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.
in which he tried to kiss you, only for you to use your hand to cover his lips. how would he react?
featuring : seventeen ot13 ! (separately)
cw : gn!reader, fluff, kissing, suggestive & angst if you squint, grammar mistakes are to be expected as english is not my first language, they're all silly, some are longer than others😀
a/n : i desperately need more ot13 reacts
s.coups: after hanging out for quite some time with his friends, all he wanted to do was to go home and rest comfortably on his bed with you. it wasn't like he hated hanging out, he was just too tired. so, the moment you opened the door for him, he immediately latched onto you—pushing the door using his leg as he tried to kiss you.
that was until your hand suddenly came up to cover his lips, making him froze in place. what? why did you even do that? he furrowed his brows, lips pouting before he pulled your wrist away—pulling you closer against him as he finally kissed you.
jeonghan: the atmosphere was warm, you were spending time with each other and enjoying each other's presence on the couch. in fact, he enjoyed spending quality time with you so much that he couldn't help but to lean closer to kiss you—well, not until he felt the cold surface of your palm..
he'd raise his brows at the audacity, then he would just pull away from you, leaving you on the couch. fine. two can play at that game. he won't even pull your wrist away, much less pout at you for doing that. he'd just ignore you until you beg him for a kiss.
joshua: in the midst of sharing sincere, loving words with each other, joshua couldn't help but to stare at your lips to the point he subconsciously leaned in closer to kiss you—only for you to stop him with your hand. he'd pull away, hands still on your shoulders as he stared at you wide-eyed (you know what expression i'm talking about, lol).
the audacity, he thought. he ended up just leaving a kiss on your knuckles. what? you want one on the lips? sorry, but he's never giving you one—smiling to himself as you whined.
junhui: he thought you were just so pretty—sitting in front of the vanity as you fixed your hair—getting ready for your date tonight. he approached you closer from behind, hands on your shoulders as he leaned down to kiss you. that is, before you stopped him with your hand. he immediately crooked his brows.
excuse me? why would you stop him like that? jun didn't know why, but he immediately apologized awkwardly as he tried to think of whatever he did wrong for you to do that. you only laughed before finally giving him the kiss he wanted.
hoshi: well, good luck with this man. waking up with hoshi always consisted of him leaning closer to you, whispering sweet words like how pretty you look today (despite just waking up a few minutes ago), and how much he wished he could look at your face every second of the day. then, he'd close the gap with a kiss against your lips. this time, however, you covered his lips with your hand.
he's shocked, offended, and gasping dramatically as he pulled away. he immediately hits you with barrages of questions—do you not love him anymore? have you found someone else? was he that bad at kissing you? does his breath smell right now?!
he was asking so many questions that you'd have to shut him up with a kiss, which just made him all giggly. now you'd have to endure him until he's kissing you senseless.
wonwoo: he spends his time playing games at home while you usually lounge on the bed, watching him play. but this time, you decided to surprise him by giving him his favorite meal you cooked yourself, placing it carefully beside his keyboard. he broke into a smile in the middle of fighting the enemy, before making his character go into a secluded corner so he could go AFK and kiss you as a form of gratitude. but then you placed your hand on his lips—catching him off guard.
why did you even do that? his lips would turn into a small frown before he pulls you in by your waist, making you almost stumble into his lap. he won't even say anything—he'd just stare at you with that same, frowning look before you finally gave in out of guilt. is this what people call guilt-tripping?
woozi: really, he's in his element the moment he sat down on that swivel chair—fingers immediately set on the mouse as he checked the tracks he had been working on for the past few days. he hummed to the tune of music playing in the background before his lips quirked up slightly into a smile at the sight of you entering the studio. it's not new for you to approach him during work—asking him what he was working on as you circled your arms around his neck, listening to him talking about his songs.
he'd push his chair back just slightly, tilting his head back to kiss you. but then you placed a hand on his lips, to which he raised a brow at that. why did you even do that? he won't stop asking why until you gave him a reason. he'd just sigh, asking you what was the point of that. yet he couldn't help but to feel a little disappointed.
you laughed at the change in tone before hugging him tighter and leaning down to kiss him. suddenly, he dodged your kiss—giving you a taste of your own medicine. not so funny now, huh?
dokyeom: poor guy. after coming home from an exhausting but fun trip with you, all he wanted was to lay down on your bed while keeping you close—not caring about the messy state of your unpacked suitcases. he pulled you in closer once he felt your fingers gently threading through his hair, tilting his head up so he would be able to land a soft kiss to your lips. that is until you covered his lips with your hand—earning a surprised hum from him.
frankly speaking, he felt a little disappointed by the gesture. so, instead of being stubborn and leaning in for a kiss, he decided to lower his head with a small smile. you frowned, finally lifting up his head so you would be able to pepper his face with kisses. you would never do this prank again.
mingyu: it's almost embarrassing how quickly his smile turned into a pout the moment your hand landed on his lips. it's unfair, he thought. he had to endure practicing extra today, only to come home being denied his kiss? what is this, hell? he would rather go back to practice again if you keep doing that.
you only laughed at his dramatic reaction, finally giving him a soft kiss before pulling away with an apology. he didn't respond much—opting to pull you into another kiss. to make up for the teasing earlier, he said.
minghao: for some reason, minghao woke up early in the morning to go for a morning jog with you. you questioned what the occasion was, but he said that he just felt like it, and that it would be healthy for the body anyway. after an hour of jogging, you finally returned home all sweaty and tired. instead of immediately washing up, however, you decided to lay down on the couch for a few minutes to cool down. it's better to shower when your body has cooled down anyway, he said.
though, minghao couldn't stop staring at you as you rambled on about what you saw at the jog earlier—like the cats on the sidewalk, that one cafe you've been wanting to visit, and.. wait, what did you talk about? because minghao couldn't resist kissing you.
you stopped him midway, putting your hand on his lips. he raised his brows before rolling his eyes, finally standing up from the couch to shower. he didn't care that you whined for him to come back—he's never kissing you again.
seungkwan: the moment you walked through the door with a suspiciously wide smile on your face, was the moment seungkwan realized you probably had something planned. he tensed up—gripping the mic tighter than intended as he stared at your mischievous expression. why were you even trying to do something sinister while he was doing karaoke in his free time?! after an unnecessarily long silence, he decided it would be best to just ignore you. it turns out that you weren't even planning on doing anything—only sitting down on the couch to admire him from behind.
once he finished his much needed karaoke session after so much stress, he sat with you on the couch, suddenly leaning in for a kiss as a way to show how much he missed you. but then, suddenly, you placed your hand on his lips, which caught him off guard. his eyes went wide, brows furrowed, and he looked like he immediately wanted to explode into a series of whys dramatically—before suddenly laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation.
he ended up prying your hand away, leaning in closer to give the once denied kiss as he wrapped his arms around your waist.
vernon: it was never easy for you to pull a prank on him. it wasn't like he'd immediately notice what you were trying to do, it was more so that he wouldn't react much—so the efforts would be done in vain. however, after scrolling through your phone for what felt like an hour, you found the perfect prank for him.
as he walked through your shared bedroom with his phone in hand—his eyes immediately set on you before he laid down next to you, one hand wrapping around your waist loosely while the other on his phone. you thought of many ways to make him want to kiss you, and you decided that you'd just be the one to lean in first. he noticed your face inching closer to him, so he turned his head sideways, trying to give you a soft kiss.
