figure things out.

“Deal.” You said before shaking his hand. 

“Good, now help me unpack the kitchen, and we can go and grab some food at that diner, I’m starving.” He smirks at you with a wink, and you begin to work on helping him with the rest of his gear.

 

Two days had passed since then, and now the two of you were standing inside the tiny regional airport with your suitcases beside you. The two of you had spent the last two days trying to get to know one another and learn as much as you could so that you could appear real in front of your parents. 

You stood in leggings and a baggy shirt while Chan was wearing a plain black hoodie, jeans, and a pair of sunglasses tucked into his hoodie collar; he looked casual yet effortlessly sexy. It is completely unfair given the amount of stress sweat that was pouring out of you.

“This is a terrible idea,” you whisper as you both make your way toward security, and Chan smirks a little. You’d tried to back out of this four times in the last two days, but he wasn’t about to let you do that. There was no way he was going to let you show up to your bitchy sister alone, not when he wanted to help you.

“You need to relax,” He chuckles, “It’s a nice break in Spain. We’ll see your sister, and I’ll drag you sightseeing so you can use that as an excuse.” He tells you happily

“But-”

“You already told her you had a plus one, it’s too late to back out now. We’ve committed to the bit.” He tells you as he wraps an arm around your shoulder and drags you into his side, you groan a little. Your stomach was already twisting in knots at the thought of lying. You didn’t feel guilty, but you were worried that they were going to find out the truth.

“I’m going to throw up.” You mumbled, rubbing your stomach. Chan quickly lets you go and points over his shoulder as he says,

“If you do, aim away from the nice old lady behind us.” You glared at him, nudging him with your shoulder as he winked down at you and chuckled.

“Everything’s going to be fine, sunshine.” He sounded so sure of himself, you had no reason not to believe him, and you nodded a little. Trying to calm yourself down as you made it into security.

Surprisingly, security had gone really smoothly; you thought for sure that you were going to get stopped since you looked so suspicious. You were super nervous, travelling with a man too attractive for his own good, and you even flinched when the TSA agent asked how long the two of you had been together.

Chan didn’t, though; he’d leaned his arm on the counter and smiled casually, 

“Six months. We met in this cute coffee shop after she spilled tea all over me.”

Security was surprisingly smooth, considering how suspicious you looked: nervous woman, traveling with a man too attractive for his own good, pretending to be together. You even flinched when the TSA agent asked how long you'd been dating.

“Because you made a dumb joke about oat milk,” you added without thinking. The two of them had come up with the lie about where you met the day before, deciding you needed something easy to remember for your family to believe you.

Now the two of you were just leaving the shop with some drinks while you were waiting to board, you’d grabbed snacks and drinks since you were pretty hungry and had at least two hours before the plane left. Now you were trying to come up with a plan about the hotel room since you didn’t think he would want to share a bed with you.

“When we get there, I’ll ask if we can get a cot for the room. I drool in my sleep, so I don’t want to subject you to that.” You felt embarrassed mentioning this to him, but he needed to know in case it somehow came up from your sister. Which, knowing her, she would bring up just to make you feel tiny. 

“I’ll say you snore or something so badly it keeps me up.” You shrug a little, and Chan chuckles. You were right about the snoring, which was funny to him. 

“It’s fine. I do snore.” You turned to him, horrified. “Do you?” You watched him closely, and he nodded his head at you.

“Yeah, my old team-roommates, used to tell me I would keep them up sometimes whenever I got some sleep. I suck at it, got insomnia.” He chuckles a little and takes a sip of his drink. You were about to question him about the slip-up of words when you heard someone gasp in front of you,

“Oh my word! You look just like that hockey boy my grandson used to watch! What was his name?! Chris?! Or… Ch—” Chan coughed loudly, his orange juice spitting back into the bottle, and you rubbed his back softly, trying to stop him from choking.

“I get that a lot,” he lies quickly, he didn’t need you finding out in the middle of a crowded airport who he really was. Chan laughed a little and wrapped his arm around you, leading you toward the seating area. 

“Come on, sunshine.” He whispers, and you blink at him.

“That was weird. Do you actually look like someone famous?” You squinted at him, trying to figure out if you thought he looked like someone, and he shrugged a little, scratching the back of his neck.

“Apparently.” He laughs, but it wasn’t his usual carefree laughter he gave you. This one felt forced and tighter somehow,

“You gonna tell me who?” He popped the cap off his juice bottle and shook his head. 

“Nope. Figure it out alone.” He winks at you, and you pout your bottom lip at him.

“Rude.”

“Wouldn’t want to ruin the mystery,” he said with a smirk, nudging your shoulder as you both made your way to the seats and dropped down beside each other. Chan silently hoped no one else came up to him while he was with you. Not that he was ashamed to be seen with you, but he liked being Chan with you, instead of famous hockey player Chris Bhang. 

The whole flight, Chan had been unbearably calm. Every time you told him something you were worrying about, he gave you an explanation for it. 

What if they bring up our first date? What if they ask about your siblings? What if they figure it out? Every question you threw at him, he had an answer for. And you’d done your best not to stare at him the whole flight. He’d been sitting there, his head leaned back and his eyemask over his eyes. You’d watched him closely, noting the small scar by his temple, the way his fingers flexed even in his sleep…Like his body wasn’t used to being so still all the time.

But now you were here, and after a tense bus ride, you’d decided you wanted to go home already. You were covered in a thin layer of sweat, your hair out of place, and yet Chan looked as though he’d woken up with a team of stylists around him.

“It’s not fair, how do you always look so good?” you grumble as you get out of the bus and grab your bags. Chan bent down and picked up your carry-on before wheeling both suitcases behind him and shaking his head with a smile on his lips.

“You think I look good, sunshine?” He wriggles his eyebrows at you, and you roll your eyes at him. He knew you thought he looked good, god, sometimes you wondered how you could even speak around him. He was that good-looking. This was never going to work. You’d told yourself a million times. He was too good-looking, your sister was never going to believe Chan would want you, of all people.

As if reading your mind, Chan took your hand in his quickly and stopped you from moving. You turned to look at him, about to spew out more what-ifs, but he was quick to stop you.

“We’re going to have fun. We’re going to tan by the pool and you’re going to look breathtaking by my side, okay?” he asked rhetorically before cupping your face in his hand and running his thumb over your bottom lip, feeling how sore it was from you biting it the whole plane ride. 

“We’ll go to our room, we’ll get you some chapstick, and we’ll take it one thing at a time, okay sunshine?” He asks again, and you nod your head, feeling better with him by your side, and the two of you begin making your way into the hotel.

The hotel was a luxury villa resort that practically screamed, Look at me, I’m better than you. Because, of course, your sister was going to pick something like this for her wedding. The walls were whitewashed, palm trees swaying over a marble entrance, and a staff that looked like they’d all stepped out of an influencer’s reel. It screamed everything your sister loved about herself while you felt yourself shrinking back. You took your suitcase, and Chan laced your fingers together as you began walking into the glittering lobby. You could feel your stomach flipping out as you held hands. 

You weren’t supposed to be nervous. It was fake. So why did it feel like you were starting something real with him?

At the check-in desk, the concierge smiled politely at the two of you as he looked up from the computer screen. “Ah, Miss Y/L/N. Welcome. You're here for the Delgado wedding, yes?” Delgado. She’d already started using his last name from the moment they started dating, so it shouldn’t have surprised you that she was using it now, but she did.

Chan squeezed your hand softly, bringing you back to reality, and you nodded, forcing your best not-dying-in-spite-of-it smile. 

“That’s me.” You giggle, trying your best to appear as though you really wanted to be there.

“And this is…?” The concierge asks, looking up at Chan. For a moment, Chan thought he’d been found out, but there wasn’t a look of realisation on the concierge’s face.

“My boyfriend,” you said quickly, before the word could catch in your throat. “Chan.” Chan smiled easily, reaching over to rest a hand on your lower back like it was the most natural thing in the world. His thumb brushed your spine, and you almost forgot how to breathe.

“Room 409,” the concierge confirmed. “It’s a deluxe suite, king bed, ocean view.” He smiles sweetly at you, giving you both your own key and snapping his fingers at the bell boy to come and take your bags, but your head was caught on what he’d said.

“Sorry, did you say king bed?” He nodded politely. You’d called on the bus to ask for a double room or for a cot to be delivered since your ‘boyfriend’ snored, but it was clear now that wasn’t going to work. 

“I asked if we could get a cot, if you heard this man snore, you’d understand,” you laughed anxiously, and Chan rubbed your lower back,

“Yes, I know, but, unfortunately, due to the wedding booking being out of most of our capacity, there were no rooms left with two beds or adjacent doubles...And the cots are all used. The bride is having her bridesmaids sleep in her suite…Would you like extra pillows?” 

Pillows are not the issue, sir. You wanted to bite out at him, but you knew that he wasn’t the issue here. The universe was clearly trying to force you to embarrass yourself in front of Chan and make a bad impression.

“One bed’s fine.” Chan quickly told him, and you looked up at him.

“Is it?” You whispered to him, you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by sharing a bed with you when the two of you had only just met one another, but he just leaned down, lips brushing your ear,

“Unless you’d rather cuddle with your stuffed animal, I know you packed,” he smirks, and you push his stomach softly and shake your head.

The room was, of course, beautiful. You hadn’t expected anything less from a place like this one, but it felt too romantic for your liking. 

Cream walls, soft gold accents, and breezy curtains framing the balcony doors. The ocean stretched out just beyond the glass like a postcard. You wanted to appreciate it. Really, you did. But your attention was firmly fixed on the king-sized bed in the middle of the room. Chan had put your bags in the wardrobe and stood at the foot of it with his hands on his hips, staring at the bed.

“Well,” you said slowly, clearing your throat a little as you stared at the bed. You suddenly felt so awkward around him, and Chan hated that. He needed you to feel relaxed around him for this to work, and you had been up until now. 

“That’s a big bed.” You finished, but Chan threw himself onto it with zero shame and snuggled into the pillows with a soft sigh, his whole body relaxing against the memory foam mattress. 

“Big enough for boundaries. I don’t bite unless asked.” He says suggestively, and you roll your eyes, picking up one of the decorative pillows and hitting him softly with it.

“Not funny.” He shrugged, arms behind his head as he snuggled into the covers. 

“Could be worse. Could’ve been bunk beds.” He sits up a little, and you stare at him.  

“You say that like you’ve done this before.” Your gaze landed back on Chan, and you noticed that his smile faltered for half a second, barely noticeable, but you’d caught it. Slowly, you lower yourself onto the bed, sitting close to him. It was big enough that the two of you would be right up close to one another.

“Let’s just say I’ve survived worse sleeping arrangements,” he said, tone a little lighter now. “We’ll survive this one,” he assures you. 

“Fine, but we need ground rules.” Chan sat up straight and crossed his legs, sitting across from you as he nodded, letting you continue on.

“No spooning. No accidental boob grazes. No sleep-talking confessions of love.”

“Noted.” He held up three fingers and then held his other hand on his chest as he looked into your eyes. 

“I solemnly swear not to fall in love with you in my sleep.” He smirks a little. Mostly because he could already feel himself catching feelings, and it was easier to play it off than to admit that out loud right now. You gave him a dry look; you needed him to take this seriously. 

