FixOn

just for fun ✨ 🍒 song mingi, my favorite song.

[scoupsakakitty]

Masterlist

Heyy, welcome to my blog! ✨ 🕺🏻

Please don’t copy any of my work🩵🩷

Requests are open, so feel free to drop any ideas you have! I mainly focus on fluff, angst and drama, basically anything except smut. 👀 Also I‘ll only do requests I feel comfortable with.

Hope we’ll all have a fun time here <3

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SEVENTEEN

ATEEZ

STRAY KIDS

P1harmony

TXT

Enhypen

lngshot (coming soon?)

[scoupsakakitty]

heyyy, any new writings on the 14 member?? i loooove them :3

no not yet cuz idk what to write tbh. thats why i keep asking yall for requests

[scoupsakakitty]

drop yalls requests. i’m back. idk for how long so lets go

[scoupsakakitty]

Symptoms Include: You | idol!Jeonghan x doctor!Reader | fluff angst

tw injury, blood mention, stitches, hospital

Y/N had been working at the military clinic for almost three months when she came to one very specific conclusion:

Yoon Jeonghan was a menace.

Not because he was rude. Not because he was difficult. In fact, he was probably one of the easiest patients she had ever dealt with. He always greeted the staff politely, never complained during examinations, and somehow managed to charm every nurse he met within five minutes.

The problem was that he appeared far too often for someone who was supposedly healthy.

At first she hadn't thought much of it. Military training naturally came with injuries. A twisted ankle during an obstacle course wasn't unusual. Neither were sore muscles or minor headaches. But after his fourth visit in less than two weeks, she started noticing a pattern.

Especially when every examination ended exactly the same way.

Normal.

Completely normal.

Which was why she wasn't even surprised when a familiar knock sounded against her office door one Tuesday afternoon.

"Come in."

The door opened.

And there he was.

Again.

Y/N slowly lowered the chart she had been reading.

Jeonghan smiled.

She immediately sighed.

"What's wrong this time?"

"That hurts my feelings."

"Good. Maybe they'll stop bringing you here."

He placed a hand over his chest dramatically.

"I come here because I trust you."

"No, you come here because you enjoy annoying me."

"I would never."

Y/N pointed toward the chair.

"Sit."

He sat.

She opened his file.

Immediately regretted it.

The document was becoming absurdly long.

Ankle pain.

Shoulder pain.

Headaches.

Neck pain.

Fatigue.

Stomach pain.

More stomach pain.

Even more stomach pain.

At this point she was surprised the military hadn't started charging him rent for using the clinic so often.

"What is it?"

"My stomach."

She closed her eyes.

Of course.

"Again?"

"Again."

"Jeonghan."

"Doctor."

"Your stomach has been hurting for three weeks."

"It misses you."

The room fell silent.

Y/N slowly looked up.

Jeonghan looked pleased with himself.

"Did you really just say that?"

"No."

"You did."

"No evidence."

She rubbed her temples.

Sometimes she genuinely wondered how he had survived military training.

The examination took less than ten minutes. As expected, everything was perfectly normal. Blood pressure. Temperature. Pulse. Every result looked exactly the same as the last six times he'd shown up.

Y/N leaned back in her chair.

"You're healthy."

"I don't feel healthy."

"You ran five kilometers this morning."

"Maybe that's why."

"That's not why."

"How do you know?"

"I'm a doctor."

"You seem very confident."

Y/N stared at him for a moment before a realization finally clicked into place.

The symptoms.

The timing.

The visits.

The suspiciously convenient excuses.

Everything suddenly made sense.

A smile slowly spread across her face.

Jeonghan immediately became suspicious.

That wasn't a good sign.

"What?" he asked.

"Hm."

"What?"

"Hm."

"Why are you smiling?"

Y/N folded her arms.

"I don't think this is actually a medical problem."

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"No."

"Then what's wrong with me?"

She pretended to think about it.

"Hm. Based on my professional opinion, I think this case might be outside my area of expertise."

His expression remained perfectly calm.

"What does that mean?"

"I think you need a psychologist."

The silence that followed was beautiful.

Absolutely beautiful.

Jeonghan blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then pointed at himself.

"A psychologist?"

"Yes."

"I'm injured."

"No."

"My stomach hurts."

"No."

"It does."

"No."

Y/N reached for his file and tapped it with her pen.

"You've visited me seven times this month."

"I get sick often."

"You don't."

"How would you know?"

"Because I've examined you seven times this month."

For the first time since she'd met him, he didn't immediately have a response.

Victory.

Finally.

Y/N almost laughed.

Almost.

Instead she continued speaking.

"The symptoms only seem to appear when you're scheduled to see me."

"Coincidence."

"Sure."

"It is."

"Definitely."

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes.

Y/N smiled sweetly.

The battle continued for several seconds.

Eventually he sighed.

"You know, doctors aren't supposed to bully patients."

"And patients aren't supposed to invent illnesses."

"Allegedly."

"Jeonghan."

"Doctor."

"You are impossible."

A grin spread across his face.

"There she is."

"There who is?"

"The doctor who likes arguing with me."

Y/N rolled her eyes so hard it physically hurt.

The worst part was that he wasn't entirely wrong.

Somewhere between the fake stomach aches and the endless teasing, these appointments had become something she secretly expected.

Which was unfortunate.

Because she absolutely should not be looking forward to seeing one of her patients.

Especially this patient.

She closed his file and stood.

"Appointment over."

"Already?"

"You're healthy."

"That's disappointing."

"No, it's good."

"For you maybe."

Y/N walked toward the door and held it open.

Jeonghan remained seated.

"Are you leaving?"

"Eventually."

"Now."

He stood slowly, still smiling.

When he reached the doorway, he suddenly stopped.

For a brief moment, the teasing disappeared.

The joking disappeared.

And he simply looked at her.

"See you next week?"

Y/N folded her arms.

"Hopefully not."

Jeonghan laughed.

But as he walked away, neither of them mentioned the fact that they both knew he'd be back.

One way or another.

The next time Jeonghan showed up at the clinic, Y/N was already having a terrible day.

Three soldiers were waiting outside her office. Someone had fainted during training that morning. Another had managed to sprain both ankles in a way she still couldn't fully understand. Her coffee had gone cold hours ago, and she'd barely had time to sit down between patients.

So when the door suddenly opened without warning, she didn't even bother looking up.

"What is it this time?" she asked while signing paperwork. "Your stomach? Your shoulder? A mysterious disease that only appears once a week?"

No answer came.

Y/N frowned.

Usually Jeonghan would've responded immediately.

Probably with something annoying.

Still not looking up, she continued writing.

"Unless you're actively dying, you can wait five min—"

The sentence died in her throat.

Because when she finally looked up, Jeonghan wasn't smiling.

Two other soldiers were helping him stand.

His uniform was dirty. There was blood on his sleeve. One side of his face was pale, and he was holding his ribs tightly as if letting go would make them fall apart.

Y/N was out of her chair instantly.

"What happened?"

"Training course," one of the soldiers answered. "He slipped during climbing practice."

Jeonghan attempted a grin.

It looked painful.

"Hey, Doctor."

"Sit down."

The words came out much sharper than intended.

For once, he didn't argue.

As soon as he sat down, Y/N began examining him. Her hands moved automatically, years of training taking over. She checked his pupils, looked for signs of concussion, carefully inspected the cuts on his arm, and then moved toward his ribs.

The moment her fingers touched his side, Jeonghan sucked in a sharp breath.

Her stomach dropped.

That wasn't fake.

Not even slightly.

"How far did you fall?"

"Not that far."

The other soldier snorted.

"He fell almost three meters."

Y/N slowly turned toward him.

"Three meters?"

Jeonghan immediately pointed at his friend.

"Traitor."

"You screamed."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

Y/N ignored both of them.

The bruising was already beginning to form beneath his uniform. Thankfully, nothing felt broken, but the impact had clearly been hard enough to leave him with a serious rib contusion. The cut along his arm wasn't deep, but it would need stitches.