only for you to pull away slightly while covering his lips. you blinked a few times, trying to gauge his reaction. but the more you stared at him, the more he blinked back at you, confused as to what you were doing. well, there are many other ways to prank him anyway.
dino: midnight rides with him were always so fun. it was a way for the two of you to unwind, going out without coming home drained, and just spending time with each other in general. he'd sing and drive on the driver's seat, while you'd sit on the passenger's seat, staring at the rearview mirror while fixing your look. he couldn't help but to stare at how effortlessly pretty you were—and since the traffic lights were showing red, he decided to pull you in and give you a kiss.
well, he tried, at least. it was until he felt your palm against his lips that he opened his eyes—wide in disbelief. he'd cover his mouth, gasping dramatically as if he just experienced the top ten worst things on earth, and this is number one on the list. you giggled at his reaction, finally pulling him back in by his collar to kiss him on his lips. by the time he pulled away, the cars behind him were already honking.
naomi-nana. do NOT repost, do not use (with or without permission), do not recommend or talk about my works outside of tumblr.
Can I ask for something like Seventeen members, how are dating reader,and she, as a famous singer, makes a dedication at a very big show or at a famous event for them, like her singing "Die with a Smile"??🙃tyy
pairing: Seventeen x idol!reader
warnings: secret relationship, lots of fluff, some heartache, protective reader, wholesome shit hehehe
The bass from Seventeen’s closing track was still vibrating through the floorboards of your boots as you stood in the wings of the stage. Through the gap in the heavy velvet curtains, you watched Seungcheol—S.Coups to the thousands of screaming fans in the arena—walk off the main stage. He was breathless, sweat glistening under the harsh stadium lights, his chest heaving as he laughed at something Mingyu said.
As he neared the artist seating area, his eyes subtly swept the backstage perimeter. For a fraction of a second, his gaze locked onto yours. He didn't wave. He didn't smile. He just gave a tiny, barely perceptible nod that only you would recognize. You've got this, it meant.
Then, the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, introducing your solo stage. A roar went up from the crowd. Taking a deep breath, you stepped out into the blinding light.
As the first retro, soulful chords of Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars’s "Die with a Smile" echoed through the arena, a genuine smile broke across Seungcheol’s face over in the artist section. He settled back into his chair, entirely unbothered by the fan cameras trained on him.
His mind immediately drifted back to four nights ago.
You had been sitting on the floor of his living room, surrounded by crumpled sheets of paper, your head resting against his knee. You were drowning in anxiety, completely overwhelmed by the pressure of the upcoming award show.
"I don't know what to sing, Cheol," you had groaned, your voice laced with exhaustion. "The company wants something high-energy, but I want to do something that feels... real. I practiced 'Die with a Smile,' but my vocals feel too raw. I'm insecure about pulling off those belts live. What if I ruin the mood?"
Seungcheol had combed his fingers through your hair, tilting your face up so you had to look at him. "Hey. Look at me," he had murmured, his voice a steady anchor. "You could never ruin the mood. Your voice is built for that song. It’s raw, it’s beautiful, and it shows exactly who you are as an artist. Sing it. For me, if you can't do it for yourself yet."
Now, watching you center-stage under a single, dramatic spotlight, he felt a swell of immense pride tighten his chest. You hadn't listened to the company. You had listened to him. More importantly, you had listened to yourself.
"If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you," your voice rang out, crystal clear and brimming with a powerful, emotional depth that instantly hushed the roaring crowd.
Seungcheol leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. He didn't care if the cameras caught the soft, besotted look on his face. Let the netizens speculate. In that moment, as you hit the soaring chorus with effortless, breathtaking control, he was just a man completely captivated by his girl. You weren't holding back; you were pouring every ounce of your soul into the microphone, radiating a newfound confidence that made you absolutely luminous.
When the final note faded and the arena erupted into a deafening standing ovation, you bowed gracefully. But just before you walked off, you looked straight toward the artist section, your eyes finding his one last time. Seungcheol clapped proudly, a brilliant, private smile on his lips, knowing that your victory tonight was entirely your own.
Jeonghan
The glowing green light of the television illuminated the quiet living room as Jeonghan sat on the couch, his eyes pinned to the screen. The music broadcasting channel was currently showing a video package detailing your transition from girl group member to solo artist. Jeonghan leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly under his chin. He knew exactly how much blood, sweat, and tears had gone into this transition. He also knew how terrified you were.
For weeks, you had been a bundle of raw nerves. Leaving the comfort of your former group meant standing on stage completely exposed, with no members to share the spotlight or cover a missed line. Your late-night phone calls to him had been filled with a desperate, suffocating anxiety.
"What if I fuck it up, Jeonghan?" you had whispered one night, your voice trembling over the line. "What if everyone hates me without my group? What if I'm just not enough on my own?"
Jeonghan had listened patiently, his voice a soothing balm over your spiraling thoughts. "You are more than enough," he had insisted softly, yet with absolute certainty. "You parted ways because you outgrew that box. You are incredibly talented, and your voice deserves to fill the whole room by itself. You’re going to be amazing, I promise you."
Now, the broadcast cut to the live stage. The set was beautiful, dimly lit with soft, ethereal blues, but as the camera zoomed in on your face before the music started, Jeonghan’s heart clenched. He could see it immediately—the subtle tightness in your jaw, the slight tremor in your fingers holding the microphone, and the sheer, unadulterated fear swimming in your eyes. You looked like you wanted to run away. “Come on,” he breathed at the screen, wishing he could reach through the glass. “You can do this.”
On stage, the pressure was deafening, the silence before the track started feeling like a physical weight. Your mind raced with every worst-case scenario. But just as panic began to close up your throat, Jeonghan’s voice echoed in your memory from their last rehearsal meetup.
"When it gets too loud inside your head, do the three-five-three," he had told you, taking your hands and demonstrating. "Inhale for three seconds, hold for five, exhale for three. Focus only on the numbers. Nothing else exists."
Standing under the suffocating heat of the stage lights, you closed your eyes for a split second. You took a deep breath in. One, two, three. You held it, letting the stillness anchor you. One, two, three, four, five. You exhaled slowly. One, two, three.
Watching the TV, Jeonghan saw your shoulders visibly drop. He noticed the exact moment your chest expanded in that specific, measured rhythm, and a brilliant, proud smile broke across his face. You were doing his trick.
When your eyes opened, the terror was gone, replaced by a quiet, fierce determination. The instrumental swelled, and you raised the microphone. The first note that left your lips was flawless, rich with emotion and perfectly on pitch. Jeonghan leaned back against the couch cushions, his smile widening as you completely commanded the stage, proving to the world—and to yourself—what he had known all along.
Joshua
The chaotic energy of the variety show set was in full swing, with cameras panning across the brightly lit stage. Joshua adjusted his cue cards, flashing his signature gentle smile at the camera as the staff gave the signal. As the special MC for today’s episode, he was doing a fantastic job keeping the energy high, but inwardly, his focus was entirely locked on the girl group standing across from him—specifically, on you.
When you first arrived in Korea, the language barrier had felt like an insurmountable wall. You had been so quiet during early broadcasts, terrified of making a mistake and being misunderstood. That was until Joshua stepped in.
