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kathaelipwse · 1 month ago

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The Moment I Saw You || C.San

Pairing: Rookie.Idol!Reader x Idol!San

Requested: Yes

Word Count: 10,495 words ; Reading Time: 40-ish mins

Synopsis: They called you the "guitar rookie" — cool, mysterious, and unforgettable on stage. But for San, it only took one performance to fall completely under your spell. What starts as quiet glances and backstage banter slowly turns into secret texting, emotional confessions, and late-night comfort. But fame is cruel, and love in the spotlight even more so. When the hate gets brutal, San does something no one expects — he fights for you.

Author’s Note: This story’s a love letter to that electric spark between two people who meet in the whirlwind of fame and find peace in each other. I adore writing flustered San, loyal San, "ride-or-die" San — so this fic gave me life. Hope you enjoy the slow burn, tension, and soft chaos.

The air in the practice room always smelled faintly of sweat and ambition, a potent cocktail that you had grown accustomed to. Just six months into your solo debut, the buzz around you was a low hum, a quiet acknowledgment of the raw talent that crackled through your live performances. In a sea of perfectly synchronized dance routines and polished pop anthems, you offered something different: grit. Authenticity. And a damn good electric guitar.

Your company, a smaller label that had taken a gamble on your unique blend of idol charm and rockstar edge, was cautiously optimistic. Your digital single had performed respectably, earning you a small but fiercely loyal fanbase who appreciated your self-composed tracks and the way your fingers danced across the fretboard during live stages – a genuine rarity in the current idol landscape.

You yourself preferred the quiet hum of anticipation to the deafening roar of immediate fame. It gave you space to breathe, to hone your craft, to let the music speak for itself. Your stage presence was a carefully constructed paradox: cool and composed, almost aloof, yet undeniably magnetic. There was a mysterious charm about the way you’d offer a fleeting smirk after a particularly sharp riff, the way your dark eyes would scan the crowd with an unreadable intensity.

Tonight, however, the quiet hum was about to be amplified to a deafening roar. Tonight was the culmination of a year’s worth of relentless work: the prestigious Gayo Daejun. The air backstage thrummed with nervous energy, a chaotic symphony of hurried footsteps, last-minute mic checks, and the hushed excitement of idols from every corner of the industry.

Your own dressing room felt like a small island of calm amidst the storm. Your black custom guitar, affectionately nicknamed 'Shadow', leaned against the wall, its sleek body gleaming under the soft lighting. Your stylist fussed with the subtle silver chains adorning your black leather jacket, while your makeup artist dabbed at your already flawless smoky eye.

“Ready, Y/N-ah?” your manager, a kind but perpetually stressed man named Mr. Kim, poked his head in.

You offered a small, confident nod. Inside, however, a familiar flutter of nerves danced in your stomach. This was the biggest stage you’d ever performed on. The audience wasn’t just your fans; it was the entire Korean entertainment industry, fellow idols you admired, and millions watching at home.

As the minutes ticked by, the tension backstage thickened. Snippets of other performances drifted into your room – the booming bass of a powerful dance track, the soaring vocals of a ballad. Then, Mr. Kim gave you the signal. It was time.

Walking towards the stage felt surreal. The backstage area was a blur of glittering costumes and anxious faces. You took a deep breath, the scent of hairspray and expensive perfume filling your lungs. The roar of the crowd beyond the heavy curtains was a tangible thing, a wave of sound that promised both exhilaration and potential disaster.

Your name flashed on the monitor, and a surge of adrenaline coursed through your veins. This was it.

The lights dimmed, and a single spotlight pierced the darkness, landing squarely on your silhouette as you stood center stage, Shadow slung low across your hips. A hush fell over the arena, a pregnant silence that amplified the frantic beating of your own heart.

Then, you raised your hand, your fingers hovering over the strings. A single, clean note rang out, cutting through the silence. It was the opening of your self-composed track, a raw and edgy anthem about breaking free. The crowd responded with a wave of cheers, but you barely registered it. Your focus narrowed, your world shrinking to the six strings beneath your fingertips.

The first chord hit like a punch to the gut – a gritty, distorted power chord that reverberated through the stadium. The stage lights pulsed in time with the music, casting sharp shadows that danced around you. Your cool composure settled over you like a second skin. Head tilted slightly, you launched into the opening riff, your fingers a blur of practiced precision.

From the side of the stage, hidden in the shadows after the explosive finale of his own group’s performance, Choi San stood catching his breath. Ateez had just delivered a high-octane set, leaving the crowd in a frenzy. He was about to grab a water bottle when a lone figure walked onto the stage. He barely glanced up, expecting another flashy dance number.

But then, the first chord struck.

San froze. The plastic water bottle slipped from his suddenly numb fingers, clattering unnoticed on the floor. His jaw went slack, his breath catching in his throat. It wasn’t just the sound – though the raw, live tone of the electric guitar was a shock in itself – it was the sheer confidence emanating from the figure bathed in the spotlight.

His heart, which had been pounding from Ateez’s intense performance, now seemed to have vanished entirely, replaced by a strange, hollow ache.

He watched, unblinking, as you moved with a fluid grace that belied the aggressive energy of your music and your soft voice blending well. The way your head would snap back with a flick of your dark hair during a particularly powerful strum, the fleeting smirk that would play on your lips as you effortlessly shredded a solo – it was captivating.

The music surged, a tidal wave of sound washing over the arena. San was oblivious to the cheers of the crowd, the flashing lights, the murmurs of his own members nearby. His entire world had narrowed to the figure on stage, the girl with the guitar, the raw talent that seemed to bleed from her fingertips.

He watched as you stepped closer to the edge of the stage during a particularly intricate solo, your eyes locking with unseen members of the audience. There was a fire in them, a fierce passion that resonated deep within him.

The final chord crashed, echoing through the stadium before fading into a sudden, profound silence. Then, the arena erupted. The cheers were deafening, a testament to the captivating performance they had just witnessed.

You offered a small bow, the corner of your lips tilting into that enigmatic smirk one last time before you turned and walked off stage, disappearing behind the curtain.

San remained rooted to the spot, his mind a complete blank. The echoes of the music still vibrated in his chest. It wasn't just that you were talented; there was something else, something that had resonated with him on a visceral level.

Finally, as his members started to nudge him, concern etched on their faces, San managed a single, breathless utterance, his voice barely a whisper amidst the lingering roar of the crowd.

“…who is she?”

The adrenaline from Ateez’s performance had long since faded, replaced by a persistent, almost unsettling hum within San. Back in their dorm, the usual boisterous energy of the members felt muted, a backdrop to the insistent replay echoing in his mind. He’d excused himself shortly after they’d arrived, claiming exhaustion, but instead, he’d retreated to his bunk, phone clutched tightly in his hand.

The YouTube video title glowed on the screen: “Y/N - Iconic Solo Debut Stage @ Gayo Daejun” He’d found it within minutes of searching, the algorithm already attuned to the sudden spike in interest surrounding the mysterious guitarist.

He pressed play.

The opening chord of ‘[Your Song Title]’ reverberated through his earbuds, sending a familiar jolt through him. He watched, his eyes glued to the screen, as you stepped into the spotlight. Every subtle movement, every confident strum, every flick of your hair was magnified, imbued with a significance he couldn’t quite articulate.

He watched the entire performance again, and then again. A strange tension coiled in his stomach, a feeling he hadn’t experienced before. It wasn’t just admiration for your talent; it was something deeper, something that felt intensely personal.

On the fourth viewing, he paused the video. It was a fleeting moment, almost imperceptible – a small, genuine smile that flickered across your lips after nailing a particularly challenging riff. It wasn’t a practiced idol smile for the cameras; it was a flash of pure, unadulterated joy, a glimpse behind the cool facade. San’s thumb hovered over the screen, tracing the curve of your smile as if he could somehow capture the feeling it evoked within him. His chest tightened.

He replayed the solo, the intricate melody and the raw energy of your playing sending shivers down his spine. He’d always appreciated good musicianship, but this… this was different. It wasn't just skill; it was soul. It was like the music was an extension of you, a direct line to something honest and captivating.

A restless energy began to build within him. He needed to know more.

He exited YouTube and opened his browser, typing in your stage name. Information flooded the screen: your full name, your company, the name of your debut single, even a few interviews where you spoke shyly about your music and your unconventional path as a guitar-playing idol. He clicked on every link, devouring every piece of information, piecing together a fragmented image of the person behind the captivating performer.

He learned you were a soloist, which surprised him. Your stage presence felt like it could command an entire band. He scrolled through fan forums, reading comments that echoed his own fascination: “Who is this girl?”, “That guitar solo was insane!”, “Her vibe is so cool.”

Later, when a few of the members had gathered in the common room, their post-show buzz slowly dissipating into comfortable exhaustion, San couldn’t contain it any longer. He wandered in, his phone still clutched in his hand.

“Do you guys know the rookie guitarist from tonight?” he asked, his voice a little too eager.

Wooyoung, sprawled on the couch scrolling through his own phone, looked up, a playful smirk already forming on his lips. “You mean the one you haven’t stopped watching on your phone?”

San flushed slightly, trying to appear nonchalant. “I was just… impressed. Her live playing was really something.”

Jongho, ever the straightforward one, nodded. “She was good. Definitely stood out.”

Hongjoong, who had been quietly sketching in a notebook, looked up, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Bro. You’ve watched that clip six times since we got back.”

San’s ears burned. He hadn’t realized he’d been that obvious. He mumbled something about needing to analyze different performance styles.

Hongjoong leaned back, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. “Analyzing, huh? Or maybe… admiring?” He tapped his pen against his chin thoughtfully. “She did have a certain… je ne sais quoi.”

San avoided his leader’s gaze, suddenly finding the pattern on the rug intensely interesting.

“Just ask her out already, Romeo,” Hongjoong added, his voice laced with playful teasing.

San’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “Hyung! What? No! I just… I was curious about her music.”

The other members exchanged knowing glances, a chorus of suppressed chuckles filling the room. San knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. The image of you on stage, bathed in that single spotlight, the raw sound of your guitar echoing in his ears, was firmly imprinted in his mind. The quiet hum of curiosity had morphed into something far more insistent, a burgeoning fascination that felt dangerously close to… obsession. And he had a feeling this was just the beginning.

The fluorescent lights of the music show backstage buzzed with a familiar, almost sterile energy. A few days had passed since the Gayo Daejun, and the memory of your performance still lingered in San’s mind like a favorite song he couldn’t stop humming. He’d tried to play it cool around his members, deflecting their teasing with awkward jokes and feigned disinterest. But the truth was, he’d spent a significant amount of his downtime rewatching your stage and scrolling through any new information he could find about you. He even found a few fan-made compilation videos of your live guitar moments, each one further solidifying his initial captivated impression.

Fate, or perhaps his own carefully orchestrated movements, had brought them both to the same music show today. Ateez had an early performance slot, and San had been surprisingly subdued throughout their pre-show preparations, his usual playful energy noticeably absent. His mind was elsewhere, a nervous anticipation thrumming beneath his skin. He kept replaying Hongjoong’s teasing words – “Just ask her out already, Romeo” – and a ridiculous scenario where he tripped over his own feet while trying to introduce himself.

He’d subtly inquired about your schedule from one of the staff members he knew, feigning general interest in the lineup. When he learned your dressing room was on the same floor, a few doors down from Ateez’s, a plan began to form – a flimsy, transparent excuse to be in your vicinity. He’d even rehearsed a few potential opening lines in his head, ranging from a simple “Hello” to a more elaborate (and probably disastrous) compliment about your guitar tone.

Now, his heart hammered against his ribs as he stood outside your dressing room, a half-empty water bottle clutched in his hand. He’d “coincidentally” run out of water just as Ateez’s segment wrapped up, and this hallway, he’d reasoned, was the most logical place to find a water dispenser. He leaned against the cool wall, trying to project an air of casual nonchalance, taking slow, deliberate sips. Every distant footstep echoing down the corridor sent a jolt of nervous energy through him. He silently berated himself for his lack of composure. He was Choi San, for crying out loud. He commanded stages filled with roaring fans. Why was this one potential interaction turning him into a stammering mess?

Then, the door to your dressing room opened.

San’s breath hitched. You stepped out, your manager, a slightly harried-looking man in a crisp suit, a few paces behind you, both seemingly engrossed in a quiet conversation. You were dressed in a stylishly understated outfit for your post-performance interviews – dark wash jeans, a slightly oversized band tee, and a delicate silver necklace peeking out from beneath the collar. Your dark hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail that accentuated the sharp angles of your jawline and the delicate curve of your neck. San’s gaze lingered for a fraction too long.

For a split second, your eyes met his. Your expression was neutral, a polite acknowledgment of a familiar face in the industry. But for San, it felt like a spotlight had suddenly illuminated him. He froze, his carefully constructed facade of nonchalance crumbling into a jumbled mess of nerves and a sudden, intense awareness of his own slightly sweaty post-performance state.

He hadn’t planned what to say, hadn’t rehearsed any smooth lines that could possibly convey the impact your performance had had on him. All the witty remarks and carefully crafted compliments he’d mentally conjured vanished from his brain, leaving him with a single, overwhelming thought: it’s really her. Up close, the intensity he’d witnessed on stage was somehow both amplified and softened.

As you drew closer, his throat suddenly felt incredibly dry. He pushed himself off the wall, his legs feeling strangely unsteady, like he’d just finished a particularly grueling choreography session. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but all that came out was a strangled, almost bird-like sound. He winced internally.

“You were…” he finally managed, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, the sound echoing awkwardly in the relatively quiet hallway, and tried again, his gaze fixed somewhere around your shoulder, unable to meet your eyes directly. “You were… amazing. At the Gayo… the guitar part? Insane.” He cringed internally at his utterly inadequate delivery. Insane? Really, San? That’s the best you could come up with?

You stopped walking, a genuine hint of surprise flickering in your dark eyes. You shyly tucked a loose strand of hair that had escaped your ponytail behind your ear, a delicate, almost unconscious gesture that San found inexplicably endearing. A faint blush, barely perceptible, dusted your cheeks. You lowered your gaze slightly.

“Thank you,” you replied softly, your voice even more melodic and nuanced than he’d expected from your powerful yet soft singing voice. “I… I didn’t think anyone noticed. It felt a little… out of place, maybe, amidst all the other amazing performances.” You offered a small, self-deprecating smile.

San’s internal monologue was a chaotic scream of flailing limbs and incoherent noises. She doesn’t think anyone noticed?! It was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen! Tell her! Tell her how it made you feel! Tell her you haven’t stopped thinking about it!

But outwardly, he could only manage a slightly wider, albeit still awkward, smile and a more emphatic nod. “Noticed? Are you kidding? It was… captivating. The way you played, the energy… it was completely different. In a really, really good way.” He finally managed to meet your eyes, and the intensity he felt seemed to momentarily surprise you. He quickly looked away again, suddenly feeling like he was staring.

He wanted to say so much more – to tell you how the rawness of your sound had cut through the usual polished perfection, how your confidence with the guitar had been incredibly inspiring, how he’d rewatched your solo countless times. But the words seemed trapped in his throat, choked by a sudden wave of self-consciousness and the unexpected reality of you standing right in front of him.

He offered another small, slightly less awkward smile, hoping it conveyed at least a fraction of the genuine admiration and burgeoning fascination he felt. You returned the smile, a brief, shy curve of your lips that sent another unexpected jolt through him, settling somewhere warm and unfamiliar in his chest.

Then, your manager, who had been patiently observing the exchange, gently placed a hand on your arm. “We should probably get going, Y/N-ah. The interview with Star News is starting soon, and they’re waiting.”

“Right,” you said, nodding apologetically. You offered San another quick, polite nod, your eyes briefly meeting his again with a hint of something he couldn’t quite decipher before continuing down the hallway with your manager.

San watched you walk away, your ponytail swaying gently with each step, his mind still reeling from the brief but impactful interaction. He’d actually spoken to you. He’d sounded like a complete idiot, but he’d spoken to you. He replayed the exchange in his head, dissecting every word, every glance, the shy tuck of your hair, the soft melody of your voice.

He took a long, shaky gulp of water, the coolness doing little to quell the heat rising in his cheeks. He leaned back against the wall again, a goofy, starstruck grin slowly spreading across his face. Choi San, the charismatic performer known for his powerful stage presence and confident charm, was officially a flustered mess. And he had a distinct feeling that this brief backstage run-in was just the beginning of a much more complicated – and potentially exhilarating – chapter.

The weeks that followed the music show took on a surreal quality for both you and San. For you, the unexpected compliment from a senior idol, especially one as charismatic as San of Ateez, had been a pleasant surprise. You’d replayed the brief interaction in your mind a few times, a faint warmth spreading through you at the memory of his earnest, if slightly stammering, praise. You’d even found yourself looking up Ateez’s performances afterwards, a newfound curiosity piqued by his intense stage presence and the powerful dynamic of his group.

Then, the “bump-ins” began.

It started subtly. At the company cafeteria, you’d be mid-bite into your kimbap when you’d glance up to find Ateez at a nearby table, their usual boisterous energy filling the space. More often than not, your eyes would meet San’s, and he’d offer a quick, friendly smile, sometimes accompanied by a small wave. You’d offer a shy nod in return, a blush creeping up your neck.

At music show waiting rooms, their paths seemed to intersect with increasing frequency. He’d always find a reason to approach – a casual “Hey, Y/N-ssi, your performance today was great,” or a lighthearted comment about the chaos backstage. Once, he’d even complimented the unique design on your guitar strap, sparking a brief, slightly awkward but undeniably pleasant conversation about your musical influences.

You tried to rationalize it as coincidence, the inevitable overlap of schedules in the relatively small and interconnected idol world. But a persistent feeling, a delicate dance of anticipation and nervousness, began to bloom in your chest. Every time his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at you, a little spark ignited within you.

You found yourself paying more attention to your appearance on days you knew Ateez would be at the same events, and a nervous flutter would erupt in your stomach whenever you heard their distinct laughter echoing down the hallway.

San, on his end, was far from relying on mere chance. He’d become a surprisingly adept strategist, his internal radar constantly pinging for any sign of your presence. He’d casually inquire about your schedule from friendly staff members, linger a little longer near common areas he knew you sometimes frequented, like the practice room hallways or the studio lounges, and even subtly enlist the help of Wooyoung and Seonghwa to “casually” scout ahead.

His members, initially amused by his sudden, laser-like focus, were now exchanging knowing glances and offering increasingly unsubtle teases. “Looking for your sunshine again, San-ah?” Hongjoong had quipped one afternoon, earning him a playful shove.

Then came the official announcement that sent a genuine tremor of excitement through the industry: a special collaboration stage for the upcoming Golden Disc Awards. And your name was listed alongside Ateez. Specifically, the press release detailed a duet and a joint performance piece that would culminate in a powerful instrumental break featuring your guitar playing alongside Ateez’s signature dynamic energy. And the duet partner? Choi San.

A wave of surprise, quickly followed by a surge of nervous excitement that made your palms sweat, washed over you when your manager relayed the news. A collaboration with a group as globally recognized and incredibly talented as Ateez was a monumental opportunity, a chance to reach a wider audience. But the thought of working so intimately with San, the idol who had sparked this unexpected and rather persistent flutter in your heart, sent a different kind of thrill, a more personal and slightly dizzying sensation, through you.

Rehearsals began a week later, a whirlwind of choreography practices with Ateez’s formidable dance line, vocal run-throughs where your voices surprisingly blended with a unique harmony, and meticulous stage blocking sessions. The song was a powerful, emotionally charged ballad that built to an explosive instrumental bridge, perfectly designed to showcase both Ateez’s dramatic performance skills and your raw, emotive guitar prowess.

During these rehearsals, San’s attention was often, though not always overtly, fixed on you. It wasn’t the intense, unwavering gaze from the Gayo stage, but a softer, more curious observation. When you were carefully tuning Shadow before a run-through, the delicate movements of your fingers across the fretboard seemed to captivate him.