“I’m serious, Chan…No accidental grabbing, unless someone is around…” Chan could hear the desperation in his voice, and he nodded his head, rubbing his hand on your knee.

“I promise I’ll be on my best behaviour unless we’re around your family and you need me to pretend.” You relax a little, and Chan moves his hands to your shoulders, shaking you a little.

“Now, unpack. We’ll steam our outfits, make sure we look like we’re models, yeah?” He watches you closely for any sign of uncertainty, but you nod and get up from the bed, making your way to the wardrobe to start unpacking. 

“Get up, though, we might be boyfriend-girlfriend for the weekend, but I’m not touching your underwear.” You giggle, making Chan smirk. Your giggle made his whole chest feel light whenever he heard it, and he just knew the promise he made about not falling in love…was going to be the best promise he would ever break.

“I say we go down to the beach for a walk, we could get some ice cream, and then watch the sunset,” Chan states as he stands on the small balcony of your room. You watch him closely. He seemed so relaxed here. Dressed in some shorts and a nice smart shirt, he looked like he belonged here…but that was just who he seemed to be. He seems to fit in anywhere.

Back home, it was like he’d lived there his whole life. He got along well with every shop owner. Even Mrs Jones had taken a liking to him and made sure to set aside cinnamon rolls for you both the last two times you’d been in.

“Sure, I promised Mrs Jones we’d get her a couple of magnets as well, so maybe we can find a gift shop.” You suggested. Walking out onto the balcony to join him, you leant on the wall and looked out at the beach. If it wasn’t for the wedding happening, this would have been the perfect moment.

“I checked out the one downstairs, and I’m not paying $15 for one magnet.” You giggle a little and shake your head. The afternoon breeze was so nice on your skin right now, it felt perfect…Too perfect.

Your phone buzzed, and just like that, your entire mood soured. 

Sister 🐍: We’re by the pool. Everyone’s here. Don’t take too long, babe. It’s cocktail hour.

You swallowed hard as you read the messages, reality hitting you that you were actually going to have to see and speak to your family now and not just hide out with Chan the whole time.

“I’m gonna have to face them, aren’t I?” you muttered. Chan straightened as he watched you.

“You’re not alone this time, though.” He reassured you by making you meet his eyes. You’d done nothing but warn him for the last two days what he was going up against, but now he was actually going to face them,

“You don’t even know what you’re walking into.” You mumble, and he just smiles at you, as if nothing could ever bother him.

“Then I’ll walk in first. Go put on that stunning dress and we’ll head down.” He pats your back softly, and you sigh, moving back into the hotel room to change. 

You stood in the lobby in your simple blue satin dress because your sister never sent you the group color code, on purpose, but you weren’t so sure. The fabric hugged you perfectly, skimming over your curves, but it didn’t cling to you too tightly. Chan’s heart was racing as he took in your appearance. He’d barely taken his eyes off you since you came out of the bathroom dressed like this. 

There was a subtle slit up one side of your dress, and it made the dress sway with every step. You’d told him it was boring and plain, but something about you in that dress made you look… glowing. Chan thought you looked like a secret no one else had ever been lucky enough to know, and one he was going to keep close to him forever.

“You okay?” he asked gently, stepping up beside you. The lobby was empty besides a couple of workers who were all staring in your direction, wondering why you were just standing there when everyone else involved with the wedding was outside.

You didn’t look at Chan, you couldn’t bring yourself to. You felt seconds away from throwing up or passing out, neither of which you wanted to do in front of Chan.

“I don’t think I’ve ever dreaded seeing my own family more.” As much as he wanted to push you to go out there and show your family who you were, he wasn't going to push you into something you really didn’t want to do. He shifted a little and pulled you to the side in front of the reception desk. 

“Do you want to go back upstairs? Skip the whole thing?” You exhaled a breath you hadn’t even realised that you were holding. You knew hiding was only going to fuel your sister's story about you “still being in love with Daniel”. The last thing you wanted was to make her feel like she's right.

“She’ll tell people I’m still in love with him.” You grumbled, and Chan watched you. He could tell by the look in your eyes that you weren’t, but part of him still needed to ask…he had to be sure that there was no chance you would ever go back to him.

“You’re not, right?”

“No way in hell,” You scoff, and he smirks, seeing the smile on your face. That was all he needed to make sure that you were okay and back to your smiling self.

“Anyway, I can’t not go…that would make her too happy. She thrives on my disappearing or being miserable…We need to go out there and be the best damn couple we can be.” You told him, and he smirked, nodding his head.

“We’re doing this together. You’re not alone in dealing with them now, you’ve got me, sunshine.” He tells you as he takes your hand in his, falling too easily into the boyfriend role with you.

“I mean it, whatever they throw at you tonight—I’ll be there. Right beside you. They don’t get to talk to you like you’re nothing.” Your throat tightened hearing him sound so sure of this. He promised you that he wasn’t going to leave you, no matter what.

“You don’t even know me,” You whisper a little, the self-consciousness creeping in, and Chan smiles weakly. He hated seeing you so broken down like this. He wanted the bright and sunshine girl he’d gotten to know over the last few days he’d spent with you.

“I don’t need to. I’ve seen the way you try so hard for people who don’t try for you. That tells me everything.” You blinked rapidly, trying not to let your eyes fill with tears, and you quickly looked away from him.

“You’re too nice.” He bumped his shoulder into yours before squeezing your hand tightly

“Or maybe you’re just not used to being treated right.” Silence followed as you looked up at him, and he just grinned down at you.

“Come on,” he said finally, nudging you toward the door. “Let’s go let your sister know she’s not the only one who can turn heads.”

The pool was surrounded by fairy lights that were making beautiful reflections on the water. No one was in the pool, which was to be expected. It was shut off for your sister, and she’d never get her hair wet or risk someone else getting it wet by jumping in the pool.  Every single person was dressed in some form of rose gold dress, and the men looked smart and casual. Once again, you were wearing the wrong colour. 

You were the smudge on a flawless portrait, the forgotten sister who everyone invited out of pity. And somehow, Chan looked like he belonged here. Casual, golden, confident. He fit in with all of them, and you stuck out like a sore thumb. Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned around, ready to leave and change, but your hip hit the table, and it caused people to look up.

“Yn-” Chan tries to speak, but he’s quickly cut off by someone else.

“Y/N, there you are,” came the too-sweet voice of your sister, gliding over in a silk wrap dress, her makeup perfect and eyes sharper than diamonds. Nothing short of perfect as she made her way over to you.

“We were wondering when you’d show.”

“If she’d show,” You heard one of the bridesmaids snicker to the others. You opened your mouth to respond, but she wasn’t looking at you. She was looking at Chan, automatically assuming he wasn’t with you. 

“Oh,” she said, voice lighting up. “You’re not from around here, are you?” She flipped some of her hair over her shoulder and made her way over, holding her hand out for him to take, but Chan just smiled politely at her.

“The pool is closed for a wedding event, but you’re more than welcome to join us! The more the merrier.” She giggles too happily, and your stomach dips. Of course, she didn’t think that Chan was here with you. Chan was a born-again Greek God, and you were…you. 

“I’m Delilah. Bride. Sister of the chaos tornado over here.” She thrust her chin in your direction as if she were too good to even say your name, and you winced. She had no idea you and Chan were here together and hadn’t even introduced you to him.

“Nice to meet you.” He said through gritted teeth. He already hated her with a burning passion, and he wanted to take you back home, not just to the hotel room but back to Citrus Cove, where the two of you could ignore your family forever.

You opened your mouth to tell her that you were there together, but she shot you a look, one you knew all too well that meant, “Shut up. I’m talking.” Delilah’s eyes sparkled with something vicious. 

“So… are you staying here too? On holiday?” She quizzed, walking over to him a little too close for your liking, and for Chan, it seemed. He’d taken a step back and moved toward you again. Before he could correct her and tell her what he was really there for, she barreled on.

“If Y/N’s annoying you, I deeply apologize. She’s always been a bit much. You know, clingy. Intense. Scared of being alone.” She laughed like it was a charming anecdote. You weren’t scared of being alone at all. Your whole life, you’d been alone, your parents only favoured her, and you’d spent most of your life like that.

“We used to call her little limpet when we were kids—she just latched on to anyone who gave her attention.” She laughed wildly while your heart plummeted into your stomach. Your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, and you stared down at the pool so you wouldn’t cry in front of her. That was what she was aiming for.

Chan’s jaw clenched tightly as he noticed the look of hurt on your face, and all he wanted was to push your sister in the pool, but he knew he couldn’t. Delilah, still smiling and unable to read the room, stepped closer to him. 

“Don’t worry, though, you’re not the first guy she’s followed around. It’s kind of her thing. God, remember when she cried for three days because some guy in college told her she was plain?” She laughed again, all teeth. All of the bridesmaids, who had once been your friends too, laughed along with her loudly.

“We thought she’d never get over herself.” Delilah continued as she shook her head. The girls moved toward you and Chan while he stayed silent, counting to ten over and over again in his mind to keep himself calm.

“She cut all of her hair short and got that piercing.” Katie, one of your old best friends, laughed obnoxiously loud, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole and never let you out again. You’d been mentally preparing yourself for this, but nothing, NOTHING, could have prepared you for a full attack.

“That got super infected! God, she was so gross.” Delilah squealed before everyone laughed. 

You wanted to sink into the pool fully clothed. Or maybe into the earth. You wondered if anyone would notice you making a run for it, but by now, there were multiple people staring in your direction, and there was no way out. 

“C-Chan’s my date.” You said, finally finding your voice as Chan looked down at you, his hand finding yours and giving it a squeeze. Delilah blinked. Laughed…Actually laughed, but it died out when she realised you were being serious. 

“Wait…What?” She scoffs a little as she looks you up and down before looking back at Chan. You knew you didn’t match. She knew you didn’t match. But Chan spoke up, quiet but firm. 

“She’s not following me. I’m here because I want to be. I’m her boyfriend.” He states sternly this time, and this time it shuts her up…Just long enough for her to reload.

“I mean, sure,” she said, recovering from being shut down so quickly. There was no way your sister was going to give up, not when her friends were around her. 

“If that’s what we’re calling it. Just don’t let her guilt you into anything. Y/N’s a master at playing the victim.” She giggles. You stared down at the cobblestones, all the while Chan's grip on your lower back tightened by a small fraction. It was a subtle sign you weren’t going through this alone.

Slowly, you turned to look up at him. The way his fingers twitched against your back made it seem like he wanted to do something, say something back at her, but he remained silent. You’d asked him to, back in the room, you’d asked him that no matter what he heard, he wouldn’t say anything back…That your sister wasn’t worth it.

Delilah patted you on the arm like you were a sad puppy; you could see the smirk on her lips. 

“Don’t take it personally, sweetie. You know I love you. We’re just so different, you and I. Always have been.” She walked away before you could reply, her hair bouncing, voice already lifted for someone else more important.

You swallowed hard, forcing your breath steady.

“…She’s right,” you said quietly, not looking at Chan. You stare down at the floor, you hated how weak she always made you feel. No matter what you did, you were never good enough in her or your parents ' eyes. 

