#Anyway. sorry for drawing your au. again...
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moonriizing ¡ 12 hours ago
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dear reader... again | 02z
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One island. One daughter. Three possible dads. You just wanted peace and quiet—what you got was chaos, old flames, and a little girl asking for three dads.
Genre: destination au, strangers-to-lovers, smut Pairing: ENHYPEN Jake/Sunghoon/Jay x afab!reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) MDNI, don't come at me but she ends up with just one guy and the smut is only with one of them Notes: 22k words. Guys, bear with me. I'm a long fic writer. Sometimes, I just can't help it. This is one of those times. This is a sequel to Dear Reader, but it can be read as a standalone fic. Loosely based on the 2008 movie, Mamma Mia! Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life behave the way they were portrayed in this fic. If you see the same exact fic in a different blog, for NCT, that is me. I did not plagiarize myself; otherwise, lmk.
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i: Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again
The drawing room was a war zone. Empty cups on every surface, leftovers here and there, balloons all over the floor. Your daughter had retreated to her bedroom to play with her new toys, leaving you with a garbage bag in one hand and three ghosts of your past sitting awkwardly on the couch.
You didn’t look at them as you threw another stack of paper plates into the bag. It was a good thing that your friends and two of Emma’s godmothers were keeping the room noisy as they helped you clean up. But at some point, Lea and Amy found a spot far across the room where they could interrogate you.
“Which one is it?” Lea asked immediately, like she hadn’t already asked the same thing three different ways in the past three hours.
Amy nudged her. “Were you listening? She didn’t check which one it was, remember?”
“What are they doing here anyway? Did you invite them?”
You huffed, glancing over your shoulder just long enough to catch the three of them talking. “No idea. They just showed up out of nowhere.”
“On Emma’s birthday? That can’t be a coincidence.”
“Oh, it’s definitely not a coincidence,” Lea muttered, shaking her head conspiratorially.
Unfortunately, she was right. It wasn’t a coincidence. When they showed up on your doorstep earlier, all three of them, the first question you’d asked had been: What are you doing here? And apparently, they had an answer.
Each of them had brought a letter from you. Letters you didn’t remember sending—because technically, you didn’t.
After a discreet interrogation with the staff, you found out how it happened. Last week, while clearing out the attic, you’d accidentally left a box on the counter marked “outgoing.” Inside were things you meant to throw away—old receipts, scribbled notes, and three unsent letters you’d written four years ago.
You remembered them now. You’d written those letters when Emma was in the hospital, and needed a blood transfusion, but her blood type was rare. You were scared. Desperate. You almost mailed them. But she got better before you had to.
Now here they were, delivered years late and right on time to ruin your peaceful little life. Still, that didn’t explain how they got here on the same day, at the exact same time. But when you asked, Jake had said:
“Oh, we actually missed the ferry, and Mr. Jay here was nice enough to offer his yacht.”
You’d scoffed. “Still parading the seas with that yacht?”
“Yeah, no,” Jay had replied smugly. “This one’s new. Got it just last year.”
Jake was the first to speak, stepping forward with a smile. “So... we were wondering,” he said, glancing briefly at Jay and Sunghoon, “if there might be any rooms available here? Just for a few days while we’re on the island.”
You raised an eyebrow but kept your voice steady. “You’re not leaving yet?”
Jay chuckled. “Why am I getting the feeling you don’t want us here?”
“Honestly?” you sighed. “Doesn’t matter much to me. But if you’re looking for a room, try somewhere else. I’m fully booked.”
Jake cleared his throat. “We’d pay, of course. No trouble.”
You shook your head firmly. “Sorry. You can pay me double, but the calendar will still be full until the end of the month.”
There was a pause as Jake glanced over at the other two. You saw Jay shrug before saying, “The boat’s got plenty of rooms. You guys can crash there while I’m around.”
Jake nodded quickly, but Sunghoon hesitated, eyes flicking to you. Jay turned back. “Guess that settles it. We’ll be on our way, then,” he said, offering a small wave.
“Yes. Please go,” you said briskly, waving your hand dismissively. Don’t come back, you wanted to add—but didn’t.
“It’s good to see you, sweetheart,” Jay grinned, winking before sliding on his sunglasses and turning away.
You grimaced, rolled your eyes, and went back to your chore. You reached for a trash bag, but someone else grabbed it before you could. It was Sunghoon, and you could still feel the warmth of his presence behind you even after he’d moved away. Jake and Jay had left, but he was still here.
“What are you doing?” you asked, though it was clear he was trying to help.
Of course, he was. You didn’t even have it in you to stop him when he started scraping paper plates into it, like this was just a normal evening in some alternate universe where he was your partner and this was his house, too.
“She’s very lovely,” Sunghoon said after a moment of nothing but silence between the two of you. “Emma, I mean.”
“She is,” you replied flatly despite the nervousness slowly creeping up your chest.
“She’s six?” he asked and you nodded. “Is her dad around?”
You exhaled sharply, dropping the broom. “It’s really none of your business, Hoon. I’d rather we don’t talk like we’re old friends. Or act like we knew each other at all.”
Sunghoon sighed, saying your name softly, but you didn’t want to hear it. You walked out of the hall and found something else to do in the kitchen, hoping he’d be gone at some point without you having to interact with him anymore.
You kept yourself busy, moving from one task to the next—stacking empty cups, folding napkins, wiping down surfaces—anything to avoid looking Sunghoon’s way. Every now and then, you caught him quietly working alongside you, silently scraping plates or gathering trash, never saying much.
You thought he would leave if you ignored him long enough, but the hours ticked by, the party noise died down, and still, Sunghoon stayed. You resisted the urge to ask him directly to go, too wary of what might come if you did.
Finally, as the last of the balloons were deflating and the floor was almost spotless, he gathered the last trash bag and gave you a small nod. Without a word, he slipped out the door. Relief washed over you.
Later that night, you sat in the living room with Amy and Lea, nibbling on some ham and cheese from the kitchen. The house was quiet, the staff had left, and Emma was sleeping quietly upstairs. A TV show was playing in the background, but no one was really watching.
“So,” Amy said, passing you the plate, “All three of them are here. Shy Boy, Lover Boy, and Play Boy. What’s going on?”
Lea shook her head, eyes narrowed. “Even with the letter mix-up and fate or whatnot, I still don’t get why now, after all these years.”
You shrugged, chewing slowly. “I don’t know. The universe probably has it out for me.”
Amy leaned back, thoughtful. “You seemed tense around Lover Boy earlier. What’s his deal?”
You glanced at the ceiling, choosing your words carefully. “He’s…” You threw your hands up in the air, frustrated. “He’s Lover Boy.”
“Oh,” said Amy, nodding in realization. “Of course. Yeah, I get it.”
“What is it?” Lea asked cluelessly. “I don’t get it.”
“Sunghoon is Lover Boy,” Amy explained plainly, though it wasn’t enough for Lea. “He’s complicated because, you know, he’s the guy she fell in love with, but then he left her because he was engaged to some other girl.”
Lea gasped. “Oh my god! Yes! I forgot that we called him Lover Boy because she was crazy about him.”
“I was not,” you said coolly, lifting your glass to your lips to hide your lie.
“Were too,” Amy said in a sing-song, smirking. You huffed and slapped her thigh, earning a surprised yelp and a fit of giggles from both of them.
“Whatever. I’m not doing this with you guys,” you said, standing and brushing crumbs from your lap. “I’m going to bed.”
“Who else would you talk to if not us?” Lea called after you, laughter chasing you up the stairs.
You padded down the hallway, quiet now that the party was over and the girls were left to their wine and gossip. Your bedroom door was ajar, but you kept walking past it and down to the end of the hall where Emma’s room was.
You pushed the door open gently and peeked inside. She was fast asleep, curled into a soft lump beneath her blanket, one arm wrapped tightly around the new stuffed animal she’d gotten today. You stepped in and sat lightly on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair from her face. Her breathing was steady. Peaceful. The sight of her always had a way of quieting something wild inside you.
“Goodnight, baby,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
You stood to leave, carefully pulling the blanket back over her shoulder, but just as you turned to go, a small voice cut through the quiet. “Mommy?”
You turned instantly. Emma had stirred, eyes half-lidded, voice thick with sleep. She reached out a hand, and you crossed the room again without hesitation, crawling gently onto the bed beside her. “I’m here, baby,” you whispered, wrapping an arm around her as she snuggled into your side.
She was quiet for a moment, her little fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. Then, softly, “Who were those men?”
You blinked. “What men?”
“At the party. I didn’t know them. The tall men.”
You hesitated, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. “Just tourists, sweetie. They were asking for some rooms.”
“Oh,” she murmured. “Are they mean?”
You frowned. “What? No. Why would you think that?”
“They made you sad,” she said simply, her voice already fading as sleep tried to reclaim her. “I saw you do the forehead thing.”
You felt a lump forming in your throat. That was the thing about Emma. Even when she didn’t fully understand something, she felt it. She had always been so in-tune with you, too sensitive for her own good sometimes.
“No, baby,” you whispered, kissing the crown of her head. “They’re not mean. Just a little complicated.”
Emma hummed, snuggling closer. “I don’t like that word.”
“Yeah, me neither.” She didn’t say anything else after that, and within moments, her breathing evened out again. You stayed where you were, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across her ceiling.You weren’t ready to explain who those men really were. You didn’t even have the full truth yourself yet. And quite frankly, you never really thought about introducing Emma to her dad one day. But then again, life has its own way of kicking you in the ass. With all three of them here, you knew you would eventually have to confront the truth and put a face on the dad you’d kept from Emma all these years. You just hoped she’d be ready when that day came. Or that you would.
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ii: “Croissant. Closure. Co-Parenting?”
The next day, you spotted them before they saw you—Jake with a juice in hand, Jay chatting up the girl at the counter, and Sunghoon lingering by the window like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.
Of all the cafés on the island, of course, they came to your favorite one. Amy followed your gaze and made a low, amused sound. “Would you look at that. Shy Boy, Lover Boy, and Play Boy, all in one place.”
“I told them to leave,” you muttered, flipping over the menu board even though you knew you were gonna order the same thing as usual.
Lea, who owned the cafe, leaned over the counter, eyes narrowing at the trio. “Shy Boy’s in flip-flops. I don’t think they’re leaving. Maybe they’re here for my famous croissant?”
“Sure,” Amy snorted. “Croissant. Closure. Co-parenting. Who’s to say?”
“I don’t care. They have to leave,” you huffed.
“Yeah, well, good luck with that,” Lea chuckled, turning to welcome another customer who’d just walked through the doors.
Jay was the first to spot you, unsurprisingly. He made a show of removing his sunglasses, flashing a smile so wide you wondered how it didn’t split his face open.
“Good morning,” he called, walking over to where you were standing by the counter. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Can’t say the same with you.”
Jay chuckled like the jab didn’t bother him. “Yeah, I missed you, too. Say, how would you like to join me today? I’m sightseeing.”
“Pass. Some of us have real jobs,” you deadpanned, eyes still fixed on the menu.
“You’re gonna bore a hole in that thing,” Jay said after a few seconds of watching you stare at the piece of cardboard.
You exhaled sharply and placed the menu down. Behind him, you caught Jake’s gaze, and he gave a small sheepish wave. Sunghoon didn’t approach—just gave a slight nod from where he sat, eyes cautious.
“What do you want?” you asked Jay, arms crossed.
Jay lifted a brow. “Coffee? A warm smile? To not be treated like a disease?”
“You can have the coffee,” you replied, nodding to the barista. “Smile’s out of stock.”
Jay grinned. “Where’s Emma?”
“School,” you replied briskly. “Not that it’s any of your business where my daughter is.”
“It’s not. I’m just trying to make conversation.” 
You didn’t say anything to that, just gave him a deadpan expression. Jay raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to speak, and seemingly trying to gauge if the look meant anything, but when you didn’t, he took a deep breath and shrugged. 
“Well, this place has a nice vibe. We’ll order something and be on our way. No need to panic.”
“I’m not panicking,” you snapped. Which, unfortunately, sounded exactly like someone who was panicking.
They sat at a table in the corner, quietly eating. Jake tapped on his phone. Jay flirted with the waitress. Sunghoon stared out the window. You pretended not to watch them, but your ears picked up every laugh and cough and scrape of a chair.
Amy leaned over again. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” you said, poking at your food aggressively.
Lea leaned in as she pushed a small cup of espresso your way. “Be honest. Are you more mad that they came back, or that some part of you isn’t entirely mad?” You placed your fork down and didn’t answer.
“Oh my god. I can’t decide if I’m enjoying your despair or if I’m terrified of it,” said Amy, tutting as she shook her head at you,
“They’re just tourists,” you said through gritted teeth. “Let’s treat them as such.”
Just tourists, you told yourself. Just tourists my ass.
The sun was too bright for a Tuesday. You squinted up at it as you stepped out of a grocery store, two bags dangling from your arms, the baguette sticking out comically like something out of a cartoon. You walked down the winding road, exchanging smiles and pleasantries with a few people you knew.
Just as you were turning a corner, you spotted Jake in front of an old book shop, staring up at the sign with sunglasses far too big for his face. The owner, an old man with a permanent slouch, came out to greet him and usher him inside.
He hadn’t seen you yet. You considered ducking back inside and hiding in the alley between a patisserie and the bookshop, but fate was quicker. Jake turned at the perfect moment, smiling as soon as he recognized you.
“Hey,” he called, jogging over before you could pretend to be invisible. “I could help with that,” he offered.
You adjusted the bags in your hands. “No. I’ve got it.”
“Yes, but I insist, please.” He reached for one anyway, and you didn’t stop him, mostly because you were too tired to argue.
You walked side by side in silence for a few seconds. The streets were still sleepy at this hour—too early for tourists, too late for locals.  
Jake cleared his throat, shifting the bag in his hands. “So, uh, this place is lovely. The pastry is amazing. I had something yesterday—some kind of tart with fig and honey? It was amazing. I mean, not that I know anything about pastries. Or figs. I’m more of a donut guy, really. But you know—when in Rome. Or, uh, Corsica.”
You glanced at him sideways. He wasn’t looking at you, just staring ahead. He went on. “Also, everyone keeps smiling here. Like, aggressively friendly. One would think you’re not in France at all. Last time I was in the country, I went to Paris, and if someone smiled at you like that, they either want to sell you something or they’re about to scam you.”
That made you laugh, unexpectedly. Jake heard it and looked over, clearly startled, then smiled sheepishly. You cleared your throat after a few seconds, still a little red in the face. “You haven’t changed at all, Jake.”
Jake shrugged like he disagreed. “I did change a little. But you certainly haven’t.”
Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
He glanced at you, lips twitching into a small smile. “You’re just as beautiful as the first time I met you.”
You smirked. “On second thought, maybe you have changed.” You pointed to his choice of clothing. “You look more put-together. You must be doing better now.”
Jake smiled, that soft, earnest one that you used to find so endearing. “I am, thank goodness. My job is less stressful now. I’m doing much, much better. You, though? How have you been?”
“I’m fine. I’m sure you can tell that much.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” he replied, nodding. “And you’ve got a daughter. Emma, right? She seemed really bright. She reminds me of you.”
You frowned. “You don’t know her.”
“I know enough,” he said gently, then added quickly, “I mean—not in a weird way. Just, you know. I saw her for a few hours, and she seemed... like she knows exactly what she wants. Just like you always did.”
You didn’t respond to that. The road curved ahead, and you were quiet again, but it was less awkward this time, more familiar. Like an old coat, neither of you knew how to take off. You stopped walking as your house came into view. Jake did too. You turned to face him. “What are you doing here, Jake?”
Jake looked confused. “Helping you with your bags?”
“No, I mean here here. On this island,” you clarified, sighing. “Why did you come here?”
Jake blinked. “What do you mean?”
You shot him a look. “I know you came because you thought I asked you to, but we cleared that up, didn’t we? So why are you still here?”
“Vacation,” he offered quickly. “I’m here on vacation. Sometimes I like to do solo trips. You know? Pick a spot on the map and go there. I’m a spontaneous person.”
“No, you’re not.”
Jake chuckled. “No, I’m not.”
You didn’t say anything to that, just shook your head and looked over your shoulder at your house by the cliffs.  “I should get these home,” you said finally, nodding toward the bags.
Jake blinked like he’d forgotten he was still holding one. “Right! Of course. Sorry. I’ll, uh—I’ll leave you to it.”
You turned toward the path that led back to your house, but paused after Jake called out your name. “It’s really good to see you again,” he said. And you knew he meant it.
You nodded. “Thanks.” Then turned and kept walking.
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iii: “Okay, Ice Princess.”
You thought you’d feel calmer the second you stepped back inside your house. But the moment you opened the door, laughter—loud and familiar—echoed through the hall and made the veins in your temples throb. Jay was sprawled across your sofa, drink in hand, laughing at something Amy had said.
“There she is!” Amy called brightly the moment she saw you.
“My sweetheart,” Jay added, getting to his feet with arms outstretched like he expected a warm welcome.
You dodged the hug before he could reach you. “Ames, did you check the mail? Something came for you.”
Amy’s eyes widened. “Already? Wait—what day is it?” She didn’t wait for an answer, scrambling off the couch and disappearing into the study, which you’d turned into your office.
Jay followed you into the kitchen after Amy left, looking around the place. “Nice place you’ve got. Very you. Minimalist but cozy.”
“Glad you approve,” you deadpanned.
He grinned, tipping back the last of his drink before setting the glass on the countertop. “So... how have you been? You know, since our amazing little summer.”
“I’ve been fine.”
“Just fine?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “‘Fine’ fine, or ‘not fine’ fine?”
“‘None of your business’ fine.”
Jay laughed, clearly entertained. “Okay, Ice Princess. What did I do? Why am I getting the cold treatment like we didn’t part in great terms on the best of circumstances all those years ago?”
The circumstances he was talking about were definitely not the best for you, but you didn’t wanna get into that with him. “I’m just trying to maintain a quiet life, Jay. Having you here gives me anything but that.”
Jay shrugged, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “Alright, fine.”
He was quiet for a minute, watching you pile up the groceries in their respective containers and cabinets. “Village’s changed a lot, hasn’t it?” he said after a while, glancing around. “I mean, there’s a wine bar now. A wine bar. When did this place get so bougie?”
“Not too long ago. More and more tourists are finding this place.”
“Is that why you turned this into a BNB?”
You hummed. “The plan was a hotel, but that takes so much more work, so I’m putting that on hold for now.”
Jay nodded slowly, then looked at you again, this time more carefully. “Your daughter Emma is adorable. I didn’t know you got married.”
You paused, hand hovering in the air as you were closing an overhead cabinet. “I didn’t.”
His eyebrows rose. “Oh. Huh. I just assumed. You know... kid, house, the whole ‘maintaining a quiet life’ spiel. Is the father out of the picture?”
You huffed, unwilling to have this conversation with him for the most obvious reason. “It’s really none of your business, but if you must ask, no, he is not in the picture. I have a daughter and I’m not married. That’s it.”
He gave a slow, thoughtful nod, like he was tucking that information away for later. “Yeah, I doubt you would have enjoyed being married. You always did like being independent.”
You said nothing, just continued your chore and pretended he wasn’t there. But it was easier said than done.
“I missed talking to you,” he said with a lilt. “Even when you’re being mean.”
“You are bothering me while I’m working. I’m not being mean.”
“Oh, I know,” he chimed, tilting his head. “This is you being civilized. It’s kinda hot.”
You rolled your eyes. “I thought I told you to leave?”
“I’m the master of my own fate, sweetheart. I don’t let anyone tell me what to do,” he said smugly. “Besides, this place is magnificent. Can’t blame a man for staying and reliving the nostalgia.”
You didn’t bother replying. Just turned away and kept unpacking, hoping he’d take the hint. Jay smirked, clearly enjoying pushing your buttons, but then his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it, sighed, and shook his head. “Well, I should probably let you get back to your kingdom of quiet,” he said, stretching.
You didn’t bother to say goodbye, just kept sorting the groceries. Jay grinned like he knew he’d won some invisible game and turned toward the door. “See you around.”
You heard the front door close behind him, and the sudden silence was almost deafening. The sound of footsteps signaled Amy’s return. “Jay’s gone,” she said, placing a letter on the counter. “I guess I’m gone too. But more gone than he is.”
Your brows furrowed. “Whatever does that mean?”
Amy lifted the paper. “They’re summoning me back. I’m afraid I’m gonna have to say goodbye to my little break and go back to working my ass off for a new Chanel purse.”
You chuckled. “You’re your own boss, Amy.”
“Pep talk? Nice. I can always trust you to lift me up when I’m down.”
“No, I mean literally,” you clarified, laughing. “You literally own your company.”
Amy sighed and sank into a chair. “I know, right? Who knew being a boss could be so demanding, too?”
You smiled, placing the last jar of jam in the cabinet. “You always did say you wanted to build an empire.”
“I was picturing more champagne and yachts. Less spreadsheets and back-to-back Zoom calls.” She pouted. “But alas, I must answer the call of capitalism.”
You leaned against the counter, arms folded. “When are you leaving?”
“Couple more days. Figured I’d squeeze in a few more sunsets before I go back to breathing recycled air in my office.”
“That gives us time for at least one more girls’ night.”
Amy grinned. “You, me, Lea, a bottle of wine, and us talking about Emma’s drop dead gorgeous dads?”
“Possible dads.”
She raised her hands in surrender. “Right, possible dads. But seriously… you okay with me leaving?”
You gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’ll survive.”
Amy narrowed her eyes. “You always say that when you’re suppressing deep emotional turmoil.”
“Then you must be thrilled I’m so consistent.”
Amy smirked, then stood to stretch. “I wish I could move here too.”
You shook your head. “Yeah, like you’ll survive the quiet.”
She grimaced, standing up at once and heading for the stairs. You watched her climb upstairs with her heels click-clacking on the marble floor, smiling as she disappeared from view.
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iv: The Bolter
You were halfway up the ladder, squinting against the late afternoon sun as you twisted the new bulb into the patio fixture. The scent of oranges permeated the warm air, sweet and delightful, and cicadas buzzed in the distance.
“Hey—careful,” came a voice behind you, gentle but urgent.
You turned slightly and found Sunghoon standing near the base of the ladder, brow furrowed. “You shouldn’t be up there,” he said. “What if you fall?”
You huffed a small laugh, focusing back on the bulb. “Then I’ll fall. And hopefully someone will find me before the birds do.”
He stepped closer, placing one hand on the side of the ladder without climbing. “Seriously. Get down. Let me do it.”
“It’s fine, I’m almost—” You gave the bulb a final twist and straightened. “Done.”
He exhaled through his nose like he didn’t quite believe you, but wasn’t going to argue. His hand stayed lightly on the ladder until you made it to the ground. You felt it—the worry in his eyes—before you even looked at him.
“Thanks,” you muttered.
He nodded, glancing up at the light fixture. “You always do these things by yourself?”
You shrugged. “Mostly. The handyman comes by when something major breaks.”
“Don’t you have someone who could help with this kind of thing?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “A partner, or… someone?”
You scoffed. “Why? Because women shouldn’t be doing things like these?”
“That’s not what I said,” he said quickly. “I just meant you should be more careful and leave these tasks to other people.”
“Did you come here to boss me around?” you smirked, walking toward the shed with your toolbox. “Old habits die hard, huh?”
“I’m not bossing you around. I never did that,” he replied, following behind you. “You just don’t like being told what to do.”
“You know me so well,” you scoffed, digging through the shed for shears. “Good for you.”
You turned to him and handed him the shears with a crooked smile. “Here. Since you think I shouldn't be doing everything myself, you can help with the oranges.”
He took the shears without protest, the metal glinting faintly in the late afternoon light. You started toward the nearest tree, brushing your fingers against the low-hanging branches as you walked. The fruit was ripe, some already beginning to speckle with sunspots.
Sunghoon trailed behind, quiet except for the occasional snip of the shears. You didn’t offer instructions—he knew what to do. You remembered that much.
For a while, the only sounds were the rustle of leaves, the snap of stems, and the distant hum of insects. You filled a basket between you in silence, neither of you in a hurry. 
“These trees are doing well,” he said eventually, pausing beside you to drop a few oranges into the bin. “I didn’t think they’d survive the dry season.”
You crouched down to pick one that had fallen between two roots. “They almost didn’t. I had to replant a few.” You dusted off the dirt and added it to the pile. “They’re tougher than they look.”
He glanced at you, and you knew it wasn’t about the oranges. But you didn’t acknowledge it. Sunghoon shifted his weight, rubbing his palm over his neck like he always did when he was thinking too hard. “It’s peaceful here.”
“It was,” you said dryly, then added, “Still is. Mostly.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it faded quickly. He nodded and turned back to the tree, reaching for another cluster of oranges. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. But I figured, when I did… you’d look like this.”
You arched a brow. “Like what?”
He hesitated. “Like… settled. Happy.”
You didn’t respond right away, just adjusted the strap of the basket on your shoulder. “Yeah, life doesn’t just stop for anyone. It keeps going. But you know that already.”
Sunghoon didn’t say anything. Instead, he stepped forward, brushing past you to reach a particularly high branch. His arm stretched over your head, close enough for you to feel the warmth of him, but you didn’t move. He clipped the stem and handed the orange to you quietly.
You took it without meeting his eyes. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” he murmured. You placed the orange in the basket, then stood there for a few moments, letting the quiet stretch between you. You didn’t want to open your mouth and speak the words you were dying to say. But you needed to know.
You exhaled softly. “Are you going to tell me what you’re really doing here?”
He looked at you, lips pressed thinly together like he didn’t want to speak. You met his gaze. “Why are you here, Hoon? Why now?”
“No reason,” he said, though his voice was softer now. “I just wanted to see the island again. You know what it meant to me.”
You sighed. “I know, that’s why I’m asking you why. You came all the way out here, just to reminisce?”
He didn’t answer right away. You could see it—the hesitation behind his silence. Maybe he was debating what to say, or maybe he didn’t even know the answer himself.
“I don’t know,” he said eventually. “Still figuring that out,” he said quietly.
You scoffed, shaking your head. “Then figure it out somewhere else. I want nothing to do with you.”
You placed the basket of oranges down and turned to walk away. But then you paused, sighing to yourself. “Sunghoon,” you said, glancing back. He straightened, eyes hopeful.
“Don’t do that thing where you pretend we’re fine.”
His face fell, just slightly. “Okay,” he said softly. “Then I’ll do the thing where I hope we will be.”
You didn’t say anything else. Just walked away, the sun edging down the horizon, and the memories of your past heartbreak pressing hard against your chest.
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v: “The Child”
In a small, dimly lit pub in the heart of the village, Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon had found a corner table near the back, enjoying the local cuisine and some drinks. It was by Jay’s recommendation, seconded by Sunghoon, who agreed that this place had the best food.
“So you’re all here by coincidence?” the pub owner asked, appearing at their table with a towel slung over her shoulder. She was in her fifties, with sharp eyes and a playful lilt to her voice.
Sunghoon smiled faintly. “Guess so.”
“I remember you,” she said, pointing at him. “You were here six years ago, weren’t you? Stayed a few weeks. Always ordered the sardines and left a good tip.”
Sunghoon smiled. “Yeah, that sounds like me.”
She turned to Jay. “I saw you here before, too, with the fancy yacht.” To Jake, she said, “You all know each other?”
Jake offered a polite smile. “We didn’t know each other until this week. We all thought she—uh, someone—had asked us to come.”
“Misunderstanding,” Sunghoon added flatly.
The woman let out a long, amused hmm. “Three strangers, all drawn back to the same place, for the same woman? That’s either bad luck or fate.”
Jay chuckled. “Feels a bit like both.”
The pub owner grinned. “Well, I’ve known her since she moved here. Lovely girl. Strong as hell. We all helped her when she had little Emma—Lord, that was a night.” She laughed to herself, then added fondly, “She did good, you know. Raising her child like that.”
That was when she tilted her head. “So…” she said slowly, eyes darting between the three of them, “which one of you is the dad?”
Silence fell all of a suddden. Sunghoon blinked. Jake choked on his beer. Jay just stared at her, lips parting but nothing coming out.
She laughed, waving a hand. “Oh, don’t all look so spooked. Just thought it was funny—all of you turning up like that. I figured one of you must’ve come back for your kid.”
Jake leaned forward. “Sorry—our kid? Are you saying one of us could be Emma’s dad?”
She blinked, then grinned. “So you don’t know?” She looked genuinely entertained now. “You did all sleep with her, yeah?”
The three of them exchanged stunned glances, which only made her laugh harder. “That’s the part I’m having trouble wrapping my head around. Young people really are something,” she said, already turning away. “Just don’t cause trouble for our girl while you’re here, alright?”
The three of them stepped out into the cooling evening air, the sea breeze curling through the narrow streets. They walked in silence at first, shoes scuffing against cobblestones, the buzz of the pub still echoing faintly behind them.
“She’s got your laugh, Jay,” Jake said suddenly. Jay and Sunghoon both turned to look at him.
“I mean—” Jake shrugged, a little sheepish now. “Emma. The kid.”
Jay lifted a brow. “You’ve barely spoken to her.”
“I know,” Jake said, hands jammed into his pockets. “But I heard her laugh.”
“You don’t think she’s yours?” Sunghoon asked Jake.
Jake shrugged. “I feel like she’s mine, but I also think she’s not. I mean, me and her mom only met briefly and you two seemed to have a longer history with her.”
Jay didn’t answer. He was looking up now, watching the clouds across a lilac sky. “A daughter. My own daughter. How odd.”
Jake gave him a sidelong glance. “You think she might be yours?”
Jay smirked faintly. “The timeline fits. And we did have a wild time together.”
Sunghoon scoffed. “None of that would have happened if I never left the island.”
Jay stopped walking and watched Sunghoon carefully. “So it was you?”
Sunghoon stopped too, glancing over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”
Jay narrowed his eyes, wagging his index finger. “The guy who left her in that state of despair six years ago.”
Sunghoon didn’t speak, but the way his jaw clenched and looked away made Jay snigger. “Knew it. Guess I owe you for that. If you hadn’t messed up, I wouldn’t have had my chance.”
They exchanged glances, Jay with a smug smirk on his lips and Sunghoon with darkened eyes, neither of them saying anything. Just a step behind, Jake was watching cautiously. 
“Are you gonna punch each other in the face? Please don’t punch each other in the face,” he rambled. “I’m a pacifist, but physically pacifying two grown men fighting is not my best skill.”
Sunghoon glanced at him and smiled. “No. No one’s punching anyone.”
Jay nodded in agreement, and Jake visibly relaxed. Ahead, near the edge of the orange orchard, he spotted a small figure darting between the trees—Emma, the child they had all heard so much about.
“Emma!” he exclaimed, pointing at the orchard.
They all followed his finger, watching as Emma ran barefoot over the grass with two other kids, her hair bouncing, eyes bright with mischief. They all noticed how she tilted her head just like you did when you were thinking hard, and caught themselves smiling at the resemblance.
Sunghoon exhaled slowly. “We need to talk to her mom.”
Jake scratched the back of his neck. “We should, but she clearly doesn’t want us here.”
Jay nodded slowly, his gaze still on the orchard. “Makes sense now, doesn’t it? Why she was so cold. She’s been raising a kid this whole time and we show up out of nowhere?”
A long silence stretched between them, heavy with everything that needed not be spoken. 
“Hi there,” came a voice behind them. They all turned. Amy stood there, smiling mischievously.
“Amy!” Jay exclaimed, chuckling nervously. “Didn’t see you there.”
Amy crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Three grown men, spying on a little girl. I wonder what’s going on here?” she chimed, tilting her head playfully.
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vi: “My Child?!”
It didn’t take much to convince Amy. Just one sincere talk beneath the stars, and Amy’s usual knack for stepping into matters she absolutely shouldn’t. 
Okay, there was also a bribe of some sort from Jay too.
By morning, she and the three men had come to some sort of unspoken agreement, though you’d never hear the details from her. She wouldn’t tell you yet, but Amy agreed to gave the men time to get to know Emma. Little windows of time, a few stolen moments. A chance to see Emma from a distance without disrupting her world. 
The girl remained blissfully unaware, chattering to her friends, running through trees, and sitting cross-legged on classroom floors while three very confused, very quiet men watched her and quietly lost their minds.
Jay had his time with her first. He was sitting outside the café in the square, dark sunglasses over his eyes, arms crossed as if he wasn’t creepily surveilling a six-year-old. Emma sat three tables away with a coloring book open in front of her and a glass of peach juice beside it—served, oddly, in a champagne flute.
“She refuses to drink from plastic,” Amy muttered, sipping her espresso beside him. “Told me once it was ‘unsightly.’ She’s six.”
Jay let out a faint snort. Emma was focused, brows pinched slightly, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she colored inside the lines. Not scribbles—clean, even strokes. Her sundress was bright. Her sandals were spotless. And when a tourist’s kid squealed nearby, Emma looked up with a flick of her lashes that Jay knew all too well.
“She might be mine,” he murmured, eyes focused on the kid. “What a terrifying thought.”
“Terrifying that she’s yours?” Amy asked dryly.
Jay nodded. “Yeah. I mean, can you imagine? Me? With a kid?”
Amy snorted. “You’d put her in designer overalls.”
Jay puffed his chest proudly. “She deserves nothing less.”
Sunghoon saw her later that afternoon, under the fig tree by the orchard. Emma was crouched in the dirt, arranging pebbles into a messy circle around something she’d scratched into the soil with a stick. A butterfly landed nearby. She didn’t move—just watched it in silence, eyes wide with wonder.
A woman came over, offering some pastry to Emma who immediately stood up to look at the food. When she scrunched up her nose at it, Sunghoon smiled to himself, recognizing that stubborn streak.
Amy stood beside him, arms crossed loosely. “She’s very picky. She hates raisins,” she offered. “Picks them out of everything. Cookies. Bread. Throws them at birds, sometimes.”
Sunghoon blinked. “Birds?”
“It’s her favorite animal. Always the highlight of her drawings.”
He didn’t answer. Just kept his eyes on Emma as she adjusted one final stone, then stood back to admire her handiwork. A small, crooked flower drawn in dirt, circled with mismatched pebbles. She clapped once, proud of herself.
Sunghoon smiled faintly. “She’s my daughter,” he said, soft enough that even Amy might not have caught it. “I know it.”
Jake saw her at the school library. Emma was curled on a beanbag in the corner, a book nearly as big as her lap open across her knees. Occasionally, she’d whisper something to herself, then giggle like she’d cracked a private joke. Her glasses kept slipping down her nose, and every few minutes she’d push them up again with an absent-minded jab of her finger.
“She likes logic puzzles,” Amy whispered from the next shelf. “Reads ahead in class.”
Jake watched in fascination as Emma turned a page and promptly bonked herself in the forehead with the stiff cardboard. She made a dramatic little “oof” sound, then looked around—saw no one had noticed—and laughed at herself.
“She’s smart,” Jake murmured, smiling despite himself. “And clumsy.”
Amy looked at him knowingly. “Like someone you know?”
Emma had already gone back to reading, entirely absorbed, glasses slipping again. He watched her, chest tugging strangely.
“I feel like she’s mine,” he said finally. “I mean, she’s smart, clumsy. Her demeanor reminds me of myself.”
None of them spoke it aloud to each other. But in their separate corners of the island, in different lights and at different times, they all began to wonder the same thing.
What if she really was my child?
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vii: Exes and Whys
The first time you saw Emma hanging out with one of his potential fathers, you went batshit. You almost lashed out on Sunghoon—who was with her at the time, but Lea was able to stop you just in time before you could make a scene with your daughter present. Lea and Amy had to take the brunt of your anger.
Amy explained that all three of them had heard from someone that one of them could be Emma’s dad. It took some serious convincing—one which involved sitting your down while Lea and Amy held you on either arms to calm you down—before you eventually agreed that they deserved to at least get to know Emma.
That weekend, you watched Jay and Emma spend time together. They were crouched side-by-side at the back of the bookstore. You sat at the café next door, pretending to read while watching them through the open window. You didn’t like this idea at all, but you wanted to give it a chance.
Emma, legs swinging from the edge of a stepstool, flipped through a picture book while Jay knelt beside her, pointing at words and asking, “What do you think happens next?”
“She gets turned into a snail,” Emma replied seriously, like it was obvious.
Jay chuckled. “Solid twist.”
You lingered to watch them longer than you meant to. When Emma eventually noticed you, she ran up to join you with Jay in tow.  He just smiled at you and said, “We found the weirdest book. It’s kind of amazing.”
You only offered a clipped nod before turning to Emma as she showed you the pictures in the book. Jake’s turn came with the weekly beach clean-up. He somehow ended up carrying Emma in one arm and a leaking bucket of seashells and rocks in the other, grinning despite the mess.
“I’m starting a rock museum,” Emma explained when she spotted you. “Uncle Jake’s the janitor.”
Jake wiped his sandy hands on his jeans. “I asked to be head of security, but apparently I wasn’t intimidating enough.”
You didn’t stay long, just long enough to see him trip over a bucket and nearly fall into the tide. Emma cackled, and you couldn’t help the reluctant smile that pulled at your lips. She was having fun. That’s all that mattered.
And then there was the art fair too. You’d gone mostly for the free churros, but Emma got sucked into the craft tent, and of course Sunghoon was there—already drawing with a group of overly ambitious kids.
When Emma wandered over to him, she handed him a stick of chalk and said, “Can you draw a castle?”
So he did. A sweeping, moss-covered thing, all turrets and arches, delicately shaded like it was made to be hung in museums. Emma crouched beside him, adding a purple dragon with uneven wings. You stood across the square, your heart crawling up into your throat. And when they stepped back to admire their work—her tiny hand brushing his—you had to look away.
Through it all, you kept your distance. Smiled when Emma came home with funny stories. Listened when she said she hoped she’d see “the bookstore guy” or “the rock guy” or “the drawing guy” again. And quietly braced yourself for the moment it would all become real. Because deep down, you knew it couldn’t go on like this forever.
“Uncle Jake’s silly. I like him.”
Your heart twisted a little. “You do?”
“Uh-huh. And I like Uncle Jay too. He said he’s got a big boat.”
You chuckled, running your hands gently through her hair. “Yeah, he does.”
“Your friends are not mean, Mom. They’re okay,” she added, beaming. “And did you know Uncle Hoonie is an architect?”
“I did.”
“He said architects draw houses and buildings. It’s cool.”
You smiled. “Do you wanna be an architect?”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I want to be a marine biologist.”
“Oh?” you asked, propping yourself on your elbow. “What does a marine biologist do?”
She launched into a surprisingly detailed explanation about dolphins, seaweed, and how sharks weren’t actually evil. You listened, nodding along, trying not to think about how easy this all seemed for her. And how hard it still was for you.
The next morning, you told your friends about your conversation with Emma. It was late afternoon when the three of you gathered on the patio, just far enough from the orchard that your voices wouldn’t carry. You had lemonade in your glass, sunglasses on your head, and your jaw clenched just slightly as you watched Emma zip between the trees, her laugh echoing on the breeze.
Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon trailed after her like oversized puppies. Jake was trying to toss fallen oranges into a basket while Emma called out scores like a basketball referee. Sunghoon was crouched beside her, gently brushing dirt off her knees with a folded napkin. And Jay, of course, was doing the most Jay thing imaginable—standing a few feet away, watching it all quietly, sipping from a water bottle like he was above the chaos but secretly just shy around Emma.