He’d lean against the wall, his usual playful banter momentarily silenced, his eyes following your every adjustment. Once, he’d even asked, his voice genuinely curious, “What tuning are you using for this song? It sounds… different.” You’d explained the drop-D tuning and how it lent a heavier feel to the lower register, and he’d listened intently, nodding thoughtfully.

Between takes, as you’d often hum the melody to yourself, lost in the intricacies of the arrangement, his gaze would linger on you, a soft, almost fond smile playing on his lips. Sometimes, he’d even hum along quietly, and you’d catch his eye, a shared moment of musical connection passing between you.

From his perspective, every small detail about you seemed to be etching itself into his memory. The way your brow would furrow in intense concentration as you worked out a particularly complex chord progression, the way you’d tap your foot rhythmically even when you weren’t playing, the small, almost imperceptible sigh you’d let out after a particularly demanding vocal section.

Even the subtle scent that seemed to perpetually surround you – a delicate blend of warm vanilla and a bright, refreshing citrus – became a comforting and uniquely yours sensory detail that he’d subconsciously started to associate with moments of quiet focus and unexpected smiles.

He started calling you “sunshine.” It began innocently enough, a casual remark during a particularly grueling rehearsal when you’d offered a quiet but encouraging word to a visibly tired Wooyoung. “You’re like sunshine, Y/N -ssi,” he’d said with a genuine smile, and the nickname had stuck.

He used it sparingly, mostly during lighter moments or when he wanted to offer encouragement. But the way your cheeks would instantly flush a delicate pink every time the nickname escaped his lips, the way your gaze would momentarily soften and then quickly dart away, told him it had a deeper, more personal impact.

You tried your best to maintain your professional composure, focusing intently on the intricate vocal harmonies you shared with San and the precise timing required for your guitar solo within Ateez’s powerful choreography. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the warmth that spread through you every time San’s gaze lingered a little too long, or the way your heart did a little flip-flop whenever he offered you a genuine, encouraging smile, often accompanied by that endearing nickname.

His presence was a constant, gentle distraction, a warm current that made it harder to maintain your focus but also made the often-stressful rehearsal process feel surprisingly lighter, filled with stolen glances and unspoken understandings.

The tension between you was building, an invisible thread stretching taut with each shared rehearsal and fleeting interaction. It wasn’t just the pressure of the highly anticipated Golden Disc performance; it was the undeniable pull of mutual attraction, a silent conversation conducted through lingering glances, shy smiles, and the shared language of music.

You both knew something was subtly shifting, a delicate connection forming beneath the surface of polite professional interactions. The Golden Disc stage was looming, and with it, the tantalizing promise of a closer collaboration, and perhaps, something significantly more.

The exchange of phone numbers had been a purely practical affair, orchestrated with the efficiency of a military operation by your respective managers under the guise of “seamless rehearsal coordination” for the Golden Disc collaboration. Your contact list now held a new, somewhat official-sounding entry: “San (Ateez) 🎤.” You’d sent a polite introductory text confirming your number, a brief “Hi San-ssi, it’s Y/N. Got your number,” and he’d replied with a simple but friendly, “Got it! Looking forward to working with you, Y/N-ssi :)”. The initial exchange felt formal, almost anticlimactic, leaving you wondering if that would be the extent of your direct communication outside of rehearsals.

However, as the intense rehearsal schedule for the Golden Disc Awards kicked into high gear, the need for direct communication occasionally and organically arose. A last-minute change in the choreography blocking that affected your stage positioning, a question from San about the specific tone you were aiming for during the instrumental break, a quick confirmation needed on shared wardrobe elements to ensure visual harmony on stage.

These exchanges were usually brief and strictly professional, yet each notification that popped up on your screen displaying San’s name still elicited a subtle, almost involuntary quickening of your pulse, a tiny flutter of anticipation that you tried to suppress.

Then came the night after a particularly grueling full dress rehearsal that had stretched late into the evening. You were finally back in the quiet solitude of your dorm room, the distant hum of the city lights painting faint, blurry streaks across your ceiling.

Your body ached in places you didn’t even know existed, your mind still buzzing with the complex choreography, the intricate vocal harmonies you shared with San, and the soaring melody of the collaboration song that had been looping in your head for hours. You’d changed into comfortable pajamas and were mindlessly scrolling through social media on your phone, a familiar and usually effective way to unwind before sleep claimed you, when your phone vibrated with a new message.

The contact name displayed brightly on your screen read “San (Ateez) 🎤.” Your thumb hovered over the notification for a long moment, a strange and unfamiliar mix of anticipation, nervousness, and a touch of something akin to excitement swirling within you. It was late; you hadn’t expected to hear from him.

San (1:03 am): Were you nervous that night? At the Gayo. You didn’t look it at all. Like you owned that stage from the moment you stepped on it.

A small, genuine smile touched your lips. He was thinking about your debut stage again. It felt like a lifetime ago in the whirlwind of the past few months, yet the memory of the intense spotlight, the roar of the crowd, and the raw, unfiltered energy of your music was still incredibly vivid. You hesitated for a moment before replying, carefully considering your words, unsure of how much vulnerability to reveal.

You (1:04 am): Terrified. Honestly. My palms were sweating so much I thought I might drop Shadow. I just didn’t want to screw up on such a big stage, especially as a relatively new face.

Your reply felt honest, stripped of the cool, composed confidence you consciously projected on stage. You wondered if he’d find it surprising, perhaps even disappointing, that the seemingly fearless guitarist had been battling a storm of nerves underneath.

His response came almost immediately, the speed of it making you smile again.

San (1:04 am): Seriously? You were incredible. You commanded that stage like it was your own. The way you moved, the way you connected with the music… and that guitar solo… still gives me chills every time I watch it. You have such a unique energy.

A warm, fuzzy feeling spread through your chest at his words. It was different from the polite, often generic compliments you usually received from industry colleagues. There was a genuine enthusiasm and a keen observation in his message that felt… real and deeply validating.

San (1:05 am): Next time you’re on a big stage like that, I’m cheering for you from the front row. Promise. I’ll even bring a giant banner with your name on it!! :}

Your heart did a little unexpected flutter at that playful promise. A promise from Choi San, delivered in the quiet intimacy of a late-night text message. You typed out a simple “Thank you :]” but deleted it, feeling it was far too inadequate to express the warmth that was blossoming within you.

You (1:06 am): That means a lot, San-ssi. Really. It’s… reassuring to hear that.

The late-night texts slowly but surely became a more regular, almost anticipated occurrence. They were often initiated by San, usually after both of your demanding schedules had finally wound down for the day, when the rest of the bustling idol world seemed to have finally fallen silent.

They talked about everything and nothing – the unique pressures and unexpected joys of being an idol, their individual musical tastes and surprising shared interests in obscure indie artists, funny and sometimes slightly embarrassing anecdotes from their respective days.

You found yourself genuinely looking forward to these digital exchanges, the quiet intimacy of sharing your thoughts and feelings with someone who seemed to genuinely understand the unique and often isolating pressures you faced in the industry.

San was surprisingly easy to talk to, his digital persona mirroring the warm and playful energy he exuded in person, but with an added layer of thoughtful curiosity. His texts were often punctuated with a liberal use of playful emojis and genuine, insightful questions.

He’d delve into your songwriting process, asking about your lyrical inspirations and the emotions you aimed to convey through your music. He even remembered the name of your guitar, Shadow, and would occasionally ask about it, curious about its history and your connection to it.

You found yourself opening up to him in a way you hadn’t with many others in the industry, the relative anonymity and unspoken understanding of the late-night messages creating a safe and comfortable space for vulnerability.

One particularly hectic afternoon, in the midst of a chaotic day of back-to-back schedules that included a radio interview and a photoshoot, your phone buzzed with a picture message from San. Your initial thought was that it was probably another funny meme his members had sent him.

But when you opened it, your breath hitched slightly. It was a selfie of him, looking slightly tired but grinning broadly, his dark hair a little tousled, holding up a piece of slightly crumpled white paper. Scrawled on it in playful, slightly uneven lettering, adorned with a few charmingly crooked doodles, were the words: “Team Y/N”. He’d even drawn a little stick figure playing a guitar next to your name, its shape endearingly lopsided.

A genuine, unguarded smile bloomed on your face, chasing away some of the day’s accumulated stress. You quickly saved the picture to a private album in your gallery, tucking it away amongst your personal photos, a secret little treasure.

Every now and then, when the relentless pressures of the industry felt particularly overwhelming or isolating, you’d find yourself subconsciously scrolling through your gallery and stumbling upon that silly, heartfelt selfie, and a wave of unexpected warmth and quiet support would wash over you, a tangible reminder of the connection you were slowly building. The late-night whispers in the digital darkness were undeniably weaving a delicate but strengthening thread of something special and undeniably personal between you and Choi San.

The Golden Disc Awards ceremony was a blur of flashing lights, roaring applause, and the nervous energy that permeated every corner of the massive venue. Your collaboration stage with Ateez had been a resounding success.

The ballad, initially a gentle blend of your vocals and San’s, had built in intensity, culminating in the powerful instrumental break where your guitar solo intertwined seamlessly with Ateez’s dynamic performance. The crowd had been captivated, a sea of glowing lightsticks swaying in unison.

Backstage, the atmosphere was electric with post-performance adrenaline. You exchanged exhausted but exhilarated smiles with the Ateez members, a sense of shared accomplishment hanging in the air. San’s eyes had met yours a few times amidst the congratulatory chaos, a soft, knowing smile passing between you that spoke volumes without uttering a single word.

As the evening progressed, and the awards ceremony moved onto other performances and announcements, the opportunity for a private moment felt increasingly elusive. Yet, a silent understanding seemed to exist between you and San, a shared desire to acknowledge the unspoken feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface of rehearsals and late-night texts.

Finally, during a brief intermission, amidst the flurry of idols heading to the refreshment areas or making quick phone calls, San caught your eye from across the bustling backstage corridor. He offered a subtle nod towards a less-trafficked hallway leading towards the emergency exits, a silent invitation.

Your heart skipped a beat. You made a quick excuse to your manager about needing some fresh air and followed him, your steps light with a mixture of anticipation and nervous excitement.

The hallway was dimly lit and blessedly quiet, a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos you’d just escaped. San was leaning against the cool wall, his hands tucked into the pockets of his stylish stage jacket. He looked up as you approached, his usual playful energy replaced by a soft, almost vulnerable expression.

A comfortable silence settled between you for a moment, the unspoken tension thick in the air. You fiddled with the hem of your dress, your gaze fixed on the patterned carpet.

“That was… incredible,” you murmured, breaking the silence, the adrenaline of the performance still coursing through you. “Thank you for… for everything during rehearsals. It was amazing working with you all.”

San pushed himself off the wall, taking a step closer. His gaze was intense, focused solely on you. “The pleasure was all ours, Y/N-ah. Your playing… it added a whole other dimension to the song.” He paused, then his voice softened. “But you know… tonight… when we were performing…”

You finally lifted your gaze to meet his, a question in your eyes.

You murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, the words feeling both inevitable and terrifying to voice, “You weren’t looking at the audience tonight, San-ssi. Not really. You were looking at me.”

A soft, almost shy smile spread across his face, a smile that reached his eyes and made your heart do that familiar little flip. He took another step closer, closing the remaining distance between you.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice low and husky, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah, I was. And you’re right.” He took a deep breath, as if gathering his courage. “That’s… that’s when I knew I was in trouble.”

He reached out, his fingers gently brushing against your hand, sending a jolt of electricity through you. He didn’t take your hand fully, but the light touch was enough.

“From the moment I saw you on that Gayo stage,” he continued, his voice earnest and sincere, “there was something… I don’t know. Something about your passion, your talent… it just… it hit me. Hard.” He chuckled softly, a nervous sound. “And then getting to know you during rehearsals, those late-night texts… it just confirmed what I was already starting to feel.”

He finally met your gaze fully, his eyes filled with a vulnerability that mirrored your own. “I… I really like you, [Your Stage Name]-ah. A lot. And I know this is probably crazy, especially with our careers and everything… but I wanted to be honest with you. I want to give this a real shot. If… if you’re okay with it.”

The sincerity in his voice, the gentle touch of his fingers, the vulnerability in his eyes – it all washed over you, confirming the feelings that had been quietly blossoming in your own heart. The late-night conversations, the stolen glances during rehearsals, the unexpected warmth of his attention – it had all pointed to this moment.

A soft smile bloomed on your own lips, mirroring his. You finally laced your fingers through his, your touch tentative but firm.

“San-ssi,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, “I… I like you too. A lot more than I probably should.” You took a deep breath, your gaze locked with his. “I was… I was falling too.”

A wave of relief washed over his face, his grip on your hand tightening gently. The quiet hallway suddenly felt like the only place in the world, the hushed silence amplifying the unspoken emotions that hung between you. In that dimly lit space, amidst the whirlwind of the idol world, a new chapter had quietly begun.

The initial secrecy of your relationship with San was a fragile, precious thing. It thrived in the quiet moments, in the stolen glances across crowded rooms, and the coded language of late-night texts. Small, tangible tokens of affection became your secret communication.

Notes, folded into impossibly small squares, would appear nestled amongst the strings of Shadow, San’s playful handwriting a stark contrast to the serious intent of his sweet messages. Bubble teas, delivered with a knowing smile by a staff member who’d clearly been briefed, were a small, sweet rebellion against the demands of your schedules. You, in turn, would leave little gifts in Ateez’s studio, a silent acknowledgment of the connection that was growing stronger with each passing day.

But the digital world offered no true sanctuary. The leaked photo, blurry and taken from a distance, was enough to shatter the illusion of privacy. Two figures, walking hand-in-hand under the dim glow of a streetlamp – San’s unmistakable silhouette, your smaller frame – were all it took to ignite the internet.

The explosion was immediate and brutal. Comment sections became battlegrounds, initial curiosity quickly morphing into a torrent of negativity. Accusations of using San for fame were rampant, your talent dismissed, your worth questioned. “She’s just a leech!” one comment screamed. “Riding on Ateez’s success!”

The rigid expectations of idol life fueled the fire. “A rookie dating? Unbelievable!” another user fumed. “She should be focused on her career, not boys!” The attacks grew increasingly personal, descending into cruel insults about your appearance and unfounded rumors about your character. “She’s so plain,” one anonymous commenter sneered. “No wonder she has to cling to someone famous.”

Yet, in the face of this online onslaught, your fans stood firm. They defended your talent, your hard work, your right to a private life. “Leave her alone! She’s an amazing artist!” their voices echoed across the digital space. Surprisingly, a significant number of ATINYs joined their ranks, their support for San extending to his personal happiness. “If San is happy, we should be happy for him,” one ATINY wrote, a sentiment that resonated with many.

Despite this unwavering support, the sheer volume of hate was overwhelming. The negativity seeped into the real world. Your company’s social media was flooded with abusive messages. Your manager’s phone rang non-stop with angry calls.

Then came the chilling delivery. A stark white box. Inside, funeral flowers – white chrysanthemums. A typed note, its words a venomous threat, a stark warning to stay away from San.

The sight of those flowers, a tangible manifestation of such intense hatred, sent a cold wave of fear through you. The joy of your new relationship was instantly poisoned.

San, who had been watching the online storm with growing fury, finally snapped when he learned about the funeral flowers. The image of those stark white blooms, the direct threat against you, ignited a protective rage. He couldn't stand by while you were subjected to such vicious malice.

The playful, loving man you were falling for was momentarily consumed by a fierce, unwavering determination to shield you from the darkness that had descended upon you.

The notification popped up on countless screens simultaneously: “ATEEZ San is live.” Within seconds, the number of viewers skyrocketed. Fans, still reeling from the leaked photo and the ensuing chaos, flooded the chat with questions and worried emojis. San’s lives were usually energetic, filled with playful banter and updates on Ateez’s activities. This felt different.

The camera focused on San’s face, his expression uncharacteristically serious, his eyes holding a raw intensity that made viewers instantly fall silent. He was in what looked like a quiet corner of their dorm, the usual playful clutter noticeably absent. He took a deep breath, his gaze steady and direct.

“Atinys,” he began, his voice lower than usual, carrying a weight that commanded attention. “And… everyone else who is watching.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the unseen viewers. “Over the past few days, there has been a lot of… speculation and negativity online. Regarding the recent photos that were circulated.”

He didn’t name you directly, but everyone knew who he was talking about. The chat, which had been a torrent of messages moments before, slowed to a crawl, a collective holding of breath.

“I usually try to keep my personal life private,” San continued, his voice firm. “But the level of hate and maliciousness that has been directed towards… someone I care deeply about… it cannot be ignored.”

His jaw tightened. “So, I want to be clear about a few things. Firstly, the hateful comments, the personal attacks, the threats… they have gone too far. My company, KQ Entertainment, is already collecting evidence, and if this does not stop immediately, we will be taking strict legal action against those responsible. This is not a request; it is a warning.”

A hush fell over the internet. The mention of legal action, especially from a company known for its protective stance towards its artists, was a serious deterrent.

San’s gaze softened slightly, a hint of vulnerability flickering in his eyes. “Secondly,” he continued, his voice dropping a notch, becoming more personal. “I have seen a lot of unfair accusations being thrown around. Especially towards… her.”

He paused again, taking another deep breath. “So, let me be absolutely clear on this. She did not pursue me. She did not initiate anything. If anyone is to blame for… for us… it is me. I was the one who was captivated from the moment I saw her on stage. I was the one who sought her out. She didn’t confess; I did.”

The impact of his words was palpable. The narrative that had been so viciously constructed online, painting you as an opportunistic rookie, crumbled in an instant.

San’s expression hardened again, his eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness. “Finally,” he said, his voice ringing with conviction. “The person you are all attacking… she is not some fantasy you have created in your minds. She is not some character in a story. She is a real person. She has feelings, she has dreams, she has worked incredibly hard to get where she is.”

He looked directly into the camera, his gaze unwavering. “And yes,” he stated, his voice firm and resolute, each word carrying weight. “She is mine.”

The internet seemed to hold its breath. The usual rapid-fire commentary in the live chat was replaced by a stunned silence. San’s raw honesty, his direct address of the hate, and his unequivocal declaration had landed like a shockwave.

Slowly, tentatively, the tide began to turn. The sheer force of his statement, coupled with the explicit threat of legal action, had a chilling effect. The most vicious hate comments began to subside, replaced by more cautious and uncertain messages. The fear of facing legal repercussions started to outweigh the anonymity and perceived impunity of online hate.

The narrative had shifted, propelled by San’s unwavering defense of the person he loved. The silence on the internet was heavy, pregnant with the aftermath of his words, and the dawning realization that they had crossed a line they might now have to answer for.

The moment San ended the live stream, the adrenaline that had coursed through him began to recede, leaving behind a raw ache of anxiety. Had he said too much? Had he made things worse for you? The uncertainty gnawed at him as he practically sprinted out of the dorm, his members watching with a mixture of concern and understanding. He didn't offer any explanations, his only focus was getting to you.

The drive to your dorm felt like an eternity. Every red light, every slow-moving car, amplified his fear. He imagined you alone, facing the fallout of the scandal, the weight of the hate, and now, the potential repercussions of his public declaration. He cursed himself for not being there sooner, for not being able to shield you from any of it.

Finally, he reached your building, his heart pounding in his chest. He practically flew up the stairs to your floor, his knuckles rapping urgently against your door. Every second felt like a lifetime.

The door creaked open, and there you stood. Your eyes were red-rimmed, and your face was pale, but the sight of him seemed to bring a flicker of relief. Before either of you could speak, he pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a fierce protectiveness. He held you so close he could feel the tremor that ran through your body.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so, so sorry for all of this.”

You clung to him, burying your face in his chest, the familiar scent of his cologne a small anchor in the storm of your emotions. Your own voice was muffled against his jacket as you finally spoke.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, San-ah,” you whispered, your words catching on a sob. “You… you didn’t cause this.”

The dam of your carefully held emotions finally broke. Tears streamed down your face, hot and heavy against his shirt. The fear, the anger, the exhaustion of the past few days – it all poured out in a torrent of silent weeping.

