hannie

✧ ﾟ🕊️ 𝘩𝘪 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘪'𝘮 amy! ｡°✧

🧚‍♀️ ˗ˏˋ𝑊𝘢𝑛𝘥𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑛𝘵𝑜 𝓂𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝘵𝘵𝑙𝑒 𝘥𝑒𝑙𝓊𝑙𝓊 𝓂𝑖𝑛𝘥! 𝛪’𝓂 𝘢 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑠𝘩 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝘵𝑒𝑟, 𝘤𝑟𝘢𝘧𝘵𝑖𝑛𝘨 𝘵𝘢𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑦 𝘵𝘩𝑒 𝘤𝘢𝑛𝘥𝑙𝑒𝑙𝑖𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝑃𝑜𝑝 𝘢 𝑟𝑒𝘲𝓊𝑒𝑠𝘵 𝑖𝑛 𝘵𝘩𝑒 𝑏𝘢𝑠𝑘𝑒𝘵 𝑖𝘧 𝑦𝑜𝓊 𝘧𝘢𝑛𝘤𝑦! ˎˊ˗ 🧺 ♡

~~𝛨𝓊𝘨𝑠 𝘢𝑛𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝑒𝑒𝑟💋ྀིྀི

╰─ ♡ masterlist

╰─ ♡ networks: @svthub

Hello, wonderful people of Earth! Many of you have been reaching out and asking if I'm still alive, and I’m excited to say that yes, HAHAHAHAHHA I am still here, alive and breathing! I know this isn’t the update most of you were hoping for, but fyi, I am a graduating student, and my graduation ceremony is just around the corner—next week to be exact! I’ve been super busy finalizing all my graduation requirements and preparing for my future job hunt, as I plan to start applying immediately after I graduate.

I know in my last post I said I'd be back after a short break, but that didn't happen—sorry about that! To be honest, I’m unsure when I’ll be able to resume regular posting, or if I ever will. However, rest assured that if I do step away from posting, I will not delete my account, so you’ll still have access to all of my previous work! hihi.

Also, I’m planning to post all my drafts for each of the 13 members before I make the full transition into my adulting life (such a sad reality 😔ྀི😭ྀི ). And just so you know, I don't have a bias because, let’s face it, how on earth am I supposed to pick just one member? It’s like trying to choose a favorite flavor of ice cream when they’re all so deliciously unique! Each member brings their own humor and talent that just makes my heart do little backflips. And let’s not forget—everyone looks absolutely stunning! I mean, I’m just a girl here, completely overwhelmed by all this eye candy, HAHAHAHA! I feel it’s my duty to make sure every single member is on my masterlist—nobody deserves to be left out! Even if no one is actually asking for this HAHAHHAAHH!

So, while this may be a temporary goodbye for now, please hang tight and look forward to my upcoming posts where I’ll release all my drafts, MUAH! 💋ྀི

Masterlist

Five years after leaving Seoul to protect Seokmin from a scandal, Y/N unexpectedly reunites with him at a wine festival in Rome, stirring old wounds and unspoken love. Pairing: DK x Y/N Genre: Slice of life, Angst, Drama WC: 5.4k

Y/N had carved out a life for herself in Rome, a far cry from the bustling streets of Seoul where she was born. Five years ago, she landed in the Eternal City for a job opportunity, trading the familiar hum of Korea for the sun-drenched cobblestones of Italy. The first year was a whirlwind of challenges—language barriers, a new timezone, unfamiliar weather, and the aching loneliness of not knowing a soul. But time, as it does, softened the edges. She learned to savor the bitter tang of espresso, mastered enough Italian to banter with locals, and even grew fond of the humid Roman summers. Most importantly, she found a small circle of friends who became her anchor.

Today was her day off, and her phone had buzzed early with a call from her friend Giulia. “Y/N, you’re coming to the wine festival in Greve, right? It’s tradition!” Giulia’s voice was bright, almost demanding, through the speaker.

Y/N laughed, pulling a light jacket from her closet. “Do I have a choice? You lot would drag me there if I said no.”

“Exactly!” chimed in Matteo, another friend, who’d grabbed Giulia’s phone. “We’re meeting at the usual spot. Don’t be late, or we’re starting without you.”

The Greve wine festival was an annual ritual for their group—two women, Giulia and Sofia, and two men, Matteo and Luca. They were locals who’d taken Y/N under their wing, helping her navigate the chaos of her new life. Over time, they’d become her family away from home. Y/N wasn’t a wine enthusiast when she arrived in Rome, but five years of festivals and late-night tastings had changed that. She could now appreciate a good Chianti, even if she’d never admit it to Matteo, who’d tease her endlessly about her “refined” palate.

Y/N drove to their meeting spot, a quaint plaza just outside Greve. The air was warm, carrying the scent of blooming lavender and fresh bread from nearby bakeries. As she parked, she spotted her friends lounging near a fountain, their laughter echoing.

“There she is!” Sofia called, waving dramatically. “Thought you’d bailed on us, Korea.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at the nickname. “And miss Matteo trying to pronounce ‘Sangiovese’ wrong again? Never.”

Matteo clutched his chest in mock offense. “My pronunciation is flawless, thank you very much.”

“Flawlessly terrible,” Luca added, earning a playful shove from Matteo.

The group fell into their usual rhythm, strolling through Greve’s charming streets. They stopped for pizza at a hole-in-the-wall trattoria, the kind only locals knew about, and then grabbed gelato—pistachio for Y/N, always. Luca, ever the photographer, insisted on snapping pictures, teasing Y/N about her “model poses” while she stuck out her tongue for the camera.

Y/N and Luca had a close bond, the kind that sparked whispers among their friends. People often teased them about being “more than friends,” and Y/N knew Luca harbored feelings for her. But her heart, stubborn as ever, wasn’t in it. She cared for him deeply, but romance? That was a door she’d locked long ago. So, they stayed friends, and Luca never pushed.

As the festival’s opening hour approached, the group joined the lively crowd at the entrance. They were near the front of the line, buzzing with excitement. Each grabbed a wine glass, the clinking of crystal signaling the start of their adventure. The festival was a maze of booths, each offering a different vintage, and soon the group scattered, chasing their favorite flavors.

Y/N wandered alone for a bit, her glass catching the golden afternoon light. She sipped a bold red, savoring the way it warmed her chest. As she moved through the crowd, she noticed a cluster of large cameras and a small crew. The sight piqued her curiosity, but what caught her off guard was the language she overheard—Korean. Her heart gave a small, unexpected lurch. It had been years since she’d heard her native tongue in person, and the sound felt like a tether to a life she’d left behind. She smiled to herself, feeling a quiet joy at seeing fellow Koreans so far from home. Maybe they were filming a travel show, she thought, her mind drifting to memories of Seoul.

Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the tall figure in a white shirt until they collided. Her wine glass slipped from her hand, shattering on the cobblestone with a sharp crash. “Oh no, I’m so sorry!” she gasped, crouching to gather the shards before anyone could step on them.

The stranger knelt beside her, his voice soft but flustered in broken English. “No, no, my fault. Sorry, so sorry. Let me help.”

That voice. It hit her like a wave, familiar in a way that made her breath catch. She froze, her fingers hovering over a piece of glass. Slowly, she looked up, and the world tilted. Their eyes locked, and time seemed to unravel.

It was him. Lee Seokmin. DK. Her best friend from high school. Her first love. The man she’d dated when he debuted with Seventeen, only to break his heart two years later without ever telling him why. The reason she’d fled to Rome, carrying a secret she’d buried deep.

His eyes widened, mirroring her shock. “Y/N?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the festival’s hum.

“Seokmin…” Her voice trembled, barely a breath.

The world around them blurred. The chatter of the crowd, the clink of glasses, the distant calls of his Seventeenmembers shouting “DK, where are you?”—it all faded. For a moment, it was just them, crouched on the ground, surrounded by broken glass and unspoken history.

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Flashback

Back in high school, Lee Seokmin was already a star in the making, a trainee under Pledis Entertainment with dreams as big as his heart. Y/N, on the other hand, was just a regular student, her biggest worry being the pile of assignments due every Friday. The two were an unlikely pair, yet inseparable, their lives intertwined by chance and proximity.

It was a Friday afternoon, the school day done, and they walked side by side down the familiar Seoul streets toward their apartment building. Y/N’s backpack swung lightly as she rambled on, her voice bright with excitement. “Seokmin, I can’t wait for you to debut! You’re gonna be so famous, and you know what that means, right? Free food for me forever!”

Seokmin threw his head back, his laugh warm and infectious. “Yah, is that all I’m good for? Feeding you tteokbokki and ice cream?”

“Exactly!” she teased, nudging his shoulder. “You better keep your promise, Lee Seokmin. When you’re a big star, I expect you to buy me whatever I want.”

He grinned, his eyes crinkling in that way that made her heart skip. “Deal. I’ll buy you the whole world if I make it big. Just wait.”

Their closeness wasn’t just chance. They lived in the same apartment building—Seokmin in Seventeen’s dorm with his fellow trainees, Y/N with her family a few floors up. Their friendship sparked years ago when Seokmin, on his way home from practice, spotted Y/N outside their building, kneeling on the pavement, feeding a scruffy street dog with scraps from her lunch. He’d stopped, charmed by her kindness, and offered her a spare water bottle to wash her hands. From that moment, they were glued to each other’s sides. Same building, same class, same wavelength.

Seokmin was a golden retriever in human form—bright, warm, and impossibly kind. To Y/N, he was the gentlest soul she’d ever met, always ready with a smile or a silly joke to lift her spirits. He’d listen patiently to her complaints about school, sneak her snacks during late-night study sessions, and cheer the loudest at her small victories. To him, Y/N was his safe harbor, the one person who saw him as Seokmin, not just a trainee chasing a dream.

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As they grew, so did their feelings. It wasn’t a sudden spark but a slow, steady deepening, like roots burrowing into the earth. They both knew it, felt it in the quiet moments—stolen glances during class, the way their hands brushed when they walked. When Seventeendebuted, and Seokmin became DK, their puppy love bloomed into something real. Y/N was there for it all, from his trainee days as Lee Seokmin to his first stage as Dokyeom. She cheered at his debut showcase, her voice hoarse from screaming, and he’d looked for her in the crowd, his smile brighter than the stage lights.

To Seokmin, Y/N wasn’t just his girlfriend; she was his future. Even as teenagers, he was certain. He’d lie awake in the dorm, exhausted from practice, dreaming of a life with her—lazy mornings, shared laughter, maybe a dog like the one she’d fed all those years ago. “I’m gonna marry you one day, Y/N,” he’d whispered once, half-asleep on her couch during a movie night. She’d laughed, thinking he was joking, but the look in his eyes said otherwise.

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Years passed, and Seventeensoared. Their schedules grew hectic, their fame global, but Seokmin stayed true to his word. He spoiled Y/N relentlessly—not because she asked, but because he wanted to. A new scarf when she mentioned liking one in a shop window. Concert tickets to her favorite band. Late-night deliveries of her favorite desserts when she was stressed over college exams. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” she’d say, holding up a box of pastries he’d sent.

“I know,” he’d reply, grinning over a video call from some far-off city. “But I want to. You’re my person, Y/N.”

They were each other’s anchor. When Seventeen faced pressure, Y/N was his voice of reason, reminding him to breathe. When college overwhelmed her, Seokmin was her cheerleader, sending voice messages full of encouragement. “You’ve got this, Y/N. You’re unstoppable,” he’d say, and somehow, she’d believe him.

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But then came that night. Seventeen was in the middle of a world tour, cities blurring into one another. Seokmin was in a hotel room halfway across the globe when his phone lit up with Y/N’s name. His face brightened instantly. “Hey, you! Missed me already?” he answered, expecting her usual stories about college or a funny anecdote from her day.

But her voice was different—flat, distant. “Seokmin, let’s break up.”

The words hit like a punch. “What? Y/N, what are you talking about? Are you okay?”

“I just… I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry.” And then, silence. The call ended. He tried calling back, but it went straight to voicemail. Her number was blocked. Her social media accounts, gone. It was like she’d erased herself from his life in an instant.

Seokmin spiraled. He called her family, desperate for answers, but her parents were vague. “She’s busy with college,” her mother said softly. “Or work. She’s just… busy.” He went to their apartment when the tour ended, heart in his throat, but Y/N was never there. One night, he waited outside for hours, hoping to catch her, only for her father to step out, his expression kind but firm. “Seokmin, we love you. But Y/N has her reasons. She won’t tell us, and you need to stop waiting.”

Reasons. That word haunted him. What reasons? Why wouldn’t she tell him? Why had she vanished without a trace, leaving him with nothing but questions and a shattered heart?

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Present

The world stood still as Y/N and Seokmin stared at each other, the shattered wine glass forgotten at their feet. The festival’s noise—laughter, clinking glasses, the hum of conversation—faded into a dull roar. It was as if the universe had carved out this moment just for them, a fragile bubble in the chaos of Greve. Their eyes held a thousand unspoken words, a history that neither time nor distance could erase.

“DK! We gotta go, man!” Na PD’s voice cut through, sharp and urgent, pulling Seokmin back to reality. At the same time, Luca’s voice reached Y/N, softer but insistent. “Y/N, you okay? What happened?”

A festival staff member approached, kneeling to clean the broken glass. “I’ve got this, don’t worry,” they said in accented English, waving them off.

Y/N and Seokmin stood slowly, their gazes still locked, reluctant to break the spell. Joshua, standing nearby, caught sight of Y/N and froze, recognition flickering in his eyes. He knew her instantly—the girl who’d been Seokmin’s world, the one whose absence had left him hollow for months. But the cameras, the crowd, the risk of a scene—it was too much. Joshua stepped forward, his voice steady in fluent English. “Sorry about the glass. Hope you’re okay. Goodbye.” He grabbed Seokmin’s arm, pulling him gently but firmly away.

Y/N watched as Seokmin was led through the crowd, his broad shoulders and familiar silhouette shrinking with every step. Her chest tightened, an old ache resurfacing, sharper now. Luca stepped in front of her, concern creasing his brow. “Y/N, seriously, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She blinked, the world snapping back into focus. Seokmin was gone, swallowed by the festival’s chaos. She forced a smile, her voice unsteady. “I’m fine, Luca. Just… bumped into someone. No big deal.”

Luca frowned but didn’t push. “Okay, but we’re heading out. It’s getting dark, and Giulia’s starving. You know how she gets.”

Y/N nodded, letting him guide her toward their friends. But her mind was elsewhere, replaying the moment their eyes met. Seokmin had changed—his face sharper, his frame stronger, matured by time and fame. Yet those eyes, so lively and warm, were the same ones that used to crinkle when he laughed at her terrible jokes. He was different, yet achingly familiar, a living echo of the life she’d left behind.

For five years, Y/N had avoided Seventeen. No music, no news, no social media. She’d built walls around her heart, convinced herself she’d moved on. She’d endured the weight of her secrets, the pain of her choices, alone in a foreign city. But seeing him, so close yet so unreachable, shattered the illusion. The heartbreak she’d buried clawed its way back, raw and unrelenting.

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Meanwhile, Seokmin was silent as Joshua pulled him through the festival, the other Seventeen members trailing behind with Na PD. The producer, ever observant, noticed the shift in Seokmin’s demeanor. “DK, what’s up? You okay?” Na PD asked, his tone light but curious.

Seokmin didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the ground. Joshua, quick to deflect, laughed. “He’s fine, just embarrassed. Bumped into a girl and forgot how to talk. Classic DK.”

The members chuckled, and Na PD grinned, letting it slide. “Who gets drunk off wine tastings?” he teased, clapping Seokmin’s shoulder. But Seokmin didn’t laugh. His silence was heavy, a stark contrast to his usual brightness. The members exchanged glances—something was off.

Joshua knew the truth. He’d seen Y/N, seen the way Seokmin’s face had lit up and then crumbled. He knew the devastation Y/N’s sudden departure had caused years ago. Seokmin had never fully recovered, carrying a quiet hope that their paths would cross again. The members had watched him struggle, piecing himself back together while clinging to unanswered questions. Joshua stayed close, shielding him from further probing.

That night, at the restaurant, Seokmin was a ghost of himself, pushing food around his plate. Na PD raised an eyebrow. “DK, you’re scaring me. Where’s the guy who was singing karaoke an hour ago?”

Joshua jumped in again, laughing. “Told you, he’s drunk on wine. Lightweight.”

“Drunk on wine?” Na PD scoffed, grinning. “What is this, a rom-com?”

The table laughed, but Seokmin’s smile was forced, his eyes distant. The members sensed the shift, their curiosity growing, but Joshua’s subtle glances kept them quiet. He knew this wasn’t the time or place.