By the time she finished examining him, her earlier annoyance had completely disappeared.

Now she was just worried.

Which somehow annoyed her even more.

The two soldiers eventually left, leaving the room unusually quiet.

Y/N prepared the equipment needed for the stitches.

Jeonghan watched her from the examination table.

For once, he wasn't talking.

For once, he wasn't trying to be funny.

And somehow that bothered her.

"Does it hurt?" she finally asked.

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

"Concerned, Doctor?"

"Answer the question."

"A little."

She gave him a look.

He sighed.

"A lot."

"Good."

His mouth fell open.

"Good?"

"Maybe next time you'll stop treating military training like a vacation."

"I was climbing."

"You were showing off."

"I was not."

"You absolutely were."

A small smile appeared on his face.

There he was.

The Jeonghan she knew.

Unfortunately.

Y/N carefully cleaned the cut before beginning the stitches. Jeonghan remained surprisingly quiet throughout the process, though every now and then she noticed him watching her.

Not glancing.

Watching.

It was distracting.

"Stop staring."

"I'm not staring."

"You are."

"I'm appreciating your professionalism."

"Jeonghan."

"I'm serious."

"You literally fell off a wall."

"That doesn't mean I can't multitask."

Y/N shook her head.

Unbelievable.

Several minutes later she finished the final stitch and stepped back.

"There."

Jeonghan looked down.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"No lollipop?"

"This isn't kindergarten."

His disappointment looked entirely genuine.

Y/N couldn't help laughing.

The sound surprised both of them.

For a brief moment neither spoke.

Then the room became quiet again.

Different this time.

Softer.

Jeonghan was the first to break the silence.

"You know..."

Y/N continued writing notes in his file.

"Hm?"

"I think this is the first time you've actually believed I was injured."

"Because this is the first time you actually were injured."

"Fair."

She finished her notes and closed the file.

"You're restricted from intense physical activity for a while."

"That's tragic."

"You'll survive."

"I almost didn't."

"You bruised your ribs."

"I suffered."

"You complained."

"Same thing."

Y/N rolled her eyes.

But when she looked up, she caught him smiling.

Not his usual mischievous smile.

Something smaller.

Something more nervous.

Which immediately made her suspicious.

"What?"

Jeonghan rubbed the back of his neck.

The gesture looked strangely awkward coming from someone who usually had endless confidence.

"What?"

He looked away briefly before meeting her eyes again.

"You know I'm getting discharged soon."

Y/N nodded.

She knew.

Everyone knew.

His military service was almost over.

For some reason, she suddenly didn't like thinking about that.

"Congratulations."

"Thanks."

A short silence followed.

Then another.

And another.

Until finally Jeonghan spoke.

"I was thinking."

"Dangerous."

"Very."

Y/N smiled despite herself.

Jeonghan took a breath.

Then another.

Which was odd.

Yoon Jeonghan never seemed nervous.

Yet somehow he did now.

"When my military service is over..."

Y/N waited.

"...would you go on a date with me?"

The room became completely silent.

For a second, Y/N genuinely thought she'd imagined it.

Then she looked at him.

He was still smiling.

Though this time it looked far less confident than usual.

Almost vulnerable.

"You're asking me out while injured?"

"I figured if you said no, I'd already be in pain."

Y/N stared at him.

Then laughed.

Actually laughed.

Jeonghan immediately looked offended.

"That's not a good sign."

"No, it's just..."

She shook her head.

"Only you would choose this moment."

"So is that a yes?"

Y/N looked at him for a long moment.

At the bruises.

The bandages.

The stitches she had just finished.

At the man who had spent months inventing reasons to visit her.

The answer had probably been obvious for a while now.

She sighed.

"Took you long enough."

For the first time since she'd met him, Jeonghan looked completely speechless.

And somehow that was even more satisfying than diagnosing his fake stomach aches.

[scoupsakakitty]

Midnight Producer | idol/producer!Woozi x songwriter!Reader | fluff

The clock above the mixing console had just passed midnight. Most of the lights in the HYBE building had already been turned off, leaving only a handful of occupied studios scattered throughout the floors. Somewhere down the hall, someone was probably still recording vocals. Another producer was likely mixing a track that needed to be delivered by morning.

And then there was Y/N, who was currently losing a fight against her own song.

She groaned and let her forehead fall onto the desk with a soft thud.

"This is horrible."

The project file remained silent.

The lyrics were good. At least she thought they were. Writing had never been the problem. Y/N had spent years building her reputation as a songwriter. Lyrics came naturally to her. She loved finding the perfect words, creating stories through music, turning emotions into something people could sing along to.

Producing, however, was a completely different beast.

For the last six months she'd been trying to learn everything she could. Watching tutorials. Reading articles. Sitting in on production meetings whenever someone would let her. Slowly figuring out how songs were built from the ground up.

Tonight had been dedicated to her newest project, and after six straight hours of working on it, she somehow hated it more than when she'd started.

Y/N clicked play again.

The intro sounded fine. The first verse sounded fine. The pre-chorus was decent.

Then the chorus hit.

And she immediately paused it.

"Nope."

She physically recoiled. Something was wrong. She could feel it. She just couldn't figure out what. The worst part was that she'd been listening to it for so long that everything was starting to sound the same.

Maybe she just needed another opinion.

Grabbing her phone, she opened her messages. Her friend was usually awake around this time and often helped when Y/N was stuck creatively. Without thinking much about it, she exported the newest demo, attached it, and typed:

Please tell me what's wrong with this before I throw my laptop out the window.

The chorus sounds weird and I'm losing my mind.

She hit send and tossed her phone onto the desk.

Done.

Problem solved.

Now all she had to do was wait.

While waiting, she got up and stretched her arms above her head. Every bone in her body cracked.

Wonderful.

A true sign of youth.

She walked over to the small coffee machine in the corner and poured herself what was probably her fourth coffee of the night. Or fifth. She had stopped counting.

By the time she returned to her desk, her phone buzzed.

Y/N immediately grabbed it.

"Finally."

She expected to see her friend's name.

Instead, her stomach dropped.

The sender wasn't her friend.

It wasn't even close.

Her eyes widened.

Lee Jihoon.

For a moment she genuinely thought she was hallucinating. Then she opened the message.

The lyrics are good.

The chorus is overcrowded.

The bass is fighting for its life.

Y/N stared.

Read it again.

Then once more.

"The bass is fighting for its life?" she repeated aloud.

What did that even mean?

More importantly—why was Lee Jihoon texting her?

She quickly opened the message thread, checked the recipient, then checked it again. Her soul nearly left her body.

"Oh my god."

She had sent the demo to him.

Not her friend.

Him.

Out of all people.

Producer. Songwriter. Creative genius. One of the most respected producers in the industry.

And she had basically emailed him:

help before I throw my laptop out the window.

Fantastic.

Absolutely fantastic.

Y/N immediately started typing.

I'm so sorry.

That wasn't supposed to go to you.

I meant to send it to a friend.

Sorry for bothering you.

The response came almost instantly.

You already did.

Y/N blinked.

Then laughed despite herself.

Wow.

He really was as blunt as everyone said.

She typed back.

Fair enough.

Sorry again.

A few seconds passed before another message appeared.

The chorus still needs work.

Y/N stared at the screen.

Was he still talking about the song?

I know.

That's why I wanted help.

The typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then appeared again.

Do you know why it sounds crowded?

Y/N looked at her screen, then at the project file, then back at her phone.

Not really.

Exactly.

She frowned.

What does that mean?

It means you're changing things without understanding the problem.

Y/N felt personally attacked.

Wow.

Thank you for the encouragement.

You're welcome.

She nearly threw her phone.

Over the next twenty minutes, the conversation somehow continued. Every answer he gave created three new questions. Every explanation somehow confused her more. Eventually she ended up staring at the screen with a headache.

Finally she sent:

I genuinely have no idea what you're talking about anymore.

The reply came immediately.

I noticed.

Y/N groaned.

A second later another message arrived.

Answer your phone.