He held you tighter, his hand stroking your hair soothingly. He didn’t try to stop your tears; he simply held you, offering a silent reassurance, a solid presence in your moment of vulnerability. He knew words were inadequate. What you needed was comfort, understanding, and the knowledge that you weren't alone.

He held you like that for a long time, until your sobs gradually subsided, leaving behind a quiet hiccuping. He gently pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own filled with a deep tenderness. He brushed a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb.

“Are you… are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice laced with concern.

You managed a small, shaky nod. “Just… scared.”

“I know,” he whispered, pulling you back into his embrace. “I know. But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He stayed with you that night. You didn’t talk much, the silence filled with a comfortable understanding, a shared exhaustion. He held you close on your small couch, his presence a warm and reassuring weight. Sleep eventually claimed you both, a fragile peace found in each other’s arms amidst the wreckage of the scandal.

The aftermath of San’s live stream was a strange mix of relief and lingering tension. The most vitriolic hate comments online did indeed slow down, replaced by a hesitant uncertainty. The fear of legal action had cast a pall over the most aggressive antis. However, the underlying prejudice and negativity hadn’t vanished entirely.

In the days and weeks that followed, healing became a slow, deliberate process. You leaned on each other, finding strength in your shared experience. San was a constant source of support, his presence a quiet reassurance that helped to soothe your frayed nerves. You talked, tentatively at first, then more openly, sharing your fears and anxieties. He listened without judgment, offering comfort and unwavering support.

Your company, emboldened by San’s public stance and the threat of legal action, stepped up their efforts to protect you, increasing security and actively pursuing legal avenues against the most egregious offenders. The storm hadn't completely passed, but the intensity had lessened, a fragile calm beginning to settle in its wake. The healing had begun, nurtured by the quiet strength of your connection.

Eleven months. The memory of the scandal’s harsh glare had begun to soften around the edges, like a photograph left in the sun. In its place bloomed a quiet resilience, a steadfast focus on the music that truly defined you. The songs you’d poured your heart into during those months of healing, each note and lyric a testament to your journey, were finally seeing the light.

Your new album, a collection of melodies that whispered of romance and longing, resonated with a global audience in a way that surpassed all expectations. The vulnerability and emotions in your voice, the delicate arrangements, the raw honesty of your lyrics – they spoke a universal language of the heart. Fans, who had witnessed the subtle shifts in your music and your demeanor, intuitively understood the quiet inspiration woven into each track.

You watched, a profound sense of gratitude washing over you, as your album soared up international charts, your name now synonymous with a unique blend of idol charm and genuine musical artistry. The label of “rookie guitarist” had faded, replaced by the recognition of a rising star, your music captivating hearts across continents.

Throughout this whirlwind of success, San remained your unwavering anchor, your most enthusiastic supporter. His encouragement was a constant, a quiet strength that buoyed you through every demanding schedule and nerve-wracking performance. He’d be the first to text after a show, his messages a flurry of emojis and heartfelt praise. The Ateez dorm often echoed with your new tracks, his members offering good-natured teases while secretly humming along to the catchy melodies.

And when your solo concerts began, San made sure he was there. He’d often slip into the venue unnoticed, a face in the crowd, his gaze never leaving you as you commanded the stage. From the shadows, his phone would capture fleeting moments – the intense concentration etched on your face during a complex guitar solo, the radiant smile that bloomed when the audience sang your lyrics back to you, the sheer joy that radiated from you as you connected with your fans through your music. His phone gallery became a secret testament to your talent and the pride he felt.

One night, after an electrifying concert in Las Vegas, the energy between you and the roaring audience a tangible force, San felt an overwhelming wave of love and admiration. He wanted the world to know the depth of his feelings, the sheer luck he felt in having you in his life.

Back in his hotel room, the glittering cityscape spread out before him, he scrolled through the candid shots he’d taken that night. He selected a few that truly captured your essence – the focused intensity in your eyes as you played, the pure joy in your laughter as you interacted with the crowd, your silhouette a powerful presence against the vibrant stage lights.

He opened his public Instagram account, his thumb hovering over the share button. He wanted to express his feelings honestly, openly, for all to see. Finally, he typed a caption, his heart laid bare:

“Watching you shine so brightly tonight, Y/N, fills me with a happiness I can barely describe. Your talent is breathtaking, your passion is infectious, and the way you connect with everyone who hears your music is truly magical. I feel incredibly lucky, every single day, to have you in my life. You inspire me endlessly. ❤️🎸”

He attached the soft, candid photos, a public declaration of his love and admiration. The post went live, and the internet responded with an outpouring of warmth and support. Fans, who had long sensed the depth of your connection, were touched by his heartfelt words and the genuine pride that shone through.

The image of the charismatic idol so openly celebrating his partner resonated deeply, solidifying their perception of your relationship as a source of strength and inspiration. The rise of your star was no longer just your own triumph; it was a shared journey, a testament to the enduring power of love that had weathered the storm and now shone brightly for the world to witness.

The relentless pace of idol life often blurred into a continuous cycle of performances, recordings, and travel. But tucked away in the quiet corners of their shared apartment, a haven carved out amidst the chaos, existed a different reality – a space where the bright lights faded and the masks came off.

Tonight was one of those nights. You were curled up on the plush couch, a worn paperback novel open in your lap, bathed in the soft glow of a nearby lamp. San’s oversized hoodie swallowed your small frame, the sleeves pulled down over your hands. Your hair was piled messily on top of your head, secured with a stray hair tie, and your glasses rested on the bridge of your nose, your makeup-free skin looking soft and natural. You were completely absorbed in your book, oblivious to the world outside and the adoring gaze fixed upon you.

San, who had been quietly tinkering with some music equipment across the room, paused, his eyes drawn to the picture of domestic bliss you presented. A soft smile touched his lips. He reached for his phone, snapping a quick, candid photo of you, your brow furrowed in concentration as you turned a page.

Without a word, he opened his phone settings and set the photo as his wallpaper, a private reminder of the quiet joy you brought to his life. You remained engrossed in your book, completely unaware of his silent adoration and the new image gracing his phone screen.

A mischievous glint suddenly sparked in San’s eyes. He moved silently towards the couch, a playful grin spreading across his face. In one swift motion, he scooped you up in his arms, lifting you with surprising ease.

“San!” you exclaimed, your eyes widening in surprise as you were suddenly airborne. The book tumbled to the floor, landing with a soft thud.

He carried you the few steps to the bedroom, his grin widening with each flustered protest you made. “Operation: Relocate the Bookworm!” he declared in a mock-heroic voice. With a playful grunt, he gently tossed you onto the soft mattress.

You landed with a soft bounce, your glasses askew, your heart hammering in your chest. You stared up at him, wide-eyed and breathless. “Oh my god, San, I’m a virgin I don’t think you’ll fit—”

San froze mid-chuckle, his playful expression instantly morphing into one of utter shock. He stood there, a statue of bewildered surprise, his mouth slightly agape, his eyebrows practically reaching his hairline.

A beat of stunned silence hung in the air, broken only by your slightly panicked breathing. Then, a slow dawning of realization crossed San’s face, followed by a flicker of something akin to amusement struggling to break through the surprise.

“…I was trying to cuddle?” he finally managed, his voice a hesitant whisper, a bewildered question mark hanging in the air. He even gestured vaguely with his hands, as if demonstrating the concept of a platonic embrace.

Another beat of silence. Your eyes widened further, the color rising in your cheeks as the full implication of your utterly mortifying statement hit you. You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

San’s eyebrows shot up even higher. “…Wait,” he said slowly, his gaze searching yours with a mixture of disbelief and dawning understanding. “You’ve never—?” He trailed off, a slow, knowing smile starting to play on his lips.

Your face flushed a deep, uncontrollable crimson. You became a flustered mess of tangled limbs and stammered denials. “NO! I mean… I’m waiting… I—ugh! This is so unbelievably embarrassing! Can we just… can we just forget I said anything?” You buried your face in the pillows, mortified beyond words.

A soft chuckle rumbled in San’s chest, a sound that held genuine amusement but also a surprising tenderness. He gently sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to carefully pull you into his arms. You kept your face hidden, your cheeks burning like twin embers.

“Hey, sunshine,” he murmured softly, his lips brushing against your temple. “It’s okay. Really. There’s absolutely no pressure, no expectations. You take all the time you need, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” He held you close, his arms a comforting and reassuring embrace. He kissed your temple again, a lingering, tender gesture.

A playful smirk tugged at his lips, and a mischievous glint returned to his eyes. “But,” he whispered, his voice laced with amusement, “I am definitely teasing you about this forever. You know that, right? Like, for the rest of our lives.”

You groaned into his chest, but a small, reluctant smile finally broke through your embarrassment. “Oh, you wouldn’t dare,” you mumbled, though the lack of conviction in your voice betrayed you.

“Oh, I would dare,” he said, his chuckle deepening. “In fact, I’m already planning the anniversary celebrations for ‘The Night Sunshine Thought I Wouldn’t Fit.’” He punctuated his words with a playful squeeze.

You swatted playfully at his arm, your face still buried in his chest. “It’s not funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” he countered, his voice full of mirth. “Especially the look on your face. Priceless. I should have taken a picture.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe I still can? For posterity?” He made a mock attempt to reach for his phone.

You tightened your grip on his hoodie. “Don’t you even think about it, Choi San.”

He laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room. “Alright, alright. My lips are sealed… for now. But just so you know, the next time we’re cuddling, and you look even remotely tense…” He trailed off suggestively, raising a playful eyebrow.

You playfully punched his arm again, a giggle escaping despite your lingering embarrassment. “You are the worst.”

“The worst… but you love me,” he finished, nuzzling his face into your hair.

You sighed contentedly, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the last vestiges of your mortification. “Unfortunately,” you mumbled into his chest.

“See? Admitted it,” he teased triumphantly. “Now, about that book you were reading… maybe we can cuddle and just read?” He emphasized the word “just” with a playful wink that you couldn’t see but could definitely feel in his tone.

You finally lifted your head, a genuine smile gracing your lips. “Maybe,” you said, leaning into him. “But if you even think about bringing up the ‘fitting’ thing again…”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Wouldn’t dream of it… for at least five minutes.”

You rolled your eyes, but the laughter bubbling in your chest was a testament to the comfortable, playful love that defined your quiet moments together, even the hilariously awkward ones. In the safe haven of their shared home, amidst the endless teasing and the deep, unwavering affection, their unique and tender story continued to unfold, one laugh, one cuddle, and one mortifyingly iconic misunderstanding at a time.

-- The end <33

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chocolate-salt · 1 month ago

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We asked for it and here it is:

Seonghwa gym routine (pre- fashion show) 💪

Just...WOW!!

#park seonghwa #seonghwa video #seonghwa ateez #ateez #kpop idol

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oimitocat · 6 months ago

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ATEEZ REACTION TO….

….reader having a big dick (established relationship)

ᡴꪫ HONGJOONG…. had no idea what you were being so shy for. he was riled up beyond anything and seeing you be so hesitant for him to go under your waistband was annoying him a bit.

your hand was gripping his wrist even as his fingers dipped under your shorts.

“baby i don’t care if you’re sma-“ his eyes drop when he sees your tent. just the size of it was enough for him to drool. he definitely made sure you got rid of that shyness.

ᡴꪫ SEONGHWA…. is also shy. he found it cute that the two of you were in the same situation- trying to hide from each other and stick to kisses and wandering hands. but let’s be honest, he was aching for more.

so hearing you offer something outside of his plans upset him. he stared at you with his pretty eyes until you swallows and gave in. his eyes almost come out of their sockets when he sees how big you are. definitely shuts you up with kisses and a helpful mouth.

ᡴꪫ YUNHO….’s large hands were antsy. he needed to feel more and see more. you kept focusing more on his hands than on his kisses. you do anything to keep him away from below your shorts but…

yunho lets out a breathless moan when you spring free. he takes no time in working on you, praising you through and through.

ᡴꪫ YEOSANG…. was already on top of your lap. you were mentally begging he didn’t feel you because that was enough to give away how big you were. yet he kept moving his hips and when he pushes you down to lay on the pillows, just as he moves to crawl into a better position- he sees your tent.

you swallow at the immediate gaze he gives you. he’s surprised but so exited. he definitely shows you how much and his lovely voice coaxes you more than you coax him when he sinks down on it.

ᡴꪫ SAN…. wasted no time in demanding to see you. he was on a mission and he needed to fulfill it pronto. so when he sees how quiet you become when he pulls your out of your boxers, he smiles.

“i can take you baby,” he says eagerly, “imma prove it.” and he makes sure you don’t forget how much he’s in love with every single part of you.

ᡴꪫ MINGI…. was putting little to no work. our pillow princess was enjoying your attention in the form of kisses and gropes but he desperately needed more. he was so confused at how you tried to shy away from the deed.

actually, you weren’t, you were just trying to make him understand your size isn’t all that. i promise you, the second he sees it and the second he FEELS it, he’s letting you know it’s all that.

ᡴꪫ WOOYOUNG…. has a big mouth. you have a big dick. he has a big mouth. he has the AUDACITY to bully you over your shyness. your shyness goes out the window immediately.

he had it planned all along apparently. making sure you know he’s uncaring of your size. it turns into a rile competition and you end up showing him he should be nicer.

ᡴꪫ JONGHO…. tried not to panic. not over the fact that you were big. but at the fact he was just as shy as you were. the two of you sat in a dry silence until he makes eye contact with your flushes face.

in the end, you had to work with his shyness and your own. he was really willing. it awkward, funny and purely genuine. he definitely assures you he won’t be shy afterwards.

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evenyvn · 2 months ago

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Star Student

male! 9th member! reader x idol! san

summary : you were livestreaming until the topic of san's english improvement pops out.

cw : male!reader, fluff, sfw, can be read as platonicaly tbh, reader is the "english speaker of the group", reader is older than san, pouty san.

masterlist

"Y/N, San is getting better at English! Have you been teaching him this whole time?"

You read the comment from an ATINY on your livestream aloud before tilting your head in thought. "Oh, right! Sannie’s English has been improving a lot lately, hasn’t it? especially after the Europe tour" You shift in your chair, trying to get more comfortable. "Well, usually, he comes to my room with this super thick English book right, a notebook, and a pen—" you pause, chuckling as you made a square shape with your hands, mimicking the size of the book.

"Was he a good student?" Another comment catches your eye, making you smirk. "Hmm… I don’t know," you say, dragging out your words teasingly as an image of San gasping dramatically from the other room pops out in your head. And before you can even finish your words, your bedroom door suddenly bursts open.

You bite back a grin the moment you see San standing there, lips jutted out in a pout. It seems he has been watching your livestream for a while.

"Speaking of the devil—here he is, my star student," you tease, gesturing for him to come closer.

San obeys—except instead of walking over calmly, he lunges at you, tackling you right on your chair. You yelp in surprise as he pins you down, your arms instinctively wrapping around his torso.

"Yahhh! Why won’t you admit I was a good student?!" he whines, his sulky tone only making you laugh harder beneath him.

"Yahh! Get off of me! I can’t breathe!" you protest between giggles, trying to push him off. After a few moments of wrestling, he finally relents after a moment, rolling onto the small couch beside your desk, his pout still firmly in place as he avoids eye contact, finding the little trinkets on your desk entertaining.

You coo at him teasingly, reaching out to rub his thigh from your chair, but he shifts away with a slight huff. "Come on, you’re still mad at me?"

San remains silent, making you smirk. Glancing at your monitor, you address the Atinys that have been watching the both of you, you can tell that they're very much entertained by the amount of comments that are rolling on the livestream.

"Guys, Sannie is sulking right now. What should i do." you chuckled at how comical it is to see such a big and buff man like san is pouting and sulking at your couch just because you refused to say that he's a good student.

With an exaggerated sigh, you finally decide to stop teasing. "Alright, fine. You worked very hard don't you? and you were a good student. No—actually, you were my best student. Just… don’t tell Joongie-hyung, okay?"

You watch as a slow smile creeps onto San’s face before he huffs, trying to keep up his sulky act even though he can feel his chest beating with pride from your praise, "Do you really mean that?"

"Of course I do, kitty," you reply smoothly.

San immediately sits up, eyes wide with embarrassment. "Yahh! Don’t call me that!" he protests, slapping your arm lightly before standing up. But before you can react, he suddenly lunges at you again, tackling you back onto your chair.

You yelp as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his warmth making you laugh breathlessly. The two of you stay like that for a while until San shifts slightly, his voice softer this time.

"Hyung… I love you." he murmurs quietly.

You raise an eyebrow at his sudden confession, confused but also kinda flustered "Were you drinking, San?"

San gasps dramatically before whining, his pout returning in full force. "That’s not the right answer! Where’s my 'I love you too, Sannie'??"

You chuckle, shaking your head. "You’ve been spending too much time with Wooyoungie."

"YAH!!!"

divider by @.adornedwithlight | likes, reblogs, and comments are very appreciated! ♡

#finally got to write for my first bias omg #bet you can't guess that my ult is actually san with the amount of seonghwa fanfics i've written-#✦;; san #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #san x reader #choi san x reader #choi san imagine #san imagine #ateez fluff #ateez 9th member #ateez x male reader #male reader #idol!reader

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ynnova · 2 months ago

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( 🌐 ) ─── MOMENTS FROM Y/N’S 3AM LIVESTREAMS THAT LIVE RENT FREE IN MY HEAD

word count : 1.9k | bullet - point format

[ overview of y/n's livestreams ]

3am livestreams aren't uncommon when it comes to you

you usually always do these behind the company's back and it entails you doing several different things like:

gaming – often playing horror games in the dark

atiny have clips from when you played all of outlast and how terrified you were

side note: you couldn't sleep alone for the next two weeks after playing outlast

singing – this is rare because the last time you tired singing it was when you and atiny got into an argument over shrek 2's "i need a hero" and whether or not its the best animated musical number in existence

spoiler alert: it is and you still refuse to apologize for calling atiny uncultured over it

tier list – you've done a few like ranking barbie movie villains or fnaf ucn dialogues

emotional rants and sleep deprived rants – you should be asleep but you aren't

[ clip #1 : animated musical number debate ]

time has clearly passed when the clip starts

you have a slight crazed look in your eyes as you stare at the camera, eyes watching the chat

pretty sure your eye twitched at some point during the long silence

your hair was messy from having run your fingers through it several times – maybe pulled it a few times in angry

a half-eaten snack laid next to you – forgotten

y/n: no. i'm being serious, "i need a hero" from shrek 2 is THE best musical number in all of animated movie history

your eyes watch the chat explode in response

y/n: what the he– what do you mean "under the sea" is better?? what kind of uncultured swine says the little mermaid is better than shrek 2!!!

y/n: that's literally the BEST sequel in existence!! i can't believe you people

you then grab your ipad – another moment a silence passing through as you are aggressively tapping on your ipad's screen

then you are turning the volume UP before turning the ipad around so atiny can watch the shrek 2 scene.

y/n: this scene is a masterpiece – if you don't agreed then you are uncultured and your bias doesn't love you

chat immediately started screaming in chat but you ignored them

lipsinging the words of not only the song but the entire scene

you had it memorized

you called atiny who disagreed with you uncultured a few more times before you ended the live in anger – some cuss words in both korean, japanese, and english left your lips

you were promptly banned from having any solo lives for the next few months

but did that really stop you 🤷‍♀️

[ clip #2 : playing outlast so y/n losses her mind ]

your room was shrouded in complete darkness

the only light coming from your monitor and it wasn't enough

anyone watching could see the fear in your eyes

y/n: i am a grown woman, i can do this.

y/n: i'm not scared... okay, i'm gonna start... 😣

atiny: you sure about that??

is a completely mess from beginning to end

but you did it

you played outlast in one entire livestream

def screamed several times during the jumpscares – and when you get jumpscared... you jump

at one point yunho came in and sat next to you as some sort of comfort

yunho: why don't i turn on your lamp so you aren't completely in the dark

y/n: noooooo 😣 that ruins the atmosphere!!

yunho leaves to go back to bed, telling you "don't scare yourself too much"

would pause the game every time you got scared

atiny were actually surprised you finished the game at the rate you were going 😮‍💨

atiny: are you going to play the dlc and sequel

y/n: are you insane!? i barely survived this game! i'm not gonna sleep for a week, goodnight you weirdos.