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Masterlist

For a decade, Seventeen’s Y/N has been the bubbly maknae, but her 10th anniversary solo track “Unseen” reveals a deeper, raw side, yearning to break free from her playful persona. Pairing: Seventeen x 14th member Genre: Angst, fluff WC: 3.2k

Ten years had flown by for Seventeen, a whirlwind of stages, tours, and memories etched into their 10th anniversary album preparations. The group buzzed with excitement, each member pouring their heart into a full album featuring solo tracks—a milestone to celebrate their journey. Y/N, now 25, had grown into a more mature version of herself—or so she insisted, despite still pranking her members and dragging Dino into her chaos. Her trinket obsession remained, her bag jangling like a wind chime, and her bunny slippers still squeaked through the studio. Yet, beneath her playful exterior, a quiet shift was brewing.

The dorm days were long gone—replaced by sleek apartments, each member carving out their own space. Y/N’s place was a shrine to her past: pink decor, trinket-covered bags, and a fridge stocked with gummies. But the media and fans still saw her as the “past Y/N”—the mischievous maknae, forever childish, forever energetic. She loved her role as Carats’ mood-lifter, but with the 10th anniversary looming, she craved something new—a chance to show a side of herself the world hadn’t seen.

Today, Y/N sat in a meeting with Woozi and the producers, discussing her solo track for the album. The room hummed with ideas—playful melodies, upbeat tempos, lyrics dripping with her signature quirky charm. “We’re thinking a fun, colorful vibe,” one producer said, flipping through notes. “Something that screams Y/N—energetic, maybe a dance track with cute hooks.”

Y/N nodded, her smile polite but strained, fingers twisting a glittery keychain under the table. Woozi, across from her, caught the flicker in her eyes—a hesitation she didn’t voice. He tilted his head, studying her, but didn’t push. “Sounds good,” she said softly, though her heart wasn’t in it. For ten years, she’d delivered bubbly anthems, and while she adored them, they felt like a costume she’d outgrown.

After the meeting, Woozi caught her in the hallway, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N-ie, you hungry? Wanna hit that new café outside? My treat.”

Her face lit up, trinkets jangling as she bounced on her toes. “Ooh, yes! I heard they have glittery lattes—let’s go!”

They strolled to the café, a cozy spot with pastel walls and fairy lights. Y/N ordered a sparkly matcha latte, Woozi a plain black coffee, and they settled at a corner table. She was quieter than usual, scrolling her phone, her usual chatter replaced by a pensive frown. Woozi sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim. “You okay, kid? You’re weirdly silent—not planning to sticker my studio, are you?”

Y/N puffed her cheeks, setting her phone down with a dramatic sigh. “I’m fine, oppa… mostly.” She poked at her latte foam, then blurted, “It’s the solo track. I love their ideas—really, I do! But… it’s the same. Playful, energetic, ‘cute Y/N.’ I’ve been doing that for ten years, and I’m tired of it. People still see me as the kid I was at 15, and I’m 25 now—an adult! I want something new.”

Woozi chuckled, leaning back. “An adult? You? The girl with a glittery bunny backpack?”

“Rude!” she huffed, rolling her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. “I’m serious, oppa. Don’t get me wrong—I love cheering up Carats, making them smile. But I’m not just that. I want to rebrand, show a different side. Something… real.”

He sobered, nodding slowly. “I hear you. You want to grow up in their eyes—show you’re more than the chaos gremlin. I’ll talk to the producers, see what we can do for your solo. Maybe something deeper, raw.”

Her eyes sparkled, relief washing over her. “Really? You’d do that? Oppa, you’re the best!” She rummaged in her trinket-laden bag, pulling out a glittery pink notebook that screamed “Y/N.” “Hold on—I’ve got ideas!”

Woozi raised an eyebrow, smirking. “What’s that? Your secret diary? Is this your ‘mature’ side?”

“Shut up!” she pouted, flipping it open with a flourish. “It’s my lyric book—been writing for years. You guys never asked, so I kept it secret.”

His jaw dropped as she revealed pages of handwritten lyrics—some scrawled in glitter pen, others in smudged ink. “You write lyrics? Since when? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you all wanted me to do cheerful stuff!” she said, half-laughing, half-sad. “Look at this one—it’s different.” She slid the notebook over, pointing to a page titled “Shadows of Me.” The lyrics were raw, heavy—verses about feeling trapped by her past self, the weight of being seen as “just” the bubbly maknae, the quiet struggles no one noticed. Lines spoke of rough paths, self-doubt, and yearning to be understood as a whole person, not a caricature.

Woozi read in stunned silence, his coffee forgotten. The words were beautiful, poignant, cutting deeper than he’d expected. “Y/N… this is good. Really good.” His voice softened, eyes tracing her handwriting. “You’ve been feeling this way all along? For ten years, and we didn’t know?”

She shrugged, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips. “I’m good at hiding it. I love being the happy one, but… sometimes I’m not. I just want people to see me—the real me.”

He leaned forward, shock giving way to awe. Her lyrics peeled back a layer he’d never glimpsed, revealing a Y/N who’d grown quietly, carrying burdens behind her glittery facade. For ten years, they’d missed this—her depth, her heart, her unspoken truths.

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The café conversation lingered in Woozi’s mind, Y/N’s glittery notebook a quiet revelation. As they parted ways that day, she’d pressed it into his hands, her eyes earnest but nervous. “Oppa, read it all,” she said, trinkets jangling as she adjusted her bag. “Maybe you’ll find something for my solo track. I trust you.”

Woozi nodded, tucking the notebook under his arm. “I’ll look through it, Y/N-ie. No promises, but… I’m curious.” Her shy smile stuck with him, a glimpse of a Y/N he hadn’t fully seen before—not the chaos gremlin, but a woman wrestling with her own identity.

In his studio that night, Woozi flipped through the notebook under the glow of his desk lamp, its pages a mosaic of glitter ink and raw emotion. Lyrics spilled across them—some hopeful, some aching, all deeply personal. Songs about feeling caged by her “bubbly” image, about nights spent doubting herself, about wanting to be seen as more than a smile. One line hit hard: “I’m more than the laughter, more than the spark—I’m a shadow that’s learning to shine in the dark.” “Damn, Y/N,” he muttered, awestruck. “How’d you hide this?”

He called Bumzu the next day, notebook in hand. “You gotta see this—Y/N’s been writing lyrics. They’re… something else.” In the studio, Bumzu skimmed the pages, his jaw dropping. “She wrote this? Our Y/N? The trinket tornado?” He laughed, shaking his head. “This is a secret talent—she’s got a poet’s soul. We’ve been sleeping on her all this time!”

“Right?” Woozi said, tapping a page. “Her solo needs to be one of these—something real, not another candy-coated bop. She’s ready to show a new side.”

They zeroed in on a track Y/N had titled “Unseen”—a soft, haunting melody she’d scribbled chords for, its lyrics weaving her feelings of being trapped by expectations and yearning to reveal her true self. “This one,” Woozi said, circling it. “It’s her heart on paper. Let’s make it hers.”

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Y/N joined them in the studio the next week, her usual bounce subdued as she clutched a glittery pen, nervous but eager. “You really liked it?” she asked, eyeing the notebook on Woozi’s desk. “It’s not… too different?”

“It’s perfect,” Bumzu said, grinning. “You’ve got a gift, Y/N-ie. This song’s gonna hit hard—trust us.”

“Yeah, kid,” Woozi added, tweaking the soundboard. “It’s you—raw, real. Let’s record it.”

The process was intense but intimate. Y/N poured her soul into the booth, her voice soft yet steady, carrying the weight of “Unseen.” The melody was gentle, a piano-driven ballad with strings that swelled like a heartbeat, a far cry from her usual upbeat anthems. Lines like “I’m not just the light you see, there’s a storm inside of me” flowed with quiet power, each note a step toward shedding her old skin. Woozi and Bumzu exchanged glances, floored by her depth, her trinkets glinting under the studio lights like a reminder of the Y/N they knew—and the one they were meeting now.

After the final take, Y/N stepped out, breathless, “Was that okay? I didn’t mess it up, did I?”

“Mess it up?” Woozi laughed, pulling off his headphones. “You killed it. This is your best work yet—Carats won’t know what hit ‘em.”

Bumzu nodded, clapping. “It’s beautiful, Y/N. You should be proud.”

She smiled, small but genuine, clutching her notebook like a lifeline. “Thanks, oppa. It feels… right. Like I’m finally saying what I’ve wanted to.”

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Masterlist | Part 1

After ten years of love, Y/N walks away from Wonwoo, a dedicated doctor, to chase a life unshaped by others’ dreams, shattering their once-unbreakable bond. Two years later, she’s an artist with a gallery of her own, while he masks his heartache in endless hospital shifts. A chance encounter at her gallery opening rekindles memories through a single painting—would this path bring them back together, or leave their story unfinished? Pairing: Non-Idol Wonwoo X reader Genre: Angst WC: 4.2k

The first few months after the breakup were a descent into darkness for Y/N. She’d fled to that small coastal town with dreams of freedom, but instead, she found herself trapped in a prison of her own making. The suitcase sat unpacked in the corner of the weathered house, a silent witness to her unraveling. She shut down her social media accounts, deleted the apps from her phone, and severed every tie to the life she’d left behind. The world didn’t need to see her like this—broken, hollow, a shell of the woman who’d once laughed so easily in Wonwoo’s arms.

Nights were the worst. She’d lie in bed, the sound of the waves crashing outside a cruel reminder of how alone she was, and cry until her throat ached. She’d sob into her pillow, muffling the sound so the universe wouldn’t hear her regret. Had she done the right thing? She’d wanted to find herself, to break free from the chains of expectation, but all she’d found was a void. Wonwoo’s absence was a wound that wouldn’t heal, a constant ache that pulsed with every breath. She’d loved him like he was her entire world, and now that world was gone.

Her parents had called, of course. They’d tracked her down through a mutual friend, their voices sharp with disappointment when she finally picked up. “You’re throwing everything away,” her mother had said, her tone laced with the same judgment Y/N had spent her life trying to escape. “We gave you everything, and this is how you repay us?” Her father had been quieter, but his silence was heavier, a disapproval that cut deeper than words. The fight that followed was explosive—years of pent-up resentment spilling out until she’d slammed the phone down and walked out of the life they’d built for her, slamming the door on their expectations for good.

She tried to paint, to reclaim the passion she’d once had, but her hands wouldn’t cooperate. The brushes felt foreign, the colors dull. Every stroke was a reminder of what she’d lost, not just Wonwoo but the version of herself she’d buried under everyone else’s dreams. So she turned to alcohol instead. Cheap wine, bitter whiskey—anything to numb the pain, to blur the edges of her guilt. She’d sit on the porch, glass in hand, staring at the horizon as the days bled into weeks, then months. It didn’t help her forget, not really, but it dulled the sharpness enough to keep her breathing.

After six months of drowning, something snapped. She woke up one morning, head pounding, the taste of regret sour on her tongue, and decided she couldn’t keep living like this. She poured the last of the liquor down the sink, packed her suitcase, and bought a plane ticket to nowhere in particular. She’d travel, she told herself. She’d see the world, chase the horizon until she found something worth holding onto. Maybe then she’d stop crying.

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A year later, she was a different woman—or at least, she was starting to feel like one. The travels had taken her across continents: the bustling streets of Tokyo, the quiet canals of Amsterdam, the sun-drenched cliffs of Santorini. She’d walked until her feet ached, eaten food she couldn’t pronounce, and let the world wash over her like a cleansing tide. Somewhere along the way, the tears had stopped. Somewhere along the way, she’d picked up a paintbrush again.

It started small—a sketch of a fisherman in Portugal, the lines of his weathered face telling a story she couldn’t put into words. Then a watercolor of a Parisian café, the soft blur of rain on cobblestones. The more she painted, the more she felt herself coming back to life. She rented a studio in a quiet Italian village for a few months, filling canvases with colors she hadn’t touched in years. The passion she’d lost crept back, tentative at first, then bold and unapologetic.

By the two-year mark, she’d opened her own gallery in a small city she’d fallen in love with during her travels. It was a modest space, all white walls and natural light, where she hung her paintings—pieces of her soul laid bare for strangers to see. She met new people: artists, travelers, locals who saw her not as the dutiful daughter or the heartbroken ex, but as Y/N, the woman who’d built something out of nothing. She smiled more, a genuine smile that reached her eyes, and for the first time in years, she felt content. Happy, even.

But Wonwoo never left her mind. She still loved him, a quiet, persistent ache that lived in the spaces between her ribs. She’d reactivated her social media under a new name, posting her paintings and snippets of her life—sunsets, coffee cups, her hands stained with paint. She didn’t know if he saw them, but she hoped he did. Late at night, she’d scroll through his old Instagram, the same handful of photos he’d posted years ago, frozen in time. He hadn’t updated it since the breakup, and the silence nibbled at her. Was he okay? Was he happy? Did he hate her for what she’d done? Selfishly, she wished he still loved her, that he was waiting for her to come back, even though she knew she had no right to ask that of him.

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Wonwoo, meanwhile, had been living a half-life. The hospital kept him busy—long shifts stitching wounds, setting bones, saving lives—but it couldn’t fill the emptiness she’d left behind. He’d stayed in their old apartment for a while, surrounded by ghosts of her laughter, her scent, her presence, until it became unbearable. He moved to a smaller place near the hospital, a sterile box with no memories, and threw himself into work.

He didn’t talk about her, not even to his colleagues. But he followed her, quietly, through the new account she’d made. He’d found it by chance one sleepless night, a painting of a stormy sea popping up in his explore feed, her name attached to it. He didn’t follow her—he couldn’t bring himself to—but he checked it religiously, scrolling through her posts like a man starving for scraps. She looked happy, her smile genuine in a way he hadn’t seen in years, and it both warmed and broke him. He wanted her to be happy, more than anything, but God, he missed her. He missed her so much it felt like a physical weight, pressing down on his chest every time he breathed.

He didn’t date. Friends tried to set him up, but he brushed them off with a polite smile and a vague excuse. How could he explain that his heart still belonged to her, that no one else could ever compare? He didn’t know if she’d come back, didn’t know if he’d even want her to after everything, but he couldn’t let go. He wished for destiny to intervene, to bring them back together when the time was right, if it ever would be.

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Two years after the breakup, on a crisp afternoon, Wonwoo found himself in a car with Soo-jin, a new friend he’d met at the hospital. Soo-jin was a pediatrician, a bright-eyed woman with a sharp wit and a love for painting that rivaled her dedication to medicine. They’d bonded over late-night coffee in the break room, her chatter about art exhibitions cutting through the monotony of his days. Her birthday was approaching, and she’d been pestering him for weeks to visit a new gallery opening near the hospital. “It’s small, but the artist is incredible,” she’d said, her voice brimming with excitement. “Please, Wonwoo. Come with me. It’s all I want for my birthday.”

He’d agreed, more out of obligation than interest. Art hadn’t held much appeal for him since Y/N left—too many emotions he didn’t want to face—but Soo-jin’s enthusiasm was hard to resist. As they drove, she filled the silence with stories about the painter, someone she’d heard about through a friend, though Wonwoo only half-listened, gazing out the window at the city blurring by.

The gallery was tucked into a quiet street, a sleek little building with a sign that read “Horizon” in elegant script. Inside, it was warm and bright, the walls lined with paintings that pulsed with life—landscapes, portraits, abstract swirls of color. Soo-jin darted off to admire the pieces, her phone out to snap photos, her voice bubbling with delight as she chatted with strangers. Wonwoo wandered aimlessly, hands in his pockets, letting the crowd’s hum wash over him.

He stopped in front of a painting near the back, his breath catching. It was a scene of a library, soft and muted, with a boy sitting at a table, headphones over his ears, lost in a book. A girl stood a few feet away, her camera raised to snap a photo of him, a shy smile on her face. The details were uncanny—the slant of the boy’s shoulders, the way the girl’s hair fell over one eye. It was them, or at least a version of them, captured in the moment they’d met all those years ago. He remembered it vividly: her fumbling with the camera, him pretending not to notice until she’d laughed and introduced herself.

His heart thudded in his chest. It could be a coincidence, he told himself. Libraries were common, headphones and cameras too. But something about it—the tenderness in the brushstrokes, the quiet intimacy—felt too personal, too specific. He stepped closer, reading the title on the plaque: “First Light.” No artist name, just that.

He turned to a staff member nearby, a young woman with a clipboard. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “I’d like to buy this one.”

She smiled. “Great choice. It’s one of the artist’s favorites. I’ll get the paperwork started—oh, here she comes now. She can tell you more about it.”