Before she could process what that meant, her screen lit up.

Incoming FaceTime.

From Lee Jihoon.

"What?!"

She nearly dropped her coffee.

The call continued ringing. For several seconds she simply stared at it. Then, with absolutely no preparation whatsoever, she accepted.

The screen connected.

Jihoon appeared.

Black hoodie. Messy hair. Headphones hanging around his neck. A half-empty coffee cup sitting beside him.

He looked exactly like someone who hadn't slept properly in days.

The first thing he said was:

"You look confused."

"Hello to you too."

"You don't understand compression."

Y/N stared.

"That's your greeting?"

"It's an observation."

"I understand compression."

"No."

"I do."

"No."

"Jihoon."

"You don't."

She already wanted to hang up.

Unfortunately, he was also helping.

So she stayed.

Over the next few hours, Jihoon walked her through everything. He shared his screen, muted tracks, explained frequencies, adjusted layers, and showed her exactly where sounds were clashing with each other.

At first she understood maybe ten percent of what he was saying.

Then twenty.

Then fifty.

Little by little, the song started making sense.

And for the first time all night, she felt like she was actually learning something.

Time passed faster than she expected.

One hour.

Then two.

Then three.

At some point she had moved from her chair to the couch in the corner of the studio. Jihoon was still talking. Something about transitions. Or layering. Or maybe both.

Honestly, she was struggling to keep her eyes open.

"You still there?" he asked.

"Mhm."

"You sound asleep."

"I'm listening."

"You just said 'mhm.'"

"I did not."

"You literally did."

Y/N yawned.

The blanket hanging over the back of the couch suddenly looked incredibly inviting. Her eyelids felt heavier by the second.

Jihoon continued explaining something.

She tried to focus.

Really.

She did.

But the combination of exhaustion, coffee wearing off, and his oddly calming voice made it impossible.

Her head slowly sank against the cushion.

A few moments later, silence.

Jihoon looked at the screen.

"...Y/N?"

No answer.

"...Y/N."

Still nothing.

He sighed.

The camera showed her curled up on the couch, completely asleep, her phone still balanced beside her.

For a moment he just stared.

Then shook his head.

"Unbelievable."

Yet despite the words, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

A few minutes later he stood from his chair, grabbed his laptop, and headed toward the door. If she was going to pass out in the studio, someone should at least make sure she didn't freeze.

And besides—

Her song was still driving him crazy.

Jihoon pushed the studio door open with his shoulder, his laptop tucked under one arm. The room was quiet except for the low hum of the computer still running on Y/N's desk. His gaze immediately found her asleep on the couch, exactly as she'd been when the FaceTime call ended. A strand of hair had fallen across her face and her phone was still resting dangerously close to the edge of the cushion.

He sighed.

"How are you even alive?"

For a moment he simply stood there before grabbing the blanket draped over a nearby chair and carefully laying it over her. Y/N shifted slightly, mumbling something incoherent before settling back into sleep. When she didn't wake up, Jihoon finally stepped away and looked toward the monitor on her desk.

The unfinished song was still open.

At first, he only intended to leave a few notes. Maybe fix one or two things that had been bothering him. Then he would go home.

Instead, he sat down.

One adjustment became another. Then another. Every time he thought he was finished, something else caught his attention. The annoying part was that the song actually had potential. The lyrics were strong, the melody was memorable, and despite all its flaws, the idea behind it was good. Really good.

Which was exactly why he couldn't leave it alone.

Hours passed without him noticing. Outside the windows, the dark sky slowly began to lighten. Empty coffee cups gathered beside the keyboard while the project file became cleaner and cleaner. By the time he finally leaned back in his chair, the chorus breathed naturally, the arrangement flowed smoothly, and the bass was no longer, as he'd so eloquently put it, fighting for its life.

A few feet away, Y/N remained completely asleep.

Jihoon glanced toward her and immediately looked back at the screen. Then, after a few seconds, looked over again.

Still asleep.

How was she sleeping this much?

Shaking his head, he left the studio and returned a short while later carrying two coffees and a small box of donuts. If she was going to panic when she woke up, she could at least do it with breakfast.

The building had already started waking up by the time Y/N finally stirred. Sunlight filtered through the windows and faint voices echoed from somewhere down the hallway. Her brows furrowed as she stretched beneath the blanket, clearly confused about why she wasn't in her chair anymore.

Then she opened her eyes.

For several seconds she simply stared at the ceiling before abruptly sitting upright. The blanket slipped from her shoulders as her gaze landed on Jihoon.

He looked up from his laptop.

"Morning."

Y/N stared.

Jihoon stared back.

Neither moved.

Finally she pointed at him.

"Why are you here?"

"You fell asleep."

"I can see that."

"You seemed comfortable."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Jihoon shrugged, causing Y/N to look around the room. The blanket. The couch. The sunlight streaming through the windows. The coffee sitting on the table. Slowly, realization began settling in.

"Wait," she said. "You came here?"

"Yes."

"You left your studio?"

"Yes."

"You stayed all night?"

Jihoon looked away.

Which was answer enough.

Y/N stared at him in complete disbelief. Before she could say anything else, he pushed a coffee and a donut toward her.

"Breakfast."

"A donut?"

"Breakfast."

She accepted both automatically while still trying to process the situation. Then Jihoon turned the monitor toward her.

"Look."

The moment Y/N saw the project file, she froze.

The arrangement had changed. New layers had been added. The transitions sounded smoother. The chorus, which had been driving her insane only hours ago, suddenly sounded alive.

Her eyes widened.

"Jihoon..."

She clicked through the tracks one by one, noticing adjustment after adjustment.

"You did all this?"

"Some of it."

She looked at him.

"Some of it?"

"Most of it."

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

"You didn't have to do that."

For the first time all morning, Jihoon seemed slightly uncomfortable. His fingers tapped lightly against the desk before he glanced away.

"Yeah."

A brief silence settled between them.

"But I liked your idea."

Y/N looked back at the screen.

Somehow, out of everything he'd said since last night, those four words meant the most.

[scoupsakakitty]

Are you back to writing

no. i’m still active on here like i’m reading stories myself but i’m not writing not yet.

but you guys still can request stories. maybe one request that i feel genuine interesting will help me to start writing.

[scoupsakakitty]

i want to speak up about a topic that i’ve seen too much on here.

i don’t write smut myself bc i don’t feel comfortable with writing that.

and i don’t judge ppl reading or writing smut bc i do sometimes read them too.

BUT i don’t want to see anyone writing smut about MINORS THAT IS NOT OK! you guys pls don’t request smut about minors or stuff like that.

and i’m mostly talking about the smut requests on here bc thank god i have not seen anyone writing smut about minors.

smut is fun and stuff but not when it comes to minors! and if you have the urge to read minor smut then something is not right in ur head. get help. i dont care if ur a minor urself bc if u are, then u shouldn’t interact with smut anyway.

i don’t want to find anyone request or write minor smut on here or anywhere else! that is just disgusting.

get ur fucking life together and think about ur mindset.

[scoupsakakitty]

heyy, so uhm i‘ll take a break from writing stories. i’ll leave all my stories here for new ppl to read or if u wanna read them again. but i’ll still chill on this app maybe i’ll write some stories again one day 🫶🏻

[scoupsakakitty]

tbh i never thought this would affect me this much, but as the hours pass i'm starting to realize what's actually happening right now.

i can't even imagine how heeseung and the members must be feeling. guys please please be respectful, everyone is really sensitive rn.

this came completely out of nowhere and shocked the whole industry.

if this was truly his decision and he wasn't forced to leave the group, then i sincerely wish him happiness and peace in whatever path he chooses.

no matter what happened or what his decision was, we should support him.

enhypen will always be seven, with or without him.