He lost count of how many nights the two of you had spent huddled over text books in his living room. He had been so incredibly patient, sitting with you for hours, breaking down tricky pronunciations, and gently correcting your sentence structures over cups of warm tea. “Don’t be afraid of making mistakes,” he’d always tell you, his voice soft and encouraging. “Your confidence is the most important part.”
Now, it was time for the interview segment. Joshua looked down at his cue cards, smoothly transitioning to the next topic.
"We heard that your group’s latest comeback features a lot of complex storytelling," Joshua said, turning his gaze toward your group. He intentionally directed the question toward your side of the lineup, offering a subtle, reassuring blink. "Could you explain the main concept of the title track for the fans watching at home?"
Usually, your leader would step up to answer, but this time, you took a small step forward and raised your microphone. Joshua’s heart did a sudden, nervous flip, but he kept his professional smile perfectly in place.
You took a small breath and began to speak. Your Korean was fluent, smooth, and beautifully articulated. You explained the intricate theme of the album without a single stutter, perfectly placing the honorifics and even naturally using a complex idiom that you and Joshua had practiced just three nights ago. You didn't just stumble through it; you spoke with absolute, dazzling confidence.
A massive, proud grin broke across Joshua’s face before he could even think to suppress it. His eyes crinkled into crescent moons, completely captivated by how effortlessly you were shining. Realizing he was smiling a bit too intensely for a regular MC, he quickly coughed into his hand to compose himself, remembering the strict rule that no one could find out about your relationship.
"Wow," Joshua chimed in, his voice brimming with genuine admiration as he nodded enthusiastically. "Your explanation was incredibly clear. And if I can just say—your Korean pronunciation is absolutely perfect! You must have studied so hard."
The other hosts and your members nodded in agreement, praising your growth, completely oblivious to the hidden meaning behind his words.
You looked directly at Joshua, a polite, idol-standard smile on your face, but your eyes danced with a shared, playful secret. "Thank you so much" you replied, your voice sweet and formal. "I had a really great teacher."
Joshua bit his lower lip to hide the goofy smile threatening to return, his chest swelling with an overwhelming sense of pride as he moved the show along, secretly wishing he could just take you in his arms right then and there.
Jun
The heavy red velvet curtains and flashing cameras of The Shadow’s Edge premiere had been bittersweet. While you were incredibly proud of Jun landing the lead role in the highly anticipated thriller, it had broken both of your hearts that you couldn't stand by his side on the red carpet. You had been forced to watch the livestream from your couch, cheering him on in secrecy while he walked the press line alone, looking breathtaking in his tailored black suit.
A few weeks had passed since the release, and the movie was completely dominating the box office. Tonight, having a rare free evening in your dorm, you decided to start an Instagram Live to chat with your fans.
Setting your phone against a stack of books on your desk, you watched the viewer count rapidly climb into the tens of thousands. Comments flooded the screen in a colorful, dizzying blur. You smiled, waving at the camera, and began answering a few casual questions about your day, your skincare routine, and your upcoming schedules.
Then, a comment caught your eye: What is your favorite movie right now? Any recommendations?
A genuine, irrepressible smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You leaned a bit closer to the screen. "Ah, my favorite movie right now?" you mused, pretending to think about it for a second to keep up appearances. "I actually went to the cinema recently to watch The Shadow’s Edge. Have you guys seen it?"
The chat instantly erupted with excitement, the mention of the hit film sending the fans into a frenzy.
"It is seriously so amazing," you continued, your eyes shining with genuine pride as you spoke. "The plot twists completely threw me off, and the cinematography is stunning. But honestly, Juns acting? Wow. He completely transformed for the role. The emotional range he showed in the final climax scene actually made me cry a little bit in the theater. If you haven't watched it yet, you are seriously missing out. Go see it!"
You spent another two minutes passionately gushing about the film’s pacing and Jun's performance before smoothly transitioning to a question about your favorite snacks, keeping the interaction completely natural.
After another twenty minutes of chatting, you waved goodbye to your fans and ended the livestream. The second the screen went dark, you tossed your phone onto the bed and let out a long breath, stretching your arms.
Before you could even stand up, your phone buzzed with a KakaoTalk notification. You picked it up, and a sudden flush of heat rushed to your cheeks when you saw Jun’s name flash across the screen.
Jun: So, I’m your favorite movie? 😉
You bit your lip, a bright smile spreading across your face as you quickly typed a reply.
You: I said the MOVIE was my favorite. Don't get ahead of yourself, Wen.
A few seconds later, your phone buzzed again.
Jun: Mm, right. But you spent three whole minutes talking about how amazing I am. I watched the live, jagiya. You looked beautiful. Jun: Since you loved my performance so much, maybe I can give you a private, exclusive screening of the director's cut this weekend? Just the two of us. I promise the front-row seats are excellent.
You burst out laughing, your chest swelling with warmth as you squeezed your pillow to your chest, the disappointment of the missed red carpet completely melting away.
Hoshi
Dating Hoshi was like being strapped into a roller coaster that only went up. Your relationship was a whirlwind of late-night dance studio dates, shared takeout on his living room floor, and fits of breathless, uncontrollable laughter. You had so much fun together, but a quiet, mutual ache always lingered in the background—the reality of being idols meant keeping your love entirely in the dark. You both desperately wanted to hold hands in public or shout your affection from the rooftops, but the industry rules kept you firmly behind closed doors.
Knowing how much the secrecy sometimes weighed on him, you decided to take matters into your own hands. If you couldn’t tell the world you were his, you could at least send a loud, clear signal that only he would truly understand.
A few days later, you were scheduled as a guest on a popular daytime talk show. As you walked onto the brightly lit set, the cameras caught every detail of your outfit. You looked effortlessly chic, but the real star of your ensemble was the small, luxury designer purse clutched in your hand. It was adorned with a bold, distinct tiger-stripe pattern.
Miles away in Seventeen's dorm, Soonyoung was curled up on his couch, a bowl of cereal in his lap, his eyes glued to the television screen. The moment you stepped into frame, he nearly choked on his milk. He stared at the tiger-print purse, his jaw dropping slightly.
On screen, the interview progressed smoothly, filled with bright laughter and promotions for your upcoming projects. Toward the end of the segment, the main host leaned forward, gesturing toward the couch where your belongings sat.
"I have to ask," the host said with a warm smile, "that purse is incredibly eye-catching! It’s a very bold choice. Is there a special reason you picked the tiger pattern today?"
You let out a soft laugh, glancing down at the bag before looking right into the main camera lens—right into Soonyoung’s eyes.
"Ah, yes!" you beamed, your eyes crinkling with genuine happiness. "I’ve just been really drawn to tigers lately. Honestly, the tiger has become my absolute favorite animal. They have so much fierce energy on the outside, but I think they're actually just big, warm, lovable cats once you get to know them. I wanted to bring a little bit of that tiger power with me today."
Back in the dorm, Soonyoung was completely frozen. Then, a massive, radiant smile broke across his face, pushing his eyes into those familiar, adorable lines. He clutched his chest, his heart hammering against his ribs. He knew exactly what you were doing. To the rest of the world, it was just a cute, quirky fashion statement. But to the man who literally breathed, slept, and lived the "Horanghae" tiger lifestyle, it was the loudest declaration of love you could possibly make.
You were telling him, and anyone else who really looked, exactly who you belonged to.