Wonwoo froze as a figure talked from behind him, her voice cutting through the air like a blade he’d never stopped feeling. “This one’s special,” she was saying, her tone warm and familiar. “It’s about beginnings, about finding something you didn’t know you were looking for.”

He didn’t turn around, couldn’t, his body locked in place as the realization crashed over him. It was her. Y/N. Her voice was unmistakable, softer now, lighter, but still the one that had haunted his dreams for two years. She hadn’t seen him yet, his back to her as she spoke to the staff member, gesturing at the painting.

“It was inspired by a memory,” she continued, oblivious to the storm brewing in the man behind her. “A moment that changed everything.”

Wonwoo’s hands clenched at his sides, his throat tight. He wanted to run, to disappear before she turned and saw him, but his feet wouldn’t move. The staff member nodded and stepped away, leaving Y/N alone with the painting—and with him.

He turned then, casually, as if the world wasn’t about to tilt on its axis. Their eyes met, and time stopped.

Her face went pale, her lips parting in a silent gasp. “Wonwoo?”

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. She looked different—her hair shorter, her eyes brighter—but she was still her, the woman he’d loved for a decade, the woman he’d let go. And here she was, standing in front of him, holding a piece of their past in her hands.

“Y/N,” he managed finally, his voice barely a whisper.

For a moment, they just stared, the gallery fading away, the noise of Soo-jin’s laughter and the chatter of strangers swallowed by the weight of their silence. Two years of longing, of wondering, of healing and breaking all over again, condensed into this single, fragile moment.

And then she smiled—a small, trembling thing—and said, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

He’d opened his mouth to respond, perhaps to say something that could bridge the gap, when the bubble burst.

“Wonwoo! Oh my God, you have to see this one!” Soo-jin’s voice cut through the silence, bright and oblivious, shattering the moment like glass. She bounded over from the other side of the gallery, her dark ponytail bouncing with each step, her face alight with the kind of joy only art could spark in her. Before Wonwoo could react, she looped her arm through his, her fingers curling around his elbow with a familiarity that came from months of easy friendship. She didn’t notice the way he stiffened, didn’t see the woman standing just feet away, didn’t sense the storm brewing in the space she’d unwittingly invaded.

“Come on,” Soo-jin urged, tugging him toward a painting on the far wall, her smile wide and unguarded. “This one’s incredible—look at the colors! It’s like she bottled a sunrise and spilled it onto the canvas.”

Wonwoo stumbled forward, pulled by her momentum, his mind a chaotic swirl of panic and indecision. He glanced back at Y/N, his eyes pleading for her to wait, to understand, but Soo-jin’s chatter drowned out any chance of explanation. “I swear, this artist is a genius,” she was saying, her voice a steady stream of excitement as she dragged him along. “You’re so quiet today—don’t tell me you’re bored already!”

He couldn’t find his voice, couldn’t form the words to stop her, to turn back to Y/N and say what needed to be said. His feet moved mechanically, following Soo-jin’s lead, but his heart stayed rooted in that spot where Y/N stood, watching him go.

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Title: A Family Found in Grief

Masterlist

Y/N is shattered by her grandmother’s sudden death. Rushing to the hospital, she faces grief alone until her bandmates, initially upset by her absence, learn the truth and join her at the funeral. Pairing: Seventeen x 14th member Genre: Angst Warnings: This story contains themes of death of a loved one, hospital settings, and grief. WC: 4.5k

The night was heavy, a quiet blanket draped over Seoul, the city’s usual hum muted under the weight of exhaustion. Y/N, collapsed onto her bed in her modest apartment, her limbs aching from a relentless day. Photoshoots with blinding flashes, recording sessions that stretched her vocal cords thin, dance practice that left her muscles screaming, and a guest appearance on a talk show where she plastered on her brightest smile—it was all too much. Her phone lay silent on the nightstand, its screen dark, mirroring the exhaustion in her bones. She was moments from slipping into sleep when the sharp ring of her phone cut through the stillness.

“Who’s calling this late?” she muttered, rubbing her eyes as she reached for the device. The screen lit up with Mom. A faint smile tugged at her lips—probably another late-night gossip session or one of her dad’s corny jokes her mom loved to relay. She swiped to answer, her voice soft and groggy. “Hey, Mom, what’s up? Another dad joke?”

But the voice on the other end wasn’t warm or teasing. It was jagged, broken by sobs. “Y/N, sweetheart, it’s—it’s Grandma,” her mother choked out, her words trembling. “She’s in the hospital. It’s bad, honey. We’re on vacation, but we’re booking a flight back to Korea right now. Can you—can you go to her? Please, Y/N, she needs you.”

Y/N’s heart plummeted, the air sucked out of her lungs. “What? Grandma? What happened? Is she okay?” Her voice cracked, sleep evaporating as panic clawed at her chest.

“She collapsed,” her mother sobbed. “They don’t know yet, but it’s serious. Please, Y/N, go now. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

The call ended, leaving Y/N frozen, her phone trembling in her hand. Her grandmother—her rock, her fiercest supporter. The woman who, when Y/N’s parents scoffed at her dreams of becoming a singer, sat her down and said, “You chase that star, my girl. Don’t let anyone dim your light.” The woman who watched every Seventeen performance on TV, no matter how small, and sent Y/N texts like, “My superstar, you made me cry with pride today.” The thought of her lying in a hospital bed, frail and fighting, shattered Y/N’s heart.

She stumbled out of bed, throwing on a hoodie and grabbing her keys. The drive to the hospital was a blur, her hands shaking on the steering wheel, her mind a storm of “What if I’m too late?” and “Please, Grandma, hold on.” The city lights streaked past, but all she could see was her grandmother’s warm smile, her weathered hands clapping along to Y/N’s first stage performance.

At the hospital, the sterile smell of antiseptic hit her like a wall. She ran to the reception desk, her voice frantic. “I’m here for my grandmother, Park Hye-sook. Where is she? Please, I need to see her!”

The nurse’s face was kind but strained. “She’s in the ICU, miss. The doctors are with her now. Please, take a seat, and they’ll update you soon.”

Y/N’s knees buckled, but she forced herself to sit in the cold, plastic chair in the waiting area. Her phone buzzed—texts from her sister, Min-ji, who was on her way. Y/N clutched the device, her lifeline to the outside world, but she couldn’t bring herself to call the boys or their manager. Not yet. This pain was too raw, too personal.

Minutes bled into hours. Y/N’s eyes burned from staring at the ICU doors, willing them to open with good news. Finally, a doctor emerged, his face etched with a seriousness that made Y/N’s stomach lurch. She stood, her legs wobbly, Min-ji arriving just in time to grab her hand.

“Are you Park Hye-sook’s family?” the doctor asked, his voice low.

Y/N nodded, her throat tight. “Yes, I’m her granddaughter, Y/N. This is my sister, Min-ji. Please, how is she?”

The doctor’s eyes softened, but his words were a knife. “I’m so sorry. We did everything we could, but your grandmother’s condition was too severe. Her heart gave out. She passed away a few minutes ago.”

The world tilted. Y/N’s knees gave way, and Min-ji caught her, both of them sinking to the floor. “No,” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking. “No, no, no, she can’t be gone. She was supposed to see my next comeback. She was supposed to—” Her words dissolved into sobs, raw and guttural, tearing from her chest. Min-ji clung to her, crying just as hard, their grief a shared wound.

“She was so proud of you, Y/N,” Min-ji managed through her tears. “She always said you were her greatest joy.”

Y/N’s mind flashed to her grandmother’s last text after SEVENTEEN’s latest performance: “My Y/N, you shine brighter than all the stars. Keep singing for me.” The memory was a dagger, twisting deeper. She couldn’t call her parents—they were probably on a plane, unreachable. It was just her and Min-ji, two girls drowning in loss in the sterile hospital corridor.

The rest of the night was a haze of heartbreak and duty. Y/N didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, didn’t think about Seventeen or the schedule waiting for her tomorrow. She forgot to text the boys, forgot to tell their manager she wouldn’t make it to morning practice. Her world had narrowed to this hospital, to the unbearable task of arranging her grandmother’s funeral. She sent messages to family members, her fingers trembling as she typed, “Grandma passed away tonight. Please come to Seoul General Hospital.”

One by one, aunts, uncles, and cousins arrived, their faces mirroring Y/N’s devastation. They took over some tasks—speaking with the funeral director, arranging transport—but Y/N couldn’t let go of the responsibility. “She’d want me to do this right,” she whispered to Min-ji as they sorted through paperwork, her voice hollow. “She always said I was strong enough for anything.”

But she didn’t feel strong. She felt like a child, lost and aching for the woman who believed in her when no one else did. The hospital lights buzzed overhead, cold and unforgiving, as Y/N sat by her grandmother’s side one last time, holding her hand, now still and cool. “I’m so sorry, Grandma,” she sobbed. “I should’ve been here sooner. I should’ve told you I love you one more time.”

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The night had stretched into an eternity, each minute heavy with the weight of her grandmother’s absence. Her aunties began to arrive, their soft footsteps and murmured condolences filling the space, but Y/N barely registered their presence. Her heart was a hollow drum, beating only with grief.

Min-ji, her sister, slid into the seat beside her, gently taking Y/N’s cold hands in her own. “You okay, Y/N? I mean, I know you’re not, but…” Her voice wavered, her own eyes red from crying. She squeezed Y/N’s hands tighter, trying to anchor her. “Grandma texted me last night, you know. She was so excited, asking me to help her organize her Seventeen merch collection again.”

Y/N’s lips twitched, a ghost of a smile breaking through her daze. “She was obsessed with that collection,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Her house… it’s like a museum of us. Of me.”

Min-ji let out a soft laugh, though it was tinged with sorrow. “Yeah, every wall’s got your face on it. Posters, albums, that one giant cutout of you from the last comeback—she’d point at it and say, ‘That’s my girl, the brightest star in Seventeen.’” She paused, her voice cracking. “She even had a shelf just for the signed stuff. Remember how she’d call you every time new merch dropped, demanding autographs from every member?”

Y/N’s smile grew, bittersweet. “She’d call me at, like, 2 am, saying, ‘Y/N, I need Woozi’s signature on this photocard, and don’t you dare forget Hoshi!’” She shook her head, the memory warming her for a fleeting moment before the ache returned. “She loved you guys so much. She was our biggest fan.”

Their auntie, Soo-jin, approached quietly, her face etched with concern as she sat on Y/N’s other side. “Y/N, sweetheart, have you told your company yet? The boys? They should know what’s going on.”

The words hit like a jolt. Y/N’s eyes widened, her breath catching. “Oh no… I forgot,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. The thought of texting the members or their manager felt like climbing a mountain. Her phone sat heavy in her pocket, untouched since she’d messaged her family. “I… I can’t right now. I’m too tired. I’ll tell them tomorrow.”

Soo-jin’s brow furrowed, her hand resting gently on Y/N’s shoulder. “You need to rest, Y/N. You look like you’re about to collapse. Let us handle things here for a bit.”

Min-ji nodded, her grip on Y/N’s hand tightening. “She’s right, Y/N. You haven’t slept, and you’re pale as a ghost. Grandma wouldn’t want you running yourself into the ground like this.”

Y/N’s shoulders slumped, exhaustion winning over her stubbornness. “Okay,” she murmured, her voice small. “I’ll go home, rest for a bit. I’ll head to the company tomorrow to tell them, then come back to the funeral.”

Her uncle, Jae-ho, who had been quietly coordinating with the funeral director, stepped forward. “I’ll drive you home, Y/N. No arguments.” His tone was firm but kind, and Y/N didn’t have the energy to protest.

The drive back to her apartment was silent, the city’s lights blurring past like tears streaking down a window. Y/N leaned her head against the cool glass, her grandmother’s voice echoing in her mind: “You shine brighter than all the stars.” The words felt like a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep anymore.

When they reached her apartment, Y/N stumbled through the door, her uncle’s gentle “Get some sleep, kiddo” following her inside. She collapsed onto her bed, still in her hoodie, her heart a leaden weight in her chest. As her eyes fluttered shut, the image of her grandmother’s proud smile lingered, and sleep claimed her, heavy with grief and unspoken goodbyes.

I would like to ask if you could write about svt x 14th member like one of the members (dino please 🥺) is in love with her and doesn't know what to do with his feelings so he starts being extremely nicer to her until he get jealous because someone flirts with y/n and that's when he decides to confess and idk what more else hahaha but with happy ending please

Thank you and have a good day 🫶🏻

Part 1: Unspoken Feelings

Masterlist

Y/N, Seventeen’s spirited fourteenth member and resident maknae, shares an unbreakable bond with Dino, forged through trainee-day pranks and late-night ramyeon runs. As the group rockets to fame from their scrappy debut, their friendship—full of playful banter and unwavering loyalty—faces a subtle shift, with unspoken feelings threatening to blur the line between best friends and something more. Pairing: Seventeen (Dino) x 14th member Genre: Fluff, lil bit of angst

The practice room buzzed with the familiar chaos of Seventeen—thirteen voices overlapping, laughter bouncing off the mirrors, and the faint hum of their latest track looping in the background. Y/N sprawled dramatically on the floor, her face scrunched in frustration. Her hair stuck to her forehead, and her practice clothes were slightly rumpled from hours of dancing. Across the room, Dino leaned against the wall, catching his breath, his sharp eyes catching her familiar pout from a mile away.

Y/N and Dino had been inseparable since their trainee days, a dynamic duo forged in late-night practice sessions and sneaky trips to the convenience store for ramyeon when their trainers weren’t looking. Back then, Y/N’s wild energy had been a whirlwind—dragging Dino into her schemes, whether it was “borrowing” a senior trainee’s dance shoes for a prank or sneaking out to chase a stray cat she swore needed their help. Dino, ever the loyal sidekick, followed her lead, even when it meant getting scolded later. Her big, pleading puppy eyes and silver tongue always won him over.

“Dino, remember when we got caught trying to ‘rescue’ that cat outside the dorms?” Y/N had laughed once, years ago, her voice bright as they sat on a park bench sharing a stolen ice cream. “You were so scared we’d get kicked out, but you still carried that mangy thing for me!”

“I only did it because you wouldn’t stop whining about it, Y/N,” he’d shot back, but his grin betrayed him. That was the thing about Y/N—she could talk him into anything, and he’d complain the whole way while secretly loving every second.

Now, years later, that same bond held strong, but something had shifted for Dino. He couldn’t pinpoint when it started. Maybe it was the night he found her crying on a bench outside the company building, her dreams of debuting in a girl group shattered when the lineup changed last minute. She’d looked so small, her usual spark dimmed, and he’d sat beside her, offering quiet comfort until she leaned into him, her tears soaking his sleeve. Or maybe it was the way her smile lit up a room, brighter than any stage light, or how her casual touches—grabbing his arm, ruffling his hair—sent his heart into a tailspin. All he knew was that being called her “best friend” or “favorite member” felt like a punch to the gut. He wanted more. So much more.

But Y/N? Oblivious as ever. To her, Dino was her partner-in-crime, her go-to for everything from dance tips to late-night snack runs. The other members didn’t notice anything off either—they just saw their maknae duo, Y/N leading the charge and Dino trailing behind like her loyal shadow. Even now, as the group took a break from their grueling dance practice, Y/N’s frustration was palpable, and Dino braced himself for what was coming.

Sure enough, Y/N pushed herself up from the floor, her ponytail swinging as she marched over to him, her lips pursed in that telltale pout. “Dino!” she whined, dropping dramatically to her knees beside him. “This choreography is impossible! I keep messing up that one stupid turn in the chorus, and Hoshi oppa’s gonna kill me if I don’t get it right before he comes back from his water break!”

Dino chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow. Her theatrics were nothing new, but they still made his chest feel tight. “It’s not impossible, Y/N. You’re just overthinking it. Again.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “Easy for you to say, Mr. I-Get-Every-Move-Perfect-On-The-First-Try. Some of us aren’t dance machines, okay?”

He raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, please. Who was the one who nailed that freestyle battle during training and made all the sunbaes jealous?”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she swatted his arm. “That was one time, and you swore you’d never bring it up! I looked like a flailing octopus!”

“A very talented flailing octopus,” he corrected, dodging another playful swat. His heart did that annoying flip again as her hand lingered on his arm, her touch casual but electrifying to him. He cleared his throat, trying to focus. “Come on, show me the part you’re messing up. I’ll walk you through it.”

Her eyes lit up, that familiar spark returning. “Really? You’re the best, Dino-yah!” She grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet with that effortless enthusiasm that made his head spin. He let her drag him to the center of the practice room, ignoring the amused glances from Seungkwan and Vernon nearby.

As they ran through the steps, Dino couldn’t help but drift back to a memory from their trainee days. They’d been in a similar practice room, just the two of them, after everyone else had gone to bed. Y/N had been struggling with a dance sequence then too, her frustration bubbling over until she’d flopped onto the floor, groaning.