[scoupsakakitty]

omg youre back?!!

yesss kinda. 🫣

i have a few exams this week but after i‘ll try and drop more stories and content. feel free to send some requests, inspire me. i have a few things in my mind rn but i’ll focus on that after my exams. i’ll about other groups too like enhypen, p1, lngshot, cortis whatever you guys want.

anywayssss i need to go back and study wish me luck guys 😪🫩

[scoupsakakitty]

how are you authorrrrr?!!! Missed you and tour fics ☺️☺️☺️. Hope tou are doing great

hiiii i missed you guys too🫶🏻💘

[scoupsakakitty]

Not The Way You Love Me | S.coups x 14thMember | angst

tw: weight loss

A few months ago, everything between them had changed.

It hadn’t been dramatic.

Just a quiet confession that had shifted something delicate between them.

She had told him she loved him.

Not in a playful way. Not in a passing crush kind of way.

She had sat across from him in the kitchen one evening, hands shaking slightly as she admitted the feelings she had been carrying for months. Feelings that had slowly grown during late rehearsals, long flights, shared jokes, and the countless small moments that came with living and working together.

He had listened to her carefully.

And when she finished, he had answered her honestly.

He couldn’t return her feelings.

Not because she wasn’t enough. Not because he didn’t care.

But because the love he felt for her had never been romantic.

He cared about her deeply, almost instinctively. He worried about her when she skipped meals, noticed when she was too quiet during group schedules, and always made sure she got home safely after late shoots.

But the way he loved her was protective.

The way someone loved family.

So he had told her the truth.

And ever since that night, something fragile had lingered between them.

He had started giving her space after that.

Not because he disliked her.

Not because he wanted to punish her feelings.

But because he was afraid of hurting her more.

He thought distance would help her move on. He thought it would make things easier.

Instead, it only created a quiet emptiness neither of them knew how to fix.

She tried to act normal around him. He tried not to watch her too closely.

But he still noticed the little things.

The way she slept less. The way she lost weight. The way the bright energy she usually carried had dimmed slightly.

And some nights like tonight neither of them could pretend everything was fine anymore.

The dorm was quiet in the soft, fragile way it only ever was after two in the morning. The lights in the hallway were dim, the city outside glowing faintly through the curtains.

Y/N sat alone at the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the cold marble, fingers loosely wrapped around a mug of tea that had already gone lukewarm. She hadn’t meant to cry tonight, but the tears had come anyway.

Sleep had stopped coming easily weeks ago.

Down the hall, a door opened softly.

He had woken up because of a faint sound, a chair moving. Years of being responsible for everyone had trained him to wake up when something was wrong.

When he stepped into the kitchen doorway and saw her sitting there under the dim light, something in his chest tightened immediately.

“You’re still awake,” he said gently.

She looked up, startled for a second, then tried to smile.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?”

He shook his head and walked over to the kettle.

“No. I just heard something.”

He filled it without asking and turned it on. It was almost instinct, taking care of people in small ways.

“You want tea?” he asked quietly.

She nodded.

They moved to the living room once the mugs were warm in their hands. The couch was softer than the kitchen stools, and somehow the space felt safer for conversations neither of them really wanted to have.

She curled her legs slightly under herself while he sat beside her, leaving a respectful distance between them.

At first they talked about simple things.

He asked how work had been lately.

She admitted she’d been traveling constantly for shoots, barely getting rest.

He noticed the dark circles under her eyes and gently asked about her sleep.

“Not great,” she confessed quietly. “My brain just doesn’t stop at night.”

He had also noticed the weight loss. He asked about it carefully, and she admitted she simply hadn’t been eating much lately.

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” she said softly. “I just… don’t feel hungry.”

He didn’t push further.

But the worry stayed written across his face.

After a while, the conversation faded.

Silence settled between them.

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them spoke.

The quiet stretched longer and longer until she slowly turned her head toward him.

Her voice was small when she finally spoke.

“Can I ask you something?”

He nodded.

She looked at him properly, really looked at him for the first time that night.

And when their eyes met fully, his chest tightened painfully.

There was so much sadness in her eyes.

So much exhaustion.

It made his heart hurt more than anything she had said earlier.

Her voice trembled.

“Why?”

He didn’t understand at first.

“Why what?”

Her fingers tightened around the sleeve of her sweater.

“Why don’t you love me?”

The question came out broken.

“I accept it,” she added quickly, almost apologetically. “I really do. I’m not asking you to change your feelings.”

Her voice cracked slightly.

“But I never asked you why.”

She looked at him again, tears already forming.

“I would just like to know why.”

The room felt heavier after that.

He looked down at his hands for a moment before speaking.

When he looked back at her, his expression was soft.

“I do love you,” he said quietly.

Her breath caught.

But he gently shook his head before hope could grow.

“Just not the way you love me.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“What does that mean?” she asked weakly.

He took a slow breath.

“You’re important to me. You always have been.”

His voice was calm, but there was sadness in it too.

“But when I look at you… my feelings aren’t romantic.”

She wiped her eyes quickly, trying to stay composed.

“Then what are they?”

He hesitated for a moment.

Then he answered honestly.

“I see you like my little sister.”

The words hung in the air.

They weren’t harsh.

But they still hurt.

Her shoulders shook slightly.

“I don’t mean that in a dismissive way,” he continued gently. “You’re not childish. You’re incredibly strong. You’ve grown so much.”

He looked at her with quiet sincerity.

“But when I think about you… my instinct is to protect you. To make sure you’re okay. To look after you.”

His voice softened further.

“You’re still young.”

She sniffed quietly.

“You were born in 2001. There are still so many things ahead of you.”

She looked down at her hands.

“I wish my heart could see you the same way,” she whispered.

His chest tightened.

“I know.”

They sat in silence again.

Then suddenly her composure broke.

The tears came quickly this time, quiet but unstoppable.

“I’m just so tired,” she whispered.

Her voice sounded fragile.

“I can’t sleep. I try every night but my brain won’t stop.”

He moved closer without thinking and gently pulled her into his arms.

She didn’t resist.

She leaned into him like she had been holding herself together for too long.

“I’m so tired,” she repeated, her voice muffled against his hoodie.

He wrapped his arms around her and slowly began to stroke her hair.

“You don’t have to carry everything alone,” he murmured softly.

Her breathing started slowing little by little.

Within minutes, exhaustion overtook her.

Her body relaxed completely as she fell asleep against him.

He didn’t move.

He just kept gently running his fingers through her hair so she would stay asleep.

For the first time in weeks, her face looked peaceful.

A tear rolled down his own cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered quietly so she wouldn’t wake up.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He stayed like that for a long time, holding her carefully.

Eventually, when he was sure she was deeply asleep, he slowly adjusted her position and laid her down on the couch.

He grabbed a blanket from the chair and tucked it around her.

He didn’t carry her to her room.

Her sleep was too light.

He knew she would wake up.

Instead, he left her there where she was finally resting.

After one last glance at her peaceful face, he stepped outside onto the balcony.

The night air was cool.

He leaned his elbows against the railing and rubbed his face with his hands, trying to clear the heaviness in his chest.

The balcony door slid open quietly behind him.

Joshua stepped outside.

He didn’t say anything at first.

He simply walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You can’t destroy yourself over this,” Joshua said gently.

He sighed.

“I hurt her.”

“You were honest with her.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

Joshua leaned against the railing beside him.

“She’s young,” he said calmly. “Right now it feels like the end of the world to her.”

He glanced back toward the living room.

“But she’ll grow. She’ll meet someone who feels the same way she does.”

He gave a small reassuring smile.

“Probably someone closer to her age.”

A quiet chuckle escaped him despite the heaviness.

Joshua nudged his shoulder slightly.

“And when that happens, she’ll look back at this and realize you did the right thing.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, staring out at the sleeping city.

Inside, she was finally resting.

And for now, that had to be enough.

[scoupsakakitty]

Heyyoo its me ☆, im just here to tell that, how r u?? How have u been?? How is 2026 treating you so far? New interests going on lately??

