ꨄ︎ a/n: hihi! wanted to thank you for your love on my first two posts, it makes me really happy to see that people actually like it ❤️ anyway, here we go on todays new post!!
pairing﹢ateez x fem!reader
genre﹢sfw. established relationship + domestic marriage life. parenthood, mentions of baby spit-up/vomiting (wooyoung), mild jealousy, just some fluffy and comedic dynamics.
synopsis﹢becoming parents was something you both prepared for, at least to some extent. what he, your husband and the father of your child, wasn’t prepared for… was the betrayal of watching the baby choose you every time, happily letting him suffer in silence.
the moment your son appeared in this world, both you and your husband were more than happy. blessed to have something you can call yours. being the captain of ateez had its amazing perks when it came to dealing with kids, but your baby is in full meltdown mode. red and soft cheeks, hot tears streaming down, and little fists shaking.
HONGJOONG tried everything. from gently bouncing, to soft humming, playing with the tiny stuffed plushie of jjoongrami he had, to finally whispering, “c’mon buddy, daddy loves you…” sadly nothing worked. the crying only gets louder as the four-month-old baby seems not to enjoy his father's bribing. that's not until you walk over, pick him up… and he immediately hiccups, sniffles, and collapses into your chest like a koala.
he calmed down instantly, and your husband just stares, baffled by the way that just only from your touch, the small treasure seems to be at peace now. no more crying, no more fussing, just being in mama’s arms.
“did i– did i do something wrong?” his voice breaks in the middle like he’s the one about to cry. how did you just do that? genuinely, how, because he was about to call his mother and ask for advice.
you rub your boy’s back, gently as you sway and rock him, feeling his little breaths hit your skin, trying not to laugh at his father. “no, joongie… he just likes the warmth.” hongjoong slumps onto the couch, dragging a hand across his face, because all his attempts were unsuccessful, and he might have to call his or your mother, just to ask a few questions for next time.
“but i produce warmth too… i can be warm…” he looks betrayed, like extremely, even a little pout on his handsome face. there's not much he can do about it, you're his mother after all, of course he'll look for mom first and dad later.
afternoon came, the time when you and your son go to take a nap, he starts going through every website with the question: “why does the baby only like mom?”
you’re folding laundry while humming, not even singing, just humming some random melodies you either overheard in a song or just coming up with something on the spot. your baby girl, sitting in her highchair, is utterly hypnotized by your voice. eyes sparkling, little fists tapping the tray, a goofy and drooly smile, adoring her small and squishy face, even her teeth are starting to show, and she just looks so adorable.
hearing the sound of the front door opening and closing means that SEONGHWA came back from grocery shopping, as you hear his voice announcing his arrival. “daddy’s home!” and yes, daddy is home for you and your little princess. alas, the little miss doesn’t even glance at him; she just stares at you with pure love and adoration in her eyes.
thankfully he put the bags on the floor before seeing this, because otherwise he would let them go and the eggs would break… but too late, his heart was already broken. “did she just ignore me?”
you laugh, and the baby giggles because you laughed. going to pick her up from the chair and, kissing her soft cheeks and cooing, trying to hand her to him, but all she did was whine, reaching back toward you. your husband dramatically looks at the ceiling like he’s in a tragic drama, blinking at the white color, biting his lower lip.
then you started singing again, humming, and the baby was so happy to hear her mother’s gentle voice once again, not even sparing her father a glance or acknowledging his existence, or the fact that he was about to cry. “is my singing career over? is mommy the new main vocalist of the house… did you train with jongho for this?”