“I’m never gonna get this, Lee Chan,” she’d mumbled, using his real name—a habit she only fell into when she was feeling vulnerable. “What if I’m not good enough to debut?”

He’d sat beside her, nudging her shoulder. “You’re Y/N. You’re always good enough. And if you’re not, I’ll just drag you through it until you are.”

She’d laughed, her mood lifting, and leaned her head on his shoulder. “You’re stuck with me, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, my personal chaos gremlin,” he’d teased, but his heart had been racing even then, a hint of something deeper he hadn’t yet recognized.

Now, as Y/N mirrored his movements in the present, her tongue poking out in concentration, Dino felt that same warmth flood his chest. But it was sharper now, tinged with longing. Every time she got too close—her shoulder brushing his, her laughter filling the air—he wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her everything. That she wasn’t just his best friend. That he saw her in every future he imagined. That the thought of her smiling at another guy—some idol or dancer who didn’t know her like he did—made him want to scream.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Seventeen was his family, and Y/N was too precious to risk losing. What if she didn’t feel the same? What if confessing made her pull away, leaving him with nothing but awkward silences where their easy laughter used to be? Worse, what if it threw off the group’s dynamic, the one they’d all worked so hard to build?

“Dino, you’re zoning out!” Y/N’s voice snapped him back to reality. She was standing with her hands on her hips, glaring at him playfully. “You’re supposed to be teaching me, not daydreaming! What’s got you so distracted, huh?”

You, he wanted to say. Always you. But instead, he forced a grin. “Just thinking about how you owe me ramyeon for this. Again.”

She gasped, mock-offended. “Excuse me, Lee Chan, I paid you back last time! With that fancy iced coffee you like!”

“That was, like, three favors ago,” he shot back, falling into their familiar banter. But as she laughed, nudging his shoulder, his heart ached with the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

For now, he’d keep being her minion, her dance coach, her best friend. He’d teach her the steps, sneak out with her for late-night adventures, and glare daggers at any guy who got too close. But deep down, Dino knew he was hopeless. He was down bad for Y/N, and no amount of pretending could change that.

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Year 2016

The air in the cramped waiting room at Show Champion buzzed with nervous energy, the kind that only comes with a group on the edge of something big. It was 2016, and Seventeen—fourteen members strong—had only recently debuted under Pledis Entertainment, a company so small they couldn’t even afford proper in-ear monitors. The group made do with cheap earphones, their stage outfits a mix of thrifted finds and DIY flair. But what they lacked in resources, they made up for in passion, their synergy electric as they laughed and jostled in the tiny space.

“If we win today, I’m treating everyone to burgers!” Mingyu declared, sprawled across a couch that barely fit half the group. His grin was wide, but his wallet was famously thin.

“Add fries and ice cream for me!” Y/N piped up, perched on the armrest next to Dino, her eyes sparkling with her usual mischief. She nudged him with her elbow, expecting his usual playful retort.

“Y/N, we can barely afford the burgers,” Seungkwan teased, fanning himself with a script. “But when we’re big shots, we’ll get you a whole ice cream truck.”

The room erupted in laughter, Y/N’s giggle cutting through the noise like a melody. Dino, sitting beside her, tried to focus on the banter, but her laugh sent a familiar warmth through his chest. At seventeen, he chalked it up to the closeness they’d always shared—trainee days spent sneaking snacks, her dragging him to chase stray cats, or the time she’d cried in his arms when her girl group debut fell through. She was his best friend, his chaotic counterpart. Surely this flutter in his heart was just a phase, a side effect of her being the only girl he’d ever been this close to. Right?

A sharp knock on the door broke the moment. “Seventeen, you’re up next!” a staff member called. The group sprang into action, forming a quick huddle. S.Coups’ voice was steady as he led their cheer: “One, two, three—Seventeen, fighting!” With a collective shout, they filed out, Y/N bouncing on her toes beside Dino, her energy contagious.

On stage, their performance of Pretty U was electric. Every step, every note was fueled by months of sleepless nights and relentless practice. Y/N’s voice soared in her parts, her movements sharp yet playful, and Dino couldn’t help but steal glances at her, his heart pounding for reasons he couldn’t quite name. The crowd roared, and as the final note rang out, the fourteen of them stood breathless, grinning under the stage lights.

Backstage, the wait for the winner’s announcement felt eternal. Seventeen stood shoulder-to-shoulder with other idols on the crowded stage, Y/N wedged between Dino and Wonwoo. She fidgeted, whispering to Dino, “Do you think we have a shot? We prayed so hard, but…” Her voice trailed off, her usual confidence tinged with doubt.

He nudged her gently, forcing a smile. “We killed it, Y/N. If we don’t win, the universe is broken.”

She grinned, her nerves easing, and grabbed his hand for reassurance. His breath hitched, but before he could process it, the host’s voice boomed: “And the winner of this week’s Show Champion is… Seventeen!”

The world slowed. Cheers erupted, confetti rained down, and Seventeen exploded into a mess of hugs and tears. Seungcheol grabbed the mic, his voice thick with emotion as he thanked their fans, Carats, who’d believed in them from the start. Y/N, overwhelmed, turned and launched herself into Dino’s arms, her face buried in his chest.

“We did it, Dino-yah! We really did it!” she squealed, her voice muffled but brimming with joy. He hugged her back, his arms tightening instinctively, and for a moment, he let himself feel it—the warmth of her, the weight of their shared dream coming true. But as she pulled away, laughing and wiping tears, that flutter in his chest twisted into something deeper, something that scared him. He was just a kid, wasn’t he? This was just a crush. It had to be.

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Two years later, that “crush” had grown into a tidal wave, and Dino was drowning. Every smile Y/N flashed, every casual touch, every late-night talk about their dreams—it all made his feelings sharper, undeniable. He hated it. She was his bandmate, his best friend, part of the family they’d built through sweat and tears. Confessing could ruin everything—their friendship, Seventeen’s dynamic, the trust they’d all fought for. So he did the only thing he could think of: he pushed her away.

It started subtly. One morning in their dorm, Y/N shuffled into the kitchen, expecting the usual—Dino at the stove, flipping pancakes, her coffee already brewing. It was their ritual, born from trainee days when they’d sneak breakfast together before grueling schedules. But that morning, Dino sat at the table, eating alone, his plate nearly empty.

“Dino-yah, where’s my pancakes?” Y/N asked, her tone teasing as she leaned over his shoulder. He froze, his jaw tight, and without a word, he stood, dropped his plate in the sink, and walked out. Y/N blinked, confused, as Seungkwan and Vernon exchanged a look.

“What was that?” Seungkwan muttered, his eyebrows shooting up.

“No clue,” Vernon replied, glancing at Y/N, who stood frozen, her smile fading.

It didn’t stop there. For a month, Dino avoided her like she was a ghost. If she entered a room, he found an excuse to leave. If she spoke to him, he answered in clipped words or not at all. During practice, he stayed on the opposite side of the formation, his eyes fixed anywhere but on her. The members noticed, whispering among themselves. Jeonghan even pulled Y/N aside one day, his voice gentle but probing.

“Y/N, did something happen with you and Dino? He’s acting… weird,” he said, his brows furrowed with concern.

Y/N’s face fell, her frustration bubbling over. “I don’t know, oppa! I didn’t do anything! Why does everyone think I messed this up? Am I that awful?” Her voice cracked, and Jeonghan quickly backtracked, assuring her it wasn’t her fault. But the doubt lingered, and Y/N’s usual spark dimmed, her pouty frown a constant fixture.

The members tried talking to Dino too. Joshua cornered him after practice, his tone calm but firm. “Chan, what’s going on with you and Y/N? You’re freaking her out.”

Dino shrugged, his expression blank. “Nothing’s going on. Just busy.” But inside, he was screaming. Avoiding Y/N wasn’t helping—it was making everything worse. Seeing her sad, her eyes searching for him only to meet his cold shoulder, felt like a knife in his chest. He missed her—her chaos, her laugh, the way she’d drag him into her ridiculous plans. He was hurting her, and it was killing him.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. One evening, after a long practice, he found Y/N in the dorm’s common room, curled up on the couch with a manga she wasn’t really reading. Her face was set in a stubborn scowl, and when he sat beside her, she pointedly turned away.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice soft. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t look at him. “For what? Ignoring me for a month? Making me feel like I did something wrong?” Her voice was sharp, but it wavered, betraying her hurt.

He winced, guilt twisting his gut. “I… I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… needed space.”

“Space?” She whipped around, her eyes blazing. “We’ve been glued together since we were trainees, Dino! You don’t just ‘need space’ out of nowhere! Why won’t you tell me what I did?”

He opened his mouth, but the truth—I’m in love with you, and I’m terrified—stuck in his throat. Instead, he pulled a small paper bag from behind his back, offering it to her. Inside was her favorite ramyeon and a pint of her beloved ice cream.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m really sorry, Y/N. Can we… go back to how things were?”

She stared at the bag, then at him, her scowl softening but not gone. “You’re lucky I can’t stay mad at you,” she muttered, snatching the bag. “But you owe me pancakes tomorrow. And you better not pull this crap again.”

He nodded, relief washing over him as she cracked a small smile. But deep down, he knew this wasn’t over. His feelings weren’t going away, and no amount of ramyeon or apologies could change that. For now, he’d settle for her forgiveness, but the ache in his heart was only growing stronger.

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Seventeen had come a long way since their scrappy debut days. Years have passed, they become a household name, their music topping charts, their faces plastered on billboards, and their bond stronger than ever. The members had spread their wings, some choosing to live independently while others paired up—Jeonghan and Seungkwan sharing a cozy apartment, Mingyu and Wonwoo bickering over who’d cook dinner in theirs. Y/N, ever the free spirit, had opted for her own place, a small but vibrant apartment filled with plants and mismatched furniture that screamed her personality. Yet, despite the physical distance, her connection with Dino remained unshakable, a tether that no amount of fame or time could break.

Their closeness was a constant—late-night video calls when Y/N got a wild urge to explore the city, or her whining texts for Dino to bring her snacks when she was under the weather. No matter how exhausting his day, Dino always answered. He’d drive across Seoul at 3 am if she asked, cook her favorite ramyeon when she was sick, or pick up whatever bizarre craving she had, all while grumbling playfully. It was their rhythm, carved out from trainee days and polished by years of shared dreams and chaos.

Tonight was no exception. It was 2 am, and Y/N was tipsy, her laughter echoing through a quiet alley as she stumbled out of a bar with her friends. Her phone was already in her hand, Dino’s number on speed dial. The call connected after a single ring, and she giggled into the receiver.

“Do you just sit by your phone waiting for me?” she teased, her voice slurring slightly, playful and warm.

On the other end, Dino rolled his eyes, leaning back on his couch, his game paused on the screen. “Please, Y/N, I was in the middle of crushing it in Overwatch. You’re ruining my streak.” A lie, of course. He’d been scrolling aimlessly, half-expecting her text from earlier—Going out with friends, might need a ride later—to turn into this exact call. He’d never admit he’d been waiting, though.

“Whatever, loser,” she shot back, her grin audible. “I’m sending you my location. My feet are dying in these heels.”

“You and your terrible shoe choices,” he muttered, already grabbing his keys and jacket. “Stay put. I’m coming.”

True to his word, Dino pulled up in record time, his car a familiar sight as it rolled to a stop outside the bar. Y/N stood under a streetlight, swaying slightly, her sparkly dress catching the light. Her friends waved at him, their knowing smiles not lost on him—those sly glances that said they saw right through his “just friends” act. He ignored them, stepping out to drape his spare jacket over Y/N’s shoulders.

“Ugh, these heels are the worst,” she whined, pouting as she leaned against him for balance. “My feet hate me.”

“You say that every time,” he replied, his tone fond but exasperated. He opened the passenger door, and as Y/N said her goodbyes to her friends, he grabbed the pink slippers he kept in the backseat just for her. She had a habit of wearing impractical heels, only to beg for her comfy backup pair by the end of the night.

Y/N’s face lit up as she slipped them on, sighing in relief. “You’re a lifesaver, Dino-yah.” She climbed into the car, immediately launching into a tipsy recount of her night—her friends’ bad karaoke, the spicy tteokbokki they’d shared, the guy who’d tried to flirt with her until she “accidentally” spilled her drink on him. Dino listened, his eyes on the road, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He loved this—her unfiltered chatter, the way she’d ramble to him about everything and nothing, even after a day packed with group schedules or her solo gigs. It was their thing, a ritual that felt like home.

But then, out of nowhere, she went quiet. He glanced over, catching her staring at him, her head tilted, eyes glassy but curious. “Chan,” she said, her voice softer, almost serious despite her tipsy haze. “Why are you so nice to me? Like, all the time?”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, his heart stuttering. The question hung heavy, her gaze pinning him in place. He wanted to say it—Because I’m in love with you, and I’ve been in love with you since we were kids chasing dreams in a sweaty practice room. But the words lodged in his throat, too big, too risky. What if she laughed it off? What if she pulled away, like he’d feared back when he tried avoiding her in 2018?

That month of distance still haunted him. He’d thought ignoring her would kill his feelings, but it only made him ache more. Her hurt, her confusion, the way she’d snapped at Jeonghan for suggesting she’d done something wrong—it had torn him apart. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her again, not when she was woven so deeply into his life.

Before he could muster an answer, Y/N’s eyes lit up, spotting something through his window. “Oh! Convenience store! Dino, I want ice cream!” Her voice was bright again, the serious moment gone as fast as it came. She flashed him that smile—the one that made his resolve crumble every time, the one that said she knew he’d give in.

He sighed, pulling into the store’s parking lot. “You’re gonna owe me big time, Y/N.”

“Add it to my tab,” she quipped, already unbuckling her seatbelt.

As they walked into the brightly lit store, Y/N looping her arm through his like it was nothing, Dino felt that familiar ache settle deeper. He’d buy her the ice cream, drive her home, listen to her ramble until she fell asleep in his passenger seat. He’d keep being her person, her late-night savior, her best friend. But every step beside her, every laugh she shared, made it harder to pretend that was enough.

Back in the car, Y/N happily licked her ice cream, oblivious to the storm in his heart. “You’re the best, Lee Chan,” she mumbled between bites, leaning her head against the window, her slippers kicked off and her legs tucked under his jacket.

He glanced at her, his chest tight. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get any ice cream on my seats.”

But as she giggled, her voice fading into sleepy murmurs, he knew he was hopeless. No matter how many late-night drives or ice cream runs, he couldn’t outrun his feelings. He was in too deep, and Y/N—oblivious, chaotic, perfect Y/N—was the only one who didn’t see it.

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Title: Blossoming in Silence

Masterlist

Seventeen’s shy maknae, evolves from a quiet, blushing observer to a sassy force under Minghao’s guidance. Pairing: Seventeen x 14th member Genre: Fluff

The members sprawled across couches and chairs, waiting for their producer, Bumzu, to arrive. The room hummed with the usual banter—Jeonghan teasing Mingyu about his latest cooking disaster, Woozi scribbling notes on a pad, and Dino trying to convince Hoshi to join him in a TikTok dance challenge. Amid the lively chatter, Y/N, the group’s beloved maknae, was in a rare mood. She was usually the quiet one, her shy nature painting her as the soft-spoken shadow who preferred observing over speaking. But today, she was a burst of energy, clinging to Seungcheol’s arm as she animatedly shared a story about her favorite stray cat.

Y/N had always been reserved. When she joined Seventeen, fresh from the trainee life, her wide-eyed silence made her seem like a fragile porcelain doll. She’d answer questions with a nod or a whispered word, her cheeks flaming red if anyone teased her too much. The members quickly learned she wasn’t distant—just painfully shy. They adored her for it. To them, Y/N was their baby sister, a treasure they protected fiercely. They’d melt whenever she spoke, hanging onto her rare words like they were precious gems. Publicly, they kept their teasing gentle, never wanting to push her past her comfort zone. But in private? That’s when the playful chaos unfolded—poking at her blushing cheeks, ruffling her hair, and laughing when she’d squeak in protest.

Her clinginess was even rarer. Y/N usually kept to herself, maybe curling up next to Joshua with a book or hovering near Wonwoo during practice. But on days like today, when something sparked her excitement, she’d latch onto someone—today’s victim being Seungcheol—and the members would watch with heart-eyes, soaking in her fleeting openness.

“Cheollie oppa, you should’ve seen her!” Y/N’s voice bubbled as she tugged Seungcheol’s sleeve, her eyes sparkling. “Mimi—that’s what I named the cat—she was so brave! She had four kittens, and they’re so tiny, like little fluff balls!”