[ clip #3 : relationship advice stream ]

starts off pretty normal – honestly wouldn't guess this was a 3am livestream

this one was livestreamed in a hotel room – you clearly tired from a day of schedules

but you were powering through it – blanket wrapped around you and tea in a cute mug you recently bought in your hands

glasses perched on your nose

especially after you noticed one atiny asking relationship advice

atiny: my boyfriend and i are in a long distance relationship, any advice??

y/n: communication i would say is a big thing. not just texting everyday, but making sure to have real conversation. talking about things you would in any other relationship. i think also making sure to make time for each other every now and then. virtual dates, sending each other small gifts – celebrating the small wins and not just the big victories.

and then the livestream developed into you giving relationship advice for the next 40 minutes

and then–

atiny: what's your and san's relationship like? does he spoil you? do you guys argue?

you couldn't help but laugh when you read that question

y/n: i think our relationship is at a good point right now. we've been together for a few years now and really now how to communicate and talk to each other about our problems. we also know when to give each other space – like on days off, we don't always spend those days together.

you can't help but smile at the thought of san and how much you love him

y/n: he spoils me a lot – always has. he buys me my favorite snacks all the time and lets me lay my head on his shoulder and play with his hands when i'm bored or nervous.

oh, girl, you are so in love.

y/n: i don't think we've had a serious argument in a long time. when we do then its about one of us pushing ourselves too much and not taking a break. when i had my stage accident, i think that's when our relationship hit a bump because san was worried about me... but we communicate and talk it out which helps.

y/n: i couldn't imagine not having sannie in my life ☺️

[ clip #4 : the kiss ]

the clip starts with you sitting on your bed, phone propped up like usual as you are talking with atiny – some lofi music playing through your small speaker by the bed

loud enough for atiny to hear, but not loud enough for it to be disruptive for the others in the dorm

everything is going like how it usually is with you talking about what you've been up to lately

but without spoiling anything too major in ateez's schedule

you're sitting crossed leg on your bed, ipad in lap when your bedroom door slowly opens

at first it doesn't catch your attention – you too invested in fixing the graphic you've been making for your digital journal

atiny immediately see the person enter your room and recognize them as san

chat starts to explode, but you still haven't noticed

you jump a little when san places a hand on your back – looking up to meet his sleepy eyes

y/n: what are you doing babe?

san: i should be asking you that

you grin at him and he smiles back before leaning down and capturing your lips in a kiss

you are completely caught off guard

atiny are screaming in chat – fans already screen-recording the entire thing

and san none the wiser about your livestream

you pull away looking at him shocked and san is so confuse

y/n: i'm live!

silence.

neither of you say anything for about ten seconds – just staring at each other before you are reaching over and–

livestream has ended.

[ clip #5 : "why are you 🫵 still awake?" ]

you are sitting on your bed, showing your bullet journal you've been working on to atiny

you really looked like a teacher reading a book to her class

you were talking about how you've been working on it between schedules and during downtime at fansigns and such

y/n: i've seen junk journals have been trending and they look cool. think i might try and start one in the next month

atiny told you, you should do it

as you're in the middle of talking, you immediately stop

eyes go wide as your head turns towards your bedroom door

y/n: uh-oh 😳

atiny: WHAT WHAT WHAT!??!?!?

y/n: he's home...

atiny immediately knew who you were talking about–

hongjoong

they couldn't hear it, but you could hear the dorm door opening and closing and hongjoong walking down the hallway

atiny had never seen you try to turn everything off so fast

like you were trying to trick hongjoong into thinking you were asleep

but then your door opens and you freeze – atiny watching thought it was frozen because you refused to move

hongjoong came into frame and the two of you just looked at each other

silence – did it freeze again??

y/n: why are you coming home so late?! 🫵🫵🫵 do you have any idea what time it is

hongjoong was APPALLED by your comment

hongjoong: do i have any idea what time it is?? do you have any idea what time it is?!

he then notices the livestream and glares at you

hongjoong: and are you livestreaming!? didn't i tell you to stop doing that at this hour!

y/n: mind your business! i was just about to end it–

lies

the clip continues with you and hongjoong going back and forth with each other before he makes you end the livestream to go to bed

y/n: he's using his leader powers guys 😔

[ clip #6 : sleepy y/n and seonghwa ]

the clip starts with you laying in bed, phone propped up on your bedside

you are clearly on your way to sleepland but are answering atiny's questions

atiny watching can hear your bedroom door creak open and your eyes look to see who is entering

you immediately perk up at however just came in – the person chuckles softly at your reaction

their hand coming out to pat your head and that's when he comes into frame

seonghwa – in his pajamas and hair slightly tousled from sleep

seonghwa: why are you still awake, y/nnie? go to sleep.

y/n: i'm talking to atiny!

seonghwa: you're going to make yourself sick if you stay up too late.

as you and him go back and forth, atiny gush over seonghwa's caring nature

atiny: omg seonghwa is so cute trying to get y/n to sleep

y/n: why don't you stay with me for a bit? you can keep me company while i finish answering questions! then i'll go to bed, promise!

all previous sleepiness had seemingly disappeared

seonghwa: i'm not indulging in your poor sleep habits, but fine 😮‍💨

seonghwa settles in beside you and chat explodes

atiny: SEONGHWA IN THE 3AM LIVE NOW WOOHOO

y/n: don't act too excited guys 😒

the live continues with you answering questions – you leaning against seonghwa

slowly your energy starts to leave you once more and seonghwa is already closing his eyes

blanket covering the both of you

seonghwa is quickly falling asleep, turning over and clearly getting comfortable

he isn't going anywhere anytime soon 😪

and you're not far behind him – eyes closing and mindlessly snuggling into seonghwa

stealing his body heat

atiny are absolutely losing it in chat over the two of you falling asleep together

the livestream didn't end until your phone eventually died which was promptly two hours after you and seonghwa fell asleep.

#୨🍓୧ youtube.#✶ 𓂃 ⋆* 𝓎𝓃. ୨୧ misc.#ateez 9th member #ateez added member #ateez addition #idol!reader #ateez female addition #ateez extra member #ateez ninth member #poly ateez x reader #ateez x reader #ateez blurbs #ateez imagines

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conscbgb · 3 months ago

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It's in the Ateez Official Lore...who are we to deny it? 😎🙌😏

#park seonghwa #kim hongjoong #seongjoong #ateez #ateez matz #kpop idols #ateez iomt

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scoupsakakitty · 3 months ago

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Gym Crush | idol!Mingi x Reader | fluff

Mingi wiped the sweat off his forehead, his heart racing—not just from his workout but from the sight of her. Y/N. The girl he had seen only a handful of times at the gym, yet somehow, she occupied his thoughts more than he would ever admit.

As an idol, his schedule was unpredictable, making it difficult to keep a consistent gym routine. He never knew when he’d run into her again, but each time he did, he felt like the universe was playing matchmaker. And today, fresh off his European tour, it seemed like fate was once again on his side.

She was there.

Same spot, same routine. Mingi took a deep breath, trying to think of a way to approach her. He had never been one to shy away from talking to people, but with her, it felt different. He didn’t want to come across as weird, nor did he want to make her uncomfortable. He watched as she adjusted the weights for her set and—

She struggled.

Without thinking, Mingi rushed over, his hands instinctively reaching out to support her.

“Careful,” he said, his deep voice laced with concern. “Let me help.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes wide as he easily lifted the weight back into place. She let out a small sigh of relief, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Thank you. I thought I could handle it, but guess not,” she admitted with a sheepish smile.

Mingi chuckled, shaking his head. “Happens to the best of us. You okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Just a little embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. Everyone needs help sometimes.” He hesitated for a second before adding, “I’m Mingi, by the way.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, an amused glint in her eyes. “I'm y/n and uhm yeah I know.”

Mingi blinked, caught off guard. “You do?”

She let out a soft laugh. “I’d have to live under a rock not to. You’re Mingi from Ateez.”

His lips parted in surprise. She didn’t sound like the typical excited fan. Instead, her tone was calm, casual. Almost as if she was used to being around idols.

“You’re not surprised,” he pointed out, crossing his arms.

Y/N shrugged. “I don’t want to lie. I am a fan. But I didn’t want to put you in an awkward position or make you uncomfortable by approaching you first.”

Mingi grinned, something warm spreading through his chest. “That’s… really considerate of you.”

They ended up talking for a little longer, lingering near the weights. The conversation flowed easily, and before Mingi knew it, he had invited her for an iced Americano after their workout.

At the café, Mingi sipped his drink, watching as Y/N stirred hers absentmindedly.

“So, be honest,” she said suddenly, looking up. “How bad was my form back there?”

Mingi laughed. “It wasn’t that bad. Just a little off.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face. “I knew it.”

“I could teach you,” he offered. “Form, I mean. Or anything else fitness-related.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “Oh? So you’re a personal trainer now?”

“Multitalented,” Mingi joked, leaning back. “But honestly, I’m better at dancing than fitness.”

“That’s true,” Y/N admitted. “Your dance skills are insane. I wish I could move like that.”

Mingi raised an eyebrow. “You dance?”

She quickly shook her head. “No, not at all. I mean, I try, but I’m terrible at it.”

“I could teach you,” he said again, this time with more enthusiasm.

Y/N looked at him in disbelief. “Mingi. If I couldn’t even lift that weight properly, what makes you think I can handle choreography?”

“Who said anything about choreography? We can start small. TikTok dances.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “That sounds even worse.”

“It’ll be fun,” Mingi insisted. “Come on. Let’s meet up in two days. I’ll take you to the KQ practice room.”

Y/N hesitated, biting her lip. But there was something about Mingi’s excitement that made it hard to say no.

“Fine,” she relented. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Two days later, Mingi picked her up, leading her to the famous KQ practice room. The mirrors, the polished floors, the dimmed blue lighting—it all felt surreal to Y/N.

“So this is where the magic happens,” she murmured, taking it all in.

Mingi grinned. “Yup. Now, let’s see what you got.”

Y/N groaned. “I told you, I have nothing.”

“We’ll change that,” he assured her. “Let’s start with something simple.”

For the next hour, Mingi guided her through basic movements, laughing when she tripped over her own feet. She was hesitant, shy, but Mingi found it endearing.

“You’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he teased.

Y/N huffed. “I am flustered! This is embarrassing.”

“Not at all,” he said with a soft smile. “You’re trying, and that’s what matters.”

Despite her protests, they managed to complete a TikTok dance, recording it just for themselves. Y/N watched the playback with a grimace, while Mingi laughed proudly.

“I give up,” she sighed dramatically. “I’m a lost cause.”

Mingi nudged her playfully. “Nah. This just means we need more practice sessions.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying we should meet up more often?”

He smirked. “Only if you want to.”

Y/N pretended to think about it before smiling. “Alright, Teacher Mingi. Let’s do it.”

Mingi grinned, knowing that this was just the beginning of something special.

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #ateez x female reader #ateez fluff #ateez oneshot #ateez fanfic #ateez mingi #atz mingi #mingi #mingi fluff #mingi fanfic #ateez song mingi #mingi x y/n #mingi x reader #song mingi #mingi x you #idol x reader

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written-in-flowers · 3 months ago

Text

Model Behavior: YunHwaGi x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Seonghwa x Yunho x Mingi x fem!Reader | side pairing: ot8 x fem!reader

Word Count: 10k

Genre: Smut, smut, and more smut with a sprinkle of fluff on top | AU: sugar baby, idolverse

Summary: The newest episode of YNteez features you, the boys and a photoshoot. With all the risque outfits they've selected themselves, just how wholesome is this shoot going to be?

Tags: polycule, polyamorous, established relationship, sugar baby, blowjobs, sloppy blowjobs, deep throat, face fucking, face sitting, 69-position, male masturbation, teasing, orgasm denial, edging, light role play, oral sex, sex toys, squirting, pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel), slight free use, nipple play, peeping through windows, and group sex (foursome).

Previously on YNteez

****

Eight costumes. Eight sets. Eight times you'll have to change your outfit, hair and makeup over the course of three days. The exhaustion already started weighing on you, and nothing started yet. Standing in your private dressing room, you gazed at the rack of clothes in front of you. The producers told you the members picked the costumes themselves, so naturally the outfits are tailored to their taste. You looked at each of them while you waited on hair and makeup, and saw the different costumes the staff managed to procure. They certainly did not look cheap. You’d expected clearance rack outfits with flimsy fabric and lots of velcro and zippers. The current costume you held, an Animal Crossing character, was made of good material, your proper size, and could pass off as a real cosplay outfit. You put the costume on the rack, and turned to the large mirror behind you.

You’d come to the set in a simple t-shirt and jeans, since you’d be changing three different times today. The stylists recommended you come as plain faced as possible, since any makeup you wore will be removed. The prospect of a photoshoot excited and worried you. The last time someone took photos of you, it’d been for your Companion portfolio. A photographer took a bunch of boudoir pictures with a few headshots thrown in to attract potential clients. You didn’t mind dressing down for a camera, since the outfits and makeup helped you hide behind them, but the photographer won’t be the only one present. A staff of at least twenty people will be filming, monitoring, adjusting, lighting, and observing your every move. The classroom episode was through hidden cameras, so there’d been only you and the boys. Now, there’d be people, which was different.

“There you are,” a voice said when the door opened. Seonghwa came walking into your dressing room, pecking your lips and looking over your face. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“The producers and stylists told me to wait here for them to show up with the cameras,” you replied. They mentioned interview moments during the episode to capture your thoughts and emotions. “Does it always take this long?”

He laughed, “Yeah, it does. It’s even worse for whoever is last in line to get their makeup and hair done. But, our stylists are fantastic, and I think you’ll love what they do with your looks. Minsu already showed me the look they’ll be giving you for my shoot.”

“What?” you said, disappointed. “Why did they show you and not me? It’s going on my face.”

“It’s supposed to be a secret, remember?” he said. He looked over to the clothing rack, then back at you with suspicion in his eyes, “Have you been looking in the clothing bags?”

“No,” you said innocently. “I would never spoil a surprise.”

“Mhm,” he remained unconvinced. He took a seat on a makeup chair next to yours, “I think I should stay here and, you know, supervise you. We don’t want you spoiling everything for yourself.”

You pouted, taking the seat in front of the vanity, “What about you? Don’t you have to get ready too?”

“I’m third in line,” he said. “They’re still working on Yunho.” He stared at you for a moment, then said, “Are you nervous?”

“A little bit,” you admitted. “I haven’t had my picture taken in a long time, and these aren’t like ‘normal’ photos either.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Oh come on. Me in skimpy outfits you guys personally picked out? On sets of your design and you control what sort of pictures we take? They’re not going to be exactly PG are they?”

“No, not at all,” he said with a laugh. “What I picked is pretty wholesome and simple,” he then smiled, “But I know a few members whose outfits are way more revealing than mine.”

“Like who?” you asked, wanting to suck a spoiler out of him.

“Nope,” he shook his head, amused by your eagerness, “Not telling you. You’ll have to wait and see.”

“You won’t give me a little hint? A tiny one?”

“You already know mine, since you looked in the clothing bag,” he accused with a grin.

“I did not,” you lied. “I haven’t even touched those bags.”

“Liar,” he nudged your foot with his, “That zipper was all the way up when I left here. Now it’s like an inch or two down.”

“Is not. You’re remembering it wrong.”

Your insistence made him chuckle. “At least your shoot is going to be the course of three days,” he said, “Our shoots usually run all day.”

“Three of you today, three tomorrow, and the two after that,” you said, “I wonder why they did it that way?” you looked at him expectantly.

“Have no idea,” he shrugged, pretending you didn’t notice him.

“Not one?”

“Nope.”

You moved over to him, and took a seat in his lap. “Could it possibly be because certain members of this relationship won’t be able to contain themselves and might get a bit naughty with me?” you rested against him, fingers dancing on the collar of his shirt. “They might not be able to control themselves,” You heard him audibly inhale as you drew closer, “And let their natural instincts take over?”

“Maybe,” he put his hand on your thigh, giving it a small squeeze before bringing his lips an inch from yours, “But can you blame them? You know exactly what to do to tempt them, and you do it well.”

“I've had a lot of practice.”

The both of you kissed right as someone else entered the room. The stylists came in with their bags full of supplies, and the producer followed with a camera crew. Your hands suddenly felt clammy, and you wiped them on your jeans. Seonghwa noticed this and squeezed you again, but more affectionately than before. His reassuring grin relaxed you somewhat, yet seeing everyone setting up for the episode distracted you again.

“Seonghwa,” the producer called to him, “We’re going to start filming now. The stylists next door wanted me to tell you they’re ready for you.”

“Alright,” he nodded. He pecked your cheek, then said, “See you out there.”

“See you.”

You’d know the KQ film production team for a long time, so they felt more like friends than colleagues. The clothing stylist, Juwon, came right over to you. Slender and narrow, Juwon never failed to make you drop-dead gorgeous with his outfit designs. He hugged and kissed both your cheeks when he spoke:

“Ready for today?”

“As ready as I can be, honestly,” you said.

“Don’t worry,” he assured you, “Minsu and I are going to make you look absolutely divine. Those boys will be regretting their choices when they see you. Come on, let’s get you dressed.”

He took the bag with Seonghwa’s name tag on it, and opened it up. Inside, you saw the green plaid vest, white shirt, and a mini skirt.

“Who is it?” you asked him, hoping he’d answer you.

“It’s this character in that game he likes,” he answered you. “I have the lingerie that goes with it too.”

Behind the costume was the white mesh and lace lingerie set they’d sent you a month ago. The mesh parts went over your breasts, sex, and ass, but were bordered by lace designed strings. The matching stockings and garter belts were no doubt Seonghwa’s idea. Right away, you took the bag and went behind a curtain to change. You’ll have to do this two more times. How did models do it every day? You pulled on the lingerie, the belts, the stockings, and the costume itself. The outfit was snug on your skin, and you noticed the shirt and vest revealed way more cleavage than the original character. The skirt also goes high up your thighs so that any bending of your thighs or legs will lift it up further. Yes, very wholesome indeed.

Seonghwa always liked leaving something to the imagination.

“You look so cute!” Juwon cheered when he saw you. “Give us a twirl…Yes, excellent. It fits you perfectly, and isn’t too showy. Seonghwa said he wanted it to be sexy, but not so much that it ruined the illusion of the character.”

“He would say that,” you agreed. “He’s never liked me in lingerie that shows too much of my body. Mostly babydoll dresses or open front ones are good enough for him.”

“Ugh, you’re going to knock him dead,” Juwon awed, unable to look away from you. “That photobook is going to be priceless.”

Yes, you’d forgotten the photobook idea. You’d suggested it during a YNTEEZ meeting. Since they’re going to be doing it anyways, you thought about perhaps using the photos to make a photobook. Atinys can purchase them online and get special bonus gifts. You did give a small spoiler on your personal Instagram account where you’d promoted the group’s newest album; you mentioned their photobook and soon having one of your own, which intrigued a lot of people.

“Yeah, I forgot the photobook. I hope people like the pictures though,” you said, knowing not everyone will be thrilled for you to be in the photos. They wanted shirtless Seonghwa, not a half-nude YN.

“Oh come on, not all of them hate you,” the director assured you. “They’ll be into it.”

You went over to Minsu next, who turned your chair around and pumped it to the right height. She smiled when your eyes met hers in the mirror.

“You’re going to look fabulous today,” was her catchphrase whenever she worked on your face and hair. “Are you ready?”

“Ready,” you responded with a deep breath. “When was the last time I got this glammed up? KCon?”

“I think it was Global Dream Awards,” she answered, putting her makeup essentials on the counter, “When you wore that gorgeous purple gown. Ugh, I was so jealous of you. It looked amazing.”

“But it’s been a while since then,” you said, eyeing the materials on her counter. You then noticed an assistant taking out wig boxes from a container they’d wheeled into the room. “And plus there’s going to be loads of people in the room with us.”