“she just likes my lullaby voice,” you said, kissing him on the cheek, the little one still in your arms, having the audacity to throw him a smile. seonghwa mutters under his breath, he can’t stay mad at his girl, but it still hurts picking the other parent. “i have a lullaby voice too…i literally debuted for this.”
your son adores his father. the little boy loves being swung around, loves sitting on his shoulders, loves being tickled… he just loves being loved in every way that involves the man you call your husband. YUNHO swears his son loves him, just as much as he does… until today.
when you blow raspberries on his tummy, though, your son loses it. it’s a full-body laughter, a whole circus in the nursery, with his head thrown back, legs kicking like he is playing with the national football team. he really loves it when it's time for that, especially after a bath... but someone didn't seem to like it.
the love of your life, the father of your child, just watches from the doorway, completely smitten but also betrayed, because…
“i do that too! i do the same thing!” he could be a big man, in both senses of the word, but sometimes he acted like a child, mainly this side of him took over when he wasn't the winner. “no,” you say, kissing the baby’s cheek again, hearing those loud giggles, “you attack him and pretend to be a dragon, and i’m just the super cool knight who comes to save the prince.”
your son squeals and wraps his arms around your neck. as for yunho, he needs to sit down in the armchair next to the bed where the two of you are. he looks like someone just defeated him with a fatal and unexpected headshot in one of his games. unbelievable, my own blood thinks his mom is funnier than me…”i’m literally the entertainer in this house.”
“don’t pout now, alright? he loves you too!” you took the baby, with new diapers, clean and bathed, and so cute, also for some reason he's such a big boy, a little taller than others his age... dad’s genes are so strong. he didn't stay in his arms for more than a second, before reaching for you again, and your husband gently scoots him away.
“go to mama then… i’ve accepted my fate.” of course, he's joking, but he's a little jealous; however, he hopes his son knows that daddy’s here too, even if he picks mommy first.
your daughter is…exactly YEOSANG. like someone photocopied his baby pictures, a carbon copy, his little twin with those chubby cheeks, dark eyes, and just purely angelic features. she also has a birthmark next to her eye, but it's on the right side. the little angel has you wrapped around her finger; actually, she has everyone wrapped around her tiny finger.
you gently boop her nose, shocked and oh-so in love, “yeosang, she’s literally you. oh my god– look at her! look at her lips, and her cheeks!” to say you’re obsessed would be an understatement. you’re leaning over her, kissing her nonstop while she squeals proudly, and tries to ramble some syllables, still learning to say mama or dada, it’s a tough but so adorable process.
yeosang stands behind you, arms crossed. not that he doesn't love his own child. nonsense, he would die for her, but the fact that you only paid attention to her didn't particularly appeal to him. as much as he was an angel, he could easily be one, well, a petty man, sometimes a savage too. “i think i am the original, though… she looks decent.”
too busy cooing to hear him, you just want to munch on her cheeks, because, why does she have to be so cute? you'll just cry, how could you give birth to such an angel, such a beautiful princess? “she’s so freaking cute i can’t stand the feeling…” kissing her soft and small fingers, “mommy’s sweet girl, yeah, mommy loves you sooo much,”
your husband literally lifts his one hand, like he is in school, trying to grab your attention once again. “do i not exist anymore? i was the other one who helped in the baby-making process, in case you forgot.”
no answer, just his daughter giggles, as you sqeual again, mumbling something about how good she will look with her new onesies. he just sighs, but not before glancing at the baby’s face. you claim that she's a complete copy of him, but that smile on her face is entirely yours. when you finally look up and kiss him too, he blushes, just like his little girl. “okay… fine. i’ll forgive you this time.”
having a 10-month-old baby meant that she was starting to get more curious about how the world works. what mommy and daddy do, or how, when she uses gestures like pointing or raising arms to be picked up, you do it. and why she can't touch certain things. “sweetie, no touching daddy’s water bottle.”
she stops immediately after hearing your voice. this tone wasn't the sweet sound that usually came from your lips that were constantly kissing her. maybe she slowly started to understand simple words like no, and maybe the fact that she shouldn't make mommy angry, because things wouldn't be all sunshine and rainbows.
“princess, no touching daddy’s water bottle–” but the moment she heard her father's voice, she immediately grabbed it and held it hard, like it’s some toy she doesn’t want to let go. the pacifier in her mouth, looking at him, pardon, staring dead in his eyes, and SAN is shocked. is this what he gets for when your word is the law, and his doesn't exist? shouldn't it be the other way around, where the dad is scarier and stricter?