Seungcheol grinned, his dimples deepening as he leaned closer, nodding like her story was the most important thing in the world. “Four kittens, huh? Mimi’s a superstar. Did you name them yet?”

Y/N’s cheeks pinked, but she didn’t shy away. “Not yet, but I was thinking maybe… Cloud, Pancake, cheesecake, and… um, maybe Cookie? I don’t know!” She giggled, hiding her face briefly in Seungcheol’s shoulder.

Across the room, Vernon raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Cookie? Y/N, you’re gonna turn our dorm into a bakery with these names.”

The group chuckled, and Y/N’s blush deepened, but she didn’t retreat. Instead, she stuck out her tongue at Vernon, a rare playful jab. “Better than your idea to name a dog ‘Dog’ last week!”

The room erupted in laughter, Vernon clutching his chest dramatically. “Yo, that was a concept! You’re savage today, maknae!”

Jeonghan, lounging on a beanbag, propped his chin on his hand, eyes glinting mischievously. “I like this Y/N. Clingy and sassy. Cheol, what’d you feed her this morning?”

Seungcheol chuckled, wrapping an arm around Y/N protectively. “Nothing! She’s just excited about her cat family. Right, Y/N?”

“Mhm!” Y/N nodded vigorously, her ponytail bouncing. “They’re living outside our dorm, but I bring them food and treats every day. Mimi trusts me now—she lets me pet her! But the kittens need a real home. I was thinking… maybe I could buy them a little cat house? Or find someone to adopt them?”

Woozi looked up from his notebook, his serious producer face softening. “A cat house? That’s ambitious. You gonna build it yourself, kid?”

Y/N’s eyes widened, and she waved her hands frantically. “No, no! I meant, like, buy one! I’m not that handy!”

Mingyu snorted, leaning forward with a teasing grin. “Oh, come on, Y/N. I bet you and Wonwoo could make a cat mansion. Right, Wonwoo?”

Wonwoo, who’d been quietly sipping coffee, glanced up with a small smile. “Leave me out of this. But Y/N, you’re doing good with those cats. They’re lucky to have you.”

Y/N beamed at the praise, her shY/Ness creeping back just enough to make her duck her head. “Thanks, Wonu oppa…”

Hoshi, bouncing in his seat, clapped his hands. “Okay, but imagine! We adopt all the kittens, and they become Seventeen’s official mascots! Picture it: tiny cats in little carat-colored sweaters!”

“Hoshi, no!” Joshua laughed, shaking his head. “We can barely keep up with you in the dorm. Don’t add cats to the chaos.”

“But they’d be so cute!” Hoshi whined, turning to Y/N. “Back me up, Y/N! You want the kittens in sweaters, right?”

Y/N giggled, her fingers twisting in Seungcheol’s sleeve. “Maybe… just one sweater? For Cookie?”

The room cooed in unison, the members melting at her soft admission. DK leaned over, ruffling her hair gently. “You’re too cute, Y/N. We’re gonna have to fight over who gets to adopt Cookie now.”

“No fighting!” Y/N squeaked, her voice half-laugh, half-protest. “They need nice homes, not a wrestling match!”

Seungkwan, who’d been scrolling on his phone, looked up with a grin. “Y/N, you’re practically their mom already. You sure you’re ready to give them up?”

Y/N paused, her excitement dimming for a moment as she thought it over. “I… I want them to be safe. Even if it means I can’t keep them. But I’ll miss them a lot…”

The room softened, the teasing energy giving way to warmth. Seungcheol squeezed her shoulder gently. “You’re doing the right thing, Y/N. We’ll help you find them good homes, okay? No one’s better at taking care of others than you.”

Y/N smiled shyly, leaning into him. “Thanks, oppa… You guys are the best.”

Dino, who’d been unusually quiet, piped up with a playful smirk. “Yeah, we’re the best—until you start yapping about cats again and we all turn into your personal audience!”

“Yah!” Y/N huffed, tossing a crumpled tissue at him, her blush returning full force as the room burst into laughter again.

As the teasing resumed, Y/N settled back against Seungcheol, her rare chatter fading into a content smile. The members kept stealing glances at her, their baby sister who could light up the room with just a few words. They wouldn’t trade these moments—or her—for anything.

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Over the next month, Y/N’s quiet presence found a new anchor in Seventeen’s Xu Minghao. While Y/N’s shyness wrapped her in a soft, blushing cocoon, Minghao’s silence was a different beast—sharp, deliberate, and laced with a sassy edge that could cut through any nonsense with a single deadpan quip. Her rare bursts of chatter treasured like gold. But lately, the members noticed her gravitating toward Minghao, the one whose quiet wasn’t timid but commanding, like a cat that didn’t need to roar to make you feel small.

It started subtly. During practice breaks, Y/N would plop down beside Minghao, her knees tucked up as she sipped from a water bottle, listening intently as he critiqued a dance move or tossed a dry remark at Hoshi’s over-the-top antics. Minghao, for his part, seemed to welcome her company. He’d always been fond of Y/N, charmed by her gentle nature, but he never pushed her to talk. Instead, he’d offer a calm space where she could just be. Soon, she was trailing him like a shy shadow, and the members couldn’t help but notice.

One afternoon, Minghao invited Y/N to a tea ceremony he’d set up in a quiet corner of their dorm. It was a ritual he cherished—porcelain cups, steaming water, and the slow art of brewing loose leaves. Y/N, curious and a little nervous, sat cross-legged across from him, her hands fidgeting.

“Oppa, am I doing this right?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she held a teacup with both hands, mimicking his careful grip.

Minghao’s lips quirked, his eyes glinting with that signature sharpness. “You’re holding it like it’s a grenade, Y/N. Relax. The tea’s not gonna bite.”

She giggled, her cheeks pinking, but she loosened her grip, watching as he poured another round with practiced grace. “It’s so… fancy. I thought tea was just, like, a bag in hot water.”

He raised an eyebrow, his tone dry as desert sand. “A bag? Y/N, that’s not tea. That’s an insult to civilization.”

Y/N laughed, a soft, bubbling sound that made Minghao’s stern facade crack into a small smile. “Okay, okay! I get it. This is better. It smells nice too.”

“Told you,” he said, leaning back with his own cup. “Stick with me, kid. I’ll teach you how to live with taste.”

The tea ceremonies became their thing. Every few days, Minghao would set up his little setup, and Y/N would join, her shY/Ness melting as she learned to appreciate the bitter-sweet notes of oolong and the calm of the ritual. Sometimes, he’d coax her into meditation afterward, guiding her to sit still and breathe deeply. She’d squirm at first, peeking at him through half-closed eyes, but his steady presence kept her grounded.

“Hao oppa, how do you sit so still?” she mumbled once, her legs already twitching five minutes into a session. “I feel like ants are crawling on me.”

He didn’t even open his eyes, his voice flat but teasing. “That’s just your brain throwing a tantrum. Tell it to shut up and breathe.”

“Rude!” she huffed, but she tried again, biting back a smile. His bluntness was oddly comforting—no sugarcoating, just truth with a side of sass.

The other members, however, weren’t entirely thrilled. They’d catch glimpses of Y/N and Minghao sipping tea or meditating in the dorm’s common room, and jealous glances would fly. During one practice, Seungcheol nudged Jeonghan, nodding toward the pair sitting cross-legged on the floor, Y/N giggling at something Minghao said.

“Look at that,” Seungcheol muttered, arms crossed. “Hao’s stealing our maknae.”

Jeonghan smirked, but his eyes narrowed. “He’s got her drinking tea now. Tea! She used to beg me for strawberry milk.”

Across the room, Hoshi pouted, his voice louder than necessary. “Y/N! You’re not gonna start wearing all black and quoting poetry like Hao, are you?”

Y/N’s head snapped up, her face flaming. “Oppa, no! I just… I like the tea, okay?”

Minghao didn’t even look at Hoshi, sipping his water with a smug air. “She’s got better taste than you, Hoshi. Let her live.”

“Yah!” Hoshi clutched his chest, feigning betrayal, while the others laughed. “Y/N, blink twice if he’s brainwashing you!”

“I’m fine!” Y/N squeaked, burying her face in her hands, though her muffled giggles gave her away.

DK leaned toward Joshua, whispering, “You think Hao’s teaching her to be all zen? I miss her clinging to Cheol and yapping about cats.”

Joshua chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, she’s still our Y/N. She’s just… borrowing Hao’s vibe for a bit.”

The jealousy was playful, mostly. The members knew Minghao wasn’t stealing her—they’d seen how Y/N still lit up during group dinners, blushing when Vernon teased her or clinging to Seungcheol when she was tired. But Minghao’s quiet pull had unlocked something new in her. She wasn’t just the shy maknae anymore; she was starting to carry a hint of his confidence, even if it was just in the way she’d sip tea and roll her eyes when Dino tried to prank her.

One evening, during a rare group movie night, Y/N curled up on the couch next to Minghao, a mug of chamomile in her hands—a gift from him. The members kept sneaking glances, their protective instincts tinged with amusement. Woozi finally broke the silence, his tone teasing but warm.

“Y/N, you’re a tea snob now, huh?” he called out, smirking. “What happened to our juice-box maknae?”

Y/N stuck out her tongue, a spark of Minghao’s sass in her eyes. “Juice is for babies, oppa. Tea’s classy.”

The room exploded in mock gasps, Mingyu clutching his heart. “She’s gone full Hao! We’ve lost her!”

Minghao just smirked, nudging Y/N’s shoulder. “Told you, kid. Stick with me, and you’ll run this place someday.”

“Hao oppa, stop!” Y/N laughed, swatting him, her blush returning but her smile brighter than ever.

As the movie played on, the members settled down, their jealousy fading into fondness. Y/N was still their baby sister, shy and sweet, but watching her bloom a little under Minghao’s wing? That was something they could all cheer for—even if they’d never admit it out loud.

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The studio lights blazed down on Seventeen as they sat in a colorful, semicircular setup for a variety show, their latest comeback promotion in full swing. The set buzzed with energy—bright backdrops, a live audience cheering, and a host known for his bold, sometimes chaotic style. The thirteen members, plus their cherished maknae Y/N, were decked out in coordinated outfits, their new album’s aesthetic shining through. Y/N sat at the back corner, her hands folded neatly in her lap, a shy smile playing on her lips. She was quieter than usual, her wide eyes taking in the whirlwind of questions and laughter around her.

The host, a middle-aged man with a flashy suit and a penchant for stirring the pot, had been lobbing questions at the group for the past twenty minutes. Most were standard—details about the album’s concept, funny behind-the-scenes stories, or who was the messiest in the dorm (Vernon and Hoshi took that hit with a sheepish grin). The members were in their element, with Seungcheol leading the answers, Jeonghan tossing witty remarks, and Hoshi stealing the spotlight with exaggerated reenactments of their choreography fails. Y/N, though, stayed silent, giggling softly at her members’ antics but keeping her words to herself. It wasn’t unusual—her shy nature often made her the quiet observer in public settings, and the members were used to shielding her from too much attention.

But the host noticed her silence, his eyes zeroing in on Y/N like a hawk spotting prey. He leaned forward, his grin a little too sharp, and the mood in the room shifted subtly.

“So, Y/N,” he began, his voice carrying a teasing lilt, “you’ve been awfully quiet back there. Are you always this shy, or are you just saving your voice for something big?”

The audience chuckled, and Y/N’s cheeks flushed pink. She gave a small nod, her voice soft but steady. “I’m just… listening, sunbaenim. The members are doing a great job answering.”

Seungcheol shot her a reassuring smile from the front row, and Joshua nodded encouragingly. The members were ready to pivot the conversation, but the host wasn’t done. He leaned back, tapping his chin as if deep in thought, his eyes glinting mischievously.

“Listening, huh? That’s cute. But come on, you’re the maknae of Seventeen! Surely you’ve got some wild stories. Maybe… a secret crush among the members?” He winked at the audience, who erupted in gasps and giggles.

The air tensed instantly. Y/N’s eyes widened, her blush deepening, and the members’ smiles faltered. Jeonghan’s jaw tightened, and Vernon’s hand twitched like he was ready to grab a mic and shut it down. They’d dealt with pushy hosts before, but this was crossing a line—especially with Y/N, who they protected like a little sister. Seungcheol opened his mouth to steer things back, but the host barreled on, oblivious or uncaring.

“Or maybe,” he continued, his tone growing bolder, “you’re so quiet because you’re overwhelmed by all these handsome guys, huh? Who’s your type, Y/N? Give us a hint!”

The audience laughed again, but it was strained now. Woozi’s eyes narrowed, and Hoshi’s usual grin was gone, replaced by a hard stare. Mingyu leaned forward, his knuckles white against his knee, while DK whispered something to Dino, who looked ready to leap out of his seat. They’d stayed silent to keep things professional, but this was too far—Y/N didn’t deserve to be cornered like this.

Before any of them could snap, Y/N sat up straighter, her shy demeanor shifting. Her eyes, usually soft and hesitant, glinted with something new—something sharp, borrowed straight from the Minghao school of sass. She tilted her head, her lips curving into a smile that was polite but laced with venom. The room seemed to hold its breath.

“My type, sunbaenim?” she said, her voice clear and deceptively sweet. “Well, I like people who ask interesting questions. You know, ones that don’t make everyone in the room cringe.”

The audience gasped, then burst into laughter, louder than before. The host blinked, caught off guard, his grin faltering. The members froze, their eyes darting to Y/N in a mix of shock and delight. Minghao, seated a few spots away, leaned back with a smug smirk, his arms crossed like a proud mentor watching his protégé shine.

The host tried to recover, chuckling awkwardly. “Oh, feisty! Okay, okay, I’ll bite. What’s an interesting question then, Y/N? Educate me.”

Y/N didn’t miss a beat, her tone dripping with the same deadpan sarcasm Minghao wielded like a blade. “Maybe ask about our album? Since, you know, that’s why we’re here. Or do you only care about gossip that doesn’t exist?”

The audience roared, clapping wildly, and the members couldn’t hold it in anymore. Vernon muffled a laugh behind his hand, his shoulders shaking. Seungkwan bit his lip to keep from cackling, while Jeonghan leaned toward Joshua, whispering, “She’s wrecking him.”

The host’s face reddened, but he pressed on, clearly underestimating the maknae. “Alright, fair enough! But come on, Y/N, you’re so mysterious. Gotta give us something. What’s it like being the only girl in Seventeen? Ever feel like you’re in over your head?”

It was another jab, thinly veiled as curiosity, and the members’ patience snapped. Seungcheol’s hand clenched into a fist, and Woozi was half a second from cutting in with something sharp. But Y/N was already leaning forward, her smile now a full-on weapon, her voice steady and laced with sarcasm so precise it could’ve been scripted by Minghao himself.

“In over my head?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Sunbaenim, I’m surrounded by thirteen guys who can’t find their socks without me. If anyone’s in over their head, it’s them. But sure, tell me more about how I’m the one struggling.”

The studio erupted—audience screaming, staff stifling laughs, and the members losing it. Hoshi slapped Mingyu’s arm, wheezing, “She’s killing him!” DK was doubled over, clutching Joshua for support, while Dino pumped his fist like he was at a concert. “That’s our maknae!” he shouted, barely audible over the chaos.

Minghao’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting with pride. He leaned toward Wonwoo, muttering, “Told you she’s got it. That’s my work right there.”

Wonwoo snorted, shaking his head. “You created a monster, Hao.”

The host, now visibly flustered, raised his hands in surrender, his cocky demeanor crumbling. “Okay, okay, Y/N! You win! I’ll stick to the album questions from now on, promise!”

Y/N leaned back, her sass fading into her usual shy smile, though her eyes still sparkled with mischief. “Good idea, sunbaenim. We’ve got a lot to say about the music.”

Seungcheol finally stepped in, his tone firm but warm, redirecting the conversation like the leader he was. “Speaking of the album, we poured a lot into this comeback. Y/N actually had some great ideas for the choreography—maybe we can talk about that?”

The host latched onto the lifeline, pivoting to safer ground, and the interview continued smoothly. But the members couldn’t stop stealing glances at Y/N, their quiet maknae who’d just turned the tables with a few razor-sharp words. Vernon leaned over during a break, grinning. “Y/N, where was that hiding? You’re scary when you want to be.”

She ducked her head, her blush returning. “I just… didn’t like his questions. They were mean.”

Jeonghan ruffled her hair, chuckling. “Mean or not, you handled it like a pro. We were ready to jump him, but you didn’t need us.”

“Yeah, but don’t make a habit of it,” Seungkwan teased, pointing at her. “We’re supposed to be the ones defending you, not the other way around!”