“We’ve always been different.” Chan didn’t reply right away; he was too busy counting to 20 in his head, trying to keep himself calm. All he wanted to do was rip into your sister for the shit she’d just said, but he needed to play nice, make a good impression before making them realise what they were missing out on without you. 

“She’s a raging bitch.” He grumbles harshly, and your head flies up to look at him. Chan was still looking at the crowd of people, his face looked as though it was made of stone, and his eyes were hard.

You managed a weak smile. At least someone here finally agreed with you about your sister.

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I didn’t say it for you. It’s true. What kind of bitch says that to her own sister?” He grumbles, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he leads you in the direction of the bar. It was going to take a lot of Soju or whiskey to get him through this night without taking your sister down. 

You, however, glanced over your shoulder in the direction of your sister and her friends. All of them were staring in your direction, pointing and laughing, you already knew you were the centre of their jokes. Chan ordered drinks, but your mind was already preoccupied by a voice in your head reminding you that your sister was right, you were different.

Luckily for the rest of the night, you’d managed to avoid taking Chan to your parents, the two of you sat together on some sun loungers, and you told him stories about everyone in the pool area, since he needed to know their names anyway.

The morning sun filtered weakly through the sheer curtains of the bridal suite. You sat stiffly on a plush chair and watched as people fluttered around the room. You’d been woken up at 6 that morning with a reminder that you were supposed to be a bridesmaid for your sister. Maybe it was her way of torturing you, sending you up there to watch her marry your ex. 

You weren’t exactly bothered seeing it, as a matter of fact, you wanted them to be together and hoped they ended up happy, since she was going through so much trouble with you because of it. 

Delilah and her bridesmaids buzzed around the room happily, giggling with one another, and the air felt so thick you could barely breathe. All you wanted was to go back to the room and order room service with Chan, who, when you left, had been asleep on the bed. 

One of Deliah’s bridesmaids—a tall, sharp-faced woman named Camilla—approached you with a clipboard in her hand. She looked up from it for a moment,

“So,” Camilla said, her eyes flicking over you like you were a project she didn’t want to waste time on, you could see the disgusted look on her face as she saw you sitting in the bridesmaid dress. 

“How are you feeling about the dress?” You swallowed, unsure. The green dress was considerably tight to your body, which was odd. A few months ago, when your sister had asked for measurements, you’d made sure to get them done properly and sent them over to her.

“It’s-”

“Tight.” Camilla finished for you, biting down on her tongue as she looked you up and down and back at her chart, clearly reading through whatever was on it. This time, Delilah chimed in from behind, lips curved in a sweet smile that didn’t reach her eyes - clearly fake. 

“Oh, you’re doing great, sweetie. It’s just… maybe we could find you a bigger dress? The last fitting was a few weeks ago, and you never showed up.” She shrugs her head, looking at the dress that was clearly too tight for you. It showed off everything you hated about yourself. 

You looked down at your body, suddenly self-conscious. You’d noticed the way your jeans felt tighter lately, maybe you’d gained weight? Delilah was smirking to herself, seeing you come undone.

“Is it… the weight?” you asked hesitantly.

“It’s a surprise Chan is with you, he’s got a major gym body and you’ve got…fridge.” She giggles, and the other girls all join in with her. Camilla laughed so hard she accidentally showed the measurements for each girl, and yours was wrong. 

“Maybe I could get a bigger size-”

“They’re custom-made. There was no way I was going to let my girls have dresses from a store.” Delilah snaps harshly. 

“You’ll just have to sit in the back and not be in the wedding,” She shrugs, and you look back at the dress. It was just two sizes too small; clearly, she’d done this on purpose. But if she didn’t want you in the wedding to torture you, why would she do all of this? Was it just to show she had power all over again? 

“That’s for the best. We do have a lot of cameras here filming Deliah and the wedding.” Camilla states, causing you to frown. There hadn’t been a single camera in the room during the fitting.

“Oh. I already told them not to capture YN anyway.” Delilah shrugged as she looked down at her nails. You really were here just to be the butt of her jokes and the one that they could kick around like it meant nothing. You wanted to speak, to say you were fine, that you didn’t care about the dress or the cameras, but the words caught in your throat.

“It’s settled, we’ll just have Ani replace her. She’ll fit in the dress no problem.” Delilah snapped her fingers, and you were practically shown out of the chair, and Camilla stared at you.

“Take it off. We need to make sure you don't stretch the material too thin.” Camilla grumbles, and you nod, heading toward the small bathroom to get changed.

“W-Where do you want me to stand at the wedding?” You questioned, your eyes flicking to your sister, who couldn’t seem less bothered if she tried.

“The back. Make sure your ‘date’ is front row though, we can pull views in through him.” Delilah says, but the way she’d called Chan your ‘date’ didn’t sit right with you. It was like she didn’t believe the lie you were selling.

When you got back to the hotel room that morning, you’d barely spoken to Chan, which didn’t sit right with him. He’d even ordered you some lunch, but you gave him some excuse about not being hungry, so he ate it instead. 

Now the two of you were sitting at a dining table alone, you’d been pushed to the side because there “wasn’t enough room” on the main table. The table was dressed with white linens, candles in tall holders, and laughter echoed around the room. The small voice in your head is telling you that everyone was laughing at you. 

There was a salad in front of you, but your appetite had vanished; it had vanished since earlier that day. 

“You okay?” Chan asked, leaning down to whisper into your ear but making it look like he was pressing a warm kiss to your head. You nodded stiffly, Chan didn’t believe you for a second.

“She’s barely touched her plate,” your mother said rather loudly to Delilah, who looked up and shrugged her shoulders.

“She’s feeling a little rounder these days, she’s probably trying to lose some weight,” Delilah said with a cruel smile, loud enough for you to hear, unfortunately, Chan had heard too, and his jaw tensed tightly. 

Your ex-boyfriend, Daniel, smirked, glass in hand. “Yeah, Y/N, you putting on weight or something? Didn’t think Spain would be good for your diet.” The room chuckled, but the joke was a dagger that twisted deep inside your chest.

“Did you ever end up finding something that fits for tomorrow?” Your cousin asked from across the room, and Chan’s frown deepened.

“What does she mean? I thought you were going to be a bridesmaid?” He brushes his hand over yours, and you look down at the table. You hadn’t even had the chance to tell Chan you’d been kicked off that duty,

“She's too fat for the dress. So we gave the spot to someone else.” Delilah said so matter-of-factly, you wanted to throw up right there and then. 

“They took my measurements and ignored them…I don’t think she wanted me to be a bridesmaid…Just wanted me here for humiliation." You whispered, finally finding your voice. Chan, however, went deathly quiet. He was seconds away from ripping into someone for what was being said.

“That dress she’s wearing now doesn’t even go with the theme.” Someone grumbles, 

“She’s always been…unique,” Delilah said. But the word almost sounded like a slur. You didn’t look up; you were used to it. Used to the way they all laughed and belittled you. You just wanted to blend back into the background like you always had.

“Chan must be a saint to deal with someone so difficult.”

“Especially when she’s fat and ugly,” Daniel commented, and that was it. Chan’s fork hit the table with force, and he stood up abruptly. 

“Enough!” He said, his voice cold and harsh as he stared around the room. People turned to look at him as everything fell silent. Chan’s eyes locked on Daniel’s face as he stared down at him. 

“You want to talk about weight? How about talking about your character instead?” Daniel’s smirk faltered a little; none of them were used to someone sticking up to them, and it showed.

Chan continued, voice rising just enough to fill the room, he made a point to stare at your sister, parents, and ex-boyfriend as he addressed them.

“Y/N is here, standing strong while you waste your breath throwing insults. Maybe if you spent less time tearing people down, you’d realize what you lost.” You felt tears prick your eyes, but Chan shook his head.

“Every single one of you should be ashamed! You sit here in your perfect little outfits and pretend that you’re better than her? You tear her apart for existing differently than you…because she doesn’t need to scream to be heard?” He looks down at you, his chest heaving a little,

“Because she doesn’t want to play your twisted little mind games. Yn is the kindest, strongest, most patient person I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.” He snaps, your breath caught in your throat, hearing him say this out loud. Did he mean it? Was he just playing a role? 

“And you?” Chan turned to look at your sister,

“You’re marrying her ex, mimicking her smile, stealing her memories like they’re things you earned. You think you’re the center of the universe, newsflash…you’re not. You’re no one. People will forget you once they see you for what you truly are.” Your sister looked as if she was seconds away from vomiting, and your mother was gasping for air. 

Chan looked back at you, your eyes were filled with tears, but you quickly blinked them away. This was the first time in years you’d ever felt seen. Someone actually defended you.

Chan sat back down, softer now, and reached for your hand under the table. You squeezed it softly, letting him know that you were okay. The rest of the room was deathly silent; all that could be heard were the sounds of glasses and mumbled chatter.

“T-Thank you,” You whisper to him, breaking the silence. Chan squeezed your hand back,

“You’re amazing, okay? I won’t take any bullshit about it.” He winked at you, and you felt your heart picking up in speed while your cheeks felt heated.

Later that night, you found yourself on the balcony outside of your room again, the cool Spanish air brushing your skin and teasing away some of the heat that the day had left behind. Sighing a little, you sank down onto a wrought-iron chair, staring out at the distant lights of the town. You’d been rethinking dinner all night.

After Chan’s outburst, not a single comment was made about you or in your direction. Your sister had refused to say anything and went back to filming on her phone like nothing had happened. 

Chan stepped outside onto the balcony, but didn’t sit beside you. Instead, he leaned against the railing, shoulders squared but relaxed. For a moment, neither of you spoke; you silently listened to the waves crashing against the sand and the distant chatter of other people inside the resort. In your little room, your own bubble, it was perfect.

“You didn’t deserve any of that tonight,” Chan said, finally breaking the silence and glancing over at you. He needed you to know that none of what was being said was true, or that you deserved to hear any of it. You swallowed thickly and shifted against the seat.

“I’m used to it.”

“No,” he said, turning to meet your eyes. His whole body moves to face you,

“No, you shouldn’t be. And that’s what makes me… I don’t know. It makes me want to—” He stopped himself, the words catching somewhere in his throat. He’d promised you not to catch feelings, but something about being here with you…and even back home was making it damn near impossible not to. 

Everything new he learnt about you, he found he adored. Taking in a deep breath, he tried to clear his head before speaking. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair and sinking down into the chair opposite yours. 

“That sounded stupid.” He finished, and you nudged him with your foot, forcing him to look you in the eyes. 

“What were you going to say, Channie?” Chan hesitated; the nickname sounded like heaven coming from your lips, and he desperately wanted to hear you calling him it over and over again, so he shook his head. He didn’t want to risk any of this,

“Nothing important.” He lied. But the way he looked at you, like you were suddenly the only thing that mattered, said everything he wouldn’t say. Your chest was starting to hurt as you watched him,

“Hey. You just defended me in a room of almost 100 people…You can tell me.” You teased, and Chan gave an almost shy smile to you and sighed, looking up at the night sky.

“Maybe I’m breaking one of the rules…M-Maybe I’m starting to care more than I should.” He admitted out loud. You felt your heart fluttering, warmth spreading through you all over as you looked back at him.