“It’s Lover Boy,” Amy said, plucking a grape off the plate in front of her.
Lea blinked. “You said your vote is on Playboy.”
“That was when I hadn’t met Emma in the flesh yet,” Amy popped the grape in her mouth. “Now that she’s grown, and I’ve met Lover Boy, I’m pretty sure it’s him. She’s got her hatred for raisins to back it up, too.”
Lea snorted. “Nah. It’s Shy Boy. Emma’s being a massive klutz can only be explained by genetics.”
“Oh, so that’s hereditary now?” Amy asked, chuckling.
“It could be, who knows?” said Lea, shrugging. “I will say, though. She’s got Playboy’s eyes.”
You didn’t say anything. Just sipped your lemonade, eyes tracking Emma as she darted behind a tree, making all three men spin around to look for her.
“She’s got pieces of all of them,” Lea said after a moment. “Honestly, I can’t tell. She’s... Emma. You know?”
Amy nodded. “She takes after her mother a lot. Anyone would have a hard time guessing which one is her dad.”
There was a pause while you all watched Jake lift Emma onto his shoulders so she could try to reach a branch. She shrieked with laughter when he spun in a slow circle and nearly tripped over his own feet. Sunghoon instinctively reached out to steady them both, and Jay looked up from where he was sitting, brows furrowed in concern. The three men exchanged glances—then they all laughed.
“At least the three of them get along,” Lea commented. “Men are more civil than I thought.”
You hummed but said nothing, eyes lingering on Emma as she stuck out her tongue and made a silly face. She was glowing. She had no idea that her entire life might be shifting beneath her feet.
Amy nudged your elbow. “You okay?”
Before you could respond, you noticed Jay approaching, and quiet fell over your small circle. He slowed when he reached the edge of the patio, giving a polite nod to the others before looking at you.
“Hi,” he said, hands in his pockets.
“Oh wow, would you look at the time,” Lea said suddenly, standing up. “I need to check on the muffins!”
“Right. Muffins in the oven. Burning. Very urgent,” Amy said, scrambling up after her.
Jay smirked as he watched your friends scramble away on purpose. “I love your friends. They’re very tactful.”
You scoffed. “And very nosy too.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Jay agreed, sitting on the chair Lea had just vacated. “So, Shy Boy, Lover Boy, and Playboy.” Your brows furrowed, but you didn’t say anything.
“Nice nicknames. Who came up with it?” he grinned, leaning back on the chair and crossing his legs. “Let me guess, Lea?”
You couldn’t help laughing. “Yeah. But where did you even hear that? Have you been eavesdropping this whole time?”
“No, but I’ve heard it a few times in passing. I mean, obviously I’m Playboy,” he said, pointing to himself. “Jake’s definitely Shy Boy. And that makes Sunghoon your Lover Boy.”
He turned to you, grinning mischievously. “He was the guy who broke your heart, right? I ought to thank him. That summer changed my life.”
You rolled your eyes. “Are you here to gossip, Playboy?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head and leaning in. “I’m here to ask why you never told me she might be mine.”
Your mind stopped functioning for a second, completely caught off guard by the question and the way he dropped it so casually. You opened your mouth to speak, but didn’t. You just took a deep breath and looked away.
Of course. This conversation was doomed to come.
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viii: Thank You, Next
You’d never seen her this happy. Emma had always been bright, quick to laugh, quick to love, but this was different. This was lit-from-within, cheeks-pink-from-running, never-stopping-to-breathe kind of joy. You’d opted to let the three of them check into the BNB so they could spend more time with her.
Emma tore through the orchard like it had been made for her. Hair in a frizzy ponytail, arms flapping like wings, cheeks flushed from the heat. And trailing behind her like loyal satellites were the three men she’d only just met.
Jake was her obvious favorite at first. He’d found an old chalkboard and some planks and convinced her they could build a lemonade stand, even though he had no real plan and kept hammering nails crookedly.
“You’re doing it all wrong,” she scolded, tapping the plank he’d just attached.
“I’m not!” Jake said, offended. “I saw someone do it this way and it worked out fine.”
Sunghoon, naturally, had to take over. Inside the house, you pulled the laundry off the line and folded it stiffly. You paused when you heard her laugh again—clear as glass—and glanced out the kitchen window.
Jay was under the fig tree with her now, holding a clipboard and pencil. He was showing her how to draw a map of the orchard. She leaned close to study his handwriting, her forehead creasing a little in concentration. He watched her like he didn’t want to blink.
When you stepped out onto the porch with a basket of folded sheets, Sunghoon was crouched near the steps, gently wiping dirt from Emma’s scraped knee with a napkin. She sniffled but didn’t cry. He smiled at her, whispering something you couldn’t hear, and she nodded solemnly before getting up and dashing off to find the others.
Sunghoon stood slowly and noticed you. “You’ve got a few loose planks back there,” he said quietly, pointing to a spot behind the house. “I could fix them. It wouldn’t take long.”
You didn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve lived with them this long.”
“I know. But I’m here now.” That made you look at him. His face hadn’t changed—still calm, still thoughtful—but there was meaning behind those words. Like an apology, or a promise, or both.
“I’m not gonna play house with you, Sunghoon.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” he said calmly. “I just… want to help.”
“Well, don’t,” you replied, lips pressing into a thin line. He nodded once and stepped back.
That evening, the lemonade stand had collapsed, the map was unfinished, and Emma had declared herself “Queen of Orange Land.” She demanded a crown. Sunghoon made one out of wildflowers. Jake gave her a sticker badge. Jay carried her on his shoulders as she waved at no one.
From the patio, you watched it all. Arms crossed, with an unreadable expression. You’d spent six years guarding your peace. Six years building a world that revolved around you and your daughter, just you two, always. And now these men had arrived, pulling at old threads. Disturbing your peace.
Jake approached you later, holding out a glass of lemonade like a peace offering. “Hi.”
You took the glass without looking at him. “Thanks.”
“She’s a lot like you,” Jake said. “Bold, smart, very pretty. She has big dreams, too. Like you.”
You didn’t say anything, just quietly sipped on your lemonade. Jake continued. “Remember in Paris? You said you wanted to run your own hotel and—”
“I don’t remember,” you cut in.
His smile dropped for just a second. “Right. Well… Back then, I said I’m gonna stay in your hotel as a guest. And—”
“Stop it, Jake,” you replied without missing a beat. “There is a chance that you might be Emma’s dad, and if you were, you could be a dad to her if you want. But that’s between you and her. That relationship doesn’t extend to me.”
You rose to your feet and left before he could say anything. You heard him call out to you, but you didn’t look back.
Later that night, long after Emma had passed out in bed, you ran into Jay in the hallway. He was barefoot, hair damp from a shower, heading toward the kitchen.
He noticed you first. “Still mad at me?”
You walked past him without stopping. “No.”
Jay turned, surprised. “Really?”
“That would require emotion.”
He didn’t smile. “Got it.”
As you walked away, you remembered how he asked you a few days ago why you didn’t tell him about Emma. You remembered being unable to say anything in response. Jay said it was fine and that he would wait until you were ready to tell him.
“But as you know, I’m a busy man and I’m not very patient,” he’d said at the time, basically giving you a deadline, and you didn’t appreciate that at all.
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ix: “I Don't Spend Time Wondering About the Past”
The sun had set. Emma had fallen asleep after a tantrum over popsicle colors—red was the only acceptable flavor, apparently—and for the first time all day, the house was quiet. You were in the kitchen twisting at a jam jar with far too much effort, when Jake walked in.
“Need help?” he asked, smiling.
You jumped a little. “I got it,” you said, grunting once before giving up. “Okay, no, I don’t. I think the lid’s glued shut.”
He took the jar, twisted once, and popped it open. You stared at him like he’d just performed a magic trick. “I loosened it,” you said defensively.
He handed it back with a smile. “Yes, you did. Great job.” 
The compliment caught you off guard, and you looked down at the jar in your hands, like you had suddenly forgotten why you wanted jam in the first place. Jake noticed your expression.
“Sorry. It just came out,” he said after a second. “My fiancee says she doesn’t know if I mean them sometimes, or if I’m just complimenting her out of habit.”
You glanced at him. “Fianc��e? You’re engaged?”
Jake nodded, almost bashfully. “Since December. She’s great. Very not-me, which is probably why it works.”
“Congratulations,” you said, feeling a genuine warmth in your heart.
He looked at you, serious now. “I didn’t come to bother you or anything. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.” You flattened your lips together and shrugged.
“I was just really surprised to get that letter,” he added, chuckling softly. “And I came because it sounded urgent, and I wanted to help with whatever it was. You didn’t give me details, just that you wanted me to come as soon as I can.”
“I know,” you replied, shaking your head at yourself. “That was kind of the point. And I did need your help at the time, but things got better.”
“What did happen?” he asked, leaning on the counter. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
You sighed and looked at him, really looked at him. Jake had been a sweetheart when you first met. He was a clumsy, nervous wreck, but he was endearing. You had your best memories of Paris with him, but he probably had the worst memory of you leaving him with nothing but a note.  He didn’t deserve the hostility he got from you the first time you saw him again after six long years.
“Emma was sick, really sick,” you confessed. “I didn’t know what to do. I panicked. And for the first time, I thought… maybe she needs her dad.”
You looked away. “But like I said, things got better. So I didn’t have to send those letters after all.”
Jake hummed, nodding as he took in the information. “I followed you here, you know. Six years ago.” He said after a few seconds. “But Corsica is a big island and I didn’t know where to look, so, I gave up and went back home.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. I wasn’t upset about it,” he chuckled, then paused to think. “Well, I was, a little bit. And it took a while to recover from the bruised ego I got that day.”
He glanced over. “Can I ask you something?” You nodded.
“Did you hate it? That night?” Jake let out a shaky laugh. “I just—I’ve thought about it a lot. About how I must’ve said the wrong thing or done something wrong. And I’ve always wondered if you left because of that.”
“No,” you said quickly. “No, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t hate it. I just…”
You took a breath, then admitted quietly, “You scared me. When you said you were in love with me.”
“Huh…” He nodded, seemingly coming to a realization. “I get it. Looking back now, it was kind of a stupid thing to say.”
You snorted. “Yeah. It was.”
“But that’s all in the past,” he declared, exhaling. “And I didn’t come here for a second shot at this, or anything. I just really thought you needed help, and our time might be short, but to me, you’re an old friend. I like helping old friends.”
You smiled at that, genuinely moved. Then he added, “And of course, after finding out about Emma, I had to stay. I needed to stay. The idea that I could be a father is just… I don’t know. Exciting and scary at the same time.”
You didn’t reply right away. Just watched him, this man who used to be a charming, blabbering mess, now standing in your kitchen talking about being a father. “I think you’ll be a good one,” you said at last.
Jake smiled, softer than before. “I hope so.”
“Not just with Emma,” you added, and you meant it. “You’ll be a wonderful dad to your kids, Jake.”
“Thank you,” he said, bashfully scratching the back of his neck. His ears had turned a little pink. “I’d love me a daughter. I’d spoil her rotten.”
You sighed. “If Emma turns out to be yours, please don’t spoil her too much. She’s already spoiled enough as it is. I can’t even.”
Jake snorted. “She’s not that bad.”
You gave him a look. “She threw a fit over popsicle colors. Colors, Jake.”
He laughed, loud and boyish. “Right. She did.”
You smiled despite yourself. Just for a second, it felt like old times again—comfortable, uncomplicated, and a little silly. But only for a second.
The night was still and quiet. Cool air clung to your skin as you stepped onto the porch, barefoot, holding a half-empty mug of tea. You’d part ways with Jake after a hearty chat, and Jay was nowhere to be found ever since Emma fell asleep. So, you weren’t expecting to see anyone else.
But there he was, crouched at the edge of the yard, a flashlight balanced between his knees and a screwdriver in his hand, fussing over the fence. You blinked. “I told you to leave it.”
Sunghoon looked up, startled. “Sorry. Couldn’t sleep.”
You took a slow sip. “Didn’t realize you packed a toolbox.”
He glanced down at the pitiful setup: a multitool, a roll of twine, and what looked suspiciously like a spoon. “Improvising.”
You scoffed under your breath and stepped down from the porch, walking over to the shed nearby. “The toolbox is here.”
He followed you quietly to the shed. You flicked on the light, crouched, and pulled out the battered red toolbox from under a shelf. “Here,” you said, setting it down at his feet.
“Thanks,” he murmured, kneeling beside it. 
He opened the lid, hesitant, like it felt wrong to accept even this small gesture from you. You turned on your heel to leave, but he spoke before you could take a step.
“You don’t have to stay,” he said. “But I wouldn’t mind the company.”
You considered him for a second, then walked out without a word. He took that as a no. Ten minutes later, you were back with your mug refilled, your sleeves pushed up, and a blanket tossed over one shoulder.
“Is it that hard? Or are you just slow?” you asked flatly.
He didn’t smile, but you saw his lips twitch. “Just trying not to wake everyone.”
You set your mug down on the steps and sat, knees pulled up. You didn’t know why you came back. Maybe it was the quiet, or the way his voice had sounded—not desperate, just inviting.  And familiar.
You watched him work. He was careful with his hands, looping the twine where a nail was missing, reinforcing the base with wood from a broken crate you’d nearly thrown out. He moved quietly, methodically, and with expertise like the handyman that you remembered him to be.
“You still like fixing things that don’t concern you?” you asked before you could stop it.
He glanced at you, surprised. “Only the ones I have a shot at fixing.”
You didn’t reply. But the words stayed with you, nestled somewhere in your chest like a jab you were sure he didn’t mean to throw. “You always did think everything is a fixer-upper,” you mumbled bitterly, looking away and taking a sip.
The night stretched on. A few crickets chirped in the distance. Sunghoon finished tying off the last bit of twine, wiped his hands on his jeans, then came to sit beside you on the steps. Not too close.
“How have you been?” he asked, voice low. “All these years.”
You took a sip of your tea. “Fine.”
He didn’t press. That was how he always was—patient, never pushing. And maybe that was part of the problem. Back then, he’d waited too long to be honest. By the time he said something you needed to hear, it had already been too late.
Now here he was again, waiting. Sitting beside you like no time had passed. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “Emma likes having you around.”
A small smile crossed his lips. “She’s incredible. Bright. Funny. Stubborn as hell. Bet she gets that from you.”
You scoffed, though you were unable to hide your smile.
“She also has a big heart,” he added, looking at you. “And big dreams, like you.”
You looked away. The stars were dull tonight, almost invisible.
“I didn’t think I’d be back here,” he said after a while. “But I’m glad I am.”
You said nothing. He continued. “I’ve missed this... Being around you.”
You looked at him then. At the soft way his features caught the porch light, at the steadiness in his gaze, even when he wasn’t meeting yours. At the man he’d become, or maybe always was, and you just hadn’t seen it through the pain of what didn’t work out.
“I don’t know what you want from me, Sunghoon,” you said quietly.
“I don’t want anything,” he replied. “I just want to be here… if you’ll let me.”
You didn’t respond. Not yes, not no. Just reached for your mug again, letting the warmth seep into your hands, into your chest. It was easier not to go there—not with him, not with anyone. Those memories were too bright and too warm. Too dangerous.
After a while, Sunghoon said, “Sometimes I wonder if I could’ve done anything different. Stayed a little longer. Said something sooner.”
You didn’t move. Didn’t look at him. “I don’t spend time wondering about the past,” you said before rising to your feet and walking away.
But you did spend time wondering about the past. More often than you cared to admit.
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x: “Boyfriend Olympics”
After a restless night and too much thinking, the beach felt like the only place wide enough to hold all the noise in your head. So you walked there early the next morning. The tide was low, and the sand was damp beneath your feet. The breeze smelled like salt and oranges. It was early enough that the sun was still halfway behind the hills, casting a soft glow across the water. You stopped near the shore and closed your eyes for a moment, just breathing it in.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite girl on this island.”
You turned, unsurprised to find Jay strolling your way—barefooted, linen shirt unbuttoned all the way down, hair a tousled mess like he’d just rolled out of bed and decided to head to the beach first.
“Okay. Second favorite,” he corrected himself. “Emma’s first. Obviously.”
You gave him a look. “Don’t you have something better to do?”
“What could be better than running into you on this fine morning?” he asked back, joining you by the water.
You sighed through your nose and kept walking, letting the waves graze your ankles. Jay fell into step beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I saw you sneak out this morning,” he said. “Fishy.”
“I wasn’t sneaking out. It’s my house, my home. I do whatever I want.”
“Okay, someone woke up grumpy,” he teased. “What happened? Lover’s quarrel with Shy Boy or Lover Boy?”
You turned to give him a deadpan expression. Jay grinned. “What? It couldn’t be me. I’m perfect. I’d never quarrel with you.”
You snorted. “You’re many things, Jay. Perfect is not one of them.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He stretched lazily, arms overhead. “So what are we doing today?”
“We?” you echoed, arching a brow.
“Yes, we. Don’t be selfish. Count me in.”
You shook your head, walking faster, if only to end the conversation. “I came here to be alone.”
“And look how well that turned out,” he said easily, falling into step beside you. “Come on. You haven’t eaten, have you?”
Truthfully, you hadn’t. But your stomach wasn’t the one making noise—it was your mind. Still echoing with words left unsaid on the porch. Jay was watching you like he already knew that.
“Why?” you asked finally.
“Because I’m starving,” he said, like it was obvious. “And I know this place just around the island. Best pastries I’ve ever had.”
You gave him a look. He gave one right back. “And you could use a distraction. Didn’t they say carbs cure everything? Especially for grumpy women?”
You scoffed under your breath. “No, thanks.”
You turned to continue walking, but a loud, unmistakable grumble made you stop. It was coming from your belly, making you place your hand instinctively over it. Behind you, Jay chuckled in satisfaction.
“See? You need to eat. Come on.” He grabbed your hand with a smile, and you let him drag you back to his boat just by the docks. You followed reluctantly, but not unhappily.
Guess this was better than returning to the house. To the quiet rooms and the questions you weren’t ready to ask yourself yet.
The boat was different from what you remembered from summers past, but the vibe was nearly identical—sleek, spotless, with that casual arrogance that seemed woven into the very leather of the seats. A floating extension of Jay himself.
“What happened to the other one?” you asked as he helped you aboard.
“Sold it,” he replied casually. “It was getting boring, so I had to get a new one.”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes at his unchanging attitude. “Of course you did.”
He laughed, unfazed, and nodded at the captain onboard. They exchanged a few quick words while you looked around, then the engine rumbled to life, and the boat pulled smoothly from the dock. You leaned against the railing, letting the breeze blow through your hair.
It was strange, how easy it was to fall into old rhythms with Jay. Like no time had passed at all. But time had passed. Years of it. And not all of them kind.
The ride was short, maybe twenty minutes around the island, but smooth and indulgent—like most things in Jay’s life. He talked the whole time, mostly nonsense, from complaining about the awful airline food he endured on the way here to ranking the best gelato spots in Corsica. He claimed to be an expert, though you were sure he was mixing up two different towns. You didn’t mind. It was welcome noise, and it kept your mind from drifting too far back into the night before.
They docked at a small port just off the main road, where a sleepy little restaurant with blue-striped umbrellas waited, already smelling of butter and espresso. You chose the table closest to the water. Jay insisted on pulling your chair out with exaggerated courtesy. You rolled your eyes but sat anyway, draping your blanket loosely over your lap. A waitress brought out a basket of warm bread and two menus.
“I’ll have whatever she’s having,” Jay said as the waitress approached, his tone casual but his eyes still on you.
You didn’t meet his gaze. “You don’t even know what I want.”
“I know you have good taste. I trust you.”
You glanced up at him then, just briefly. Jay always said things like that. Like none of it ever cost him anything. “You picked this place,” you said, eyes back on the menu. “Shouldn’t you be the one with recommendations?”
He only shrugged, smiling. “Doesn’t matter. I trust you.”
You rolled your eyes again, but the corners of your mouth twitched. After placing your orders, you took a moment to look around. The restaurant had brick walls and wooden beams overhead, mismatched chairs and wobbly tables, potted plants hanging on the eaves. It had that classic Corsican charm—weathered, warm, and beautiful.
You bit back a smile and looked out at the sea. “This place is nice.”
“It’s better with company,” Jay said, leaning back with his arms stretched along the seat, completely at ease.
You shot him a look. “Well, obviously you’re always surrounded by company.”
“Not your company,” he said smoothly.
You gave a noncommittal hum, breaking off a piece of bread. “Flirting before breakfast. Bold of you.”
“Flirting? Who’s flirting?” he asked, mock offended. “I’m just appreciating the view.”
You gave him a flat stare. Jay grinned. “Hey, it’s not my fault you’re easy on the eyes. You should apologize for that.”
You snorted. “You haven’t changed at all.”
He reached for a slice of bread, tearing into it like it was a croissant at a Paris café. “Sure, I have. I’ve matured. I drink my espresso black now. I read the news.”
You raised an eyebrow. He grinned wider. “Okay, I skim headlines. But still. Personal growth.”
You shook your head, laughing despite yourself, and that only made his grin widen. “There it is,” he said. “I’ve been trying to get a laugh out of you for days.”
You looked at him then, caught off guard by the simple truth of that statement. “How have you been?” he asked when you didn’t say anything.
You hesitated, but only for a second. “I’ve been okay. Busy. Tired. But okay.”
Jay nodded. “Motherhood looks good on you.”
You rolled your eyes but felt your shoulders loosen just a little. Maybe it was the sun. Or the coffee. Or Jay’s ridiculousness. “What about you?” you asked, cutting into your food. “Still cruising through life with no plans?”
Jay hummed thoughtfully. “More or less. No wife. No kids. No fixed address. You know me. I like the freedom. Wake up wherever I want. Say yes to whatever I want. No five-year plan. No mortgage.”
You raised a brow. “Living the dream, huh?”
“Something like that.” He gave you a slow smile. “Though… I might be willing to settle down. For the right person. You know, someone who cooks. Someone like you.”
You gave him a look, unimpressed but amused. “I don’t cook.”
“Ah,” he said, feigning disappointment. “There goes my dream.”
You chuckled, shaking your head as you took a bite.
“I’m serious, though,” he said, grinning. “Don’t you feel lucky? You could be the one to tame me.”
“I think I’d rather wrestle a crocodile.”
Jay laughed, tossing a sugar packet at you. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
You shook your head, biting into a still-warm pastry and letting the silence settle for a moment. His words echoed faintly in your mind—the right person—but you didn’t give them space to take root. Not now.
The sun had climbed higher now, and the light on the water shimmered like glass. You exhaled quietly, letting yourself enjoy the moment. Just for now.
The breakfast with Jay had ended the way most things with him did—on a laugh, with one too many compliments. He walked you back to the docks like a gentleman, offered you his jacket when the wind picked up, and only let go of your hand once he helped you down from the boat.
“You sure you don’t want to grab lunch too?” he asked, hopeful.
“It’s nine in the morning.”
“Exactly. Gives us plenty of time to work up an appetite.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “If you know what I mean.”
You scoffed. “Keep your dick in your pants. Don’t just go around brandishing it to every girl you meet.”
Jay grinned like he was being tickled. “So territorial. Exactly how I like my women.”
You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “Bye, Jay.”
Back at the house, you barely had time to slip your shoes off before you heard someone knocking out back. You peeked through the window. Sunghoon, holding a sack of soil in one hand and a small potted herb in the other.
You stepped out, and he gave you a small, wordless smile before heading toward the garden bed like it was the most normal thing in the world. When you asked what he was doing, he only said, “The basil was dying. Figured you’d want fresh ones.” You didn’t say thank you. But you brought him a glass of water anyway.
That became the pattern. Jay would show up late mornings or just after lunch, always with something in hand—coffee, pastries, once even a new pair of designer sunglasses he claimed were on sale from the mainland. He flirted shamelessly, but never crossed the line.
“You’re the only woman I’ve ever met who looks good rolling her eyes at me,” he said once, after catching you doing exactly that. “Dangerous, really.”
You swatted him with a dish towel. He looked like he might thank you for it.
Sunghoon, in contrast, never announced his visits. He just showed up. Fixing the busted shutter. Watering the trees before you could. Replacing the broken porch light without saying a word. He never tried to be noticed, which just made it harder not to notice him.
When Emma asked Jay to help with a school art project, he brought glitter. So much glitter. The three of you spent half the afternoon scraping it off the floor.
When Emma asked Sunghoon, he brought her to the orchard, showed her how to press flowers between books. Taught her the names of each one like they were old friends.
You found them that evening at the table, heads bent over an album they’d made from scratch. She called it ‘Island Things That Make Me Happy.’ The last page had a pressed bloom labeled Mom’s smile. You didn’t ask who picked that one.
Jay took you and Emma on short boat rides when the weather was good. Taught her how to steer while you sat beside them, bare feet up on the seat, pretending not to enjoy it too much.
Sunghoon walked with you both through the orchard when it was too hot to do anything else. Sometimes he said nothing for minutes at a time. And it wasn’t awkward. It was just peaceful and satisfying.
They were opposites in every way. Jay loud and golden, like the blinding sun at noon. Sunghoon was quiet and constant, like the breeze you didn’t feel until it was gone.
And you? You kept your heart carefully tucked away, and you were starting to feel it stir---in laughter that slipped out before you could stop it. In the way your eyes found them without meaning to. In the little moments between breath and memory, it felt almost comforting to imagine what might’ve been if things had gone differently.
“So... who’s winning the boyfriend Olympics?”
You nearly choked on your drink. Amy snorted. “Yeah, we’ve been keeping score.”
You gave them both a flat look from across the kitchen island. “That’s ridiculous.”
But even you had to admit, the past few days had taken a turn. Jay had declared open season on flirtation, popping up everywhere you went—elbowing his way into your errands, offering dramatic compliments every time you so much as tied your hair up. Sunghoon, though he didn’t say much, would always show up when you needed someone, fixing things around the house and helping in any way he could without being asked.
Different approaches. Same intentions.
“She blushes more around Jay,” Lea whispered behind her wineglass.
“No, no,” Amy countered, eyes narrowing through the open shutters. “Watch her when Sunghoon’s around. She goes all weird and soft.”
Jake, who had been half-listening while Emma played with his shoelaces under the table, finally spoke up. “Honestly? I’m just glad no one’s betting on me. That would be a very sad chart.”
Lea laughed. “Please, you’re clearly the fan favorite in the under-six category.”
Jake raised both hands in surrender. “What can I say? Emma has excellent taste.”
“Knock it off,” you told your friends as you sat on the chair next to Jake’s. “No one’s winning whatever competition you think is happening here.”
Amy nudged Jake’s arm with a mischievous grin. “Come on, Jake. If you had to choose—Team Playboy or Team Lover Boy?”
Jake blinked. “Why are you asking me? And wait, Playboy and Lover Boy? What’s my nickname?”
“Shy Boy, of course,” Lea replied, and that made Jake grimace.
“Come on, Shy Boy. Pick a side,” Amy said cheerfully. “You have to because you’re already here… And because you gave up too easily.”
Jake frowned. “I didn’t give up. I was never in the running. Didn’t even have the intention of joining.”
“Oh please,” Lea chimed in, eyes sparkling. “You had a head start. You were the first candidate. First night. First everything. And now look at you—sidelined, like a retired soccer player coaching kiddie league.”
Jake narrowed his eyes at her. “Wow. Okay. That was a little offensive.”
Amy cackled, clearly delighted. “Look at him. He’s sulking.”
“I’m not sulking,” Jake muttered. Then he paused, glanced down at Emma, tangled around his foot, and sighed. “I’m just a maybe-dad, happily engaged, trying to eat a muffin in peace.”
Lea made a show of whispering in Amy’s ear. “He’s sulking,” she said loudly.
You laughed when Jake’s brows furrowed deeper. Then, trying to de-escalate the teasing, you told them to stop. “That’s enough, girls. It’s never gonna happen.”
All three of them looked at you. “They could have pieces of Emma. But none of them are getting another piece of me,” you declared, which was more of a reminder to yourself than to anyone else. You caught Jake’s gaze beside you. 
You playfully narrowed your eyes at him and pointed with your index finger.  “Not even you, Shy Boy.”
He groaned dramatically. “Oh, come on! I said I’m not—” he huffed, giving all three of you a flat look. “Whatever,” he muttered finally, biting into his pastry with another huff.
The girls burst into laughter again, and Jake muttered something through a mouthful of muffin. Outside, the sun climbed higher over the garden, where Jay’s lounging by the fountain and Sunghoon kept quietly working in the dirt, unaware—or maybe perfectly aware—of the scoreboard inside.
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xi: Shoreline Shenanigans
The night was warm and glittering, the sky clear and wide above the orange orchard as lanterns swayed in the breeze. Lea had gone all out with the decorations, stringing up lights between trees, setting up a long table draped with linen and wildflowers. Music was playing from a speaker, and the air was rich with grilled food, wine, and overlapping conversations. It was Amy’s last night on the island, and she was determined to make it count.
“Come on, one more round!” she shouted, raising her glass from where she stood atop a chair. “Here’s to endless summers and hoping wrinkles and fine lines don’t show on our faces until we’re eighty!”
Everyone laughed and drank to that—including you, seated between Jake and Lea with Emma fast asleep in Jake’s lap, a flower crown lopsided on her tiny head. Jay was across the table, looking like he belonged in a magazine spread—tan, teeth flashing, wineglass in hand. Sunghoon stood near the grill, quietly flipping skewers, but he paused to honor Amy’s toast.
You and Jake brought Emma upstairs, making sure she was sound asleep before rejoining the party. The night blurred sweetly—giggles and half-shouted conversations, music thumping louder, Amy pulling you into a spin, Jay joining with a twirl that nearly knocked over a candelabra.
Past midnight, your girls were lying on blankets under the stars, too drunk to form coherent sentences. Amy had pulled Jake onto the grass with them, drunkenly urging him to take a group photo. You wandered away from the crowd, down the winding stone steps to the beach, where the music faded into background noise. The sea stretched before you, dark and quiet, and the breeze carried the faint smell of salt and sand.
“You’re sneaking off again,” came Jay’s voice behind you.
You turned to see him leaning against the railing of the stone steps, wineglass still in hand but half-empty now. He looked softer in the moonlight. Less like a flirt and more real.
“And you’re stalking me,” you said, scoffing.
Jay smirked, stepping closer. “Guilty. But only because every time I blink, you vanish. Starting to think you’re avoiding me on purpose.”
“I am.”
That made him laugh. “You’re very honest. Would it hurt to sugarcoat things a little?”
You chuckled, then turned your gaze back to the sea, arms folded loosely over your chest. The waves lapped at the sand gently. “Shouldn’t you be back up there? Being charming?”
“I should be, but there’s no point since you’re not there anymore,” he replied without missing a beat.
You let out a dry laugh. “You are such a flirt.”
He shrugged. “Don’t you already know that?”
“Yes, and it still surprises me every time,” you sighed, tutting. “I gotta get better at that.”
You glanced at him then, and he was already looking at you. The smile he gave you was gentler this time. “Think me sticking around would help you get lots of practice with that?”
“Probably,” you said half-heartedly, shrugging.
“No, but seriously,” he beamed, tilting his head as he looked at you. “Would you?”
You snorted. “You’re not seriously talking about staying, are you?”
Jay shrugged, pushing one hand in his pocket as he finished the contents of his glass. You blinked, genuinely perplexed.
“Whatever, Jay,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.
Jay fixed his gaze to the sea, considering. “Maybe I’m serious. Or maybe I’m just floating ideas. Who knows, I might finally be ready to be someone’s stable domestic guy. You know? Have kids. Grow tomatoes. Settle down.”
You laughed. “Settle down?”
He grinned. “I could even do the whole marriage proposal surprise thing. Maybe a grand church wedding on top of a hill, too.”
You looked at him, trying to read the expression behind the smile. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.” He laughed lightly. “Okay, maybe I am. But it’s not a bad idea. I’d definitely give it a try for you.”
You stared at him, mouth parted slightly, not sure if you were supposed to laugh or run. He was joking. He had to be. It was Jay, after all. Jay, who flirts like it’s his life’s calling—who didn’t do ‘serious’, who didn’t believe in marriage or love, let alone surprise proposals and weddings on hills. And even if he meant any of it, even a little, you didn’t want to believe it.
He took a step closer, but didn’t touch you. Just looked at you like he was waiting for something. You blinked, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
You didn’t answer. And then he moved slowly, deliberately, reaching to place his hands on your shoulders. You knew what was coming. Could’ve stepped back. Should’ve.
But you didn’t. You stayed frozen in place, caught somewhere between disbelief and curiosity, until his mouth brushed softly against yours. It was fleeting, too quick, almost like it didn’t happen at all. When you didn’t move or react, he came back for more.
The next kiss was nothing like the first. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer until your body was pressed against his. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been waiting to taste you all night.
You gasped into him, one hand flying up to grip his shoulder, the other threading into his hair. He groaned when your hips grazed him, walking you backwards until your spine hit the stone wall behind you.
Then his hands started moving. His fingers slid beneath your shirt, his palms hot against your bare skin as they roamed your back, your sides, your hips. You clung to him, legs slightly parting to let him press in closer, and he did—grinding into you with a slow roll of his hips that made your breath catch.
“Shit,” he muttered against your mouth. 
You felt drunk, even though you weren’t. Dizzy, lit up from the inside out. Jay pulled away just enough to look at you and utter your name like a prayer. 
Then you were kissing him again, deeper this time, like you couldn’t help it. His hand cupped the back of your neck, tilting your face to kiss you harder and rougher. His other hand slipped down, gripping your thigh, dragging it up against his hip—and you let him, desperate for more of that friction, of that hard, raging bulge between his legs.
You were losing yourself. You wanted to lose yourself. And maybe you would’ve—if not for that voice in the back of your head. The one that reminded you of the promise you made to yourself.
You pulled back, gasping, lips swollen and fingers still tangled in his shirt. Jay’s chest rose and fell against yours. “Hey,” he said breathlessly. “What’s wrong?”
You shook your head. “I can’t… Jay, I can’t do this.”
He blinked. The confusion hit first, then frustration. “Why not?”
“Because,” you whispered, stepping back, shoving your hands through your hair. “I said I wouldn’t. I can’t. I’m not supposed to—”
“To what?” he asked, voice low. “Feel something?”
Your heart raced in your chest. But you didn’t answer. You didn’t even look at him again. You needed air. You needed distance. You needed to get out of your own head.
You turned and ran barefoot across the sand and up the stairs, heartbeat roaring in your ears. You continued to run up the path until the music was faded and the lights from the party were nothing but soft specks in the distance.
You didn’t stop until your feet hit sand again. Until the beach opened up in front of you again. And you found someone already there—Sunghoon, standing by the shore, surprised at your sudden appearance.
Great, another storm, waiting for you.
“Hey,” he called out, brows furrowing with concern when he noticed your expression. He stepped closer. “Are you okay? Are you—are you crying?”
You hadn’t even noticed the tears. Not until his hand came up to gently brush one from your cheek. You slapped it away, then turned your back to him, dragging your sleeve across your face.
“What are you doing here, Hoon?” you muttered.
“I… I was here first,” he said, voice cautious. He tried to close the distance again, but you took a step back. “What happened? What are you running from?”
You laughed bitterly, wrapping your arms around yourself and looking down at your bare feet. “God, don’t start with that.”
Sunghoon sighed, but didn’t say anything. He walked over to you, taking off his sandals and offering it at your feet. You stared at it for a moment, then at him.
“Please. Just take them,” he said softly. “It’s cold.”
You didn’t take the sandals. You didn’t move at all. Just stood there, arms still wrapped tightly around yourself, refusing to look at him. Sunghoon didn’t insist. He just left them at your feet and turned away, hands in his pockets, gaze flitting toward the cliffs.
Above you, perched on the hill, your house glowed faintly through the trees—lit up like a beacon against the dark cliffs. The old haunted mansion, now bright and lively, strung with fairy lights and memories.
“You remember that night?” he said quietly. “We sketched the plans for your hotel on the back of a pub’s order sheet. I can’t believe I’m seeing it all in real life. Well, part of it.” Your hands curled into fists at your sides.
“We were mapping out every room,” he continued, smiling faintly. “You said you wanted a courtyard with a fountain. But not a flashy one, just something simple and charming.”
“Stop,” you said.
He paused. “Stop what?”
“Stop talking,” you replied bitterly. “Don’t stand there talking about floor plans like we built that place together. Like you had anything to do with it. Don’t act like you get to be part of that story.” Your voice was cold, and you didn’t regret a single word.
“But I was part of that story,” he said gently.
“You were supposed to be,” you smirked, turning to face him. “You said you’d stay. You said you’d be here and that you’d build a life here with me. We made plans. And then you left.”
His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to speak—but you weren’t done.
“And I know. I know I told you to leave, but that’s not the point. The point was that you never fought for me, Sunghoon. You never fought for us.”
Sunghoon uttered your name helplessly, reaching for you but you stepped back before he could.
You took a deep breath, looking up at the sky in hopes that your tears wouldn’t fall. “You didn’t even try to fix it,” you continued, voice breaking. “You didn’t write. You didn’t call. You just vanished. And I waited—God, I waited so long, thinking maybe you’d at least try. But you didn’t.”
“I tried,” he said softly, you almost didn’t catch it.
You scoffed, mocking.“Well, apparently you didn’t try hard enough!”
“I came back!” he snapped. The sudden rise in his voice startled both of you. “I broke off the engagement and came right back!”
That stopped you. His outburst and his confession—it stopped your from talking, your mind suddenly slow at comprehending his words.
You gawked as Sunghoon’s jaw clenched before he continued. “I came running back to you because I wanted to make things right. But when I got here, I was told you were off with someone else!”
You blinked at him, stunned. “What do you mean?”
He scoffed. “Oh, so that wasn’t true, then? You weren’t off having the time of your life with some guy?”
“It was true,” you said briskly. “It doesn’t matter. What do you mean you came back here?”
Sunghoon took a step back, hurt and regret were evident on his expression, and the moonlight glinted in his eyes, wet with tears he was holding back. He took a deep breath, ran his hands through his hair and looked out to the vast ocean.
He didn’t say anything for a few moments. Neither did you, still reeling in confusion and hurt at his revelation, your anger unraveling slowly and painfully.
You had built this story in your head, over and over—the story where he just didn’t love you enough to fight. But now, all of a sudden, it cracked down the middle. You had been wrong, and it hurt.
“I made a mistake,” he said after a while, looking down at his feet. “I was scared, and stupid, and I let my pride get in the way. But I never stopped thinking about you. Not once.”
You looked away. The tears were hot again, the ache crawling back up your throat.
“I never got to tell you,” he continued. “That I came back and that I love you. I thought I was too late. I just… I just went home.”
“I went home,” he repeated, laughing at himself. “My fiancee called me a fool and married me to prove it.”
You didn’t know what to say, so you just kept quiet. You just stood there, tired, trembling, toes dug into the cold sand, staring at the man you once thought you’d never see again
He took a step forward, close enough for you to feel the heat of his body. He raised a hand, hesitated, then tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I never stopped loving you,” he whispered.
You closed your eyes, letting it sink in. Letting yourself feel it for a second. Then you stepped back.
“You’re too late, Sunghoon,” you said. But even you didn’t believe it.