And I want to THANK YOU for making the jungwon fic

Take care always ♡♡♡

- ☆

heyy thanks. I’m really good. 2026 started a bit rough bc i got sick but now i’m fine. i‘m glad you liked it. 💖✨

[scoupsakakitty]

After Hours | idol!Hongjoong x Producer!Reader | fluff

After midnight, KQ Entertainment felt like a different city. The elevator carried Y/N up to the production floor with a soft mechanical hum, and her guest access card warmed in her palm as if it could reassure her. A staff member had shown her the rules earlier sign in, don’t wander, no photos then pointed her to a studio at the end of a quiet hallway.

“It belongs to one of our producers,” the staffer had said. “He’s not using it right now. You can work there tonight.”

Y/N had recognized the number on the door and swallowed his name like a secret. Now she walked the dim corridor alone, carpet eating her footsteps, heart beating too loudly for a building that slept.

Inside, the studio smelled like coffee and clean electronics. Her DAW glowed on two monitors, track lanes stacked neatly, the session titled with an unglamorous draft name. A pre-debut girl group track, bright, confident without sounding like it was trying too hard and strong. KQ wanted options while they shaped the team, and Y/N wanted to give them something that could become the group’s backbone.

The chorus worked. The hook opened up like curtains pulling back, and she loved the little lift on bar two. But the pre-chorus was a wall. Every attempt at tension felt either thin or muddy, like she couldn’t find the right kind of air.

She clicked play again, listened, then stopped it with a frustrated exhale. She tried a new synth progression, deleted it. Tried another, deleted it. Her eyes stung from the screen. On her phone, an tiny group chat lit up with memes, and she almost laughed at the timing her old life pressing against this new one. She set the phone face down and leaned in, stubborn.

A faint click came from the hallway.

Y/N froze, fingers hovering over the mouse. Security existed, night staff existed, but footsteps on this floor still felt like being caught in a dream. The door handle moved.

The studio door opened, and Hongjoong stepped in as if he’d walked this path a thousand times which he had. A black hoodie, hair slightly mussed, a canvas tote in one hand. His gaze swept the room, landed on the monitors, and then on her. Surprise flickered, then softened into curiosity.

“Oh,” he said quietly. “Sorry. I thought this room was open.”

Y/N stood up too fast, chair rolling back. “I’m so sorry,” she blurted in formal Korean. “The staff told me I could work here. I’m a guest producer. I’ll leave—I’m almost done.”

He blinked, then released a breath that sounded like a laugh he didn’t want to echo. “You don’t have to run away.” He closed the door behind him with care. “If they gave you permission, you’re fine. I just came to grab something.”

Her ears burned. “I didn’t know this was your room.”

“It is,” he said simply, then looked at her again as if connecting pieces. “You’re Y/N, right? The producer they invited.”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m working on the track for the new girl group project.”

“Mm.” He stepped closer, not crowding her, but the space still charged. His eyes drifted to her screen. “You’re working late.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted. “And I want it to be good.”

Something in his expression shifted, understanding. “Can I hear what you have so far?”

The question hit like a gentle shove. Hearing her work wasn’t just an honor; it was terrifying. She’d memorized his credits like other people memorized birthdays. But he asked like it was normal, like music was meant to be shared.

She swallowed. “Of course. It’s still rough.”

“Rough is honest,” he said, and hovered near the desk.

Y/N clicked play.

The intro filled the room: soft pad, tight kick, bass line steady as a pulse. She watched his face more than the waveform. He listened with his head tilted, fingers tapping silently against his thigh. When the verse melody came in her own placeholder vocal, gentle and imperfect, his eyes sharpened.

When the chorus ended, he nodded once. “That hook is strong. It opens up nicely. It feels like sunlight, but it’s not childish.”

Y/N let out a startled laugh. “That’s exactly what I wanted.”

“What’s bothering you?” he asked.

She clicked to the pre-chorus. “Here. I want tension, like we’re climbing. But it gets muddy, or it feels empty.”

Hongjoong leaned closer, studying the track list. “You have a lot of midrange fighting,” he murmured. “Pad, pluck, vocal layers. Maybe you don’t need all of them at once.”

“I tried cutting the pad,” Y/N said. “Then it collapses.”

“Because it’s holding the space.” He glanced at her. “You can hold space with rhythm, too.”

He reached toward the mouse, then stopped, looking at her like he was asking permission without words. Y/N nodded quickly. “Please.”

Hongjoong sat in the chair and moved through the session with practiced ease. He soloed tracks, muted others, nudged the drums earlier by a fraction. A hi-hat pattern appeared, then softened as he adjusted velocity. The pre-chorus played again, and suddenly it felt like a runway instead of a wall - motion, lift, breath.

Y/N’s mouth fell open. “Oh my god.”

He leaned back, faintly amused. “It’s your song. I’m just moving furniture.”

“It’s so much better,” she whispered.

“Your instincts are good,” he said, eyes bright in the monitor light. “You already had the shape. You just needed it to move.”

She grabbed her notebook and scribbled notes even though she could see everything on screen. Her hands were shaking from adrenaline. “Thank you. Seriously.”

Hongjoong nodded, then pointed at the chorus synth layered with a clean guitar sample. “Why this sound? It’s more mature than what people expect from pre-debut.”

Because I think they shouldn’t pretend to be small, she almost said. Instead she took a breath and said it properly. “Girls can be bright and still be powerful,” Y/N replied. “I wanted confidence that feels natural, not forced.”

He watched her for a moment, then nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

Silence settled, not awkward, just late-night quiet. Y/N became aware of how surreal it was: alone in a studio with someone she’d once screamed for in an arena. Yet he treated her like a colleague, not a fan.

“It’s almost two,” Hongjoong said, glancing at the clock. “Do you present tomorrow?”

“In the afternoon. They want a draft. I still need to polish and record a cleaner guide vocal.”

“You recorded the guide?” he asked.

She nodded, suddenly self-conscious. “Just to map the melody.”

“It’s clean,” he said, surprising her. “You’re on pitch. The tone fits.”

“I’m not a singer,” she blurted. “I can carry a melody, but-”

“You don’t have to be perfect to be useful,” he said, thoughtful. “People learn.”

The word learn lingered in the air like a door half-open.

He turned back to the screen. “Let’s listen from the top with the changes,” he said. “If you want.”

“I do,” Y/N said, and meant it.

The next hour became pure work. They tightened transitions, trimmed clashing frequencies, sharpened the second verse so it didn’t sag. When she hesitated, he didn’t push; he asked questions that pulled answers out of her.

“What do you want the listener to feel here?”

“Where does the breath go?”

“Is this a smile, or is this a promise?”

Every question made her focus, made her stop chasing the “right” answer and start chasing the feeling.

Around three, Hongjoong found instant coffee packets in a cabinet and poured two paper cups. “Do you drink coffee?” he asked.

“Yes,” Y/N said with a tired laugh. “I don't really like coffee, but I need it. Especially at this time.”

They sipped carefully, leaning against opposite sides of the desk. The coffee was too sweet, but it warmed her hands.

“You’re not from Korea,” Hongjoong said gently. “Where are you from? Europe?”

Y/N blinked. “How did you know?”

“Your accent,” he said. “And someone mentioned it earlier. Berlin, right?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I grew up there.”

“I've been there,” he said. “Tour.”

The words slipped out before she could catch them. “I was at that concert.”

She cringed. “Sorry. That’s unprofessional.”

Hongjoong looked more amused than annoyed. “It’s not unprofessional to enjoy music,” he said. “Were you an atiny before you became a producer?”

She stared into her cup. She could lie and keep things clean. But the hour was soft, and he’d treated her work like it mattered. Honesty felt safer than pretending.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I still am.”

“Is that why you’re nervous?” he asked.

“I don’t want you to think I’m here because I’m a fan,” Y/N said. “I’m here because I can do the job. But you’re… you.”

Hongjoong laughed under his breath, a little embarrassed. “I’m just tired,” he said. Then, more seriously, “I can tell you’re here to work. Fans don’t stay up fixing pre-chorus problems.”

Relief loosened her shoulders. She smiled.

They went back to the track, and this time the pre-chorus finally opened. A simple rising synth, a breathy texture that climbed, then Hongjoong’s idea, a half-beat of silence right before the chorus. The pause made the hook hit like a sunrise.