He felt a sudden wave of emotion wash over him, deeply touched that you would risk using a national broadcast just to make him feel secure and loved. He grabbed his phone off the coffee table, his fingers flying across the keyboard to text you before the show even cut to a commercial break.
Hoshi: HORANGHAE!!! 🐯🧡 I see you, jagiya! You are the cutest person on this entire planet. Come over right after your schedule, I cannot wait!!!
Wonwoo
The red carpet of the end-of-year award show was a dazzling, chaotic symphony of flashing cameras, blinding spotlights, and the deafening cheers of thousands of fans. You stood with your group, posing gracefully for the wall of photographers, but your peripheral vision was entirely focused on the group currently stepping onto the platform right next to yours. Seventeen.
Even in the amidst of the madness, your eyes automatically sought out Wonwoo. He looked devastatingly handsome, dressed in a sharp, tailored velvet suit that accentuated his tall frame. And, as always, his signature wire-rimmed glasses were perched neatly on the bridge of his nose.
Because you knew him better than anyone, you knew how easily those lenses got smudged, and how much it secretly annoyed him. That was why, buried deep inside your glamorous evening purse, sat a small stash of pre-moistened lens cleaning wipes. You carried them everywhere, a quiet habit born out of pure love, just waiting for the moments you could slip them into his hands in secret.
As the interviewers wrapped up your segment, your group began to walk off the main stage, cross-paths with Seventeen as they moved to take their places. The proximity was thrilling and terrifying.
As you passed each other, Wonwoo’s eyes met yours. It was a fleeting, stolen glance, but the warmth in his sharp gaze made your stomach flip. You were so busy trying to look casual while maintaining eye contact that the strap of your small clutch slipped right out of your fingers.
The purse hit the polished floor with a sharp clack, bursting open. Lipstick, mints, and a dozen individual, foil-wrapped glasses wipes scattered across the floor, right at Wonwoo’s feet.
"Ah, let me help you," a deep, smooth voice murmured.
Before the security staff could even react, Wonwoo smoothly knelt down, his long fingers instantly reaching for the items. You dropped to your knees as well, your heart hammering against your ribs as you desperately gathered your things, hyper-aware of the cameras just meters away.
Wonwoo’s hand closed around three of the lens wipes. He paused, looking at the familiar packaging, and then looked up at you. Because his back was to the main media wall, no one could see the sudden, profound softening of his expression. His eyes crinkled behind his frames, filled with an overwhelming, breathless adoration. He knew instantly why you had them. He didn’t need to say a word; his gaze conveyed a universe of gratitude and affection.
Your face flushed a deep, violent crimson under your makeup. Panic sparked in your chest, and you scrambled for a cover story, speaking just loud enough for the nearby staff to hear.
"Ah, thank you so much" you stammered, frantically snatching the remaining wipes from his hand. "My manager... he always loses his glasses wipes, so I have to carry them around for him. He's so clumsy! Thank you!"
You stuffed everything back into your bag, gave a quick, formal bow, and practically sprinted toward the backstage exit, your heart thumping wildly.
Wonwoo stood up slowly, adjusting his suit jacket with effortless grace. He watched your retreating figure, a small, completely helpless smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against his glasses case, his chest swelling with the sweet, irreplaceable warmth of knowing how deeply you cared for him.
Woozi
The dim ambient light of Studio Universe had been the backdrop to your love story. Long before any romantic feelings were spoken aloud, you and Jihoon had been bound together by chords, harmonies, and late-night deadlines. He had taken you under his wing, guiding you through the intricate maze of songwriting, teaching you how to structure a bridge and how to find the exact word that would make a listener’s heart ache. Somewhere between the hundreds of crumpled lyric sheets, the shared takeout containers, and the soft humming of melodies at 3:00 AM, the professional boundary had blurred into a deep, passionate, and fiercely protected secret relationship.
Tonight was the culmination of all those sleepless nights. You were standing center stage at a prestigious music broadcast, debuting the title track that the two of you had painstakingly crafted together.
Jihoon sat in the VIP artist section of the audience, surrounded by other idols and industry professionals. Outwardly, he was his usual stoic self—expression unreadable, arms crossed over his chest, looking every bit the serious, discerning producer. But inwardly, his pulse was racing. He knew every single breath, every ad-lib, and every emotional crescendo of this song. He had helped build them.
The stage lights dimmed to a deep indigo, and the soft piano instrumental began to filter through the massive stadium speakers. You raised the microphone, your voice cutting through the silence, rich and steady.
Jihoon watched you intently. He could hear his own musical influence woven into the track, but you had made it entirely your own. You sang with a vulnerable intensity that completely captivated the room.
Then came the bridge—the emotional climax of the entire piece. As the music swelled, you reached the exact line that Jihoon had spent three consecutive nights agonizing over. He had rejected dozens of drafts, pacing the floor of his studio, determined to find a lyric that would carry the absolute weight of a soul-baring confession. When he finally wrote it, he had whispered it to you in the dark, testing how it felt on his tongue.
"Even if the melody fades, I will remain your song."
When you sang that specific line, you didn't just hit the high note flawlessly; you poured so much raw, explosive passion into it that the crowd collectively gasped. You squeezed your eyes shut, your voice trembling with a beautiful, fierce emotion that mirrored exactly what the two of you felt for each other in secret. You were singing his words, but you were giving them life.
A sudden, sharp wave of emotion hit Jihoon right in the chest. He felt a lump form in his throat, deeply touched by how much care and reverence you had put into his hard work. In that split second, he wanted nothing more than to stand up, walk onto that stage, and pull you into his arms.
But he couldn't.
Catching himself, Jihoon dug his fingernails into his palms, forcing his face to remain completely neutral. He subtly cleared his throat, blinking rapidly to dispel the sudden warmth in his eyes, ensuring the nearby cameras saw nothing but a polite, professional senior monitoring a colleague's performance.
When the final note echoed away and the audience erupted into thunderous applause, Jihoon clapped along, his movements measured and controlled. But beneath the stoic producer facade, his heart was soaring, completely overwhelmed by the beautiful, secret language you had just spoken to him in front of thousands of people.
Seokmin
Every single day, it seemed to get a little bit harder to keep your relationship under wraps. Dokyeom was a man made of pure sunshine and loud, uncontainable affection; hiding how much he adored you went against his very nature. He wanted to hold your hand while walking down the street, loud-laugh at your jokes in public, and scream his love from the rooftops. Instead, you were limited to rushed late-night car dates, hushed phone calls, and tiny, private tokens of affection.
One of those tokens was a ridiculously cheesy, bright red plastic heart keychain. He had won it for you at a shooting gallery during a rare, heavily disguised late-night trip to a local funfair. It was cheap, slightly scratched, and had a tiny, goofy smiley face painted on it. Dokyeom had laughed when he handed it to you in the back of his manager’s car, calling it a placeholder until he could buy you something proper.
He had absolutely no idea that you had hooked it onto your primary set of keys the very next morning, and that it hadn't left your side since.
A few weeks later, your group was scheduled for an international flight. The airport departure hall was a chaotic sea of flashing cameras, shouting fans, and aggressive paparazzi pushing through the barriers to get the perfect shot. You moved through the terminal smoothly, keeping your head down, politely bowing to the media. At one point, you reached into your tote bag to pull out your passport, inadvertently pulling your keys out with it. For a few long seconds, you held your passport and your key ring in the same hand, entirely unaware that a high-powered camera lens had zoomed in directly on your fingers.