Y/N giggled, her shyness creeping back, but Minghao caught her eye from across the set. He gave her a subtle nod, his smirk saying it all: That’s my girl. She smiled back, a little prouder, a little bolder, knowing her members had her back—and that she could hold her own when it mattered.

As the show wrapped, the members crowded around her backstage, their protective energy mixed with awe. Hoshi slung an arm around her shoulders, grinning. “Y/N, you’re our secret weapon now. Next comeback, you’re answering all the questions!”

“No way!” she protested, hiding her face in her hands, but her laughter gave her away.

Minghao watched from the side, his smugness softening into something warmer. He’d taught her to stand tall in her own quiet way, and today, she’d shown the world—and the host—what Seventeen’s maknae was made of. The members might tease her later, might bicker over who got to claim credit for her newfound fire, but one thing was clear: Y/N was their baby sister, shy but unstoppable, and they wouldn’t have her any other way.

--------------------------------------------------------------

A year had passed since the infamous variety show interview, and the internet hadn’t forgotten. Clips of Y/N’s razor-sharp takedown of the host had resurfaced, trending across platforms with fans dubbing her “The8’s girl version” and “Little The8.” The comments sections buzzed with praise—“She roasted him so politely, I’m in awe!” and “Protect Y/N at all costs, but also, she doesn’t need it!” The outrage over the host’s inappropriate questions, especially toward an underage girl, had cemented SEVENTEEN’s decision: they’d never work with that show again. More importantly, Y/N, had grown into her own—a quiet firecracker who carried Minghao’s sass like a second skin, much to her members’ delight.

The dorm, life was louder and livelier with Y/N’s evolution. She was still their shy maknae, blushing at compliments and hiding behind Seungcheol during chaotic moments, but her newfound confidence shone through. Where she once stayed silent during interviews, she now answered with a blend of politeness and biting wit, her words so effortlessly sharp they left hosts scrambling to keep up. The members loved it, often leaning back with grins as she handled nosy questions with the grace of a diplomat and the sting of a wasp.

During a recent radio interview to promote their latest mini-album, the host had asked about their group dY/Namics, then turned to Y/N with a playful but pointed question. “Y/N, you’re surrounded by thirteen talented guys. Ever get tired of being the baby? Or do they spoil you too much?”

Y/N tilted her head, her smile sweet but her eyes glinting with mischief. “Spoil me? Sunbaenim, they can barely keep up with me. I’m the one reminding Mingyu oppa where he parked his car last week.”

The studio erupted in laughter, Mingyu clutching his chest in mock offense. “Yah, Y/N! That was one time!”

“One time too many,” she shot back, her voice light but her smirk pure Minghao. The host chuckled, clearly impressed, and the members exchanged proud glances. Seungcheol leaned toward Jeonghan, muttering, “She’s unstoppable now.”

Back at the dorm, Y/N’s sass wasn’t reserved for interviews. The members, who’d always teased her for her quick blushes, now faced a maknae who fought back—cutely, of course, but with enough bite to keep them on their toes. One evening, as they lounged in the living room debating takeout options, Hoshi decided to poke the bear.

“Y/N, you’re so quiet tonight,” he teased, grinning. “What’s wrong? Missing your stray cats again?”

Y/N, curled up on the couch with a mug of tea (a Minghao habit she’d fully embraced), rolled her eyes. “Hoshi oppa, I’m quiet because I’m trying to save my energy for when you inevitably try to dance on the table later.”

The room howled, Hoshi gasping dramatically. “Excuse me? I’m a professional, maknae!”

“Professionally chaotic,” she muttered, sipping her tea with a pointed look. Minghao, sitting nearby, snorted, giving her a subtle fist bump. “That’s my girl.”

Dino piled on, smirking. “She’s got you there, hyung. Y/N’s out here reading us like a book now.”

Y/N stuck out her tongue, but her cheeks pinked, a hint of the old shy girl peeking through. “You guys started it! Always teasing me. I learned from the best, though.” She pointed accusingly at Minghao, who raised his hands innocently.

“Don’t blame me,” he said, his tone dry but his eyes warm. “You were a diamond in the rough. I just polished you up.”

The teasing continued, but it was different now—less one-sided, more like a game they all played. Y/N’s comebacks were never mean, always delivered with a pout or a giggle that softened the blow, and the members couldn’t get enough. Still, sometimes she’d catch them looking at her with mock nostalgia, sighing about the “old Y/N” who’d just blush and hide.

One night, after a particularly lively practice session, the group sprawled across the studio floor, catching their breath. Vernon, ever the instigator, tossed a water bottle her way and grinned. “Y/N, remember when you’d turn red if we even looked at you? What happened to that kid?”

Y/N caught the bottle, narrowing her eyes playfully. “She grew up, oppa. Thanks to you all bullying me into it.”

“Bullying?!” Seungkwan gasped, clutching his heart. “We cherished you!”

“Cherished me into a corner,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “Now I fight back, and you complain? Make up your minds!”

The group laughed, but Y/N’s pout deepened, her voice dropping to a softer tone. “What, don’t you like the new me? I thought you wanted me to be tough…”

The shift was instant. Seungcheol sat up, his leader instincts kicking in, and pulled her into a side hug. “Are you kidding? We love the new you. Old you, new you, sassy you—we love all of you.”

Joshua nodded, ruffling her hair. “Yeah, you’re still our Y/N. Just with a little extra spice now.”

DK piled on, wrapping her in a bear hug from the other side. “You’re like… a cute chili pepper! Tiny but with a kick!”

“A chili pepper?!” Y/N squeaked, laughing despite herself, her pout melting away. “That’s so bad, oppa!”

Minghao watched from the sidelines, his usual smirk softened by fondness. “They’re right, you know. You’re still you. Just… you with better comebacks.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, but her eyes sparkled. “This is your fault, Hao oppa. You turned me into a mini you!”

“Guilty,” he said, shrugging unapologetically. “But you wear it well.”

The group piled into a chaotic group hug, Y/N squished in the middle, her laughter muffled as she protested, “I can’t breathe, you weirdos!”

As they pulled back, Woozi caught her eye, his tone serious but warm. “For real, Y/N. We love the sass. It’s good you can hold your own now. But you know we’re always here, right? Sassy or not, you’re our maknae.”

Y/N nodded, her smile shy but genuine. “I know, oppa. Thanks… for everything.”

Later, as they headed back to the dorm, Y/N walked between Minghao and Jeonghan, her tea mug tucked into her bag and her heart full. The resurfaced clips online, the “Little Minghao” nickname, the pride in her members’ eyes—it all reminded her how far she’d come. She was still their shy baby sister, but now she had a voice, a spark, a way to stand tall when the world got too loud. And whether she was roasting a host or pouting for hugs, her thirteen protectors would always be there, cheering for every version of her.

--------------------------------------------------------------

an: And I'm officially back, guys!!! Woohoo! I’ll start editing all the requests I’ve written before and will post them soon. Sorry for ghosting you guys, HAHAHAHAHAHA, but yeah, I’m back!

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A shy girl from Jeju who secretly admires her lively classmate, Boo Seungkwan, through small, thoughtful gestures. As their lives take unexpected turns, her quiet support evolves over the years, blending childhood memories with dreams that grow far beyond their little island school. Pairing: Boo Seungkwan x Reader Genre: Fluff

The promotion shoot wrapped up, and the energy in the room plummeted. The boys, once a whirlwind of noise, were now a mix of exhaustion—some slouched in chairs, eyes half-closed, while others shuffled off to change out of their stage outfits. Y/N stood at her station, quietly packing her makeup brushes and palettes, her hands moving on autopilot. Her assistant, Minji, hovered beside her, whispering like a conspiratorial gremlin.

“So, Seungkwan totally knows,” Minji hissed, nudging her elbow. “Did you see his face? He was all smiley! You’re doomed!”

“Shh!” Y/N whispered back, cheeks flaring. “He doesn’t know anything! Stop making it weird!”

“Oh, it’s already weird,” Minji teased, stacking compacts. “He called you tangerine fairy! Everyone heard it!”

“Minji, I will throw this sponge at you,” Y/N muttered, shoving brushes into her bag. Just finish packing and get out. No drama. No—

A shadow loomed beside her. She turned, and there was Seungkwan, popping up like a jack-in-the-box, his grin wide and bright despite the long day. Y/N froze, feeling the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes—Jeonghan’s smirk, Hoshi’s barely-contained giggle, Wonwoo’s quiet stare. It was like a rom-com scene, and she was the unwilling lead.

“Hi,” Seungkwan said, leaning casually against the table. “So… you’re my tangerine fairy who suddenly disappeared, huh?”

Her heart did a backflip. “W-What?!” she squeaked, clutching a makeup wipe like a lifeline. “I—I mean—hi! Uh, no, I’m just… me!”

He laughed, soft and warm, tilting his head. “Come on, Y/N. The tangerines? The doodles? ‘It’s from Jeju’? You’re not fooling anyone.”

Minji snorted behind her, and Y/N shot her a death glare before turning back. “I… um… okay, maybe I used to do that! But it was forever ago! I didn’t think you’d remember!”

“Remember?” Seungkwan’s eyes sparkled. “How could I not? Those tangerines were the best part of my day! I’d sit down, see a smiley face, and boom—happy Seungkwan!”

Her cheeks were on fire. “R-Really?” she mumbled, twisting the wipe in her hands. “I just… thought you liked them. I didn’t mean to… disappear or anything!”

“Yeah, you left me hanging!” he teased, crossing his arms. “One day, no more tangerines, no more shy girl in the back. I was worried, you know!”

“Worried?!” she yelped, eyes wide. “About me? I was just… quiet! You were the star!”

“And you were my secret cheerleader,” he said, grinning. “I even went to your grandparents’ house with a tangerine to check on you!”

Her jaw dropped. “You what?!”

From across the room, Jeonghan piped up, “Oh, he did! Came back with your sketchbook and everything!”

“Hyung!” Seungkwan whirled, pointing at him. “Stop helping!”

Y/N’s brain short-circuited. “Sketchbook?! You—you have my drawings?!”

“Yup!” Seungkwan turned back, sheepish now. “The one with me on stage, stars, tangerine crowd? It’s still on my wall. Kept me going through trainee days.”

She wanted to melt into the floor. “Oh my gosh,” she whispered, hiding her face. “That’s so embarrassing!”

“No, it’s awesome!” he said, laughing. “You believed in me before I even debuted! And now you’re here, still giving me tangerines!”

Minji leaned in, whispering, “Told you—doomed!”

“Minji, hush!” Y/N hissed, then forced a shaky smile at Seungkwan. “I… I’m glad you liked them. I didn’t think they mattered that much!”

“They did,” he said softly, picking up a “You’re my star!” tangerine from her basket. “Still do. So… no more disappearing, okay?”

Her heart skipped. “O-Okay,” she stammered, nodding. “No disappearing.”

“Good,” he said, pocketing the tangerine. “Maybe next time, we can talk over some Jeju oranges? You know, catch up properly?”

The room erupted—Hoshi whooping, DK clapping, Jeonghan cackling. Y/N’s face was a furnace, but she managed a tiny, “S-Sure!”

“Yes!” Seungkwan cheered, fist-pumping. “Tangerine fairy’s back, everyone!”

“Seungkwan, stop!” she laughed, finally relaxing a little. The boys kept teasing, but for once, she didn’t mind. Maybe being found wasn’t so bad after all.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Weeks had slipped by since that heart-pounding moment at the shoot, and Y/N hadn’t crossed paths with Seungkwan again. Seventeen’s packed schedules—performances, interviews, fan events—kept him on a whirlwind, while Y/N drowned in her own sea of foundation brushes and glittery eyeshadows, dolling up idols left and right. The memory of Seungkwan’s grin and that “no more disappearing” promise lingered, but life had a way of keeping them apart.

At her apartment, Y/N doodled absentmindedly on a tangerine—“Keep going!”—while Jiwoo lounged on the couch, scrolling her phone. “So,” Jiwoo said, smirking, “what’s the update on your tangerine prince? Any juicy texts yet?”

Y/N’s cheeks flared. “No! Nothing! He’s busy, I’m busy—there’s no update!”

“Lame,” Jiwoo teased, tossing a cushion at her. “He asked you to catch up over oranges! That’s, like, a date invite! Why hasn’t he called?”

“Because he’s an idol?” Y/N said, catching the cushion. “And I’m just… me? Maybe he forgot. It’s been weeks!”

“Forgot?!” Jiwoo sat up, dramatic. “Girl, he’s got your sketch on his wall! You’re unforgettable!”

“Stop it!” Y/N groaned, hiding her face. “It’s not like that! He was just being nice!”

“Nice, my foot,” Jiwoo snorted. “He’s into you. Bet he’s just too chicken to text.”

Meanwhile, across town in Seventeen’s practice room, Seungkwan was mid-stretch when the interrogation began. Hoshi flopped beside him, grinning. “So, Seungkwan-ah, what’s the plan with your tangerine fairy?”

“Plan?!” Seungkwan yelped, nearly toppling over. “There’s no plan! Stop it!”

“Come on,” DK chimed in, wiping sweat off his brow. “She’s gorgeous! You’ve got her number—why haven’t you made a move?”

Seungkwan’s ears turned pink. “I—I don’t even know if I like her like that! And I can’t just text her out of nowhere! It’d be weird!”

Jeonghan sauntered over, smirking as always. “You got her number from her assistant that day, right? What’s the hold-up? Scared she’ll think you’re a creep?”

“Yes!” Seungkwan wailed, flopping onto the floor. “What if she’s like, ‘Who’s this random guy?’ I’d die!”

“She won’t,” Wonwoo said calmly, sipping water. “She’s shy, but she didn’t run screaming when you called her tangerine fairy. She’s cool with it.”

“Exactly!” Mingyu nodded. “She’s pretty, sweet, and she’s been cheering you on since forever. Someone’s gonna snatch her up if you don’t move!”

“Snatch her up?!” Seungkwan sat up, horrified. “She’s not a prize! And I don’t even know what I feel!”

Hoshi tilted his head. “You don’t? Dude, you light up every time we mention tangerines. That’s not normal.”

“It’s a curse!” Seungkwan groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Those oranges from back then—they’ve haunted me! I can’t forget her!”

“Haunted you into stardom,” Jeonghan teased. “That sketch of hers? You’d stare at it during trainee days like it was magic. Admit it—you’re interested.”

Seungkwan peeked through his fingers. “Okay, fine! I’m… interested! But liking her? I don’t know! She’s just… special. Those doodles, the tangerines—they’d pull me out of the dumps when I was exhausted. I’d look at them and think, ‘Someone believes in me.’ It’s why I’m here!”

“Aww,” DK cooed, clutching his heart. “That’s so cute! Just text her already!”

“No way!” Seungkwan flailed. “What would I even say? ‘Hi, I’m the guy you gave fruit to a decade ago, wanna hang out?’ It’s too random!”

“How about,” Jeonghan suggested, grinning, “‘Hey, Y/N, still got any tangerines left? Let’s peel some together.’ Smooth, right?”

“Smooth?!” Seungkwan yelped. “That’s cheesy! She’ll block me!”

“She won’t,” Wonwoo said, shrugging. “She’s into tangerines too. It’s your thing.”

Seungkwan groaned, collapsing again. “You’re all useless! I’ll figure it out… eventually!”

Back at her place, Y/N finished her tangerine doodle, setting it aside. “He’s not gonna text,” she mumbled. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Jiwoo said, smirking. “You’re doodling sad tangerines now. Just message him!”

“No!” Y/N squeaked. “What if he doesn’t remember me anymore? I’d die!”

Jiwoo laughed. “Oh, he remembers. Trust me.”

Unbeknownst to them, Seungkwan sat in the practice room, staring at his phone—Y/N’s number glowing on the screen. Hey, Y/N, he typed, then deleted it. Tangerine fairy, it’s me! Nope, deleted again. “Ugh, why is this so hard?!” he muttered, tossing the phone aside. For now, the tangerine curse held strong—keeping them apart, but never out of each other’s minds.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The park was peaceful, the two of them munching tangerines side by side, watching kids scamper across the playground. The sky dimmed, painting the horizon orange, and a cool breeze rustled the trees. Seungkwan glanced at Y/N, his curiosity bubbling up—the question he’d held onto since that shoot finally spilling out.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, peeling another tangerine segment. “I’ve always wondered… why’d you give me those tangerines back then? And why didn’t you ever talk to me?”

Y/N froze mid-bite, her tangerine dangling in her hand. What do I say? Her mind raced. That I had a crush on him? That I still kinda like him? No way—that’s too weird! Her cheeks flared red just thinking about it—spilling her heart to Boo Seungkwan, idol extraordinaire, felt like a one-way ticket to mortification. He’ll think I’m some creepy fan!