“You’re not alone,” you said softly, letting him know that his feelings weren’t just one-sided. Chan felt his heart skip a beat. God, it had been years since he’d confessed a crush on someone; he felt like a middle schooler all over again. But he just nodded his head, his eyes fixed on the sky as a blush crept onto his cheeks.

A calm silence hung in the air, and you smiled, laying your head on your knees as you both enjoyed the silence together. Neither of you reaches for the thread of something more hanging between you…not yet, at least. 

“Tonight, I’m promising you a nice walk on the beach,” Chan told you as you sat together on the daybed, he’d pulled the canopy over so you were both in the shade.

“Sure, maybe I can finally get the magnets for everyone back home,” You relax a little, pulling sunglasses on over your eyes, snuggling into the pillows. Your sister had arranged for everyone to have a chill day by the pool today since the wedding was tomorrow. 

“Oh, don’t forget, Nancy wants us to get photos at the wedding. She said we’ll look good.” Chan smirks. In reality, Nancy hadn’t asked for anything, but Chan wanted a photo of the two of you so he could have it as his new lockscreen. You’d taken a few selfies, but he wanted to be different. He wanted a real photo of you both together.

“She’s cute, she’ll probably put it on the board in the cafe, you know.” You laugh a little. You open your mouth to speak again, but you can feel eyes on you. Slowly, you looked around the area to figure out who it was. Felicity - yours and Delilah’s cousin - was staring straight at you.

“Isn’t it adorable that Yn thinks she can wear a bikini?” She hisses, 

“Bless her heart, she’s trying so hard to fit in.” Felicity giggled, making Delilah smirk, her gaze flicking between you and Chan, who was now clenching his fists by his side. He’d had enough of your shitty family, and he thought last night would have been the end of it all.

“Can’t even keep their mouths shut,” He grits out, but you slowly reach out and hold his hand, squeezing it softly and smiling sweetly at him. You were trying to show him silently that it wasn’t bothering you.

“Oh, she’s definitely trying, honestly, it’s embarrassing.” Delilah giggles, flicking her hair over her shoulder and getting up. She was in a white bikini, showing off her perfectly toned body. She looked as though she would be on the arm of someone like Chan.

“Yn looks fucking hot today. Doesn’t she?” Chan asked loudly to one of the waiters, who began stuttering over his words. Your cheeks were heating up, and you whined at Chan, hiding into his neck as he chuckled to himself.

“Couples volleyball!” Delilah screamed out. 

“Let’s see how real these relationships are!” She giggles, and you look at Chan. You knew none of them were being subtle about it. Chan simply nodded at you and got up from the chair, following you to the pool. 

“I bet she’s paying him. She doesn’t deserve this level of hot,” Someone mumbles as you get into the water. Chan instantly wrapped his arms around you from behind and cuddled into you. 

“You ought to be careful, Chan. She used to write poems about my brother in school,” Lia giggles, making your whole body tense up. She knew you’d had a crush on her brother in high school; she’d pushed you toward him, claiming she wanted you as a sister in law.

“Let’s just play. Yeah?” he grumbles at your family, and they nod.

The teams ended up being uneven, so you’d all merged into a chaotic free-for-all of “who can keep the beach ball up longest,” but it quickly devolved into a war of egos before long. Mainly your ex’s. He kept smashing the ball toward Chan like he was trying to test his reflexes, daring him to mess up, either that or he was trying to smash the ball into his face.

But it never worked; Chan never missed a beat in hitting the ball back to your ex and your family, making it look like it was nothing to him. He moved like water; he was fluid, fast, and effortless. Every hit was precise, powerful, and you couldn’t take your eyes off him. Every movement made your heart race. Your ex was livid. And you were absolutely loving it.

“Not bad for a washed-up athlete,” Daniel muttered under his breath, chest heaving as he stared at Chan. You frown a little, watching the two of them.

“Not bad for a guy clinging to his high school glory days,” Chan murmured back, just loud enough for you and Delilah to hear him. Delilah smirks to herself before swimming over to him, draping an arm casually over the side of the pool next to his shoulder. Your stomach twisted watching her as she attempted to flirt with your ‘boyfriend’. You’d never been jealous before, but this had you raging. 

“You’re actually kinda good at this,” she said, voice high and girlish, feigning a laugh. “If you ever get tired of playing house with my sister, come find me, yeah?” You froze, hearing her. She was getting married…tomorrow…to your ex. Now she was attempting to get with another one?!

“She’s my girlfriend,” Chan said, gaze fixed straight ahead on you, he didn’t give a shit about your sister. 

“And you should really stop talking about her like she’s not standing right here.” Your sister pouted out her bottom lip and scoffed a little,

“Don’t be so fucking sensitive, it was a bloody joke,”

“That wasn’t funny,” Chan said with a blank expression. Tension rippled through the water, and no one moved for a minute. You were counting the seconds down in your head, waiting for your sister to snap or say something back…but it never came.

Someone splashed another person, easing the tension a little. You smiled weakly when someone threw the ball your way, trying to play along, and to get rid of the tension, you hit it. Your fingers were shaking, but you hit it, sending it flying into someone's mimosa on the side of the pool. A round of grumbles and curses from people followed,

“Maybe sit this one out, babe,” your sister called out, sickeningly sweet.

“You’ve never been sporty!”

“Remember when she tried out for cheer and broke someone's wrist trying to flip?” Felicity giggles, and people explode in laughter around her. You stepped back, pointing over your shoulder to the sunbed.

“I-I’m…I-I’m gonna take a break,” You said softly, backing your way toward the side of the pool. You were halfway to the steps when Chan wrapped his arm around your waist and held you close.

“You don’t have to pretend with her anymore. I know she's a lot, Chan, just come and hang out with us.” Your sister called out, but Chan didn’t even glance at her; he looked down at you and stared into your eyes.

“I’m right where I want to be.” He whispers, kissing your forehead and climbing out of the water. He turned back to you, offering you his hand to help you out of the pool. You took it, dripping wet, your cheeks heating up and not from the sun but from the attention he was giving you. 

“Shall we go back to our room and watch TV?” He suggests. Grabbing his towel and wrapping it around your shoulders. You looked up at him. He somehow looked even better now his hair was wet and dripping down his head, you could almost see the slight curls in his hair.

“Order room service and eat all our weight in pasta?” You raised an eyebrow, Chan’s heart picked up, and he nodded his head. It sounded like the perfect day to him, much better than sitting here with your family. 

“Run up, I’ll grab our stuff.” He nods to you, quickly kissing your lips before sending you on your way. The kiss was so quick and so easy that it felt as though it was only natural for him to do. His cheeks were turning red as you bit your lip, heading up to your room, glancing over your shoulder at him with a shy smile before finally disappearing.

Chan was about to grab his stuff when Daniel bumped into his shoulder, shoving him to the side,

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” he said to him.

“Girls like her always latch onto someone better to make themselves feel worthy. She’ll move on when the pity runs out.” It would have bothered Chan, but you had no idea who he was. So he was letting the words rush off him like water off a duck's back.

The sun was setting beneath the waves, leaving a golden look over everything it touched. The waves were crashing gently against the whore, and the sand was so nice and warm beneath your feet as you and Chan walked across it. Your hand was locked in his, your shoes were shoved inside one of the bags he was carrying. 

There had to be about four of them, all tiny little souvenir bags from your day together. The two of you had gone on a small tour of the town you were staying in and took lots of pictures while picking up a lot of gifts for everyone back home. 

The two of you had gotten a little competitive about who could get the tackiest magnet,

“I still think the dancing bull figurine was a bold choice,” You giggled, nudging his hips with yours. Chan grinned down at you, cocking his eyebrow.

“Please. You bought a magnet shaped like a lady with boobs that jiggle and say ‘squeeze me’ on them. You got me beat.” You laughed so hard you almost let out a small snort, making Chan smirk to himself. God, your laugh was so full and bright, it made his chest flutter whenever he heard it, and he’d heard it a lot today. 

It turned out that getting away from your family was the key to seeing you relax and finally let go. Chan pulled you closer to him as you walked, both of you enjoying the closeness you had with one another, without thinking about it too much.

“Oh! I also got Mrs Jones that rose tea she loves. And the twins at the inn, I got them mini flamenco dolls…They’ll love them,” Chan smiled down at you. He loved that you’d cared enough to try and get everyone back at home a gift.

“You always think of everyone else.” He states that as you stop walking, just looking out at the waves together, he bit his tongue. He wanted to open up to you a little without having to tell you about his life before you.

“I got something for the Coach, too,” He said slowly, trying to gauge your reaction. Your head slowly turned away from the waves to his eyes, and it felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. You were barefaced, your hair natural, and you just looked like someone from his dreams.

“Are you trying to sweeten him up?” You tease, nudging him in the side, but Chan shrugged a little. You’d heard whispers of the high school back home wanting a new coach, and you knew Chan had a sporty side.

“He’s retiring, and I want to throw my name in for the job.”

“You are pretty sporty.” You shrug a little, thinking nothing more of it. The fact that you didn’t press him for more information made him relax. It was clear you wouldn’t care if he used to be famous.

“Y-Yeah…S-So I got him some keychains for the kids on the team and I got him a hat to replace his tattered one.” He smiles fondly before looking down at you, moving his free hand to cup your face in his hand, brushing his thumb over your lip.

“I got you something, too.” He whispers, Your eyes lit up.

“You did?” You gasp a little, only making Chan chuckle softly to himself. He had it in one of the bags, but he wasn’t going to show it until you were back in the hotel room together.

“Mhm. But you’re not allowed to see it until later.”

“Why not?” You scoff, 

“Because I said so.” He winked, tugging your hand so the two of you would start walking together again. 

“You’ll like it, I promise.” He chuckles softly. You pretended to pout, tugging lightly on his hand, but he didn’t let go. Neither of you even noticed that you hadn’t let go of one another all day. The space between you just didn’t exist anymore — your bodies moved in sync, like this was the most normal thing in the world…Like you were a couple…

And the scariest part of all of it? It didn’t feel like pretending anymore to you.

You glanced up at the hotel in the distance, its lights twinkling like stars just beginning to blink into the sky. You were getting hungry, and you had the wedding in the morning, so you already knew you were going to have to be up early to get ready. 

“I’ll head up and order room service. You still want that pasta?” You quizzed right as you got off the beach, sliding into your sandals. Chan nods as he stretches his back a little.

“Definitely,” he said. “Extra parmesan. And maybe something made of chocolate for dessert.”  He groaned, rubbing his stomach like he’d not eaten all day, but you’d been sneaking food while you were out.

“Got it. I’ll go and grab some extra towels from reception.” He squeezed your hand before letting go, gently. 

“Don’t be long, if that chocolate comes before you, I can’t promise it’ll be there,” You tease and rush off.

The hallway going up to the room was nearly deserted, the only light coming from the soft glow of sconces along the polished walls. Chan’s steps were echoing as he made his way up to your door. In his hand were the spare towels and a surprise he’d gotten for you. It wasn’t much, but it was a rose gold dress that nearly matched the theme of the wedding. As well as a bracelet he’d picked up for you. 