“So?”

“One of the biggest points of these types of shows is the sex, and knowing my boys, it’s going to get steamy,” you felt knots already forming in your stomach. “I don’t think I can do that with so many people watching.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” she said, “You know that. Plus, you’ll have your boyfriends there, so you’ll be comfortable the entire time. You’ll get so wrapped up in each other, you won’t even notice the rest of us there.”

“I hope so.”

“You’ll be fine,” she insisted. “Besides, today is only Seonghwa, Yunho, and Mingi. The sweeties,” she added a smile.

“They're all sweeties.”

“Sweeties with a horny streak,” said Juwon from the clothing rack, searching for shoes in a box.

Minsu then turned around to face you, moisturizer in hand. “Okay, let’s get you ready for your modeling debut.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. She began prepping your face for makeup when the producer got the camera ready to film. Your nerves shivered inside you once you realized it was on by the red light in the camera.

“YN, are you excited about today’s shoot?” he asked first.

“I’m excited, but also a bit nervous. It’s been a while since I modeled for anyone before…”

His questions remained fairly innocuous. He asked you about your modeling experiences, which were very few and far in between, and if you’d made any guesses as to what the members have planned. You told him you guessed it’ll have to do with concepts they like or things they enjoy. Since the members will be part of the shoot, they will wear costumes similar to yours.

When Minsu finished with your base makeup, she took out a face-paint palette and dipped a brush into the black section. Looking in the mirror, you noticed her covering the tip of your nose; then she dipped it into the white to start painting around your nose and mouth.

Isabelle. You’re Isabelle from Animal Crossing, Seonghwa’s favorite comfort game. You only knew who she was because Seonghwa told you when you saw him playing. Your eldest boyfriend knew it so well, he could perfectly mimic their funny little language. When Minsu finished your makeup, she put your hair into a bald cap to prepare you for the wig. Short and blond, the bangs hung above at your eyebrows, and the rest of the hair fanned outwards in the back. Minsu attached a fake hair bun to the very top, tied there with a red ribbon with bells on it. You giggled as you moved your head, the little bells clinking in the process. They then attached yellow dog ears that drooped from the sides of your head. You trusted Minsu’s abilities enough that you knew they wouldn’t fall off.

“Ah, you look so cute!” Minsu beamed.

“Adorable!” Juwon agreed with a grin. “He’s going to love it.”

“It’s exactly as I pictured it in my head.”

“Thanks,” you grinned shyly.

You hoped Seonghwa liked it most of all. You’d hate it if you went out there and the outfit isn’t what he envisioned for you. The camera then looked at you again.

“How do you feel about this concept?” the producer asked you.

“It’s very Seonghwa,” you laughed, admiring yourself in the mirror. “I knew he’d pick something he liked, but I’d guessed Star Wars since he likes that a lot. This is much cuter though.”

“Do you play Animal Crossing too?”

“Not that much,” you said. “I played it for a while when it first came out, but then I fell out of it. Seonghwa always tells me to play with him so we can visit each other’s islands,” you chuckled remembering the times he’d asked you so cutely to play with him, “And send gifts and stuff. I’m not as into it as he is, though.”

He turned when someone came into the dressing room to tell him they finished the members’ introduction to the episode. Funny. It’s your show, but they’re doing the intro. This didn’t bother you that much, and you followed them out onto the set. Minsu and Juwon kept you back from the rest of the group, putting you behind a curtain. Ahead of you, you saw staff members wheeling in a small stage. On it, you saw the familiar villager house from the game, a red triangle roof, cream colored walls and a red door. They’d done quite a good job with the set. It came with a bed of fake flowers, a mailbox, an apple tree beside the house, and the house was big enough for you to fit inside of. You spotted Seonghwa standing nearby while they finished putting things together.

He'd never looked cuter. Seonghwa stood wearing an aqua and white floral shirt with khaki shorts with his nose painted and wearing pointed ears. You guessed he must be Tom Nook, a racoon character in the game. He looked sweet and adorable in his costume, but you know that can turn sexual at the flip of a coin.

“Alright, YN, come on out,” the director called to you.

Seonghwa’s eyes widened when you walked onto the set. They scanned you from top to bottom, and you smiled sweetly at him. He stood in awe of you, turning to the camera crew in disbelief, before looking back at you. You gave him a wide smile and said:

“Aw, you're the little bear guy!”

Seonghwa held back a smile, “He's not a bear. He's a raccoon.”

“But isn't there already a raccoon? Raccoons are black and white, right?”

“There is, but Tom is a brown one.”

“Eh, I still think he's a bear.” You hugged him around the middle, and he still embraced you, laughing with you. “A big bear with a cute nose.”

“He's a raccoon,” he squeezed you until you let out a small whine, then released you. He gave you a once over, then said, “You look so cute. It’s exactly how I imagined.”

“I’m happy you like it.” You glanced at the set, “Shall we go be the bear and the puppy?”

“He is a raccoon!”

You giggled as you stepped onto the small set, and turned to the photographer nearby, “Hi, I'm YN.”

“I'm Nami, nice to meet you,” the photographer said, wearing a plain shirt and jeans.

“Nice to meet you,” you replied. “Where do the bear and I start?-”

“-Tom is a raccoon!-”

“-We can start with some poses,” Nami laughed, “And we can do a few scene photos.”

“Okay, sounds good! What do you think, Tom?”

Seonghwa held back his laugh through a strained smile, hands on his hips, “That's fine.”

Nami directed you both into the middle of the stage and the shoot began. It started with simple couple shots with lots of smiles, giggles and playful poses. You didn't know much about modeling, but years of doing promotional shoots made Seonghwa a natural.

“Just be cute,” he said in one picture, where you both stood facing one another and pretending to rub your noses together. “Do cute faces and stuff like that, and you'll be fine.”

“Should I talk like they do too?” You teased when Nami finished taking photos of it. “How does it go? Meemeemoopmoop?”

“It does not sound like that at all,” he chortled.

“Then how does it sound?” you giggled seeing his shy expression, and him turning away to the tiny house nearby. “Come on, do it,” you urged him, pouting and tugging his sleeve. “It’s cute when you do it.”

He let out a small stream of high-pitched squeaks that had you grinning widely. When he stopped due to his own laughter, he handed you a net. Small fake butterflies were stuck to the insides as if being caught, while his fishing pole had a multi-colored fish hanging from the hook. Nami directed him to take a seat on a bench by the house while you swish the net in the air pretending to catch butterflies.

Having researched pin-up girl poses the previous night, you lifted one leg to your knee to show off the garter belts in Seonghwa’s direction. You could feel his eyes on you every time that skirt lifted up your thighs. Since you first met him, you knew Seonghwa preferred the more subtle suggestiveness. Flashes of cleavage or thighs grabbed his attention immediately, and he liked the baby doll dresses and bodysuit lingerie pieces you wore. Something skimpy, but not too showy. While you pretended to catch butterflies in various ways, Seonghwa sat there observing quietly.

“Let’s have you both garden,” Nami said next after snapping close up and wide shots of the scene. “Just do whatever comes natural.”

You knelt beside a bed of fake colorful flowers, and Seonghwa took the space in front of you. He was standing with a pail and a small hand rake, while you pretended to be digging holes in the earth. This left you kneeling at his feet, looking up at him innocently while he stood over you. You kept your cleavage in full view for him, pulling and pushing down on the flowers in front of you. Nami’s camera clicked numerous times in a row as she captured the suggestive moment. Seeing him above you, his groin right above your head, you had the urge to grope him. He wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the innuendos going on at this shoot. You knew he picked this up when he knelt behind you, and bent down to your ear.

“You must be getting pretty warm in that vest,” he said, hand going up your side to your chest. “Maybe you should take it off so you’re more comfortable?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you asked, pretending as if you brushed into him by accident.

“I’m only thinking about you,” he insisted, fingers getting closer to the buttons of your vest. “It’s supposed to be a sunny day on an island. Gardening can be hard work and Isabelle might get warm wearing a little vest like this one.”

“But Isabelle is so innocent and sweet,” you said, putting his hand closer to your breast. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that Nami stood a few feet away, taking photos of this intimate moment. “I don’t think she’d just shed off her clothes like that.”

“She would if she had a bit of help. Kneel up for me.”

You dropped the hand rake, and pressed your back to his chest. His lips left small kisses on your neck as he unbuttoned the vest. The moment he pulled it off you, you turned to Nami.

“Is this good or do you want us to do something else?”

“The apple tree,” she said, picking up on what you were really asking. “YN, you can be getting some apples from high up, and Seonghwa can be giving you a little boost.”

“Makes sense for his bear character-” you said, forcing yourself to leave Seonghwa’s arms for the fake apple tree nearby.

“-He’s a raccoon!-”

“-He looks like the kind of guy that would make his islanders do all the work while he just sits there in his little shop taking their money,” you continued, grabbing a wicker basket of fake red apples. “The little charlatan,” you gruffed.

This made the crew laugh with you and Seonghwa. “How’s he a ‘charlatan’?”

He stood holding the small ladder, his face closer to your lower back. “First off, you pay to go on this big island getaway, which in the name implies you’re going for a short time and not the rest of your life-”

“-It’s meant to be an experience-”

“-An experience in what it feels like to be hoodwinked!” another statement that made everyone laugh. “He never tells you what exactly is going to happen on the island until you arrive,” you said, reaching up into the branches and letting Nami take a few shots.

“He shows you a video of island life!” Seonghwa reasoned.

“On the plane ride! When you have no choice to turn back or not.”

“Guys, it’s a video game,” chuckled Nami. “It’s not supposed to make sense.”

“She only does this to tease me,” Seonghwa said, pinching your ass lightly. “Little brat…”

“You know I’m right,” you arched your back so your bottom sat closer to his face, “Anyway, the video makes you think all that stuff is already available on the island, but when you get there, you only see a bunch of empty houses and a campsite. I know I’d feel duped if it was me.” You then whispered to one of the cameras, “I think the bear is a cult leader.”

“He’s not a cult leader, stop it,” Seonghwa smacked your ass over the skirt, which only made you laugh more.

“Seonghwa doesn’t play when it comes to AC,” you joked with the crew, and earned yourself another smack.

You suddenly gasped when Seonghwa cupped both your buttocks for a gentle squeeze through your underwear. Cold hands and warm lips briefly pushed out any more taunts you’d have about Seonghwa’s game. But, you wouldn’t let him win. You pretended to reach for one of the lower hanging apples, which gave him the opportunity to feel underneath briefly. You gave another fake gasp, though it brought more warmth to your underwear.

“Then, he makes YOU build his island and make it cool,” you said, “And if you want to upgrade your island, you gotta pay him construction fees and stuff. Like, dude, it is supposed to be a getaway, not a construction job!” You dropped the apple into your basket. “That’s my hard earned money, so I don’t think I should be paying the guy who dropped me on a deserted island. I mean, what happens if I don’t make enough money to upgrade my shabby tent or house because I got tricked into staying there, hm?”

“I’m sure Tom would take other forms of payment too,” said Seonghwa, placing kisses on your lower back while he kneaded your cheeks. Your sex stirred when he started feeling underneath your pantyline, “Any kind you can think of.”

You let out a fake gasp, “So that’s his plan! Trick innocent, pure souls onto his island, takes all their money which causes them to have to do favors to get what they need. Disgusting bear.”

“That’s not why he’s doing it, and he’s a raccoon,” Seonghwa’s laugh was muffled by your shirt. “He wants to give you a nice experience,” he slid both sides of your underwear between your cheeks, “He is a good businessman who wants to build a nice island.”

“Where he can start his own weird, depraved sex cult,” you said, despite the warmth between your thighs. You knew Nami continued taking photos of Seonghwa groping and kissing your backside. You pretended to be shy, hand over your mouth and shock in your eyes. “Psh, jerk. Taking advantage of people looking to get away from their stressful, boring lives.”

“Speaking of tiny island homes,” interrupted Nami, “I think we should get some shots of you inside the house, YN.”

“And what does Seonghwa do?” you asked her, climbing down back into Seonghwa’s arms. You felt him yearning to touch and kiss you again, but fiercely restraining himself.

“Tom is going to be…safeguarding her house,” she suggested with a knowing smile.

You knew immediately what that meant, and walked into the house with the basket. The roof sat about a foot above your head, made of wood with cut out flowers in a box at the window. It was very well made. You opened the door to find nothing inside except a bedroom backdrop against the opposite wall. The window itself was wide and tall enough that Nami’s camera captured your top half at the right angle. You looked over Seonghwa standing outside the window, and couldn’t help noticing the slight bulge in his pants.

“Safeguarding her house, huh?” you asked, eyes on your boyfriend.

“Tom cares about the safety of his islanders,” said Seonghwa, leaning against the window. “You are an assistant to the Island Representative, and it’s important you’re safe from bugs on the island.”

“Oh, of course,” you said sarcastically, “I’m sure it has nothing to do with him being a greedy, corporate pervert.”

You started unbuttoning the few buttons left on your shirt, pretending as if Seonghwa wasn’t there. Soft clicks of the camera told you that Nami was capturing every second frame by frame as you undressed. You let the shirt slide off you bit by bit until you tossed it aside, your bra fully exposed now. Seonghwa stared down at your chest, acting as if he was hiding behind a curtain outside your window. No doubt the real scene is Tom Nook spying on an unsuspecting Isabelle. You then pulled your bra straps down your shoulders, and tugged the bra down enough to reveal the tops of your breasts. Seonghwa bit his bottom lip as you gently massaged your chest in front of him; the lace fabric brushed on your nipples, which only made them harder.

Since Atinys over nineteen can purchase a NSFW version of the photobook, Seonghwa was free to unzip his shorts. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him slide his hand into his pants. His soft groan told you he’d grabbed hold of himself and started stroking. The image of his long, thick shaft in his hand made you bite the inside of your lower lip. You kept massaging your breasts over your bra for him, not glancing his way. When you pulled your bra down to right against your nipples, both of them just barely visible, Seonghwa groaned. You thought of his cock already throbbing and leaking in his hand, and wished you could suck him dry.

The scene continued until you wore nothing but the lingerie set. Seonghwa was already pumping himself faster, his back arching and eyes half-open and gazing at you, turning into an erotic sight. He finally came when you removed your bra and played with your nipples. You couldn’t help the deep, throbbing inside your panties. It begged you to go over to him, tug down his shorts and let him fuck you through the window. You listened to Seonghwa groaning, then huffing as his orgasm subsided and he slumped against the window frame. Nami asked for a few shots of him having a post-orgasm, which required him to tug down his shorts to show his wet cock.

“Hwa…” you whimpered. God, you needed him right then. Simply doing it yourself wouldn’t work, not with his big cock so close by and needing to be cleaned with your tongue.

“What is it, baby?” he asked, smirking as he stroked his softening length to make it glisten. “Are you horny too?” He laughed when you nodded, pleading with him. When Nami had enough shots, you expected him to bring you closer, but he didn’t. “I think we can wait until later, no?”

“But Seonghwa,” you pouted, finally pushing yourself as close as your little window allowed, “I’m so wet.” You reached for his hand and he pulled away.

“You’ve been quite bratty today,” he smiled wickedly, smugness in his eyes. “I don’t think you deserve it right now. Plus, you have two more sets to do too. I don’t think it’s fair to keep Juwan and Minsu waiting on you.”

A punishment for dissing his favorite game. You huffed, pulling up your bra, “It’s not as if Yunho or Mingi will say no to me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he planted a quick kiss on your lips, and moved to walk away, “Have fun, angel. See you soon.”

His response left dread in your stomach. You pulled on a robe Nami gave you, then went back to the dressing room as per the director’s instructions.

****

Yunho’s set was a small bedroom of green and black. A full bed sat beside a wide computer desk with a two monitor setup, and a comfortable computer chair. Valorant and other various game posters were plastered on the walls, as well as figurines sitting around the computer. You quite liked it. Being the biggest gamer of the group, you weren’t surprised by the oversized Valorant t-shirt and tight, green briefs that Juwon presented you with in the dressing room. Yunho dressed casually, in a long shirt and shorts with socks, but you still liked the plain, simple look. You couldn’t help staring at his long, lean figure from afar.

“Look at you,” he smiled, seeing your hair up in a bun with cat-ear headphones around your neck. “Aren’t you cute?”

“You think so?”

You walked into his arms, hands on his shoulders as he pecked your lips. Your arousal from the previous shoot died down significantly, but it didn’t go away. Seonghwa likely told Yunho about his photoshoot, and the two will conspire together to make it worse. If anything, he’ll convince Mingi to join him in the torture. You considered the three men to be your angels, your “white swans”. They’re usually the most gentle and sweetest when it comes to sex, and even more so outside of the bedroom. Not that the other five couldn’t be sweet, but their harder sides tended to come out in bed, while your white swans remained gentle throughout. Though, they can be equally mean.

“Very cute,” he said, his large hands resting on your hips. “I like this simple style on you. You look so cozy and cute,” he nuzzled your nose softly. He then said in a whisper, “And there’s less for me to take off you.”

“Yuyu,” you laughed, cheeks burning. That was his special talent: making a simple phrase dirty. “Let’s get the shoot done.”

Nami directed you both towards the desk, and it went how you expected it to go. You sat on Yunho’s lap, both of you given controllers to act as a gamer couple. When you realized the game on the screen was a Youtube video and the controllers weren’t connected, you let out a soft giggle. Yunho looked over at you quizzically.

“What’s so funny, huh?” he poked your stomach, which made you laugh more.

“This reminds me of that porno we watched the other night,” you said.

You didn’t watch porn videos with your boyfriends often, but when you did, it was mainly Yunho with a toy nearby. The other night after dancing and drinking, you’d put on one you thought he might like. It featured three women “playing” a video game before the boyfriend of one of them appeared, and started fondling and teasing them. Yunho didn’t mind it until he noticed one minor detail.

“The controllers weren’t on,” Yunho blurted out incredulously, and you laughed again. “They’re there moving the sticks and pressing buttons but the controllers weren’t even turned on.”

“Baby, considering it was an adult film, I don’t think it matters,” you replied.

“They could have made an effort, is what I’m saying,” he defended. “The game was going on in the video even after they stopped playing.”

“Only you would make a fuss about that,” you chuckled, kissing him softly. “So, you’re telling me that if you ever fuck me during a game, you want me to be actually playing instead of pretending?”

“It’d be hot,” he shrugged, smirking at the suggestion.

“Hm, good to know.”

You straddled his lap with your back to him, and put the headphones on your ears. Nami took this cue to start taking photos again. Yunho brought you to his chest, his head on your shoulder as he also matched your pose. You shifted around on his lap every so often to feel his cock through your shorts. The sensation of his bulge growing against your ass brought back all the arousal from before.

“I’ve always wanted to do this with you, you know,” you said in his ear, kissing the spot underneath it. “I’m surprised we haven’t done it yet.”

“Done what?” he asked, but he knew what you meant.

“Give you a blowjob while you were gaming,” you answered, grinding onto his lap until he let out a low growl. “But you’re always so focused, I doubt you’d notice I’m there.”

“Trust me,” he said, “I’d notice if I had your pretty lips wrapped around my dick. I wouldn’t be able to focus on the game.”

“But you’re such a pro at it that you’d win anyways,” you smiled. “I bet you can do it with your eyes closed,” you whirled your hips around, “While you’re fucking my throat until you cum.”

“Seonghwa left you very horny, didn’t he?” he chuckled.

“And you do too,” you added, almost forgetting the camera clicking beside you. Reluctantly, you stood up from Yunho’s lap to see his bulge starting to poke a tent in his pants. “Clearly, I have the same effect on you”

“Always,” he admitted.

Walking over to the bed, you both laid against the pillows. Yunho took up a Nintendo Switch that you recognized to be his, and started playing a real game on it. A bit of realism, you supposed. You also realized he gave you the exact opportunity you just described.

“You can’t ride me,” Yunho said, pressing the ‘start’ button. Mario Kart. The man’s playing Mario Kart in the middle of a photoshoot with you nearly naked beside him. “You can only use your mouth or hands.”

