bubble gum
danielle marsh x 6th member!reader
established relationship, fluff, slight angst, comfort
synopsis: ever since newjeans debuted, you have brought nothing but controversies. but god damn it, do they bring good publicity and more fans to the group.
but then one day, a certain company wanted to take advantage of that.
contains: secret dating, mentions of h*be🤢, jiwoo of h2h, loser!r, gamer!r, (lmk if i should add more!)
word count: 7.4k
ador is actually in shambles right now. another unhinged sentence came out of your mouth during a live.
you were playing League of Legends (without your manager’s approval, by the way), the tripod was positioned in front of your torso, your phone streaming your computer screen. you were trying out a new strategy of doing an AD LeBlanc instead of the typical AP route.
needless to say, bunnies and your teammates were not happy with your choice. the moment your mouse hovered over the Trinity Force item, they were already spamming your chat, asking what the hell you were doing.
26 minutes into the game, you have 5 items in your inventory, 18 kills, and 0 deaths, they were not saying much anymore. except your team’s jungler, Nunu.
the enemy team was attacking the dragon. all 5 of them. his little monkey brain decided to go in and ult, expecting a penta kill. did he at least kill one of them or steal the dragon? no. he died within seconds of going in.
and of course, he decided to blame you. the one that was actually carrying the team. he was pinging your character, flaming you in chat with profanities that surely will get him banned.
[Team] Nunu & Willump: lb u piece of shit i literally get zero help
[Team] Nunu & Willump: we couldve gotten an ace but ur just standing there waiting for some kills to steal like a fukin npc
[All] Nunu & Willump: report lb for trolling pls
“what the hell is wrong with this guy?” you exclaimed, effortlessly killing 3 of the enemy team and even managing to steal the dragon. “not my fault you’re braindead. like, who in their mind would go in and expect something good despite being 2/7/4? you’re barely in your third item, you bozo!”
[Team] LeBlanc: aw gonna cry to mommy? tell her how lb hurts ur wee lil feelings? :(
you decided to hide the in-game chat, knowing that slurs and more profanities are going to be sent by Nunu because you provoked him. you’re already going to get in trouble for streaming a game without proper consent—you weren’t going to dig yourself a deeper grave by exposing bunnies to the toxic environment that is low elo gameplay.
instead, you shifted your whole focus on trying to win the game despite two of your teammates purposely dying. one of the turrets protecting the enemy team’s nexus was destroyed by you. you were alone, trying to finish the game early because you were tired of the dead weight that is your team. seeing this as an opportunity to finally give you your first death, all 5 of the enemy team jumped you. you killed them with ease, one by one, securing yourself a pentakill. i mean, would they even stand a chance against a full build 26/0/9 LeBlanc?
“I’M THE NEXT FUCKING FAKER! I’M SO GOOD THAT T1 IS GONNA OFFER ME A CONTRACT BECAUSE I'M THE GOAT!” you screamed, jumping behind the camera with your hands still on your keyboard and mouse.
the last turret fell and the nexus was destroyed. a victory screen was in front of you and bunnies. the chat went crazy, praising you and saying different variations of ‘congratulations’ with some occasional:
‘wow this woman really is crazyᄏᄏ’
‘no way she actually did it’
‘sybau y/n🥀’
just as you were about to take your phone off the tripod to show your face and talk to your fans, a text message from your manager saying ‘End the live. We need to talk. Right NOW.’ appeared on top of your screen.
you chuckled nervously, “i need to go now, bunnies! the game drained me and i’m tired. i’ll talk to you guys again soon! bye!” and with that, you quickly ended the live.
you were reprimanded. heavily. saying stuff about how they are very disappointed in you, and that they will not hesitate to put you on hiatus if the parties involved (Faker and T1) do not receive your words well.
danielle, who was watching your live from start to finish, knew that something was wrong when your farewell to bunnies was rushed. usually, you would yap for 20 minutes more despite already saying that you were going to leave soon.
she made her way to your room, knocking softly before opening the door. she didn’t wait for a response. didn’t have to. it was something you and danielle agreed upon when you first started dating.
there you were, sprawled on your bed with your head buried on the plushie that danielle won for you (she’ll never reveal to you how much money she lost trying to win that damn minion plush). your headset was tossed carelessly to the side, and the slight shaking of your shoulders told her more than enough.
“hey,” she started softly, rubbing your back, “what did they say?”
you groaned, not lifting your head. “that i should watch my mouth and i would be in a month-long hiatus if i didn’t.”
she let out a quiet hum and pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder, her hand never stopping its comforting strokes.