“why does she only listen to you?” you shrug at his question, too busy warming her milk. not that your husband wasn't sometimes scary, in the sense of making a remark to her about something, teaching her, but he was more gentle because he felt sorry, and she let out those sweet little pleading eyes that don't work on you. the same eyes her father used, and still uses, to get away with something. “she knows my tone.”
san kneels on the floor in front of his daughter, trying to get the bottle in the meantime, but the baby won't let go. did you give birth to hercules or something? his face close to hers, baby voice activated, lips slightly pouting, just the perfect lure. “is mommy scarier…” but she just blinked, “no? then is mommy prettier? tell daddy the truth.”
the little princess just babbles and pats his face with her free hand, and he melts on the spot. but then you pick her up and she nuzzles into your neck. san lies down, defeated but in love. “i'm jealous that my own daughter listens to her mother more than me.…but she’s an angel so it’s fine. i’ll just… cry a little.”
your son was a bit clumsy and overly energetic, and you wonder where he got it from. still learning to get a good hold of objects, to use his hands, and not to put them in his mouth. even when he accidentally spills a glass of water, or knocks down the tower his father built with the constructor, all you do is coo at him. “oh, baby, it’s okay. come here~”
you scoop him up with the softest voice, baby-talk him, cuddle, forgive him instantly, and he giggles, because mommy is so sweet and pretty. no problems, he's still learning, this small and charming baby, unfortunately, as clumsy as his father, no dna test needed.
however, later, when you were so close to putting him to sleep for his afternoon nap, MINGI decided to drop something heavy on the ground, and you went completely crazy. “song mingi!” oh no, this is the end, because the moment your husband reached out to take the metal spoon, he saw you with a very angry expression. the little cutie on your hip, slightly opening his eyes, yawning, looking so tired, even if he was born nine months ago.
“why…” mingi starts, voice trembling, when your son stares at him, as if he’s watching a nature documentary, between the predator who just happened to be mommy, and the prey, which you guessed right, is daddy himself. “why does he get the gentle mode, and i get the beast mode?”
“because he’s a baby.” you kiss your son’s head, rocking him, and if he decides not to sleep at night, it will be a problem for his father to deal. it won't be the first time this has happened, but you don't want your son's sleep schedule to be disrupted from the start.
“i was your baby first!” you raise an eyebrow at him, because yes, he is right, you are taking care of a child, and a man-child all at once. the man-child you chose to marry and have a future with just sulks, holding the spoon and the half-opened pudding, as the kid decided to babble some comfort nonsense. your husband smiles instantly, considering that in such difficult times, even if his wife nags him, the little boy will always forgive him, which means going to bed at 3 in the morning. thanks again, dad.
your daughter sits in your lap, happy as a baby can be. you just fed her, because your girl has a very big appetite, just like her father, and she is only eight months old. of course, you burped her, and now it was time for the daily dose of cuddles. no issues at all, just mommy and baby having a peaceful time together.
until WOOYOUNG decided to take her for two seconds so you could go to the bathroom. they say miracles happen quickly and instantly, you can just blink and miss a shooting star. but for two whole seconds, the little troublemaker decided she was going to shoot those shooting stars all over her dad's t-shirt… at least it wasn’t the face.
“fuc–…baby why?” and the expression on his face was more than golden. you felt sad, but at the same time, it was so funny. why don't you film with your phone in moments like this? this is priceless, a memory you will forever keep in your mind, maybe even in a few years when she decides to rebel, you will mention: sweetheart, you can’t remember but…you used to throw up on your dad so much like a baby… so please listen to him, alright?
“she’s still adjusting to living.”
“adjusting to what exactly? be a baby sniper, because congratulations, princess, your aim is flawless.” but when he hands her back to you, you laugh, wiping her mouth with the tissues you quickly got from the kitchen. she snuggles immediately into your chest, can’t win against boobs, that’s like cheating, your husband can’t compete with that.
“she’s a daddy’s girl!” you told him and he then took off his shirt, actually ripped it with all the strength he had; thankfully, it was old and worn out. “then why does she treat me like i’m some kind of puree she doesn't like?” he's usually so good with kids, with babies, with you... but it's like she's his sworn enemy. little missy is so naughty, and small and cute, he can't even be mad because it's like looking in a mirror.
“she throws up on me sometimes too.”