“But what about-”

“-Mouth or hands, YN,” he glanced at you to repeat the order, then went back to choosing his character. “Should I play Mario or Bowser? Bowser has a cooler car though…”

You lifted his shirt as high as his position allowed, showing the camera Yunho’s stomach. While he did work out, he didn’t have the sculpted abdomen of San or Mingi. Sliding your hand further up, you rubbed your thumb over one of his nipples, which you knew excited him just as much.

“I like Peach the most,” you said, pinching his nipple softly and knowing what it’s doing to him.

“That’s just because you like her car and she’s a princess,” he gave a snort as the game started.

“I think she’s a relatable character,” you lied, lifting his shirt to kiss at his sternum. Straddling his thighs, you started playing with both nipples while kissing up and down his stomach. “She’s a young lady with a lot of responsibilities who is constantly sought after by various men in power.”

“You have a very strange take on video games,” Yunho laughed, “Like with Valorant.”

“I don’t get it,” you grunted, going further down his body to his shorts. Cupping the outline of his cock, you realized he didn’t wear boxers underneath. The heat radiated against your hand, and you felt it grow harder under your touch. “Is it there a storyline of some kind?”

“Not really,” he answered, the sound of the buttons being the only sound between you. “You make matches with different characters and gain XP to get more.” He glanced at you for a brief second, “You’d hate it.”

“I like games with a story,” you shrugged. You slowly felt up his thighs with soft kisses and squeezes, the muscles flexing when you hit a sensitive spot. The thought of his length inches away made your mouth water. You started rocking your hips for any form of friction, your clit pulsating much like the cock so close to you. “It gives me an objective,” you lowered your voice as you hovered over his groin, “Something to focus on and work through.”

Only one layer separates you and his dick. No doubt he’d done this strategically after Seonghwa told him about the Animal Crossing shoot. You traced your hand over the outline poking through the thin fabric, his stomach tensing when you felt his tip. His length growing, you grabbed it through his shorts once it started rising. Yunho clearly had trouble concentrating as you stroked him to a full erection with his own clothes; he bit his lip when you kissed back up his stomach to his sternum. Teasing your boyfriend dragged out your own arousal, which made you grind into the flat mattress underneath. Your entrance clenched for something to grab onto, but fluttered when nothing came. Simply toying with Yunho while he ignored you for a game had your clit throbbing for his attention. You sat up and removed the shirt to reveal a dark green bra underneath. Everything inside you screamed to reach for his hand after you took off the bra, but he needed them to hold his console. Instead, you laid back on top of him and made sure his clothed hardon nestled between your thighs.

“I don’t get the appeal of it though,” you said, sliding his shirt further up to take a nipple in your mouth. The soft flesh hardened once more and you heard Yunho intake a breath sharply. “You’re just shooting other people. It gets boring,” You made sure he felt your own nipples dragging up his stomach as you took the other nipple in your mouth. If only you had clamps to put on them; Yunho enjoyed that more than the others. “Can’t be that hard.”

He chuckled through a moan, shifting when you nipped at one with your teeth. “It is,” he replied. “You have to concentrate a lot, and be good at aiming. It’s not the game’s fault you suck at aiming.”

“I suck a lot of things,” you said, swirling your tongue around a nipple, “But aiming isn’t one of them.”

Were there not a whole staff of people and a photographer nearby, Yunho would’ve put the switch aside and rolled you onto your back.

“I beat you in every match when you’ve attempted to play,” he said, playing another round of Mario Kart.

“Because you have more experience than me,” you pouted, starting to kiss back down his body once more. Yunho paused the game to remove his shirt, since his cheeks and neck started to flush. Atinys would love this just as much as you. “So, it’s not fair.”

“Maybe when we get home, I can teach you how to play properly,” he suggested, “Since your approach to video games is ‘figure it out as I play’. Tutorials be damned.”

“Tutorials take the fun out of it,” you giggled.

Yunho moaned once you pulled off his shorts, and took his cock in your hand. You realized he’d stopped playing, watching you as you started licking up his shaft to his tip. A part of you knew that this photobook is really for Atinys who’d want to see the members naked, so your naked body won’t be the focus of the photos. Even then, you saw Nami hovering to take photos of Yunho’s lust filled eyes and parted lips. You knew you’d love these photos as much as the fans. Stroking him lightly, you went back up his body to the base of his neck. Yunho’s long neck always looked pretty with hickies against the peachy skin. You sucked on the tender flesh as he started grinding into your hand. He clawed at the sheets underneath you both, eager to touch you but forcing himself to stay still. Good.

“Don’t you want to touch me, Yuyu?” you whined, “I love it when you touch me with those big hands of yours.” You kissed up his neck to his ear, giving it a soft nibble before saying, “When you grab my breasts while you’re pounding me into your bed…When you finger me…When you slide them into my mouth like this…” you took one hand and put two long digits in your mouth, humming softly.

“Tease,” he chuckled through gritted teeth, removing his thumb to trace your bottom lip. “You know I do. But, I think I’m pretty okay with you touching me.”

You went back down to his crotch where his cock started bumping against his lower stomach. Giving it a long, flat lick from bottom to top, you brought the reddening tip into your mouth. His dick throbbing on your tongue, pre-cum starting to slowly leak out, you imagined his tongue languidly rolling around your clit. Moving your hand in time with your mouth, giving soft squeezes right to the tip to make him groan, you thought of his mouth latched to your pussy. Lips would be wrapped around your clit as he suckled it gently, every groan vibrating against your clitoris. You pictured his hands grasping your buttocks, squeezing and spanking them lightly as his tongue lashes at your sex. When you felt yourself grinding against the mattress, you started riding the sensation as you pushed him to the back of your throat. Your moans rumbled in your throat, cut off and gagged by his thick tip.

"Fuck, baby," Yunho moaned, hands sliding into your hair just to touch a part of you, "Fuck, yes, just like that." His encouragement made you let out a pitiful moan. When he looked down to see you humping the bed, he chuckled. "I bet you're absolutely aching down there, huh?"

“Mmm-hmm,” you gave a muffled reply that you made sure he felt.

“Let me see.”

You knelt up from your position and pulled down both shorts and panties. Yunho’s eyes, half-open and driven by lust, zeroed in between your thighs. He reached down to the pool of wetness nestled in your folds, spreading it around your lips and clit as you squirmed in place. Shifting positions so his head rested at the side of the bed, you knew this new position gave Nami a glimpse of your aching center inches from Yunho’s mouth. Gentle hands smoothed up and down your back as you continued sucking him again.

“I can’t stand to see my kitten like this,” he purred, kissing your inner thigh. “I hate leaving you wanting more.”

“Yunho, please…” you whimpered, knowing better than to rest your hips right on his face even if you wanted to.

You clutched his thigh the moment you felt his tongue on you. In this angle, Atinys will see Yunho’s expert mouth skills while also seeing his tongue glistening from spit and your juices. You were still aware enough to pull off him, jerk his wet cock a few times for the light and camera to capture it. Yunho kept his licking light and teasing, but that was enough to drive you wild. After a few more licks, you started shuddering and quaking on top of him. Sensing your orgasm approaching, Yunho pulled your lips apart and focused directly on your clit. Sparks of sensitivity joined the tightness threatening to explode any moment. After a few deep grunts and groans, Yunho forced himself deep into your throat as thick, hot cum shot from the tip. Taking it slow, you breathed through your nose to avoid suffocation and quickly swallowed the oozing substance. You made sure to eventually pull away for shots of cum leaking from the head and in between the slit to his shaft. Yunho always came a lot when you had sex. Mostly because he didn’t pursue you as much as other members, preferring to save sex for special moments instead. Not that you minded. You swallowed every drop regardless of how much it was.

Yet, he pulled you off once he finished. The phantom sensation of his tongue lingered, but quickly disappeared. A frustrated whine escaped you once again. “Yuyu!” you pouted, shaking on the bed to try tempting him, “I didn’t finish.”

“I didn’t say you would,” he breathed, smirking at your desperation. He leaned over to you, kissing you deeply, “Don’t worry. Mingi’s next,” he muttered to you, giving you the shirt to throw on over your naked body, “And he never refuses,you anything.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s been watching this whole time,” he shifted his eyes to the corner where you’d entered through. In the darkness, you could almost make out a shape hiding behind the curtain. Seeing a glimpse of an arm, you guessed it might be him. “And I know he’s rock hard by now.”

“I would imagine so,” you replied, spreading your legs slightly in his direction. “Is it slutty of me to say that I can’t wait for it?”

The figure shifted around when you said it within earshot.

“Very slutty,” Yunho answered, kissing your cheek, “But we like that.”

“What’s his theme?”

“Can’t tell you.”

“A hint then?”

“Nope. Now, get back to the dressing room,” he said, nuzzling your neck until you giggled. “Before I get tempted and start teasing you again. Mingi’s waiting.”

The both of you laughed, but you still forced yourself off the bed and out of his embrace. Anyone else might feel embarrassed by what just happened, but you only worried about the taste still in your mouth. Nothing a lemonade cup doesn’t fix.

***

You smiled widely at the pastel pink crop top and white shorts waiting in the dressing room. Juwon said Mingi chose a pastel kawaii appearance for you, since he always likes your ‘cute’ outfits. Juwon dressed you in the outfit, complete with white tennis shoes and rainbow knee-high socks while Minsu added heavy blush on your cheeks and faded lip gloss. She made your eyes appear larger, made your nose smaller, adding freckles shaped like stars and a little heart jewel to your makeup. Hair clipped back, they added pink and purple with Pusheen hair clips.

It was utterly and sickeningly adorable. You never felt cuter, and the set amplified your appearance somehow. Walls painted bright yellow, the fluffy carpet matched the purple and yellow bed dotted with strawberries and strawberry milk cartons. Several squishmallow plushies covered the headboard, and you didn’t stop yourself from diving into them.

“Can I keep these?!” you asked, hugging a birthday-themed Pusheen plushie, “Ah, I want them all.”

“We’ll see,” said the director.

You already started deciding which ones you’d be stuffing in your duffle bag when you noticed something tucked underneath the stuffed toys. Pulling it out, you saw it was a basic porn magazine. A half-naked woman knelt in front of white backdrop, giving you a seductive expression. You flipped through it to see more naked women in various poses, and wondered what it could be for until you saw the rabbit vibrator sitting underneath a boba-tea shaped plush toy. You laughed, turning on the pink and translucent toy to feel it vibrate in your hand. Mingi will want to use it, and that makes you hornier.

“I’m guessing you like it then?” Nami asked, approaching the stage.

“I do,” you grinned, picking up a Pusheen sushi plush, “I knew Mingi’s would be something cute. He always says he likes my ‘cute side’.” Yes, you’re taking sushi Pusheen.

“He was very descriptive in what he wanted,” she told you. “He even picked out the plushies on the bed. He said he wanted it to be ‘realistic’ to your tastes.”

“Does that include the toy and porn mag?” The two of you laughed.

You wondered how long this innocence will last before his boner takes over. “Do you consider Mingi a cute person?” asked a producer.

“Very,” you smiled, nodding as you held a Hello-Kitty angel plush. “I know on stage he’s all sexy and intimidating, doing all his hip thrusts and expressions, but in real life, he’s an angel. He always cares about others, sometimes more than himself, and he’s so loving.” It brought on a bout of sadness, knowing the internal struggles Mingi feels on occasion. The time he’d taken a hiatus for his mental health scared you the most, since you’d seen it bring him to his lowest point. It made your heart ache. “Ever since I met him, he’s told me he wants to be someone I can lean on when I’m sad. He heard from other idols that Companions can have it rough because of their idols’ schedules or that they have to manage multiple members, and he worried about me. So, yes, he’s a very sweet person.”

Though, you didn’t mention that your sweetheart had a dirty side. Yes, he could be submissive at times, but not always. Seeing your outfit and the set, Mingi wanted to corrupt his cute kitten. The thought alone made your clit pulse again. When Mingi came out, you weren’t surprised. In a sleeveless black shirt, baggy black pants, with several chains and rings, Mingi dressed up as the bad boy to your innocent character. Seeing his muscled arms and sides made you shudder; the sight of his rings had your thighs clenching. He came right over to you, unable to focus on anything but you on the bed.

“You look so pretty,” he said between kisses, “Much prettier than I thought.”

“Thanks,” you beamed, giving a sweet smile. “Why this?”

“Because,” he kissed you again, sitting down and bringing you into his arms, “Ever since that classroom shoot I haven’t stopped thinking about you like this.” He cupped your chin, looking over your blush and freckles, “A sweet, innocent girl who's secretly a total slut.” You shuddered when he kissed your neck, starting at the top by your ear and going down, “Who watches porn and plays with herself all the time.”

“And you’ll be the tough guy who catches me?” You guessed, knowing it was a fantasy of his.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Who else would I be, hm?”

“I think we should get started now,” said Nami, setting up her camera again. “Mingi, you could go by the door and pretend you’re peeking in her room. YN, you can pull out the mag and just do what comes natural to you.”

Your arousal reigniting, you didn’t hesitate to open the magazine to a random page and spread your legs apart. Nami got full shots of the scene, capturing Mingi poking his head in the door to watch you. You grabbed the vibrator to slide up and down your clothed sex, only just feeling the head cast over your slit over and over. You whined at the tight sensations coming back to you. The woman in the photo was in a bathtub, rose petals clinging to her wet, soapy skin, as she delicately touched herself. It reminded you of the times Mingi caught you in a bathtub or a shower. You learned quickly he liked the “catching-you-in-the-act” scenario, and you sometimes did it just to tease him.

Nami then instructed Mingi to open the door and look at you in shock, and you did the same thing. A few shots later, Mingi is on the side of the bed and holding the toy. The magazine opened to a new page beside you, neither of you paid attention to it as he slid off the shorts to reveal your soaked panties. Pure white, the cotton fabric did nothing to hide your wetness and Mingi licked his lips.

“Naughty,” he said, kissing from your chest to your neck, “Did Seonghwa and Yunho get you that worked up?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, savoring the feeling of his lips on your skin. You looked down to see him lazily slide the toy up and down between your legs. “God, I wanna cum so badly.”

“I know, baby,” he stopped the teasing to lift your shirt over your breasts, “And we’ll get there soon. Don’t worry.”

You kept an innocent face as he pulled down your bra to reveal your tits. Nami took shots of him sucking the hard nubs; Mingi made sure she saw his tongue flicking and swirling around them after every suckle. You couldn’t stop yourself from wriggling underneath him. Everything leading up to the point inflated the balloon waiting to burst inside you. Their touches. Their kisses. It all sent you spiraling, and you didn’t care about the crew watching nearby. You didn’t care if this turned into softcore porn for Atinys to enjoy. You only cared about Mingi using his lips and his toy on you before fucking you himself.

“Mingi,” you cried, “Put it in me, please.”

“Soon,” he promised, “You’ll get it soon. Here…”

He turned on the vibrator and pressed it to one of your nipples. The tip tickled the supple skin and sent sparks through the center. He gently swished it over each one until you were writhing on the bed. You thought you might finish right there before he suddenly stopped. He chuckled at your pathetic mewling, then removed his shirt. His body, well defined, was mouthwatering. Reaching forward, you brought him close to kiss him deeply. It gave you an excuse to feel his soft muscles and smooth skin.

“Stroke me,” he murmured as he unzipped his pants.

He didn’t need to say it twice. He knelt beside you so you could easily withdraw him from his boxers. Already rock hard, it sprung out once you pulled them down and you instantly took hold of him. A low groan escaped him as you began lightly stroking him. Atinys said they loved his size, and so did you. After stroking him for a short while, envisioning it buried hilt-deep inside, you blinked up at him innocently.

“Oppa,” you said innocently, “Can I put it in my mouth like in class? I really like doing it now, and Mr. Jeong says I’ve gotten better.”

“Yes,” he breathed, eyes full of lust and focused on you. “Go ahead.”

Slowly, you slipped his tip into your mouth. Nami took photos of his euphoric expression, catching closeups of your lips around his length and his muscles tensing from the pleasure. You’d almost forgotten her and the crew in the heat of the moment. Something in you wanted to be more impressive than usual. Sliding him further into your mouth, you stayed flushed to him to keep his cock near your throat. Mingi groaned deeply at this, unable to stop his hips from pushing forward. The toy in his hand went back to your pussy, the distance only putting the tip against you. He only broke away from you to pull down your panties, exposing your dripping sex to the camera. Once he was back, you continued working him with both your hand and mouth. Twisting your hand in every stroke drove him crazy, and he rapidly rubbed the toy over your pussy so you moaned around him.

“Just like that,” he huffed, “Just like in class. You’re doing such a good job.”

“I’ve been practicing,” you said, playing along as you licked his dripping tip.

“Oh yeah?” he chuckled, tapping it on your tongue before pushing back inside. “With the other guys?” You nodded, and he grinned. “Slutty girl,” he forced himself deep in your throat to gag you, “We’ve got you well trained, don’t we?”

“Yes,” you coughed, “I can’t stop touching myself now.” You slobbered over his tip, making sure the clicking camera caught it, “It’s all I think about. All I want is your cocks deep inside me,” you gave a whimper before putting him back in.

“I’ll remember that for our next class,” he said, putting the toy on your stomach, “So you can show everyone what you’ve learned. Like how you use toys. Put this in there for me, and show me how you use it.”

You didn’t hesitate to grab the rabbit toy and push the tip inside. Moaning around his width, you slid the vibrating toy in and out of your tightness. The light buzzing joined your muffled moans; the rabbit ears continuously pressed to your aching clit while the curved tip pushed on your g-spot. Mingi muttered occasional encouragement and praise as you let your pleasure fully take over. At one point, you held it inside, causing your legs to lift and quake from the sensations overpowering you. It moved to the pulsing of your walls, and you nearly came hands-free.

“No, no, no,” Mingi said, removing the toy and smiling when you whined, “You don’t get to cum before me. This is all for me,” he rubbed your throbbing clit with his hand, rapidly moving it side to side, “This is meant to pleasure me, not you.”

“Mingi!”

“Keep sucking my dick,” he ordered, shoving himself back inside, “And fucking your pussy.”

A bit more forceful this time, you relished in the change as you obeyed his command. The both of you watched the other come undone. The sweetness Mingi was known for shed entirely, turning into a hard dom who’d edge you as long as he liked. You still hadn’t gotten the complete hang of it, even after a few practice sessions with Hongjoong. You knew once that orgasm approached, you’d chase it down. With Mingi fully fucking your mouth, it was only a matter of time. The buzzing on your cunt and his length penetrating your throat, you started shaking and moaning louder.

“Stop,” he said, reaching around to take the toy from you. You kicked your feet and cried, though this was muffled by the dick in your mouth. “I don’t care,” he replied, hearing your protest, “I haven’t finished yet. Make me cum and I’ll think about letting you finish.”

You did what you knew he liked: working the tip with your tongue. Each time he slid in or out, you made sure your tongue grazed the wrinkled underside of the head. It had been when he leaned forward for a different angle that the bed dipped on either side of you.

“Look how pretty our little dongsaeng is,” cooed Seonghwa, pushing stray hairs from your temples. “She takes it so well, doesn’t she?”

“Every time,” Yunho answered, grabbing the rabbit toy. He turned it back on and put it close to your clit. “I give her private lessons, and she’s always so good for me.”

“I should join,” he replied. “I could use the practice and you know she loves more than one.”

“Fuck, I’m so close,” Mingi panted, not showing you any mercy as he choked you with his cock in different intervals. “I’m so close. Keep sucking me like that, just like that.”

He kept your cries muffled as Yunho pushed the toy back inside you. Moving tortuously slow, you shook and twitched to the teasing sensation. Even at this speed, you felt yourself close to your orgasm.

“Make him cum, YN-ssi,” Yunho said, “Make him cum in your throat like you do with me. I know how much you love it.” He gradually picked up the pace, “Our sweet YN loves cum.”