“do you want me to make you something?” she asked after a beat, voice low and careful, like she knew you’d only eaten cereal and coffee today. “or we could just order from that chinese place you like. the one with the angry dumplings.”
you let out a muffled laugh against the plush. “you mean the really spicy ones?”
“yes, but you always tear up and get all snotty eating them. so angry dumplings.”
“i’d like that,” you mumbled.
danielle chuckled and kissed your temple, then gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “okay, angry dumplings it is. but you’re cuddling with me while we wait, i missed you.”
you finally lifted your head just a bit to look at her. “you’re not mad?”
“at you? never.” her hand slid down to intertwine your fingers. “but if they really try to put you on hiatus, i’m giving them a piece of my mind.”
you grinned, putting a hand on your chest. “my hero.”
“always,” she whispered, and kissed the tip of your nose.
the explosion didn’t happen all at once.
at first, it was a quiet hum— couple of clips on twitter, few thousand views on tiktok, and a mid-level panic in the PR group chat.
but within twelve hours after your live, the ripple turned into a full-on wave.
a huge LoL related account had posted the clip of you declaring that you were the next Faker, captioning it, “this kpop girl just solo-carried, roasted her toxic jungler, AD LeBlanc, all while saying she’s the next faker”
and then the real chaos started.
because the official T1 twitter account saw it and quote-tweeted it.
@/T1LoL: sign the contract big girl, sign the contract
the post had over 100,000 likes in under six hours. (did they really have to quote mike tyson?)
and if that wasn’t already a death sentence or a badge of honor (you couldn’t decide which), Faker himself went live later that night— and of course, chat spammed him with your name the second he turned his cam on.
“oh, y/n from newjeans?” he asked, amused. “yeah, i saw the clip.”
he smiled genuinely and added, “26/0/9? that’s not easy. not even in low elo. she’s actually decent. kind of aggressive, though.”
then, after a pause:
“but that AD build on LeBlanc… yeah, no. that was criminal, but somehow she managed to make it work. you’d need talent for that.”
“if i retire, please put y/n in our roster.”
ADOR’s PR team originally drafted a formal apology.
they had the whole thing ready — tight, polished, apologetic without being too apologetic — until someone on the social media team pointed out that most of the backlash had already turned into applause.
so instead of an apology, they rewrote the statement.
NewJeans’ Y/N recently shared an unscheduled but heartfelt gaming stream with fans. While we acknowledge the concerns about language and the importance of mindful online interaction, we ask for understanding. We also want to thank everyone—especially the League of Legends community—for the surprising and overwhelming support.
your merch sales reportedly spiked that week. huh.
you didn’t think much of it at first.
your schedule just said ‘internal sync meeting’ – three words that could mean anything from an updated media briefing to a light dressing down over your most recent quote trending on stan twitter. you showed up five minutes late, iced americano in one hand, hair still damp from the shower. you hadn’t even bothered to put on make up.
the room smelled like burnt coffee and unease.
a mix of too many overused essential oil diffusers, the dull hum of industrial-strength air conditioning, and the constant clicking of keyboards filled the sterile hybe conference room. two men in suits sat on one side of long black table, a third slightly off-center-someone from SM, you assumed, based on the lanyard he has around his neck.
you sat slowly, your iced americano suddenly tastes too sharp against your tongue. a thin gray folder in front of you, unopened. your nails picked at the edge of the manila cover. it had your name written on it. in sharpie.
beside you, your manager’s boss, had a tablet in front of her but hadn’t touched it since the meeting began. you were told she was here to “make sure you were okay”. she hadn’t made eye contact with you once.
“thanks for coming in on short notice,” one of the SM reps said, hands folded on the table like this was a negotiation. beside him, a woman — someone you recognized from ador’s PR team — smiled like she’d rehearsed it.
Your own manager gave you a nod from the corner. you frowned.
“what’s this about?” you asked.
they didn’t answer right away. Instead, the rep tapped the screen of a tablet and slid it towards you.
on it: a media tracker. articles, tweets, graphs. your name. trending charts. Thumbnails from videos with titles like “4th gen it girl” “why y/n is the only interesting idol right now.” one had your freeze-frame from music bank with the caption, “NewJeans’ y/n - idol or menace?”
“you’ve been talked about a lot lately,” he said. “consistently.”
you glanced down, finding the condensation on the side of your iced coffee much more interesting than whatever this was. “i didn’t even do anything this week.”
“exactly,” the woman chimed in, her tone light. “that’s the point. you trend even when you don’t mean to. it’s something we think is… useful.”
you blinked slowly. “useful for what?”
the SM rep smiled, folding his hands. “we’re launching a push for our rookie girl group – hearts2hearts. you know them?”