He knew you weren’t exactly upset about being kicked to the back of the room of the wedding, but he wanted you by his side, in a dress that made you feel and look like a million bucks…But you always looked that way to him. Even early in the morning when you’d just woken up and were having coffee together…

He’d thought you were stunning when you stood on his porch in pajamas that were faded with holes in them. Tonight, he was going to admit that to you; he didn’t care that you’d both promised not to fall for one another, he knew you were falling for him too.

Just as he reached the corner of your door, Daniel stepped out from the shadows with a mocking grin all over his face.

“What is it?” Chan grumbled, his voice laced with annoyance that your ex was even here right now.

“Just came to see the famous Ex-hockey ‘playboy’ who couldn’t even last his last season before some injury had him crying for the exit.” Daniel sneers, making Chan’s stomach twist. The injury wasn’t just “some” injury, it had nearly killed him, 

It had been an accident on the ice, resulting in him almost losing his fingers; he’d broken his knee and his ankle in two places. Then there was the skate that had gone into his temple; he was lucky to even be alive.

“I’d love to see you try and survive a skate to the face, dickface.” Chan said, his eyes meeting Daniel’s with a calmness behind them. 

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Daniel sneered, stepping closer, invading Chan’s space, but Chan didn’t flinch; he wouldn’t give the motherfucker the satisfaction.

“But let’s be honest — you’re nothing more than a charity case in this whole mess. Y/N’s using you, making herself feel better by dragging you into her mess so she doesn’t have to face me alone.” Chan stared at him, refusing to crack,

“Did she act like she didn’t know you?” Daniel tilts his head at him, and this time Chan had a reaction. His eye twitched just a little, but his face remained stoic. 

“You don’t know her,” Chan said quietly. Daniel laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that echoed off the walls.

“She really pulled one over on you, huh? Sweet little Y/N. Always was quiet, always playing the victim.” He gave a mock pout and shook his head. 

“But she’s smarter than people give her credit for. She knows exactly what she was doing bringing you here.” Chan’s jaw tensed this time. There was no way you knew who he was…You seemed surprised whenever someone knew him. You were blind to everything about his old life…Right?

“She knows who you are. She has to. I used to watch your games all the time — she sat right there on the couch next to me. You don’t think she recognized you? Come on, man. She’s playing you.” That seed of doubt hit its mark and buried deep in Chan’s gut.

“She brought you here because you’re a shield. A distraction. Someone to take the heat off her for once.” His voice dropped lower, venom curling around every word. Chan felt his heart shattering at the thought of it all. You knew him…You’d played him…Were you going to sell the fucking story?

No…He couldn’t even bring himself to think that way about you. 

“Maybe you’re right,” Chan finally said, his voice shaking a little.

“Maybe I am just what she needed to take the pressure off. A washed-up loser she can parade around, but at least she wants me.” Chan grumbles at him, and Daniel just smirks at him. He was proud he’d planted doubt in his mind.

“Whatever, man. You’re going to be the butt of everyone's jokes. The vlog will go up and you’ll be a laughing stock…Again. All because you fell for that ugly bitches lies.” Daniel sniggers as he walks away.

Chan had no idea how long he’d been standing there after Daniel had left, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. His words were still bouncing around in his head.

She knows who you are.

She’s using you.

You wanted to take the heat off her.

You’ll be a laughing stock.

He knew he shouldn’t have listened to him; he should have just gone straight to the hotel room to spend the night with you. He knew, deep down, that Daniel was cruel and petty, the kind of man who got off on cutting others down just to stand a little taller himself. But that didn’t stop the words from digging in deep.

He’d been too eager. Too willing to believe in the soft way you looked at him, the way you laughed at his terrible jokes, the way your hand fit so naturally in his. He let it all mean something when maybe it didn’t.

He swallowed thickly, jaw tense, and stared down at the small box in his hand. The surprise he’d picked up for you from a little beachside stall. A delicate charm bracelet, each charm shaped like something they’d seen that week. A seashell. A lemon. A tiny plane. One for each day they’d spent pretending.

Pretending.

His chest twisted.

He should’ve known better.

When he got back to the room, you were already on the bed, cross-legged, you were wrapped in the hotel rope, and looking up from your phone. Instantly, he freaked out inside his head,

Were you texting someone about him? Were you writing notes about him?

Your eyes lit up when you saw him. “Hey,” you said softly. “Took you a while, I nearly ate all of the food alone,” You said with a small, awkward laugh. Chan didn’t answer you, though; he set the box down on the desk and went into the bathroom without another word.

You stared at the closed door, your heart sinking. Something was wrong…he’d been fine until now. 

You shifted in the bed, turning over about to greet Chan like you had every morning lately, but the bed was cold. You sit up and look around the room, just as the bathroom door opens. Chan was dressed in shorts and a baggy shirt.

“Morning, you wanna eat?”

“Can’t. Got to go to the gym. See you at the reception.” He said, his voice low and clipped, before he walked out of the room. The door slamming shut behind him, leaving you stunned. 

You’d fallen asleep the night before, waiting for him to come out of the bathroom; had he stayed in there all night? Your fingers trembled a little as you got up and opened the box he’d left on the desk for you. Inside was a beautiful gown and bracelet. 

Your chest grew heavy as you stared down at them both. If he wanted you to wear these, why was he acting so cold toward you?

At the wedding ceremony, you felt like a ghost among the crowd. You’d attempted to move to the front of the wedding, but your sister blocked it from happening. Telling you she wanted you in the back of the room so you wouldn’t draw too much attention to yourself. 

You’d tried to get Chan’s attention during the vows, but he kept his head forward, avoiding you. As if looking at you might shatter him.

Every single time his eyes caught yours, he was quick to look away, and each time it made your heart shatter. 

Around you, the guests smiled and whispered, but you felt isolated, trapped in a moment that should have been joyful. What happened? The two of you had been working so well until the night before…

The reception was held in a grand hall decorated with twinkling lights and fragrant flowers. It was fucking loud too, you’d tried to catch Chan on the way out from the vows, but he’d slipped you in the huge crowds of people. 

Delilah flitted around like a queen bee, demanding attention and ensuring she remained the center of the room. You were trying to find Chan, but it was like he’d vanished into thin air. You slid a glass from a waiter and moved toward the terrace. You needed some air to clear your head on what you were meant to do now. 

Did he hate you? What had you even done?

And then you heard it. Two men were talking behind you, voices low but careless as they laughed together and shook their heads. You frown but move closer without being seen, wanting to know what was going on.

“Dude, you know who that is, right?” Caleb said to one of Daniel’s friends.

“Chan Bang. Yeah. Played pro hockey — until his knee blew out and he took a skate to the face,” Your breath caught in your throat. That explained the scar on his temple…not to mention the weird interactions that had been happening. No wonder he only gave you his first time. He was probably freaked out.

“Can’t believe he’s with her. No offense, but she’s punching.” The insult didn’t even sting as it came from Caleb's lips. 

“She’s not with him. Daniel told me the whole thing — she’s using him. Pretending. He said she probably just wanted someone famous so the attention wouldn’t all be on her sister for once.” You completely froze in place, the glass in your hand slipping to the floor and smashing. 

People stared in your direction, but you didn’t give a shit. Your blood was running cold. Daniel was lying…Telling people that you were using Chan?! That you knew who he was…Like, this was some kind of desperate stunt to make yourself look relevant.

Your whole body was heating with rage. Real, full-bodied rage, you’d never let yourself feel until right now. Like fate was twisting the knife, you heard Daniel speaking loudly and across the room.

“All that hype, just to end up a washed-up has-been with a limp. What’s next? Teaching hockey to toddlers in some middle-of-nowhere town?”  He laughed coldly, and everyone surrounding him joined in. Your whole body ached, and you kicked off your heels. 

“You really thought she liked you? Come on, mate. She knew exactly who you were. She just wanted someone shiny enough to draw attention.” Chan stood stiffly, hands clenched at his sides, jaw tight. But he didn’t say anything. He never did when it came to himself.

“Enough.” The voice came out clear and harsh. Chan looked up to see you standing there. Dressed in the gown he’d gotten for you. Earlier, when he’d spotted you, he wanted to tell you how perfect you looked, but he’d stopped himself. He couldn’t tell you how pretty you were when he thought that you were using him.

“The little girl came to rescue the loser-” Champagne splashed over Daniel’s face and suit, cutting him off short. You stare at them all, your eyes burning with a rage Chan had never seen in you before.

“You can mock me all you want,” you said, eyes locked on Daniel.

“You’ve been doing it my whole life. My clothes. My weight. My hair. My friends. Even my relationships. But you don’t get to talk about him like that.” You hiss out. Daniel blinked, caught completely off guard. 

“He is more of a man than you will ever be. You’re fucking jealous he can make a living skating while you’re still living out your glory days from high school.” No one spoke a word. Champagne glasses were clattering as people listened. No one ever expected you to.

Chan’s eyes were on you; he couldn’t look away. You looked so hot right now.

“I didn’t know who he was,” you continued. It was the one lie you needed to clear up right now, but your voice was cracking with so much emotion.

“But I know who he is. I know how he makes me feel safe in a room full of people who’ve spent their entire lives making me feel small. I know he looks at me like I’m someone worth knowing. And I won’t let you take that away from me.” The silence after your words was louder than the music had been.

Daniel muttered something under his breath and stormed off. Chan hadn’t moved until you turned to him slowly, and your hands were trembling.

“I swear, I didn’t know Chan.” You whispered, your eyes pleading with him as you stepped in front of him, reaching for his hand but stopping, allowing him to connect with you if he did.

“But I do now, and it doesn’t bother me…I’m not letting you go without a fight…and I can fight, Chan.” You whisper. He stares at you for a long second, reaching for your hand. It was a small touch, but your whole world seemed to relax with that one touch.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, voice thick. “For seeing me. I’m sorry, I believed that asshole.” He sighs, leaning down and pressing his forehead to your own. You glance around and pull him toward the terrace, you didn’t want anyone to overhear this and report back about it. 

Once you were outside, you leant on the wall and looked up at him, 

“I was scared you knew who I really was,” he admitted. It wasn’t a good excuse; it was all he had to offer to you. 

“and that this was all just… fake for you…When I was falling harder than I ever expected to,” Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, it was the first time you’d seen him not look so confident in himself.

“Chan,” you whisper. He moved closer to you, taking your face in his hands and running his thumb under your eyes.

“This was supposed to be a favor…a fake thing, but it stopped being fake the minute you looked at me like I mattered.” You whisper to him, his breath hitching as you admit that to him.

“I never thought I’d see someone who sees past all of the shit in my life…The injury, the hockey shit, all of the mistakes I made…but you see me for who I am…Not the hockey star, just me.”

“Just Chan.” You whisper, remembering how he’d told you he was “just chan” in his kitchen. Chan chuckled softly, leaning his head on yours as you giggled a little.

“I don’t want this to be pretend anymore.” He whispered,

“I was coming back to the room to tell you that last night when Daniel cornered me.” He shudders at the memory, moving his hands from your face to your waist and drawing your body closer to his. 

“I don’t care about the past,” you reminded him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. 

“All I care about is us.” Chan’s lips curled into a genuine smile—warm, hopeful.