Y/N played it back again and again, grinning wider each time. “That’s it,” she said. “That’s the feeling.”

Hongjoong nodded, satisfied. “Now it’s inevitable.”

They kept chasing the smallest details, just as producers did when they cared. Hongjoong asked her what kind of voices she imagined in the chorus- airy? nasal? strong- and Y/N described the trainees she’d met in brief, careful phrases: one with a husky lower register, one with a bright smile that showed up in her tone, one with a surprisingly sharp rap cadence. Hongjoong listened, then suggested she leave space in the instrumental where each color could shine.

“Don’t make the track do all the talking,” he said. “Let the members talk, too.”

Y/N nodded and moved a synth line down an octave, clearing room for a future ad-lib. She added a simple clap on the backbeat and watched the groove snap into place. Hongjoong hummed along, then tapped the desk. “Try a call-and-response here,” he suggested, marking a bar with the cursor. “Even if it’s just a placeholder. It will guide them when they record.”

So Y/N recorded a quick “hey” and “yeah,” stacking them lightly, laughing when her own voice sounded too shy. Hongjoong didn’t tease. He just adjusted the timing by a few milliseconds and grinned when it landed perfectly.

“See?” he said. “It’s not about being loud. It’s about being clear.”

They listened through once more, and when the final chorus hit, Y/N felt her shoulders drop for the first time all night. The song didn’t feel like homework anymore. It felt like a stage waiting to be built. For a second, she forgot the fear and only heard possibility, ringing in her chest.

She saved the project under a new version number, then backed it up twice, hands moving like ritual. When she turned back, Hongjoong was watching her with an expression she couldn’t name, something gentle, something like respect.

“You work like you’re chasing something,” he said.

Y/N’s smile softened. “I am.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Hongjoong leaned back against the desk, arms loosely crossed. “Can I ask you something?” he said, voice quieter than before.

Y/N nodded. “Of course.”

“Why producing?” he asked. “I mean, why did you choose this path?”

The question caught her off guard. She stared at the monitor, where the empty timeline now sat like a finished road. Her reflection stared back at her, faint and a little tired.

She hesitated.

Then she exhaled slowly. “Because it was the one that stayed open.”

Hongjoong didn’t interrupt.

“I wanted to be an idol,” she said, the words softer than she’d ever said them out loud. “For a long time. I auditioned. A lot.” She laughed quietly, but there was no humor in it. “I kept getting the same feedback. That I was talented, but… too old.”

His brows knit together. “Too old? You don't look that old.”

She nodded. “I was born in 2001.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Hongjoong let out a short breath. “That’s not old.”

She smiled faintly, not quite meeting his eyes. “It is, apparently. At least in audition rooms. After a while, I stopped trying. Producing felt… safer. Still music. Still close enough.”

She looked back at the screen. “And honestly, being a producer is cool too. I get to create. I get to work in the industry. It’s not like I failed completely.”

Her voice was steady, but something in the way she stood too still, shoulders slightly tense, betrayed her.

Hongjoong watched her quietly.

He saw the way her fingers rested on the edge of the desk, as if grounding herself. The way her eyes lingered on the waveform that wasn’t there anymore, like she could still hear it playing. The way she spoke about giving up as if it were a reasonable, logical decision, not a loss.

“You know,” he said carefully, “being a musician doesn’t come with an expiration date.”

She turned toward him then. “Maybe not. But idols do.”

He didn’t argue right away, because he knew she was kinda right. He just looked at her, really looked. Not as a producer, not as her being a fan, not as someone passing through the building late at night. Just her. The way her face softened when she talked about music. The way her entire focus sharpened when she worked. The quiet hunger behind her calm professionalism.

“You shouldn’t have been told that your dream had an age limit,” he said finally.

Y/N shrugged lightly. “It’s okay. I’ve accepted it.”

But Hongjoong could tell she hadn’t. Not really.

She glanced at the clock and straightened. “I should go. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

He nodded, though something in his expression lingered, thoughtful, distant. “You did well tonight,” he said again, slower this time. “Not just with the song.”

“Thank you,” she replied, sincere. “For everything.”

She gathered her things, slinging her bag over her shoulder. At the door, she paused, hand resting on the handle.

“Good night, Hongjoong,” she said.

“Good night, Y/N.”

When she stepped into the hallway, her footsteps faded quickly.

Hongjoong stayed where he was.

He turned back to the monitor, reopening the session, listening once more to the track they’d shaped together. But his thoughts weren’t on the arrangement anymore.

They were on her.

On the way her voice had sounded when she said I wanted to be an idol. On the way she’d convinced herself that settling was the same as choosing.

He closed the project and shut down the screen.

Too old, he thought, jaw tightening slightly.

As he turned off the studio lights, one thing was already clear to him.

He was going to help her.

And not just because of the song.

Morning arrived without mercy.

Y/N woke up before her alarm, heart already racing, as if her body had decided to rehearse panic before her mind could catch up. For a few seconds, she lay still, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant sounds of traffic and life resuming its normal rhythm. Everything felt painfully ordinary for a day that could quietly change everything.

Her laptop sat on the desk across the room.

Inside it lived the song.

She got up, showered, and dressed with unusual care. Not because anyone had asked her to, but because today mattered. She tied her hair back, checked her reflection, and reminded herself that this wasn’t an audition. She wasn’t here to prove her worth as a person. She was here to present work. Music. Something tangible.

Still, her hands trembled as she packed her bag.

At KQ Entertainment, the building felt completely different in daylight. The intimacy of the night before was gone, replaced by movement, voices, footsteps echoing down hallways. Staff members greeted each other, carried equipment, laughed softly. Posters and awards lined the walls. Evidence of dreams that had already made it.

Y/N signed in at the front desk and received a visitor badge. It felt heavier than it should have.

She was guided to a mid-sized conference room fitted with professional speakers and a large screen. Three members of the A&R team were already seated, along with two project managers she recognized. Everyone smiled politely, professionally.

“You can begin whenever you’re ready,” one of them said.

Y/N set up her laptop, connecting cables with careful precision. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears. She took a breath and looked down at her notes, then decided she didn’t need them.

“I’ll start,” she said.

She introduced the track calmly, explaining the intention behind it: a foundation song for a group still finding its identity. Something flexible. Something that didn’t box the members in before they even debuted.

As she spoke, the door opened quietly.

She didn’t turn immediately, but she felt the shift in the room.

When she finally glanced up, Hongjoong stood near the back, hands in his pockets, dressed simply in black. He didn’t draw attention to himself. He didn’t interrupt. He just met her eyes briefly and nodded once.

It was enough.

She turned back to the screen and pressed play.

The intro filled the room, clear, balanced, confident. Y/N forced herself to watch the people in front of her instead of the waveform. She noticed small things: someone tapping their finger unconsciously to the beat, someone leaning forward slightly.

When the chorus hit, one of the A&R directors raised their eyebrows.

The pre-chorus built smoothly now, tension rising without confusion. The half-beat pause before the chorus landed exactly where it should, sharp, intentional. The room seemed to hold its breath for that fraction of a second.

When the song ended, silence followed.

Not the uncomfortable kind. The listening kind.

“I like it,” one of the staff members said.

“Yes,” another added. “It doesn’t sound like a demo.”

Y/N nodded, pulse racing. “Thank you.”

They asked questions about structure, about how adaptable the song would be if the lineup changed, about how she envisioned line distribution. Y/N answered steadily, explaining her choices clearly, confidently. She spoke about leaving space for individuality, about not overpowering voices that hadn’t been discovered yet.

At some point, she realized something startling.

She wasn’t afraid anymore.

She wasn’t shrinking. She wasn’t apologizing for her ideas. She was simply explaining them.

“Who recorded the guide vocal?” one of the directors asked.

Y/N hesitated for half a second. “I did,” she said. “Only as a reference.”

There was a brief pause.

“It fits well,” the director said. “Your tone suits the track.”