“not in front of me, she does not.” he sulks, voice getting raspy from raising his tone a little bit, but then she reaches toward him with grabby hands, and her dad hopes it's not because she wants to vomit again.
this is the most critical moment in your life, clearly more important than the birth of your son, judging by how impatient JONGHO is. he's worried, but at the same time, so sure that everything will go according to plan. two football jerseys are on the carpet, ready to be crawled upon, and see which fate will be chosen. your husband’s favorite team, PSG, or your favorite team.
“alright, little man… this is important, choose wisely, okay?” his father kneels beside him, like a coach analyzing strategy, to pick the formation most suitable for the second half to secure that win against mommy, because, for obvious reasons or not, your son seems to like you more, but not this time. now daddy will thrive and succeed. not that jongho had anything against your team... but he would mind if your son became a die-hard fan of theirs.
you roll your eyes, “honey, it’s not that serious.” because come on, he's only a few months old, maybe when he grows up, he won't even be into football, but another sport, or some kind of art. it's funny that you really think that way, but not in this house.
“it is very serious.” your son crawls toward the psg jersey first, making jongho’s eyes light up like he’d just scored a goal. but before he can swoop in to celebrate, your little trickster spins, giggling, and lands right on your team’s jersey. you freeze, and jongho’s mouth falls open. “wait… what!? no way…” he whispers, voice cracking in disbelief. his hands are frozen mid-air, celebrating, because how… how did this happen?
you kneel, scooping the little boy into your arms, laughing against his big and soft cheeks. his father leans closer, still stunned, and you press a quick kiss to his lips as well. he melts slightly, but his eyes are still wide, trying to process the betrayal. your son leans, smacking a tiny kiss onto jongho’s cheek, little pop-pop sounds escaping him.
“you… you cheated,” he blurts, already ready to accuse you because your man can't stand being defeated. “what did you bribe him with? more boobs before bed? that’s not fair!” you didn’t bribe him, you didn’t whisper secret promises about more boobies before bed, nothing. maybe your son just has elite ball knowledge and knows who the best is. condolence to the father, though, he lost another soldier.
𑄹 テ𓈒ֵ۫ ❙❘❙ ͏ྀི warnings: your best friend who’s known for kissing his friends takes his chance to take it a step further with you. bestfriend!wooyoung. fem!reader. making out.
a/n: my first ateez fic!! requests are open :3 and let me know if you wanna be on the ateez masterlist! (or main, skz, katseye)
❛⊠ ⸝⸝ ౨ৎ ࿔´ε🩰₊
thinking about your clingy best friend, wooyoung, who loves to shower his friends with affection any time he gets the chance to. whenever he pecked your cheek, it was never a shock to you because you had got so used to the way he was, but you did notice the way his hands lingered for a moment too long on your waist.
“you always look so pretty, ynnie.” wooyoung grins, sat on the sink beside you as you perfected your makeup in the mirror, his eyes locked on you the whole time whilst talking.
“thank you, woo.” you glanced at him with a small smile, careful not to ruin your eye makeup.
“so cute” he mumbled, getting down from the sink as his arms wrapped around your waist from your side, you could see his face nearing yours, knowing what he wanted to do so you stuck out your face for him to peck your cheek. and that he does, but a little too close to your lips than usual.
“wow, that was scarily close to my lips, wooyo.” you chuckled, leaning into his embrace.
“would that be so bad?” wooyoung raised his eyebrows, looking at your through the mirror.
“what?” you chuckled nervously, his gaze intensely holding yours through the reflection, you see his eyes flicker to your lips, he smiles from feeling your breathing pick up.
“i mean, we’re friends. wouldn’t be weird would it?” he speaks, now looking at you directly, or more so your lips. “just let me try something?”
you looked at him before letting out a breath and nodding, “okay.”
it happened so fast, you almost missed it, his lips connected to yours in a quick peck before he laughed, “see? wasn’t so bad was-”
you quickly cut him off with a shake of your head, “shut up real quick.” you said before connecting your lips once more, this kiss more intense than the last. your hands trailed up his arms to hold the sides of his neck as his hands went to your hips. your tongue met his as he slowly pushed you back into the sink, your lower back coming in contact with it, you let out a small sound at the contact.
wooyoung pulls away from you slowly, but not before pressing two more kisses to your lips, a shit-eating grin on his face. “well, not what i had in mind but i’m not complaining.”