“Us,” he echoed, leaning down toward you but stopping midway to make sure that you wanted this as well. The kiss was unrushed, a little unsure at first. Just a peek on the lips…Then it moved into more.

A soft press of lips, his hands gripping your hips tightly and pulling you closer to him. Above you, fireworks exploded - no doubt your sisters work for her vlog. You deepened the kiss a little, sliding your tongue into his mouth as he resisted the urge to pick you up and take you right there and then. 

“W-We should go slow,” He whispers, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting heavily.

“We do have that big bed…” You whisper, your heart racing and Chan’s pants getting tighter,

“Afraid you wouldn’t keep up?” You tease, running your hand down his front toward the belt of his pants, and he grunts, bucking his hips a little.

“N-No…I wanted to be a gentleman,”

“Be one tomorrow…Fuck me tonight.” You whisper, biting his lip softly and smirking as you pull away to leave the terrace, Chan following behind you like a needy puppy.

The elevator doors slid shut behind you both. You were already rummaging around in your small clutch bag to find the room key, practically bouncing with excitement. Your heart was racing, Chan’s was pounding against his chest, and he was scared you’d be able to hear it somehow.

“F-fuck, where is it?!” You whine, more to yourself than to him, as you went through the bag, desperate to get into the room. There was no way you were going to miss this night.

“Relax, sunshine. It’s almost as though you’re excited,” He teases, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, pushing your need to the edge. You were seconds away from letting him take you right there in the hallway.

“I-I can’t find it,” you hiss. Chan’s hand slid to your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and grinding his hardness against your ass so you could feel just how hard he was for you.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” he murmured, voice low and husky against your skin. Your fingers finally grabbed the key, and you practically threw the door open.

The door had barely closed behind you both before Chan’s mouth was on yours, you threw your bag behind him, and wrapped your arms around the back of his neck. There was no hesitation, no pretending, just pure raw and real heat between you. 

“I need you,” You whisper as you kiss down his neck, your hands working on undoing his tie as you then rip his shirt open, buttons flying across the room. Chan chuckled darkly, looking down at you, his hands moving to frame your face. He was holding you like he was something precious, something breakable.

He was kissing you like he’d been dying to, like he’d spent every second in silence today dreaming of this moment with you. Your fingers slid into his curls, tugging gently, and the low growl that left his throat made your knees wobble,

“I’ve wanted you since that first day in your pajamas…I was done for,” He whispered between the kisses, backing you slowly toward the bed. You giggled a little

“You called them cute.”

“I was trying not to lose my mind,” he muttered, lips trailing along your jaw, down the column of your neck.

“I was imagining them on my bedroom floor…You have no idea what you do to me…” You gasp as his teeth graze against your skin, you slowly lie down onto the bed, and look up at him shyly.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, stepping back for just a beat to take you in. He was never going to get enough of you. You giggle a little, slowly pulling your dress off and dropping it by the bed, leaving you naked in front of him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He whispers. Heat grew all over your body, not just from what he was saying, but it was the way he was looking at you, he was looking at you like he meant every single word. That you were the only one for him. 

Chan stepped forward again, slower now, like he wanted to savor this moment with you, which he did. His hands slid along your hips, thumbs brushing your bare skin, and you leaned into him, kissed him again — deeper this time, needier.

“Tell me this is real,” you whispered, voice trembling as he hovered above you, his lips brushing yours. He cupped your cheek, eyes locked on yours. 

“This stopped being fake the minute I got to share a bed with you, sunshine.” You kiss him again, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him closer to you, ready to be intimate with him and seal the deal. 

As the bus pulled into the small station of Citrus Cove, you felt the warm, familiar breeze wrap around you like a welcome hug. God, it felt good to be out of the summer heat in Spain and off the bus. You needed to crack your back in at least seven places,

“Wanna crack my back?” you groan, twisting awkwardly as you stretch. “It’s driving me nuts.” Chan pulls a face like you just offered him a plate of raw sardines, and he takes a step back from you.

“Absolutely not. That sound is cursed.” You stare at him, scandalised. Surely, he’d heard much worse in his hockey days? 

“You’re a hockey player! You’ve definitely heard worse.” You scoff at him, and Chan smirks down at you.

“Yeah— my own bones, sunshine. Every snap sucked. I’m traumatised. You’re on your own.” He tells you, holding his hands up in defence while you pout dramatically. 

“We just got back, and already you’re abandoning me? I feel betrayed.” He rolls his eyes, tossing his cap into his bag as you both walk toward the exit of the bus station. 

“Says the girl about to run off and play Santa with all the gifts we picked up.” He smirks at you, and you stop walking and scoff playfully at him.

“Okay, rude. But then I’m coming right back for movie night. With snacks.”

“You staying over?” he asks casually, like it’s no big deal, but you catch the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You both couldn’t stay away from each other, god, there had been a moment on the plane, he thought he was going to have to sneak you into the toilets…but he was good and kept himself calm.

“I don’t think I can sleep without you anymore… you’ve ruined me. I’m a ruined woman, Chan.” You say dramatically, laying your hand over your forehead, but the action only made him smirk at you, completely smug and unbothered,

“In more ways than one.” He whispers in your ear suggestively, you gasp, swatting him with your neck pillow, his laughter echoing around you as you chase him out of the exit, but you freeze in place, seeing people from the town waiting for you. 

There were signs made with “Mr and Mrs Bhang” written on them, and Chan’s cheeks were turning bright red. 

Mrs Jones was practically squealing as she looked at you both, swatting Jamerson's hands as she whispered something to him about you both holding hands.

“We heard about Spain! What a wedding!” Mrs. Henderson, your friendly neighbor from down the lane, called out as you passed by her. Your cheeks were heating more and more.

“And the kiss… the kiss was all over TikTok yesterday!” added a teenage girl clutching her phone, cheeks flushed from excitement. You bit your lip to keep from smiling too widely. You knew your sister had been recording the wedding, but you thought the kiss was private.

“Did you know Chan was famous? Like, seriously?!” Mrs Jones asks, opening her car door for you and Chan to climb inside. You shook your head, still a little stunned by how quickly the news had spread. Chan, standing behind you, caught your flustered expression, and his eyes sparkled with quiet amusement.

“You’re officially mine now, princess.” He whispers, sealing the promise with a kiss.

Life in Citrus Cove settled back into its normal and easy rhythm. Chan threw himself into coaching the school’s hockey team, the kids adored him — even the stubborn ones found themselves working harder under his calm, steady guidance. You adored seeing him work every night, doing something he enjoyed. It gave him back something he thought he’d lost a long time ago.

You, meanwhile, returned to the inn like you’d never left. Your best friend had taken a couple of days off lately, and you wanted to catch up with her. On the days you had a night shift, Chan made sure to come and sit with you in the lobby, making himself useful by learning to fold napkins and even make beds. 

Your mornings were spent in bed, with breakfast together. You spent more time at his place than your own. You were working on getting out of your lease soon, too. Your evenings were filled with laughter and soft touches exchanged between you and Chan.

Finally, though, you’d tracked down your best friend and were forcing her to come and sit with you for a while. Mrs Jones had just bought over your coffee and cake order before leaving the two of you alone.

Your best friend let out a dramatic sigh, stirring her drink without taking a sip. She looked exhausted, with bags under her eyes, and even her clothes were messy. Your friend was someone who prided herself on her fashion; she did work in a fashion magazine after all. 

“The toddler next door is going to be the death of me. She’s got lungs like an airhorn — and no concept of sleep.” She sighs, running her hands over her face. You raised a brow, there was no one in town who had given birth lately, but you knew one of Chan’s ex-teammates had moved to Citrus Cove, 

“Isn’t that the new guy? Minho, right? He moved into the old Jenkins place?” You quizzed, sipping on your coffee as she nodded her head.

“Yeah,” she said, blowing on her coffee. Clearly, she needed it; the whole time you’d known her, she’d never touched a drop of tea. She was usually strictly tea only. 

“Single dad. Quiet. Hot, in a brooding dad kind of way. But that kid’s got a scream that could shatter windows. I swear, kids gonna be a fucking opera singer,” You grinned at her. She was on “break” from the magazine for a while. “Break” being code for “creative block,” and she needed time off to get her mind back into the game.

“Didn’t you used to be a nanny before you moved here? Maybe you could offer to babysit. Give him — and yourself — a break…You’re on a break from the magazine...” She blinked, surprised. It had been nice when she used to be a nanny, and Minho did seem like he would need a little help. 

“You think I should?” You shrugged a little.

“This is Citrus Cove. People leave casseroles on porches for strangers. My kiss with Chan was trending. I’m pretty sure knocking on the door and offering help is normal. And hey, it wouldn’t hurt to get to know the brooding single dad either…” You smirk, wriggling your eyebrows at her. 

“Getting laid might help with the block, too.” You wink at her, she laughs, already pulling her phone out and nodding. 

Neither of you knew it yet, but this one small decision that was about to shift everything…

[moonlitcelestial]

have a wonderful friday! ☺️🤍 (part two 🤭)

[moonlitcelestial]

Dense As A Rock

Summary: Song Mingi is completely oblivious to his own feelings until too late. Two idiots in love almost let miscommunication tear them apart.

Fandom: ATEEZ

Pairing: Song Mingi x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Humor

Warnings: None. Secondhand embarrassment from oblivious characters

Song Mingi was many things. Talented rapper, dedicated dancer, loyal friend, and apparently -according to literally everyone except himself- completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with you.

“Mingi, you’re staring again,” Wooyoung sing-songed from across the practice room, not even bothering to look up from his phone.

“I’m not staring,” Mingi protested, immediately snapping his gaze away from where you were stretching in the corner. “I was just… checking if her form was correct. You know, making sure she doesn’t hurt herself.”

San snorted. “Right. And I suppose that’s also why you’ve memorized her coffee order, her favorite snacks, and the exact time she arrives every morning?”

“That’s called being a good friend!” Mingi’s voice cracked slightly on the word ‘friend,’ but he powered through. “Friends look out for each other!”

Yunho patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Mingi, my guy, friends don’t usually carry around extra hair ties just in case their friend’s breaks.”

“Or learn choreography twice as fast when they’re partnered with said friend,” Yeosang added helpfully.

“Or smile like a lovesick puppy whenever their friend texts them,” Jongho chimed in.

Mingi looked around at his members, feeling ganged up on. “You’re all crazy. We’re just friends. Really good friends. Best friends, even. But friends.”

The collective sigh that echoed through the room could have powered a small wind turbine.

Over the next few weeks, the members took it upon themselves to compile what Seonghwa dubbed as “The Mingi Files” a comprehensive list of evidence that their friend was, in fact, head over heels.

Exhibit A: Mingi had started bringing two lunches to practice, claiming he “accidentally ordered too much” every single day for three months straight. The second lunch was always your favorite dishes from your favorite restaurant.

Exhibit B: He’d learned to braid hair by watching YouTube tutorials at nights, insisting it was “just a useful skill to have” when asked why (he kept offering to fix your hair when it got messy after practice sessions).

Exhibit C: His Spotify playlist titled “Vibes🔥” was 90% songs you’d mentioned liking, including that obscure indie track you’d hummed exactly once in his presence.