She opened her mouth, but no words came out—just a tiny, panicked squeak. Before she could cobble together an excuse, a familiar voice cut through the silence.

“Y/N! There you are!” Her grandma appeared, huffing slightly from the walk, peering over the bench. Then her eyes landed on Seungkwan, and they lit up. “Oh! The idol boy! The one you used to draw all the time! Seungkwan, right?”

Y/N’s soul left her body. “Grandma!” she yelped, jumping up. “W-What are you doing here?!”

“Looking for you, silly!” Grandma said, beaming. “It’s getting dark! And Seungkwan—have you eaten? Come join us! I’ve got a whole spread at home—jjigae, pancakes, tangerines, you name it!”

“Grandma, no!” Y/N flailed, stepping between them. “He doesn’t have to—he’s probably busy!” She shot Seungkwan a desperate look—Say no, please say no! What if they tell him everything?!

But Seungkwan just grinned, standing up. “That sounds amazing! I’d love to, Grandma. Thanks!”

“What?!” Y/N squeaked, her face a furnace. “Seungkwan, you don’t have to! You’ve got… plans or something, right?”

He laughed, brushing off her panic. “Plans? Nah, just chilling in Jeju. And no more disappearing, remember? Destiny’s clearly got this covered—I’m not fighting it!”

“Destiny?!” she hissed as they started walking, Grandma leading the way. She tugged his sleeve, whispering, “Seriously, you don’t have to! They’re gonna say stuff—embarrassing stuff!”

“Like what?” he whispered back, grinning at her red face. “How cute you are when you blush? Too late—I already know that.”

“Seungkwan!” she groaned, shoving him lightly. “I’m serious!”

“So am I,” he teased, unfazed. “Relax, tangerine fairy. I’m here for it.”

At the house, they settled around the dining table, a feast spread out—steaming jjigae, golden kimchi pancakes, and, of course, a bowl of tangerines. Y/N kept her eyes glued to her plate, avoiding Seungkwan’s gaze, while her grandparents launched into chaos.

“Oh, you should’ve seen her back then!” Grandpa said, chuckling. “She’d sit there doodling you on stage—stars everywhere! Always said, ‘He’s gonna be a big singer someday!’”

“Grandpa, stop!” Y/N whined, sinking lower. “That’s not—nobody needs to hear this!”

“Oh, yes they do!” Grandma cut in, passing Seungkwan a pancake. “She’d show us those drawings so proud—like you were her little project! And look at you now—on real stages, just like she said!”

Seungkwan’s eyes sparkled, and he leaned forward. “Really? What else did she say about me?”

“No, no, no!” Y/N yelped, waving her hands. “Don’t answer that! Please!”

“Too late!” Grandpa laughed. “She’d watch you sing at school events—hid in the back, clapping all quiet. Said your voice made her day better!”

“Grandpa!” Y/N’s voice hit a new pitch, her face tomato-red. “Can we talk about literally anything else?!”

Seungkwan grinned, resting his chin in his hand. “No, no, I wanna hear more! Did she ever say I was cool?”

“Oh, all the time!” Grandma said, nodding. “She’d come home like, ‘Seungkwan’s so cool, he’s gonna be famous!’”

“Grandma, I’m begging you!” Y/N moaned, hiding behind her napkin. “He doesn’t need to know this!”

“Why not?” Seungkwan teased, peeling a tangerine. “It’s cute! You were my first fan, huh?”

“I—I wasn’t—!” she stammered, but her grandparents kept going, oblivious.

“And those tangerines!” Grandpa added. “She’d sneak out early to leave ‘em for you—drew little hearts and everything!”

“Hearts?!” Seungkwan’s eyebrows shot up, delighted. “Y/N, you didn’t tell me about hearts!”

“Because it’s embarrassing!” she wailed, slumping in her chair. “Can we eat in silence? Please?”

“Nope!” Seungkwan laughed, popping a tangerine segment into his mouth. “This is gold! Your grandparents are my new best friends.”

“Oh, we like him!” Grandma said, patting his hand. “You should visit more—bring your singing voice next time!”

“Deal,” he said, winking at Y/N. “As long as Y/N doesn’t run away again.”

“I’m running right now,” she muttered, but a tiny smile crept onto her face. The table erupted in laughter, stories flowing, and though she was redder than ever, Y/N couldn’t deny it—Seungkwan fit right in, tangerines and all. Destiny’s a menace, she thought, but maybe not the worst one.

Okay, okay, guys, I hear you! That tangerine one is actually finished, but I'm just doing some polishing. Plus, I'm currently not at home, so I don't have my laptop with me, and the last story I posted was just from my drafts, so yeah. Maybe when I get home on Friday, I'll post it. Hehe, sorry for the wait!!

Masterlist | Part 1

Seventeen’s chaotic camaraderie, Y/N, the group’s 14th member, navigates a hidden romance with Joshua amidst their hectic schedules. Balancing playful group dynamics, subtle affection, and the pressure of secrecy, their close bond faces challenges from teasing members and unspoken tensions. Pairing: Seventeen x 14th member Genre: Fluff, Angst, Humor

The van ride back to the dorm was loud, filled with the members’ drunken laughter and slurred stories, but a heavy silence hung between Y/N and Joshua. He sat by the window, earbuds in, staring into the dark Seoul streets like they held answers. Y/N, wedged between a giggling DK and a half-asleep Woozi, kept her eyes on her lap, her stomach churning. Jeonghan’s little game had hit harder than she’d expected.

When they stumbled into the dorm, the members were a mess—Mingyu tripped over a shoe, giggling, while Seungkwan tried to serenade Hoshi with a butchered ballad. Joshua, though, was a different kind of quiet. He kicked off his shoes, muttered a vague “Night” to no one in particular, and headed straight for his room without so much as glancing at Y/N.

She caught Jeonghan’s eye as he slung his jacket over a chair, her glare sharp enough to cut. Look what you’ve done. He just grinned, stepping close to drape an arm around her shoulders, his voice a teasing whisper. “Good luck with sulky, jealous Joshua,” he said, laughing softly before slipping away to his own room, leaving her standing in the dim living room.

The dorm slowly quieted, the chaos giving way to snores and the occasional creak of a bed. Y/N changed into her pajamas—an oversized hoodie and soft shorts—then sank onto the couch, scrolling aimlessly on her phone to kill time. She needed to make sure the members were out cold before sneaking to Joshua’s room. Her chest felt tight, replaying his coldness, the way he’d shut her out. Joshua was never mad—not like this. Even when she was stubborn or pushed his patience, he’d always meet her with a smile or a gentle nudge. This felt different, and she hated it.

After an hour, when the dorm was silent, she padded down the hall, her socks muffling her steps. Joshua’s door was cracked open, a sliver of moonlight spilling out. She slipped inside, closing it softly behind her. He was lying on his bed, arms behind his head, eyes closed, but Y/N knew him too well—his breathing was too even, too deliberate.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper as she crossed the room. She climbed onto the bed, settling beside him, her arms wrapping around his waist without hesitation. “Shua, come on.”

He didn’t move, his body tense under her touch. A sigh escaped him, long and heavy, and when he spoke, his voice was low, edged with something raw. “Why don’t you go sleep? Gotta rest up for your big date tomorrow, right?”

Y/N pulled back just enough to see his face, her heart sinking at the tightness in his jaw. She pouted, nudging his chest gently. “You know I didn’t mean any of that,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “I only played along with Jeonghan because if I didn’t, the guys would’ve started asking questions. Like, ‘Why’s Y/N so weird about this?’ It could’ve made them suspicious, Shua. I was just… protecting us.”

Joshua’s eyes stayed closed, but his hand twitched, like he wanted to reach for her but wouldn’t let himself. “Protecting us,” he echoed, the words flat. “Funny how that ends up with you agreeing to meet some guy. And the members eating it up, thinking you’re single.”

She frowned, sitting up slightly, her fingers tightening on his shirt. “Joshua, stop. You know you’re the only one I love. Like, only you. That whole thing was a stupid act. I’d never actually go on a date with anyone else.”

He finally opened his eyes, meeting hers in the dim light. They were softer now, but still guarded, searching her face. “Then why can’t we just tell them, Y/N?” he asked, his voice quieter but no less intense. “The members—they’d get it. They’d probably throw us a damn party. They’re our family. But it’s been years, and we’re still sneaking around, and now they’re out there trying to set you up because they think you’re free to date whoever.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, the familiar argument settling heavy between them. She dropped her gaze, her fingers tracing small circles on his chest to ground herself. “I know,” she admitted, her voice small. “I want to tell them, I swear. Just… not now. It’s the comeback, and everyone’s stressed, and what if it changes things? What if they start treating us differently, or think we’re not focused?”

Joshua sighed again, his hand finally moving to cover hers, his thumb brushing her knuckles. “You always say that,” he said, not accusing, just tired. “‘Not now.’ But it’s been three years, Y/N. I’m tired of watching you pretend I’m just another member. I’m tired of feeling like I have to hide how much I—” He stopped, swallowing hard, his eyes flicking away.

Her heart twisted. She hated this—hated seeing him hurt, hated that she was the reason. Leaning forward, she pressed her forehead to his, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, Shua. I’m so sorry. I don’t want you to feel like that. I just… I got scared. But I promise, we’ll tell them soon. When the timing’s better. Okay?”

He didn’t answer right away, his hand tightening on hers. She could feel the conflict in him—the patient, steady Joshua who’d always given her space, warring with the part that just wanted to be seen with her. Finally, he exhaled, pulling her closer until she was tucked against his chest, his arms wrapping around her fully.

“Okay,” he murmured, but there was a weight to it, like he wasn’t sure how many more “okays” he had left. “But I’m holding you to that promise.”

She nodded against him, her pout deepening as she buried her face in his neck, breathing in the familiar warmth of him. “I hate when you’re mad at me,” she mumbled, her voice muffled. “You’re never mad. It’s weird. I don’t like it.”

A soft laugh escaped him, the first crack in his armor. “I’m not mad,” he said, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head. “Just… frustrated. I don’t want to share you, even if it’s fake.”

“You’re not sharing me,” she said fiercely, lifting her head to meet his eyes. “I’m yours. Always. Jeonghan’s stupid friend can kick rocks.”

That pulled a real smile from him, small but genuine, and he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Good. Because I’d hate to have to scare him off.”

She giggled, the tension easing as she snuggled back into him, her arms tightening around his waist. “You? Scary? Please. You’d probably just charm him into leaving politely.”

“Don’t test me,” he teased, his voice lighter now, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back.

They lay like that for a while, the dorm silent around them, the earlier fight dissolving into the quiet. Y/N felt her eyes growing heavy, the warmth of his embrace pulling her toward sleep. She hated fighting with him—hated how it made her chest ache, how it reminded her that even Joshua’s patience had limits. But here, curled up with him, she could pretend for a little longer that it was just them, no secrets, no games.

As her breathing slowed, Joshua’s hand stilled in her hair, his voice a soft murmur against her temple. “I love you,” he said, so quiet it was almost lost to the dark.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, already half-asleep, her arms still wrapped around him like she could keep the world out forever.

But in the back of her mind, Jeonghan’s smirk lingered, a reminder that their secret wasn’t as safe as it used to be. And Joshua’s words—“not now”—echoed, a promise she wasn’t sure how much longer she could delay.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The dorm had been a pressure cooker for days, the air thick with unspoken tension. Jeonghan’s restaurant stunt had left a mark, and though Y/N had smoothed things over with Joshua that night, the cracks were still there. She’d promised to tell the members—soon—but “soon” felt like a moving target, and Joshua’s patience was wearing thin. Jeonghan, ever the menace, wasn’t done stirring the pot.

His next scheme came during a rare break in their schedule. The group was lounging in the practice room, sprawled across the floor, debating dinner plans. Y/N was curled up on a bench, scrolling through her phone, while Joshua sat nearby, strumming his guitar absentmindedly. To the members, it was business as usual—until Jeonghan struck.

“Hey, Y/N,” he called, his voice deceptively casual as he leaned against the mirror. “My friend texted me again. You know, the one who’s dying to meet you? He’s free tomorrow night. I told him you’re game for coffee.”

Y/N’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. Not again. “Jeonghan, I didn’t—”

“Wait, hold up!” Seungkwan cut in, sitting up from his spot on the floor, eyes wide with glee. “This guy’s still in the picture? Y/N, you didn’t tell us you were actually into it!”

“I’m not,” she said quickly, her voice sharp, but the members were already piling on.

“Come on, give him a chance!” Hoshi chimed in, grinning. “Jeonghan wouldn’t set you up with a dud. Right, Hannie?”

Jeonghan smirked, his gaze flicking to Joshua, who’d stopped strumming, his fingers frozen on the strings. “Oh, he’s a catch,” Jeonghan said smoothly. “I showed him your latest stage pics, Y/N. Man’s smitten. Said you’re exactly his type.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. She shot Jeonghan a glare—you’re dead—but the damage was done. Joshua’s jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the guitar like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “Cool,” he muttered, barely audible, but the word carried a chill that Y/N felt across the room.

“Shua, it’s not—” she started, but Mingyu steamrolled over her, oblivious.

“Yo, we need details! What’s this guy do? Is he, like, a CEO? A model?” Mingyu asked, leaning forward. “Y/N’s gotta aim high, you know.”

“He’s just a friend,” Y/N snapped, her voice louder than intended, trying to shut it down. “And I’m not meeting him, so drop it.”

The members groaned, teasing her for “playing hard to get,” but Joshua didn’t say a word. He set the guitar down, stood, and walked out without looking back, the door clicking shut behind him. The room fell quiet for a split second, the others exchanging confused glances.

“What’s up with him?” Vernon asked, scratching his head.

Jeonghan shrugged, his smirk barely hidden. “Guess he’s not feeling it today.”

Y/N’s glare could’ve burned a hole through him. “I need some air,” she muttered, grabbing her jacket and heading for the door, her heart pounding with guilt and frustration.

--------------------------------------------------------------

For the next two days, Joshua was a ghost. He didn’t ignore Y/N outright—that would’ve been too obvious—but he was distant, his warmth replaced by a polite, untouchable wall. In the dorm, he’d answer her questions with clipped “Yeah” or “Fine” his eyes never meeting hers. At practice, he stayed on the opposite side of the room, focusing on choreo with an intensity that shut her out. Y/N felt every dodged glance like a jab, her chest tightening with the weight of it.

She tried to catch him alone, lingering after meals or hovering near his room, but he’d slip away, mumbling about calls or errands. The worst part was how he masked it—still joking with the members, still his usual self to everyone else. Only Y/N saw the cold edge, the hurt he buried under his smile.

Jeonghan noticed, of course. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes followed them, sharp and calculating, waiting for the next crack.

That night, the group decided to hit a nearby diner for a late dinner, craving a break from dorm food. The vibe was off, though—Joshua had been holed up in his room all day, his door shut tight. Seungcheol knocked once, calling, “Shua, you coming?” but got a muffled “Not tonight” in response. The members exchanged looks but didn’t push, sensing his mood.

Y/N was on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, scrolling through her phone but not really seeing it. Hoshi flopped beside her, nudging her arm. “Y/N, come eat with us! You can’t just mope here all night.”

“I’m not moping,” she lied, forcing a smile. “Just… not feeling great. You guys go ahead.”

“You sure?” Seungcheol asked, frowning. “We can bring you something back.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” she said, waving them off. “Have fun.”

Jeonghan lingered by the door, his gaze flicking between Y/N and Joshua’s closed room. He didn’t smirk this time—just gave her a small, almost apologetic nod before herding the others out. “Let’s move, people. I’m starving,” he said, his voice light but deliberate, giving Y/N and Joshua the space he knew they needed.

The dorm fell silent, the kind of quiet that pressed against Y/N’s ears. She stayed on the couch, her phone forgotten in her lap, replaying Jeonghan’s stunt and Joshua’s reaction. She hated this—hated how her fear had pushed him away, hated how Jeonghan’s games had made it worse. But bursting into Joshua’s room felt wrong; he needed time to cool off. So she waited, the clock ticking past an hour, then two.

Finally, the door to Joshua’s room creaked open. He stepped out, hoodie pulled up, heading for the kitchen without a word. Y/N’s heart jumped, but he didn’t look her way, his steps deliberate as he grabbed a glass from the cabinet.

She couldn’t take it anymore. “Shua,” she said, her voice soft but cutting through the silence. “Can we talk?”

He paused, his back to her, filling the glass with water. “What’s there to talk about?” His tone was flat, colder than she’d ever heard, and it stung like a slap.

“You’re mad at me,” she said, standing but staying by the couch, giving him space. “And I get it. Jeonghan was out of line, and I messed up by playing along again. But I didn’t mean it. You know that.”