By the time your flight landed a few hours later, the internet had already exploded.
Dokyeom was sitting in Seventeen's dressing room between schedules, mindlessly scrolling through his phone, when he saw your name trending on social media. His heart did a nervous flip—parapazzi news was always a gamble—and he quickly clicked the hashtag.
Instead of a scandal, he was met with a massive, high-definition close-up photo of your hand holding your passport. Hanging prominently from your keys was the cheap, bright red plastic heart. The internet was spiraling. Fans and media outlets alike were flooded with captions like: "Who gave her the heart?" "Is it a gift from a secret lover?" and "Look how cherished that scratched little keychain is!"
Dokyeom stared at the screen, his chest suddenly feeling incredibly tight. A massive, radiant smile split across his face, his eyes welling up with sudden, overwhelming emotion. You had carried it everywhere. You had cherished his silly, cheap gift so much that you risked carrying it through a media storm.
He couldn't wait a second longer. He practically bolted out of the dressing room, ducking into a quiet, empty stairwell to call your number.
The second you picked up, his voice came rushing through the line, bursting with pure, ecstatic happiness. "Jagiya!" he gasped, completely unable to contain his excitement. "Are you seeing this? I'm looking at the airport photos right now!"
You let out a soft, embarrassed giggle over the line. "Oh no... you saw them? I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to let the cameras catch it, I just—"
"No, don't be sorry!" Dokyeom interrupted, his voice dropping into a tone of such profound, tender adoration that it made your chest ache. He rested his head against the concrete wall of the stairwell, a tear of pure happiness slipping down his cheek. "I’m the happiest guy in the world right now. You actually kept it? You carry my silly little heart with you everywhere?"
"Of course I do," you whispered softly. "It's a piece of you."
Dokyeom squeezed his eyes shut, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs, deeply touched by a love that felt far too big to keep hidden away much longer.
Mingyu
Keeping a relationship under wraps when you were dating Kim Mingyu was an Olympic-level sport. The man was a towering, golden-retriever-coded force of nature who naturally drew every camera and spotlight in the room. You loved his loud, affectionate personality, but the strict unspoken rules of the industry meant your romance was confined to the quiet safety of his apartment. Still, you couldn't resist a little bit of mischief, and when you were asked to perform a special solo cover stage at the upcoming end-of-year award show, you knew exactly how to stir the pot.
You chose Shania Twain’s iconic country-pop anthem, "That Don't Impress Me Much." When you told Mingyu your song choice a week prior, he had enthusiastically cheered, even helping you practice the dramatic, sassy hip-sways in his living room, completely oblivious to the trap you were setting for him.
Tonight was the night of the event. The arena was packed to the rafters, and the artist section was fully occupied. Mingyu sat with the rest of Seventeen, looking effortlessly handsome in a tailored navy-blue velvet suit.
When the stage lights flushed into a sultry, vibrant pink and the familiar, driving bassline of the song kicked in, Mingyu leaned forward, his eyes locked onto you. You strutted out onto the main stage wearing a stunning, modern leopard-print outfit, radiating an undeniable, powerhouse confidence.
Mingyu was instantly mesmerized. He watched you in absolute awe, a proud, goofy smile fixed on his face. The way you commanded the stage, the effortless vocal control, the playful smirk directed at the audience—he was completely captivated by his girl. He nudged Seungkwan next to him, silently bragging with a proud nod, completely captivated.
Then came the famous spoken-word interlude.
The music dropped into a pulsing rhythm, and you slinked down the runway toward the center stage, directly in front of the artist seating area. You raised your microphone, leaning your head to the side with a perfectly rehearsed, unimpressed expression.
"Okay," you drawled into the microphone, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "So you're Kim Mingyu?"
The entire stadium went utterly dynamic for a fraction of a second before erupting into a deafening, chaotic roar of cheers and screams. The sudden, unexpected shoutout sent a shockwave through the artist section.
Down in his seat, Mingyu froze. His jaw dropped, his eyes widening to the size of saucers. Within a heartbeat, a furious, deep crimson blush rushed up his neck and flooded his entire face, turning his ears bright red. Completely overwhelmed and utterly embarrassed, he burst into a breathless laugh and immediately covered his face with both hands, trying to shield himself from the sudden onslaught of fan-cameras zooming in on him.
The rest of Seventeen went wild, jumping up, laughing, and aggressively teasing him, shaking his shoulders while he hid behind his hands, completely flustered.
Through the gaps of his fingers, Mingyu peeked back up at the stage. You stood right at the edge of the catwalk, looking directly down at him. With a flawless, mischievous grin, you caught his eye and gave him a slow, deliberate wink before turning on your heel to slide back into the final chorus.
Mingyu lowered his hands, a helpless, totally besotted smile spreading across his lips despite his violently burning cheeks. His heart was hammering wildly against his ribs, utterly defeated and completely head-over-heels for the girl who had just boldly claimed him in front of the entire world.
Minghao
The quiet stillness of the night had finally settled over the dorm, offering Minghao a rare, peaceful sanctuary from his hectic schedule. He was curled up in his bed, the room completely dark save for the soft, ambient glow radiating from his tablet screen. With a quiet sigh of relaxation, he pulled up YouTube, letting his mind drift as he mindlessly scrolled through his feed to unwind before falling asleep.
That was when a specific thumbnail caught his attention. It was a high-definition video of your solo stage from an music broadcast a couple of days ago. Because the two of you went to absolute extremes to keep your relationship hidden—knowing how fiercely protective the industry could be—he hadn't been able to watch your performance live.
Curious and eager to see you, he tapped on the link.
As the music started playing through his headphones, a soft, incredibly warm smile spread across Minghao’s face. He leaned back against his pillows, completely captivated. He had always deeply respected your artistry, but watching you now, he was in absolute awe of your stage presence. The way you commanded the stage, the sharp fluidity of your movements, and the effortless grace in your choreography was mesmerizing. You moved like water, elegant yet powerful. He felt a swell of immense pride tighten his chest, quietly admiring just how incredibly talented his girl was.
But as the camera zoomed in for a tight, dramatic close-up during the song's bridge, Minghao’s smile suddenly faltered. He blinked, shifting closer to the screen.
"Wait a minute..." he murmured to himself.
He tapped the screen to pause the playback. Using his fingers, he pinched and zoomed in directly on your collarbone. Underneath the intricate layers of your stage outfit, resting delicately against your skin, was a very familiar piece of jewelry. It was a vintage, uniquely carved silver pendant chain—one of his absolute favorite necklaces, a piece he had been frantically searching for in his closet just last week.
Minghao let out a breathy, stunned chuckle, shaking his head in utter disbelief. You had boldly worn his jewelry on a nationally broadcasted music show, right under the noses of your stylists, your managers, and millions of viewers. To anyone else, it was just a chic accessory that matched your concept. But to him, it was a silent, beautifully daring declaration that a piece of him was right there on stage with you. A wave of profound, tender warmth rushed through him, deeply touched by the clever, risky gesture.
He couldn't just leave it at that. A mischievous glint entered his eyes as he grabbed his smartphone off the nightstand and dialed your number, knowing your schedule had just wrapped up.