You're best friends with Choi San and somehow along the way, he and Jung Wooyoung became father figures to your daughter.
The first time Choi San held your daughter, he cried harder than you did.
It wasn’t loud or dramatic. Just quiet tears slipping down his cheeks as he sat beside your hospital bed, one careful hand cradling her impossibly small body, the other still gripping yours like he hadn’t quite come back from the fear of losing you.
You were exhausted, half-delirious, but you remembered that part clearly.
“Hey,” you had whispered, voice wrecked. “She’s okay.”
San shook his head, laughing weakly through tears. “You’re okay,” he corrected, like that was the part that mattered most.
Maybe it was.
Maybe it always had been.
Wooyoung met her the next day.
He burst into the room like he always did—too loud, too bright, too much energy for a hospital ward—but the second he saw her, everything in him softened.
“Oh,” he breathed, all the chaos gone. “She’s… tiny.”
You huffed out a tired laugh. “That’s usually how babies work.”
“Can I hold her?” he asked, already halfway to your bedside.
San shot him a look. “Carefully.”
“I know how to hold a baby.”
“You once dropped your phone on my face while I was sleeping.”
“That was different.”
But despite the bickering, his hands were gentle when he took her. Careful. Reverent, even. Like he understood, instantly, that this was something fragile and important.
Not during the sleepless nights when your daughter cried for hours and you felt like you were falling apart piece by piece.
Not during the quiet afternoons when she finally slept and you didn’t know what to do with the silence.
Not when the reality of being twenty-five, alone, and responsible for an entire human being hit you like a wave you couldn’t outrun.
San would come over straight from practice, still in sweats, hair damp, exhaustion clinging to him—but he’d take the baby from your arms without a word and tell you to go sleep.
Wooyoung would show up with takeout you didn’t ask for but desperately needed, talking nonstop just to keep you from sinking too far into your own thoughts.
“You’re not doing this alone,” San told you once, firm, unyielding.
And you believed him.
Because he never lied to you.
Your daughter grew up surrounded by them.
By laughter and chaos and too many people in your apartment.
By eight men who treated her like she hung the stars.
Sleepovers at the dorm became a regular thing once she was old enough. You’d drop her off with a bag of clothes and her favourite stuffed bunny, and she’d come back the next day sugar-high and spoiled beyond repair.
“They gave her ice cream before bed,” you accused once.
“It was educational,” Wooyoung defended.
“How is ice cream educational?”
“She learned that happiness exists.”
San snorted from the couch. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You love me.”
San didn’t even hesitate. “Unfortunately.”
But then your daughter waddled over, arms up, demanding to be picked up—and both of them moved at the same time.
They always did.
Somewhere along the way, things shifted.
It was small at first.
Easy to ignore.
The way your daughter started calling for them when she got hurt, even when you were right there.
The way she’d reach for their hands when you went out together, tiny fingers curling around theirs like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The way San instinctively buckled her into her car seat.
The way Wooyoung knew exactly which snacks she’d refuse and which ones she’d devour.
They weren’t just your best friends anymore.
They weren’t just “uncles.”
They were… something else.
Something deeper.
Something that made your chest ache in a way you didn’t quite know how to name.
Her second birthday crept up faster than you were ready for.
“Two,” Wooyoung repeated, sprawled across your couch like he lived there. “That’s insane.”
“She was just born yesterday,” San added, sitting on the floor with your daughter as she stacked colourful Duplo blocks with intense concentration.
“You cried,” Wooyoung reminded him.
“You cried.”
“I cried because you were crying.”
You rolled your eyes from the kitchen. “You’re both dramatic.”
“Not true,” Wooyoung shot back. “I’m charming.”
San didn’t look up. “You’re exhausting.”
“Still love me.”
San’s hands stilled for just a second.
“…Yeah,” he said quietly.
You noticed.
You always noticed.
That night, after your daughter was asleep, the three of you sat in the dim glow of your living room.
It was quiet. Rare.
Heavy, somehow.