“kind of,” you muttered. you’d seen their debut on music core. clean choreo, pretty styling, stable vocals. their music video already had over 20 million views. that was good, especially for a rookie group.
“they’re doing well,” you added, cautiously.
“they are,” the woman said quickly, “but we’re aiming higher. aespa-level buzz. and to be completely honest, we’re missing the noise. we need a little unpredictability. we need people talking.”
“and that involves me how?”
“you’re the most talked about idol right now. it would benefit everyone involved.”
“what we’re saying is that we want to stage a casual meetup. between you and their leader, jiwoo.” the man said.
your brow furrowed.
“a staged hangout. something that can pass off as spontaneous. han river. picnic blanket. snacks. some walking, talking, laughing. maybe some matching accessories.”
you stared.
“matching–?”
“the point is to make it believable, not scandalous. just two young idols vibing on their day off. and if the public happens to like the chemistry…”
you put the coffee down slowly. “...you’d want a fake relationship,” you continued, voice flat.
“eventually, yes. but right now, friendship. and we want a mutually beneficial moment,” the PR woman corrected.
“and how is this beneficial to me?” you asked, leaning forward now.
there was a pause. not awkward — just rehearsed. like they’d been waiting for the question, unsure how to answer it without saying the quiet part out loud.
“well,” the ador rep started, carefully, “not everything needs to be transactional, right?”
you didn’t respond. didn’t blink. just watched as she shifted in her seat.
“sometimes it’s about… showing goodwill,” she added. “being a team player. stepping up for the industry. and truthfully, there aren’t many idols who could pull this off without it looking obvious.”
the sm rep nodded. “you have a certain… credibility. people believe whatever you do is real. that kind of authenticity can’t be manufactured.”
you tilted your head slightly. “but this is manufactured.”
“sure,” he said, as if that part didn’t matter. “but if you do it, it won’t feel like it.”
you could hear what wasn’t being said — that you didn’t need more fans, or buzz, or press. that the only thing you stood to gain was keeping the machine running, uninterrupted. that your ‘benefit’ was staying exactly where you were: talked about. watched. useful.
which, you realized, was just a nicer way of saying: you get nothing, but please make this look good anyway.
“so let me get this straight,” you said slowly. “your rookie group is doing objectively well — millions of views, good public response. and yet, that’s not enough.”
they hesitated.
you added, “you want aespa numbers.”
“aespa-level popularity, yes,” the woman admitted. “and to get there, we need a jolt. a shift in narrative. and right now, you are the narrative.”
you didn’t reply.
“just meet her once,” the SM rep added. “talk. feel it out. we’ll set a follow-up meeting with the two of you in the same room, and if you both agree, we’ll go ahead with planning the shoot.”
a pause. just long enough to be uncomfortable.
“what if i say no?” you finally asked.
silence. then:
“then we remind you that your contract includes clauses regarding promotional obligations and collaborative projects,” the hybe rep said.
you didn’t respond. not because you agreed—hell no—but because you felt your own fury curling up behind your ribs, white-hot and petty. you’d say something sharp if you opened your mouth again. something too honest. something you’d regret later.
they wrapped the meeting shortly after. they didn’t need your input. just your face, your presence, your “controversial charm.”
you didn’t tell danielle that night.
you could have.
she made you dinner. sesame noodles with crisp vegetables and a soft-boiled egg, cut just the way you liked. she’d even remembered the seaweed. you sat together in the little kitchen corner where the late-night light came in warm and drowsy. the floor beneath you was cold but she kept pressing her knee into yours like it meant something, like the touch would anchor you there a little longer.
she was smiling when she talked about her day. not the big stuff—just little things. how hanni dropped her phone in the cereal. how minji sneezed seven times in a row and tried to claim it was a hidden talent. you were smiling too, or at least you thought you were.
but there was a hollow kind of sound to your laughter that didn’t sit quite right in your chest.
you curled into her later, both of you tucked under her favorite yellow blanket, her hand resting on your hip. she always slept warm. one of those people who radiated comfort, even when she was dreaming. her breath was slow and even, and you counted them like seconds until you fell asleep too.
you didn’t tell her.
not because you wanted to keep it from her.
but because saying it out loud felt like betraying something.
you had done fan service before. lived in it, actually — turned it into a second language, one that required no subtitles. so when you were told that today would be “natural,” you already knew what that meant: curated spontaneity. manufactured ease.
they picked the han river for a reason.
picturesque, but public. wide, open grass that caught the light perfectly. enough civilians walking by that it wouldn’t feel suspicious. enough distance that no one could hear what you were saying.
you were seated on a checkered blanket. picnic basket placed just right, snacks barely touched, drinks arranged with label sides forward. haerin would’ve rolled her eyes at the effort. hanni would've fixed the food to look prettier.
you tried not to think about them too much.
jiwoo sat across from you, knees tucked under her skirt, hands folded neatly in her lap. she looked calm, but you recognized the stillness — that media-trained tension in her shoulders, the constant awareness of where the invisible cameras might be. the two of you had been told Dispatch might be “in the area.” they weren’t subtle. they never were.
still, you both pretended you didn’t know they were watching.