Her chest tightened. “Thank you.”

The discussion continued, concepts, future adjustments, possible choreography. It felt less like an evaluation and more like a collaboration. Y/N almost forgot why her heart was still beating so fast.

Then one of the directors leaned back in their chair.

“Y/N,” the director said, “may I ask you something not directly related to this track?”

Her stomach tightened. “Of course.”

“There is still flexibility within this project,” they continued. “The girl group lineup has not been finalized yet.”

She nodded slowly, listening.

“Given your musicality, vocal tone, and overall sense for performance,” the director went on, “we wanted to ask, would you be open to being considered as a member of the planned girl group?”

For a moment, Y/N couldn’t speak.

“I…” She inhaled shakily. “I didn’t expect that question.”

“We’re not making any decisions today,” they clarified. “But we felt it would be a mistake not to ask.”

Her mind flashed with memories she hadn’t touched in years. Small practice rooms. Audition numbers. Polite smiles followed by gentle rejection.

Too old.

She took a breath. “I would need time to process,” she said honestly. “But… yes. I would be open to talking.”

The director nodded. “That’s all we wanted to know.”

The meeting concluded shortly after. Next steps were outlined, and Y/N was asked to follow up later that day for a private discussion. She gathered her things, feeling strangely light and unbearably heavy at the same time.

When she stepped into the hallway, the noise of the building rushed back in.

Hongjoong waited a few steps away.

“You did well,” he said quietly.

She let out a shaky laugh. “I think my brain stopped working halfway through.”

“It didn’t show,” he replied.

They walked side by side for a moment.

“I didn’t expect that question,” she admitted. “I thought… that door was closed.”

He glanced at her. “Some doors only look closed.”

She stopped walking and turned to face him. “You had a hand in this,” she said softly. It wasn’t an accusation. Just a realization.

He didn’t deny it. “I suggested they look closer,” he said. “That’s all.”

Her eyes filled slightly. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said. “I didn’t give you anything you didn’t already have.”

A staff member approached then, asking Y/N to follow them. She nodded, then looked back at Hongjoong.

“I guess this is where things change,” she said quietly.

He met her gaze. “Or where they finally start.”

As she walked away, her heart pounded not with fear, but with something dangerously close to hope.

They didn’t let the moment stretch too long.

After the private conversation, after the polite goodbyes and the quiet shock that still buzzed under Y/N’s skin, a member of the staff approached her again. This time, they didn’t lead her into another meeting room. They stopped in the hallway instead, voices lowered, posture relaxed.

“There’s no pressure,” they said first, as if reading her mind. “We’re not asking you to decide anything today.”

Y/N nodded slowly, hands clasped together in front of her.

“But,” they continued, “if you’re open to it, we’d like to invite you to spend today with the planned girl group as a trainee. Just one day. You can join the training sessions, observe, participate as much as you feel comfortable.”

Her heart skipped. “Today?”

“Yes. Now, if you’d like,” they said gently. “At the end of the day, you can tell us how it felt. Then you can decide whether this is something you want to pursue or not.”

A trial. Not a contract. Not a promise.

Just a chance.

Y/N swallowed. “Okay,” she said, before fear could catch up. “I’d like that.”

The first dance studio hit her like a wall.

Music echoed loudly, sharp and relentless. The mirrors reflected everything, every movement, every mistake, every hesitation. The other trainees were already warming up, bodies loose and practiced, stretching like this was as natural as breathing.

Y/N stepped inside, suddenly very aware of her own body. Of how stiff she felt. Of how unfamiliar the room was.

A few of the girls recognized her immediately.

“You’re really joining us today?” one whispered, eyes wide but warm.

“I think so,” Y/N whispered back, smiling nervously.

The instructor clapped their hands, calling everyone into formation. “Today we’ll be working on basics,” they announced. “Posture, rhythm, control.”

Basics.

The music started, and within minutes, sweat beaded at her hairline. Her body knew music, but not like this. Every movement required intention, strength, repetition. Her timing lagged just half a beat behind, then rushed forward to compensate.

Again. And again. And again.

Her legs burned. Her lungs protested. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she saw someone trying very hard not to look like they were struggling.

You wanted this, she reminded herself. You wanted to know.

During a short break, she leaned against the wall, chest rising quickly. One of the girls handed her a bottle of water.

“You’re doing fine,” she said quietly. “First days are always like this.”

Y/N nodded, grateful. “You make it look easy.”

The girl laughed softly. “It’s not. But you will get better, trust me.”

Vocal training followed next.

This room felt more familiar. A piano in the corner. Microphones. Warm-ups that eased into her bones rather than fought against them. Y/N relaxed slightly as they worked through scales, breath control, resonance.

She wasn’t perfect. She knew that. But she could hear it, the way her voice settled when she stopped forcing it, the way her musical instincts guided her naturally.

The instructor paused after her turn. “You have good tone,” they said. “And strong musical awareness. You just need training.”

Training.

The word echoed pleasantly.

By early evening, exhaustion set in properly. Her muscles ached in places she didn’t know could ache. Her head felt heavy, thoughts blurring at the edges. When the final session ended, Y/N slipped out into the hallway, grateful for the quiet.

She leaned against the cool wall, eyes closed, letting her breath slow.

This is harder than I imagined, she thought. And somehow… exactly what I imagined.

She opened her eyes and stared down the long corridor, lights humming softly above. A familiar doubt crept in, quiet but persistent.

Maybe this was unrealistic. Maybe producing is enough. Maybe wanting more is greedy.

Footsteps approached.

Y/N looked up.

Hongjoong stood a few steps away, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, expression calm but attentive. He didn’t seem surprised to see her there.

“Long day?” he asked gently.

She let out a tired laugh. “You have no idea.”

They walked slowly, side by side, the hallway nearly empty now.

“I’m exhausted,” she admitted. “And scared. And kind of embarrassed at how hard everything felt.”

“That’s normal,” he said. “If it felt easy, it wouldn’t mean much.”

She glanced at him. “What if I can’t keep up?”

He stopped walking.

Y/N stopped too.

Hongjoong turned toward her, expression serious but kind. “Then you learn,” he said simply. “No one is born knowing how to do this. Not idols. Not producers. Not anyone.”

She swallowed. “Sometimes I feel like I missed my chance.”

“You didn’t,” he said immediately. Then, softer, “You’re here. That’s not missing it.”

She looked down at her hands, fingers still slightly trembling from fatigue. “Today was the first time I didn’t feel like I was just watching from the outside.”

Hongjoong watched her carefully, something warm and thoughtful in his gaze. “That’s because you weren’t.”

They stood there for a moment, the air between them quiet, steady. Not rushed. Not heavy. Just present.

“I don’t think you should decide based on fear,” he added. “Or on what people told you years ago. Decide based on how you felt today. Even the hard parts.”

She met his eyes then, really met them. “I felt tired,” she said. “But… alive.”

His lips curved into a small smile. “That’s usually a good sign.”

Footsteps echoed again, approaching this time with purpose. A manager and two staff members stopped a respectful distance away.

“Y/N,” the manager said kindly, “thank you for joining us today. We wanted to check in.”

She straightened slightly. “Of course.”

“How did it feel?” they asked. “Training with the group. The environment.”

Y/N took a breath. She glanced at Hongjoong not for permission, just reassurance. He didn’t speak, didn’t nod. He simply looked at her, steady.

“It was difficult,” she said honestly. “Physically and mentally. I struggled.”

The staff listened carefully.

“But,” she continued, voice growing steadier, “it felt right. Even when it was hard.”

The manager smiled. “Then we’d like to ask you properly.”

Her heart thudded.

“Would you like to officially join the trainee program,” they said, “and be considered as a member of the planned girl group?”

For a second, the hallway seemed to fade.

Y/N felt the weight of the day in her bones. The ache. The doubt. The quiet moments of joy. Hongjoong’s words echoed in her chest.

Decide based on how you felt.

She lifted her head.

“Yes,” she said. Clear. Certain. Happy. “I want to.”