You did and you hated that they knew that. Soon, Mingi gripped the headboard tightly as he hunched over. Muscles tight and hard in their constriction, he shuddered as he came. Thick, hot and slightly tangy, Mingi’s cum filled your mouth and throat. You swallowed what you could manage before he withdrew, strings of it coming out with him. Nami grabbed photos of those when the other two moved away to give her space.

When Mingi finally dismounted, the other two converged on you. Seonghwa licked and sucked on your breasts while Yunho kept your legs wide open for the toy.

“Go on, baby,” Seonghwa groaned, “You can cum now. You’ve been such a good slut; you deserve it.”

“Yo-you promise?”

“We promise,” Yunho said, not holding back with the toy, “We want to see you cum for us. You look so pretty when you do.”

Streams of curses escaped you as your orgasm finally hit. All the pressure inside you came out in small uncontrollable spurts. Their constant praises and light touches only helped you along. You thought it might go on forever, and you wanted it to, chasing it down by pushing into the toy. The vibrating ears suddenly spiked your sensitive clit, making you close your legs before Yunho forced them back open. He didn’t stop despite the little sparks radiating inside.

“Aw, look at the little mess you made,” Seonghwa grinned, nuzzling your cheek. “You’re leaking all over.”

“Someone should clean that up,” said Yunho, who didn’t hesitate to start licking the trails leaking out of you. Nami took the opportunity to get a few quick shots.

You let out soft cries as Mingi and Yunho took turns lapping and sucking up your juices. As Seonghwa gently soothed you, a part of you wished the crew would leave you with them. They’d gotten their pictures and shots. They could go now.

“How about we continue this at home, hm?” Seonghwa suggested as he kissed your cheek. “You’re more comfortable there and we’d be alone.”

“Please,” you said, finally taking in the people there. You didn’t think you’d feel this way afterwards. Heat filling your cheeks, you sort of hid in his shoulder which made the three men laugh softly.

“Now is when you’re shy?” he teased, kissing your temple. “Come on. We’re done here.”

They properly cleaned you with warm, damp towels given to them by the staff, giving you more praise and kisses as they went. Juwon brought over a robe and comfortable clothes for you. This felt different from the previous episode, since then there’d been no staff watching you together. It almost killed the bliss currently coming over you. Even if they weren’t, you imagined some seeing you differently now that they’d seen what you’re like in bed. A part of you wondered, as you got into the van an hour later, if you’d end up regretting this decision. It hit you that people would be seeing most of the photos, and watching the episode. You liked to think the staff would make it tasteful and not so graphic, since they’d done that with the classroom episode. But, the point of Companion shows was the sex; it was the main focus that drew people 19 and over in.

“Come here,” Yunho brought you into his arms once you arrived home, kissing your neck and lifting your shirt.

Clothes ended up on the floor leading to his bedroom, where the three of them cornered you on the bed. Soon, the four of you were whimpering, moaning and groaning as you tangled in each other. You couldn’t get enough of each man. You rarely felt so desperate for their touches before. By the time it was over, you became a pile of sweaty, panting puddles on Yunho’s bed. Curling up close to him, his arm around your waist and nose buried in your hair, you slowly fell asleep.

You couldn’t think of a better place to be.

****

Y/N: heeeeey been a while since I did one of these! God, can anyone stop these folks from getting it on?? No, and nobody wants to either! I hope you guys liked this one, and reblog/like <3

#ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #park seonghwa #jeong yunho #song mingi #mingi ateez #seonghwa ateez #yunho ateez #ateez x reader #ot8 x reader #idol companion series #seonghwa smut #yunho smut #mingi smut #ateez smut #pirateeznet

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edenesth · 4 months ago

Text

The Paradox of Us

Pairing: Seonghwa x fem!reader

AU: non-idol au

Word Count: 8.1k

Summary: Relationships are rarely as simple as they seem. It becomes heartbreakingly complicated when two souls, bound by a love that still burns bright, come to realise that sometimes, love alone may not be enough to keep them together.

A/N: Seonghwa's 踊り子 (odoriko) cover has been on repeat since the moment it came out. I couldn't get it out of my mind and just knew I'd never forgive myself if I didn't write anything inspired by it.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

"I don't love you."

Strangely, those words would have been easier to bear. But instead, you heard the ones that shattered you in ways you never thought possible: "I love you so much... but we can't go on like this anymore."

The ache was unbearable, as if your heart was tearing itself apart with every replay of his broken voice in your mind. You would have preferred if he had said his love had faded, that the spark was gone. At least then, you could grieve, accept, and move forward. But no—he still loved you. Deeply. And that cruel truth left you stuck in a purgatory of emotions, unable to let go.

Yet, you understood him. You always did. And perhaps that was the most painful part of all—knowing he was right. You had felt it too, this growing divide neither of you could bridge. But you hadn't been brave enough to say it aloud, to admit that love wasn't enough to hold together two people who simply weren't meant to be.

So, he said it for you. And now, all you had was the emptiness of what could have been, and the love that would never quite fade.

"It'll be alright, sweetie. Time heals everything," your mother murmured, her hand gently rubbing your back as you blinked away tears and refused to meet her gaze. Her tone was soft, even comforting, but you couldn't stand it—not when she sat there pretending she hadn't played a pivotal role in this heartbreak. You could almost feel her satisfaction simmering beneath the surface, hidden behind her facade of concern. After all, hadn't she always believed he would never measure up? That he was never good enough for you?

You hated it—hated her.

Hated how she had turned your relationship with him into a battlefield, her disapproval so loud, so ever-present, that it became impossible for him to feel at home in your life. How dare she sit beside you now, feigning sorrow, when her constant criticisms had planted the seed of doubt that grew into the conclusion you dreaded? How dare she, of all people, offer comfort when she had made you believe that love—your greatest love—wasn't enough?

Her words echoed in your mind, the ones she'd repeated time and time again: "Love and compatibility aren't the same. Love is powerful, yes, but relationships are more than just feelings—they require shared values, aligned goals, and practical compatibility." She had said it so often that it became a mantra, one you tried to ignore until it became impossible.

And then there was him.

You hated him too—hated him for giving in, for not fighting harder, for agreeing with everyone else. For being too selfless, too considerate, too good. He'd always told you, "Family comes first. Everything else—including me—comes second." You hated that he meant it. Hated that he let you go because he believed it was the right thing to do, the thing that would hurt the least.

But most of all, you hated yourself.

Hated yourself for knowing, deep down, that they were all right. That maybe love really wasn't enough. You hated yourself for being too afraid to defy them, too afraid to risk it all for him. While he was brave enough to let you go, and your mother was relentless in her convictions, you had been the coward. You let everyone else make the choice for you because you couldn't bear to make it yourself.

And now, you were left with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of what-ifs and the haunting ache of knowing you had lost not because you didn't love enough, but because you hadn't been brave enough to fight for that love.

"The right person will come along," she said softly. You pressed your eyes shut, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. Without another word, you pushed yourself up from the dining chair, leaving your barely touched meal behind, and headed to your room.

Before you could step through the door, her voice followed you, cutting through the air like a knife. "You'll thank me one day when you meet a man who can give you all the things that boy never could."

Your fists clenched as you slammed the door shut behind you. Sliding down to the floor with your back against the wood, you let her words fester. Maybe she was right. You weren't getting any younger. Around you, friends and cousins were all settling down with partners your mother would call 'suitable.' And you hated it—hated that, in her eyes, Seonghwa could never be that person for you.

But then, the thought struck: you were your mother's daughter. How much of this was truly her fault? At some point, hadn't you begun to believe her? Slowly, insidiously, her words had taken root in your mind. You did this. To him, to yourself.

You remembered watching others build their perfect, storybook lives with partners who ticked every box society demanded. And you wondered—quietly at first, then louder—if you and Seonghwa could ever achieve the same. Could he be that for you? Could you be that for him?

It wasn't fair. Not to him, not to you. You hated yourself for the way doubt crept in, for how your mother's voice echoed in your head, pointing out the cracks and differences you had tried so hard to ignore. You hated yourself for wishing things could be different, for swallowing those thoughts because you loved him too much to ask him to change. He was who he was—his own person.

How could you ask him to mould himself into someone your mother would approve of? Someone society deemed 'right' for you? And if he did, would he even be the man you fell in love with?

It was those questions, those doubts, that began to live rent-free in your mind. Bit by bit, they widened the gap between you. And Seonghwa wasn't blind. He saw it. He felt it.

"You deserve someone better—someone who can give you so much more," he had said that final night, his voice breaking under the weight of goodbye.

It was your fault—your doubts, your actions, your silence. They had pushed him to that conclusion. And now, as the door behind you trembled with your suppressed sobs, you wondered: How dare you blame your mother for what you had done to him? To yourself?

How dare you?

"Gaming at San's place next, you coming?" Wooyoung asked, tossing a napkin onto the table as everyone scrambled to leave. The ridiculous game they'd invented—where the last one to leave had to pay the bill—had everyone laughing and darting for the exit.

Seonghwa's smile barely touched his lips as he shook his head and reached for his wallet. "Go on with them. I'll cover it."

The younger man hesitated, glancing at him before blurting out, "Dude, you can't always give in like this. Your poor financial planning skills are exactly why she left you."

The table fell silent, the air suddenly heavy. Wooyoung's grin faltered as he realised what he'd said, too late to take it back. Seonghwa didn't flinch outwardly, but the words sliced deep because they were true. Partly, at least.

It wasn't like he made much, not compared to the rest of his friends with their steady corporate jobs. And yet, he wasn't careful with what little he had. You had always been the one saving, planning, building a future he could barely contribute to. People his age were buying cars, investing in property, making strides toward a stable life. But he wasn't like them. He had chased his passion as a figurine crafter—a dream that didn't come with a steady paycheck—and he'd known the risks. Your mother was right: you deserved someone who could offer you the stability he never could.

"Hey, man," Wooyoung said quickly, guilt colouring his tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I got the bill already, so don't worry about it. Just come with us tonight, yeah? Relax a little."

But the eldest only gave a faint shake of his head. The apology didn't soften the truth of the remark. He was the reason things fell apart. Not because he didn't love you enough—he loved you too much—but because love wasn't enough.

He'd failed you. Failed to provide the kind of life you deserved. He couldn't believe you'd even agreed to be with him in the first place, so different were your worlds. Your family background, your education, your values, your ambitions—they all set you apart. He had nothing to offer someone like you. And yet, he had been selfish enough to hold on, to want you despite knowing he could never measure up.

He should have worked harder. Should have tried to step up and be the man you needed. But he hadn't, because deep down, he knew he couldn't. Perhaps he had always known it wouldn't last. That one day, you'd wake up and realise the same.

You didn't leave right away. You stayed longer than he deserved. And when you finally began pulling away, when the signs became impossible to ignore, he had to let go. It wasn't courage that made him end it—it was inevitability.

"Come with us, hyung," Wooyoung tried again, his voice gentler this time.

But Seonghwa shook his head once more. "You guys go ahead without me. I... I have somewhere to be."

It was a lie, and they all knew it. He had nowhere to be. Nowhere that mattered, at least. Just his empty apartment, where the echoes of your absence would greet him like old, familiar ghosts.

He didn't care if they saw through the lie. What mattered was that he deserved this—the loneliness, the self-pity, the regret. He had almost broken you apart from your family because he was selfish enough to believe his love was enough. He had almost stolen your future because he couldn't face the truth.

But now, it was over. You had given him the courage to do what was right in the end. He was grateful for that. Grateful you'd started pulling away. Grateful you'd given him the signs. Grateful you'd broken his heart with the words he couldn't bear to say himself.

It's time.

Time to stop pretending.

Time to let you go.

Time to let the misery end.

Yes, let it all go. Let the misery end.

He repeated the words in his head like a chant as he drove, gripping the steering wheel tighter with each mile. The familiar streets blurred past him, their lights shimmering in his tear-filled eyes. He swiped at his face with his sleeve, but the tears kept coming, warm and unrelenting. He hated himself for it. Hated that, even now, he could almost see you sitting beside him, your laughter echoing faintly in his memory.

These night drives had been your sanctuary. Just you and him, wrapped in the quiet of the world, as if nothing else mattered. Not the expectations, not the disapproving glances, not the relentless whispers about how you two didn't belong together. It had always been just you and him against everything.

But now, it was just him.

He didn't dare glance at the passenger seat. He couldn't bear the sight of its emptiness, couldn't face the truth of your absence. His mind played cruel tricks on him, filling the silence with phantom conversations, fleeting glimpses of your smile.

Everything around him reminded him of you. The way the streetlights hit the pavement, the faint smell of your favourite perfume lingering in his car, the songs on the radio you'd sing along to when you thought he wasn't paying attention. He wanted to escape it, but he knew going home would only make it worse.

Home.

The word felt hollow now. How could it be home when you weren't there? Every corner of that apartment held traces of you—the books you'd stacked neatly on the shelf, the coffee mug you always left on the counter, the sheets that still carried the faintest scent of your shampoo. He knew he should let those remnants go, pack them away, make it easier to move on. But the thought of erasing you felt like losing you all over again.

As the weight of it all pressed down on him, he slowed the car and pulled over to the side of the road. His hands trembled as he rested his forehead against the steering wheel, the cool leather grounding him for just a moment.

Is this hurting you too?

He wondered if you were struggling as much as he was. Part of him selfishly hoped you were, that you missed him the way he missed you. But another part—the part that loved you more than he loved himself—hoped you were finding peace. Hoped you were happier without him, that his decision to let you go had given you the chance to find the stability, the life, you deserved.

Clutching a hand to his chest, he finally let the tears fall freely. The ache in his heart felt unbearable, like a piece of him had been ripped away and might never grow back. Would he ever be okay again? Would he ever know happiness without you?

He didn't know.

He wasn't sure he wanted to. But he told himself, over and over, that this was the right thing to do. It didn't matter if he was happy. It didn't matter if he felt whole again. All that mattered was you. And as he sat there, broken and lost, he prayed you were finding the happiness he couldn't give you, even if it meant he would never find it again.

It's okay... she'll find the right person now.

The right person. Who even decided what that meant? Who had the authority to label someone as right or wrong for you?

Maybe it was the lingering ache for Park Seonghwa, the way his name still carried the weight of memories you hadn't yet learned to let go. Or maybe it was the frustration bubbling inside you, resentment toward your parents for tricking you into meeting this man—the son of your father's business partner—the one they couldn't stop praising.

Jung Yunho, the perfect man, as they called him. He was everything they'd ever wanted for you, a textbook example of stability, charm, and success. But the problem wasn't him. It was you. You weren't ready, not yet. Maybe not ever. Years had passed since the breakup, but the ghost of what you had with Seonghwa still clung to you, a shadow that even time couldn't chase away.

"Hey," Yunho's voice pulled you back from your spiralling thoughts. His gaze, warm and sincere, met yours as he leaned in slightly. "You feeling alright?"

Caught off guard, you glanced down at your untouched plate of steak and managed a small nod. "I'm fine, don't worry about me."

But he didn't look convinced. Instead, his lips curved into a soft, reassuring smile—the kind that could probably disarm anyone, just not you. "How could I not, when such a pretty lady is sulking before me?" he teased gently. Before you could reply, he reached across the table, taking your plate without hesitation. "Here, let me help you."

With careful precision, he began cutting the steak into neat, bite-sized pieces. The gesture was so thoughtful, so kind, and yet it left you feeling hollow. It wasn't the act itself—it was the way it lacked the weight of familiarity.

Seonghwa used to do the same thing, but it had always been different with him. He'd grumble playfully about how you'd never learn to do it yourself, though he never minded doing it for you. His hands were smaller, more delicate, and you'd always find yourself staring at the faint scars from his crafts. Yunho's hands, while steady and practised, didn't hold the same history.

"All done," Yunho said cheerfully, sliding the plate back to you. "Now you have no excuse not to eat."

You forced a polite smile, murmuring a quiet "thank you" as you picked up your fork. Yunho didn't seem to notice the distant look in your eyes, or perhaps he was kind enough not to point it out.

He was wonderful. Thoughtful, patient, and sincere. By all accounts, he was the right person. But as you sat there, forcing yourself to chew, you couldn't help but wonder:

What if the right person wasn't the one who checked all the boxes? What if they were the one who didn't, but still felt like home?

The rest of the night crawled by like a snail, every passing second stretching unbearably long. You shifted in your seat, wishing you were anywhere but here. Yunho was a great guy—attentive, charming, and genuinely kind. But that only made it worse. He deserved someone who could meet his enthusiasm with equal fervour, someone who didn't have her mind wandering to someone else entirely.

You sighed quietly, pushing your barely touched drink to the side. What the hell was wrong with you? This was what you'd agreed to, wasn't it? This was what you'd sacrificed so much for. Years ago, you walked away from the love of your life because it felt like the right thing to do, to pursue the kind of stability and compatibility everyone insisted was more important than love alone. And now here it was, right in front of you.

The right person.

Yet, as you glanced at Jung Yunho's radiant smile, so effortlessly warm, the thought of spending the rest of your life with him felt less like the happy ending you'd envisioned and more like a cage. A beautiful, gilded cage that offered everything a woman could ever ask for—security, stability, admiration. Everything except the one thing your heart still longed for.

All you could ever find inside yourself was the same man you'd tried so hard to let go of.

Park Seonghwa.

Your chest tightened at the thought of him, your mind betraying you with memories you'd worked so hard to bury. You wondered how he was doing, though it wasn't as if you hadn't heard. Mutual friends kept you updated more than you cared to admit, their words painting glimpses of a life that no longer included you.

You'd heard he was finally making progress with his work, his passion—the very thing you'd once defended but later doubted. He'd opened a small store, modest but filled with so much of himself. It sold various collectable art pieces: action figures, miniatures for tabletop games, and custom character figurines crafted with meticulous care. Fans of Star Wars and Animal Crossing flocked to him, drawn to the detail and love that radiated from every piece he touched.

And you were proud of him. God, you were so proud of him.

He'd stayed true to himself, despite all the judgement, all the whispers about how he'd never make it, how he'd never be good enough. He'd proved them wrong. He'd built something meaningful, something entirely his own. You were happy for him, truly, but beneath that happiness lay an ache you couldn't ignore. You regretted not being there to witness it, to cheer for him when he finally achieved what he'd always dreamed of.

But maybe that wasn't what he wanted. For all you knew, he'd moved on, found someone who stayed by his side through all the highs and lows. Someone who loved him openly and without reservation, who didn't make him feel like he'd never measure up.

Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe he'd sworn off love entirely after the way things ended between you two.

Either way, you couldn't blame him. You wouldn't blame him. Not after the pain you'd both endured.

Yunho's voice broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to the present. "Is... everything okay? You've been quiet tonight." His concern was genuine, his eyes soft with worry, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

"I'm fine," you lied, forcing a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

But deep down, you knew you weren't fine. And you didn't know if you ever would be.

"How much for that one?"

The tiny voice drew Seonghwa's attention, and he glanced down at the little girl standing on tiptoes, her small finger pointing eagerly at the figurine encased behind the counter. It was the only one displayed under glass, like a prized treasure—and in a way, it was.

He hummed, his eyes softening as he turned to look at the figure in question. The Kuromi figurine sat proudly on the top shelf, right next to the LED sign that glowed softly with his store's name: Star Mars. The design was intricate, every detail was carefully crafted with love and precision.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said gently, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. "That one's not for sale. It's reserved for someone very special."

The little girl pouted, her lips forming a perfect curve of disappointment, and his heart melted a little. But no amount of adorable pouting—or even persuasive whining—could ever convince him to sell it.

That Kuromi figurine wasn't just a piece of art; it was a promise, a memory frozen in time. It was one of the first figurines he'd perfected, the culmination of years of practice and the relentless pursuit of his passion. He'd made it as a gift for you—his favourite girl.

It still is yours, if only you wanted it.

The child's father stepped forward, lifting her into his arms as he gave Seonghwa an apologetic bow. "Don't worry about her, Mr Park. I'll convince her to go with the Isabelle one instead."

Seonghwa chuckled softly, standing upright as he waved off the father's concern. "No problem at all. Isabelle's a great choice," he said, though his eyes lingered briefly on the Kuromi figurine.