San leaned back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Wooyoung sat cross-legged on the floor, unusually still.
You felt it before anyone said anything.
That shift.
That edge.
“What’s going on?” you asked softly.
They exchanged a look.
A long one.
And suddenly, your heart was racing.
San exhaled slowly. “We need to talk.”
“That sounds terrifying.”
“It might be,” Wooyoung muttered.
You blinked. “Okay… now I’m definitely scared.”
Neither of them laughed.
That’s when you knew this wasn’t small.
San sat up, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “We don’t want to mess anything up,” he said carefully. “That’s the most important thing.”
Wooyoung nodded quickly. “You and her—you’re… everything.”
Your chest tightened.
“Okay,” you said, voice quieter now. “You’re worrying me.”
Another look between them.
Then San spoke.
“I think… somewhere along the way, things changed.”
Your breath caught.
“We didn’t mean for it to,” Wooyoung added. “It just—happened.”
San swallowed. “She’s not just—your daughter—to us anymore.”
Silence.
Thick.
Fragile.
“And you’re not just our best friend,” Wooyoung finished, voice barely above a whisper.
Your heart was pounding so loud you were sure they could hear it.
“Are you saying—” you started, but your voice failed.
San nodded, slow, certain. “Yeah.”
Wooyoung let out a shaky breath. “We’re in love with you.”
The room tilted.
Or maybe it was just your world finally aligning with something you’d been too afraid to name.
For a second, none of you moved.
Then you laughed.
Soft. Disbelieving.
Relieved.
“Oh my god,” you breathed, covering your face. “You idiots.”
They froze.
“That’s not—” Wooyoung started, panic creeping in.
“I’ve been in love with you for years,” you interrupted, dropping your hands.
That shut them up.
Completely.
San stared at you like he’d misheard.
Wooyoung’s mouth actually fell open.
“…What?” he said.
You huffed out a breath, shaking your head. “I just figured you didn’t feel the same. Or that it would ruin everything if I said something.”
San stood abruptly, like he couldn’t sit still anymore. “You—”
“I didn’t want to risk losing this,” you added, gesturing between all of you. “Or confusing things for her.”
Wooyoung laughed, a little hysterical. “We’ve been losing our minds for months over this.”
“Try years,” you shot back.
Another silence.
But this one felt different.
Lighter.
Full.
San stepped closer, cautious, like approaching something fragile. “So… what does that mean?”
You looked at them.
At the two men who had never left you.
Who had held you together when you were breaking.
Who loved your daughter like she was their own.
Who loved you.
“Honestly?” you said.
They nodded.
“I don’t want to choose.”
Wooyoung blinked. “Choose?”
You swallowed. “I love both of you.”
That landed.
Hard.
San’s breath hitched.
Wooyoung went very, very still.
“And I know that’s complicated,” you rushed on. “And messy. And maybe impossible. But I can’t pretend I don’t feel it.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Wooyoung looked at San.
San looked back.
Something silent passed between them.
Something that had probably been building just as long as everything else.
Wooyoung let out a slow breath. “It’s not… impossible.”
Your heart skipped.
San nodded. “It’s not.”
You stared at them. “You’re serious?”
Wooyoung gave you a small, almost shy smile. “We already share everything else.”
San huffed. “That’s not how I’d phrase it.”
“But it’s true,” Wooyoung insisted, eyes flicking back to you. “And it’s you.”
San’s gaze softened. “It’s always been you.”
Your chest ached.
Full.
Overwhelming.
“So… what now?” you asked.
Wooyoung grinned, a little of his usual spark returning. “Now?”
San stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him.
“We figure it out,” he said.
Together.
And for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel so uncertain.
ᢉ𐭩 texting ateez members “he’s gone you can come over now” .
☕️ ot8 x 𝑓 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 . ̫ . smau ❤︎ ⓘ 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 , 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗌 , 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖾𝗆𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗅 , 𝗌𝖾𝗑 𝗃𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗌 , non idol au
iza ❤︎ editing this at 2am after the busiest day in the world so don’t say i don’t love u. i’m tired asf and this is lowk bad so sorry. idk hi iza in the morning i had to edit this like three times bc i missed like 3 screenshots. idk how i did that
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