The line clicked open after a few rings. "Minghao? Are you still awake?" your soft voice came through the speaker.
"I am," Minghao replied, his tone deliberately teasing as he tried to suppress his smile. "And I actually just figured out a mystery tonight. I was watching your stage video just now, jagiya."
"Oh! Really?" you sounded suddenly shy, yet excited. "Did you like it?"
"I loved the dancing. You looked absolutely incredible," he said softly, before letting out a playful, dramatic sigh. "But I do have one question. Do you have a habit of stealing your boyfriend’s favorite things, or is this a new hobby of yours? I’ve been looking for that silver necklace for days."
You let out a gasped, breathless laugh on the other end, completely caught. "You noticed? I missed you so much during promotions, I just wanted to keep a piece of you close to my heart while I was on stage."
Minghao’s heart did a soft, helpless flip at your confession. He looked back at the paused video on his tablet, his eyes softening completely. "You're lucky you look so beautiful in it," he murmured, his voice brimming with pure, unadulterated affection. "Keep it. It looks much better on you anyway."
Seungkwan
Dating Seungkwan for over a year had been the most rewarding, beautiful experience of your life, but it certainly didn't come without its hardships. As two active idols, the burden of the hidden relationship had started to weigh heavily on both of you. You both hated the constant whispering, the separate cars, and the inability to simply hold hands while walking through a park. You wanted to scream your happiness to the world, but the industry constraints kept you firmly locked behind closed doors.
Determined to find a loop-hole, you decided to claim him in the most creative, subtle way possible. If you couldn’t hold his hand in public, you would wear your love right where everyone could see it.
The next day, you went online and tracked down a delicate, custom silver necklace featuring a tiny, beautifully detailed tangerine pendant. To the casual observer, it was just a cute, refreshing summer accessory. But to you, to Seungkwan, and to anyone who knew his Jeju roots and his famous nickname, it was the ultimate, unmistakable symbol of Boo Seungkwan.
A few days later, while waiting in the styling room before a music broadcast, you took a bright, high-definition selfie in front of the vanity mirror. You angled your head just right, ensuring the lighting caught the tiny tangerine pendant resting perfectly against your collarbone. You posted it to your official social media account with a simple caption: "A little bit of sunshine for today’s stage! ☀️🍊"
Within minutes, the post exploded. Your fans completely flooded the comment section, leaving thousands of messages. They absolutely adored the look, with comments like, "The necklace is so cute! Where is it from?" "Our orange fairy!" and "That pendant matches her bright energy so perfectly!" totally dominating the feed. You smiled to yourself, locking your phone and heading out to the stage, knowing your mission was accomplished.
Later that evening, you finally returned to your apartment, exhausted but content from a long day of promotions. You had just changed into comfortable loungewear when a soft, familiar knock echoed through your front door.
You unlocked it and pulled it open, and your breath hitched slightly.
Standing in the dimly lit hallway was Seungkwan. He was wearing an oversized black hoodie, his cap pulled low, but his face was fully visible—and he was sporting a massive, incredibly smug smirk. He didn't say a word at first. He just leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes twinkling with an absolute, undeniable fondness.
"Can I help you, Boo?" you teased, a playful smile tugging at your lips.
Seungkwan finally let out a soft, breathy chuckle, stepping inside your apartment and closing the door behind him. He reached out, his warm fingers gently catching the chain of the very necklace you were still wearing, lifting the tiny tangerine slightly.
"So," he murmured, his voice dropping into a tender, deeply affectionate tone as he looked down at you. "A little bit of sunshine, huh? I saw the photo you posted earlier, jagiya."
Your cheeks flushed a pretty pink. "Did you like it?"
"Like it? The group chat literally erupted because of you," Seungkwan laughed, pulling you closer by your waist. The smirk faded, replaced by a expression of such profound, overwhelming gratitude that it made your heart ache. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. "The fans are all talking about how much they love your new accessory. But I know who it really belongs to. Thank you for showing them, even if they don't quite get it yet."
Vernon
The distance was starting to feel like a heavy, physical ache. With Vernon currently stationed in New York working on a highly anticipated solo project and you wrapped up in your own intense promotional cycle back in Seoul, you hadn't seen each other in over a month. The massive time difference only made things more complicated. You strictly kept up your routine of calling each other every single night, waiting until his morning matched your late evening, but staring at a pixelated face on a smartphone screen just wasn't the same as holding his hand. You missed his quiet, steady presence more than you cared to admit.
One quiet afternoon in Seoul, you found yourself with a rare couple of hours of downtime in your dorm. Missing the interaction with people, you decided to start an Instagram Live to chat casually with your fans.
Sitting cross-legged on your bed, you watched the viewer count surge into the thousands within seconds. Comments began scrolling past in a dizzying, multicolored blur. You waved warmly at the camera, answering random questions about your favorite music playlists, what you ate for lunch, and how you kept your energy up during busy days.
Then, a comment flashed near the bottom of the screen: What are your plans for the summer break? Are you going to travel?
You paused, tapping your chin thoughtfully as you stared at the lens. A tiny, wistful smile tugged at the corners of your lips as your mind immediately drifted to a certain half-Korean rapper currently walking the streets of Manhattan.
"My summer plans?" you mused aloud, leaning a bit closer to the phone. "Well, if the company gives me a few days off after promotions wrap up, I think I'm actually going to head over to New York."
The chat instantly went wild, fans aggressively typing out recommendations and asking if you were going to film a travel vlog.
"Yeah, New York is just absolutely amazing," you continued, your eyes softening with a genuine, deep-seated nostalgia as you spoke. "The energy there is completely unmatched. It’s been a while since I last visited, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. I really miss the city itself... but honestly, I think I miss the people there the most. There's someone very special over there that I just can't wait to see."
You kept your tone perfectly casual, making it sound like you were simply referring to a distant friend or family member, but the subtle warmth in your voice was undeniable.
Halfway across the world, inside a sleek recording studio in New York City, Vernon was taking a short coffee break. He was leaning back in a leather chair, his phone propped up against the mixing console, watching your live broadcast with a completely captivated expression.
When those words left your lips, his heart did a sudden, violent flutter against his ribs. A slow, incredibly brilliant smile spread across his face, his usual cool and unbothered demeanor completely melting away. He looked down at his lap, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as a wave of profound, sweet relief washed over him. You were talking about him. In front of hundreds of thousands of people, you had just admitted how much you missed him.
The moment your live stream officially ended, Vernon didn't waste a single second. He unlocked his phone, his fingers flying across the screen as he sent you a text, his chest swelling with an overwhelming sense of anticipation.
Vernon: New York misses you too, jagiya. Especially the people. Vernon: I'm counting down the days until you get here. I'll buy you the best pizza in the city the second you step off the plane. I love you.
Dino
The energy on the set of the popular variety show was loud and fast-paced, with the cameras capturing the bright banter between Seventeen and your own girl group. You were seated on the second row of acrylic chairs, keeping a polite, idol-standard smile plastered on your face. But inwardly, your attention was entirely focused on Chan, who was sitting across the stage. Keeping your relationship a complete secret meant you couldn't even sit next to him, but you always kept him in your line of sight.
As the show progressed, however, your bright mood began to sour. The main MC, a veteran comedian known for his sharp tongue, had decided to make Chan his primary target for the episode.