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xii: The Elephant in the Room
The sun was high and bright when the three men boarded Jay’s yacht, one after another, as if summoned by some invisible alarm. Jake had mentioned that it was about time he had to fly back home for work, and they all knew they couldn’t keep avoiding the topic forever. Not when the answer might change all of their lives.
They sat around the polished table on the deck, a bottle of wine already open but no one had poured a glass yet. Jake spoke first. “Are we really doing this?”
Jay leaned back in his seat, sunglasses perched on his head, his face unreadable for once. “It’s now or never, boys. It’s not like we can just stick around the island forever.”
“You’re right, we can’t,” Jake agreed, sighing. “I mean, this place is lovely, but like I said, I have to go back soon.”
Sunghoon didn’t say anything. He was standing by the railing, arms folded, eyes fixed on the stretch of sea. The silence hung for too long before Jay pushed his chair back with a loud scrape and stood.
“Let’s go see her.”
The three of them walked up to the house together—quiet and a little awkward, like kids on their way to the principal’s office. You greeted them at the door, bleary-eyed and exhausted from the night before, but you didn’t turn them away. Emma was at school, and you weren’t sure if it was a blessing or a punishment that this talk had to happen without her around.
You led them to the sitting room. Nobody sat, but you did. Jay cleared his throat. “We figured it was time to talk about everything.”
You gave a tired nod. “Okay. Talk.”
Jake stepped forward, looking as sheepish as ever. “First of all… sorry. We didn’t mean to corner you like this. We just thought it’d be easier if we were all here. Together.”
“Less yelling that way,” Jay muttered.
Sunghoon ignored them both. “She looks like you,” he said quietly, eyes on you. You weren’t sure if he meant it as comfort or accusation.
“Yes, exactly,” Jake agreed. “And that makes it hard to guess which one of us is her dad, so… I think it’s time we figure that out.”
Jay chimed in casually. “She laughs like my sister’s kid. They could pass as siblings, to be honest.”
Jake shook his head. “Have you seen her nose? That’s gotta be from me.”
Sunghoon raised a hand. “She has dimples.”
“Yeah,” Jake agreed, though his shrug said otherwise. “But her voice sounds exactly like my mom’s.”
Jay scoffed. “Your mom sounds like a six-year-old child?”
Jake gave him a flat look. “What about her eyes, then? Don’t they look like mine?”
“No, they don’t. But she has posh tastes,” Jay replied, smirking. “Pretty sure elegance and class are hereditary traits.”
“More like extravagance,” Sunghoon muttered under his breath.
“What was that?” Jay questioned, glancing at Sunghoon with a scowl.
“Guys, enough,” you chided, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Are you here to argue resemblances or what?”
Jay shrugged. “We should just check. Get DNA samples and find out once and for all. Although, I would be totally fine with assuming fatherhood if you guys wanna back out.”
“No one’s backing out,” Sunghoon snapped. “This is a serious discussion. You can’t make jokes like that.”
Jay turned to him, smirking in amusement. “Okay, Lover Boy. Relax.”
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Jake chimed in, raising a hand. “I, myself, would love to find out if she’s my daughter, but… hear me out. I know it’s gonna sound crazy, but I don’t mind being half her father.”
There was a pause. You looked up at them. Jake shrugged, smiling as he added, “Or one-third, for that matter. I mean, we’ve all met her. She’s wonderful. I’d rather have a third than nothing at all.”
Sunghoon sighed, placing his hands on his waist. “Sorry to break it to you, Mr. Sim, but that’s not how the world works. You can’t just claim to be one-third of a dad.”
“Why not?” Jay said. “She’s already got all of us wrapped around her little finger. What difference does it make who passed on the stronger jawline? And finding out she’s not mine would honestly devastate me, so I’d rather not take my chances.”
Sunghoon was quiet for a long moment. Jake looked between the two of them, then back at you. “Two versus one? Guess majority wins?”
You scoffed and rose to your feet, exasperated. “Okay, you know what, guys? You need to shut up, all of you. And get out of my house.”
None of them moved, just stared at you in confusion. Jay was the first to speak and say, “Don’t you think it’s time we find out which one of us is her dad?”
“No,” you replied smugly, tilting your chin up so you could meet their gazes. “You don’t get to come here and demand to be a father to my child. You may have helped create her, but you don’t get to walk in now and play the father card. It doesn’t work like that.”
Sunghoon called out your name softly but you cut him off, pointing a finger at him. “No. I’ve done well by myself and I didn’t need any of you. I went through everything without you. I’m not gonna need you now that she’s older and my life is better.”
“But you didn’t have to do it all alone,” said Jake, making you glance at him at once. He looked over at Jay and Sunghoon, then back at you. “If you had told me… no, if you had told any of us, I think I speak for all of us when I say we would’ve been there for you. We wouldn’t have let you go through all of that alone.”
You stared at him—at all of them—and for a second, no one said anything. Not even you. Then you pointed toward the door.
“Get out,” you said. “All of you, get out.”
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xiii: “What's Better Than One Dad?”
The house was unusually quiet for a weekend. No laughter echoing from the garden, no sound of someone tinkering in the backyard or somewhere around the house. It was just the soft ticking of the old wall clock and Emma’s tiny feet padding into the kitchen, where you were nursing a cold cup of tea you’d forgotten to drink.
She climbed onto the stool across from you, legs swinging, chin resting in her hands. “Where is everybody, Mommy?” she asked.
You smiled, reaching over to tuck her hair behind her ear. “They’re not here, honey. They must have chores and other things to do today.”
“But they weren’t here yesterday either,” Emma said, pouting as she lay her head on the table. “They said they were taking me out to sea today.”
“Who said that?” you asked softly, brushing her hair with your fingers.
She shrugged. “My dads.”
You blinked, hand pausing. “Your what?”
Emma lifted her head to look at you, eyes bright and serious. “My dads. Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon.”
Your stomach turned. You hadn’t heard those names spoken so casually in the last forty-eight hours—not since you threw them out of your house. You set your cup down. 
“Emma, they’re not your dads,” you said carefully, patting her head. “They’re just friends.”
She tilted her head, confused. “But Auntie Amy and Auntie Lea said one of them is my dad.”
You froze. “They… said that?”
Emma nodded. “They were whispering but I still heard them. I have super ears, mommy. I hear everything.”
“Emma, what did Mommy say about eavesdropping on grown-up conversations?” you asked, trying to keep your tone steady.
She looked sheepish for a second, then brightened again. “But it’s true, right, Mommy?”
You sighed, moving around the counter to crouch in front of her stool. “Emma. Do you… want a dad?”
She shrugged again, legs still kicking back and forth under her seat. “I think so. Everybody has dads.”
You smiled softly, cupping her cheek. “Yes, sweetheart. But having no dad is not so bad. You have me, and Auntie Lea, and Auntie Amy and everyone else in the village who loves you.”
“I know,” she said quickly, then added, “but I still want one. Dads are fun.”
You sat back on your heels, forcing a smile for your daughter. “Are they now?”
She nodded enthusiastically, eyes sparkling. “They buy ice cream and ribbons. They show you all the cool stuff. And they can carry you…” She raised both arms way above her head. “This high!”
You couldn’t help the little laugh that slipped out. God, she was too much sometimes. “I can carry you that high.”
“No, mommy. You’re not tall,” she giggled as you scooped her into your arms.
You carried her out of the kitchen, but her voice dropped again, more thoughtful now. “Leo’s dad picks him up and spins him like this,” she said, arms stretched like an airplane. “It looks like flying. Uncle Jay did that too. I liked it. It was fun.”
You felt your chest tighten. She wasn’t asking for much—just a little bit of wonder. And here you were, too busy shielding her from the past to even consider the possibility of what a father could mean to her now.
And to be honest with yourself, you weren’t sure if you were doing it for her anymore. Or was it for yourself all along?
“Can I have one?” she asked, small voice in your ear. “Just one?”
You looked at her—your bright, curious, heartbreakingly hopeful daughter—and felt your heart break in two. “Do you have a favorite?” you asked, sitting on the couch with her.
Emma thought hard, pressing her finger to her chin. “Not really. Uncle Jake is nice and buys me stuff. Uncle Jay has a cool boat. And Uncle Hoon is strong.”
She sighed, frustration painting her expression and you couldn’t help but laugh. She turned to you with a pout, “I like all of them. You have to pick one for me, Mommy.”
You paused, scrambling for an answer that didn’t exist. Before you could say anything, Lea appeared with a box from her café. “How would you feel about three dads?” she asked, setting the box of cookies on the coffee table and sitting on Emma’s other side.
Emma gasped excitedly. “I can have three dads?” she asked Lea, practically vibrating on the couch.
Lea looked at you with a knowing smile. “Of course. What’s better than one dad?”
She turned back to Emma and winked. “Three dads.”
Emma gasped again, absolutely buzzing in her seat. “Three dads! I want three dads!”
You smiled nervously. “Emma, slow down. You can’t just decide that on your own.”
“Why not?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.
You glanced at Lea, then turned back to your daughter. “Because the dads—uh, the men—have to agree to it too. It’s a big responsibility. You can’t just call someone ‘Dad’ without asking first.”
Emma’s brows furrowed. “But they’ll say yes. They like me.”
Of course they do. It wouldn’t take much to convince those three men, but you had to help Emma manage her expectations. “They do like you,” you admitted, heart softening despite yourself. “But liking you and being ready to be your dad are different things. They don’t live here with us and even if they become your dad, you won’t exactly see them every day.”
Lea chimed in. “But they will come see you as much as they can.”
“That’s okay. I’ll ask them,” she said firmly, arms crossed with a serious pout. “I’ll ask all three.”
Lea let out a laugh. “Well, that should be fun to watch.”
You gave her a look, but there was no real hate in it.
The next morning, just as you were folding laundry in the living room, there was a knock on the door. You hesitated. Emma was still in her pajamas, sitting on the floor playing with seashells. Lea had left earlier to open the café. You weren’t expecting anyone.
You opened the door slowly. Jake was standing there with a bouquet of wildflowers. Jay held a box of pastries from the bakery, and Sunghoon just had that awkward, earnest look on his face that you knew far too well.
“Hi,” Jake said, flashing that disarming smile. “We, uh, Lea said you wanted to see us?”
Jay raised the box. “We brought breakfast. Peace offering. Don’t throw us out yet.”
You stepped aside wordlessly, letting them in. Emma looked up and immediately lit up like the sun. “My dads!”
You shot her a warning look, but the guys all froze. “Oh my, god,” you muttered, facepalming as you turned to hide your face.
“Did she just—?” Jay asked voice breaking so he had to clear his throat.
Jake's hand was on his mouth. “She said dads.”
“She did,” you muttered, rubbing your forehead and shaking your head, still unable to look at them.
Emma ran over and hugged Jake's leg. “You came back!”
Sunghoon crouched down in front of her, eyes soft. “Did you miss us, munchkin?”
She nodded hard. “Mommy said I can have three dads, if you say yes.”
Jay let out a quiet laugh and stepped forward. “Of course, we’ll say yes. You don’t even need to ask, princess.”
“Hold on,” you said quickly, gently tugging Emma away from them. You looked at the three of them—her dads. “First, let’s, uh… Let’s talk about this. Follow me.”
All three looked at you but followed you anyway when you went to the kitchen. Jake told Emma to stay and promised her it wouldn’t take long.
“Three dads?” Jay asked as soon as you were out of earshot. He chuckled, like he couldn’t believe it. “She’s okay with three dads?”
You groaned. “Oh, you have no idea.”
You placed your hands on your hips, stomping your feet as you stared at the three men before you. “Okay. I care about Emma more than anything in this world. More than my own life.”
“Of course—”
You raised a finger at Sunghoon. “Let me talk.”
Sunghoon nodded, stepping back. Jake mimed zipping his lips. You took a deep breath before continuing. “You can check if you want to. I won’t stop you. Or you can do what you said—you can step up. Be her dads. All three of you. I don’t mind, as long as she’s happy.”
“But she’s going to need consistency. She doesn’t need three men floating in and out of her life when it suits them. If you’re serious, you don’t just show up when it’s fun. You show up even when it’s hard. Even when you don’t feel like it.”
Jake nodded. “We know that.”
“I’m not asking you to stay here forever,” you added, more gently this time. “You have lives. Jobs. People waiting for you—Jake, you’re getting married soon.”
“I’m not expecting you to drop everything and move to this island. That would be unfair. And Emma doesn’t need you to be here every day. She just needs to know you’ll be there when it matters. That she can count on you, even from afar. If you can do that, then,” you paused, raised your hands in surrender, and sighed. “Then be her dad—Dads! Whatever you want to call it.”
Sunghoon looked down, nodding slowly. “Yeah. We can do that.”
Jay let out a breath. “Long-distance dad duty. Shouldn’t be so hard.”
Jake simply said, “We’ll make it work. Promise.”
You smiled, genuinely this time.  “Okay,” you said softly, nodding toward the door. “Go on. She’s waiting.”
The three of them turned to leave, and Jay laughed out loud when he spotted Emma peeking from behind the curtains. “Oh no. We’ve got an eavesdropper!” he announced, grinning.
Emma shrieked, bolting from her hiding spot, her giggles echoing through the house as Johnny chased after her. You followed behind, just in time to see her leap into Jake's arms, then reach for Sunghoon hand, then tug at Jay's sleeve, all while talking a mile a minute.
You leaned against the doorframe, watching them with a strange fullness in your chest. You still didn’t know how any of this would work. But maybe it didn’t have to make sense. Maybe love was enough.
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xiv: “Only I Can Fix Myself”
The sea stretched wide and sparkling under the Corsican sun, gentle waves lapping against the hull of Jay’s yacht as it cut smoothly through the water. Emma was practically vibrating with excitement, darting from one end of the deck to the other, yelling about dolphins that no one else could see. Jake and Sunghoon were lounging at the back, one lazily flipping through a comic book offered by one of Jay’s crews, the other peeling oranges and throwing slices at Emma, who cackled every time she caught one in her mouth. Jay was at the helm, sunglasses on, wind tugging his hair as he grinned.
You sat near the bow, sunbathing on a sunbed with Lea and a half-empty drink in hand, watching your daughter live a little dream. She had three men completely wrapped around her finger and absolutely no idea how rare that was.
“Amy would’ve loved this,” said Lea, sunglasses perched on her nose. “What do you think she’s doing right now?”
“Drinking Dom on some wealthy investor’s superyacht?” you guessed, grinning.
Lea giggled. “Dressed in something skimpy that’s definitely fit for the yacht but wildly inappropriate for the business transaction she went there for.”
You both giggled, your mind drifting back to sunkissed days on the beach in places you couldn’t even pronounce. Trusting Amy to talk your way into expensive bars where all three of you could charm handsome tourists to buy you drinks. Sneaking into exclusive yacht parties and pretending you belonged there. It all seemed so far away now.
“Wow, we’re old,” Lea sighed. “When was the last time we had fun like we did in college?”
You thought about it. “Probably that summer before we found out I was pregnant with Emma.”
“Right. The summer after college,” she said, then glanced over at the helm where Jay was. “We were in Jay’s boat at the time.”
You nodded, remembering the days. “Yeah, we were.”
Jay had her crew take the day off, so you and Lea had packed food for the trip. At lunch, Jay grilled fish on the little onboard stove. Jake handled the drinks, Sunghoon cut fresh fruit, and Emma supervised them all like a tiny captain. The laughter never died \own. Even you found yourself relaxed, for once—letting your walls down just enough to smile without second-guessing it.
You’d lost count on how many times you had to reapply Emma’s sunscreen because she just kept jumping into the water with Sunghoon. Jay had the yacht dock at a secluded shore, where Jake and Emma spent almost an hour looking for marine life in the shallows and taking pictures of them. The word ‘Dad’ had been echoing all day.
The sun began to dip by the time you made it back to the village. The sky had gone from blue to soft, velvety lilac, and the yacht anchored close to shore for the night. Emma had fallen asleep below deck, wrapped in one of Jay’s warm blankets and snoring into a pillow. Sunghoon, Jake and Lea were still above, playing cards and arguing about the rules of some ridiculous game you’d never heard of.
Jay brought you another drink and asked if you wanted to sit with him up front, where the sea was quiet and the stars had just begun to wink into view. You followed him.
The two of you sat side by side on the padded bench near the front of the yacht, legs stretched out, drinks in hand. The breeze had softened, brushing against your skin like a whisper. Waves lapped gently against the hull. From the back of the boat, you could still hear muffled voices—Lea laughing, Sunghoon protesting something, Jake talking over it—but out here, it felt like you were in a different world.
Jay took a slow sip of his drink, then leaned back, eyes scanning the dark horizon. “Today was nice,” he said quietly.
You nodded. “Yeah. Emma’s probably dreaming of dolphins right now.”
Jay smiled at that. “She’s a great kid.”
You smiled. “She is.” You were both quiet for a moment, just gazing out into the sea and taking in the cool air. Jay broke the silence first. “About the other night. Amy’s party.”
You turned your head slightly but didn’t say anything. You would rather not talk about it, really, but it wouldn’t be so bad to bring it up now. He shifted, resting his elbows on his knees. “I wasn’t drunk. I know I acted like it, but I wasn’t. I knew what I was doing.”
You hummed, acknowledging him without saying anything. Jay continued, “And I knew what I was saying. I meant it.”
“Meant what, Jay?”
He chuckled under his breath. Not the smug kind, the self-deprecating kind. “I meant it when I said I don’t mind settling down with you.”
Your brows furrowed. Jay glanced at you, more honest than he’d ever been. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I’ve spent years chasing things. Business, money, women, parties, noise. But it’s like I keep coming up empty. Then you wrote to me and it was like a hand was reaching out to me. I thought maybe if I came back, everything would fall into place. I thought maybe you could fix me.”
You stared at the ocean. “You wanted me to fix you?”
“I didn’t think of it that way at first,” he admitted. “But yeah. I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing at first. I told myself it was fate or just some unfinished business. But the truth was I just wanted someone to look at me and see something worth saving. And I thought it could be you.”
Another wave rolled beneath the yacht. You felt the dip and sway of it in your chest. “I want to be someone better,” he said. “You make people better, you know? You make them want to do things right. I’m willing to change. I’d give up the boat, the business, the whole damn playboy act. I’d stay. If it meant a shot at a different life. A better one. With you.”
You turned to face him. “Jay…”
He gave a small smile. “I know. It sounds desperate. And stupid. It probably is.”
You hesitated before speaking. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, Jay. But… I don’t think I can do that for you.” You meant it. He came here chasing something, and you weren’t what he needed. Not in the way he thought.
“I’m not what you’re looking for, Jay,” you said gently. “You don’t need a relationship to fix you. You need to find meaning on your own.”
He nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “I know. I mean, I didn’t, but I know now.” He chuckled. “It was a mistake coming here thinking you could fix me. Only I can fix myself.”
“But,” he added, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “I don’t regret coming. I met the most wonderful girl in the world and became her dad. That’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”
Your breath caught. “Jay…”
He shook his head. “It’s okay. I’m not asking for anything else. You were right to say no. But I still get to be there for her. And that means everything to me.”
You smiled, a little teary now. “She’s lucky to have you.”
“I’m the lucky one,” he murmured.
Your chest tightened. He wasn’t talking about you anymore. And yet somehow… it felt like the most honest thing he’d ever said. “I’m sorry, Jay.”
“I know,” he replied, his signature smirk appearing on his lips now. He relaxed in his seat, taking a deep breath. “Though I bet you would have wanted to be the one who gets to tie me down, don’t you?”
That made you laugh, genuinely, head lolling back and cackling type of laugh. “I don’t think I would’ve been able to even if I tried.”
Jay shrugged, “Yeah, but you wish you could, don’t you?” he asked, winking.
You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t hide how it made you smile. “Fine. I would have considered it an honor to have tied down the menace of a playboy that you are, Park Jongseong.”
Jay leaned back in his seat, that familiar smirk tugging at his mouth, but his eyes were calm now. You mirrored him, your laugh fading into a sigh as you leaned your arms on the railing again, the sea stretching endlessly beneath the moonlight.
It was peaceful. Comfortable, even. Until Jay’s gaze flicked upwards. You didn’t notice at first. But then his smirk widened, and he clicked his tongue. “Lover Boy’s lurking,” he muttered.
You blinked, turned slightly—and there he was. Sunghoon. Leaning against the side rail up the deck, pretending to look out at the horizon but very clearly trying not to stare your way. One hand holding a glass he hadn’t touched in a while. The wind catching his hair and blowing it out of his face to reveal a slight crease on his forehead.
You looked away too quickly. Jay laughed under his breath. “God, you’re so bad at this.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said briskly.
Jay raised a brow. “You don’t even realize you’re lying to yourself. That’s the problem.”
You exhaled. “Jay—”
“Okay,” he said, groaning as he stood up. “But if you don’t do the follow your heart thing and say yes to him, you’re an idiot.”
You scoffed indignantly. “Since when were you an expert at following your heart?”
“Since I flew out here after getting a letter out of nowhere,” he replied, grinning smugly. “I followed my heart and it brought me to my little girl. Who, speaking of, probably needs cuddles.”
Jay turned to leave and you called out to him. “What she needs is to be taken back home! In her own bed!”
Jay raised a hand without glancing back. “On it!”
You stood there a moment longer, palms resting on the cool railing, heart beginning to beat somewhere in your throat. And then you tilted your head up. Sunghoon hadn’t moved. He looked right at you, and his gaze made you swallow something in your throat. You gave the smallest nod, and in the next second, he was gone—probably making his way down as fast as he could.
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xv: Lover Boy
You hadn’t taken more than a few steps before Sunghoon appeared at the end of the corridor, breath shallow like he’d run down the stairs. His eyes locked with yours, and the hallway spun just a little from the adrenaline thrumming through your chest.
“Hi,” he said, voice low. “I just—I.. You called me over. I didn’t read that wrong, did I?”
You took another step forward, smiling. “No.”
Sunghoon smiled, relief washing over his face as he stepped closer. “Hi,” he began, taking a deep breath. “How are you?”
You raised an eyebrow. “How am I? Seriously?”
“No, I meant…” he paused, chuckling. “The other night, at Amy’s party. We didn’t get to finish talking.”
“Yeah, we didn’t,” you agreed, looking away.
“I meant what I said,” he declared, seemingly holding his breath. “Every word.”
You studied his face. It was written all over him—the years of regret, the ache of what was lost, the unbearable need to be here with you now. Then he reached for you. His fingers brushed your cheek, ever so gently, like you would disintegrate right then and there if he held you too hard. 
“I love you,” he said softly.
That was all it took for your restraints to collapse. You grabbed him by the collar and kissed him—hard, desperately, like it was the only thing that could fill the void in your heart. Sunghoon kissed you back instantly, a low groan slipping from him as he cradled the back of your head, angling you just right like he’d done a hundred times in his dreams.
Your fingers curled in his shirt, tugging him closer until his hips pressed against yours and you could feel every inch of him. Sunghoon pulled back only long enough to breathe, his eyes locked with yours.
“Come with me,” he whispered against your lips. He led you down the corridor with a hand at your back and urgency in his steps. He opened the nearest cabin door and pulled you inside, closing it behind you with a soft click.
The room was dim, swaying gently with the motion of the yacht. But you barely noticed any of that. The second you locked eyes, you shoved him back against the cabin door and kissed him hard, fingers working fast on the buttons of his shirt.  You pressed your palm against his bare chest and exhaled sharply. “I swear to God, if this is a dream—”
“It’s not,” he groaned, pulling your dress over your head in one motion. “It’s not, it’s not.”
You kissed him again, slower this time but deeper, your hands tangling in his hair. He held you firmly by the waist, then lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his hips as he walked you to the bed.
You landed with a soft thud on the mattress, your bodies still tangled, his lips dragging down your jaw, to your neck. You gasped when he nipped at your skin, clawing at his back.
It was euphoric, the urgency and reverence—a passionate middle ground where every movement was fueled by something you’d long yearned for. His hands roamed your body like he couldn’t touch enough, couldn’t believe you were real and here and his again. All while you arched under him, pulling him closer, hands mapping the curves of his back, the dip of his waist, every familiar part of him you had tried to forget.
His mouth moved over your chest, your collarbones, your stomach. His hand found the space between your legs, cupping and pressing firmly before slipping into the thin fabric of your underwear. You held your breath—waiting for that familiar touch, anticipating.
But Sunghoon paused, looking into your eyes. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, though you could see the desperation in his expression—as if begging you not to.
“Don’t you dare.”
He smirked and dipped his head almost immediately, tugging your panties off before his lips met your cunt. You arched off the bed, biting your lip hard, your hand gripping the sheets while the other tangled in his hair.
He was slow at first, testing at first, teasing out every sound you could make. Then he went harder, sucked deeper, and both of your hands clutched his hair, hips bucking into his mouth as you chased more of that delightful sensation. He growled something against your skin and climbed back up to kiss you, mouths hot and hungry and impatient.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted, grinning. “But I need you. Right now,” he said, kissing you before you could say anything.
You barely noticed anything, too lost in the heat of the moment and the feeling of his lips in yours. You felt him nudge at your entrance only for a second before he slid in with one smooth, desperate motion. You gasped into his mouth, legs locking around him, and he cursed softly against your shoulder. It felt too much and not enough—all at once. 
“You feel—fuck,” he groaned into your ear, holding you tighter. “God, I missed you.”
“Hoon,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “Hoon, I missed you too.”
He moved deep and slow at first, soaking in every sound you made, every desperate plea whispered into his ear. But it didn’t take long for the rhythm to quicken, hips snapping into yours with a force that made the headboard thud lightly against the wall.
You closed your eyes and bit down on your lip to keep from crying out too loud—Jay’s yacht might be big, but not that big—and  Sunghoon smiled at your expression.
He cupped your cheek and kissed your forehead, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “Open your eyes, baby,” he whispered, kissing your temple again. “Look at me.”
You met his gaze, and for a moment, the years melted away. It was just him. Just you. And this. Sunghoon kissed you again and his lips tasted like longing, like something once lost and finally found again. He moved inside you slowly, deeply, dragging every second out like he wanted it carved into memory.
Your hips rose to meet his, greedy for more, and he groaned as he sank deeper. “Fuck,” he whispered, kissing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “You feel the same. No—better.”
He moved faster now, each thrust rocking through you in waves. The headboard tapped lightly against the wall, your hand flailing briefly before gripping the pillow to muffle your sounds. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he murmured, hand sliding up your thigh to pull your leg higher around his waist.
His mouth found your breast, tongue swirling over your nipple until you arched into him, crying out softly. He kissed down your sternum and back up to your mouth, whispering, “I never stopped missing you.”
You kissed him again, open-mouthed, desperate. His hand gripped your hip, guiding your rhythm until you matched him thrust for thrust. Every inch of your skin was on fire, every nerve in your body dancing with every drag and press and pull of his body.
When he angled his hips just right, you gasped, back arching, hands flying to his shoulders. “Right there,” you whimpered.
Sunghoon growled, deep in his chest. “Yeah? You gonna come for me, baby?”
You nodded, unable to speak, your body trembling beneath him. He watched you fall apart, eyes dark and locked on your face, his own breathing sharp and erratic. The climax rushed through you, long and loud and blinding. You buried your face in his neck, biting down on his shoulder to muffle your moan as he pushed deeper, losing himself to the heat and tightness of you.
With a few more hard, ragged thrusts, he followed, spilling into you with a grunt and a trembling curse of your name. His body froze, collapsing into you as you both chased your breath.
Silence. Just the sound of your breaths. Tangled limbs. Sweat and warmth and that aching fullness in your chest. Neither of you moved right away. And he held you, lips pressed to your shoulder, his thumb brushing along your jaw.
Softly, you said, “Say it again.”
Sunghoon hummed, lifting his head to look at you. “Say what again?”
You shifted under him, and he moved to lay beside you on the bed, propping his head on his hand. He watched you fondly, smiling.  “What you told me earlier,” you replied, turning on your side too.
Sunghoon let out a relieved breath, reaching to cup your cheek. “I love you. I never stopped loving you. I love you then, and I love you now.”
“Wow.” You chuckled, heat rising to your cheeks, making you look away sheepishly. “That’s four times.”
“I love you,” he repeated, your name rolling beautifully on his tongue.
“Five,” you muttered, exhaling. “Okay. Enough. I get it.”
“It’s true,” he said, like he needed to convince you.
You took a deep breath and met his gaze again. This time, you were wearing a stern expression. “And if it is? Who’s to say you wouldn’t leave me again? You said you’re married, didn’t you?”
“No,” Sunghoon said quickly. “I mean—yes, I was. But—”
You gasped and sat up in complete shock. “I just slept with a married man,” you blurted, the fact suddenly dawning on you.
“No. That’s not—” Sunghoon chuckled, sitting up too and pulling you into a hug, then planting a soft kiss on your lips. “That’s not what happened.”
You shook your head and were about to say anything but he shushed you. “I was married, but only for a year. We’ve been divorced for five.”
“Oh,” you muttered, nodding and feeling a wash of relief. “Okay. Good. That’s… That’s very good.”
His hold tightened around you, and you hugged him back, melting into his warmth. You stayed like that for a while, just basking in the aftermath.
“So?” he prompted after a few moments of silence. “What now?”
“Now?” you paused, too shy to say it out loud. “Now you stay.”
Sunghoon lifted your chin so you’d meet his gaze. “I will.”
He smiled, genuinely this time, with more relief and confidence. “I will, love. See, you’re gonna need someone to boss you around this island.”
You scoffed, though your heart was full. “If my memory served me well, I think I made it clear to you that I don’t need a man bossing me around my own property.”
“Yeah, you made it very clear indeed, but,” he replied, pausing to tuck your hair behind your ear. “Wouldn’t you want to be dependent on someone from time to time? From what I can see, our dream hotel still needs a lot of work.”
Our dream hotel. The words echoed beautifully in your ears.
You narrowed your eyes playfully at him. “And you’re gonna lend me your expertise for free? No architect fee?”
“All I ask for is a room, my love,” he grinned, kissing the side of your head. “Preferably yours. I like sharing with you.”
You nudged his shoulder with a smile, cheeks flushed. “You’re asking for a lot, Mr. Park.”
“Oh, I’ll give a lot,” he murmured. “I’ll give you everything.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, and then quietly, you said, “Okay. I guess we can share a room.”
Sunghoon smiled, watching you with a slight crease on his forehead, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard it right. But you didn’t repeat yourself. You just laid your head on his chest and closed your eyes.
You didn’t make it back to the main deck. Instead, you stayed in that guest cabin, where the night continued with soft sighs, ragged breaths, and tangled limbs. You didn’t stop at once. Or twice. You lost track somewhere in between kisses and confessions, in the way he said your name like a prayer, in the way you held on to him like he was home.
And by the time sleep caught up to you, your body sore and your heart full, you were curled against his chest with the sound of the sea lulling you into the deepest peace you’d known in years.
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xvi: All's Well That Ends Well
The door creaked open, sunlight streaming in just enough to make you wince. You stepped out first, hair still damp from a rushed shower. Sunghoon followed, looking fresh but not fooling anyone—his hand brushing the small of your back as the two of you made your way up to the deck.
The first thing you heard was a gasp. A loud, ridiculous, over-the-top gasp from Lea, who sat dramatically sprawled on a lounge chair. Jay nearly choked on his juice. Even Jake was trying not to laugh, hiding behind a magazine she wasn’t reading. Emma, bless her, was too busy coloring beside Jake to notice.
“Really, guys?” Jay deadpanned. “In my boat? Right after breaking my heart too?”
You raised an eyebrow, brushing past him with a smirk. “Your suite is amazing, Jay.”
Jay gasped again, clutching his chest. “In my suite?!”
“Yes, where else?” you lied shamelessly, taking a seat and reaching for the coffee pot. “And your dimmers are cool.”
Sunghoon, behind you, was trying so hard not to laugh. Jay looked personally victimized. “You absolute heathens,” he declared, hand flying to his mouth for added effect. “I’m gonna throw up.”
You scoffed. “Oh, don’t be dramatic.”
Everyone burst into laughter. Even Sunghoon.
And as you sipped your coffee, Sunghoon sitting close, your daughter now leaning against your arm with her sketchpad, and the rest of your chaotic, unexpected little family chatting around you, you could feel warmth blooming in your chest.
The summer was over, and something better had begun.
[fin]
127 notes ¡ View notes
pennumbra ¡ 2 days ago
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Hey, so I just came across your Villain Quirin au, so sorry if this is a bit out of place. How do you think s3 would go differently? I think Rapunzel might still ask Varian to translate the scroll, but I doubt Quirin would let Varian get any more involved in the black rocks, considering the last time he got trapped in amber.
I don’t really know any of these characters well enough to know if they would go ahead with it anyway, but if they do then it could be very interesting if Varian still gets kidnapped. Cass might not even know that Varian was freed from the amber until she comes for the scroll, since I think the last she would see of him would be before they leave Corona. Varian would’ve also never made the truth serum, so Cass would require some other way to get the information from him. The whole “trying to persuade Cass” scene would probably also go differently, since Varian was never a villain in this au.
Also, slightly unrelated, but do you know of any fics that explore this more? Sorry if this is too long, and I love your art!
-🦉
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Tysm for your patience! Sorry it took me so long to get back to you- it really was such a pleasant surprise to get your ask and I knew right away I wanted to draw smth silly to go w/ it!
I'll admit I tend to work in broad strokes w/ AUs vs. having a cohesive/linear plot outlined, but it's fun to think abt how events might unfold and how the diff character's involvement/roles in the plot would shift. I think Rapunzel would still recognize that Varian is the smartest and best qualified person to translate the Demanitus scroll, and she'd still ask for his help. Quirin would reluctantly permit it.
I want to think that the amber incident would be a wake up call for Quirin? He realizes that he can't be a bystander- he and his son are wrapped up in this cosmic plot and living a life free of the moonstone's shadow won't be possible until it reunites with the sundrop; the best thing he can do is a father is to be there for Varian and his friends and try to keep them safe, because their involvement is inevitable.
In an alternate S3 where Quirin was the villain in S1, I also think he becomes an ally again and fills a similar role as Varian did with assisting the mains. Rapunzel freeing Var + Fred apologizing (and hopefully resolving to do better and be more proactive in the future lmao) would cool the worst of his anger and he could turn his sights back to the issue at hand.
Maybe he gives Varian and Rapunzel and co. a lesson on the DK and the moonstone's history, so they know what they're facing? I think it'd be satisfying to have him 'come clean' and reveal all the secrets he kept for so long + ofc I wish they'd explored the lore more. Maybe he gets in contact w/ the rest of the Brotherhood, and summons them to join the fight? He wanted to leave them and his old order in the past, but Varian getting tangled up in the black rocks makes him realize that's not possible, and he recognizes Moon Cass as the threat she is so he calls in the cavalry. I could see him giving Var/Eugene/Lance (and Raps, but I feel like she has her own assets and fighting style) an introductory lesson in swordsmanship and combat, too.
You make some good points abt the smaller differences there'd be if Var got trapped in S1! I wonder how Cass would respond to seeing him again- surprise ofc, but I think that even in her villain arc, beneath the cold facade she'd be happy to see that Varian was alive and free- he was a kid who just wanted to help and prove himself, and losing him was tragic. (Tho it'd probably be followed by a calculating assessment that he's a new player/piece on the board, and Rapunzel is getting stronger and improving her control of the incantations.)
If Cass still kidnapped him, she might not have Var's truth serum to work with, but I can't imagine Quirin wouldn't spearhead the rescue attempt and I think it'd be easy for her to get Var to comply by threatening his dad. I can't imagine Quirin sharing a duet w/ Cass lmao- maybe he could reach out to her from the perspective of a parent, how it'd break his heart to see Varian go down this path, she's so young and has a whole life ahead of her, he knows Corona is flawed but this isn't the way, etc.. Given Cass' tumultuous relationship w/ Cap in S3 I think she'd shut him down, though. (I think having a member of the bhood actively involved in the fight and hunting her would also be a good motivator for seeking out the mindtrap.)
There aren't a ton of fics that I know of that have explored a roleswap with Quirin and Varian in depth-
Looking Through a Window & its sequel, Happy Endings Exist Only in Fairytales are the only ones that really come to mind and even tho they're older I'm still happy to recommend them! Both are from very early in the fandom, with the first one being written before S2 even premiered, so there's no concept of the moonstone, the DK, Hector or Edmund. That said, I think the emotional journey still holds up really well as an envisioning of what Quirin turning against the crown could look like.
I haven't been checking Ao3 much these days, so if anyone knows of any other fics that have been published around this premise more recently, feel free to lmk in the replies!
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saythenametotheworld ¡ 11 hours ago
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dear reader... again | dy, jn, jh
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One island. One daughter. Three possible dads. You just wanted peace and quiet—what you got was chaos, old flames, and a little girl asking for three dads.
Genre: destination au, smut Pairing: NCT Doyoung/Johnny/Jaehyun x afab!reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) MDNI Notes: 22k words. Loosely based on the 2008 movie, Mamma Mia!. Sequel to dear reader, but can be read as a standalone fic Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life behave the way they were portrayed in this fic. If you see the same exact fic in a different blog, for ENHYPEN, that is me. I did not plagiarize myself. Otherwise, pls let me know.
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The drawing room was a war zone. Empty cups on every surface, leftovers here and there, balloons all over the floor. Your daughter had retreated to her bedroom to play with her new toys, leaving you with a garbage bag in one hand and three ghosts of your past sitting awkwardly on the couch.
You didn’t look at them as you threw another stack of paper plates into the bag. It was a good thing that your friends and two of Emma’s godmothers were keeping the room noisy as they helped you clean up. But at some point, Lea and Amy found a spot far across the room where they could interrogate you.
“Which one is it?” Lea asked immediately, like she hadn’t already asked the same thing three different ways in the past three hours.
Amy nudged her. “Were you listening? She didn’t check which one it was, remember?”
“What are they doing here anyway? Did you invite them?”
You huffed, glancing over your shoulder just long enough to catch the three of them talking. “No idea. They just showed up out of nowhere.”
“On Emma’s birthday? That can’t be a coincidence.”
“Oh, it’s definitely not a coincidence,” Lea muttered, shaking her head conspiratorially.
Unfortunately, she was right. It wasn’t a coincidence. When they showed up on your doorstep earlier, all three of them, the first question you’d asked had been: What are you doing here? And apparently, they had an answer.
Each of them had brought a letter from you. Letters you didn’t remember sending—because technically, you didn’t.
After a discreet interrogation with the staff, you found out how it happened. Last week, while clearing out the attic, you’d accidentally left a box on the counter marked “outgoing.” Inside were things you meant to throw away—old receipts, scribbled notes, and three unsent letters you’d written four years ago.
You remembered them now. You’d written those letters when Emma was in the hospital, and needed a blood transfusion, but her blood type was rare. You were scared. Desperate. You almost mailed them. But she got better before you had to.
Now here they were, delivered years late and right on time to ruin your peaceful little life. Still, that didn’t explain how they got here on the same day, at the exact same time. But when you asked, Doyoung had said:
“Oh, we actually missed the ferry, and Mr. Johnny here was nice enough to offer his yacht.”
You’d scoffed. “Still parading the seas with that yacht?”
“Yeah, no,” Johnny had replied smugly. “This one’s new. Got it just last year.”