Exhibit D: He’d somehow convinced the company to stock the break room with your preferred brand of tea, claiming it was “better for vocal health” despite the fact that you weren’t even a vocalist.

Exhibit E to Z: Various other acts of devotion disguised as friendship, each more obvious than the last.

“Mingi,” Hongjoong said one afternoon, cornering him in the studio, “you literally have a photo of her as your phone’s lock screen.”

Mingi glanced at his phone, where a picture of you was indeed displayed. “It’s a good photo! The lighting is nice!”

“It’s a blurry selfie you took when she fell asleep on your shoulder during movie night.”

“The composition is… artistic?”

Hongjoong walked away muttering something about “dense idiots” and “hopeless causes.”

You, meanwhile, had been harboring your own feelings for the tall, gangly rapper who seemed determined to take care of you in the most obliviously sweet ways possible. You’d noticed the extra lunches, the perfectly timed coffee runs, the way he’d automatically adjust his pace to match yours during walks.

What you hadn’t noticed was that everyone else had also noticed.

“He’s in love with you,” your friend Chaeyoung said bluntly over dinner one evening.

“Who?” you asked, though your heart skipped hopefully.

“Song Mingi. The man who learned your entire family tree and also who remembers your cousin’s birthday. The one who bought you a plant because you mentioned once that your home felt too empty, and then proceeded to research plant care to make sure he got the right one suitable for your apartment .”

You poked at your food. “We’re just friends.”

“Friends don’t look at each other like you two do.”

“How do we look at each other?”

“Like you’re both seconds away from writing love songs but somehow convinced yourselves you’re just really passionate about friendship.”

It almost happened during the Company Ceo's special birthday party talent show. You and Mingi had been paired together for a dance performance, and the chemistry was so obvious that everyone were swooning.

After your performance, breathless and glowing from the stage lights, you found yourselves alone in the hallway backstage.

“You were amazing out there,” Mingi said, his voice softer than usual. He was standing closer than necessary, his eyes doing that thing where they seemed to hold entire conversations you weren’t privy to.

“So were you,” you replied, suddenly very aware of how his hand was almost touching you.

The moment stretched between you like a taut string, full of possibility and unspoken words. Mingi’s gaze dropped to your lips for just a second-

“MINGI! Y/N! You were incredible!” Wooyoung burst through the door like a hurricane, followed by some others. The moment shattered like glass, and you both stepped back, laughing awkwardly as you were swept up in congratulations and group hugs.

Later that night, Mingi lay in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling like he’d lost something important without quite knowing what it was.

“Okay, that’s it,” San announced during their next practice break. “We’re staging an intervention.”

“An intervention for what?” Mingi asked, genuinely confused.

“For your chronic case of emotional constipation,” Yeosang replied matter of factly.

They sat him down in a circle like some kind of feelings tribunal. Seonghwa even had notes.

“Mingi,” Seonghwa began, consulting his paper, “when Y/N laughs at your jokes, how do you feel?”

“Happy? She has a nice laugh.”

“When she texts you good morning every day, how do you feel?”

“Appreciated. It’s thoughtful of her.”

“When she falls asleep on your shoulder during movies, how do you feel?”

Mingi paused, his cheeks pinking slightly. “Protective, I guess. And… warm. Like, not temperature wise, but…” He gestured vaguely at his chest.

“And when she mentioned maybe dating that guy from her dance class last week?”

Mingi’s expression darkened immediately. “That guy’s an idiot. He doesn’t deserve her. Did you know he doesn’t even walk her to her car at night? And he’s probably never even bothered to learn that she likes extra foam in her lattes or that she gets cold easily so she always needs a jacket or-” He stopped abruptly, looking around at seven pairs of knowing eyes.

“There it is,” Yunho said gently.

“There what is?”

“The face of a man in love,” Jongho supplied helpfully.

Mingi opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. Then opened it again. “I… but we’re… she’s my friend.”

“Friends don’t memorize each other’s coffee orders, Mingi-ya,” Hongjoong said patiently.

“Friends don’t learn to braid hair just because.” Wooyoung added.

“Friends don’t look like they want to fight someone for not walking their friend to her car,” San contributed.

Mingi sat in stunned silence as the realization hit him like a freight train. Oh. OH.

“I’m in love with her,” he whispered, like he was testing out the words.

“FINALLY!” seven voices chorused.

Armed with his newfound emotional clarity, Mingi spent the next week planning the perfect confession. He enlisted Seonghwa’s help for romantic advice, had Yeosang proofread his speech, and even asked Wooyoung for input on his outfit, which he immediately regretted.

He was going to tell you after practice on Friday. He’d walk you to your car like always, but this time, he’d be brave. He’d tell you how he felt, how long he’d felt it without knowing, how you made him want to be better at everything just to see you smile.

Friday came, and Mingi was a bundle of nerves. He kept messing up the choreography, stumbling over moves he’d known for months.

“You okay?” you asked during a water break, pressing a cool bottle against his forehead. “You seem distracted.”

The simple gesture made his heart race. “Yeah, just… thinking about some stuff.”

“Good stuff or bad stuff?”

“Potentially life changing stuff,” he admitted.

You smiled that smile that made his knees weak. “Well, whatever it is, you’ve got this. You’re Song Mingi. You can do anything.”

And that was it. That was the moment he knew he couldn’t wait until after practice. He was going to tell you right now, in front of everyone, because keeping it inside for another second felt impossible.

“Y/N, I-”

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” your friend Chaeyoung appeared between you, looking apologetic but urgent. “Y/N, we need to go. Now. There’s been a emergency.”

The confession died on his lips as you immediately grabbed your bag, worry creasing your features. “Of course, let’s go. Mingi, I’m sorry, I have to-”

“Go, It's alright.” he said immediately.

You squeezed his hand quickly. “Rain check on whatever you were going to say?”

He nodded, watching as you hurried out with Chaeyoung, his heart sinking into his stomach.

What Mingi didn’t know was that the "emergency” was actually Chaeyoung’s elaborate scheme to force you both into action. She’d been watching you pine over each other for months and decided desperate times called for desperate measures.

What you didn’t know was that Chaeyoung had told you a tiny white lie about the emergency to get you out of there, planning to circle back and tell you to confess your feelings.

What neither of you knew was that this misunderstanding was about to get more complicated.

Because while you were sitting in Chaeyoung’s car getting lectured about emotional honesty, Mingi was getting a phone call that would change everything.

“Mingi? Hi, It’s Y/N’s mom.”

His blood ran cold. “Is she okay? Is everyone okay?”

“Oh, everyone’s fine, sweetheart. I was just calling to let you know that Y/N got a job opportunity in Japan. She’s so excited, but also nervous about telling everyone and has been stalling for a while. I thought you should know first since you two are so close.”

Japan. Job opportunity. Leaving.

The phone slipped from his numb fingers.

Mingi spent the weekend in what could only be described as a dramatic spiral. He cleaned his entire apartment twice, reorganized his closet by color and season, and wrote approximately seventeen different versions of a confession text that he never sent.

The members found him on Sunday evening sitting on the living room floor, surrounded by crumpled papers and looking like he’d been personally victimized by the concept of love.

“She’s leaving,” he announced without preamble when they walked in.

“What do you mean leaving?” San asked, settling down beside him.

“Japan. Job opportunity. Her mom called me.” Mingi’s voice was flat, emotionless. “She’s leaving and I never told her and now it’s too late.”

“Did she tell you she was leaving?” Seonghwa asked gently.

“No, but-”

“Then maybe talk to her before you assume the worst?” San suggested with the patience of someone talking to a particularly dramatic child.

“I can’t. What if she is leaving? What if I tell her how I feel and then she leaves anyway? What if I ruin our friendship right before she goes? What if-”

“What if you’re an idiot who’s overthinking everything?” Seonghwa interrupted. “What if she’s not leaving? What if she feels the same way? What if you’re worried about nothing?”

But Mingi had already made up his mind. If you were leaving, he wasn’t going to make it harder by confessing his feelings. He was going to be the good friend you deserved, supportive and understanding, even if it killed him.

Monday morning came, and Mingi executed what he believed was a flawless plan: be normal, be supportive, don’t make things weird.

What actually happened was that he became a stammering mess who couldn’t make eye contact and kept finding excuses to leave the room whenever you entered it.

“Mingi, are you avoiding me?” you asked, cornering him by the vending machines during lunch.

“What? No! Why would I avoid you? That’s crazy. You’re crazy. Not crazy-crazy, but like, crazy for thinking that, because I would never-”

“Mingi.” Your voice was soft, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and felt his resolve crumbling. You were wearing that sweater he’d bought you for your birthday, the one you’d claimed was the softest thing you’d ever felt. Your hair was in a messy bun held up by the scrunchie he’d given you when your hair tie broke. You looked like home, and the thought of losing you made his chest ache.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he lied. “Everything’s perfect. Great. Wonderful.”

You didn’t believe him for a second, but before you could press further, he mumbled something about needing to practice and practically sprinted away.

By Wednesday, everyone was confused.

You were confused because your best friend was acting like you had some contagious disease.

Mingi was confused because avoiding you was somehow harder than learning to rap in three languages simultaneously.

The members were confused because they’d never seen someone work so hard to avoid the person they were in love with.

“Just talk to her!” Hongjoong pleaded during practice.

“I can’t,” Mingi insisted, missing another move because he was too busy making sure he wasn’t standing too close to you.

“Why not?”

“Because…” Mingi glanced around, making sure you were out of earshot. You were across the room, but he lowered his voice anyway. “Because she’s leaving.”

“WHAT?” five voices shrieked in unison.

“Shh!” Mingi frantically gestured for them to be quiet. “She doesn’t know that I know.”

“How do you know?” Wooyoung demanded.

“Her mom called me. Job opportunity in Japan.”

The members exchanged glances that Mingi was too distracted to notice.

“And you haven’t talked to Y/N about this because…?” Yeosang prompted.

“Because I don’t want to make it about me! She should be able to make her decision without worrying about my feelings.”

“But what if your feelings matter to her decision?” Wooyoung asked gently.

Mingi shook his head. “I won’t be the reason she gives up an opportunity.”

Across the room, you were having your own crisis. Mingi’s sudden coldness was making you second guess everything. Maybe you’d misread all those moments. Maybe he really did just see you as a friend, and you’d been projecting your own feelings onto his actions.

Maybe it was time to stop hoping for something that was never going to happen.

That evening, you made a decision that you thought was mature and selfless but was actually just heartbreaking.

You were going to take the opportunity in Japan.

Not because you particularly wanted to live in Japan, but because staying here, watching Mingi pull away, pretending you weren’t in love with him, acting like everything was fine, was slowly killing you.

Chaeyoung found you that night, sitting on your apartment floor with a laptop full of visa applications and a heart full of resignation.

“You’re really doing this?” she asked, settling beside you.

“It’s a good opportunity,” you said, not looking up from the screen.

“That’s not what I asked.”

You sighed, closing the laptop. “He doesn’t feel the same way, Chae. I thought maybe… but this week he can barely look at me. I think I made him uncomfortable somehow, and I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“What’s the point? He’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want to be around me.”