"Ah, Dino-ssi," the MC scoffed with a dismissive wave of his cue cards after Chan finished explaining a funny story. "Is that really the best the maknae of Seventeen can do? The story was a bit flat, wasn't it? You've been in the industry for over a decade, but you still talk like a nervous rookie."
Chan immediately laughed it off, bowing politely and clapping his hands in his signature, high-energy way. "Ah, I'll try harder next time!" he promised, his voice bright, but you noticed the subtle, brief tightness around his eyes.
You clenched your jaw, your fingers tightening around the microphone in your lap. You knew how incredibly hard Chan worked, how much pressure he placed on himself as Seventeen’s youngest, and how deeply he cared about his variety show performances. The MC didn't stop there. Over the next fifteen minutes, he repeatedly cut Chan off, made snide remarks about his dancing style, and casually picked on him under the guise of "good-natured teasing."
At one point, the MC turned his attention to your group. "Now, let's talk to a group with real variety sense," he praised heavily, looking directly at you. "You recently went viral for your sharp wit on another show. What do you think is the secret to keeping an audience entertained without being boring?"
You took a slow, deliberate breath, your eyes flashing with a quiet, fierce protectiveness. You smiled sweetly, raising your microphone.
"Well," you began, your voice dripping with an innocent, sugary charm. "I think the most important thing is to make sure everyone on set feels respected. It's actually really easy to just pick on the youngest person in the room for a cheap laugh, but true talent comes from lifting everyone up together. Don't you agree? It takes a lot of experience to realize that respect is much funnier than just targeting one person."
The studio floor went completely silent for a fraction of a second. It was a perfectly wrapped, incredibly subtle shade, delivered with such a flawless smile that the MC couldn't even look angry without appearing defensive.
Down in his seat, Chan’s breath hitched. A sudden, deep blush rushed up his neck and colored the tips of his ears. He looked down at his shoes, a helpless, totally captivated smile breaking across his face. He knew exactly why you had risked saying that.
Breaking the tension, Seungkwan and Hoshi immediately burst into loud, dramatic laughter, clapping enthusiastically. "Wow! That was so sharp!" Seungkwan cheered, assuming you were just being a bold, entertaining guest. The other members laughed along, taking the comment with great humor, completely oblivious to the fact that you had just publicly defended your boyfriend.
The MC quickly laughed it off, coughing into his hand and moving the topic along with a newfound caution. You lowered your microphone, catching Chan’s eye across the studio. He gave you a tiny, incredibly grateful nod, his eyes shining with a warmth that made your heart swell, completely proud to be yours.
How I always end up manifesting everything I want.
I persist. That's the simple answer. I affirm and persist no matter what. there is simply no time to second guess or dwell on the different
circumstances that I could be facing, or ponder on how will this actually come into fruition. I simply realise the fact that all of these are not my problem.
Not my responsibility. All I have to do is persist on what I want no matter what. And that's exactly what I do
Hi! First of all, i want to thank u for all the hard work you do! To me you keep this fandom afloat by posting fics basically everyday 💜💜
I usually don't submit any ideas cuz I'm not good at coming up with ones lol
Bucky x bimbo reader where she starts feelin that them dating is probably not gonna last because everyone thinks they just dont fit well. Her insecurities get worst when a new girl joins the avengers and everyone seems to like her more than they do her, which makes reader feel even worse and it all leads to a lot of drama lol lootts of angst pls
Bucky learns very quickly that loving you feels like standing in the sun too long.
Everyone sees the way you walk into rooms like you belong there—glossy lips, loud laugh, skirts a little too short, nails always done. You’re sweetness and sparkle and unapologetic femininity wrapped up in bubblegum confidence. People assume it’s effortless. That you don’t think very hard about anything at all.
They don’t see how your smile tightens when conversations drift over your head.
They don’t hear the way you rehearse sentences before meetings, terrified you’ll sound stupid.
They don’t notice how you shrink when Tony gets that look and says, “You’re cute, kid.”
They definitely don’t see the way you cling to Bucky’s arm like he’s gravity itself.
At first, the team treats your relationship like a joke.
“You’re… really together?” Sam asks once, brows lifted.
Bucky’s jaw tightens. “Yeah.”
“Damn,” Wanda adds, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Did not have that on my bingo card.”
You laugh along, high and easy, like it doesn’t matter. Like it doesn’t sting when people whisper what does she even talk about with him? or she’s fun, but…
But Bucky hears it. Always hears it.
He sees how you second-guess yourself around him sometimes, how you stop talking mid-sentence and change the subject. He knows you try harder than anyone to be good enough—sweet enough, pretty enough, quiet enough.
Still, he thinks love will be enough to drown out the noise.
Then she arrives.
Her name is Elise. She’s brilliant. Polished. Calm under pressure. She knows exactly when to speak and when to stay quiet. She wears neutral colors and confidence like armor, and within a week she’s sparring with Steve and debating strategy with Natasha.
Everyone loves her.
“She’s amazing,” someone says in the common room.
“So sharp,” another adds.
You sit on the couch beside Bucky, legs tucked beneath you, twirling a strand of hair around your finger until your nails catch.
“Oh,” you say brightly. “Yeah. She’s… really cool.”
Bucky feels the shift immediately.
You start dressing differently—longer sleeves, muted colors. You stop cracking jokes in briefings. You don’t volunteer for anything anymore. When Elise speaks, you go quiet, eyes glued to the table like you’re afraid to exist too loudly.
One night, you don’t come to bed.
Bucky finds you in the bathroom, mascara streaked down your cheeks, phone face-down on the counter.
“Doll?” he murmurs.
You flinch like you’ve been caught doing something wrong.
“I’m fine,” you say quickly, swiping at your face. “Just—stupid girl stuff.”
He doesn’t push. He never wants to push you.
But the distance keeps growing.
People don’t help.
Elise laughs with the team, slots into conversations effortlessly. Someone jokes that she’s “more Bucky’s speed.” Another says she’s “a better fit.” No one notices when you leave the room.
You notice.
It all comes to a head after a mission debrief.
You’d tried to speak—really tried—but Elise finished your sentence for you. Not cruelly. Just… naturally. Like your thoughts were unnecessary.
Later, Bucky finds you packing a bag.
“What’re you doin’?” he asks softly.
You don’t look at him.
“I think we should take a break.”
The words feel rehearsed. Like you’ve been choking on them for days.
Bucky’s chest tightens. “A break from… what?”
“Us,” you whisper. “From pretending this makes sense.”
He steps closer. “Who said it doesn’t?”
You laugh, but it’s broken. “Everyone, Buck. Look at me. Look at her. I’m embarrassing you.”
“That’s not—”
“I’m not smart like her. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong with you.” Your voice cracks. “I’m just… fun. Temporary.”
That hurts him more than any bullet ever could.
Bucky takes your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him.
“Don’t,” he says, voice rough. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”
“But it’s true!” you sob. “You deserve someone who fits. Someone who doesn’t make people laugh behind your back.”
“I didn’t fall in love with someone who fits,” he says fiercely. “I fell in love with you.”
You shake your head, tears spilling over. “You’ll see. One day you’ll wake up and realize I’m just… too much and not enough at the same time.”
Bucky presses his forehead to yours.
“Doll,” he whispers. “I’ve been too much and not enough my whole damn life. You’re the only thing that ever made me feel right.”