“have you had anything to eat today?” jiwoo asked gently.
you shook your head. “no. i forgot.”
she pushed an onigiri towards you. “this is my favorite, try it.”
you took it, murmured a soft thanks. chewed slowly.
the conversation was light, intentionally forgettable. favorite drinks, training stories, pets. something about a dance move from a stage you couldn’t even remember doing. you tried to listen, really — but your mind kept drifting back to the meeting that started all this.
the breeze picked up. a paper napkin fluttered off the basket and you reached for it at the same time as jiwoo. your fingers brushed. instinctively, you pulled back.
you heard the faint click of a camera nearby.
dispatch was here.
jiwoo straightened, tucked her hair behind her ear, and smiled as if you’d just told her something funny. you laughed too — or mimicked the sound of it. not too loud. not too quiet. just enough to sell it.
you passed her a bottle of yogurt drink, and she took it like you’d done it a thousand times before.
“this feels weird,” you said under your breath.
“it is weird,” she replied, tone light. “but at least we look good.”
you looked at her, amused by the honesty. she smiled, a little apologetic, a little grateful.
“we only have to do this once, right?” you asked.
“hopefully,” she said.
for a moment, the two of you sat in silence, watching the water.
the blanket rustled under your weight as you leaned back, arms stretched behind you, face tilted toward the sky. you closed your eyes, breathed in the late afternoon air, and pretended you weren’t waiting for your phone to blow up.
when it did, later — when the “rumored meet-up” headlines hit, when the blurry but perfectly angled photos surfaced on twitter and forums and fan accounts — you were already back in the van. already watching the reactions roll in.
but that would come later.
for now, you tilted your head to jiwoo and asked, “how much longer do we need to stay?”
she glanced at her watch. “twenty minutes. max.”
you nodded. “let’s make it count.”
she grinned. “let’s give them something to talk about.”
it started like most dispatch drops did.
no warning. no statement. no teaser.
just a photo.
the han river glowing gold, a girl in beige pants and a soft blue sweatshirt, leaning back on her hands. another girl, legs tucked to the side, holding a yogurt drink, smiling at her like they’d shared the same inside joke. wind in their hair. effortless. soft. intentional.
the caption was simple.
“Hearts2Hearts’ Jiwoo and NewJeans’ Y/N spotted enjoying an afternoon together. Casual senior-junior hang out or something more?”
hashtags followed. speculations.
within minutes, it was trending.
within an hour, it was global.
‘omg????’
‘the duo we never knew we needed’
‘this looks staged lmao’
‘they look so good tgt omg power couple in the making???’
‘y/n better leave h2h alone, they’ve only been in the industry for 2 months PLEASE😭’
danielle wasn’t surprised when the article dropped.
she had known something was coming. you told her before you left for the shoot, your voice unsure but trying to sound casual, the way someone might explain that they accidentally knocked over a vase but everything was fine now.
you didn’t downplay it, not really — you told her the truth. sm wanted you and jiwoo to stage a hangout. it was a publicity stunt, a photo opportunity. han river, a picnic setup, dispatch on standby. “they think it’ll bring attention to her group,” you said, fingers twisting at the hem of your sweatshirt. “it’s not a big deal. they said we just have to look like we’re having fun.”
you didn’t ask her directly if it was okay, but danielle could feel the question wedged in every pause. still, she smiled, nodded, and offered an “i get it” that sounded steadier than it felt.
because what else was she supposed to do? say no? tell you to back out and risk making a mess of something your company clearly already agreed to?
so when the first photo appeared later that day — not through any official announcement, but through a now-familiar Dispatch-style drop — she wasn’t shocked. still, the moment she saw it, a strange ache bloomed in her chest. her thumb hovered over the image on her screen, heart beating a little too loud in her ears.
you were there, exactly like you’d described. legs stretched out on a gingham blanket, soft blue sweater catching the breeze just enough to make the hem flutter. beside you, jiwoo leaned in close, holding a yogurt drink, smiling at you like the two of you had been friends for years. the kind of smile people could easily mistake as something more.