Doyoung was the first to speak, stepping forward with a smile. “So... we were wondering,” he said, glancing briefly at Johnny and Jaehyun, “if there might be any rooms available here? Just for a few days while we’re on the island.”
You raised an eyebrow but kept your voice steady. “You’re not leaving yet?”
Johnny chuckled. “Why am I getting the feeling you don’t want us here?”
“Honestly?” you sighed. “Doesn’t matter much to me. But if you’re looking for a room, try somewhere else. I’m fully booked.”
Doyoung cleared his throat. “We’d pay, of course. No trouble.”
You shook your head firmly. “Sorry. You can pay me double, but the calendar will still be full until the end of the month.”
There was a pause as Doyoung glanced over at the other two. You saw Johnny shrug before saying, “The boat’s got plenty of rooms. You guys can crash there while I’m around.”
Doyoung nodded quickly, but Jaehyun hesitated, eyes flicking to you. Johnny turned back. “Guess that settles it. We’ll be on our way, then,” he said, offering a small wave.
“Yes. Please go,” you said briskly, waving your hand dismissively. Don’t come back, you wanted to add—but didn’t.
“It’s good to see you, sweetheart,” Johnny grinned, winking before sliding on his sunglasses and turning away.
You grimaced, rolled your eyes, and went back to your chore. You reached for a trash bag, but someone else grabbed it before you could. It was Jaehyun, and you could still feel the warmth of his presence behind you even after he’d moved away. Doyoung and Johnny had left, but he was still here.
“What are you doing?” you asked, though it was clear he was trying to help.
Of course, he was. You didn’t even have it in you to stop him when he started scraping paper plates into it, like this was just a normal evening in some alternate universe where he was your partner and this was his house, too.
“She’s very lovely,” Jaehyun said after a moment of nothing but silence between the two of you. “Emma, I mean.”
“She is,” you replied flatly despite the nervousness slowly creeping up your chest.
“She’s six?” he asked and you nodded. “Is her dad around?”
You exhaled sharply, dropping the broom. “It’s really none of your business, Jae. I’d rather we don’t talk like we’re old friends. Or act like we knew each other at all.”
Jaehyun sighed, saying your name softly, but you didn’t want to hear it. You walked out of the hall and found something else to do in the kitchen, hoping he’d be gone at some point without you having to interact with him anymore.
You kept yourself busy, moving from one task to the next—stacking empty cups, folding napkins, wiping down surfaces—anything to avoid looking Jaehyun’s way. Every now and then, you caught him quietly working alongside you, silently scraping plates or gathering trash, never saying much.
You thought he would leave if you ignored him long enough, but the hours ticked by, the party noise died down, and still, Jaehyun stayed. You resisted the urge to ask him directly to go, too wary of what might come if you did.
Finally, as the last of the balloons were deflating and the floor was almost spotless, he gathered the last trash bag and gave you a small nod. Without a word, he slipped out the door. Relief washed over you.
Later that night, you sat in the living room with Amy and Lea, nibbling on some ham and cheese from the kitchen. The house was quiet, the staff had left, and Emma was sleeping quietly upstairs. A TV show was playing in the background, but no one was really watching.
“So,” Amy said, passing you the plate, “All three of them are here. Shy Boy, Lover Boy, and Play Boy. What’s going on?”
Lea shook her head, eyes narrowed. “Even with the letter mix-up and fate or whatnot, I still don’t get why now, after all these years.”
You shrugged, chewing slowly. “I don’t know. The universe probably has it out for me.”
Amy leaned back, thoughtful. “You seemed tense around Lover Boy earlier. What’s his deal?”
You glanced at the ceiling, choosing your words carefully. “He’s…” You threw your hands up in the air, frustrated. “He’s Lover Boy.”
“Oh,” said Amy, nodding in realization. “Of course. Yeah, I get it.”
“What is it?” Lea asked cluelessly. “I don’t get it.”
“Jaehyun is Lover Boy,” Amy explained plainly, though it wasn’t enough for Lea. “He’s complicated because, you know, he’s the guy she fell in love with, but then he left her because he was engaged to some other girl.”
Lea gasped. “Oh my god! Yes! I forgot that we called him Lover Boy because she was gaga about him.”
“I was not,” you said coolly, lifting your glass to your lips to hide your lie.
“Were too,” Amy said in a sing-song, smirking. You huffed and slapped her thigh, earning a surprised yelp and a fit of giggles from both of them.
“Whatever. I’m not doing this with you guys,” you said, standing and brushing crumbs from your lap. “I’m going to bed.”
“Who else would you talk to if not us?” Lea called after you, laughter chasing you up the stairs.
You padded down the hallway, quiet now that the party was over and the girls were left to their wine and gossip. Your bedroom door was ajar, but you kept walking past it and down to the end of the hall where Emma’s room was.
You pushed the door open gently and peeked inside. She was fast asleep, curled into a soft lump beneath her blanket, one arm wrapped tightly around the new stuffed animal she’d gotten today. You stepped in and sat lightly on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair from her face. Her breathing was steady. Peaceful. The sight of her always had a way of quieting something wild inside you.
“Goodnight, baby,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
You stood to leave, carefully pulling the blanket back over her shoulder, but just as you turned to go, a small voice cut through the quiet. “Mommy?”
You turned instantly. Emma had stirred, eyes half-lidded, voice thick with sleep. She reached out a hand, and you crossed the room again without hesitation, crawling gently onto the bed beside her. “I’m here, baby,” you whispered, wrapping an arm around her as she snuggled into your side.
She was quiet for a moment, her little fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. Then, softly, “Who were those men?”
You blinked. “What men?”
“At the party. I didn’t know them. The tall men.”
You hesitated, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. “Just tourists, sweetie. They were asking for some rooms.”
“Oh,” she murmured. “Are they mean?”
You frowned. “What? No. Why would you think that?”
“They made you sad,” she said simply, her voice already fading as sleep tried to reclaim her. “I saw you do the forehead thing.”
You felt a lump forming in your throat. That was the thing about Emma. Even when she didn’t fully understand something, she felt it. She had always been so in-tune with you, too sensitive for her own good sometimes.
“No, baby,” you whispered, kissing the crown of her head. “They’re not mean. Just a little complicated.”
Emma hummed, snuggling closer. “I don’t like that word.”
“Yeah, me neither.” She didn’t say anything else after that, and within moments, her breathing evened out again. You stayed where you were, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across her ceiling. You weren’t ready to explain who those men really were. You didn’t even have the full truth yourself yet. And quite frankly, you never really thought about introducing Emma to her dad one day. But then again, life has its own way of kicking you in the ass. With all three of them here, you knew you would eventually have to confront the truth and put a face on the dad you’d kept from Emma all these years. You just hoped she’d be ready when that day came. Or that you would.
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The next day, you spotted them before they saw you—Doyoung with a juice in hand, Johnny chatting up the girl at the counter, and Jaehyun lingering by the window like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.
Of all the cafés on the island, of course, they came to your favorite one. Amy followed your gaze and made a low, amused sound. “Would you look at that. Shy Boy, Lover Boy, and Play Boy, all in one place.”
“I told them to leave,” you muttered, flipping over the menu board even though you knew you were gonna order the same thing as usual.
Lea, who owned the cafe, leaned over the counter, eyes narrowing at the trio. “Shy Boy’s in flip-flops. I don’t think they’re leaving. Maybe they’re here for my famous croissant?”
“Sure,” Amy snorted. “Croissant. Closure. Co-parenting. Who’s to say?”
“I don’t care. They have to leave,” you huffed.
“Yeah, well, good luck with that,” Lea chuckled, turning to welcome another customer who’d just walked through the doors.
Johnny was the first to spot you, unsurprisingly. He made a show of removing his sunglasses, flashing a smile so wide you wondered how it didn’t split his face open.
“Good morning,” he called, walking over to where you were standing by the counter. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Can’t say the same with you.”
Johnny chuckled like the jab didn’t bother him. “Yeah, I missed you, too. Say, how would you like to join me today? I’m sightseeing.”
“Pass. Some of us have real jobs,” you deadpanned, eyes still fixed on the menu.
“You’re gonna bore a hole in that thing,” Johnny said after a few seconds of watching you stare at the piece of cardboard.
You exhaled sharply and placed the menu down. Behind him, you caught Doyoung’s gaze, and he gave a small sheepish wave. Jaehyun didn’t approach—just gave a slight nod from where he sat, eyes cautious.
“What do you want?” you asked Johnny, arms crossed.
Johnny lifted a brow. “Coffee? A warm smile? To not be treated like a disease?”
“You can have the coffee,” you replied, nodding to the barista. “Smile’s out of stock.”
Johnny grinned. “Where’s Emma?”
“School,” you replied briskly. “Not that it’s any of your business where my daughter is.”
“It’s not. I’m just trying to make conversation.” 
You didn’t say anything to that, just gave him a deadpan expression. Johnny raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to speak, and seemingly trying to gauge if the look meant anything, but when you didn’t, he took a deep breath and shrugged. 
“Well, this place has a nice vibe. We’ll order something and be on our way. No need to panic.”
“I’m not panicking,” you snapped. Which, unfortunately, sounded exactly like someone who was panicking.
They sat at a table in the corner, quietly eating. Doyoung tapped on his phone. Johnny flirted with the waitress. Jaehyun stared out the window. You pretended not to watch them, but your ears picked up every laugh and cough and scrape of a chair.
Amy leaned over again. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” you said, poking at your food aggressively.
Lea leaned in as she pushed a small cup of espresso your way. “Be honest. Are you more mad that they came back, or that some part of you isn’t entirely mad?” You placed your fork down and didn’t answer.
“Oh my god. I can’t decide if I’m enjoying your despair or if I’m terrified of it,” said Amy, tutting as she shook her head at you,
“They’re just tourists,” you said through gritted teeth. “Let’s treat them as such.”
Just tourists, you told yourself. Just tourists my ass.
The sun was too bright for a Tuesday. You squinted up at it as you stepped out of a grocery store, two bags dangling from your arms, the baguette sticking out comically like something out of a cartoon. You walked down the winding road, exchanging smiles and pleasantries with a few people you knew.
Just as you were turning a corner, you spotted Doyoung in front of an old book shop, staring up at the sign with sunglasses far too big for his face. The owner, an old man with a permanent slouch, came out to greet him and usher him inside.
He hadn’t seen you yet. You considered ducking back inside and hiding in the alley between a patisserie and the bookshop, but fate was quicker. Doyoung turned at the perfect moment, smiling as soon as he recognized you.
“Hey,” he called, jogging over before you could pretend to be invisible. “I could help with that,” he offered.
You adjusted the bags in your hands. “No. I’ve got it.”
“Yes, but I insist, please.” He reached for one anyway, and you didn’t stop him, mostly because you were too tired to argue.
You walked side by side in silence for a few seconds. The streets were still sleepy at this hour—too early for tourists, too late for locals.  
Doyoung cleared his throat, shifting the bag in his hands. “So, uh, this place is lovely. The pastry is amazing. I had something yesterday—some kind of tart with fig and honey? It was amazing. I mean, not that I know anything about pastries. Or figs. I’m more of a donut guy, really. But you know—when in Rome. Or, uh, Corsica.”
You glanced at him sideways. He wasn’t looking at you, just staring ahead. He went on. “Also, everyone keeps smiling here. Like, aggressively friendly. One would think you’re not in France at all. Last time I was in the country, I went to Paris, and if someone smiled at you like that, they either want to sell you something or they’re about to scam you.”
That made you laugh, unexpectedly. Doyoung heard it and looked over, clearly startled, then smiled sheepishly. You cleared your throat after a few seconds, still a little red in the face. “You haven’t changed at all, Doyoung.”
Doyoung shrugged like he disagreed. “I did change a little. But you certainly haven’t.”
Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
He glanced at you, lips twitching into a small smile. “You’re just as beautiful as the first time I met you.”
You smirked. “On second thought, maybe you have changed.” You pointed to his choice of clothing. “You look more put-together. You must be doing better now.”
Doyoung smiled, that soft, earnest one that you used to find so endearing. “I am, thank goodness. My job is less stressful now. I’m doing much, much better. You, though? How have you been?”
“I’m fine. I’m sure you can tell that much.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” he replied, nodding. “And you’ve got a daughter. Emma, right? She seemed really bright. She reminds me of you.”
You frowned. “You don’t know her.”
“I know enough,” he said gently, then added quickly, “I mean—not in a weird way. Just, you know. I saw her for a few hours, and she seemed... like she knows exactly what she wants. Just like you always did.”
You didn’t respond to that. The road curved ahead, and you were quiet again, but it was less awkward this time, more familiar. Like an old coat, neither of you knew how to take off. You stopped walking as your house came into view. Doyoung did too. You turned to face him. “What are you doing here, Doyoung?”
Doyoung looked confused. “Helping you with your bags?”
“No, I mean here here. On this island,” you clarified, sighing. “Why did you come here?”
Doyoung blinked. “What do you mean?”
You shot him a look. “I know you came because you thought I asked you to, but we cleared that up, didn’t we? So why are you still here?”
“Vacation,” he offered quickly. “I’m here on vacation. Sometimes I like to do solo trips. You know? Pick a spot on the map and go there. I’m a spontaneous person.”
“No, you’re not.”
Doyoung chuckled. “No, I’m not.”
You didn’t say anything to that, just shook your head and looked over your shoulder at your house by the cliffs.  “I should get these home,” you said finally, nodding toward the bags.
Doyoung blinked like he’d forgotten he was still holding one. “Right! Of course. Sorry. I’ll, uh—I’ll leave you to it.”
You turned toward the path that led back to your house, but paused after Doyoung called out your name. “It’s really good to see you again,” he said. And you knew he meant it.
You nodded. “Thanks.” Then turned and kept walking.
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You thought you’d feel calmer the second you stepped back inside your house. But the moment you opened the door, laughter—loud and familiar—echoed through the hall and made the veins in your temples throb. Johnny was sprawled across your sofa, drink in hand, laughing at something Amy had said.
“There she is!” Amy called brightly the moment she saw you.
“My sweetheart,” Johnny added, getting to his feet with arms outstretched like he expected a warm welcome.
You dodged the hug before he could reach you. “Ames, did you check the mail? Something came for you.”
Amy’s eyes widened. “Already? Wait—what day is it?” She didn’t wait for an answer, scrambling off the couch and disappearing into the study, which you’d turned into your office.
Johnny followed you into the kitchen after Amy left, looking around the place. “Nice place you’ve got. Very you. Minimalist but cozy.”
“Glad you approve,” you deadpanned.
He grinned, tipping back the last of his drink before setting the glass on the countertop. “So... how have you been? You know, since our amazing little summer.”
“I’ve been fine.”
“Just fine?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “‘Fine’ fine, or ‘not fine’ fine?”
“‘None of your business’ fine.”
Johnny laughed, clearly entertained. “Okay, Ice Princess. What did I do? Why am I getting the cold treatment like we didn’t part in great terms on the best of circumstances all those years ago?”
The circumstances he was talking about were definitely not the best for you, but you didn’t wanna get into that with him. “I’m just trying to maintain a quiet life, Johnny. Having you here gives me anything but that.”
Johnny shrugged, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “Alright, fine.”
He was quiet for a minute, watching you pile up the groceries in their respective containers and cabinets. “Village’s changed a lot, hasn’t it?” he said after a while, glancing around. “I mean, there’s a wine bar now. A wine bar. When did this place get so bougie?”
“Not too long ago. More and more tourists are finding this place.”
“Is that why you turned this into a BNB?”
You hummed. “The plan was a hotel, but that takes so much more work, so I’m putting that on hold for now.”
Johnny nodded slowly, then looked at you again, this time more carefully. “Your daughter Emma is adorable. I didn’t know you got married.”
You paused, hand hovering in the air as you were closing an overhead cabinet. “I didn’t.”
His eyebrows rose. “Oh. Huh. I just assumed. You know... kid, house, the whole ‘maintaining a quiet life’ spiel. Is the father out of the picture?”
You huffed, unwilling to have this conversation with him for the most obvious reason. “It’s really none of your business, but if you must ask, no, he is not in the picture. I have a daughter and I’m not married. That’s it.”
He gave a slow, thoughtful nod, like he was tucking that information away for later. “Yeah, I doubt you would have enjoyed being married. You always did like being independent.”
You said nothing, just continued your chore and pretended he wasn’t there. But it was easier said than done.
“I missed talking to you,” he said with a lilt. “Even when you’re being mean.”
“You are bothering me while I’m working. I’m not being mean.”
“Oh, I know,” he chimed, tilting his head. “This is you being civilized. It’s kinda hot.”
You rolled your eyes. “I thought I told you to leave?”
“I’m the master of my own fate, sweetheart. I don’t let anyone tell me what to do,” he said smugly. “Besides, this place is magnificent. Can’t blame a man for staying and reliving the nostalgia.”
You didn’t bother replying. Just turned away and kept unpacking, hoping he’d take the hint. Johnny smirked, clearly enjoying pushing your buttons, but then his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it, sighed, and shook his head. “Well, I should probably let you get back to your kingdom of quiet,” he said, stretching.
You didn’t bother to say goodbye, just kept sorting the groceries. Johnny grinned like he knew he’d won some invisible game and turned toward the door. “See you around.”
You heard the front door close behind him, and the sudden silence was almost deafening. The sound of footsteps signaled Amy’s return. “Johnny’s gone,” she said, placing a letter on the counter. “I guess I’m gone too. But more gone than he is.”
Your brows furrowed. “Whatever does that mean?”
Amy lifted the paper. “They’re summoning me back. I’m afraid I’m gonna have to say goodbye to my little break and go back to working my ass off for a new Chanel purse.”
You chuckled. “You’re your own boss, Amy.”
“Pep talk? Nice. I can always trust you to lift me up when I’m down.”
“No, I mean literally,” you clarified, laughing. “You literally own your company.”
Amy sighed and sank into a chair. “I know, right? Who knew being a boss could be so demanding, too?”
You smiled, placing the last jar of jam in the cabinet. “You always did say you wanted to build an empire.”
“I was picturing more champagne and yachts. Less spreadsheets and back-to-back Zoom calls.” She pouted. “But alas, I must answer the call of capitalism.”
You leaned against the counter, arms folded. “When are you leaving?”
“Couple more days. Figured I’d squeeze in a few more sunsets before I go back to breathing recycled air in my office.”
“That gives us time for at least one more girls’ night.”
Amy grinned. “You, me, Lea, a bottle of wine, and us talking about Emma’s drop dead gorgeous dads?”
“Possible dads.”
She raised her hands in surrender. “Right, possible dads. But seriously… you okay with me leaving?”
You gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’ll survive.”
Amy narrowed her eyes. “You always say that when you’re suppressing deep emotional turmoil.”
“Then you must be thrilled I’m so consistent.”
Amy smirked, then stood to stretch. “I wish I could move here too.”
You shook your head. “Yeah, like you’ll survive the quiet.”
She grimaced, standing up at once and heading for the stairs. You watched her climb upstairs with her heels click-clacking on the marble floor, smiling as she disappeared from view.
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You were halfway up the ladder, squinting against the late afternoon sun as you twisted the new bulb into the patio fixture. The scent of oranges permeated the warm air, sweet and delightful, and cicadas buzzed in the distance.
“Hey—careful,” came a voice behind you, gentle but urgent. You turned slightly and found Jaehyun standing near the base of the ladder, brows furrowed. “You shouldn’t be up there,” he said. “What if you fall?”
You huffed a small laugh, focusing back on the bulb. “Then I’ll fall. And hopefully someone will find me before the birds do.”
He stepped closer, placing one hand on the side of the ladder without climbing. “Seriously. Get down. Let me do it.”
“It’s fine, I’m almost—” You gave the bulb a final twist and straightened. “Done.”
He exhaled through his nose like he didn’t quite believe you, but wasn’t going to argue. His hand stayed lightly on the ladder until you made it to the ground. You felt it—the worry in his eyes—before you even looked at him.
“Thanks,” you muttered.
He nodded, glancing up at the light fixture. “You always do these things by yourself?”
You shrugged. “Mostly. The handyman comes by when something major breaks.”
“Don’t you have someone who could help with this kind of thing?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “A partner, or… someone?”
You scoffed. “Why? Because women shouldn’t be doing things like these?”
“That’s not what I said,” he said quickly. “I just meant you should be more careful and leave these tasks to other people.”
“Did you come here to boss me around?” you smirked, walking toward the shed with your toolbox. “Old habits die hard, huh?”
“I’m not bossing you around. I never did that,” he replied, following behind you. “You just don’t like being told what to do.”
“You know me so well,” you scoffed, digging through the shed for shears. “Good for you.”
You turned to him and handed him the shears with a crooked smile. “Here. Since you think I shouldn't be doing everything myself, you can help with the oranges.”
He took the shears without protest, the metal glinting faintly in the late afternoon light. You started toward the nearest tree, brushing your fingers against the low-hanging branches as you walked. The fruit was ripe, some already beginning to speckle with sunspots.
Jaehyun trailed behind, quiet except for the occasional snip of the shears. You didn’t offer instructions—he knew what to do. You remembered that much.
For a while, the only sounds were the rustle of leaves, the snap of stems, and the distant hum of insects. You filled a basket between you in silence, neither of you in a hurry. 
“These trees are doing well,” he said eventually, pausing beside you to drop a few oranges into the bin. “I didn’t think they’d survive the dry season.”
You crouched down to pick one that had fallen between two roots. “They almost didn’t. I had to replant a few.” You dusted off the dirt and added it to the pile. “They’re tougher than they look.”
He glanced at you, and you knew it wasn’t about the oranges. But you didn’t acknowledge it. Jaehyun shifted his weight, rubbing his palm over his neck like he always did when he was thinking too hard. “It’s peaceful here.”
“It was,” you said dryly, then added, “Still is. Mostly.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it faded quickly. He nodded and turned back to the tree, reaching for another cluster of oranges. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. But I figured, when I did… you’d look like this.”
You arched a brow. “Like what?”
He hesitated. “Like… settled. Happy.”
You didn’t respond right away, just adjusted the strap of the basket on your shoulder. “Yeah, life doesn’t just stop for anyone. It keeps going. But you know that already.”
Jaehyun didn’t say anything. Instead, he stepped forward, brushing past you to reach a particularly high branch. His arm stretched over your head, close enough for you to feel the warmth of him, but you didn’t move. He clipped the stem and handed the orange to you quietly.
You took it without meeting his eyes. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” he murmured. You placed the orange in the basket, then stood there for a few moments, letting the quiet stretch between you. You didn’t want to open your mouth and speak the words you were dying to say. But you needed to know.
You exhaled softly. “Are you going to tell me what you’re really doing here?”
He looked at you, lips pressed thinly together like he didn’t want to speak. You met his gaze. “Why are you here, Jae? Why now?”
“No reason,” he said, though his voice was softer now. “I just wanted to see the island again. You know what it meant to me.”
You sighed. “I know, that’s why I’m asking you why. You came all the way out here, just to reminisce?”
He didn’t answer right away. You could see it—the hesitation behind his silence. Maybe he was debating what to say, or maybe he didn’t even know the answer himself.
“I don’t know,” he said eventually. “Still figuring that out,” he said quietly.
You scoffed, shaking your head. “Then figure it out somewhere else. I want nothing to do with you.”
You placed the basket of oranges down and turned to walk away. But then you paused, sighing to yourself. “Jaehyun,” you said, glancing back. He straightened, eyes hopeful.
“Don’t do that thing where you pretend we’re fine.”
His face fell, just slightly. “Okay,” he said softly. “Then I’ll do the thing where I hope we will be.”
You didn’t say anything else. Just walked away, the sun edging down the horizon, and the memories of your past heartbreak pressing hard against your chest.
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In a small, dimly lit pub in the heart of the village, Johnny, Doyoung, and Jaehyun had found a corner table near the back, enjoying the local cuisine and some drinks. It was by Johnny’s recommendation, seconded by Jaehyun, who agreed that this place had the best food.
“So you’re all here by coincidence?” the pub owner asked, appearing at their table with a towel slung over her shoulder. She was in her fifties, with sharp eyes and a playful lilt to her voice.
Jaehyun smiled faintly. “Guess so.”
“I remember you,” she said, pointing at him. “You were here six years ago, weren’t you? Your hair was shorter then. Stayed a few weeks. Always ordered the sardines and left a good tip.”
Jaehyun smiled. “Yeah, that sounds like me.”
She turned to Johnny. “I saw you here before, too, with the fancy yacht.” To Doyoung, she said, “You all know each other?”
Doyoung offered a polite smile. “We didn’t know each other until this week. We all thought she—uh, someone—had asked us to come.”
“Misunderstanding,” Jaehyun added flatly.
The woman let out a long, amused hmm. “Three strangers, all drawn back to the same place, for the same woman? That’s either bad luck or fate.”
Johnny chuckled. “Feels a bit like both.”
The pub owner grinned. “Well, I’ve known her since she moved here. Lovely girl. Strong as hell. We all helped her when she had little Emma—Lord, that was a night.” She laughed to herself, then added fondly, “She did good, you know. Raising her child like that.”
That was when she tilted her head. “So…” she said slowly, eyes darting between the three of them, “which one of you is the dad?”
Silence fell all of a suddden. Jaehyun blinked. Doyoung choked on his beer. Johnny just stared at her, lips parting but nothing coming out.
She laughed, waving a hand. “Oh, don’t all look so spooked. Just thought it was funny—all of you turning up like that. I figured one of you must’ve come back for your kid.”
Doyoung leaned forward. “Sorry—our kid? Are you saying one of us could be Emma’s dad?”
She blinked, then grinned. “So you don’t know?” She looked genuinely entertained now. “You did all sleep with her, yeah?”
The three of them exchanged stunned glances, which only made her laugh harder. “That’s the part I’m having trouble wrapping my head around. Young people really are something,” she said, already turning away. “Just don’t cause trouble for our girl while you’re here, alright?”
The three of them stepped out into the cooling evening air, the sea breeze curling through the narrow streets. They walked in silence at first, shoes scuffing against cobblestones, the buzz of the pub still echoing faintly behind them.
“She’s got your laugh, Johnny,” Doyoung said suddenly. Johnny and Jaehyun both turned to look at him. “I mean—” Doyoung shrugged, a little sheepish now. “Emma. The kid.”
Johnny lifted a brow. “You’ve barely spoken to her.”
“I know,” Doyoung said, hands jammed into his pockets. “But I heard her laugh.”
“You don’t think she’s yours?” Jaehyun asked Doyoung.
Doyoung shrugged. “I feel like she’s mine, but I also think she’s not. I mean, me and her mom only met briefly and you two seemed to have a longer history with her.”
Johnny didn’t answer. He was looking up now, watching the clouds across a lilac sky. “A daughter. My own daughter. How odd.”
Doyoung gave him a sidelong glance. “You think she might be yours?”
Johnny smirked faintly. “The timeline fits. And we did have a wild summer.”
Jaehyun scoffed. “None of that would have happened if I never left the island.”
Johnny stopped walking and watched Jaehyun carefully. “So it was you?”
Jaehyun stopped too, glancing over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”
Johnny narrowed his eyes, wagging his index finger. “The guy who left her in that state of despair six years ago.”
Jaehyun didn’t speak, but the way his jaw clenched and looked away made Johnny snigger. “Knew it. Guess I owe you for that. If you hadn’t messed up, I wouldn’t have had my chance.”
They exchanged glances, Johnny with a smug smirk on his lips and Jaehyun with darkened eyes, neither of them saying anything. Just a step behind, Doyoung was watching cautiously. 
“Are you gonna punch each other in the face? Please don’t punch each other in the face,” he rambled. “I’m a pacifist, but physically pacifying two grown men fighting is not my best skill.”
Jaehyun glanced at him and smiled. “No. No one’s punching anyone.”
Johnny nodded in agreement, and Doyoung visibly relaxed. Ahead, near the edge of the orange orchard, he spotted a small figure darting between the trees—Emma, the child they had all heard so much about.
“Emma!” he exclaimed, pointing at the orchard.
They all followed his finger, watching as Emma ran barefoot over the grass with two other kids, her hair bouncing, eyes bright with mischief. They all noticed how she tilted her head just like you did when you were thinking hard, and caught themselves smiling at the resemblance.
Jaehyun exhaled slowly. “We need to talk to her mom.”
Doyoung scratched the back of his neck. “We should, but she clearly doesn’t want us here.”
Johnny nodded slowly, his gaze still on the orchard. “Makes sense now, doesn’t it? Why she was so cold. She’s been raising a kid this whole time and we show up out of nowhere?”
A long silence stretched between them, heavy with everything that needed not be spoken. 
“Hi there,” came a voice behind them. They all turned. Amy stood there, smiling mischievously.
“Amy!” Johnny exclaimed, chuckling nervously. “Didn’t see you there.”
Amy crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Three grown men, spying on a little girl. I wonder what’s going on here?” she chimed, tilting her head playfully.
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It didn’t take much to convince Amy. Just one sincere talk beneath the stars, and Amy’s usual knack for stepping into matters she absolutely shouldn’t. 
Okay, there was also a bribe of some sort from Johnny too.
By morning, she and the three men had come to some sort of unspoken agreement, though you’d never hear the details from her. She wouldn’t tell you yet, but Amy agreed to gave the men time to get to know Emma. Little windows of time, a few stolen moments. A chance to see Emma from a distance without disrupting her world. 
The girl remained blissfully unaware, chattering to her friends, running through trees, and sitting cross-legged on classroom floors while three very confused, very quiet men watched her and quietly lost their minds.
Johnny had his time with her first. He was sitting outside the café in the square, dark sunglasses over his eyes, arms crossed as if he wasn’t creepily surveilling a six-year-old. Emma sat three tables away with a coloring book open in front of her and a glass of peach juice beside it—served, oddly, in a champagne flute.
“She refuses to drink from plastic,” Amy muttered, sipping her espresso beside him. “Told me once it was ‘unsightly.’”
“She’s not wrong,” Johnny scoffed.
“She’s six.”
Johnny let out a faint snort. Emma was focused, brows pinched slightly, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she colored inside the lines. Not scribbles—clean, even strokes. Her sundress was bright. Her sandals were spotless. And when a tourist’s kid squealed nearby, Emma looked up with a flick of her lashes that Johnny knew all too well.
“She might be mine,” he murmured, eyes focused on the kid. “What a terrifying thought.”
“Terrifying that she’s yours?” Amy asked dryly.
Johnny nodded. “Yeah. I mean, can you imagine? Me? With a kid?”
Amy snorted. “You’d put her in designer overalls.”
Johnny puffed his chest proudly. “She deserves nothing less.”
Jaehyun saw her later that afternoon, under the fig tree by the orchard. Emma was crouched in the dirt, arranging pebbles into a messy circle around something she’d scratched into the soil with a stick. A butterfly landed nearby. She didn’t move—just watched it in silence, eyes wide with wonder.
A woman came over, offering some pastry to Emma who immediately stood up to look at the food. When she scrunched up her nose at it, Jaehyun smiled to himself, recognizing that stubborn streak.
Amy stood beside him, arms crossed loosely. “She’s very picky. She hates raisins,” she offered. “Picks them out of everything. Cookies. Bread. Throws them at birds, sometimes.”
Jaehyun blinked. “Birds?”
“It’s her favorite animal. Always the highlight of her drawings.”
“She likes to draw?”
“She does,” Amy replied, smiling.
He didn’t answer. Just kept his eyes on Emma as she adjusted one final stone, then stood back to admire her handiwork. A small, crooked flower drawn in dirt, circled with mismatched pebbles. She clapped once, proud of herself.
Jaehyun smiled faintly. “She’s my daughter,” he said, soft enough that even Amy might not have caught it. “I know it.”
Doyoung saw her at the school library. Emma was curled on a beanbag in the corner, a book nearly as big as her lap open across her knees. Occasionally, she’d whisper something to herself, then giggle like she’d cracked a private joke. Her glasses kept slipping down her nose, and every few minutes she’d push them up again with an absent-minded jab of her finger.
“She likes logic puzzles,” Amy whispered from the next shelf. “Reads ahead in class.”
Doyoung watched in fascination as Emma turned a page and promptly bonked herself in the forehead with the stiff cardboard. She made a dramatic little “oof” sound, then looked around—saw no one had noticed—and laughed at herself.
“She’s smart,” Doyoung murmured, smiling despite himself. “And clumsy.”
Amy looked at him knowingly. “Like someone you know?”
Emma had already gone back to reading, entirely absorbed, glasses slipping again. He watched her, chest tugging strangely.
“I feel like she’s mine,” he said finally. “I mean, she’s smart, clumsy. Her demeanor reminds me of myself.”
None of them spoke it aloud to each other. But in their separate corners of the island, in different lights and at different times, they all began to wonder the same thing.
What if she really was my child?
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The first time you saw Emma hanging out with one of his potential fathers, you went batshit. You almost lashed out on Jaehyun—who was with her at the time, but Lea was able to stop you just in time before you could make a scene with your daughter present. Lea and Amy had to take the brunt of your anger.
Amy explained that all three of them had heard from someone that one of them could be Emma’s dad. It took some serious convincing—one which involved sitting your down while Lea and Amy held you on either arms to calm you down—before you eventually agreed that they deserved to at least get to know Emma.
That weekend, you watched Johnny and Emma spend time together. They were crouched side-by-side at the back of the bookstore. You sat at the café next door, pretending to read while watching them through the open window. You didn’t like this idea at all, but you wanted to give it a chance.
Emma, legs swinging from the edge of a stepstool, flipped through a picture book while Johnny knelt beside her, pointing at words and asking, “What do you think happens next?”
“She gets turned into a snail,” Emma replied seriously, like it was obvious.
Johnny chuckled. “Solid twist.”
You lingered to watch them longer than you meant to. When Emma eventually noticed you, she ran up to join you with Johnny in tow.  He just smiled at you and said, “We found the weirdest book. It’s kind of amazing.”
You only offered a clipped nod before turning to Emma as she showed you the pictures in the book. Doyoung’s turn came with the weekly beach clean-up. He somehow ended up carrying Emma in one arm and a leaking bucket of seashells and rocks in the other, grinning despite the mess.
“I’m starting a rock museum,” Emma explained when she spotted you. “Uncle Doyoung’s the janitor.”
Doyoung wiped his sandy hands on his jeans. “I asked to be head of security, but apparently I wasn’t intimidating enough.”
You didn’t stay long, just long enough to see him trip over a bucket and nearly fall into the tide. Emma cackled, and you couldn’t help the reluctant smile that pulled at your lips. She was having fun. That’s all that mattered.
And then there was the art fair too. You’d gone mostly for the free churros, but Emma got sucked into the craft tent, and of course Jaehyun was there—already drawing with a group of overly ambitious kids.
When Emma wandered over to him, she handed him a stick of chalk and said, “Can you draw a castle?”
So he did. A sweeping, moss-covered thing, all turrets and arches, delicately shaded like it was made to be hung in museums. Emma crouched beside him, adding a purple dragon with uneven wings. You stood across the square, your heart crawling up into your throat. And when they stepped back to admire their work—her tiny hand brushing his—you had to look away.
Through it all, you kept your distance. Smiled when Emma came home with funny stories. Listened when she said she hoped she’d see “the bookstore guy” or “the rock guy” or “the drawing guy” again. And quietly braced yourself for the moment it would all become real. Because deep down, you knew it couldn’t go on like this forever.
“Uncle Doyoung’s silly. I like him.”
Your heart twisted a little. “You do?”
“Uh-huh. And I like Uncle Johnny too. He said he’s got a big boat.”
You chuckled, running your hands gently through her hair. “Yeah, he does.”
“Your friends are not mean, Mom. They’re okay,” she added, beaming. “And did you know Uncle Jae is an architect?”
“I did.”
“He said architects draw houses and buildings. It’s cool.”
You smiled. “Do you wanna be an architect?”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I want to be a marine biologist.”
“Oh?” you asked, propping yourself on your elbow. “What does a marine biologist do?”
She launched into a surprisingly detailed explanation about dolphins, seaweed, and how sharks weren’t actually evil. You listened, nodding along, trying not to think about how easy this all seemed for her. And how hard it still was for you.
The next morning, you told your friends about your conversation with Emma. It was late afternoon when the three of you gathered on the patio, just far enough from the orchard that your voices wouldn’t carry. You had lemonade in your glass, sunglasses on your head, and your jaw clenched just slightly as you watched Emma zip between the trees, her laugh echoing on the breeze.
Johnny, Doyoung, and Jaehyun trailed after her like oversized puppies. Doyoung was trying to toss fallen oranges into a basket while Emma called out scores like a basketball referee. Jaehyun was crouched beside her, gently brushing dirt off her knees with a folded napkin. And Johnny, of course, was doing the most Johnny thing imaginable—standing a few feet away, watching it all quietly, sipping from a water bottle like he was above the chaos but secretly just shy around Emma.
“It’s Lover Boy,” Amy said, plucking a grape off the plate in front of her.
Lea blinked. “You said your vote is on Playboy.”
“That was when I hadn’t met Emma in the flesh yet,” Amy popped the grape in her mouth. “Now that she’s grown, and I’ve met Lover Boy, I’m pretty sure it’s him. She’s got her hatred for raisins to back it up, too.”
Lea snorted. “Nah. It’s Shy Boy. Emma’s being a massive klutz can only be explained by genetics.”
“Oh, so that’s hereditary now?” Amy asked, chuckling.
“It could be, who knows?” said Lea, shrugging. “I will say, though. She’s got Playboy’s eyes.”
You didn’t say anything. Just sipped your lemonade, eyes tracking Emma as she darted behind a tree, making all three men spin around to look for her.
“She’s got pieces of all of them,” Lea said after a moment. “Honestly, I can’t tell. She’s... Emma. You know?”
Amy nodded. “She takes after her mother a lot. Anyone would have a hard time guessing which one is her dad.”
There was a pause while you all watched Doyoung lift Emma onto his shoulders so she could try to reach a branch. She shrieked with laughter when he spun in a slow circle and nearly tripped over his own feet. Jaehyun instinctively reached out to steady them both, and Johnny looked up from where he was sitting, brows furrowed in concern. The three men exchanged glances—then they all laughed.
“At least the three of them get along,” Lea commented. “Men are more civil than I thought.”
You hummed but said nothing, eyes lingering on Emma as she stuck out her tongue and made a silly face. She was glowing. She had no idea that her entire life might be shifting beneath her feet.
Amy nudged your elbow. “You okay?”
Before you could respond, you noticed Johnny approaching, and quiet fell over your small circle. He slowed when he reached the edge of the patio, giving a polite nod to the others before looking at you.
“Hi,” he said, hands in his pockets.
“Oh wow, would you look at the time,” Lea said suddenly, standing up. “I need to check on the muffins!”
“Right. Muffins in the oven. Burning. Very urgent,” Amy said, scrambling up after her.
Johnny smirked as he watched your friends scramble away on purpose. “I love your friends. They’re very tactful.”
You scoffed. “And very nosy too.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Johnny agreed, sitting on the chair Lea had just vacated. “So, Shy Boy, Lover Boy, and Playboy.” Your brows furrowed, but you didn’t say anything.
“Nice nicknames. Who came up with it?” he grinned, leaning back on the chair and crossing his legs. “Let me guess, Lea?”
You couldn’t help laughing. “Yeah. But where did you even hear that? Have you been eavesdropping this whole time?”