As the father and daughter moved on to browse the other displays, Seonghwa found himself lost in thought. He didn't display that piece out of pride or for show—it was there because it reminded him of you. Of the nights you'd spend sitting cross-legged on the floor of his studio, playfully teasing him about his obsession with getting every detail just right.

"She looks like you," he'd said when he showed it to you for the first time. You'd laughed, brushing it off, but the glint of affection in your eyes told him you secretly loved the comparison.

He'd planned to give it to you on your birthday, but the timing never felt right. And then, before he knew it, you were gone.

The bell above the door jingled, the familiar sound slicing through the haze of his thoughts and yanking him back to the present. He straightened up, plastering on the polite smile he reserved for customers, though the weight in his chest never eased.

"Good evening! Welcome to…" His voice faltered mid-sentence, the words catching in his throat as his entire world screeched to a halt.

There you were.

It had been years, but time seemed to melt away the moment his eyes landed on you. You stood there in the soft glow of his store lights, more beautiful than he remembered—if that were even possible. Your silk dress shimmered gently with each subtle movement, an elegant coat draped effortlessly over your shoulders. The once long hair he used to run his fingers through was now cropped to your shoulders, framing your face in a way that made you look older, wiser—but still you.

Even after all this time, his heart betrayed him. It thundered in his chest, each beat screaming your name. He clenched his fist tightly at his side, willing himself to stay rooted where he stood. Every fibre of his being ached to run to you, to close the distance, but he couldn't. He shouldn't.

Slowly, shakily, he mustered a smile, though it felt like his heart might burst from the sheer force of its racing. Then, to his astonishment—and heartbreak—you returned it. A soft, familiar curve of your lips that nearly undid him.

But then, it fell apart.

The moment shattered as a tall, striking man stepped in behind you. He moved with easy confidence, his presence commanding attention as if the universe itself had tilted slightly to make room for him. Without hesitation, his hand found its way to your shoulder, resting there with an ease that spoke of familiarity.

"See anything you like?" the man asked, his deep voice carrying the warmth of intimacy as he looked down at you.

You blinked, startled, as if shaken from a dream. "Oh… I was just…" Your voice trailed off as your gaze flicked back to your ex-boyfriend, lingering for a moment longer than it should have.

Seonghwa's smile faltered, but he quickly schooled his expression, burying the ache that clawed at his chest. He nodded politely, forcing himself to focus on the customer standing in front of him—the both of you.

The Kuromi figurine sat silently on its shelf, bathed in soft light, waiting for a moment that might never come. The air inside the store suddenly felt stifling. Seonghwa stood behind the counter, his hands gripping its edge like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"Welcome to Star Mars," he said, his voice steady but his smile trembling under the weight of emotions. He forced it wider, hoping it would mask the whirlwind within. "It's been a while. How have you been?" His heart clenched as the words left his mouth. He wanted to sound casual, as though you were just another customer, but he couldn't. You weren't just anyone. You never had been.

You gave him a hesitant smile, one that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I've been good. How about you?"

Before he could answer, the man beside you—tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding warmth—stepped forward, his curiosity evident. "Oh, you two know each other? What a small world!" His voice was friendly, his smile sincere, and Seonghwa's chest tightened further.

He should feel relief. This man, presumably your boyfriend—or worse, your fiancé—seemed perfect for you. He was everything Seonghwa had wanted for you when he stepped away, believing he could never give you the life you deserved. And yet, it felt like the ground was crumbling beneath him.

You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Yes, this is Seonghwa. He's... an old friend of mine."

Old friend. The words landed like a punch to his stomach, but he kept his composure.

The man extended a hand toward him, his smile unwavering. "I'm Yunho. It's nice to meet you! Next time my nieces and nephews need new toys, I'll know who to come to."

Seonghwa took his hand, shaking it firmly while managing a polite smile. "Nice to meet you too." His gaze flickered back to you, catching the way you avoided meeting his eyes.

As if on cue, Yunho's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he excused himself, stepping outside to take the call. For the first time since you'd entered, the air felt heavy with unspoken words.

You turned back to your ex, your eyes meeting his briefly before dropping to the counter. "Congratulations... Seonghwa," you whispered, his name falling from your lips like a fragile memory. "It's good to see how far you've come."

He nodded slowly, his smile softer now, though the ache in his eyes remained. "Thank you. And... congratulations to you as well," he said, glancing toward the window where Yunho stood. "He seems amazing."

The kindness in his tone made it hurt even more.

"No," you blurted, shaking your head. "He's not... we're just... friends. I don't..." Your words faltered, your voice trembling. "I'm not with anyone."

His brows lifted in surprise, but he stayed silent, his lips pressed into a thin line. You wished he'd say something, anything, but the way his eyes softened, brimming with a mix of emotions—relief, hesitation, and something deeper—was answer enough.

Your breath hitched when your gaze landed on the figurine behind him. Kuromi. Encased in glass, displayed on the highest shelf. You remembered the countless hours he'd spent perfecting it, the way he'd proudly shown you the finished piece.

He still kept it.

Before you could find the courage to ask why, Yunho reappeared, his presence cutting through the tension like a blade. "Hey, sorry to cut your little catch-up session short, but something urgent came up at work, and I—"

Seonghwa straightened, his polite smile snapping back into place. "Of course, don't let me keep you."

Your heart sank as he turned to you, bowing slightly. "It was nice seeing you again."

You forced a smile, though your chest ached with everything left unsaid. "It was nice seeing you too."

As you followed Yunho out, you couldn't resist glancing back one last time. Your eyes met Seonghwa's, and in that fleeting moment, it felt as though a thousand words passed between you.

Regret. Longing. Love.

The bell above the door jingled again as you stepped out, your heart heavy with the weight of the encounter. Yunho was quiet as he drove, his hands steady on the wheel. The silence between you felt thick, almost suffocating, but you didn't know what to say. How could you explain the whirlwind of emotions raging inside you without sounding selfish or ungrateful?

"It's him, isn't it?" Yunho's voice broke through your thoughts, soft but resolute.

Your head snapped toward him, your heart pounding in panic. "What… what do you mean?" you stammered, the guilt already clawing its way to the surface.

He sighed, pulling the car to a gentle stop in front of your home. Turning to face you, he gave you a small, knowing smile. "The man from the store. Park Seonghwa, right? He's the one you've been thinking about all night. Tell me if I'm wrong."

Your breath caught, your hands fumbling with the seatbelt as you tried to come up with a response. But the look in his eyes told you that lying wasn't an option. "I…" You paused, finally managing to unfasten the seatbelt, but your words seemed caught in your throat. "I'm sorry, Yunho. I didn't mean for this to happen."

He leaned back with a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You don't have to apologise. If anything, I should be the one saying sorry. I knew from the beginning that you weren't exactly thrilled about this arrangement, but I still went along with it, hoping… I don't know, that maybe something would change."

You felt tears sting your eyes, and you turned away, unable to meet his gaze. "You deserve better than this," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Hey." He reached out, his hand covering yours with a comforting warmth. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, you turned back to him, your vision blurred with unshed tears.

"You don't owe me anything," he said gently. "This… whatever this was supposed to be, it wouldn't have worked if both of us weren't fully in it. And that's okay. You know why?"

You shook your head, your voice barely audible. "Why?"

"Because this decision—choosing who you want to be with—it's for you, not for your parents, not for me, and certainly not for anyone else. It should never be about what people think or what they want. It's your life. Live it for yourself."

His words struck you like a bolt of lightning, unravelling years of self-doubt and regret. He was right. How had you allowed yourself to be swept up in everyone else's expectations, losing sight of what truly mattered to you?

You sat back in your seat, letting his words sink in, feeling a strange mix of guilt and liberation. After a long moment, you nodded, your voice steadier now. "Thank you, Yunho. For everything."

He smiled, his eyes kind and understanding. "Go on," he said, tilting his head toward your house. "And don't let fear hold you back this time."

As you stepped out of the car, his words echoed in your mind, igniting a spark of courage you hadn't felt in years.

You turned back, watching as Yunho drove away, his figure disappearing into the night. And for the first time in a long time, you felt a sliver of clarity.

It wasn't too late. You still had a choice to make. And this time, you'd make it for yourself.

The shop was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional rustle of paper as Seonghwa meticulously wrapped the Isabelle and Grogu figurines the pair of father and daughter finally agreed on getting. His movements were precise, his focus seemingly sharp, but his mind was elsewhere—stuck on the brief yet piercing encounter that had just walked out of his life again.

"That Kuromi one… it's for the pretty lady earlier, isn't it?"

The father's voice broke through Seonghwa's haze, and his hands froze briefly before resuming their task. He didn't look up, focusing instead on folding the edges of the wrapping paper with unnecessary care. "You might be right," he said after a pause, his voice quieter than intended. "But it doesn't matter if it is."

The man tilted his head, a subtle frown forming as he cradled his daughter closer. "And why's that? It clearly still means a lot to you both."

Seonghwa finally glanced up, forcing a polite smile, though it faltered almost immediately. "You saw it yourself... she's with someone else. Someone better." The words tasted bitter as they left his mouth, laced with a resignation he didn't quite believe in.

The man sighed, shifting the little girl in his arms so she could hold her new Grogu figurine. He regarded your ex with a look that felt far too knowing. "I also saw how she looked at you," he said softly. "And she didn't look like someone who's better off."

Seonghwa blinked, caught off guard, but the customer wasn't finished. His gaze drifted toward the cute purple figurine that was not for sale, and for a moment, his expression softened into something fragile—something etched with pain.

"You know," he began, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "my wife used to love Sanrio too. She had this little Cinnamoroll keychain she carried everywhere." He chuckled faintly, the sound bittersweet. "I always thought I'd have more time to make her smile, to give her the little things that made her happy. But time doesn't wait for anyone. One day, it was just… gone."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and Seonghwa felt something tighten in his chest.

The man glanced at him then, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity that seemed to pierce through Seonghwa's carefully built walls. "I don't know what's between you and her, Mr Park. But I do know this: regret is a heavy thing to carry. Don't let it weigh you down, not if you can still do something about it."

He gave Seonghwa a small, sad smile, the kind of smile that spoke of lessons learned too late, before taking the bag of purchased items. "Sometimes, all it takes is one step in the right direction. Don't let the chance slip away."

And then he was gone, the bell above the door jingling faintly as father and daughter disappeared into the night.

Seonghwa stood motionless behind the counter, his gaze drifting back to the Kuromi figurine in its glass case. The light reflected off it, casting faint shadows on the shelf behind it. It was meant for you. It had always been for you.

The father's words replayed in his mind, unrelenting in their simplicity and truth. He leaned against the counter, his eyes fixed on the figurine made just for you, but his thoughts were elsewhere—back to you, back to all the moments that had led to this one.

Back then, he'd convinced himself he was doing the right thing, letting you go so you could find the happiness he didn't think he could give you. He thought he was being selfless, noble even, sacrificing his own heart so you could find someone better—someone who deserved you. But now, the cracks in that logic were glaringly obvious. What had any of this accomplished? Neither of you had found happiness in the way he'd hoped.

The truth was harsh: he hadn't even tried. He hadn't fought to be better for you, to grow into someone worthy of your love. Instead, he'd accepted the version of himself the world seemed to see—a man with dreams too small and ambitions too impractical. He'd let himself believe that you deserved someone like Yunho, someone who fit the mould of what your parents and society thought was 'right.'

But things were different now. He wasn't that man anymore. He'd worked hard, not for anyone else but for himself. Every step he'd taken to build his store, every figurine he'd crafted with his own hands, every small milestone he'd achieved—it was proof that he could create something meaningful. And if he could do that, maybe he could create a life with you.

His heart clenched at the thought of you with Yunho, not because he doubted the man's worth, but because he knew Yunho could never hold your heart the way he still did. Yunho was everything society said you should want—stable, charming, perfect on paper. But love wasn't about paper. Love was about the way you used to light up whenever he showed you his newest creation, about the quiet nights you'd spent talking about everything and nothing, about the way your hand had always felt right in his.

Suddenly, the idea of the 'right person' seemed so absurd. There was no such thing. The right person wasn't someone who ticked all the boxes. The right person was the one you chose to love, again and again, flaws and all.

And you had chosen him once.

The real question now was whether you still would.

He straightened, his resolve hardening like molten metal cooling into steel. What kind of love was it if he could stand by and watch you settle for less than what you deserved? Not less in status or wealth, but less in the kind of happiness that made life worth living. What kind of love let you spend the rest of your days with someone who could never truly make your heart race?

Seonghwa wouldn't let that happen—not if he could help it.

His gaze lingered on the Kuromi figurine one last time before he moved toward the back room. He needed to think, to plan, to figure out how to tell you everything he should have said years ago.

If there was even the slightest chance that you still felt the same way, he would take it. Because this time, he wasn't letting fear or pride or anyone else's expectations get in the way.

This time, he was going to fight for you.

"Well...? Aren't you going to ask me how it went?" you asked, your voice sharp, as you stepped into the house. Your mother flinched, bowing her head slightly, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her apron. She hesitated for a moment before coming up to you slowly, her eyes brimming with guilt.

"Yunho called," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "He said he wishes not to force you."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, devoid of any humour. "Of course, it took an outsider's words for you to finally see how exhausting this has been for me," you said, your tone cutting. "All this talk about marriage, about finding the right man... who is it really for? Who am I doing this for, hm? Is it for my own happiness? Or... oh, right." You smiled grimly. "It never was about my happiness, was it? It was about keeping up appearances, about pleasing everyone but me."

Your mother's face crumpled as her gaze fell to the floor. The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken truths.

Your father, who had been sitting silently at the dining table, let out a long, weary sigh. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together as though trying to steady himself. "We thought we were doing what was best for you," he said, his voice low, burdened with regret. "We thought... if we guided you toward someone like Yunho, we were ensuring a future where you'd be safe, secure."

"Safe?" you repeated, your voice breaking. "From what? From being myself? From choosing the person who actually makes me happy? You never trusted me to make my own decisions. You never thought I was capable of knowing what I want, what I need."

Your mother reached for your hand, her touch tentative. "It wasn't like that," she said, though her voice wavered. "We were scared. Scared that you'd make a mistake, scared that you'd regret it later, scared that—"

"You mean you were scared," you interrupted, pulling your hand back. "Scared of what people would say. Scared of what the neighbours, the relatives, society would think. But you never stopped to ask me what I thought. What I felt."

Tears glistened in her eyes now, spilling over as she shook her head. "You're right," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You're absolutely right. We were selfish. We thought we knew better, but we didn't. We never meant to hurt you, but we see now that we did. We hurt you by not listening, by not trusting you."

Your father stood, his movements deliberate, his face sombre. "If he's the one you want, if he's the one who makes you happy, then we'll support you. No more pushing, no more trying to control your life. It's your choice. It always should've been your choice."

For a moment, the room fell silent. The tension that had loomed for so long finally began to dissipate, leaving behind a tentative sense of relief.

You inhaled shakily, the weight in your chest lifting just a little. It wasn't a perfect resolution—there was still so much to work through—but this was a start. A start you'd been longing for. "Thank you," you said softly, the words fragile but sincere. "Thank you for finally understanding."

And as your mother pulled you into a trembling embrace, you allowed yourself to hope that things could finally change. She smiled softly, brushing a hand against your cheek as if to assure you it was okay now. Your father stood behind her, his expression a mixture of pride and something deeper—perhaps the weight of finally letting go.

They exchanged a glance before your father nodded toward the door. "Go," he said quietly, his voice firm but warm. "Go where your heart tells you to. We'll always be here."

You blinked, stunned by their words, and for a moment, you couldn't move. But then, the weight in your chest lifted, replaced by an urgency that made your pulse race. Without another word, you turned and rushed out, barely remembering to grab your keys on the way.

Your car roared to life as you sped through the streets, your destination clear as day in your mind. Star Mars. The silly name you'd suggested in passing all those years ago, never imagining he'd actually use it. Your heart pounded harder with every turn, a mix of hope and fear swirling in your chest. Would he still want you after all this time? Did it matter? Even if he didn't, you needed him to know. You needed to tell him how you felt—how you still felt.

Parking haphazardly in front of his store, you didn't waste a second before bolting toward it. But as you reached the doors, your heart sank. The store was dark, the lights off, the doors locked. "Closed" hung starkly on the door, though the shops around it buzzed with life.

You froze, staring through the glass, confusion and dread pooling in your stomach. It's not even closing time yet... Had seeing you earlier bothered him that much? Had you pushed him away again, without even realising it?

Slumping against the door, you bit back tears, the overwhelming sense of missed chances clawing at your chest. Sure, you could come back another day. But you'd already lost so much time, wasted so many years pretending you didn't want this, pretending you didn't love him. You didn't want to waste another second.

Your gaze drifted inside the store, scanning the shelves. Your breath caught when you noticed something was missing. The Kuromi figurine—the one you'd lingered on earlier—was gone. You frowned, stepping closer to the glass. It had been there before. Where had it gone?

"Looking for this?"

The familiar voice made you spin around so fast you nearly stumbled. There he was, standing just a few feet away, the Kuromi figurine clutched in his hand, still encased in its protective plastic.

Your breath hitched as tears filled your eyes. "You took her off the shelf?" you asked, your voice trembling with emotion as you took a tentative step toward him. "Where were you planning to take her?"

He smiled softly, though his eyes glistened with unshed tears of his own. "I was going to take her to her rightful owner," he murmured, his voice steady but tender.

Your heart stopped at his words, and you whispered shakily, "Was? So you're not taking her anymore?"

He shook his head slowly. "No."

"Why not?"

He hesitated, the weight of years of longing and regret pressing against his chest. But then, the words of the customer from earlier echoed in his mind. Don't wait until it's too late. He looked at you—really looked at you—and knew, without a doubt, that this moment was the answer he'd been waiting for.

Taking a careful step forward, he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing softly against yours. His breath hitched when your fingers instinctively curled around his, holding on as though letting go would shatter everything.

"Because you're already here," he murmured, his voice trembling with unspoken emotion.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, your heart felt whole again. The ache of countless nights spent longing for him, convinced you'd never feel his love again, melted away. Here he was—right in front of you—just like all those years ago. Yet, it felt different now. It felt... right. Because this time, neither of you would let fear or doubt stand in the way. This time, you were both ready to fight for it, to grow, to compromise, and to hold on.

"Hwa, I... I need to tell you something," you began, your voice shaking, each word heavy with the weight of years spent in silence. Your eyes searched his, desperate to convey everything your heart had been screaming in his absence. But before you could say more, he smiled—a small, trembling curve of his lips that held every ounce of love and pain he'd been holding back.

His eyes glistened as he leaned in, his forehead gently meeting yours, grounding you, binding you in a way that no words ever could. The moment felt infinite, a pause in time where your souls met in unspoken understanding.

"I love you too," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion, raw and honest. Before you could process the words, his lips found yours, soft and warm, carrying all the unspoken promises, all the years of longing, all the love you thought you'd lost.

The world blurred and softened around you—the hum of the street and the glow of the city lights dissolving into nothingness. All that remained was him, the familiar scent of his cologne, the steady warmth of his hands cradling your face, the way his heart seemed to beat in perfect rhythm with yours.

In that kiss, you felt everything: the heartbreak, the yearning, the hope, and, most of all, the love that had endured time, separation, and pain. It was as if every broken piece of your heart was mending, every crack filled with the warmth of his love.

When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads remained pressed together, your breaths mingling in the quiet night. His thumb brushed away a tear you hadn't realised had fallen, his touch tender and sure.

"This time," he murmured, his voice steady but full of emotion, "I'm not letting you go."

And you knew—you both knew—that this time, nothing would keep you apart.

Istg, this wasn't meant to be so long. I wasn't even sure I wanted to give it a happy ending at first, but then I just kept getting carried away and voila. I swear I am working on Yunho's chapter of By Order of the Black Pirates bit by bit hehe just had to get this out of my system first.

As always, thank you for reading and hope y'all liked this one! Do let me know your thoughts! <3

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