danielle’s first instinct wasn’t to panic or jump to conclusions. no, it was subtler than that. it was a weight behind her ribs, the kind of heaviness that made her blink too slowly. she studied the photo again, noticing the things other people might miss — how your eyes crinkled, how your hands were placed neatly in your lap, how the sunlight hit just right. and how none of it looked posed. it was natural. effortless. exactly what sm and hybe wanted.
she didn’t go running to you. she didn’t text you a storm of anxious questions. instead, she lay on her bed, one leg curled beneath her, the other swinging slightly off the edge, her phone still in her hand. she didn’t want to admit it, not even to herself, but the longer she stared at the image, the more it hurt. not because she doubted you, not because she thought anything happened — but because of how well you had to play pretend. how easy you made it look. and because everyone else was going to see that and think they knew something about you. something they didn’t.
she closed her phone, but that didn’t help. she opened it again ten seconds later. instagram, twitter, tiktok, a loop of checking and rechecking — like maybe one of those places would offer something that made it sting less. instead, all she found were screenshots, cropped photos, confused fans theorizing. some of them laughed about how staged it all looked. others pointed out how “comfortable” you and jiwoo seemed. the comments weren’t malicious, but they chipped away at her mood like water dripping on stone.
danielle put in her earbuds eventually. turned on something gentle — soft piano, slow vocals, nothing too dramatic. just enough to let her thoughts wander without completely drowning in them. she watched the ceiling for a while, then turned her head and let her cheek press into the pillow. the quiet filled the space around her, heavy and unmoving.
when you finally walked into the room later, the air shifted. you didn’t say anything right away, and neither did she. you just sat down slowly on the edge of her bed, pulling your sleeves over your hands, the way you always did when you didn’t know what to say. you didn’t ask if she saw it. of course she had.
danielle turned her head to look at you, her expression unreadable at first. you looked tired — not just physically, but in the way your shoulders sagged a little more than usual. she could see it in your eyes, the guilt that lingered even though you hadn’t done anything wrong.
still, she didn’t ask you to explain. didn’t demand reassurance. instead, she reached out and gently tapped her phone screen to pause the music. then, without a word, she passed you one of her earbuds.
you took it.
you leaned in, resting your head lightly on her thigh, like you weren’t sure you were allowed to. she let you. her fingers instinctively found your hair, combing through it slowly, like she’d done so many times before. the music resumed, soft and melancholy.
the silence stretched long between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
because she wasn’t angry. not really.
she just missed you. even with you right there.
danielle didn’t speak at first.
her fingers stayed in your hair, tracing slow, careful lines across your scalp. the kind of absentminded affection she only gave when she didn’t feel like putting anything into words yet. you let yourself melt into it, cheek warm against her thigh, eyes unfocused, staring past the comforter and into nothing at all.
you stayed like that for a while. the music hummed quietly in the background. it was a song you both liked, but neither of you were listening. not really.
“you looked happy in the photos,” danielle said eventually, so softly it almost didn’t feel real.
your throat tightened. “i didn’t mean to.”
“i know,” she sighed. not upset, not cold—just tired. “i just… noticed.”
you turned your face slightly, enough so you could see her from where you were lying. she didn’t look like she was joking, but she wasn’t bitter either. there was a calmness to her, a kind of weary acceptance that made your chest ache.
“i tried to tell them no at first,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “i told them hearts2hearts is already doing well. i told them their debut video has over twenty million views—like, they’re fine. they don’t need this.”
danielle nodded, like she already knew.
you shifted, pulling your hand from under the pillow to fidget with the end of your sleeve. “they said they want aespa-level attention. aespa-level noise.”
she gave a dry little laugh through her nose. “so they picked you.”
you didn’t know what to say to that.
she ran her thumb along your hairline. “i get why they did. you’ve been everywhere lately. people don’t stop talking about you.”
you flinched, but she caught it. her hand stilled for a moment.
“not your fault,” she added gently. “i know you didn’t ask for this stuff.”
you looked up at her, eyes glossy. “i didn’t want it to feel real.”
danielle’s expression softened even more—if that was possible. she leaned back against the headboard, letting out a long breath. “it didn’t. not to me.”
you let out a breath too, shaky and quiet. “really?”
“yeah.” she smiled a little, brushing a strand of your hair aside. “i know what you look like when you’re really happy. i know how you laugh when it’s real. and that… that wasn’t it.”
you swallowed, guilt thick in your throat. “it still sucks though.”