“No, but I’ve heard it a few times in passing. I mean, obviously I’m Playboy,” he said, pointing to himself. “Doyoung’s definitely Shy Boy. And that makes Jaehyun your Lover Boy.”
He turned to you, grinning mischievously. “He was the guy who broke your heart, right? I ought to thank him. That summer changed my life.”
You rolled your eyes. “Are you here to gossip, Playboy?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head and leaning in. “I’m here to ask why you never told me she might be mine.”
Your mind stopped functioning for a second, completely caught off guard by the question and the way he dropped it so casually. You opened your mouth to speak, but didn’t. You just took a deep breath and looked away.
Of course. This conversation was doomed to come.
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You’d never seen her this happy. Emma had always been bright, quick to laugh, quick to love, but this was different. This was lit-from-within, cheeks-pink-from-running, never-stopping-to-breathe kind of joy. You’d opted to let the three of them check into the BNB so they could spend more time with her.
Emma tore through the orchard like it had been made for her. Hair in a frizzy ponytail, arms flapping like wings, cheeks flushed from the heat. And trailing behind her like loyal satellites were the three men she’d only just met.
Doyoung was her obvious favorite at first. He’d found an old chalkboard and some planks and convinced her they could build a lemonade stand, even though he had no real plan and kept hammering nails crookedly.
“You’re doing it all wrong,” she scolded, tapping the plank he’d just attached.
“I’m not!” Doyoung said, offended. “I saw someone do it this way and it worked out fine.”
Jaehyun, naturally, had to take over. Inside the house, you pulled the laundry off the line and folded it stiffly. You paused when you heard her laugh again—clear as glass—and glanced out the kitchen window.
Johnny was under the fig tree with her now, holding a clipboard and pencil. He was showing her how to draw a map of the orchard. She leaned close to study his handwriting, her forehead creasing a little in concentration. He watched her like he didn’t want to blink.
When you stepped out onto the porch with a basket of folded sheets, Jaehyun was crouched near the steps, gently wiping dirt from Emma’s scraped knee with a napkin. She sniffled but didn’t cry. He smiled at her, whispering something you couldn’t hear, and she nodded solemnly before getting up and dashing off to find the others.
Jaehyun stood slowly and noticed you. “You’ve got a few loose planks back there,” he said quietly, pointing to a spot behind the house. “I could fix them. It wouldn’t take long.”
You didn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve lived with them this long.”
“I know. But I’m here now.”
That made you look at him. His face hadn’t changed—still calm, still thoughtful—but there was meaning behind those words. Like an apology, or a promise, or both.
“I’m not gonna play house with you, Jaehyun.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” he said calmly. “I just… want to help.”
“Well, don’t,” you replied, lips pressing into a thin line. He nodded once and stepped back.
That evening, the lemonade stand had collapsed, the map was unfinished, and Emma had declared herself “Queen of Orange Land.” She demanded a crown. Jaehyun made one out of wildflowers. Doyoung gave her a sticker badge. Johnny carried her on his shoulders as she waved at no one.
From the patio, you watched it all. Arms crossed, with an unreadable expression. You’d spent six years guarding your peace. Six years building a world that revolved around you and your daughter, just you two, always. And now these men had arrived, pulling at old threads. Disturbing your peace.
Doyoung approached you later, holding out a glass of lemonade like a peace offering. “Hi.”
You took the glass without looking at him. “Thanks.”
“She’s a lot like you,” Doyoung said. “Bold, smart, very pretty. She has big dreams, too. Like you.”
You didn’t say anything, just quietly sipped on your lemonade.
Doyoung continued. “Remember in Paris? You said you wanted to run your own hotel and—”
“I don’t remember,” you cut in.
His smile dropped for just a second. “Right. Well… Back then, I said I’m gonna stay in your hotel as a guest. And—”
“Stop it, Doyoung,” you replied without missing a beat. “There is a chance that you might be Emma’s dad, and if you were, you could be a dad to her if you want. But that’s between you and her. That relationship doesn’t extend to me.”
You rose to your feet and left before he could say anything. You heard him call out to you, but you didn’t look back.
Later that night, long after Emma had passed out in bed, you ran into Johnny in the hallway. He was barefoot, hair damp from a shower, heading toward the kitchen.
He noticed you first. “Still mad at me?”
You walked past him without stopping. “No.”
Johnny turned, surprised. “Really?”
“That would require emotion.”
He didn’t smile. “Got it.”
As you walked away, you remembered how he asked you a few days ago why you didn’t tell him about Emma. You remembered being unable to say anything in response. Johnny said it was fine and that he would wait until you were ready to tell him.
“But as you know, I’m a busy man and I’m not very patient,” he’d said at the time, basically giving you a deadline, and you didn’t appreciate that at all.
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The sun had set. Emma had fallen asleep after a tantrum over popsicle colors—red was the only acceptable flavor, apparently—and for the first time all day, the house was quiet. You were in the kitchen twisting at a jam jar with far too much effort, when Doyoung walked in.
“Need help?” he asked, smiling.
You jumped a little. “I got it,” you said, grunting once before giving up. “Okay, no, I don’t. I think the lid’s glued shut.”
He took the jar, twisted once, and popped it open. You stared at him like he’d just performed a magic trick.
“I loosened it,” you said defensively.
He handed it back with a smile. “Yes, you did. Great job.” 
The compliment caught you off guard, and you looked down at the jar in your hands, like you had suddenly forgotten why you wanted jam in the first place. Doyoung noticed your expression.
“Sorry. It just came out,” he said after a second. “My fiancee says she doesn’t know if I mean them sometimes, or if I’m just complimenting her out of habit.”
You glanced at him. “Fiancée? You’re engaged?”
Doyoung nodded, almost bashfully. “Since December. She’s great. Very not-me, which is probably why it works.”
“Congratulations,” you said, feeling a genuine warmth in your heart.
He looked at you, serious now. “I didn’t come to bother you or anything. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”
You flattened your lips together and shrugged.
“I was just really surprised to get that letter,” he added, chuckling softly. “And I came because it sounded urgent, and I wanted to help with whatever it was. You didn’t give me details, just that you wanted me to come as soon as I can.”
“I know,” you replied, shaking your head at yourself. “That was kind of the point. And I did need your help at the time, but things got better.”
“What did happen?” he asked, leaning on the counter. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
You sighed and looked at him, really looked at him. Doyoung had been a sweetheart when you first met. He was a clumsy, nervous wreck, but he was endearing. You had your best memories of Paris with him, but he probably had the worst memory of you leaving him with nothing but a note. 
He didn’t deserve the hostility he got from you the first time you saw him again after six long years.
“Emma was sick, really sick,” you confessed. “I didn’t know what to do. I panicked. And for the first time, I thought… maybe she needs her dad.”
You looked away. “But like I said, things got better. So I didn’t have to send those letters after all.”
Doyoung hummed, nodding as he took in the information. “I followed you here, you know. Six years ago.” He said after a few seconds. “But Corsica is a big island and I didn’t know where to look, so, I gave up and went back home.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. I wasn’t upset about it,” he chuckled, then paused to think. “Well, I was, a little bit. And it took a while to recover from the bruised ego I got that day.”
He glanced over. “Can I ask you something?” You nodded.
“Did you hate it? That night?” Doyoung let out a shaky laugh. “I just—I’ve thought about it a lot. About how I must’ve said the wrong thing or done something wrong. And I’ve always wondered if you left because of that.”
“No,” you said quickly. “No, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t hate it. I just…”
You took a breath, then admitted quietly, “You scared me. When you said you were in love with me.”
“Huh…” He nodded, seemingly coming to a realization. “I get it. Looking back now, it was kind of a stupid thing to say.”
You snorted. “Yeah. It was.”
“But that’s all in the past,” he declared, exhaling. “And I didn’t come here for a second shot at this, or anything. I just really thought you needed help, and our time might be short, but to me, you’re an old friend. I like helping old friends.”
You smiled at that, genuinely moved. Then he added, “And of course, after finding out about Emma, I had to stay. I needed to stay. The idea that I could be a father is just… I don’t know. Exciting and scary at the same time.”
You didn’t reply right away. Just watched him, this man who used to be a charming, blabbering mess, now standing in your kitchen talking about being a father. “I think you’ll be a good one,” you said at last.
Doyoung smiled, softer than before. “I hope so.”
“Not just with Emma,” you added, and you meant it. “You’ll be a wonderful dad to your kids, Doyoung.”
“Thank you,” he said, bashfully scratching the back of his neck. His ears had turned a little pink. “I’d love me a daughter. I’d spoil her rotten.”
You sighed. “If Emma turns out to be yours, please don’t spoil her too much. She’s already spoiled enough as it is. I can’t even.”
Doyoung snorted. “She’s not that bad.”
You gave him a look. “She threw a fit over popsicle colors. Colors, Doyoung.”
He laughed, loud and boyish. “Right. She did.”
You smiled despite yourself. Just for a second, it felt like old times again—comfortable, uncomplicated, and a little silly. But only for a second.
The night was still and quiet. Cool air clung to your skin as you stepped onto the porch, barefoot, holding a half-empty mug of tea. You’d part ways with Doyoung after a hearty chat, and Johnny was nowhere to be found ever since Emma fell asleep. So, you weren’t expecting to see anyone else.
But there he was, crouched at the edge of the yard, a flashlight balanced between his knees and a screwdriver in his hand, fussing over the fence.
You blinked. “I told you to leave it.”
Jaehyun looked up, startled. “Sorry. Couldn’t sleep.”
You took a slow sip. “Didn’t realize you packed a toolbox.”
He glanced down at the pitiful setup: a multitool, a roll of twine, and what looked suspiciously like a spoon. “Improvising.”
You scoffed under your breath and stepped down from the porch, walking over to the shed nearby. “The toolbox is here.”
He followed you quietly to the shed. You flicked on the light, crouched, and pulled out the battered red toolbox from under a shelf.
“Here,” you said, setting it down at his feet.
“Thanks,” he murmured, kneeling beside it. 
He opened the lid, hesitant, like it felt wrong to accept even this small gesture from you. You turned on your heel to leave, but he spoke before you could take a step.
“You don’t have to stay,” he said. “But I wouldn’t mind the company.”
You considered him for a second, then walked out without a word. He took that as a no. Ten minutes later, you were back with your mug refilled, your sleeves pushed up, and a blanket tossed over one shoulder.
“Is it that hard? Or are you just slow?” you asked flatly.
He didn’t smile, but you saw his lips twitch. “Just trying not to wake everyone.”
You set your mug down on the steps and sat, knees pulled up. You didn’t know why you came back. Maybe it was the quiet, or the way his voice had sounded—not desperate, just inviting.  And familiar.
You watched him work. He was careful with his hands, looping the twine where a nail was missing, reinforcing the base with wood from a broken crate you’d nearly thrown out. He moved quietly, methodically, and with expertise like the handyman that you remembered him to be.
“You still like fixing things that don’t concern you?” you asked before you could stop it.
He glanced at you, surprised. “Only the ones I have a shot at fixing.”
You didn’t reply. But the words stayed with you, nestled somewhere in your chest like a jab you were sure he didn’t mean to throw. “You always did think everything is a fixer-upper,” you mumbled bitterly, looking away and taking a sip.
The night stretched on. A few crickets chirped in the distance. Jaehyun finished tying off the last bit of twine, wiped his hands on his jeans, then came to sit beside you on the steps. Not too close.
“How have you been?” he asked, voice low. “All these years.”
You took a sip of your tea. “Fine.”
He didn’t press. That was how he always was—patient, never pushing. And maybe that was part of the problem. Back then, he’d waited too long to be honest. By the time he said something you needed to hear, it had already been too late.
Now here he was again, waiting. Sitting beside you like no time had passed. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “Emma likes having you around.”
A small smile crossed his lips. “She’s incredible. Bright. Funny. Stubborn as hell. Bet she gets that from you.”
You scoffed, though you were unable to hide your smile.
“She also has a big heart,” he added, looking at you. “And big dreams, like you.”
You looked away. The stars were dull tonight, almost invisible.
“I didn’t think I’d be back here,” he said after a while. “But I’m glad I am.” You said nothing.
“I’ve missed this,” he added, quieter now. “Being around you.”
You looked at him then. At the soft way his features caught the porch light, at the steadiness in his gaze, even when he wasn’t meeting yours. At the man he’d become, or maybe always was, and you just hadn’t seen it through the pain of what didn’t work out.
“I don’t know what you want from me, Jaehyun,” you said quietly.
“I don’t want anything,” he replied. “I just want to be around… if you’ll let me.”
You didn’t respond. Not yes, not no. Just reached for your mug again, letting the warmth seep into your hands, into your chest. It was easier not to go there—not with him, not with anyone. Those memories were too bright and too warm. Too dangerous.
After a while, Jaehyun said, “Sometimes I wonder if I could’ve done anything different. Stayed a little longer. Said something sooner.”
You didn’t move. Didn’t look at him. “I don’t spend time wondering about the past,” you said before rising to your feet and walking away. 
But you did spend time wondering about the past. More often than you cared to admit.
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After a restless night and too much thinking, the beach felt like the only place wide enough to hold all the noise in your head. So you walked there early the next morning. The tide was low, and the sand was damp beneath your feet. The breeze smelled like salt and oranges. It was early enough that the sun was still halfway behind the hills, casting a soft glow across the water. You stopped near the shore and closed your eyes for a moment, just breathing it in.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite girl on this island.”
You turned, unsurprised to find Johnny strolling your way—barefooted, linen shirt unbuttoned all the way down, hair a tousled mess like he’d just rolled out of bed and decided to head to the beach first.
“Okay. Second favorite,” he corrected himself. “Emma’s first. Obviously.”
You gave him a look. “Don’t you have something better to do?”
“What could be better than running into you on this fine morning?” he asked back, joining you by the water.
You sighed through your nose and kept walking, letting the waves graze your ankles. Johnny fell into step beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I saw you sneak out this morning,” he said. “Fishy.”
“I wasn’t sneaking out. It’s my house, my home. I do whatever I want.”
“Okay, someone woke up grumpy,” he teased. “What happened? Lover’s quarrel with Shy Boy or Lover Boy?”
You turned to give him a deadpan expression. Johnny grinned. “What? It couldn’t be me. I’m perfect. I’d never quarrel with you.”
You snorted. “You’re many things, Johnny. Perfect is not one of them.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He stretched lazily, arms overhead. “So what are we doing today?”
“We?” you echoed, arching a brow.
“Yes, we. Don’t be selfish. Count me in.”
You shook your head, walking faster, if only to end the conversation. “I came here to be alone.”
“And look how well that turned out,” he said easily, falling into step beside you. “Come on. You haven’t eaten, have you?”
Truthfully, you hadn’t. But your stomach wasn’t the one making noise—it was your mind. Still echoing with words left unsaid on the porch. Johnny was watching you like he already knew that.
“Why?” you asked finally.
“Because I’m starving,” he said, like it was obvious. “And I know this place just around the island. Best pastries I’ve ever had.”
You gave him a look. He gave one right back. “And you could use a distraction. Didn’t they say carbs cure everything? Especially for grumpy women?”
You scoffed under your breath. “No, thanks.”
You turned to continue walking, but a loud, unmistakable grumble made you stop. It was coming from your belly, making you place your hand instinctively over it. Behind you, Johnny chuckled in satisfaction. 
“See? You need to eat. Come on.” He grabbed your hand with a smile, and you let him drag you back to his boat just by the docks. You followed reluctantly, but not unhappily.
Guess this was better than returning to the house. To the quiet rooms and the questions you weren’t ready to ask yourself yet.
The boat was different from what you remembered from summers past, but the vibe was nearly identical—sleek, spotless, with that casual arrogance that seemed woven into the very leather of the seats. A floating extension of Johnny himself.
“What happened to the other one?” you asked as he helped you aboard.
“Sold it,” he replied casually. “It was getting boring, so I had to get a new one.”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes at his unchanging attitude. “Of course you did.”
He laughed, unfazed, and nodded at the captain onboard. They exchanged a few quick words while you looked around, then the engine rumbled to life, and the boat pulled smoothly from the dock. You leaned against the railing, letting the breeze blow through your hair.
It was strange, how easy it was to fall into old rhythms with Johnny. Like no time had passed at all. But time had passed. Years of it. And not all of them kind.
The ride was short, maybe twenty minutes around the island, but smooth and indulgent—like most things in Johnny’s life. He talked the whole time, mostly nonsense, from complaining about the awful airline food he endured on the way here to ranking the best gelato spots in Corsica. He claimed to be an expert, though you were sure he was mixing up two different towns. You didn’t mind. It was welcome noise, and it kept your mind from drifting too far back into the night before.
They docked at a small port just off the main road, where a sleepy little restaurant with blue-striped umbrellas waited, already smelling of butter and espresso. You chose the table closest to the water. Johnny insisted on pulling your chair out with exaggerated courtesy. You rolled your eyes but sat anyway, draping your blanket loosely over your lap. A waitress brought out a basket of warm bread and two menus.
“I’ll have whatever she’s having,” Johnny said as the waitress approached, his tone casual but his eyes still on you.
You didn’t meet his gaze. “You don’t even know what I want.”
“I know you have good taste. I trust you.”
You glanced up at him then, just briefly. Johnny always said things like that. Like none of it ever cost him anything. “You picked this place,” you said, eyes back on the menu. “Shouldn’t you be the one with recommendations?”
He only shrugged, smiling. “Doesn’t matter. I trust you.”
You rolled your eyes again, but the corners of your mouth twitched. After placing your orders, you took a moment to look around. The restaurant had brick walls and wooden beams overhead, mismatched chairs and wobbly tables, potted plants hanging on the eaves. It had that classic Corsican charm—weathered, warm, and beautiful.
You bit back a smile and looked out at the sea. “This place is nice.”
“It’s better with company,” Johnny said, leaning back with his arms stretched along the seat, completely at ease.
You shot him a look. “Well, obviously you’re always surrounded by company.”
“Not your company,” he said smoothly.
You gave a noncommittal hum, breaking off a piece of bread. “Flirting before breakfast. Bold of you.”
“Flirting? Who’s flirting?” he asked, mock offended. “I’m just appreciating the view.”
You gave him a flat stare. Johnny grinned. “Hey, it’s not my fault you’re easy on the eyes. You should apologize for that.”
You snorted. “You haven’t changed at all.”
He reached for a slice of bread, tearing into it like it was a croissant at a Paris café. “Sure, I have. I’ve matured. I drink my espresso black now. I read the news.”
You raised an eyebrow. He grinned wider. “Okay, I skim headlines. But still. Personal growth.”
You shook your head, laughing despite yourself, and that only made his grin widen. “There it is,” he said. “I’ve been trying to get a laugh out of you for days.”
You looked at him then, caught off guard by the simple truth of that statement.
“How have you been?” he asked when you didn’t say anything.
You hesitated, but only for a second. “I’ve been okay. Busy. Tired. But okay.”
Johnny nodded. “Motherhood looks good on you.”
You rolled your eyes but felt your shoulders loosen just a little. Maybe it was the sun. Or the coffee. Or Johnny’s ridiculousness.
“What about you?” you asked, cutting into your food. “Still cruising through life with no plans?”
Johnny hummed thoughtfully. “More or less. No wife. No kids. No fixed address. You know me. I like the freedom. Wake up wherever I want. Say yes to whatever I want. No five-year plan. No mortgage.”
You raised a brow. “Living the dream, huh?”
“Something like that.” He gave you a slow smile. “Though… I might be willing to settle down. For the right person. You know, someone who cooks. Someone like you.”
You gave him a look, unimpressed but amused. “I don’t cook.”
“Ah,” he said, feigning disappointment. “There goes my dream.”
You chuckled, shaking your head as you took a bite.
“I’m serious, though,” he said, grinning. “Don’t you feel lucky? You could be the one to tame me.”
“I think I’d rather wrestle a crocodile.”
Johnny laughed, tossing a sugar packet at you. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
You shook your head, biting into a still-warm pastry and letting the silence settle for a moment. His words echoed faintly in your mind—the right person—but you didn’t give them space to take root. Not now.
The sun had climbed higher now, and the light on the water shimmered like glass. You exhaled quietly, letting yourself enjoy the moment. Just for now.
The breakfast with Johnny had ended the way most things with him did—on a laugh, with one too many compliments. He walked you back to the docks like a gentleman, offered you his jacket when the wind picked up, and only let go of your hand once he helped you down from the boat.
“You sure you don’t want to grab lunch too?” he asked, hopeful.
“It’s nine in the morning.”
“Exactly. Gives us plenty of time to work up an appetite.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “If you know what I mean.”
You scoffed. “Keep your dick in your pants. Don’t just go around brandishing it to every girl you meet.”
Johnny grinned like he was being tickled. “So territorial. Exactly how I like my women.”
You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “Bye, Johnny.”
Back at the house, you barely had time to slip your shoes off before you heard someone knocking out back. You peeked through the window. Jaehyun, holding a sack of soil in one hand and a small potted herb in the other.
You stepped out, and he gave you a small, wordless smile before heading toward the garden bed like it was the most normal thing in the world. When you asked what he was doing, he only said, “The basil was dying. Figured you’d want fresh ones.”
You didn’t say thank you. But you brought him a glass of water anyway.
That became the pattern. Johnny would show up late mornings or just after lunch, always with something in hand—coffee, pastries, once even a new pair of designer sunglasses he claimed were on sale from the mainland. He flirted shamelessly, but never crossed the line.
“You’re the only woman I’ve ever met who looks good rolling her eyes at me,” he said once, after catching you doing exactly that. “Dangerous, really.”
You swatted him with a dish towel. He looked like he might thank you for it.
Jaehyun, in contrast, never announced his visits. He just showed up. Fixing the busted shutter. Watering the trees before you could. Replacing the broken porch light without saying a word. He never tried to be noticed, which just made it harder not to notice him.
When Emma asked Johnny to help with a school art project, he brought glitter. So much glitter. The three of you spent half the afternoon scraping it off the floor. When Emma asked Jaehyun, he brought her to the orchard, showed her how to press flowers between books. Taught her the names of each one like they were old friends.
You found them that evening at the table, heads bent over an album they’d made from scratch. She called it ‘Island Things That Make Me Happy.’ The last page had a pressed bloom labeled Mom’s smile.
You didn’t ask who picked that one.
Johnny took you and Emma on short boat rides when the weather was good. Taught her how to steer while you sat beside them, bare feet up on the seat, pretending not to enjoy it too much.
Jaehyun walked with you both through the orchard when it was too hot to do anything else. Sometimes he said nothing for minutes at a time. And it wasn’t awkward. It was just peaceful and satisfying.
They were opposites in every way. Johnny loud and golden, like the blinding sun at noon. Jaehyun was quiet and constant, like the breeze you didn’t feel until it was gone.
And you? You kept your heart carefully tucked away and you were starting to feel it stir.
In laughter that slipped out before you could stop it. In the way your eyes found them without meaning to. In the little moments between breath and memory, when it felt almost comforting to imagine what might’ve been if things had gone differently.
“So... who’s winning the boyfriend Olympics?”
You nearly choked on your drink. Amy snorted. “Yeah, we’ve been keeping score.”
You gave them both a flat look from across the kitchen island. “That’s ridiculous.”
But even you had to admit, the past few days had taken a turn. Johnny had declared open season on flirtation, popping up everywhere you went—elbowing his way into your errands, offering dramatic compliments every time you so much as tied your hair up. Jaehyun, though he didn’t say much, would always show up when you needed someone, fixing things around the house and helping in any way he could without being asked.
Different approaches. Same intentions.
“She blushes more around Johnny,” Lea whispered behind her wineglass.
“No, no,” Amy countered, eyes narrowing through the open shutters. “Watch her when Jaehyun’s around. She goes all weird and soft.”
Doyoung, who had been half-listening while Emma played with his shoelaces under the table, finally spoke up. “Honestly? I’m just glad no one’s betting on me. That would be a very sad chart.”
Lea laughed. “Please, you’re clearly the fan favorite in the under-six category.”
Doyoung raised both hands in surrender. “What can I say? Emma has excellent taste.”
“Knock it off,” you told your friends as you sat on the chair next to Doyoung’s. “No one’s winning whatever competition you think is happening here.”
Amy nudged Doyoung’s arm with a mischievous grin. “Come on, Doyoung. If you had to choose—Team Playboy or Team Lover Boy?”
Doyoung blinked. “Why are you asking me? And wait, Playboy and Lover Boy? What’s my nickname?”
“Shy Boy, of course,” Lea replied, and that made Doyoung grimace.
“Come on, Shy Boy. Pick a side,” Amy said cheerfully. “You have to because you’re already here… And because you gave up too easily.”
Doyoung frowned. “I didn’t give up. I was never in the running. Didn’t even have the intention of joining.”
“Oh please,” Lea chimed in, eyes sparkling. “You had a head start. You were the first candidate. First night. First everything. And now look at you—sidelined, like a retired soccer player coaching kiddie league.”
Doyoung narrowed his eyes at her. “Wow. Okay. That was a little offensive.”
Amy cackled, clearly delighted. “Look at him. He’s sulking.”
“I’m not sulking,” Doyoung muttered. Then he paused, glanced down at Emma, tangled around his foot, and sighed. “I’m just a maybe-dad, happily engaged, trying to eat a muffin in peace.”
Lea made a show of whispering in Amy’s ear. “He’s sulking,” she said loudly.
You laughed when Doyoung’s brows furrowed deeper. Then, trying to de-escalate the teasing, you told them to stop. “That’s enough, girls. It’s never gonna happen.”
All three of them looked at you. “They could have pieces of Emma. But none of them are getting another piece of me,” you declared, which was more of a reminder to yourself than to anyone else. You caught Doyoung’s gaze beside you. 
You playfully narrowed your eyes at him and pointed with your index finger.  “Not even you, Shy Boy.”
He groaned dramatically. “Oh, come on! I said I’m not—” he huffed, giving all three of you a flat look. “Whatever,” he muttered finally, biting into his pastry with another huff.
The girls burst into laughter again, and Doyoung muttered something through a mouthful of muffin. Outside, the sun climbed higher over the garden, where Johnny’s lounging by the fountain and Jaehyun kept quietly working in the dirt, unaware—or maybe perfectly aware—of the scoreboard inside.
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The night was warm and glittering, the sky clear and wide above the orange orchard as lanterns swayed in the breeze. Lea had gone all out with the decorations, stringing up lights between trees, setting up a long table draped with linen and wildflowers. Music was playing from a speaker, and the air was rich with grilled food, wine, and overlapping conversations.
It was Amy’s last night on the island, and she was determined to make it count.
“Come on, one more round!” she shouted, raising her glass from where she stood atop a chair. “Here’s to endless summers and hoping wrinkles and fine lines don’t show on our faces until we’re eighty!”
Everyone laughed and drank to that—including you, seated between Doyoung and Lea with Emma fast asleep in Doyoung’s lap, a flower crown lopsided on her tiny head. Johnny was across the table, looking like he belonged in a magazine spread—tan, teeth flashing, wineglass in hand. Jaehyun stood near the grill, quietly flipping skewers, but he paused to honor Amy’s toast.
You and Doyoung brought Emma upstairs, making sure she was sound asleep before rejoining the party. The night blurred sweetly—giggles and half-shouted conversations, music thumping louder, Amy pulling you into a spin, Johnny joining with a twirl that nearly knocked over a candelabra.
Past midnight, your girls were lying on blankets under the stars, too drunk to form coherent sentences. Amy had pulled Doyoung onto the grass with them, drunkenly urging him to take a group photo.
You wandered away from the crowd, down the winding stone steps to the beach, where the music faded into background noise. The sea stretched before you, dark and quiet, and the breeze carried the faint smell of salt and sand.
“You’re sneaking off again,” came Johnny’s voice behind you.
You turned to see him leaning against the railing of the stone steps, wineglass still in hand but half-empty now. He looked softer in the moonlight. Less like a flirt and more real.
“And you’re stalking me,” you said, scoffing.
Johnny smirked, stepping closer. “Guilty. But only because every time I blink, you vanish. Starting to think you’re avoiding me on purpose.”
“I am.”
That made him laugh. “You’re very honest. Would it hurt to sugarcoat things a little for my heart’s sake?”
You chuckled, then turned your gaze back to the sea, arms folded loosely over your chest. The waves lapped at the sand gently. “Shouldn’t you be back up there? Being charming?”
“I should be, but there’s no point since you’re not there anymore,” he replied without missing a beat.
You let out a dry laugh. “You are such a flirt.”
He shrugged. “Don’t you already know that?”
“Yes, and it still surprises me every time,” you sighed, tutting. “I gotta get better at that.”
You glanced at him then, and he was already looking at you. The smile he gave you was gentler this time. “Think me sticking around would help you get lots of practice with that?”
“Probably,” you said half-heartedly, shrugging.
“No, but seriously,” he beamed, tilting his head as he looked at you. “Would you?”
You snorted. “You’re not seriously talking about staying, are you?”
Johnny shrugged, pushing one hand in his pocket as he finished the contents of his glass. You blinked, genuinely perplexed. “Whatever, Johnny,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.
Johnny fixed his gaze to the sea, considering. “Maybe I’m serious. Or maybe I’m just floating ideas. Who knows, I might finally be ready to be someone’s stable domestic guy. You know? Have kids. Grow tomatoes. Settle down.”
You laughed. “Settle down?”
He grinned. “I could even do the whole marriage proposal surprise thing. Maybe a grand church wedding on top of a hill, too.”
You looked at him, trying to read the expression behind the smile. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.” He laughed lightly. “Okay, maybe I am. But it’s not a bad idea. I’d definitely give it a try for you.”
You stared at him, mouth parted slightly, not sure if you were supposed to laugh or run. He was joking. He had to be. It was Johnny, after all.
Johnny, who flirts like it’s his life’s calling—who didn’t do ‘serious’, who didn’t believe in marriage or love, let alone surprise proposals and weddings on hills. And even if he meant any of it, even a little, you didn’t want to believe it.
He took a step closer, but didn’t touch you. Just looked at you like he was waiting for something. You blinked, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
You didn’t answer. And then he moved slowly, reaching to place his hands on your shoulders. You knew what was coming. Could’ve stepped back. Should’ve.
But you didn’t. You stayed frozen in place, caught somewhere between disbelief and curiosity, until his mouth brushed softly against yours. It was fleeting, too quick, almost like it didn’t happen at all.
When you didn’t move or react, he came back for more.
The next kiss was nothing like the first. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer until your body was pressed against his. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been waiting to taste you all night.
You gasped into him, one hand flying up to grip his shoulder, the other threading into his hair. He groaned when your hips grazed him, walking you backwards until your spine hit the stone wall behind you.
Then his hands started moving. His fingers slid beneath your shirt, his palms hot against your bare skin as they roamed your back, your sides, your hips. You clung to him, legs slightly parting to let him press in closer, and he did—grinding into you with a slow roll of his hips that made your breath catch.
“Shit,” he muttered against your mouth. 
You felt drunk, even though you weren’t. Dizzy, lit up from the inside out. Johnny pulled away just enough to look at you and utter your name like a prayer. 
Then you were kissing him again, deeper this time, like you couldn’t help it. His hand cupped the back of your neck, tilting your face to kiss you harder and rougher. His other hand slipped down, gripping your thigh, dragging it up against his hip—and you let him, desperate for more of that friction, of that hard, raging bulge between his legs.
You were losing yourself. You wanted to lose yourself. And maybe you would’ve—if not for that voice in the back of your head. The one that reminded you of the promise you made to yourself.
You pulled back, gasping, lips swollen and fingers still tangled in his shirt. Johnny’s chest rose and fell against yours. 
“Hey,” he said breathlessly. “What’s wrong?”
You shook your head. “I can’t… Johnny, I can’t do this.”
He blinked. The confusion hit first, then frustration. “Why not?”
“Because,” you whispered, stepping back, shoving your hands through your hair. “I said I wouldn’t. I can’t. I’m not supposed to—”
“To what?” he asked, voice low. “Feel something?”
Your heart raced in your chest. But you didn’t answer. You didn’t even look at him again. You needed air. You needed distance. You needed to get out of your own head.
You turned and ran barefoot across the sand and up the stairs, heartbeat roaring in your ears. You continued to run up the path until the music was faded and the lights from the party were nothing but soft specks in the distance.
You didn’t stop until your feet hit sand again. Until the beach opened up in front of you again. And you found someone already there—Jaehyun, standing by the shore, surprised at your sudden appearance.
Great, another storm, waiting for you.
“Hey,” he called out, brows furrowing with concern when he noticed your expression. He stepped closer. “Are you okay? Are you—are you crying?”
You hadn’t even noticed the tears. Not until his hand came up to gently brush one from your cheek. You slapped it away, then turned your back to him, dragging your sleeve across your face.
“What are you doing here, Jae?” you muttered.
“I… I was here first,” he said, voice cautious. He tried to close the distance again, but you took a step back. “What happened? What are you running from?”
You laughed bitterly, wrapping your arms around yourself and looking down at your bare feet. “God, don’t start with that.”
Jaehyun sighed, but didn’t say anything. He walked over to you, taking off his sandals and offering it at your feet. You stared at it for a moment, then at him.
“Please. Just take them,” he said softly. “It’s cold.”
You didn’t take the sandals. You didn’t move at all. Just stood there, arms still wrapped tightly around yourself, refusing to look at him. Jaehyun didn’t insist. He just left them at your feet and turned away, hands in his pockets, gaze flitting toward the cliffs.
Above you, perched on the hill, your house glowed faintly through the trees—lit up like a beacon against the dark cliffs. The old haunted mansion, now bright and lively, strung with fairy lights and memories.
“You remember that night?” he said quietly. “We sketched the plans for your hotel on the back of a pub’s order sheet. I can’t believe I’m seeing it all in real life. Well, part of it.” Your hands curled into fists at your sides.
“We were mapping out every room,” he continued, smiling faintly. “You said you wanted a courtyard with a fountain. But not a flashy one, just something simple and charming.”
“Stop,” you said.
He paused. “Stop what?”
“Stop talking,” you replied bitterly. “Don’t stand there talking about floor plans like we built that place together. Like you had anything to do with it. Don’t act like you get to be part of that story.” Your voice was cold, and you didn’t regret a single word.
“But I was part of that story,” he said gently.
“You were supposed to be,” you smirked, turning to face him. “You said you’d stay. You said you’d be here and that you’d build a life here with me. We made plans. And then you left.”
His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to speak—but you weren’t done.
“And I know. I know I told you to leave, but that’s not the point. The point was that you never fought for me, Jaehyun. You never fought for us.”
Jaehyun uttered your name helplessly, reaching for you but you stepped back before he could. You took a deep breath, looking up at the sky in hopes that your tears wouldn’t fall. “You didn’t even try to fix it,” you continued, voice breaking. “You didn’t write. You didn’t call. You just vanished. And I waited—God, I waited so long, thinking maybe you’d at least try. But you didn’t.”
“I tried,” he said softly, you almost didn’t catch it.
You scoffed, mocking.“Well, apparently you didn’t try hard enough!”
“I came back!” he snapped. The sudden rise in his voice startled both of you. “I broke off the engagement and came right back!”
That stopped you. His outburst and his confession—it stopped your from talking, your mind suddenly slow at comprehending his words. You gawked as Jaehyun’s jaw clenched before he continued. “I came running back to you because I wanted to make things right. But when I got here, I was told you were off with someone else!”
You blinked at him, stunned. “What do you mean?”
He scoffed. “Oh, so that wasn’t true, then? You weren’t off having the time of your life with some guy?”
“It was true,” you said briskly. “It doesn’t matter. What do you mean you came back here?”
Jaehyun took a step back, hurt and regret were evident on his expression, and the moonlight glinted in his eyes, wet with tears he was holding back. He took a deep breath, ran his hands through his hair and looked out to the vast ocean.
He didn’t say anything for a few moments. Neither did you, still reeling in confusion and hurt at his revelation, your anger unraveling slowly and painfully. You had built this story in your head, over and over—the story where he just didn’t love you enough to fight. But now, all of a sudden, it cracked down the middle.
You had been wrong, and it hurt.
“I made a mistake,” he said after a while, looking down at his feet. “I was scared, and stupid, and I let my pride get in the way. But I never stopped thinking about you. Not once.”
You looked away. The tears were hot again, the ache crawling back up your throat.
“I never got to tell you,” he continued. “That I came back and that I love you. I thought I was too late. I just… I just went home.”
“I went home,” he repeated, laughing at himself. “My fiancee called me a fool and married me to prove it.”
You didn’t know what to say, so you just kept quiet. You just stood there, tired, trembling, toes dug into the cold sand, staring at the man you once thought you’d never see again He took a step forward, close enough for you to feel the heat of his body. He raised a hand, hesitated, then tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I never stopped loving you,” he whispered.
You closed your eyes, letting it sink in. Letting yourself feel it for a second. Then you stepped back. “You’re too late, Jaehyun,” you said. But even you didn’t believe it.
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The sun was high and bright when the three men boarded Johnny’s yacht, one after another, as if summoned by some invisible alarm. Doyoung had mentioned that it was about time he had to fly back home for work, and they all knew they couldn’t keep avoiding the topic forever. Not when the answer might change all of their lives.
They sat around the polished table on the deck, a bottle of wine already open but no one had poured a glass yet. Doyoung spoke first. “Are we really doing this?”
Johnny leaned back in his seat, sunglasses perched on his head, his face unreadable for once. “It’s now or never, boys. It’s not like we can just stick around the island forever.”
“You’re right, we can’t,” Doyoung agreed, sighing. “I mean, this place is lovely, but like I said, I have to go back soon.”
Jaehyun didn’t say anything. He was standing by the railing, arms folded, eyes fixed on the stretch of sea. The silence hung for too long before Johnny pushed his chair back with a loud scrape and stood.
“Let’s go see her.”
The three of them walked up to the house together—quiet and a little awkward, like kids on their way to the principal’s office. You greeted them at the door, bleary-eyed and exhausted from the night before, but you didn’t turn them away. Emma was at school, and you weren’t sure if it was a blessing or a punishment that this talk had to happen without her around.
You led them to the sitting room. Nobody sat, but you did. Johnny cleared his throat. “We figured it was time to talk about everything.”
You gave a tired nod. “Okay. Talk.”
Doyoung stepped forward, looking as sheepish as ever. “First of all… sorry. We didn’t mean to corner you like this. We just thought it’d be easier if we were all here. Together.”
“Less yelling that way,” Johnny muttered.
Jaehyun ignored them both. “She looks like you,” he said quietly, eyes on you. You weren’t sure if he meant it as comfort or accusation.
“Yes, exactly,” Doyoung agreed. “And that makes it hard to guess which one of us is her dad, so… I think it’s time we figure that out.”
Johnny chimed in casually. “She laughs like my sister’s kid. They could pass as siblings, to be honest.”
Doyoung shook his head. “Have you seen her nose? That’s gotta be from me.”
Jaehyun raised a hand. “She has dimples.”
“Yeah,” Doyoung agreed, though his shrug said otherwise. “But her voice sounds exactly like my mom’s.”
Johnny scoffed. “Your mom sounds like a six-year-old child?”
Doyoung gave him a flat look. “What about her eyes, then? Don’t they look like mine?”
“No, they don’t. But she has posh tastes,” Johnny replied, smirking. “Pretty sure elegance and class are hereditary traits.”