Your hands clutch at his jacket like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.
“I’m scared,” you admit. “I’m scared you’ll get tired of defending me.”
His answer is immediate.
“I’ll never stop.”
It takes time. Reassurance. Healing. The team learns—slowly—that brilliance doesn’t only come in quiet packages. Elise apologizes, genuinely. And Bucky? He starts holding your hand in public like it’s a declaration.
You still doubt sometimes.
But every time you do, Bucky reminds you—softly, fiercely—that loving you was never a mistake.
🤎 jihoon x f!reader
🤎 0.7k
🤎 playing with jihoon's hair
🤎 requested by @gent1es3xy <33 for my 100 followers event!
🤎 don't play with weights folks, it's not safe. reader is a menace. it's really just fluff tbh. jihoon is fluffy.
Jihoon's not done working out, but you'd really like to head home.
🤎
“Can we go now?” you whine quietly, pouting your best, but Jihoon shakes his head, tossing his hair out of his eyes.
“I still have half my routine left. Sorry. Go walk on the treadmill or something.” And he sets his water bottle down and walks away.
The nerve.
So you follow him across the gym.
Jihoon glances up from the weight rack as you lean against it. His brows furrow.
“What are you –”
“Just do your workout. Ignore me.” You smile. Jihoon side-eyes you, but picks up his weights.
He readies his stance, then starts his set of weighted lunges.
You wait.
Then, as he’s settling into the stretch, you lean over and ruffle his hair.
He loses his balance and almost topples over before he can catch himself. You bite your lip, holding back a smile as he shoots you a glare.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. I’m just waiting.”
Jihoon narrows his eyes. “Wait somewhere else.”
But he picks his weights back up and starts back into his lunges.
And again, you reach out and bury your fingers in his soft, fluffy hair.
This time the weights hit the ground, and he shoots to his feet, glaring again.
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop – touching my hair.”
He’s frowning, but there’s an adorable tinge of red creeping over his cheeks. You have to fight to keep your face neutral as he glances around the gym. There’s a few other people. Not too many.
You just blink, looking as innocent as you can, and Jihoon grunts and returns to his weights. His muscles really do look good, flexing as he adjusts his grip, and you consider grabbing his bicep this time, but you’ve already gone this far with the hair. And his hair is fluffy, and you do want to bury your hands in it.
And also head home. You would like to head home.
So you inch closer again and slip both your hands into his hair, scratching light circles against his scalp, and his breath hitches so hard he starts coughing.
“Stop!” he hisses between hacks, struggling to set the weights down and get his feet under him. People are looking now, curious glances darting through exercise machines, and Jihoon’s cheeks are flaming by the time he finally regulates his breathing again. He grabs the weights and doesn’t look at you as he nearly slams them back on the rack.
“What –” you start, but Jihoon shakes his head.
“We’re leaving. Come on.”
He stalks off towards your stuff in the corner, swiping both your bag and his into his arms. You hurry to catch up, reaching to take your bag off his hands, but he tugs it back and slings it over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry?” you say as he shoves his hip into the door to open it. He just jerks his chin out into the parking lot and waits until you step outside to let the door shut.
It’s not until you’re both in the car that he lets out a long groan and drops his head against the top of the wheel.
“You,” he mutters, “are going to be the death of me.”
You let out a small breath. The tension drops from your shoulders. He turns his head enough to shoot you an exasperated but undeniably fond look, and you smile sheepishly and shrug.
“I wanted to go home.”
“No kidding.”
Jihoon pauses then, scanning your face with something unreadable in his eyes. You look back for a moment, and then it’s too much, and your gaze drops to your lap.
“Hey.”
You look up to find him leaning in, his hand suddenly hot under your chin, and then he’s kissing you – rough at first, fingers gripping your jaw, but then it melts into something softer, his lips moving gently against yours in a way that has your mind reeling.
When he finally breaks away, it takes you a moment to open your eyes.
“There,” Jihoon says, satisfaction dripping from his voice.
He drops another smack on your lips, loud noise included, then sits back and starts the car. You blink, trying to wake up your brain. “So, do you wanna go home badly enough that picking up dinner isn’t an option?”
Oh. So he’s being normal now. Two can play at that game. “Ooh, no. I want Chick-fil-A.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You smile as he pulls out of the parking lot, reaching up to curl your fingers around the back of his neck, and you spend the rest of the drive home with your hand in his hair.
touch-starved!megumi who never really got the hang of being affectionate. it was not that he hated it or found it embarrassing despite what yuji always said. he just honestly did not know how to deal with it most of the time. touching other people or being touched had never exactly been a regular thing for him growing up. so eventually, megumi learned how to exist without ever asking for that kind of connection.
touch-starved!megumi who slowly starts changing towards you in tiny, subtle ways. hanging around you longer than he actually needed to. relaxing the second you sit beside him after a mission. always looking a little startled every time you touch him, like some part of him still expects everyone to eventually pull away.
touch-starved!megumi who acts like none of it affects him at first. if you straighten his collar, he just blinks at you quietly. if your hands brush while passing something to him, his fingers pause for half a second too long. if you hug him unexpectedly, his whole body goes stiff before very slowly melting into the hold like his body is finally catching up to something his heart has wanted for years.
touch-starved!megumi who never asks for more, and honestly that the heartbreaking part. he never leans in first or reaches for your hand unless you do it beforehand. he never interrupts you or demands your attention. he accepts love like it is something borrowed, something temporary. almost terrified he might ruin it if he holds on too tightly.
touch-starved!megumi who comes back from a horrible mission exhausted, sitting alone in the common room with his head tilted against the sofa. uniform torn. dried blood against his jaw. looking absolutely wrecked while rain taps softly against the windows outside.
touch-starved!megumi who only opens his eyes slowly when you tell him he should sleep already, voice rough and exhausted as he quietly says, “in a minute.”
touch-starved!megumi who shifts closer after you sit beside him. barely noticeable. just enough for his shoulder to press carefully against yours. hesitant enough that it makes your chest ache because it is obvious he wants comfort but has absolutely no idea how to ask for it.
touch-starved!megumi who goes completely still when your fingers slide into his hair. for one awful second you think you crossed a line until he exhales shakily, sounding like all the tension inside him is finally draining out at once.
touch-starved!megumi who slowly leans into your touch while his eyes close again, practically melting beneath your fingers as you scratch lightly against his scalp. such a tiny movement, but somehow it feels devastating because maybe nobody has ever held him this gently before.
touch-starved!megumi who lets out a tired little laugh when you whisper that he doesn’t have to pretend he is okay all the time. he says “i know,” but he sounds like somebody hearing those words for the very first time.
touch-starved!megumi who instinctively turns his face into your palm the second your hand slides down to his cheek, like he belongs there naturally. like some hidden part of him has been starving for tenderness for years.
touch-starved!megumi who falls half asleep against you by the time the rain finally stops, one hand loosely gripping your hoodie sleeve like he thinks you might disappear if he lets go.
touch-starved!megumi who never actually asks you to stay.
he just quietly holds onto you when you do.
an: I still suck at tagging even after 4 year into this
I don’t understand how shifters limit themselves like you can literally be whoever you want look however you want do whatever you want our minds can’t even comprehend the infinity of the universe and I’m not saying you have to think bigger please do whatever you want this is just a reminder that the possibilities are literally ENDLESS