Chaeyoung wanted to shake you both. “You’re both idiots.”

“Thanks, that’s helpful.”

“I mean it. You’re both idiots who are in love with each other and too scared to do anything about it.”

“He’s not in love with me.”

“Y/N, that man learned how to braid hair for you.”

“He’s just nice like that.”

“He has a photo of you as his lock screen.”

“He takes a lot of photos. of everyone”

“No, he does not. He also looks at you like you hung the moon, and you look at him like he painted the stars.”

You were quiet for a long moment. “Even if that were true… I can’t stay somewhere I’m not wanted.”

“But what if you are wanted? What if you’re so wanted that he’s scared of how much he wants you?”

You shook your head. “I can’t base my life on what-ifs.”

Friday came too soon and not soon enough.

You’d made up your mind to tell everyone about Japan after practice. Get it over with, like ripping off a band aid.

Mingi had made up his mind to be supportive and happy for you, even if it felt like swallowing glass.

Practice was awkward, with Mingi continuing his avoidance routine and you trying to memorize everything about this room, these people, this life you were about to leave behind.

When practice ended, you asked everyone to stay for a minute.

“I have something to tell you all,” you began, your voice steadier than you felt.

Mingi’s stomach dropped. This was it.

“I got offered a job opportunity in Japan, and I’ve decided to take it.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could hear your own heartbeat, could feel seven pairs of eyes staring at you in shock.

“When?” Seonghwa asked quietly.

“I leave in two weeks.”

Another silence. You risked a glance at Mingi, but he was staring at the floor, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“That’s… that’s great,” he said finally, his voice hollow. “Really great. Good for you.”

The words hit you like a slap. Good for you. Like he couldn’t wait for you to leave.

“Thanks,” you whispered, then grabbed your bag and walked out before anyone could see you cry.

The moment you left, chaos erupted.

“You KNEW about this and still told nothing to her to stop it?” Wooyoung shrieked at Mingi.

“But I thought-”

“You thought what? That you’d just let her leave without saying anything?” San demanded.

“I thought I was being supportive!”

“You were being an idiot!” Jongho snapped. “She’s in love with you, you’re in love with her, and you’re both too stupid to see it!”

“She’s not in love with me,” Mingi said miserably. “If she was, she wouldn’t be leaving.”

“She’s leaving because you’ve been avoiding her all week!” Yunho exploded. “She thinks you don’t want her here!”

“Of course I want her here! I want her here more than anything!”

“THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY THAT?” seven voices yelled in unison.

Mingi stared at them, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. “Oh god. Oh god, I messed up. I messed up so bad.”

“Yes, you did,” Hongjoong said firmly. “But it’s not too late to fix it.”

“What if it is? What if she really wants to go to Japan? What if I’m just being selfish?”

“Mingi,” Seonghwa said gently, “what if she’s only going because she thinks you don’t want her to stay?”

What followed was the most elaborate scheme eight boys had ever concocted, involving fake emergencies, strategic phone calls, and what Wooyoung insisted on calling “Operation: Stop Being Dense.”

Step one: Find out if you actually wanted to go to Japan or if you were just running away.

Step two: If you were running away, find out why.

Step three: Get Mingi to stop being an emotional disaster long enough to have one honest conversation.

Step four: Lock you both in a room until you sorted your feelings out (Wooyoung’s suggestion, overruled by the others as “potentially illegal”).

Yeosang was elected to talk to you first, since he was the least likely to accidentally reveal the plan.

He found you the next day at the company cafeteria, staring morosely at a laptop screen full of apartment listings in Tokyo.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked.

You looked up, surprised. “Of course. What are you doing here?”

“Wanted to talk to you about this Japan thing.” He settled across from you, his expression unreadable. “Are you excited?”

You hesitated. “It’s a good opportunity.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because you keep not answering the question.” Yeosang’s voice was gentle but persistent. “Are you excited about moving to Japan?”

You stared at your coffee cup. “I’m excited about the work.”

“And the moving part?”

“The moving part is… necessary.”

“Necessary for what?”

You were quiet for so long that Yeosang thought you might not answer. When you finally spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper.

“I can’t stay here and watch him pull away from me. I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt that my best friend suddenly can’t stand to be around me.”

Yeosang felt his heart break a little. “Y/N, what if I told you that Mingi isn’t pulling away because he can’t stand you?”

“Then why?”

“What if he’s pulling away because he’s scared of how much he cares about you?”

You looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

Yeosang realized he was about to break approximately sixteen different promises to keep the plan secret, but he couldn’t watch you both suffer anymore.

“I mean that man is so in love with you it’s painful to watch, and he’s convinced himself that being supportive means not telling you how he feels.”

“That’s not true,” you said automatically, but your heart was racing.

“Isn’t it? Y/N, he learned to do hair because you mentioned once that you wished you could do fancy braids. He memorized your coffee order after hearing it exactly one time. He carries hair ties in his pocket just in case yours breaks. He has photos of you on his phone that he looks at when he thinks no one’s watching.”

“Everyone says that but he’s just—”

“If you say ‘just nice’ I’m going to lose my mind,” Yeosang interrupted. “Nice people don’t do what Mingi does for you. People in love do what Mingi does for you.”

You felt tears prick at your eyes. “Then why has he been avoiding me?”

“Because he found out about the Japan job and convinced himself that being a good friend meant not making it about his feelings.”

“How did he find out? I didn’t tell anyone except-” You stopped. “My mom.”

“Called him last week. He’s been spiraling ever since.”

The pieces started falling into place. The sudden distance, the inability to make eye contact, the way he’d stammered out that congratulations like it was physically painful.

“He thinks I want to go,” you whispered.

“Do you?”

“No! I mean, yes, it’s a good job, but no, I don’t want to leave. I only said yes because I thought… because he seemed like he couldn’t wait for me to go.”

Yeosang pulled out his phone. “I’m texting the group chat.”

“What group chat?”

“The ‘Get These Two Idiots Together’ group chat.”

“There’s a group chat?”

“Y/N, there’s been a group chat for months. We’ve been watching you two dance around each other like it’s a full-time job.”

Within an hour, you found yourself back at the practice room, facing a semi circle of very determined-looking boys and one very confused Mingi.

“Sit,” Seonghwa commanded, pointing to two chairs that had been placed facing each other in the center of the room.

“What’s going on?” Mingi asked nervously.

“An intervention,” Hongjoong announced. “For both of you.”

“We tried the subtle approach,” San added. “It didn’t work.”

“So now we’re going with the nuclear option,” Wooyoung said cheerfully.

“Which is?” you asked, though you were pretty sure you didn’t want to know.

“Locking you both in here until you have an honest conversation,” Jongho replied.

“That’s kidnapping,” Mingi pointed out weakly.

“It’s friendship,” Yunho corrected. “Very aggressive friendship.”

You looked at Mingi, really looked at him, for the first time in a week. He looked tired, stressed, and absolutely miserable. His hair was messier than usual, like he’d been running his hands through it, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

“Mingi,” you said softly, “do you want me to go to Japan?”

His head snapped up, eyes wide. “What? No! I mean, if you want to go, then I want you to be happy, but-”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He stared at you for a long moment, and you could see the internal war playing out on his face.

“No,” he whispered finally. “I don’t want you to go. I really, really don’t want you to go.”

“Then why did you say it was great?”

“Because I thought that’s what you wanted to hear! I thought you were excited about it!”

“I’m not excited about it,” you admitted. “I only said yes because I thought you wanted me to leave.”

“Why would I want you to leave?”

“Because you’ve been avoiding me all week! You can barely look at me, you keep making excuses to leave when I’m around-”

“Because I’m in love with you!” Mingi exploded, then immediately looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor. “I’m in love with you and I thought you were leaving and I didn’t want to make it weird or make you feel bad or ruin our friendship right before you left.”

The silence that followed was broken only by Wooyoung’s very loud whisper: “FINALLY.”

“You’re in love with me?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

Mingi’s face was bright red, but he nodded. “Yeah. Really, embarrassingly in love with you. Have been for months, apparently, but I was too stupid to realize it until the guys staged another intervention last week.”

“I’m in love with you too,” you whispered.

“You are?”

“Yes, you giant idiot. Why do you think I was so upset about you avoiding me?”

Mingi stared at you like you’d just told him you’d discovered a new planet. “You’re in love with me.”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t want to go to Japan.”

“Not really, no.”

“And I don’t want you to go to Japan.”

“So I gathered.”

“So could you… stay?”

“I could stay.”

“And we could… try?”

“We could try.”

The smile that spread across Mingi’s face was brighter than all the stage lights in the world. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh thank god,” Seonghwa muttered. “I thought we were going to have to lock them in here overnight.”

“I had snacks ready and everything,” Wooyoung added sadly.

THE END

BONUS PART:

“You know,” you said, curled up against Mingi’s side on his couch, “I still can’t believe you were going to let me move to Japan without saying anything.”

“I was being noble,” Mingi protested, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“You were being stupid.”

“Nobly stupid.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is now.”

You laughed, tilting your head up to look at him. His hair was soft and messy from your fingers, and he was wearing that oversized hoodie you’d stolen at least three times this month. He looked like home.

“I love you,” you said, just because you could.

“I love you too,” he replied, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

From the kitchen came the sound of six boys pretending not to eavesdrop on your conversation and failing spectacularly.

“They’re never going to let us live this down, are they?” you asked.

“Never,” Mingi agreed cheerfully. “Wooyoung’s already planning to include it in his wedding speech.”

“Whose wedding?”

“Ours, apparently. He’s very optimistic.”

You laughed, snuggling closer to your wonderfully dense, completely oblivious, absolutely perfect boyfriend. “Well, he’s not wrong.”

“About what?”

“About us.”

Mingi’s smile was soft and warm and completely yours to admire. “No, he’s not.”

A/N: I need Yena's latest album so bad it hurts. Curly haired Yena... 🥺

[moonlitcelestial]

Another piece that I have designed!!

This is what you see when you get onto the Beyond the Lens website!! The one above is what you see when you click on the About Me column

Let me know what you think!

<3 Moonie

Website Media

🎥 Series Masterlist 🎥

This is a look at Beyond the Lens Studios' website, which is referenced in a couple of things, I hadn't gotten to it until here recently but I am elated to showcase a little of what it would quite possibly look like!!

P.S I'm working on something big and this is a part of a small sneak peek! Let me know what you think! <3 Moonie

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Likes, comments, reblogs, and follows are greatly appreciated!

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

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@breadedloafs @a-short-ass-disappointment @ateezswonderland @staytinyluv @cherryangel-coke @11glitch11 @neivivenaj @herpoetryprincess @starryjoong-jeongcheollie @sol3chu @diouysns @beccaskz @bands-r-my-heros @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @vtyb23 @juicyjaxxy @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @dinossaurz @bookswillfindyouaway @k-p0p-4ever

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Learning korean with Ateez :

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Beautiful Yeosang photos 🙏

Photo 1 & 2 credit @_yeostardust on X 🙏

Photos 3 to 8 Yeosang IG official account

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This is now the most precious and heartwarming video on the internet

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me when i’m a tiny cowboy who must slow it down and make it bouncy for the masses

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Fluidity in body form