“More like extravagance,” Jaehyun muttered under his breath.
“What was that?” Johnny questioned, glancing at Jaehyun with a scowl.
“Guys, enough,” you chided, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Are you here to argue resemblances or what?”
Johnny shrugged. “We should just check. Get DNA samples and find out once and for all. Although, I would be totally fine with assuming fatherhood if you guys wanna back out.”
“No one’s backing out,” Jaehyun snapped. “This is a serious discussion. You can’t make jokes like that.”
Johnny turned to him, smirking in amusement. “Okay, Lover Boy. Relax.”
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Doyoung chimed in, raising a hand. “I, myself, would love to find out if she’s my daughter, but… hear me out. I know it’s gonna sound crazy, but I don’t mind being half her father.”
There was a pause. You looked up at them. Doyoung shrugged, smiling. “Or one-third, for that matter. I mean, we’ve all met her. She’s wonderful. I’d rather have a third than nothing at all.”
Jaehyun sighed, placing his hands on his waist. “Sorry to break it to you, Mr. Kim, but that’s not how the world works. You can’t just claim to be one-third of a dad.”
“Why not?” Johnny said. “She’s already got all of us wrapped around her little finger. What difference does it make who passed on the stronger jawline? And finding out she’s not mine would honestly devastate me, so I’d rather not take my chances.”
Jaehyun was quiet for a long moment. Doyoung looked between the two of them, then back at you. “Two versus one? Guess majority wins?”
You scoffed and rose to your feet, exasperated. “Okay, you know what, guys? You need to shut up, all of you. And get out of my house.”
None of them moved, just stared at you in confusion. Johnny was the first to speak and say, “Don’t you think it’s time we find out which one of us is her dad?”
“No,” you replied smugly, tilting your chin up so you could meet their gazes. “You don’t get to come here and demand to be a father to my child. You may have helped create her, but you don’t get to walk in now and play the father card. It doesn’t work like that.”
Jaehyun called out your name softly but you cut him off, pointing a finger at him. “No. I’ve done well by myself and I didn’t need any of you. I went through everything without you. I’m not gonna need you now that she’s older and my life is better.”
“But you didn’t have to do it all alone,” said Doyoung, making you glance at him at once. He looked over at Johnny and Jaehyun, then back at you. “If you had told me… no, if you had told any of us, I think I speak for all of us when I say we would’ve been there for you. We wouldn’t have let you go through all of that alone.”
You stared at him—at all of them—and for a second, no one said anything. Not even you. Then you turned toward the door. “Get out,” you said. “All of you, get out.”
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The house was unusually quiet for a weekend. No laughter echoing from the garden, no sound of someone tinkering in the backyard or somewhere around the house. It was just the soft ticking of the old wall clock and Emma’s tiny feet padding into the kitchen, where you were nursing a cold cup of tea you’d forgotten to drink.
She climbed onto the stool across from you, legs swinging, chin resting in her hands. “Where is everybody, Mommy?” she asked.
You smiled, reaching over to tuck her hair behind her ear. “They’re not here, honey. They must have chores and other things to do today.”
“But they weren’t here yesterday either,” Emma said, pouting as she lay her head on the table. “They said they were taking me out to sea today.”
“Who said that?” you asked softly, brushing her hair with your fingers.
She shrugged. “My dads.”
You blinked, hand pausing. “Your what?”
Emma lifted her head to look at you, eyes bright and serious. “My dads. Johnny, Doyoung, and Jaehyun.”
Your stomach turned. You hadn’t heard those names spoken so casually in the last forty-eight hours—not since you threw them out of your house. You set your cup down. 
“Emma, they’re not your dads,” you said carefully, patting her head. “They’re just friends.”
She tilted her head, confused. “But Auntie Amy and Auntie Lea said one of them is my dad.”
You froze. “They… said that?”
Emma nodded. “They were whispering but I still heard them. I have super ears, mommy. I hear everything.”
“Emma, what did Mommy say about eavesdropping on grown-up conversations?” you asked, trying to keep your tone steady.
She looked sheepish for a second, then brightened again. “But it’s true, right, Mommy?”
You sighed, moving around the counter to crouch in front of her stool. “Emma. Do you… want a dad?”
She shrugged again, legs still kicking back and forth under her seat. “I think so. Everybody has dads.”
You smiled softly, cupping her cheek. “Yes, sweetheart. But having no dad is not so bad. You have me, and Auntie Lea, and Auntie Amy and everyone else in the village who loves you.”
“I know,” she said quickly, then added, “but I still want one. Dads are fun.”
You sat back on your heels, forcing a smile for your daughter. “Are they now?”
She nodded enthusiastically, eyes sparkling. “They buy ice cream and ribbons. They show you all the cool stuff. And they can carry you…” She raised both arms way above her head. “This high!”
You couldn’t help the little laugh that slipped out. God, she was too much sometimes. “I can carry you that high.”
“No, mommy. You’re not tall,” she giggled as you scooped her into your arms.
You carried her out of the kitchen, but her voice dropped again, more thoughtful now. “Leo’s dad picks him up and spins him like this,” she said, arms stretched like an airplane. “It looks like flying. Uncle Johnny did that too. I liked it. It was fun.”
You felt your chest tighten. She wasn’t asking for much—just a little bit of wonder. And here you were, too busy shielding her from the past to even consider the possibility of what a father could mean to her now.
And to be honest with yourself, you weren’t sure if you were doing it for her anymore. Or was it for yourself all along?
“Can I have one?” she asked, small voice in your ear. “Just one?”
You looked at her—your bright, curious, heartbreakingly hopeful daughter—and felt your heart break in two. “Do you have a favorite?” you asked, sitting on the couch with her.
Emma thought hard, pressing her finger to her chin. “Not really. Uncle Doyoung is nice and buys me stuff. Uncle Johnny has a cool boat. And Uncle Jae is strong.”
She sighed, frustration painting her expression and you couldn’t help but laugh. She turned to you with a pout, “I like all of them. You have to pick one for me, Mommy.”
You paused, scrambling for an answer that didn’t exist. Before you could say anything, Lea appeared with a box from her café. “How would you feel about three dads?” she asked, setting the box of cookies on the coffee table and sitting on Emma’s other side.
Emma gasped excitedly. “I can have three dads?” she asked Lea, practically vibrating on the couch.
Lea looked at you with a knowing smile. “Of course. What’s better than one dad?”
She turned back to Emma and winked. “Three dads.”
Emma gasped again, absolutely buzzing in her seat. “Three dads! I want three dads!”
You smiled nervously. “Emma, slow down. You can’t just decide that on your own.”
“Why not?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.
You glanced at Lea, then turned back to your daughter. “Because the dads—uh, the men—have to agree to it too. It’s a big responsibility. You can’t just call someone ‘Dad’ without asking first.”
Emma’s brows furrowed. “But they’ll say yes. They like me.”
Of course they do. It wouldn’t take much to convince those three men, but you had to help Emma manage her expectations. “They do like you,” you admitted, heart softening despite yourself. “But liking you and being ready to be your dad are different things. They don’t live here with us and even if they become your dad, you won’t exactly see them every day.”
Lea chimed in. “But they will come see you as much as they can.”
“That’s okay. I’ll ask them,” she said firmly, arms crossed with a serious pout. “I’ll ask all three.”
Lea let out a laugh. “Well, that should be fun to watch.”
You gave her a look, but there was no real hate in it.
The next morning, just as you were folding laundry in the living room, there was a knock on the door. You hesitated. Emma was still in her pajamas, sitting on the floor playing with seashells. Lea had left earlier to open the café. You weren’t expecting anyone.
You opened the door slowly. Doyoung was standing there with a bouquet of wildflowers. Johnny held a box of pastries from the bakery, and Jaehyun just had that awkward, earnest look on his face that you knew far too well.
“Hi,” Doyoung said, flashing that disarming smile. “We, uh, Lea said you wanted to see us?”
Johnny raised the box. “We brought breakfast. Peace offering. Don’t throw us out yet.”
You stepped aside wordlessly, letting them in. Emma looked up and immediately lit up like the sun. “My dads!”
You shot her a warning look, but the guys all froze. “Oh my, god,” you muttered, facepalming as you turned to hide your face.
“Did she just—?” Johnny asked voice breaking so he had to clear his throat.
Doyoung’s hand was on his mouth. “She said dads.”
“She did,” you muttered, rubbing your forehead and shaking your head, still unable to look at them.
Emma ran over and hugged Doyoung’s leg. “You came back!”
Jaehyun crouched down in front of her, eyes soft. “Did you miss us, munchkin?”
She nodded hard. “Mommy said I can have three dads, if you say yes.”
Johnny let out a quiet laugh and stepped forward. “Of course, we’ll say yes. You don’t even need to ask, princess.”
“Hold on,” you said quickly, gently tugging Emma away from them. You looked at the three of them—her dads. “First, let’s, uh… Let’s talk about this. Follow me.”
All three looked at you but followed you anyway when you went to the kitchen. Doyoung told Emma to stay and promised her it wouldn’t take long.
“Three dads?” Johnny asked as soon as you were out of earshot. He chuckled, like he couldn’t believe it. “She’s okay with three dads?”
You groaned. “Oh, you have no idea.”
You placed your hands on your hips, stomping your feet as you stared at the three men before you. “Okay. I care about Emma more than anything in this world. More than my own life.”
“Of course—”
You raised a finger at Jaehyun. “Let me talk.”
Jaehyun nodded, stepping back. Doyoung mimed zipping his lips. You took a deep breath before continuing. “You can check if you want to. I won’t stop you. Or you can do what you said—you can step up. Be her dads. All three of you. I don’t mind, as long as she’s happy.”
“But she’s going to need consistency. She doesn’t need three men floating in and out of her life when it suits them. If you’re serious, you don’t just show up when it’s fun. You show up even when it’s hard. Even when you don’t feel like it.”
Doyoung nodded. “We know that.”
“I’m not asking you to stay here forever,” you added, more gently this time. “You have lives. Jobs. People waiting for you—Doyoung, you’re getting married soon.”
“I’m not expecting you to drop everything and move to this island. That would be unfair. And Emma doesn’t need you to be here every day. She just needs to know you’ll be there when it matters. That she can count on you, even from afar. If you can do that, then,” you paused, raised your hands in surrender, and sighed. “Then be her dad—Dads! Whatever you want to call it.”
Jaehyun looked down, nodding slowly. “Yeah. We can do that.”
Johnny let out a breath. “Long-distance dad duty. Shouldn’t be so hard.”
Doyoung simply said, “We’ll make it work. Promise.”
You smiled, genuinely this time.  “Okay,” you said softly, nodding toward the door. “Go on. She’s waiting.”
The three of them turned to leave, and Johnny laughed out loud when he spotted Emma peeking from behind the curtains. “Oh no. We’ve got an eavesdropper!” he announced, grinning.
Emma shrieked, bolting from her hiding spot, her giggles echoing through the house as Johnny chased after her. You followed behind, just in time to see her leap into Doyoung’s arms, then reach for Jaehyun’s hand, then tug at Johnny’s sleeve, all while talking a mile a minute.
You leaned against the doorframe, watching them with a strange fullness in your chest. You still didn’t know how any of this would work. But maybe it didn’t have to make sense. Maybe love was enough.
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The sea stretched wide and sparkling under the Corsican sun, gentle waves lapping against the hull of Johnny’s yacht as it cut smoothly through the water. Emma was practically vibrating with excitement, darting from one end of the deck to the other, yelling about dolphins that no one else could see.
Doyoung and Jaehyun were lounging at the back, one lazily flipping through a comic book offered by one of Johnny’s crews, the other peeling oranges and throwing slices at Emma who cackled every time she caught one in her mouth. Johnny was at the helm, sunglasses on, wind tugging his hair as he grinned.
You sat near the bow, sunbathing on a sunbed with Lea and a half-empty drink in hand, watching your daughter live a little dream. She had three men completely wrapped around her finger and absolutely no idea how rare that was.
“Amy would’ve loved this,” said Lea, sunglasses perched on her nose. “What do you think she’s doing right now?”
“Drinking Dom on some wealthy investor’s superyacht?” you guessed, grinning.
Lea giggled. “Dressed in something skimpy that’s definitely fit for the yacht but wildly inappropriate for the business transaction she went there for.”
You both giggled, your mind drifting back to sunkissed days on the beach in places you couldn’t even pronounce. Trusting Amy to talk your way into expensive bars where all three of you could charm handsome tourists to buy you drinks. Sneaking into exclusive yacht parties and pretending you belonged there. It all seemed so far away now.
“Wow, we’re old,” Lea sighed. “When was the last time we had fun like we did in college?”
You thought about it. “Probably that summer before we found out I was pregnant with Emma.”
“Right. The summer after college,” she said, then glanced over at the helm where Johnny was. “We were in Johnny’s boat at the time.”
You nodded, remembering the days. “Yeah, we were.”
Johnny had his crew take the day off, so you and Lea had packed food for the trip. At lunch, Johnny grilled fish on the little onboard stove. Doyoung handled the drinks, Jaehyun cut fresh fruit, and Emma supervised them all like a tiny captain. The laughter never died \own. Even you found yourself relaxed, for once—letting your walls down just enough to smile without second-guessing it.
You’d lost count on how many times you had to reapply Emma’s sunscreen because she just kept jumping into the water with Jaehyun. Johnny had the yacht dock at a secluded shore, where Doyoung and Emma spent almost an hour looking for marine life in the shallows and taking pictures of them. The word ‘Dad’ had been echoing all day.
The sun began to dip by the time you made it back to the village. The sky had gone from blue to soft, velvety lilac, and the yacht anchored close to shore for the night. Emma had fallen asleep below deck, wrapped in one of Johnny’s warm blankets and snoring into a pillow. Jaehyun, Doyoung and Lea were still above, playing cards and arguing about the rules of some ridiculous game you’d never heard of.
Johnny brought you another drink and asked if you wanted to sit with him up front, where the sea was quiet and the stars had just begun to wink into view. You followed him. The two of you sat side by side on the padded bench near the front of the yacht, legs stretched out, drinks in hand. The breeze had softened, brushing against your skin like a whisper. Waves lapped gently against the hull. From the back of the boat, you could still hear muffled voices—Lea laughing, Jaehyun protesting something, Doyoung talking over it—but out here, it felt like you were in a different world.
Johnny took a slow sip of his drink, then leaned back, eyes scanning the dark horizon. “Today was nice,” he said quietly.
You nodded. “Yeah. Emma’s probably dreaming of dolphins right now.”
Johnny smiled at that. “She’s a great kid.”
“She is.”
You were both quiet for a moment, just gazing out into the sea and taking in the cool air. Johnny broke the silence first. “About the other night. Amy’s party.”
You turned your head slightly but didn’t say anything. You would rather not talk about it, really, but it wouldn’t be so bad to bring it up now. He shifted, resting his elbows on his knees. “I wasn’t drunk. I know I acted like it, but I wasn’t. I knew what I was doing.”
You hummed, acknowledging him without saying anything. Johnny continued, “And I knew what I was saying. I meant it.”
“Meant what, Johnny?”
He chuckled under his breath. Not the smug kind, the self-deprecating kind. “I meant it when I said I don’t mind settling down with you.”
Your brows furrowed. Johnny glanced at you, more honest than he’d ever been. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I’ve spent years chasing things. Business, money, women, parties, noise. But it’s like I keep coming up empty. Then you wrote to me and it was like a hand was reaching out to me. I thought maybe if I came back, everything would fall into place. I thought maybe you could fix me.”
You stared at the ocean. “You wanted me to fix you?”
“I didn’t think of it that way at first,” he admitted. “But yeah. I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing at first. I told myself it was fate or just some unfinished business. But the truth was I just wanted someone to look at me and see something worth saving. And I thought it could be you.”
Another wave rolled beneath the yacht. You felt the dip and sway of it in your chest.
“I want to be someone better,” he said. “You make people better, you know? You make them want to do things right. I’m willing to change. I’d give up the boat, the business, the whole damn playboy act. I’d stay. If it meant a shot at a different life. A better one. With you.”
You turned to face him. “Johnny…”
He gave a small smile. “I know. It sounds desperate. And stupid. It probably is.”
You hesitated before speaking. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, Johnny. But… I don’t think I can do that for you.”
You meant it. He came here chasing something, and you weren’t what he needed. Not in the way he thought. “I’m not what you’re looking for, John,” you said gently. “You don’t need a relationship to fix you. You need to find meaning on your own.”
He nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “I know. I mean, I didn’t, but I know now.” He chuckled. “It was a mistake coming here thinking you could fix me. Only I can fix myself.”
“But,” he added, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “I don’t regret coming. I met the most wonderful girl in the world and became her dad. That’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”
Your breath caught. “Johnny…”
He shook his head. “It’s okay. I’m not asking for anything else. You were right to say no. But I still get to be there for her. And that means everything to me.”
You smiled, a little teary now. “She’s lucky to have you.”
“I’m the lucky one,” he murmured.
Your chest tightened. He wasn’t talking about you anymore. And yet somehow… it felt like the most honest thing he’d ever said. “I’m sorry, Johnny.”
“I know,” he replied, his signature smirk appearing on his lips now. He relaxed in his seat, taking a deep breath. “Though I bet you would have wanted to be the one who gets to tie me down, don’t you?”
That made you laugh, genuinely, head lolling back and cackling type of laugh. “I don’t think I would’ve been able to even if I tried.”
Johnny shrugged, “Yeah, but you wish you could, don’t you?” he asked, winking.
You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t hide how it made you smile. “Fine. I would have considered it an honor to have tied down the menace of a playboy that you are, Johnny Suh.”
Johnny leaned back in his seat, that familiar smirk tugging at his mouth, but his eyes were calm now. You mirrored him, your laugh fading into a sigh as you leaned your arms on the railing again, the sea stretching endlessly beneath the moonlight. It was peaceful. Comfortable, even. Until Johnny’s gaze flicked upwards.
You didn’t notice at first. But then his smirk widened, and he clicked his tongue. “Lover Boy’s lurking,” he muttered.
You blinked, turned slightly—and there he was. Jaehyun. Leaning against the side rail up the deck, pretending to look out at the horizon but very clearly trying not to stare your way. One hand holding a glass he hadn’t touched in a while. The wind catching his hair and blowing it out of his face to reveal a slight crease on his forehead.
You looked away too quickly. Johnny laughed under his breath. “God, you’re so bad at this.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said briskly.
Johnny raised a brow. “You don’t even realize you’re lying to yourself. That’s the problem.”
You exhaled. “Johnny—”
“Okay,” he said, groaning as he stood up. “But if you don’t do the follow your heart thing and say yes to him, you’re an idiot.”
You scoffed indignantly. “Since when were you an expert at following your heart?”
“Since I flew out here after getting a letter out of nowhere,” he replied, grinning smugly. “I followed my heart and it brought me to my little girl. Who, speaking of, probably needs cuddles.”
Johnny turned to leave and you called out to him. “What she needs is to be taken back home! In her own bed!”
Johnny raised a hand without glancing back. “On it!”
You stood there a moment longer, palms resting on the cool railing, heart beginning to beat somewhere in your throat. And then you tilted your head up. Jaehyun hadn’t moved. He looked right at you, and his gaze made you swallow something in your throat. You gave the smallest nod, and in the next second, he was gone—probably making his way down as fast as he could.
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You hadn’t taken more than a few steps before Jaehyun appeared at the end of the corridor, breath shallow like he’d run down the stairs. His eyes locked with yours, and the hallway spun just a little from the adrenaline thrumming through your chest.
“Hi,” he said, voice low. “I just—I.. You called me over. I didn’t read that wrong, did I?”
You took another step forward, smiling. “No.”
Jaehyun smiled, relief washing over his face as he stepped closer. “Hi.”
“Hi,” you echoed.
“How are you?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“No, I meant…” he paused, chuckling. “The other night, at Amy’s party. We didn’t get to finish talking.”
“Yeah, we didn’t,” you agreed, looking away.
“I meant what I said,” he declared, seemingly holding his breath. “Every word.”
You studied his face. It was written all over him—the years of regret, the ache of what was lost, the unbearable need to be here with you now. Then he reached for you. His fingers brushed your cheek, ever so gently like you would disintegrate right then and there if he held you too hard. 
“I love you,” he said softly.
That was all it took for your restraints to collapse. You grabbed him by the collar and kissed him—hard, desperately, like it was the only thing that could fill the void in your heart. Jaehyun kissed you back instantly, a low groan slipping from him as he cradled the back of your head, angling you just right like he’d done a hundred times in his dreams.
Your fingers curled in his shirt, tugging him closer until his hips pressed against yours and you could feel every inch of him. Jaehyun pulled back only long enough to breathe, his eyes locked with yours.
Then without a word, he kissed you once more. “Come with me,” he whispered against your lips.
He led you down the corridor with a hand at your back and urgency in his steps. He opened the nearest cabin door and pulled you inside, closing it behind you with a soft click. The room was dim, swaying gently with the motion of the yacht. But you barely noticed any of that. The second you locked eyes, you shoved him back against the cabin door and kissed him hard, fingers working fast on the buttons of his shirt. 
You pressed your palm against his bare chest and exhaled sharply. “I swear to God, if this is a dream—”
“It’s not,” he groaned, pulling your dress over your head in one motion. “It’s not, it’s not.”
You kissed him again, slower this time but deeper, your hands tangling in his hair. He held you firmly by the waist, then lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his hips as he walked you to the bed. You landed with a soft thud on the mattress, your bodies still tangled, his lips dragging down your jaw, to your neck. You gasped when he nipped at your skin, clawing at his back.
It was euphoric, the urgency and reverence—a passionate middle ground where every movement was fueled by something you’d long yearned for. His hands roamed your body like he couldn’t touch enough, couldn’t believe you were real and here and his again. All while you arched under him, pulling him closer, hands mapping the curves of his back, the dip of his waist, every familiar part of him you had tried to forget.
His mouth moved over your chest, your collarbones, your stomach. His hand found the space between your legs, cupping and pressing firmly before slipping into the thin fabric of your underwear. You held your breath—waiting for that familiar touch, anticipating.
But Jaehyun paused, looking into your eyes. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, though you could see the desperation in his expression—as if begging you not to.
“Don’t you dare.”
He smirked and dipped his head almost immediately, tugging your panties off before his lips met your cunt. You arched off the bed, biting your lip hard, your hand gripping the sheets while the other tangled in his hair.
He was slow, testing at first, teasing out every sound you could make. Then he went harder, sucked deeper, and both of your hands clutched his hair, hips bucking into his mouth as you chased more of that delightful sensation. He growled something against your skin and climbed back up to kiss you, mouths hot and hungry and impatient.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted, grinning. “But I need you. Right now,” he said, kissing you before you could say anything.
You barely noticed anything, too lost in the heat of the moment and the feeling of his lips in yours. You felt him nudge at your entrance only for a second before he slid in with one smooth, desperate motion.
You gasped into his mouth, legs locking around him, and he cursed softly against your shoulder. It felt too much and not enough—all at once. 
“You feel—fuck,” he groaned into your ear, holding you tighter. “God, I missed you.”
“Jae,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “Jae, I missed you too.”
He moved deep and slow at first, soaking in every sound you made, every desperate plea whispered into his ear. But it didn’t take long for the rhythm to quicken, hips snapping into yours with a force that made the headboard thud lightly against the wall.
You closed your eyes and bit down on your lip to keep from crying out too loud—Johnny’s yacht might be big, but not that big—and  Jaehyun smiled at your expression. He cupped your cheek and kissed your forehead, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “Open your eyes, baby,” he whispered, kissing your temple again. “Look at me.”
You met his gaze, and for a moment, the years melted away. It was just him. Just you. And this. Jaehyun kissed you again and his lips tasted like longing, like something once lost and finally found again. He moved inside you slowly, deeply, dragging every second out like he wanted it carved into memory.
Your hips rose to meet his, greedy for more, and he groaned as he sank deeper. “Fuck,” he whispered, kissing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “You feel the same. No—better.”
He moved faster now, each thrust rocking through you in waves. The headboard tapped lightly against the wall, your hand flailing briefly before gripping the pillow to muffle your sounds. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he murmured, hand sliding up your thigh to pull your leg higher around his waist.
His mouth found your breast, tongue swirling over your nipple until you arched into him, crying out softly. He kissed down your sternum and back up to your mouth, whispering, “I never stopped missing you.”
You kissed him again, open-mouthed, desperate. His hand gripped your hip, guiding your rhythm until you matched him thrust for thrust. Every inch of your skin was on fire, every nerve in your body dancing with every drag and press and pull of his body.
When he angled his hips just right, you gasped, back arching, hands flying to his shoulders. “Right there,” you whimpered.
Jaehyun growled, deep in his chest. “Yeah? You gonna come for me, baby?”
You nodded, unable to speak, your body trembling beneath him. He watched you fall apart, eyes dark and locked on your face, his own breathing sharp and erratic. The climax rushed through you, long and loud and blinding. You buried your face in his neck, biting down on his shoulder to muffle your moan as he pushed deeper, losing himself to the heat and tightness of you.
With a few more hard, ragged thrusts, he followed, spilling into you with a grunt and a trembling curse of your name. His body froze, collapsing into you as you both chased your breath.
Silence. Just the sound of your breaths. Tangled limbs. Sweat and warmth and that aching fullness in your chest. Neither of you moved right away. And he held you, lips pressed to your shoulder, his thumb brushing along your jaw.
Softly, you said, “Say it again.”
Jaehyun hummed, lifting his head to look at you. “Say what again?”
You shifted under him, and he moved to lay beside you on the bed, propping his head on his hand. He watched you fondly, smiling. 
“What you told me earlier,” you replied, turning on your side too.
Jaehyun let out a relieved breath, reaching to cup your cheek. “I love you. I never stopped loving you. I love you then, and I love you now.”
“Wow.” You chuckled, heat rising to your cheeks, making you look away sheepishly. “That’s four times.”
“I love you,” he repeated, your name rolling beautifully on his tongue.
“Five,” you muttered, exhaling. “Okay. Enough. I get it.”
“It’s true,” he said, like he needed to convince you.
You took a deep breath and met his gaze again. This time, you were wearing a stern expression. “And if it is? Who’s to say you wouldn’t leave me again? You said you’re married, didn’t you?”
“No,” Jaehyun said quickly. “I mean—yes, I was. But—”
You gasped and sat up in complete shock. “I just slept with a married man,” you blurted, the fact suddenly dawning on you.
“No. That’s not—” Jaehyun chuckled, sitting up too and pulling you into a hug, then planting a soft kiss on your lips. “That’s not what happened.”
You shook your head and were about to say anything but he shushed you. “I was married, but only for a year. We’ve been divorced for five.”
“Oh,” you muttered, nodding and feeling a wash of relief. “Okay. Good. That’s… That’s very good.”
His hold tightened around you, and you hugged him back, melting into his warmth. You stayed like that for a while, just basking in the aftermath.
“So?” he prompted after a few moments of silence. “What now?”
“Now?” you paused, too shy to say it out loud. “Now you stay.”
Jaehyun lifted your chin so you’d meet his gaze. “I will.”
He smiled, genuinely this time, with more relief and confidence. “I will, love. See, you’re gonna need someone to boss you around this island.”
You scoffed, though your heart was full. “If my memory served me well, I think I made it clear to you that I don’t need a man bossing me around my own property.”
“Yeah, you made it very clear indeed, but,” he replied, pausing to tuck your hair behind your ear. “Wouldn’t you want to be dependent on someone from time to time? From what I can see, our dream hotel still needs a lot of work.”
Our dream hotel. The words echoed beautifully in your ears.
You narrowed your eyes playfully at him. “And you’re gonna lend me your expertise for free? No architect fee?”
“All I ask for is a room, my love,” he grinned, kissing the side of your head. “Preferably yours. I like sharing with you.”
You nudged his shoulder with a smile, cheeks flushed. “You’re asking for a lot, Mr. Jeong.”
“Oh, I’ll give a lot,” he murmured. “I’ll give you everything.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, and then quietly, you said, “Okay. I guess we can share a room.”
Jaehyun smiled, watching you with a slight crease on his forehead, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard it right. But you didn’t repeat yourself. You just laid your head on his chest and closed your eyes.
You didn’t make it back to the main deck. Instead, you stayed in that guest cabin, where the night continued with soft sighs, ragged breaths, and tangled limbs. You didn’t stop at once. Or twice. You lost track somewhere in between kisses and confessions, in the way he said your name like a prayer, in the way you held on to him like he was home.
And by the time sleep caught up to you, your body sore and your heart full, you were curled against his chest with the sound of the sea lulling you into the deepest peace you’d known in years.
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The door creaked open, sunlight streaming in just enough to make you wince. You stepped out first, hair still damp from a rushed shower. Jaehyun followed, looking fresh but not fooling anyone—his hand brushing the small of your back as the two of you made your way up to the deck.
The first thing you heard was a gasp. A loud, ridiculous, over-the-top gasp from Lea, who sat dramatically sprawled on a lounge chair. Johnny nearly choked on his juice. Even Doyoung was trying not to laugh, hiding behind a magazine she wasn’t reading. Emma, bless her, was too busy coloring beside Doyoung to notice.
“Really, guys?” Johnny deadpanned. “In my boat? Right after breaking my heart too?”
You raised an eyebrow, brushing past him with a smirk. “Your suite is amazing, Johnny.”
Johnny gasped again, clutching his chest. “In my suite?!”
“Yes, where else?” you lied shamelessly, taking a seat and reaching for the coffee pot. “And your dimmers are cool.”
Jaehyun, behind you, was trying so hard not to laugh. Johnny looked personally victimized. “You absolute heathens,” he declared, hand flying to his mouth for added effect. “I’m gonna throw up.”
You scoffed. “Oh, don’t be dramatic.”
Everyone burst into laughter. Even Jaehyun.
And as you sipped your coffee, Jaehyun sitting close, your daughter now leaning against your arm with her sketchpad, and the rest of your chaotic, unexpected little family chatting around you, you could feel warmth blooming in your chest.
The summer was over. And something better had begun.
[fin]
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arttsuka ¡ 9 months ago
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@wolfythewitch 's gravity fowls au, again...
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Mcducket with Tate (when he was an egg)
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Stan would sell 'mystery eggs' and it would just be rocks or something
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amoritasart ¡ 6 months ago
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Don’t meet your heroes?
I like the idea of Philip taking odd jobs to survive before finally deciding on slaughtering everyone.
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lopsidedtreetrunks ¡ 1 year ago
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Finally FINALLY got round to finishing this art for @little-cereal-draws Button House Dog Rescue au! PLS go visit their blog for more info for their au!!
Dogs on the ground are (L-R): Captain - German Shepherd Kitty - Pomeranian Pat - Corgi Fanny - Chihuahua Thomas - Shetland Sheepdog Humphrey - Golden Retriever Robin - Irish Wolfhound Mary - Dalmation Julian - Weimaraner
I also hope you dont mind I added my own headcanons for the other ghosts in the photo frames. Mostly based off pure vibes 😆
In the long frame are the plague dogs; I think they would have been all rescued from a puppy farm together. L-R (for the ghosts that dont have names I've just used the actors' names so you know which is which): Jemima - Husky (puppy) Walter - Rottweiler Katy - Bichon Frise Mick - Boxer Nigel - King Charles Cavalier Spaniel Geoff - Afghan Hound Agnes - Staffordshire Bull Terrier John - Chow Chow Martha - Poodle
Then the ones in the circular frames (L-R): Annie - Jack Russel Terrier William - British Bulldog Maddocks - Whippet (the only one not based on pure vibes alone, but it'd have been remiss of me to not make our other Yorkshire lad a whippet bsjsjdk)
Anyway this took so long bc i took it upon myself to make a million more dogs bjdsfk I hope you enjoy it nonetheless :D
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kakusu-shipping ¡ 1 year ago
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Finally... S/I lore built completely off a friend's S/I... I have peaked. Jade the Dragon (MLP version) is @delightfuldevin's S/I. Thanks again for letting me use you as a building block for this one!!
I've actually had a concept of a Dragon S/I for MLP for a long time. I thought the concept that Dragons grow based on their hoard was fascinating and though what would happen if a Dragon had nothing? And also sense Twilight had to hatch a Dragon Egg for her Magic exam, did other students do the same? What happened to those dragons?
This is just the combination of those two concepts.
Most dragons have Something. The first thing they are given is their name, usually dragons are named after something precious and hoard worthy, hoping starting with something so precious would lead them to greatness in their futures.
The student who hatched Emile didn't give him a name, or anything really. They weren't friends. To them, Emile was just a pair of claws that could write and hold things. To Emile, the Student was his boss. They were co-workers at most.
Eventually, this student flunked out of Celestia's magic school, leaving Emile no where else to go. He was around 13 at this time, still without a name or anything else one may consider a hoard, and still the size of a child.
Princess Celestia ended up offering him a job, sense he stuck around and wandered aimlessly without the student to tell him what to do. He worked as Celestia's right hoof, like a Dragon would to a magic student. He wrote her letters and retrieved her books. She didn't need him, and he knew that, but Emile was never one to ask for much of anything, so he worked for the Princess without a word of resistance.
Working for the Princess came with many more freedoms than Emile was use to, but still nothing he could claim as his. He stayed in a guest room in the Castle, never spoke as his room, never decorated outside of what already existed. He gained knowledge from the Castle's Library, from borrowed books. He paid for his meals with hard work, he always put things back where he got them. Nothing was to keep.
This continued until Emile met Jade, a strange Dragon who'd come and go as he pleased, and talked of adventures through portals and across realities. Jade gave Emile his name, and with it Emile felt 10 feet tall. Jade gave Emile Friendship and Family, things one wouldn't consider to be owned, but when Emile first claimed Jade as his friend it became obvious he'd grown, more than physically.
Perhaps, with Jade's help, Emile can find he has the right to ask for thing and take up space.
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arolesbianism ¡ 1 year ago
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Ok yeah I’m a little obsessed with them
#keese draws#oxygen not included#jackie stern#olivia broussard#I’m experiencing joy and whimsy allow me to be cringe for a time#anyways ferret jackie snuggling with her tail is my favorite image now#and olivia eating pecha berry is my second favorite look at her#if I’m the only one making fanart of these two I must train myself to go insane over my own art it’s for my own survival#even if I don’t have the motivation to make a full drawing rn#plus it’s good practice for me to get better at sketching sketching is usually big biggest roadblock to making the pieces I wanna make#anyways I was nowhere near consistent with sizes here but I like to imagine that olivia is significantly smaller than jackie#jackie is very large by furret standards and olivia is very small by bibarel standards#again didn’t draw that well here since I was being lazy with jackie but just imagine I did draw it well#honestly it’s going to be a miracle if I ever get around to designing anyone else in this au I have favorites#plus some of the ideas I have are going to be. annoying to excecute to put it mildly#it’s my own fault no one is forcing me to make ada an aegislash but I’m going to complain abt it anyways#although tbh liam as a panpour is probably going to be harder for me since at least I have a silhouette in my head for ada#and then there’s yanma ari and kabuto hassan who are deceptively easy sounding#as in my gut says oh yeah that’s easy but my brain says oh this is going to be hell#otto as flaaffy is another one that Should be easy but I know it’ll be hell since I have no ideas for their shapes#and I’m never drawing mi-ma since for some ungodly reason my brain decided to cling to making her metagross#and then my only other idea as of now is galvantula ellie but I’m not set in stone on that one#honestly if anyone has suggestions for the other scientists feel free to shoot them at me#or just wants to share what they’d make any of them even if it’s the guys I’ve already decided on I’m still not set on some of them and#it’s fun hearing other ppls ideas#real sad thing for me is that this is probably going to be pmd au number 2000 without any good zorua candidates 😔#nails comes close but the shapes man the shapes don’t call to me#also color pallet would be hell I’m sorry bestie but your hair is such an ugly color#ohhhh wait what if I made them a trubbish…. that could work honestly#I’ll also totally need to make someone a vanilite as the worlds number one vanilite defender
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paracosmicka ¡ 4 months ago
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sonic tma au? 👀👀👀👀👀
OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I’VE POSTED IT ABOUT IT EVEN THO I HAVE SO MUCH STUFF ABOUT MY SONIC/TMA AU
Okay to start out with, I’ve been calling the “Primal Fears au” and it started out as a working title but I don’t really have any better ideas and the tag I have on all of my posts about this tma au is #primal fears au (idk how to imbed a hyperlink into text but like if you go into the search thingy over my blog and just type that tag in you’ll see all my previous posts about it that are from OVER A YEAR AGO IT’S BEEN SO LONG 😭)
Okay uhhhhh idk how to organize this so just get ready for a shit ton of sketches and art lol
here are some more fleshed out character sheets (than my very post about them) for Sonic and Shadow, they’re not final yet tho obviously
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was fighting demons drawing Shadow’s main design for some reason
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general sketch ideas for Sonic and Shadow
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And my favorite part of this au is that I just get to categorize all the Sonic characters into which fear entity would they serve so here are some character sheet ideas:
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Okay this last one is Infinite and I know he’s not everyone’s favorite bc he’s just so…..mid ig in the games but redesigning him as an avatar of the Spiral has been so fun. Also bonus points if you know what Doctor Who episode I stole this dialogue from lol:
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and finally I thought I’d just share an idea I had of a “cover” for my Primal Fears au
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Okay I think those are all the presentable sketches I have but there are so so so many more ideas I have and it’s not going to help bc I’m feeling the annual urge to relisten to The Magnus Archives again especially bc the new season of The Magnus Protocol comes out soon.
But yeah anyway feel free to ask any questions/share ideas if you’d made your own TMA/Sonic au I love yapping about horror and this au is like my child. Actually that’s not a very good analogy bc all of my sonadow aus are my babies. I just love sonadow sorry I will continue to be insane
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dakusan ¡ 7 days ago
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UNTOUCH-UP
Tattoo Artist!Lee Minho x Reader | Exes. Ink. Unfinished business. And nowhere left to run.
🔞synopsis: Tattoo Artist AU. You go in for a touch-up. He’s the one holding the machine. Your ex. The one who fucked you like he loved you—and left like he didn’t. Now he’s working on your skin again. And you’re both trying not to fall back in. Too late. You never stopped wanting him. He never stopped being yours. This time, he’s not letting go.
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💌a/n: bro. BRO. i am ✨deceased✨ this fic nearly ate me alive. i was so lazy writing it my brain was just like . . . O.O static noise the ENTIRE time. BUT I DID IT. I DID IT. SHE’S DONE. Minho's demon dick: delivered. Tattoo angst: served. You: ruined. also not me having a day™️ — my cat knocked over a potted flower like she pays rent in this house?? broke the damn pot. soil everywhere. ON. THE. CARPET. and guess who was sitting in the mess like a chaotic forest gremlin? her. the criminal. not even sorry. anyway enjoy the filth I bled for <3 p.s. reblog for minho's sake. he worked very hard. p.p.s. if you read this and didn’t moan once, you're lying. p.p.p.s. minho said “mine” and I folded like a lawn chair in a hurricane.
⚠️ warnings: 18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI | Exes to lovers with years of tension | Fingering (f. receiving), oral sex (f. receiving), face riding | Protected sex because Minho is a King | Overstimulation, squirting, rough sex | Hair pulling, light choking, possessive behavior | Filthy talk™ and degrading praise | Clit play so intense you might ascend | Reader is gone. dumb. dripping | Minho lives upstairs. You live upstairs now too. It’s canon.