“it does,” she agreed, because she didn’t want to lie. “but we’re okay.”
you blinked. “are we?”
danielle didn’t hesitate. “yeah. we’re okay.”
you closed your eyes at that, pressing your face into her leg like you could hide there for a while. her fingers found your hair again, picking up where she left off. she didn’t rush you. didn’t ask for anything more.
just held you like she always did.
quietly. tenderly. like she knew this was just another part of the storm, and the two of you would ride it out together.
within a day, hearts2hearts saw a spike in their streaming numbers. fancams of jiwoo at past music shows resurfaced. clips from their debut showcase hit trending, especially those highlighting jiwoo’s stage presence and visuals. people wanted to know who this girl was. who was close enough to be seen with y/n — the y/n, the ‘problem child (lovingly)’ of newjeans, the center of every forum thread lately.
the sm execs were, reportedly, thrilled. insiders leaked that they’d been hoping for just this: buzz, speculation, google searches. even the doubt surrounding the authenticity of the meeting played into their hands. “controversy creates interest,” one staff member was quoted anonymously. “and interest builds momentum.”
you heard that SM gave a hefty amount to hybe and ador as thanks. kind of unfair that they didn’t give you a percentage of it, to be honest. you did most of the work after all.
you didn’t mean to write a song. not at first.
it started during one of those rare quiet weeks — a break between promotions, schedules light enough for the dorm to actually feel like a home again. late nights meant low music, acoustic strings, and you sitting on the floor with hanni’s guitar balanced comfortably in your lap. not borrowed this time. you’d asked, and she’d waved a hand, told you to take it like it already belonged to you.
you weren’t a beginner. you’d learned to play long before debut — enough to strum smoothly, build chords, mess around with melody when the mood struck. hanni was still leagues ahead of you, her playing effortless in a way you admired but didn’t try to chase. still, you could hold your own— enough to turn a passing thought into something real.
you weren’t trying to write lyrics that night. you were just playing, letting muscle memory carry you, repeating a soft loop that sounded warmer the longer it stretched. something sweet. something almost too light to hold onto.
danielle had been on your mind.
she’d always been on your mind lately. (when did she ever leave?)
especially now, when it felt like the rest of your world was being steered by other people’s decisions. meetings you hadn’t asked for. texts from your manager about follow-up “check-ins” with jiwoo, vague phrasing that left little room to decline. they’d never used the word “date”. not even once. but that’s exactly how it was starting to feel. manufactured intimacy, scheduled like it was any other content shoot. just this time, the cameras were from Dispatch, not the company. none of it your choice, not really.
and somewhere between the third repetition and the quiet in your chest, the words started forming. not heavy ones. nothing about heartbreak or longing. just the soft things. how danielle’s voice made the air feel warmer. how her laugh was something you looked forward to. how being around her made you feel like your shoes had lifted half an inch off the ground.
you didn’t write it down that night. just hummed through it, fingers tracing the shape of the chorus on the strings.
a couple nights later, hanni passed your room, then doubled back. leaned on the doorframe, brow raised.
“what is that?”
you blinked. “what’s what?”
“that,” she nodded at the guitar, where your hands had just been moving. “you’ve been playing the same thing for the past twenty minutes.”
you hesitated. “just a thing i’m messing with.”
hanni padded in, plopped down cross-legged on your bed. “play it again.”
you did. sheepish. a little shy.
she listened. tilted her head. “you’ve got something there.”
and just like that, she was in. offering tweaks, pointing out where a melody could tighten. adding little touches to the instrumental as you mumbled potential lyrics under your breath. she never pried. never asked what — or who — it was about. just helped shape it. (i mean, who are we kidding? hanni definitely knows who it was about.)
when you played the demo for your team, you weren’t sure what you were expecting. maybe a polite head tilt. maybe it’s cute, but let’s shelf it for now.
instead, your ceo was grinning before it even hit the second chorus. “this is good,” she said. “really good. i want you to do more in the future.”
you nodded, stunned.
but even then — even with the green light, the credits, the polished version lined up neatly on the album — what stayed with you most was the way danielle had smiled when she first heard it.
soft. unreadable at first. then, slowly, unmistakably warm.
like she knew. even before anyone else. even before you said a word.
eventually, hanni’s name and yours both end up in the producer credits.
and the lyrics?
they weren’t dramatic. not poetic in the way people might expect. but they were yours.
you added how your heart beat a little faster every time she walked into a room. about the small thrill of getting ready to see her, despite living together. about the secret sort of joy that made you feel like you were floating — high up, like a balloon that couldn’t be pulled back down.
it was a song full of sugar and soft crushes and pink-tinted feelings. light as air. sticky, sweet, like the candy it was named after.
bubble gum.
by the time the comeback rolled out, fans were already curious. the moment the tracklist was posted and you were credited as the sole songwriter — with you and hanni also tagged as producers — theories spread like wildfire.
people analyzed every line. made lyric videos. pointed fingers. and of course, one name kept popping up: jiwoo.
some swore the song had to be about her. others said it was a clever misdirect. the debate carried on for days, louder than anything you’d expected. a mess you didn’t mean to make. (you just wanted to make a song about being utterly in love with your girlfriend, for god’s sake.)