Relief, smiles, and soft congratulations followed, but Y/N barely heard them.

Because for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t imagining a future.

She was stepping into it.

As the staff moved ahead, Hongjoong stayed back with her for a moment.

“I guess we’ll be seeing each other more often now,” he said lightly.

She smiled, still processing everything. “I guess so.”

He hesitated, then added, “I might ask for your help in the studio sometime. If that’s okay.”

Her smile grew, softer this time. “Anytime.”

It wasn’t a promise.

But it felt like the beginning of one.

[scoupsakakitty]

ENHYPEN

Jungwon

Where We Always Belonged | fluff

Heeseung

coming soon.

Jay

coming soon.

Jake

coming soon.

Sunghoon

coming soon.

Sunoo

coming soon.

Niki

coming soon.

[scoupsakakitty]

I hope you're doing well ♡♡♡ 🥹

(Btw can I be ☆ anon?)

-☆

heyyy i‘m gooddddd!!!! yes sure you can. 💖

[scoupsakakitty]

A request for idol!jungwon x childhood friend reader!

They were bsf during taekwondo, and you can complete the rest, no pressure ♡♡

-☆

Where We Always Belonged | idol!Jungwon x childhood friend Reader | fluff

They had been inseparable since they were kids.

Back when the taekwondo studio smelled like old mats and fabric softener, when their uniforms were always a size too big and their belts never quite stayed tied right. Back when Jungwon’s laughter echoed too loudly for such a serious place, and Y/N had to elbow him in the side to make him focus. Back when bruises were worn proudly and victories were celebrated with convenience store ice cream.

They grew up together on those mats.

Side by side. Always.

Even when life changed.

Even when Jungwon became someone the world recognized.

Even when schedules got busy, continents got crossed, and time slipped through their fingers faster than they could grab onto it.

They were still best friends.

Still childhood friends.

That was what Y/N kept telling herself as she stood in front of the practice room door, fingers hovering over the handle.

Jungwon had just returned from tour.

Europe. Weeks of performances, flights, fans, interviews, exhaustion. She had followed everything from afar—time zone alarms, blurry fancams, proud smiles she recognized even through screens. They had texted, of course. Voice messages here and there. Short calls when schedules allowed.

But it wasn’t the same.

Nothing ever was.

She took a breath and pushed the door open.

Music wasn’t playing. The room was quiet, dimly lit, the floor reflecting soft overhead lights. Jungwon was sitting on the ground near the mirrors, back against the wall, hoodie thrown over his head, legs stretched out. A water bottle rested beside him, untouched.

He looked tired.

But the moment he saw her reflection in the mirror, his head lifted.

“Y/N.”

Her name sounded familiar and grounding coming from him. Like home.

She smiled before she could stop herself. “You’re back.”

He grinned, tired eyes crinkling. “I am.”

She crossed the room and dropped her bag next to him, sitting down the way she always did—close enough that their shoulders touched without either of them thinking about it.

“How was tour?” she asked.

He leaned his head back against the mirror. “Long. Loud. Amazing. Exhausting. All at once.”

She laughed softly. “Sounds like you.”

They fell into an easy silence, the kind only years of friendship could build. The kind where no one rushed to fill the space because both of them knew it belonged there.

Y/N glanced at him. “You look thinner.”

He shrugged. “You sound like my mom.”

She nudged his knee with her foot. “I’m serious.”

“I ate,” he defended lightly. “Mostly.”

She hummed in mock disapproval, then stood up. “Come on.”

He blinked up at her. “Where?”

“Practice,” she said, already moving toward the speaker. “You always say you feel better after dancing.”

He hesitated for half a second before pushing himself up. “You’re joining?”

“When don’t I?” she teased.

They stood side by side, muscle memory kicking in. Jungwon connected his phone, the familiar beat of his group’s choreography filling the room. Y/N watched him carefully as they started, his sharp movements softened by fatigue, his body still precise despite the long break.

She followed along easily.

She always did.

Dancing with Jungwon had always felt natural, like their bodies spoke a language they had learned together over years. Adjusting spacing without words. Matching energy instinctively. Laughing when they messed up, starting over without frustration.

Halfway through, Jungwon glanced at her. “You’ve been practicing.”

She smirked. “Maybe.”

He shook his head fondly. “You’re not even in the group and you know the choreo better than some trainees.”

She shrugged. “I like dancing. And I like dancing with you.”

The words hung there longer than she expected.

Jungwon’s steps faltered for a fraction of a second, barely noticeable, but she caught it.

They finished the song in silence.

When the music stopped, Jungwon exhaled deeply, hands on his hips. “I missed this.”

“Me too,” she admitted.

They sat back down, sweat cooling on their skin. Jungwon reached for his water bottle this time, drinking slowly.

“There’s a lot we need to catch up on,” she said quietly.

He nodded. “Yeah. Feels like I blinked and everything moved on without me.”

She hesitated, then spoke. “That guy I told you about… the one I was talking to?”

Jungwon’s jaw tightened slightly. “Yeah?”

“It didn’t work out.”

He didn’t look surprised. “Good.”

She frowned at him. “That was fast.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t like him.”

“You never even met him.”

“I didn’t need to,” he said simply. “He sounded weird.”

She laughed, though there was bitterness underneath it. “He was kind of an asshole, actually.”

Jungwon turned to her fully now. “See? You deserve better.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I guess.”

“No,” he corrected gently. “You do.”

There was something in his voice that made her chest tighten. Something protective. Something familiar but suddenly… heavier.

He cleared his throat and stood up. “Wait. I almost forgot.”

She looked up. “Forgot what?”

He walked over to his bag and rummaged through it, pulling out a small paper bag. “I brought you something.”

Her eyes widened. “From tour?”

He nodded, holding it out. “Germany.”

She took it, peeking inside and immediately gasped.

“Chocolate?” Her voice went high. “Oh my god German chocolate! You remembered?”

He laughed softly. “You love chocolate. Especially the ones from Germany.”

She stood up and threw her arms around him without thinking.

Jungwon stiffened for half a second.

Then relaxed.

But this hug was different.

It lingered.

His arms wrapped around her slowly, carefully, like he was afraid of breaking something. Her cheek rested against his chest, and she could hear his heartbeat steady, strong, just a little too fast.

It felt like invisible threads tightening between them.

Like something pulling.

Neither of them moved to let go.

When they finally did, they stepped back a little too quickly.

Y/N cleared her throat. “So—uh—Europe. Tell me about it.”

Jungwon smiled, grateful for the distraction. “Paris was nice.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really? I’ve always wanted to go.”

He tilted his head. “You’d love it. Cafés everywhere. Quiet corners. Good music.”

She sighed dreamily. “One day.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “One day.”

The sky had turned dark by the time they left the building.

Jungwon insisted on walking her home, hands shoved into his pockets, steps slow. The streets were quiet, lights glowing warmly around them.

“Y/N,” he said suddenly.

She looked at him. “Yeah?”

“There’s something I should say,” he murmured. “I probably shouldn’t.”

She laughed nervously. “That never stops you.”

He stopped walking.

She stopped too.

“I’m… kind of glad it didn’t work out with that guy,” Jungwon admitted.

Her heart skipped. “Why?”

“Because,” he said carefully, “you deserve someone who listens to you. Someone who remembers the small things. Someone who supports you without making you feel small.”

She swallowed.

“Someone who would walk you home every night if you wanted. Someone who’d be proud to stand next to you. Someone who’d make sure you’re happy, even on days when you forget how to be.”

She looked at him, cheeks warm. “You’re just describing—”

“Me.”

He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. His eyes were serious. Certain.

“If I were your boyfriend,” he continued quietly, “I’d make you the happiest girl alive.”

Her breath caught.

She laughed softly, trying to hide how flustered she was. “You’re literally describing yourself.”

She expected him to get shy.

To laugh it off.

But he didn’t.

He just looked at her.

And nodded.

“Yeah.”

The night felt different after that.

Like something had finally been said.

Like something had finally begun.