He turned then, leaning against the counter, his eyes dark with something raw—hurt, anger, exhaustion. “Do I?” he asked, setting the glass down harder than necessary. “Because it’s the same thing every time, Y/N. You say you’ll tell them, but you don’t. You let them think you’re free to date whoever, and I’m just… what? Supposed to smile and go along with it?”

“I’m trying to protect us!” she said, her voice rising, desperate. “If I’d shut Jeonghan down too hard, they’d start asking why. They’d dig, Shua. You know how they are. I didn’t want them figuring it out like that.”

“Protect us?” He laughed, but it was bitter, empty. “You’re protecting you. I’ve been ready to tell them for years. I’d shout it from the damn rooftop if you’d let me. But you keep saying ‘not now,’ and I’m done hearing it. I’m done watching you pretend I’m nothing to you.”

Her breath caught, tears pricking her eyes. “You’re everything to me,” she said, stepping closer, her voice breaking. “You know that. I’m just scared, okay? Scared it’ll change things with the group, with the fans, with everything we’ve worked for.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “I love you, Y/N. More than anything. But I can’t keep doing this—hiding like we’re some dirty secret. I can’t keep watching them try to set you up because you won’t let me be yours out loud.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears spilling now, her hands trembling. “I’m so sorry, Shua. I’ll tell them. I swear, when they get back tonight, I’ll do it. No more waiting.”

He looked at her, his anger softening but not gone, like a fire burned down to embers. “You’ve said that before,” he said quietly, and the weight of it crushed her. He turned, heading back toward his room. “I need space.”

“Joshua, please,” she called, following him, her voice desperate. “Don’t walk away. I mean it this time. I’ll tell them. I’ll—”

He stopped in the doorway, his back still to her, and for a moment, she thought he’d keep going. But then he sighed, his shoulders slumping, and turned to face her. “You really mean it?” he asked, his voice softer now, searching her face.

“Yes,” she said, stepping closer, her hands reaching for his. “I’m done hiding. I want them to know. I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

His eyes held hers, conflicted but softening, his love for her winning out over the hurt. He let her take his hand, his thumb brushing her knuckles like a reflex. “Okay,” he said finally, barely above a whisper. “But if you don’t, Y/N… I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

She nodded, tears still falling, and before she could overthink it, she leaned up, kissing him softly, an apology and a promise rolled into one. “I love you,” she murmured against his lips. “I’m sorry I made you wait.”

Joshua hesitated, then deepened the kiss, his hands sliding to her waist, pulling her closer. It was slow, intense, all the anger and longing pouring out until they were breathless. When they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers, his voice low. “I love you too. Always.”

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, the dorm’s silence a cocoon around them. Y/N’s heart raced, but for the first time in days, it felt lighter. They’d tell the members tonight. No more games, no more secrets.

Title: Hiding in Plain Sight

Masterlist | Part 2

Seventeen’s chaotic camaraderie, Y/N, the group’s 14th member, navigates a hidden romance with Joshua amidst their hectic schedules. Balancing playful group dynamics, subtle affection, and the pressure of secrecy, their close bond faces challenges from teasing members and unspoken tensions. Pairing: Seventeen x 14th member Genre: Fluff, Angst, Humor

The dorm was buzzing with its usual chaos. It was a rare day off, and the members were scattered around the living room, some sprawled on the couch, others raiding the kitchen for snacks. Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through her phone, earbuds in, looking every bit the relaxed maknae-esque member she often played up. Joshua was on the couch nearby, casually strumming a guitar, his soft humming blending into the background noise of Mingyu and DK arguing over what to order for dinner.

To anyone watching, it was just another day. Joshua and Y/N’s closeness was no secret— predebut stories of them sharing snacks and late-night talks were practically group lore. But what the members didn’t know, and what Y/N worked hard to keep under wraps, was that those moments had grown into something deeper. For three years now, they’d been dating, stealing quiet moments away from the group’s watchful eyes.

Y/N was the cautious one. Early on, she’d insisted on keeping it private. “They’ll never let us hear the end of it,” she’d whispered to Joshua one night, tucked away in a practice room after hours. “Seungkwan’s teasing is bad enough when we’re just friends in their heads. And what if… what if they think we’re distracting each other?” Joshua had chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face, but he’d agreed. Her need for privacy trumped his occasional urge to let the world—or at least their members—know.

In the dorm now, Y/N felt Joshua’s gaze flicker toward her, subtle but warm. She didn’t look up, keeping her focus on her phone, but her lips twitched slightly. He was always like this—finding small ways to stay close. Like how he’d chosen the spot on the couch nearest to her, his knee just shy of brushing her shoulder. To the others, it was nothing. Joshua was just being Joshua, friendly and comfortable with everyone.

“Yo, Y/N, you voting for pizza or fried chicken?” Hoshi’s voice cut through her thoughts, his head popping up from the other side of the coffee table.

She pulled out an earbud, tilting her head. “Pizza. Always.” Her tone was playful, deflecting any chance of seeming distracted.

“Bet Joshua’s gonna say the same,” Vernon chimed in from the kitchen, smirking. “You two always pick the same stuff.”

Y/N’s heart skipped, but she rolled her eyes, keeping it cool. “Because we have taste, unlike you and your weird food combos.”

Laughter erupted, and the moment passed. Joshua’s fingers paused on the guitar strings for a half-second, but he didn’t look at her, just grinned at Vernon’s fake offense. Y/N exhaled quietly. Close calls like that were why she kept her guard up.

Later, when the group split off—some heading to the kitchen, others to the TV—Joshua leaned down as he passed her, murmuring, “Practice room later?”

It was soft, barely audible, disguised as a casual comment. Y/N gave the tiniest nod, her face neutral, before slipping her earbuds back in like nothing happened.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The practice room was their sanctuary. Late at night, when the dorm quieted and the members were too tired to notice, they’d sneak down to the company building. Officially, it was for “vocal practice” or “choreo tweaks.” In reality, it was where they could just be.

Joshua was already there when Y/N slipped inside, locking the door behind her. He was sitting on the floor, back against the mirror, scrolling through his phone. The second he saw her, his face lit up, softer than the teasing smirks he’d worn all day.

“Took you long enough,” he said, but there was no bite in it. He patted the spot next to him.

Y/N didn’t hesitate, dropping down and immediately curling into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. Here, with no one watching, she let herself melt. “Had to wait for Woozi to stop interrogating me about my lyric ideas,” she mumbled. “He’s relentless.”

Joshua chuckled, wrapping an arm around her. “You’re too good at dodging. Even I almost believe you’re just ‘focused on work’ sometimes.”

She poked his side, grinning. “Gotta keep up the act. You’re the problem, you know. Sitting next to me all the time, looking at me like… that.”

“Like what?” His voice was teasing, but his eyes were warm, tracing her face like he was memorizing it.

“Like you’re whipped,” she shot back, but her cheeks flushed.

“Good. Because I am.” He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, and Y/N’s heart did its usual flip. These moments—quiet, unguarded—were worth every second of caution.

They stayed like that for a while, talking about nothing and everything: a new song idea, a dumb meme, plans for a future they hoped could include more than stolen moments. But when Y/N’s phone buzzed with a text from Seungcheol—Where you at?—reality snapped back.

She sighed, pulling away reluctantly. “I should go before they start a search party.”

Joshua’s hand lingered on hers, but he nodded. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” she promised, standing. Before she left, she glanced back, catching his smile—one that was just for her. She carried it with her, even as she stepped back into the role of “just Y/N,” the 14th member who definitely wasn’t sneaking around with Joshua.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Back at the dorm, she slid into the living room, where a few members were still up, watching a movie. Joshua was already there, sprawled on the couch, looking perfectly innocent. When she sat on the opposite end, he didn’t react, but his foot nudged hers under the blanket—just enough to make her bite back a smile.

“Pizza’s here soon,” Mingyu announced, oblivious as ever.

“Cool,” Y/N said, leaning back, her voice steady. Across the couch, Joshua’s eyes flickered to her for a split second, and that was enough. They were good at this—hiding, balancing, keeping their secret safe. For now, it was enough.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The Seventeen’s schedule was relentless as always—rehearsals, interviews, and a looming comeback. The practice room was a second home, mirrors fogged with sweat and music blasting through speakers. Y/N stood near the back, catching her breath between choreography runs, her eyes scanning the room out of habit. Joshua was across the space, laughing with Jeonghan about something, his hair slightly damp from exertion. To anyone else, he was just another member, blending into the group’s chaos. To Y/N, he was a quiet anchor in the storm.

Keeping their relationship under wraps was second nature now, three years into their secret. Y/N had perfected the art of distance in public—never too far from Joshua to raise suspicion, but never close enough to spark rumors among the members. She’d dodge lingering glances, keep her touches platonic, and redirect conversations that veered too close to teasing. Joshua, though, was bolder in his quiet way. He’d find excuses to be near her—a water bottle passed during a break, a fleeting comment about the choreo—small enough to go unnoticed but deliberate enough to make her heart race.

Today was no different. As the group ran through their title track for the tenth time, Joshua ended the formation just a step away from her. His arm brushed hers as they transitioned, so brief it could’ve been an accident. Y/N kept her face neutral, focusing on her reflection in the mirror, but her pulse ticked up. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Alright, five-minute break!” Seungcheol called, clapping his hands. The members scattered, some collapsing on the floor, others grabbing their phones. Y/N headed for her bag, pulling out a towel to wipe her face, using the moment to steady herself.

Joshua, predictably, wandered over, casual as ever. “You good?” he asked, voice low, leaning against the wall nearby. To anyone watching, it was just a check-in between friends.

“Yeah, just surviving,” she replied, flashing a quick smile before looking away. She caught Hoshi’s eye from across the room—he was sprawled dramatically, whining about his legs—and she laughed, deflecting any chance of seeming too focused on Joshua.

“Good. Keep up,” Joshua teased, but there was a softness in his tone that made her glance at him. His eyes held hers for a half-second too long, and she turned away, busying herself with her water bottle. Too risky, she thought, even as warmth spread through her chest.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Later that evening, the group piled into a van for a late-night radio interview. Y/N slid into a middle seat, wedged between Dino and Woozi, with Joshua up front next to the driver. The members were buzzing, tossing around dumb hypotheticals to pass the time.

“Y/N, who’d you pick to be stranded on an island with?” Seungkwan asked, leaning over the seat with a mischievous grin.

She didn’t miss a beat. “Mingyu. He’d probably try to cook the coconuts and burn the island down, but at least I’d be entertained.”

The van erupted in laughter, Mingyu protesting loudly. Joshua stayed quiet, but Y/N caught his reflection in the window—he was smiling, just a little, like he knew she’d picked a safe answer. She always did. Naming him, even as a joke, would’ve felt like tempting fate.

At the radio station, the interview was standard fare—comeback teasers, group banter, and the usual “who’s the closest?” questions. Y/N sat between Vernon and Jun, keeping her answers light and vague. When the host asked about her bond with Joshua, citing their predebut friendship, her stomach tightened.

“We’ve always been chill,” she said, shrugging. “He’s like the group’s unofficial therapist. Listens to everyone.”

Joshua nodded from his spot across the table, adding, “Y/N’s easy to talk to. She’s got good advice.” It was true enough to sound natural, vague enough to mean nothing. The members didn’t blink, used to their dynamic being framed as pure friendship.

But as the interview wrapped and they shuffled out, Joshua’s hand grazed her lower back for a split second, guiding her through the crowd of staff. It was gone before she could react, but her skin tingled where he’d touched. She shot him a look—careful—and he just smirked, pulling out his phone like nothing happened.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Their next stolen moment came days later, after a grueling rehearsal. Most of the members had crashed in the dorm, too tired to notice Y/N slipping out with a vague excuse about “grabbing something from the studio.” Joshua was already waiting in the company’s rooftop garden—a tucked-away spot they’d found months ago, hidden from prying eyes.

The city lights stretched out below, and the cool night air felt like freedom. Y/N didn’t hesitate this time, stepping into Joshua’s open arms. He pulled her close, chin resting on her head, and for a moment, they just stood there, the weight of secrecy lifting.

“Missed you,” he murmured, voice muffled against her hair.

“We were together all day,” she pointed out, but her arms tightened around him, betraying her own longing.

“Not like this.” He pulled back just enough to look at her, his thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re too good at pretending I’m just another member.”

She sighed, half-smiling. “I have to be. You saw how Seungkwan was fishing in the van. One wrong answer, and he’s planning our fake wedding for laughs.”

Joshua chuckled, but his eyes softened. “You ever think about… not hiding?”

Her stomach twisted. She’d thought about it—dreamed of a day when they could sit next to each other without overthinking every glance. But the risks loomed larger. “I want to,” she admitted quietly. “But the group… the fans… I don’t know if they’d get it. And the guys would lose it. You know how they are.”

He nodded, not pushing. Joshua never did. Instead, he leaned down, kissing her softly, slow enough to make her forget the world for a second. “We’ll figure it out. When you’re ready.”

They stayed up there as long as they dared, talking about the comeback, their parts in the new song, anything to stretch the moment. But when Y/N’s phone buzzed—Wonwoo asking if she’d seen his hoodie—she knew it was time to go.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Back in the dorm, she slipped in quietly, hoodie in hand as an alibi. The living room was dim, only a few members still awake. Joshua was on the couch, scrolling through his phone, looking every bit like he’d been there for hours. Y/N tossed Wonwoo’s hoodie to him, earning a grateful nod, and sank into a chair across from Joshua.

“Long day,” she said, loud enough for anyone listening, her tone casual.

“Tell me about it,” Joshua replied, not looking up. But under the coffee table, his foot nudged hers—just once, just enough to say I’m here.

She hid her smile, pulling out her phone to scroll through nothing. They were still a secret, still careful. But in the quiet of the dorm, with the members oblivious around them, that was enough.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The dorm was quieter than usual that morning, the usual pre-promotion chaos muted by the early hour. Seventeen’s first comeback stage was today, a big deal after months of preparation, and the air buzzed with anticipation. Y/N stood in front of the bathroom mirror, splashing cold water on her face to shake off the feverish haze clouding her head. Her reflection looked pale, eyes heavy, but she gritted her teeth. No way I’m missing this.

The members had noticed she wasn’t herself. At breakfast, Minghao had squinted at her, asking, “You good, Y/N? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m fine,” she’d shot back, forcing a grin. “Just didn’t sleep enough. Ready to crush it today.”

Seungcheol had frowned, clearly unconvinced, but Y/N waved it off, piling food onto her plate to prove a point. Joshua, sitting across the table, hadn’t said anything, but his eyes lingered on her—sharp, assessing, the kind of look that saw through her stubborn front. She avoided his gaze, focusing on her coffee instead.

Now, as they piled into the van to head to the music show, Y/N’s head throbbed, her body aching with every step. She slid into the back row, pressing her temple against the cool window, hoping no one would press her again. Joshua, of course, had other plans. He climbed in last, scanning the seats before settling right beside her, his knee brushing hers as he sat. To the others, it was just Joshua being his usual, considerate self—nothing new.

“You okay?” he asked softly, voice low enough to stay between them. His hand rested on the seat, fingers grazing hers for a fleeting moment, warm and deliberate.

She nodded, eyes half-closed. “Just sleepy,” she mumbled, keeping her tone light. “Long night.”

He didn’t buy it—she could tell from the way his jaw tightened—but he didn’t push. Instead, he shifted closer, his shoulder angled toward her. “Here,” he said, patting it gently. “Rest a bit. You look like you need it.”

Y/N hesitated, but the pounding in her head won out. She let her head drop onto his shoulder, her cheek pressed against the soft fabric of his jacket. The contact was grounding, easing the ache just enough to keep her going. Joshua’s hand settled lightly on her arm, a subtle touch that felt protective but stayed just shy of obvious. To the members, it was classic Joshua—always offering a shoulder to anyone who needed it. Seungkwan, sprawled in the seat ahead, didn’t even glance back, too busy arguing with DK about setlist predictions.

“Don’t hog Joshua’s shoulder the whole ride,” Vernon teased from the middle row, grinning over his phone. “Some of us might need a nap too.”

“First come, first served,” Y/N shot back weakly, managing a smirk. Joshua’s thumb brushed her arm, so soft it could’ve been an accident, and she bit her lip to hide a smile.

The van hummed along, the members’ chatter fading into background noise. Joshua tilted his head slightly, resting his cheek against her hair for a moment—a tiny, intimate gesture hidden by the angle of their seats. “Tell me if you feel worse,” he whispered, barely audible. “I’m serious.”

“I’ll be fine, Shua,” she murmured back, but her voice softened at his concern. “Promise.”

Me too, me too! Also, nearly every request I've gotten is pure angst—huhu, why are we all dying to sob??