“it has to be about jiwoo,” a fan had tweeted. “they had their little han river picnic era right when she would've been writing this. the timing adds up.”
“maybe it’s just about love in general?” another chimed in. “but y/n doesn’t do general. she always writes about something specific. this sounds like someone real.”
ador hadn’t said anything. sm didn’t say anything either. but the comments piled up. jiwoo’s name trended alongside yours. again. pictures of your recent ‘hangout’ at a cafe in hannam were being paired with bubble gum on tiktok. people made edits. made assumptions. built stories out of half-truths and blurry photos.
it was one of those sleek, polished interview sets — glossy table, soft white lighting, everyone in coordinating pastel outfits that made all of you look like you were dropped out of a spring daydream. newjeans had just wrapped up a music show stage, and now you were seated in a semicircle across from a seasoned interviewer, surrounded by cameras, staff, and publicists lurking just out of frame.
the questions started out light — the new ep, behind-the-scenes moments, favorite snacks. danielle answered one with her usual brightness, hanni made the room laugh with her dry timing, and you found yourself playing with the hem of your sleeve, listening.
but then the topic shifted.
“now, let’s talk about bubble gum,” the interviewer said, glancing down at their notes. “the response has been huge. but what’s really fascinating is that the song credits list only one lyricist — y/n — and one of the producers are her and hanni as well. can you walk us through that process?”
there was a beat of silence. you smiled softly, eyes flickering down to the floor for a second. you could feel the shape of danielle’s knee lightly brushing yours under the table — a casual touch that no one would see, but it grounded you.
“i wasn’t really planning to write anything for the album,” you said, voice calm, measured. “i just started... toying around with hanni unnie’s guitar one night. i didn’t think it’d go anywhere.”
“and the melody?” the interviewer asked.
hanni jumped in, grinning. “she kept borrowing my guitar. like, for weeks. we’d be in the dorm, and i’d hear the same chords over and over again from the living room and when i pass by her room. it got stuck in my head before the lyrics did.”
that earned a laugh from the group, and you ducked your head slightly, cheeks pink with quiet embarrassment. “it just... fit. i didn’t even realize it was turning into something until hanni unnie helped me lay out the chords properly. correctly.”
the interviewer nodded, clearly pleased, and then, like clockwork: “it’s a really tender song. very specific, very emotional. was there a particular inspiration behind it? someone you were thinking of?”
the room was still. the lights were just a little too bright. your fingers, hidden beneath the table, found danielle’s. a brush of fingertips. not quite a hold. but danielle’s hand shifted toward yours instinctively, a quiet answering touch that only the two of you noticed.
you didn’t look directly at her. just slightly to her side. enough.
“i think,” you started, voice calm and almost amused, “some songs don’t try to hide what they are.”
you rested your other hand in your lap, fingers brushing over your rings. “they’re not metaphors. they’re not abstract. they just… describe a feeling exactly as it happened. like how someone makes your heart race. or how getting ready to see them suddenly feels like the most important part of your day.”
danielle didn’t look at you either, but her cheeks were dusted pink, lips pressed together as if holding in a laugh or a secret. under the table, her thumb brushed over your knuckles once.
“bubble gum is like that,” you continued. “it’s made up of little things. tiny, honest moments. someone’s laugh, the way they speak, the way time starts feeling like it’s only yours when they’re around.”
you shrugged lightly, like the song hadn’t come from your own heart. “so maybe it’s not a mystery, you know? maybe it’s just what it sounds like.”
danielle didn’t say anything, didn’t even move, but under the table her pinky slipped to hook around yours—so quickly no one would notice.
the interviewer tilted their head, trying again. “so it’s safe to say it’s drawn from personal experience?”
“i’d say,” you said with a nod, “it’s drawn from memory. but mostly romance movies, though.”
the subject shifted after that, onto choreography challenges and trainee days, but the atmosphere had changed slightly. warmer. softer.
and when all of you stood to take post-interview photos, danielle reached for your hand — just briefly — while you waited for the photographer to count down.