📌 Please read with caution. Scream into a pillow. Mop your floor. Apologize to your downstairs neighbors.
📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune
🎧 » WANT — Taemin « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:29 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻
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BACKSTORY
You met Lee Minho back when he was still building himself. Not the man with a waitlist. Not the name clients whispered like prayer. Just a perfectionist with ink-stained fingers, a cigarette habit, and a sketchbook full of obsessions.
He only took blackwork clients. His designs were architectural. Cold. Brutally beautiful. Like cityscapes carved into skin. Like cathedrals swallowed by shadow. You used to tease him—“Do you ever draw anything soft?”
He never answered.
But he kissed you like his mouth was a vow.
You were chaos to his control. Bright to his brutalism. A fire escape on legs, always halfway out the window—but you stayed for him.
The first tattoo he gave you was on your ribcage. Fine lines. Intricate, dark, permanent. He said, “I’ve never done this for someone I care about before.”
You said, “Don’t make it perfect. Just make it ours.”
He made it perfect anyway.
But love wasn’t enough—not when his world narrowed to ink and reputation, and yours was spinning with needs he couldn’t name, let alone meet. He stopped coming home. You stopped trying to explain. The last fight was quiet. The kind of silence that ends things.
You left. He let you. Neither of you ever reached out again.
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Seoul, South Korea. Wednesday, 4:03 PM
The bell over the door jingles.
It’s the same goddamn sound. That soft metallic chime, like a warning.
You step into NO SAINT INK and inhale the familiar scent—disinfectant, ink, citrus cleaner, and something darker beneath it. Nostalgia, maybe. Or just Minho’s ghost.
“Hi! Welcome to—”
Jisung’s voice cuts off the moment he looks up. Eyes widen. Blink. Blink. Jaw slightly drops. He’s behind the counter in a ripped vintage tee, one glove on, holding a paper cup of iced Americano like it’s mid-scene in a music video.
“...Holy shit.”
“Nice to see you too,” you deadpan, stepping up to the reception desk like it’s a confession booth.
From the back, Felix emerges, sliding in with a practiced spin on the rolling stool. His crop top says “NO SAINT, JUST HOT” and he’s chewing pink bubblegum like it’s personal.
He squints. “Wait. Waitwaitwait—no way.” He turns to Jisung. “That’s her, right?”
Jisung nods slowly, eyes still on you like you might disappear if he blinks. “Mm-hm. That’s her. The ribcage girl.”
You sigh, reaching for the clipboard. “Still the same greeting process, I see.”
Felix leans in over the counter, lashes weaponized. “So. What brings you back to the scene of the crime, gorgeous?”
“Tattoo,” you say simply, checking the box marked cover-up on the intake form.
Felix raises a brow. “Cover-up? On what?”
You give him a flat look. Then slowly, deliberately, tap your rib.
Jisung immediately chokes on his iced coffee. “Oh my god. You’re covering Minho’s piece?” he hisses.
“Don’t say it like that,” you mutter.
Felix gasps dramatically, grabbing your form. “Does he know? Does he know you’re here?”
“No.”
“Does he know you're gonna cover the sacred rib tattoo of doomed romance™?”
“Still no.”
Jisung is now whispering to himself in horror. “He’s gonna combust. He’s gonna short-circuit like a printer from 2003.”
Felix pats your hand. “You’re braver than the Marines.”
You slide the completed form back to them. “You gonna let me through, or you want me to relive the breakup right here?”
“Booth Three,” Jisung says instantly. “He’s in there right now. I’ll text him that a client is coming in.”
Felix grins like the devil. “We won’t say who. Surprise trauma!”
You exhale slowly as you make your way to Booth Three and pushing the door open.
Minho is inside, doesn't even look up. Of course he doesn't. He is seated at his workstation, black hoodie sleeves pushed up, long fingers flying over his iPad. The screen glows with precision: a mandala lattice interwoven with brutalist architecture, all angles and absence. It’s violently elegant. Just like him.
He’s got one AirPod in. The other rests on the desk, silent. His tattoo gun is prepped and sterilized beside it. Black gloves folded, still untouched.
You stay silent for a beat.
He’s changed, but not really. Hair darker now. Under-eye shadows deeper. Forearms inked in blackwork he used to say wasn’t “for him.” You recognize his neck tattoo—you designed that motif. He said he’d never use it. Guess he changed his mind.
You speak, voice even, soft.
“Hope you still remember how to do ribs.”
He freezes. Literally freezes mid-stroke, like someone hit pause on a film reel.
His eyes flick up.
And when they meet yours—his stylus drops.
“...No fucking way.”
You smile, tight-lipped. “Hi.”
Minho blinks. Once. Twice. Then leans back slowly in his chair, as if needing distance just to believe you're real. He doesn’t say anything at first. His eyes drag down you like a scan—lips, collarbones, arms. His gaze stops right where it used to rest: the dip beneath your ribs. “What the fuck are you doing here.” You shrug, like this isn’t a slow-burn emotional arson scene. “Cover-up.”
He exhales like he got sucker punched.
You don’t say it. You don’t have to. He knows which one. For a moment, neither of you move. The only sound is the quiet buzz of the fluorescent light, and your pulse hammering against silence.
Minho finally breaks it, voice lower now. Raspier. Rough around the edges.
“Sit.”
You walk forward. The vinyl of the chair squeaks as you lower yourself onto it.
Minho adjusts his stool with one foot, pulling closer—close enough that your knees nearly touch. He reaches for a fresh pair of gloves and pulls them on with a muted snap.
“You still flinch?” he asks, without looking up.
“Only when it matters.”
A breath leaves him like a short laugh, disbelieving and hollow. He nods at your ribs.
“Show me.”
You tug your top up slowly. The air is cool against your skin. But his gaze is colder.
The tattoo’s still there—his lines, his shape, the intimate architecture of a design he once called a cathedral just for you. You watch his eyes trace it like he’s reading a language he forgot he wrote.
He exhales through his nose, once. Then leans in. Not touching. But close.
“Still healed well,” he mutters. “Even after everything.”
He lets out a short sound—not quite a laugh. Not quite not.
Then turns to grab his iPad.
You watch him swipe past old sketches. Lines. Shapes. A few human figures, but mostly… structures. Always structures. Stained glass, brutal staircases, the shadows between pillars. And suddenly—one design with your face sketched into the edge of a crumbling spire flashes past.
You blink.
He quickly flips to a blank layer.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, stylus in hand.
You hesitate. Then: “Something clean. Cold. Geometric. No softness.”
He looks at you. Just looks. Then tilts his head. “So the opposite of what you used to want.”
You lift a brow. “People change.”
“Do they?” He doesn’t say it like a question.
Silence. Only the soft tick of the stylus moving. Drawing. Erasing. Redrawing.
You glance over.
The lines are sharp. Intricate. Interlocking shapes—architectural, yes, but still haunting. There’s depth beneath the harshness, shadows where light should be. He’s already building something brutal.
“You always sketch this fast for clients?” you ask.
He doesn’t look up. “Only the ones who know how to bleed for it.”
Your breath stutters. He notices.
After another beat, he holds the iPad out to you, jaw tense. “You want this? Final answer.”
You study it. And it’s beautiful. Devastatingly so. The kind of piece that erases history—not by covering it, but by burying it in monument.
“Yeah,” you murmur. “It’s perfect.”
He huffs softly. “It’s not.”
“Minho—”
“It’s not what I wanted to put here.”
The sentence hits like a quiet car crash. No screech, just impact. You say nothing. He turns away to print the stencil. You watch the lines appear on paper, black and cruel.
“This gonna take long?” you ask lightly, trying to breathe again.
“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “It’s big.”
“Good. I’ve got time.”
He turns. Looks at you—really looks. The gloves are still on. The stencil in hand. “You sure you can lie here for hours with me that close?”
“You sure you can touch me for that long and not fall apart?”
For one suspended moment, the room goes still.
Then Minho steps forward. “Let’s find out.”
He sets the stencil aside. Pulls out the prep tray. It’s methodical—his ritual. You remember it. He moves with that same detached precision: antiseptic wipe, alcohol spray, barrier film over his tray, black nitrile gloves pulled snug with that quiet snap that used to make your stomach twist.
The scent of alcohol hits first. Then the click of the spray bottle. Then his voice—low, close. “I’m cleaning the area.”
He waits. You nod.
And then his hand—gloved, cold—presses gently at your side, just under your ribs. The contact makes your breath hitch. He feels it. “Still ticklish,” he murmurs, but there’s no amusement in it. Just memory.
His fingers move across the old tattoo and you close your eyes as he presses the stencil on.
“Hold still,” he says softly. Too softly.
You feel the pressure of his palm, the warm slide of his knuckles against your waist, the careful tension as he positions the design.
Then he pulls back. Steps away. And you exhale.
“Mirror’s there,” he says, voice neutral.
You sit up, top still raised, and step to the full-length mirror near the booth’s edge.
The stencil is stark black. Clean. Brutal. It spans from just under your chest down to your hipbone—an interlocking spiral staircase, collapsing inward on itself, surrounded by broken geometry and cathedral archways. Inside the spiral, there’s a single vacant silhouette—like a missing piece in the shape of a person.
“It’s…” you begin. But you can’t find the word.
“Empty?” he offers.
“Yeah.”
Minho shrugs slightly, adjusting the height of the chair. “You wanted cold. Unsweet. Brutal.”
You nod. “I did.”
He doesn’t move until you return to the chair and settle in again. He leans down, pulls the stool closer—so close his knee brushes yours. “Ready?”
“No.”
A pause. Then: “Good. That’s honest.”
The machine buzzes to life. He dips the needle into the ink—pitch black—and presses the foot pedal. Then the first contact hits. The sting. The bite. The sound.
Your breath stutters. His hand is firm on your waist, grounding. “Still breathe like that,” he murmurs.
“Still touch like that.”
The buzz of the machine fills the booth like static between stations.
Minho works in silence. You breathe in silence. Time stretches. His gloved hand stays steady on your waist—anchoring, professional, unyielding. But every time his fingers shift to wipe the ink, every time his forearm brushes your side, you feel something buried rattle. Like bones under floorboards.
You focus on the ceiling tiles. Count them. Try not to flinch when he drags the line near your ribcage. He’s precise. Too precise. You feel every goddamn millimeter.
And still—he says nothing. It’s been maybe an hour. Then—quietly, like a thread being tugged:
“You finish school?”
Your eyes blink open. “Yeah. A while ago.”
“Thought so,” he murmurs. “You used to study here. In this chair.”
You huff. “I used to do a lot of things in this chair.”
He pauses. Then wipes your skin with slow, deliberate pressure. “Still mouthy.”
“Still quiet.”
“One of us had to be.”
The machine hums again. You both fall silent. But the air isn’t. It hums now—charged and heavy. After another few minutes, you speak, voice softer.
“You still living above the shop?”
Minho’s hand doesn’t pause, but you hear the answer in the way he exhales. “Yeah.”
“You ever fix the leak by the kitchen window?”
“Eventually. Felix slipped on the water and broke his assbone, so…”
“Justice.”
A faint smile ghosts across his lips. You catch it. Pretend not to. “What about you?” he asks. “Where are you now?”
You shrug. “Seoul. Still. I work freelance—mostly visual design, some concept art stuff. Clients suck. Pay’s decent.”
“Still draw?”
“Always.”
He nods, as if that explains something only he understands.
Another beat of quiet. Then: “You tattoo now too?”
That makes you pause. “A little. Not full-time.”
“Anyone ever ink your ribs like this again?”
You meet his eyes. “No one ever touched me here again.”
That silence? Not like before. This one cracks. Minho sets the machine down slowly. Wipes the needle. Re-inks. Doesn’t speak for a full thirty seconds.
Then: “Good.”
You shift, heart thudding. “Why?”
He glances up, and for once, doesn’t look away. “Because it’s not theirs to touch.” He says it like he didn’t just lay a claim. Like it’s fact. Like it’s law.
You don’t reply. You can’t. Your ribs ache—not from the needle, but from the breath you’ve been holding since he started this goddamn piece.
Minho presses the foot pedal again.
The machine whirs to life, slicing through the silence. The black ink spreads, sharp and deliberate, marking over what was once softness.
His hand settles against your waist again. Firmer now. Less technician—more… anchor. His fingers brush under the hem of your top again. Not on purpose.
But he doesn’t apologize.
“Gonna do the lower spiral now,” he murmurs. “I need to adjust your position.”
You nod. Try to keep your voice even. “Tell me what you want.”
His gaze flicks up. Something flashes in it—heat, recognition, regret. “Lift your arm. Stretch back.”
You obey. Your back arches slightly. The angle shifts. Your shirt slides up higher. And suddenly, his breath catches. Not visibly. Not loudly. But you feel it—in the tiny hesitation between glove and skin. He moves slower now. Drapes the barrier cloth gently over your chest. Focuses on the lower edge of the design.
His hand brushes the curve of your hip. “Still got the scar,” he mutters.
“From your old chair. That screw that stuck out.”
“I told you to stop climbing into my lap during sessions.”
“I told you to fix your fucking chair.”
Another small ghost of a smile. Another memory you didn’t mean to let through. The machine buzzes. The lines go deeper now. Bolder. You wince slightly—less from pain, more from the weight of his closeness. “Hurts?” he asks, quiet. “Not as much as losing you did.”
The machine goes silent. He sets it down. Slowly. His head tilts up, eyes dark, unreadable. “You think I didn’t lose you too?”
Before you can answer—knock knock knock.
The booth door creaks open an inch, and Jisung’s head pops in. “Hey, just checking—OH.” He blinks. Stares. Feels the temperature of the room. “Never mind.”
Another head appears behind him—Chan, black tee, clipboard in hand. Owner. OG. Quiet ringleader of this whole tattoo circus.
“Minho, did you review the—” He pauses mid-sentence. Eyes shift from Minho to you. To your lifted shirt. To the way Minho’s gloved hand is hovering just above your skin.
Chan arches a brow. “...So this is happening again.”
Minho doesn’t even flinch. “Out.”
Jisung salutes. “Godspeed, soldier.”
Chan just sighs. “Try not to punch holes in the wall this time.”
The door shuts. The lock clicks. Silence again.
You exhale. “They always this nosy?”
“You always this distracting?” His voice is low now. Tight.
You blink. “Minho—”
“Lie back.”
You obey. He pulls the stool closer. Closer than necessary. Then, gloved hands on your hip, he says—quiet, slow: “I’m finishing this. Every goddamn line.”
You nod. And the machine starts again.
You lose track of time somewhere around the fifth wipe.
The sky outside is darker now. The booth hums with that post-tattoo stillness—low light, blood buzz, the deep ache under your skin like something blooming and bruised.
Minho’s working slower now. Not out of fatigue. No—he’s dragging it out. You can feel it in the way he traces your skin. The pauses. The glances.
It’s 7:23 PM.
You know this because your phone buzzes uselessly on the counter and Minho glares at it like it’s an intruder. Then again—he hasn’t looked away from you much at all.
“You’re almost done?” you ask quietly, voice hoarse from the hours of not speaking.
“Final shading,” he says, shifting. “Then bandage.”
You nod, letting your head fall back against the chair. You close your eyes.
Until—click. The door opens again.
“You better not be tattooing her feelings back on,” Jisung says, peeking in once more.
“It’s after seven,” Chan adds, stepping in behind him. “We’re leaving. You can lock up.”
Minho doesn’t even glance at them. “Bye.”
“Damn,” Jisung mutters. “I missed when you were nice.”
Chan folds his arms. “He was never nice.”
Minho wipes your side again. “Do you two need something, or are you just doing walk-in commentary now?”
“We’re giving you the key,” Chan says patiently, tossing it toward the counter. It lands with a clatter. “And also warning you: no sex on the chair.”
“Especially not that chair,” Jisung adds. “That’s the holy one. Client blood and heartbreak juice only.”
You blink up at them. “You do know I can hear you, right?”
“Sweetheart, you’re like three moans away from a confessional,” Jisung grins.
Minho’s hand tenses on your hip.
Chan gives Jisung a sharp look. “Okay, that’s enough. Let the man finish tattooing his ex.”
Minho’s voice cuts in—low, flat, and dry: “I’m raising the booth rent if you two don’t leave.”
Jisung gasps. “You can’t evict my vibe.”
“Watch me.”
With one final laugh, Chan tips an invisible hat at you. “Pleasure seeing you again. Don’t break our boy, yeah?”
You don’t respond. You just hold Minho’s gaze.
The door closes. The lock clicks again. Alone. Again.
He exhales. “They never change.”
You hum. “Neither do you.”
“Not with you.”
His hand brushes your skin again, wiping the last bit of ink away. He doesn’t move it. Just leaves it there. Warm and steady.
“I’m done.”
You nod. Slow. Dazed. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Me too.”
But neither of you move.
The machine is off. The gloves are still on. His hand is still resting on your bare waist.
You watch his throat move as he swallows.
“I need to bandage it.”
You nod.
Minho finally pulls back. Peels off the gloves, slow. Tosses them into the bin with a soft crack. His hands are bare now—warmer, familiar, devastating. He reaches for the tattoo film. The kind that clings like a second skin.
“This part’ll be cold,” he murmurs.
“So were you.”
His hands pause.
Then, with infinite care, he presses the bandage to your ribs. The plastic clings, sealing the ink beneath. His fingertips ghost over your side. Flattening. Smoothing.
Too gentle.
His hand lingers a second too long on your hipbone. Then again on the edge of your waist, just under your breast. You don’t move. You don’t breathe.
Neither does he.
“You’re still warm here,” he murmurs. “Still soft.”
“I never stopped being yours here,” you whisper. “Even after you let me go.”
His hand freezes.
And then—
Minho exhales. Slow. Controlled. Devastated. “Fuck,” he says. “Don’t say shit like that unless you mean it.”
“I do mean it.”
He looks up at you, finally. Face unreadable. But his eyes? Wrecked.
“I didn’t stop wanting you,” you say, soft. “I just stopped begging.”
And that’s when something inside him cracks. Minho drops the rest of the bandage. One hand cups your jaw. The other pulls you forward by the waist. His lips crash into yours—not neat, not planned, not patient. Just real. Messy. Hot. Familiar. Like all the years you lost were just smoke.
He tastes the same. Regret and hunger.
You kiss him back. Desperate. Needy. Home.
When he pulls away, he’s breathless. “The shop’s closed,” he says hoarsely.
“I know.”
“You’re not leaving yet.”
“I know.”
But he can't stop kissing you and his kisses leave you gasping, lips parted, your ribs burning with fresh ink and something even hotter under your skin.
But Minho doesn’t move for your mouth again.
He just looks at you. And presses the last edge of the bandage into place. Palms flat on either side of your ribs, holding it there. Holding you there.
“You need to keep this clean,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “Saniderm on for at least a day. No sweat. No friction. No heat.”
You smirk. “So I shouldn’t fuck my tattoo artist, huh?”
He closes his eyes like that physically hurts. Then opens them again, and they’re darker. Gone. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Come here.”
He grabs your face and kisses you again—harder this time. His mouth is warm, demanding. He tastes like ink and restraint and the last piece of something you thought you’d never get again.
You whimper into it, fingers fisting into his hoodie, tugging him closer. He moves fast now, pulling you upright, spinning you around so your back hits the wall behind the chair.
Your top rides up, exposing your waist. His hands drag along the un-tattooed side of your ribs, his touch finally hungry.
“Minho—”
“You still talk too much.”
His hand finds your thigh, fingers digging in as he lifts you onto the edge of the chair.
“Don’t you dare come undone on this chair unless you want your name carved into it,” he growls.
“Do it,” you whisper, breath hot. “Like old times.”
He groans. Hands gripping your hips, pulling you forward against the bulge in his jeans. But even now—he's careful. His fingers skirt around the bandage. His mouth trails everywhere but the fresh ink.
“I can’t touch there,” he pants. “But everywhere else? Mine.”
He leans in—bites at your neck. Licks under your jaw. You shudder. “Mine.”
You nod, breathless. “Yours.”
“Say it again.”
“Yours.”
He groans into your skin. One hand slips under your waistband—slow, deliberate, filthy. “Keep still. You move too much, I’ll stop.”
“Minho—”
He kisses your collarbone. Soft now. “I never should’ve stopped touching you.” His voice is low, almost broken against your skin. And then his hand dips further—sliding past the waistband of your pants, then beneath your underwear. You flinch at the first brush of his fingers against your bare heat.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “Already soaked?”
You moan, soft and unfiltered. “You did this.”
“Damn right I did.”
He doesn’t dive in right away.
Minho’s fingers ghost along your folds, barely there—just the suggestion of touch. Teasing, cruel, worshipful. Like he wants to remember this. Every slick, desperate twitch.
“Still so fucking warm,” he murmurs. “Still react to me like this.”
“Because I never stopped needing you.”
That does something to him. His jaw tightens. His free hand grips your thigh harder.
His fingers stroke your clit now—slow and purposeful. He still hasn’t pushed in. Just teasing, rubbing, feeling every tremble in your core.
“You’re shaking,” he whispers. “All this time and I still ruin you like this.”
You whimper, hips bucking up—but he presses you down against the chair again.
“What did I say?” he growls. “Keep. Fucking. Still.”
You nod, gasping. “I’m trying—fuck—Minho, please—”
He slips one finger inside. Just one. It glides in so easily, so wet, he groans low into your neck.
“Still tight,” he pants. “Still perfect.”
You clench around him and he curses, fingers curling just slightly as he begins to move.
“Say it again,” he whispers, lips dragging over your ear.
“Say you’re mine.”
“I’m—fuck—Minho, I’m yours—”
His second finger joins the first. Scissoring. Filling. So slow it’s maddening. His thumb circles your clit in rhythm, expertly cruel. You’re grinding against him now, trying not to cry out.
But it’s no use.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Let me hear you. You think I forgot what you sound like?”
You moan—loud this time—and he smiles against your skin.
“There she is.”
His fingers curl again—deep, deliberate, cruel. You cry out, thighs trembling, body completely unhinged on his tattoo chair.
“Fuck, you’re clenching so hard,” he groans, dragging his fingers out almost entirely before plunging back in with a wet sound that makes you whimper. “You missed this, didn’t you?”
“Y-Yes,” you gasp.
“How much?”
You can barely breathe. “So much—Minho—fuck—”
“That’s not good enough.”
He pumps harder. Faster. His fingers scissor deep inside you, stretching you wide while his thumb circles your clit with just enough pressure to keep you right on the edge. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged, jaw clenched like he's holding back a growl.
“Feel how fucking hard I am for you,” he grits, grabbing your free hand and dragging it down between you both.
Your fingers brush the bulge in his jeans and—fuck. He’s thick. Hard in a way that hurts even through the denim.
“All that from just your voice,” he rasps. “From your pussy sucking my fingers in like it still belongs to me.”
You whimper, hand tightening instinctively over his cock. He twitches under your grip.
“You’re gonna make me cum just from your fist at this rate,” he breathes, panting into your mouth. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”
Your hips roll against his hand, the wet slap of your cunt obscene now, the squelch of each pump making your eyes roll back.
“M-Minho—can’t—too much—”
He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Take it. You used to take it so well.”
You cry out, grinding shamelessly against his hand, your wrist still caught against the outline of his cock. His fingers are relentless now—deep, punishing strokes that angle just right, hitting the spot that makes your back arch.
“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, voice hot and filthy. “You gonna cum for me?”
“Please—need to—”
“You think I’m letting you go home with anyone else’s cum in you again?” His hand grips tighter. “Nah. You’ll cum on my fingers. Then my tongue. Then my cock. One by one. Until you remember who you belong to.”
You sob into his shoulder, body locking up.
“Then cum,” he growls. “Let me feel you fucking fall apart.”
And you do. You shatter. Right there in his chair, cunt clenching around his fingers so hard he curses, hips bucking involuntarily, thighs shaking. The orgasm crashes through you like a wave that never breaks.
You’re still gasping, barely coming down, when he kisses you again—rough and breathless.
Then he pulls his hand out and brings his digits to his lips, licking his fingers clean with a sinful groan. “Still the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Minho leans in—presses a soft kiss just beneath your jaw. Then another. Then pulls back, his lips swollen and wet with you.
“Stay,” he says simply.
“Yes.”
“Upstairs.”
You nod again, dazed. He grabs a clean towel, wipes his fingers off, then flicks off the booth lights.
You stumble to your feet. He steadies you with a hand on your lower back—protective, but firm. The other hand? Already sliding down to cup the curve of your ass.
“Don’t test me,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Or I’ll take you right here. Front door be damned.”
You laugh breathlessly. “You always talk this much now?”
“Only when I’m starving.”
He steps out first. Walks to the front.
The shop’s dark now—just the glow of the neon sign outside, and the sound of him flipping the lock with a click. Pulling the blinds. Turning the CLOSED sign.
The only other sound is your breath. And the creak of stairs.
Minho turns back to you. Extends his hand. “Come home.”
And you do. You follow him up the stairs—your fingers tangled in his, your heart in your throat. He pulls you behind him, not once looking back.
The upstairs apartment is dim, clean, and familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.
His hoodie hits the floor first. Your shirt follows. Your bra is gone with one snap of his practiced fingers.
“Fuck,” he breathes, stepping in closer. “I’ve dreamed about this. Exactly this.”
“Then stop dreaming.”
“I’m not stopping anything tonight.”
He kisses you hard, mouths crashing, tongues tangled. His hands roam over every inch of skin he missed—the good side of your ribs, your back, your thighs. He lifts you. You wrap your legs around his waist.
Your back hits the hallway wall.
Your pants are yanked down, barely a memory. His belt clinks open, jeans shoved past his hips. You’re both gasping, biting, pulling, years of silence poured into filthy, reckless touch.
“I missed your body,” he mutters into your mouth. “Missed how you sound. How you taste. How you fucking feel.”
“Then take me.”
“You think I won’t?”
He kicks the bedroom door open with one foot, lays you down onto his bed, and finally—finally—he crawls over you like you’re something holy. You are.
Minho kisses you again, slower now, lips dragging down the column of your throat. Over your collarbone. Across the top of your chest. He palms your breast—squeezes, just enough to make you gasp—and then closes his mouth over your nipple.
You arch.
“Still so responsive,” he murmurs, flicking his tongue over the peak before sucking hard, slow. “Still so good for me.”
Your hands knot in his hair.
He kisses across to the other one—giving it the same attention, tongue lazy, mouth open and hot. Every sound you make fuels him.
Then lower.
His mouth trails down the center of your stomach—soft kisses, open-mouthed and hot, then bites just sharp enough to leave blooming heat behind. He kneels between your legs, hands parting your thighs.
You’re soaked again. Dripping. Panties long gone.
He growls low, eyes locked to your pussy like it’s fucking divine.
“You knew this was next,” he says, voice low, hands sliding under your thighs to lift your hips. “I told you.”
“Then shut up and—”
He doesn’t let you finish.
Minho licks one long stripe up your slit—slow and filthy—from the bottom of your entrance to your clit. And moans. Loud.
“Still taste like a fucking fever dream.”
Your hands shoot into his hair again. “Minho—fuck—”
He flattens his tongue against your clit, then circles it. Slow, heavy pressure. Just enough to make your thighs jerk around his head. “Keep them open,” he mutters, pulling back only to kiss your inner thigh, your hipbone, your mound. “Let me see all of you.”
And then he devours.
Tongue pressed deep. Lapping. Sucking. Flicking. He eats like he missed meals for years and this is how he survives now. Your moans go from soft to broken, gasps ragged, legs shaking around his head.
“Oh my—fuck—Minho—”
He groans into you, the vibration making your hips buck. His arms wrap tighter around your thighs, holding you down, keeping you right there as his tongue circles your clit in tight, ruthless rhythm.
He sucks your clit—harder now. Lips wrapped around your clit, tongue swirling in circles so precise it feels like he mapped this out. Every flick is a promise. Every kiss, a punishment.
“Minho—fuckfuck—please—”
Your thighs tremble against his shoulders, toes curling, head thrown back into his sheets. But he’s relentless. Focused. Cruel in the way only someone who knows your body this well can be.
Then—suddenly—his tongue dips lower again.
He licks into you—deep—pressing into your entrance, slow and wet and hot.
Minho—”
He moans into your cunt, arms flexing around your thighs, nose pressed into your mound like he never wants to come up for air. He tongue-fucks you harder, the slick sounds obscene now, spit and arousal dripping down his chin.
He pulls back just enough to suck your clit again, messy and loud—then goes back down, tongue fucking you like it’s a competition. Like it’s penance. Like he’s going to draw the second orgasm out of you with his mouth alone.
“You’re close again,” he pants. “I feel it. You gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna soak my face?”
“Yes—yes, please—don’t stop—”
He doesn’t. In fact, he doubles down—tongue driving in and out while he rubs tight, fast circles on your clit with his thumb. Your thighs snap around his head. You try to pull away, too sensitive, too much—
But Minho just growls, deep and possessive.
“Fucking take it.”
Fuck you do. You fucking do take it. How can you not. And you finally break apart on his face, legs locking, body spasming as that second orgasm rips through you harder, wetter, longer. He holds you through it, licking and sucking until your voice is nothing but choked whimpers and your body can’t stop twitching.
When he finally pulls away, his mouth is glossy, chin soaked.
He smirks—wild, satisfied, dark before kneeling up, grabbing a condom from the drawer, tearing it open with his teeth.
“Now I’m gonna ruin this pussy properly.”
You’re barely conscious of the way he tears the condom wrapper open—just the sound of it, sharp and needed in the haze of your wrecked body. He rolls it on quick, jaw clenched, hand pumping his cock once, twice, eyes locked on you like you’re prey he’s finally allowed to devour.
“Get on all fours.”
You try to move, limbs shaking, but he grabs your hips and flips you himself—effortless, firm, like muscle memory. You barely get your arms under you before he’s behind you, one hand gripping your ass, the other dragging along your spine.
“You remember how loud you used to get?” he mutters, voice thick. “Gonna make you scream into my fucking sheets again.”
He guides his cock to your entrance—rubbing the tip through your soaked folds, slow and teasing, soaking himself in your mess.
“Fuck—you’re dripping,” he groans. “You came so hard for my mouth, and you’re still ready for my cock?”
“Please—Minho—need it—need you—”
He sinks in. Deep. One smooth, devastating thrust that punches the air from your lungs.
“Oh my fuck—”
“That’s it,” he growls, bottoming out. “Tight as ever. Like your pussy never forgot me.”
You choke on a moan as he pulls out slow—just to slam back in, harder this time. Your arms buckle, face falling into the mattress as his hips snap against your ass with punishing rhythm.
“Minho—fuck—you’re so—deep—”
“Yeah? You missed this cock?” His voice is ragged, filthy. “Tell me. Tell me who fucks you like this.”
“Only you—fuck—only you, Minho—”
“Damn right.”
He grips your hair, pulling you up by the back of your neck, arching your body so your back curves into him. His mouth is by your ear now, panting, biting.
“No one touches you here,” he growls, fucking into you harder, deeper. “Not your mouth. Not your thighs. Not your pussy. All mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours—Minho—I’m fucking yours—”
“Louder.”
“I’m yours!”
He snarls into your neck and slams into you so deep you see stars. One of his hands slides down to your clit, rubbing fast, relentless circles while his cock drags against your g-spot.
“You gonna cum again?” he pants. “On my cock this time?”
“Yes—yes, please—don’t stop—”
“Let go for me, baby.”
You don’t even need to try.
His thumb circles your clit with such devastating precision, and his cock hits so deep, so right, you come apart again—body locking up, mouth falling open in a moan that barely sounds like your own.
Your orgasm slams into you like a wave, sharp and overwhelming, your pussy fluttering around him, gripping him, milking him like your body knows he’s supposed to stay there.
“Fuuuuck—Minho—!”
“That’s it,” he growls. “Cum on my cock like a good girl. So fucking wet—so tight—I can feel you pulsing, fuck—”
Your vision blurs. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps thrusting through it, relentless, dragging it out with brutal pace, your pussy so sensitive now you can barely breathe. His hand’s still on your clit, rubbing slow now—just enough to make you whimper.
“Minho—please—I can’t—”
“Yes you can.”
He leans over your back again, teeth dragging along your shoulder, breath hot and harsh. “You gonna take it, baby,” he pants. “You’re gonna be good and take it. All of it. Until I cum too.”
You cry out when he fucks you harder, cock slamming in deep, hips slapping skin, the sound so obscene it makes your whole body flush. You feel your own slick running down your thighs, pooling under you—and still he keeps going.
“You said you were mine,” he groans. “So act like it. Let me fuck you how you need.”
“Minho—f-fuck—it’s too—too much—”
“It’s never too much,” he hisses. “Not for my good girl.”
His fingers leave your clit, only to grip your throat—lightly, possessively, pulling you up so your back is flush to his chest. His cock drives into you deeper from this angle, the stretch unbearable, perfect.
“You feel this?” he whispers into your ear. “You feel how hard I still am inside you? I’m not even close, baby.”
“Oh my god—”
“You’re gonna take every fucking second of it.”
You moan, broken and needy, as he slams into you again and again. His hips are ruthless now, fucking you straight through your oversensitivity, chasing his own high while demanding you keep up.
“Gonna ruin you,” he groans. “Gonna fill you up and fuck you until you can’t even stand—until all you know is my name in your throat.”
“Please—Minho—yes—yes, please—”
You feel another orgasm building and he knows it. His hand snakes down again, fingers finding your clit, rubbing quick tight circles just as he starts fucking you even deeper, fucking into your sweet spot with perfect, punishing rhythm.
“Cum again,” he growls. “Do it. Show me how good your pussy gets when it’s mine.”
Your legs are trembling now, slick and spent, but Minho doesn’t let up.
“C’mon,” he pants, voice wrecked. “Give it to me again. You know you can.”
His fingers never leave your clit—tight, ruthless circles in time with the brutal rhythm of his thrusts. He’s fucking into you so deep you swear he’s carved out space inside you. Your body’s a live wire, too sensitive, too soaked, too close.
And then—
You break.
A cry tears out of you as your body convulses, squirting hard around him, wetness gushing as your vision whites out. He curses low and vicious, gripping your hips to ride it out, holding you through the aftershocks.
“Fuck—just like that, baby. Look at this mess. All for me.”
You’re limp, gasping, gone—and he’s still fucking you, chasing the edge with a growl in his throat. His rhythm stutters, hips snapping faster, deeper, until he finally buries himself to the hilt with a sharp gasp.
“Mine,” he groans. “Taking all of me—fuck—mine.”
You feel the shudder of him spilling into the condom, body tight, muscles locked, every filthy, pent-up second poured into you.
And then—
Silence.
Only breath. Sweat. Your heartbeat in your ears. He doesn’t pull out right away. Just stays there, chest pressed to yours, mouth by your ear and pressing soft kisses.
Then finally—slowly—he pulls out. You both shiver from the loss.
Minho moves carefully now, the storm in him simmered down to something softer, raw-edged but human. He slides off the condom, ties it off, discards it in the bin by the bed. Then he vanishes for a beat—into the bathroom maybe—but returns just as fast with a warm cloth, water, tissues.
“Easy,” he murmurs as he wipes between your legs, his touch gentle, reverent. “Let me take care of you.”
You wince slightly when the cloth brushes too close to your clit, overstimulated and twitchy. He notices immediately.
“Sorry,” he says quietly. “You okay?”
You nod. Too gone to speak yet, but he sees it—your blinking gratitude, the softness returning to your breath. He kisses the inside of your knee before tossing the cloth aside.
And then he climbs back into bed, arms open. You crawl into them without hesitation. He pulls the blanket over both of you, tucks your head beneath his chin. One hand rubs slow circles into your back; the other is tangled in your hair.
For a long time, neither of you say anything. Just breath. The muted thud of his heartbeat under your ear. The faint creak of the studio pipes somewhere above.
Until you finally whisper, “Why’d we stop talking?”
His fingers still for a moment. Then resume. Slower. “I was angry,” he says. “And stupid.”
You hum. “Me too.”
He sighs. “I hated that you left without saying goodbye.”
“I hated that you let me.”
A pause.
“You came back,” he says quietly.
“I never stopped thinking about you.”
Another beat of silence, heavier now. “I never moved on,” he admits.
You look up at him, eyes glassy. “Neither did I.”
His jaw flexes. His thumb brushes your cheek. And this time, when he kisses you—it’s slow. Deep. No lust. Just longing. A kiss built on what-ifs. On might-have-beens. On maybe-again.
He whispers against your lips, “Stay the night.”
You nod, barely breathing. “Okay.”
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It’s been three weeks since that night. Since Minho locked the studio door, fucked you senseless, and told you—without words—that he never stopped wanting you.
Now?
Now, your toothbrush is in his bathroom. Your sketchbook’s on his kitchen counter. Your bra’s been living on his bedpost for four days and counting.
You’re upstairs more than not—first it was overnight visits, then a drawer, then a closet, then one morning he just grunted, “Your stuff’s already here. Might as well stop pretending.”
So you stayed.
Mornings are quiet. Shared coffee in oversized mugs, his hand on your thigh while he skims client bookings. Nights are louder—sometimes it’s just TV and takeout, sometimes it’s moaning into his mouth while he fucks you over the arm of the couch, one hand tangled in your hair and the other keeping your legs spread.
Rebuilding hasn’t been linear. You argue. You remember old fights. You see old wounds still healing. But you talk now. And when you don’t have the words, he kisses the silence out of you, palms framing your face like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks too long.
One afternoon, Jisung barges in to drop off a delivery and freezes at the top of the stairs. You’re half-naked in one of Minho’s shirts. He’s behind you, tattoo gun still buzzing.
“Are you seriously tattooing her naked again?”
Minho doesn’t even flinch. “My apartment. My rules.”
Jisung groans. “I’m gonna start charging rent for the trauma.”
Minho just smirks, wiping your skin clean and pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. “Close the door on your way out.”
You laugh into the sleeve of your shirt. You’re glowing. A little inked, a lot in love.
And Minho? He’s not going anywhere this time.
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ceilidho ¡ 1 year ago
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prompt: simon notices you in the stands (welder/amateur rugby player au). (nsfw, 1.9k)
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She’s in the stands again, and he doesn’t know who for. 
The same bird as the time before, and the week before that. Always a few minutes into the match, like she snuck in through the backdoor. She always leaves in a hurry, up and out of her seat with her jacket already tugged on, her strides quick on her way out the main doors. 
In the years since joining this amateur league, Simon’s never been tempted to talk to any of the people in the stands. For the most part, they’re there for one of the other players anyway. Wives, girlfriends, sisters—the odd cousin or fuck buddy, those girls dipping in and out, replaced by newer, sparklier versions of each other, the older ones licked clean. 
His focus narrows when he steps onto the field anyway, shrinks like horse blinders sunk down over his skull. Hardly a reason for him to spare more than a glance towards the stands.
Rugby’s not a sport for spectators. At least, not such a low level league. Barely amateur—just some of the locals with a bit of built up stress and aggression to work off. It’s why he’s here after all. Simon spends the hours of his day hunched over sheets of metal and carbon steel, sweating into the metal mask pulled down over his face and staring without blinking into the heart of the flame just inches from his face. 