“a moment,” danielle whispered under her breath, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “that’s how you described me?”
“you’re the gum part,” you whispered back. “sweet. sticks with me.”
danielle rolled her eyes, but her fingers never left yours until the flash went off.
the dorm was alive that night, full of the soft chaos that only came after an interview day and too many shared inside jokes. makeup off, pajamas on, the members had settled into their usual post-schedule routine — limbs tangled over the floor and couch, snack wrappers scattered across the coffee table, someone’s playlist humming faintly from a speaker in the corner.
“you’re actually insane,” hanni declared dramatically from across the room, “you held her hand under the table. that’s, like, the oldest ‘we’re secretly dating’ move ever!”
you groaned into the couch cushion. “we weren’t even holding hands—”
“we saw you,” minji interrupted, lying flat on the floor with a bowl of ice cream balanced on her stomach. “don’t even try to lie to us. the only way dani would smile like that is when she’s being all lovey-dovey with you.”
“the way you looked at her when you were asked if it’s about someone?” hyein chimed in from the kitchen, one eyebrow raised as she stirred honey into her tea. “oh my god.”
“i was being genuine!” you protested, your voice pitching upward in desperation. “that’s how normal people talk about their songs!”
“nah,” hanni said, leaning back and mimicking your expression during the interview — eyes half-lidded, lips parted just slightly, voice low and dreamy. “‘a feeling that lingers. that stays with you. one you don’t want to let go of’ — like be serious. i thought you were gonna propose to dani right then and there.”
“you guys are so dramatic,” you muttered, though your face was already burning.
“it’s embarrassing, really,” hanni added. “you sat there all dreamy-eyed, talking about feelings and moments and whatever. no wonder people still think you and jiwoo have a thing.”
minji licked her spoon slowly. “you really thought you were being vague, huh? sweetie, you folded so hard. you said ‘it’s not really about a person,’ and then stared directly at your girlfriend like you were reliving the entire demo session in your head. i’d be surprised if people are still going to talk about you and jiwoo when the interview comes out.”
you groaned again and flung the pillow across the room, where it landed harmlessly against the base of a chair. “i’m never writing another love song again.”
“sure,” haerin replied calmly, her tone utterly unconvinced. “until next comeback, when we find lyrics like ‘your voice is my sunrise’ and realize it’s about danielle ordering iced coffees for you.”
“that was one time!” you said, sitting up. “ we were trainees–we were young and she remembered my order— that’s just— that’s—”
“—so romantic,” a familiar voice teased behind you, light and airy.
you turned to see danielle walking in with two cups of tea, that ever-gentle smile on her face. she handed one to you and settled beside you on the couch, tucking her feet under her and leaning in just enough that her arm pressed against yours.
“thank you for immortalizing my coffee order in verse,” she added, taking a sip.
“i hate it here,” you grumbled, but you were already smiling. it was hard not to, especially when danielle’s eyes crinkled the way they did.
hanni screamed into a throw blanket. minji groaned loudly and rolled over. haerin just shook her head, amused.
“anyway,” hyein finally piped up from where she was curled in a chair, phone in hand. “if you really don’t want them to speculate, maybe don’t, like, write the sappiest song in our discography.”
“i was subtle!” you insisted weakly.
there was a pause. and then a chorus of groans.
“get out,” hanni muttered, tossing a pillow at you.
but no one meant it. it was all part of the rhythm of your group — the teasing, the closeness, the safe space to unravel. eventually, the conversation shifted to stage outfits and how brutal the next day’s rehearsals would be. but you and danielle stayed quiet in your corner of the couch, pressed together, content in the lull that followed the chaos.
the room around you buzzed in quiet tones, but your world felt slower — gentler — tucked into this moment with her.
you didn’t speak for a while. just sipped your tea, now slightly cooled, letting the silence wrap around you both. her hand rested on your knee, warm and steady. yours covered it after a while, fingers slotting into place like it was second nature.
danielle’s head tilted toward you, her voice soft. “you really wrote it for me?”
you glanced at her, at the way her expression held something unspoken. she already knew the answer — had known it from the moment you showed her the demo, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. but hearing it out loud, even just between you two, was different. it meant different.
your answer came not in words, but in the way your fingers gently squeezed hers. in the way your eyes didn’t waver when you looked at her. in the way your silence was filled with meaning.
she leaned in, resting her head on your shoulder, a quiet smile playing on her lips.
“write more,” she whispered, barely audible, a secret meant just for you. “even if no one hears it. even if it’s just us.”
you pressed a quick kiss on her head.
“i will.”
a/n: first fic, yay!