His nerves are a closed fist in his chest and it grows and grows until he steps out onto the field of the local rec centre and hears the timer overhead start to count down and feels someone’s chest cave in when he drives his shoulder into their solar plexus, hears the breath whoosh out of them, their next breath in thin and febrile. 
It sets his head right. Violence with no consequences. At the end of the game, he looks the man he just bruised and bloodied in the eye and shakes his hand. Puts the world to rights. 
And he needs nothing more than that. His bills are paid, bloodthirst sated, thirst quenched when the team hits up a pub after the match, after which he slinks off into the night to head home with his hood drawn over his head, the size of him rarely inviting more violence. Occasionally it happens that someone with the bad luck of choosing him to mug wants to prove that they have the bigger cock, but that never ends well. Not for them at least.
Simon would fight for a living if welding paid him less. As it is, he satiates that beast in him on the field or the occasional back alley, and it keeps him in check.
But now there’s a bird in the stands drawing his eye and distracting him from the match. It rubs him the wrong way. The blood pumps through his veins more viciously, and the pretty thing in the stands watches the game completely unaware, a serene smile on her face. His gaze keeps being pulled towards where she and a couple clusters of fans sit and nurse paper cups of tea.
She cups both hands around her tea and he wonders absently whether she’d have to hold his cock the same way. 
It’s Gaz who calls him out on it first, panting hard after the first period and frowning at the scoreboard. “Not to be a dick, but that was bollocks, Simon. Never seen you miss a pass like that.”
Few people could get away with speaking to him like that, but Gaz is right. He’s been playing like shit, too preoccupied by the bird watching him with wide, rapt eyes. 
He doesn’t know how to apologise though, so he doesn’t. “Graves is a useless twat. Can’t throw for shit.”
Gaz rolls his eyes. “Not saying he isn’t, but you’re distracted. Where’s your head at?”
“Stay out of it, Garrick,” he says, not even bothering to meet his gaze, the warning clear in his voice. 
“Sorry for caring,” Gaz shouts after him as Simon jogs away.
He asks around at first, trying to find out if she’s someone’s relative or girl, but all the guys just shrug, no answers. If she’s someone’s, they aren’t staking a claim on her. It’s good news for him. Bad news for anyone else taking an interest in the girl that comes to their every match to cheer them on.
His urges sit deeper than the abyssal plain.
She’d probably turn tail and run if she knew the hunger festering in his belly. She sits sweet and innocent in the stands cheering him on and all Simon can think about is pushing her knees up to her ears and feeding his fat cock into her pussy. Shoving his tongue into her cunt, licking her from hole to hole. Sucking each puffy lip into his mouth until her moans go garbled, eyes unfocused. 
No, Simon thinks when she jumps to her feet enthusiastically at the end of the match, she probably wouldn’t like that. Women rarely do. Objectifying them and all those other terms that Gaz likes to wax on about, Johnny nodding along like he isn’t the same kind of mutt as Simon. 
Even during the day, she troubles his thoughts. Troublemaker. He thinks of her when he cleans and buffs in between passes, mind not lulled into the rhythmic emptiness of usual. Even the sound of steel sizzling in his ears doesn’t clear her from his thoughts. Instead all he can think of is her walking into the shop in a little skirt and top, and dragging her to the back where he’d bend her over the closest desk and pull her panties to the side before sinking in to the hilt, mask still on. 
He’s never gotten his cock wet on the job—never been tempted to. For her though, he’d make an exception. 
By the next match, Simon’s made up his mind. When he sees her sneak in after the match has already started, he feels his blood pump harder, his tackles extra rough. His opponents walk away wincing and cursing him under their breath, but it only makes him preen when he glances over to find her watching him, hardly able to pull her eyes away. Price would call it peacocking. He wouldn’t be wrong. 
He approaches her himself at the end of the match before she’s had time to pack up and leave, leaning over the railing separating the field from the stands, covered in sweat and grass stains and bleeding from his right eyebrow.
She stares up at him wide eyed, looking a little lost for words. “Hi?”
“Got somewhere to be?” he asks, blunt. He’s never had it in him for pleasantries. Why waste time when he can see even now the way her eyes rove over his chest appreciatively? 
“…No,” she finally answers, shaking her head. “Just home for supper.”
“Look like you could use a good fuck. Come round back with me?”
The blatant proposition makes her eyes widen, but Simon doesn’t see the problem. Figures if she doesn’t have a man, there’s no issue with him trying out for the part. He waits her out though, vaguely admiring the pert shape of her mouth, lips round with shock. 
Finally they come back together and she chews on her lower lip nervously, caught off-guard but considering it. He doesn’t hold it against her. His bird’s pretty enough, but he doubts she ever puts herself in the position to be asked. He sees the yes in her eyes before she says it.
Still, he enjoys the way she stutters it out softly, eyes downcast. Simon doesn’t bother with his goodbyes to the guys still on the field before ushering her out of the arena and down the hall to the locker rooms with a hand on her back. He drags her into the first empty supply closet he finds, locking the door behind them. She breathes a bit heavily, almost stumbling over her feet, and that’s the eagerness he’s been looking for. Proof his bird’s just as hungry as him. 
She definitely is, Simon thinks, smug when he hoists her up and her legs wrap around his waist without a second thought, her eyes already glazed over. Like she’s been waiting for this for weeks, cunt already sopping wet when he nudges her panties to the side with his knuckles and buries his cock into her. She grips him like a vice, slack jawed and whimpering into the stretch. He likes that. He likes it more when she digs her nails deep into his back, leaving her mark behind. 
“C’mon, don’t get shy on me,” Simon huffs into her neck when she tries to grab his hair instead, what little of it she can. He stares with eyes half-lidded at the way her tits bounce with each thrust. “I like it rough.”
She clenches up at that, dripping wet. Almost a shame that he couldn’t get his mouth on her first. He’ll have to follow her back home like the mongrel he is, mess her pretty bedsheets up and make her scream until she can’t even face the neighbours the next day. 
He doesn’t need her to tell him to know that she’s a good girl, doesn’t do this ever. Only for him. He can tell by how tight of a screw she is, practically purring in his arms; it’s a fight to bully his cock into her. It’s nice when she stutters it out though, strokes his ego the right way. 
“D-didn’t think you’d notice me,” she says, all shy even with her legs spread. 
“Hard not to, pet,” Simon teases, endeared by her soft edges. His slot right in, if not a bit jaggedly. “Been panting after it for a while, haven’t ya?”
“I just wanted to get out of the flat for a bit,” she whispers.
That shifts his perception of her a bit. Infinitesimally so, but still. He didn’t expect the bird to have a lonely flame in her heart. 
“Well, I noticed,” he grunts, and then bends to suck at the salty skin at the crook of her neck before pumping a load into her.
She’s a real good girl. Comes nice on his cock and muffles her whine by biting into his shoulder. He can’t wait until he’s covered in her bites, until his nipples hurt from making her chew on them and his neck is littered with hickeys like a schoolboy. 
Taking her home is easy enough after that. She lets him drive them both back to her place, handing him the keys with a little yawn when he tucks her into the passenger seat of her own car all limp and pliant. 
And he’s right, of course. He makes a right mess of her bed come morning. 
When he leaves after a morning fuck in the shower and breakfast, the cold sinks into his stomach like a lead weight. The fist in his chest is clenched as ever; Simon hadn’t noticed it loosen in the bird’s presence, but he feels it now drawn tight again. Maybe he thought fucking her would finally shake her from his head, but instead it’s made it worse somehow. The lonely flame in his own chest flickers.
He stands in the middle of the sidewalk and thinks it over while angry nine-to-fivers snap at him before really taking him in and scurrying along. Then he turns back around, heading back the way he came.
The next time Simon sees her in the stands, he feels his smile like a phantom limb. He doesn’t have to ask to know she’s there for him.
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moonstruckme ¡ 9 months ago
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hi lovie!! i was wondering if i could request a poly marauders band au x reader smut (preferably fem, but gn is also fine!!) where james, sirius, and remus are rockstars and they have a gf who is very girly with like the pinks and mini skirts and bows y’know. i literally have no plot, just cute gf and poly marauders band au smut LOL. sorry if this sucks, but i am CRAVING more poly marauders band au fics on here so bad. thank so much if u do write it!! xoxo
Thank you for requesting <3
cw: smut mdni, fingering, praise, some voyerism
rockstar!marauders x coquette!reader ♡ 894 words
There aren’t very many doors that lock backstage. So while a lot of the time dating rockstars means fancy restaurants and first class flights and giant, plush hotel beds, sometimes it means being finger-fucked in a bathroom stall for lack of better options. 
“Angel,” James laughs, nose smushed against your cheek, “you know I love your sounds, but you’re going to have to be quieter than that.” 
You stifle a moan that turns into a whine. You’re honestly not sure how much of the work of keeping you upright is being done by your legs at this point, and how much is being done by James’ fingers buried in your cunt. You’re tugging anxiously on the curls at his nape, your own neck arching as you’re razed from within. 
James always has an excess of energy before shows. Lately, he’s found a new favorite way of working it off. Last week he’d dragged Remus into a storage closet, then last night Sirius had emerged from the boys’ dressing room looking even more rock-and-roll than usual, and tonight James had plied you with kisses until the next thing you knew a stall door was being locked behind you and your panties were being pushed aside under your skirt. 
You suppress a moan as his thick fingers plunge deeper into your cunt, biting down on your bottom lip. Your fingers drive into his shoulders. 
James pushes your cardigan off your shoulder with his free hand, drawing the strap of your tank top down with it. “What do you need this for, hm?” 
“It’s always cold in here,” you manage. His hand finds your breast, squeezing the way he knows how. You push your forehead into his, and James smiles, giving you a conciliatory kiss. 
“Are you cold now?” 
You shake your head against his. He laughs, kissing you again. 
“Good.” You’re sure he’s the only thing keeping you up now, his hand under your skirt and your back propped against the wall. “Least I’m good for something, huh? I can keep my girl warm.” 
You have every intention of telling him he’s good for much more than that, as soon as you can find the words. You hear the bathroom door open before you get the chance. 
You go instantly quiet, covering your mouth with a hand and trying to steady your breathing, but James’ fingers keep moving in and out of you all the same. 
“James?” Remus calls. “You in here?” 
You sag with relief. 
“Yeah,” James says back. “S’it just you?” 
“Why?” Sirius’ voice rings with faux hurt. “Do you not want to see me?” 
“Just making sure.” James reaches over, unlocking your stall. 
“The stage manager’s got his knickers in a twist,” Sirius says as he opens the door. “He thinks you’ve run—oh. Hi, gorgeous.” 
You hide your face in James’ neck. You hear Remus chuckle as James rubs your back, half soothing you and half wrecking you as his fingers spread inside you. You make a stymied keening sound. 
“Do I need to go find him?” James asks. 
“No, probably not.” Sirius’ interest is palpable. You open your eyes to peek over James’ shoulder, and a wicked grin tilts his lips. “He seems like he’s just uptight. Having a good time, babydoll?” 
You imagine it’s a rhetorical question, but James’ fingers work another pleady whimper out of you anyway. Sirius’ eyes light, and Remus comes closer, kissing your bare shoulder. 
“Are you helping Jamie out, lovely girl?” 
“Think it’s the other way around,” you pant. James laughs. 
“No, make no mistake,” Sirius shoots you a wink, “this is one hundred percent selfish of him.” 
“‘nd I appreciate it.” James smears a kiss over your lips. “I would’ve liked to eat her out, but there wasn’t anywhere to put her down.” 
“I am not lying on the bathroom floor,” you say again, just in case he’s getting any ideas. It doesn’t sound very authoritative when your voice wobbles at the end of it, your orgasm looming. 
Remus coos, sensing your ascent. “You’ve got it,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder again. “You look so pretty all worked open like this. Doesn’t she look pretty, Sirius?” 
Sirius hums, giving you an appreciative up-down. “Yeah, you really ought to have known this would happen when you put on that skirt, sweet thing.” 
James grunts his agreement, and then you’re tipping over the edge. Remus helps keep you from slipping down to the bathroom floor as James brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean. 
“There you are, good girl. That felt good, didn’t it, dove? Jamie?” 
“Fuck yeah,” James confirms. When your focus comes back to you, you can see the large, insistent bulge in his pants. 
“Here,” you mumble, reaching for his zipper. You start to drop to your knees, but Remus catches you, urging you back up. 
“I’ve got it, lovely,” he assures you. “So long as you don’t mind. That way Sirius can fix your hair before we have to go out.” 
You frown. “My hair?” You touch the back. It appears you’d lost track of things while you were being driven into the bathroom wall. Your bow is crumpled, your hair tangled around it. “Shit, how bad is it?” 
James offers you a half-sheepish grin. 
“It’s fine, baby.” Sirius takes you by the hand, leading you towards the mirror. “It’s rock and roll.”
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obsessedwithceleste ¡ 4 months ago
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Finding Sunshine
Lorenzo Berkshire x reader
Based on this request 🫶🏽
Summary: soulmate! au in which the writing on your skin will appear identically on your soulmate.
word count: 4.5k
©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.
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Lorenzo Berkshire was going absolutely insane. What had he been thinking? Oh wait, he hadn’t been. It was a stupid bet. A drunken lapse in judgement that now had his head spinning in circles months later. He thought it should’ve been simple. The whole premise of it was after all.
You could write or draw almost anything on your skin, and it would appear on your soulmate as well. A rather nifty bit of magic, Lorenzo had thought. Probably saved a lot of folk a fair bit of heartbreak over the centuries. There were limits of course. No names. No specific locations or such. Fate couldn’t make it too easy. But still, knowing there was someone out there you were meant to be with, and having a way to find them? Lorenzo found the whole thing to be quite convenient.
And he was so close. He was certain they went to Hogwarts. There were too many coincidences for them not to. The puffapod plant that first week. The hippogriff that had appeared on his forearm the same week Hagrid had brought that beast to the school. It all lined up. A little broom and quaffle on the back of his hand for Slytherin’s first match of the season. But every time he got close, it felt as if they slipped through his fingers.
And that’s where you came in. His best friend. It hadn’t been any different from any of the other usual common room parties, except perhaps Enz had had one too many drinks. And perhaps he had monologued a bit too extensively about how he just wanted to find his soulmate. What could he say? He was a romantic. It wasn't a crime.
“Give it a rest man. At this point your soulmate probably knows exactly who you are, and you’ve scared them off,” Theo groaned, already sick of Lorenzo’s griping. Only a week into classes and he was at it again with this soulmate nonsense.
“He’s probably just too dense to pick up any of the hints his soulmate has been leaving,” you had replied with a laugh, giving Enz a teasing shove.
He just scoffed, looking down at you nestled comfortably next to him on the sofa.
“Oh, bold words from someone who hasn’t found their soulmate yet either,” Enz had retorted, giving you a light flick to the forehead. You bat his hand away.
“Only because I haven’t actually been looking. I’m sure I’d be able to find them faster than your sorry ass.”
It had only been meant as a joke. You both knew that. You and Enz were constantly throwing light hearted jabs at each other. It was basically the foundation of your friendship at this point. But you were also both competitive.
“Yeah? Is that right? Wanna bet on that one?”
And so it had begun.
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Two months. That was how long you’d known Lorenzo Berkshire was your soulmate. Your best friend of all people. Looking back, it was rather embarrassing that it had taken you this long to figure it out, especially with how enthusiastically Lorenzo had been searching the school. All this time it had been staring him in the face. Hidden in plain sight.
You don't know what you had been thinking when you had agreed to make a game of it. Idiotic.
It had all started in the first week back of the new school year; with one little, insignificant slip of parchment that had slid onto your desk during another one of Professor Binns' lethargic lessons. It had been far too early in the morning to be listening to the ghost ramble on about yet another goblin rebellion. And at this point, they were all beginning to blend together anyway. Eager for the distraction, you uncurled the small note to find a simple 'good morning sunshine' with a crudely drawn heart next to it. Seeing it had scratched a certain part of your brain, but you couldn't quite put a finger on it at the time. Looking up, Lorenzo had offered a little wave paired with his signature, self satisfied smirk.
It wasn't until the next morning that the pieces slowly began to fall into place. Like every other morning, you awoke to a simple 'good morning' scrawled on the back of your hand with a little heart. Things between you and your soulmate had always been simplistic in your opinion, so you had never bothered to put much thought to it, but now it looked oddly familiar. The itch returned, and you strained to think why this silly little message from your soulmate suddenly felt so familiar.
And that's when it had hit you.
Scrambling now, you dug the note from Lorenzo out of you bag, eyes analyzing each bend and curve of the letters. Identical. How had you been so blind? How many times had you seen Lorenzo’s writing? How many times had you borrowed his notes? Reviewed his essays? Read his letters over summer break?
Sitting back on your bed, your thoughts were running a mile a minute, mulling over what to do with your latest development. You didn't want to believe it. Or maybe you did. Actually, it was more like you couldn't believe it. Did you tell him now? Or ignore it and pretend to be none the wiser? Perhaps fake your death, change your name, and flee the country?
No, you decided. The best course of action was to let him figure it out on his own. (At least that’s what you had thought at the time. Two months in and you weren’t entirely sure you’d made the wisest decision.) But he’d been searching all this time after all. And it just didn't feel like the right time. What if he didn't want you? Clearly it hadn't crossed his mind since in all his years of searching, he'd never once looked at you.
He seemed to want something grand, and perfect, and well, magical. And that just wasn't this.
Closing your eyes, you shake your head to clear your thoughts. Game face. None of that was important right now. The important thing, was that Lorenzo was your soulmate and he was your best friend, and what kind of friend would you be if you didn't make him suffer a bit?
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“Look, look, see this? They have to be here,” Lorenzo says excitedly, brandishing his forearm out for you to see a bright pink and purple puffapod smack in the middle, mirroring your own that had been doodled there this morning.
“Wow Enz, a plant. Riveting,” you reply, making your way over to your seat in the greenhouse.
It had been your first drawing to the boy since your little bet a week ago, and you had heard from Theo that Enz had practically been glowing since its appearance.
“Not just any plant, sunshine. A puffapod, which is the plant Sprout said we’d be covering today in class. So clearly, my soulmate is telling me they’ll be here today.”
“An astute observation Berkshire, just one tiny issue. There are classes all bloody day. Who’s to say they’ll be in this class in particular?” You sigh, pulling out your notes.
Look. It’s not as if you wanted to intentionally mislead your friend, but really? No wonder he hadn’t gotten anywhere in his soulmate search, despite it being top of mind each year. If he wanted to know so badly, it wouldn't kill him to put in some work you thought.
Lorenzo groans at your point, his pretty face scrunching up in annoyance as he pulls his sleeve back down.
"I just think that when I see them, I'll know. I'll get the feeling. I just have to keep looking," Lorenzo replies, looking around the class at the other students, studying each face carefully.
"What if they don't want to be found?"
Enzo pauses, your question seeming to mull through his head for a moment before he shakes his head, brushing it off.
“Fine then, how’s your search going? I reckon you haven’t found anything or I wouldn’t be hearing the end of it.”
“That’s confidential I fear,” you reply with a grin, “Wouldn’t want you to sabotage me now, would I?”
A cocky smile returns to Enzo’s face.
“You wound me, sunshine! I would never!” He says dramatically, feigning a knife to the heart.
“Yikes, maybe Theo was right. Maybe you’re scaring your soulmate off with, whatever that was,” you laugh.
“Hush, you. You love it almost as much as you love me,” he replies smugly as you raise a disdainful eyebrow, side eyeing the boy.
"Careful there lover boy, or someone might think-"
Before you can finish your sentence, Professor Sprout bustles into the greenhouse, a cart of brightly colored plants following in her wake.
"It's a wonderful, beautiful day to learn about Puffapods!" she chirps happily, levitating a plant to each student's workbench. "Roll up those sleeves dearies! It's going to be a messy day!"
You feel Lorenzo's curious eyes on you when you don't make a move to roll up the sleeves of your shirt.
"A little dirt never hurt anyone," you say through a tight lipped smile, the drawing on your arm burning a hole through your heart.
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Well this sucked. You'd have thought Draco would have learned his lesson after the first time a hippogriff sent him to the hospital wing, but apparently some things never changed.
"Your father will be hearing about this one," Lorenzo groans from his hospital bed, a cold pack pressed to his temple as he glared at the blonde boy in the next bed over.
"It wasn't my fault! If Hagrid just kept those bloody beasts away from me-"
"It was entirely your fault! You provoked that hippogriff for no reason! It was literally just sitting there minding its business!" you cut in, sitting up in your own hospital bed now to scowl at your friend.
Draco, despite being the cause for this whole mess, wasn't even the one with the brunt of the injuries. Just a few scratches and bruises. Enzo on the other hand, had taken a hoof to the head as he tried to pull you out of the way of the rearing beast. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to save your wrist which was now broken, but it was better than being crushed alive.
"I didn't like the way it was looking at me," Draco grumbles defensively in response.
Oh when you got your hands on the little ferret-
Lucky for him, Madam Pomfrey chose just that moment to burst back through the doors of the hospital wing, tutting at her three newest charges.
"Alright Mr. Malfoy, you can go," she says, giving him a quick glance over before making her way over to Lorenzo to examine the side of his head where he had been kicked.
"Are you sure? I hurt everywhere," Draco whines.
"Mr. Malfoy you are perfectly well, and I have others to look after," Madam Pomfrey replies, dismissing the boy.
Draco lets out a dramatic huff before limping his way out of the infirmary.
"That boy," you hear her mutter under her breath before handing Lorenzo a vial of glimmering red liquid. "Sip of this twice a day until it's gone," she instructs. "Now off with you as well."
Lorenzo glances over at you.
"They gonna be alright?" He asks, taking the vial.
"Oh y/l/n will be fine. Bit of skele-gro and they'll be good as new. Now off you go. They need rest."
Hesitantly, Lorenzo gets up, wincing slightly, before making his way over to you.
"Sorry about your wrist, I didn't- I tried to-"
"It's alright Enz," you interrupt, trying to give the boy a reassuring smile. It comes out as more of a grimace though. "You got me out of there and that's what matters. Thank you."
Lorenzo gives you a weak smile and a short nod before turning to leave.
"Alright then, a bit of this and you should be out by morning," Madam Pomfrey says, bringing another vial over to the bed. "As long as the bones grow back correctly of course."
Salazar help you.
You can feel the sunlight on you before you open your eyes. It had been a long and rough night. Who knew re-growing your own bones would be that painful? Slowly, you let your eyes flutter open, trying to adjust to the light, only to be met with piercing eyes staring down at you.
"Bloody hell Theo," you yelp, jolting awake.
"Interesting sketch you got there," he says, cutting to the chase as he gestures to your arm.
You feel yourself freeze for a split second before you look down at the outline of a hippogriff you had drawn last night. There weren't exactly lots of things to do while Madam Pomfrey was holding you hostage in the hospital wing.
"Enz has pretty much interrogated everyone in your care of magical creatures class. Even Draco."
"Please don't tell him," you whisper, looking down.
"How long have you known?"
"Few days before we made that stupid bet," you reply, head falling back onto your pillow.
"That was almost two months ago."
"I know."
You hear Theo sigh. He's sitting now, bent over, face pressed into his hands when you finally look over.
"It's not my business," he says after an agonizingly long moment, "But don't hurt him. This is what he's wanted since we were kids-"
"I don't want to disappoint him."
You hear Theo let out another long sigh. Then a frustrated groan before he looks back up at you.
"Look. I'm not good at the whole supportiveness thing, but Enzo would never be disappointed. You don't see- Enz adores you okay? He's been a wreck since he left you up here all alone. Sent me up here to check on you because he's too busy baking you apology cookies with the house elves. So just- I don't know, think about it. You two are practically inseparable anyways."
You're almost too stunned to speak. You'd never heard Theo actually sound sincere before. It was weird.
"I- thanks Theo," you say finally.
"Don't mention it. Like actually don't. That was weirdly emotional, and I hated it. Also- try to act surprised when Enz brings you his apology cookies, I don't think I was supposed to say anything about that."
And with that, Theo is gone, leaving his words echoing through your head as you drift back off to sleep.
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"This is the day, I can feel it," Enzo announces, pulling on his dark green quidditch robes.
"Bull. You've been saying that shit for years. Focus up Enz," Matt replies. They had a match to win.
"No, no, this time, I have a list. All the possibilities between herbology and care of magical creatures! And there's this," Lorenzo says excitedly, showing off the brooms and quaffle that were dancing across the back of his hand. "They'll be here today. Certain of it."
"You're always certain. Now get you're head in the game, I wanna win," Theo responds gruffly, not quite able to meet Enzo's eyes.
"Fine, I'll shut up, but you'll see," Lorenzo relents, tossing his hands up in surrender.
It had been a brutal game. One they had almost lost to those bloody Gryffindors. They would've been doomed if they hadn't built up such a lead from scoring before Potter caught the damned snitch. That was the only silver lining for the lions. Draco had almost had it too.
"You have a good time, sunshine?" Enz asks, sauntering over to you after the game.
"Watching a bunch of sweaty witches and wizards fly around for a couple hours? Hardly," you tease as the boy wraps you into a bear hug.
“Can’t believe we almost lost to those bloody lions,” Lorenzo mumbles into your hair.
“Hush, you played great,” you reply, your words muffled from being smothered by the brunette boy.
“I did, didn’t I?” Enz says with a cocky grin, finally releasing you.
You continue to talk with your best friend, but it quickly becomes clear that his mind is elsewhere as his eyes flicker between you and scanning the slowly dwindling crowd behind you.
“Looking for someone?” You ask curiously, turning to see what could have possibly caught Lorenzo’s attention.
“No! Well, I don’t know. Maybe? I just thought- I was certain…” Lorenzo trails off, eyes still searching the crowd desperately.
“This about your soulmate?” You ask, reaching out to hold the boy’s arm.
Lorenzo looks down at you and you can see the hurt on his face. There’s a pang of guilt in your chest as you meet his eyes.
“I don’t know what I thought. That they’d make some kind of gesture? That they’d come see me after if we won? Stupid. They have to know it’s me though,” Lorenzo lets out a long sigh. “Sorry sunshine, you’re probably as sick as everyone else of me going on about all this,” he says, running a hand through his tousled hair.
You open your mouth to protest, but before you get the chance Lorenzo presses a quick kiss to the top of your head before turning towards the Slytherin locker room.
“See you tonight sunshine.”
Your eyes follow as he walks away, feet dragging. From over Lorenzo’s shoulder, you can see Theo standing in the doorway of the locker room, eyes drilling into you. He doesn’t say anything, but the message is clear. You needed to tell him.
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It was late. Even through the shadowy, murky waters of the black lake, you could tell that the sky outside was dark. And yet, the Slytherin common room was brimming with life, students still riding the high of the win against Gryffindor.
“Someone’s deep in thought,” Pansy comments dryly, placing a cup of amber liquid in your hands and giving you a small nod before tipping back her own drink.
“Just tired is all,” you reply lamely, swirling your glass for a moment before taking a sip yourself.
The familiar burn is barely noticeable as you already had a healthy buzz going. You didn’t even want to imagine what kind of condition the boys were in. They always went all in after a win, and a win against the lions was always a promise for a particularly rowdy night.
As if your thoughts had summoned them, Enzo, Theo and Matt push (read: stumble) their way through the crowd, joining you and Pansy in your secluded corner.
“Hey there sunshine, fancy seeing you here,” Lorenzo drawls, pulling you into a tight hug as soon as he spots you. You can smell the bitter scent of alcohol on him.
“Salazar, you’d think they were his soulmate the way Enz throws himself at them constantly,” Pansy mutters under her breath to Theo who just grunts back, a masterful plan beginning to form in his drunken mind.
Theo had been watching the two of you, you and Lorenzo that is, since that day in the hospital wing. The way you two were attached at the hip, yet constantly skirting around one another. But always in your own world together. Honestly he had no idea how Enz hadn’t figured it out yet. And really, he didn’t see why Enz even cared given the fact that he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off you.
Regardless, it was beginning to be unbearable. Combining your skittishness and guilty looks with Enzo’s near constant pining, Theo and the rest of the group were about to lose their damn minds. It needed to end tonight, and Theo was bound and determined to make it happen.
It didn’t take long for the conversation to turn to the topic of soulmates.
Drunk Mattheo had always been such an instigator. Even without Theo egging him on this time.
And he just so happened to remember that silly little bet you’d made all those weeks ago at the beginning of term.
“We all know Enz has come up empty handed, what about you, y/n? Anything you want to share with the class?” Mattheo asks, his usual troublesome grin plastered across his face.
“Shove it, Matt,” you snap, trying to hide behind your cup as you take another long sip.
“I’ll take that as a solid maybe,” Matt replies with a cheerful smile, raising his glass condescendingly.
“Fuck the whole soulmate bit, honestly. I’m sick of whatever game my soulmate is playing,” Lorenzo blurts out, shocking the group to near silence.
For as long as you’d all known him, he’d been a bit of a hopeless romantic. Maybe even to a fault. None of you had ever thought he’d be one to give up on his soulmate.
“Well,” Theo drawls after everyone has recovered, “There’s always one way to find out if they’re here at Hogwarts or not.”
Your eyes snap to the Italian, silently trying to figure out what the boy is playing at. Lorenzo leans towards his friend, swaying slightly as you try to steady him. Clearly having the group’s attention, with a quick flick of his wand, Theo is brandishing a simple black marker. Your eyes go wide, knowing exactly where this is going.
“C’mere Enz,” Theo says, beckoning your friend forward.
As if under the imperious curse, Lorenzo lurches forward despite your protest.
“Really Theo?” You ask, trying to at least buy a few seconds as Theo moves the marker to hover in front of Lorenzo’s face. “You’re honestly going to trust Theo of all people to draw on your face Enz?”
It’s too late as you watch, helplessly, as Theo makes a few quick scribbles across Enzo’s cheek before vanishing the writing tool. For a moment, everyone is too focused on the crude doodle on Enzo’s face to notice your hand rising to touch the matching ink.
“Really Theo? Immature prat, that’s phallic,” Pansy sighs rolling her eyes, not really seeming all that surprised by the boy’s antics.
It’s not until Enzo’s eyes lock with yours that the whole group fully grasps the reality of the situation. Pansy’s mouth forms a silent ‘o’, while Matt hardly seems surprised, more concerned with refilling his drink.
“What the fuck Theodore!” You shriek, lunging at the boy once you fully zero in on the black lines on Enzo’s face which were mirrored on your own.
Lorenzo stands, too drunk and too stunned as Pansy and Matt half-heartedly try to keep you from sending the killing curse Theo’s way.
“I think it’s time you and Enz have a chat, priorities and all,” Pansy says, prying you away from Theo as Matt leads the other boy off, their drunken laughter trailing away. "I'll make sure their dorm is empty for the night." The dark haired girl gives you a pointed look before she too disappears into the crowd, assumedly to find the other boys.
Taking a deep breath in, you turn to see Lorenzo looking at you like a kicked puppy, the stark outlines of the dick Theo had drawn on his face sticking out rather harshly.
"C'mon Enz, let's get cleaned up. I don't think either of us want to have this conversation with a penis drawn on our faces."
As soon as you step into the empty dormitory, a quick scourgify wipes the offending mark from Lorenzo's skin as you take a seat on his bed, but your friend just continues to stare at you from the door.
"You knew. You knew I was your soulmate and you didn't tell me," he says with a shakey breath. "You knew. And you said nothing." he says, his voice getting louder as his fists clench.
You try not to flinch away at Lorenzo's raised voice, but the look in your friend's eyes and the way he immediately collects himself tells you that you didn't do a very good job.
"I can explain. Enz, please, just let me explain," you beg, hating the hurt that was written all over the boy's face.
Lorenzo gestures for you to continue, but his feet remain planted firmly in place on the opposite side of the room. You supposed you deserved that though.
"Look, it- it all started back in the first week of school, when you passed me that note, in History of Magic," you start.
Lorenzo shifts where he's standing.
"That was before we even made that stupid bet. You knew before and you still let me make that stupid bet. Like an idiot." Lorenzo begins pacing around the room. "And did Theo know then too? Did everyone know but me?"
"No, it's not like that. You're not an idiot," you try to protest.
"Yeah? Then what is it like? Because to me, it seems like my best fucking friends have been lying to me for months. Bloody hell, all I've wanted for years was to find my soulmate. And you both knew that. So what was it? Was I not the one you wanted? Not good enough for you? Huh? Is that it?"
Before you can think twice, you find yourself across the room, reaching up to take a fist full of Lorenzo's hair and pulling his lips down to meet yours. The boy melts into you, hands finding their way to your waist as his fingers dig into your skin. His lips are warm as soft as they move against yours with agency, as if afraid you'll change your mind at any moment.
When you finally pull back, Lorenzo rests his forehead against yours, his breathes slowly steadying before he raises a finger between you two.
"No," he whispers, his voice raspy, "No, you don't get to just kiss me and make everything better, tell me why," he demands, pulling you down to sit with him on the floor.
"Well I was trying, but you kept interrupting me," you say, trying to lighten the mood a bit. "Um, when I first found out, I was just planning on teasing you a bit, having some fun with it you know?"
Lorenzo's eyes bore into yours as he traces circles on your leg, waiting for you to continue.
"But then, I suppose I got scared. You'd been looking for your soulmate for so long. And from all the times you'd talked about it, I knew you wanted some grand, special moment. It just never felt like the perfect time to tell you. Theo didn't find out until last week when he visited me in the hospital wing, by your request I might add, and told me I should tell you. Gave me a long inspirational speech about how I wouldn't disappoint you and everything. It was really strange actually. So then I was going to tell you today after your match-"
"And I blew it looking for someone else didn't I?" Lorenzo cuts in with a dry laugh.
"Just seemed like you were hoping it would be anyone but me."
Lorenzo takes your hands in his, slowly raising them to his lips before pressing a soft kiss to each knuckle.
"You, sunshine, are perfect. And I wouldn't want it to have been anyone else," he murmurs.
"Salazar, we're both a couple of idiots, aren't we?" you ask shaking your head, feeling the heat rise to your face.
"Course not, we're just soulmates," Lorenzo replies, standing up and offering you a hand. "Now, I seem to remember Pansy mentioning that she would make sure the others don't come back to the dormitory. She better be good for her word, because you sunshine, are mine for tonight. And forever."
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Gahhhhh, it's fine, I only rewrote the entire thing once, but now I love it🤍
Hope this lived up to all your hopes and dreams anon, MWAH
752 notes ¡ View notes
fairyofshampgyu ¡ 10 months ago
Text
Now live ! stream: 8
Genre: camboy au, college au, smut, crack, ongoing series
Paring: : camboy! Beomgyu x gn reader (afab when smut)
Warnings: sub! beomgyu, dom! reader, forced concentration (is that a thing lol?) anyway he’s forced to read little red riding hood whilst given a hand job lmfaoo, blowjob, riding, use of petnames puppy, baby, creampie, degrading, edging, nipple clamps, nipple play, cockwarming
Synopsis: Every Thursday night at 8pm, you tune into your favourite camboy: Angel313. What you don’t know is he goes to the same uni as you, is even in the same class as you and is Choi Beomgyu, the campus fuckboy but will you keep his secret?
Word count: 4.3k
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“Go on. Keep reading, puppy.”
You watched beomgyu in amusement as he struggled to focus, the hand that held his phone trembling as he tried to read aloud the text on the screen but failing to do so with the way your hand pumped his cock.
You had told beomgyu if he was able to focus and read the passage of text until the end, then he’d be able to cum, but so far it was beginning to seem like a very challenging task for him.
Beomgyu sat on the edge of the bed, bathed in the soft glow of his fairy lights strung across his bed frame, the pink and white stripes of his signature thigh-highs adorning his legs, and his hello kitty belly button piercing gleaming in the dim light of the room. You were perched beside him, your hand leisurely wrapped around his cock, moving with a deliberate slowness that made his breath hitch every few seconds.
"Once upon a time," Beomgyu tries again, but his voice wavers as your thumb brushes over his sensitive tip, spreading the bead of pre-cum that gathered there. "There...there was a girl with a red cloak..."
You quicken the pace on his cock, hand still jerking him off and moving up and down on his length, hearing the sounds of tips flowing in from the stream.
Beomgyu bites his lip, his breath ragged. "A-as she was going through the w-woods, she met -ah- a wolf..." He stutters, his voice cracking with each stroke of your hand. He tries to focus, but every touch, every twist of your wrist, sends him spiraling. He’s fighting a losing battle, and you can see it in the way his eyes glaze over, unable to stay on the text.
He was so pretty like this, you thought. His skin was even more flushed than usual, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. The way his lips quivered, the soft whimpers that escaped his mouth—it was mesmerising. Beomgyu’s long lashes fluttered as he struggled to maintain control, his body betraying him with every movement of your hand on his cock.
@luvsubbyboys333: he looks so cute trying to concentrate! >_<
@angelsno1fan: he can't even finish a sentence haha aww
@live4angel: mess with him even more!
You can’t help but grin at the flood of comments, agreeing with them. He does look very cute when he's trying to focus. You're surprised he's even lasted this long and not made a fit about it. He gets so dumb and lost in pleasure whenever you touch him, you're quite amazed he hasn't even completely abandoned reading yet.
"Keep going, angel.” You coax, voice low and teasing as your thumb swipes over the head of his cock again, leaning in to nibble at the shell of his cute pink ear, breath warm against his skin, drawing out another helpless shiver and whimper from him.
To be honest, you’re a little disappointed. You had expected him to crumble and give up within seconds, looking at you with his sorrowful puppy eyes so you feel sorry for him and decide to call it quits. You liked seeing beomgyu plead and struggle and whilst it was clear he was struggling to focus with you jerking him off, it wasn’t quite enough. You wanted to see him become a desperate, needy mess for you and watch him beg. You weren’t satisfied yet and you knew the viewers weren’t either.
With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you lean down and get on your knees in front of him, spreading his legs and positioning your head between them. His breath hitches and he gasps, eyes widening, realising what you had in store for him and knowing he wouldn’t be able to last at all. He was such a sucker for whenever you sucked him off, losing himself entirely, his mind going blissfully blank. You’d made him go cross-eyed more times than you could count.
When you finally take him into your mouth, Beomgyu’s back arches off the bed almost instantly, a guttural moan tearing from his throat. His hands flying to the sheets, gripping them tightly as he tries to keep reading, but the words were lost on his tongue.
He tries, valiantly, to continue, but every word that left his lips are punctuated by stuttered breaths and choked moans, tumbling out in a messy, incoherent stream. "W-what big teeth you have said—oh god—little red riding hood. She..was...was…" His grip on the phone tightens, knuckles white. Beomgyu chokes on his breath as you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper. “The wolf—oh—said—f-fuck…”
You bob your head back and forth on his cock continuously, occasionally flicking your tongue over his sensitive tip and also the veins on the side, one hand gripping the flesh of his thighs and the other stroking the base of his dick and fondling with his nearly swollen balls, making him desperately moan even more.
Beomgyu’s attempts to keep reading are laughably futile by now, passage long forgotten as his eyes flutter shut, brows knitted cutely and his mouth hanging wide open, words dissolved into a chorus of moans and desperate little noises that drive the chat and yourself wild. His hand reaches out blindly, grasping at the air before settling on your hair, tangling his fingers trying to hold on to some semblance of control.
Beomgyu’s gaze is constantly flickering between the screen on his phone and also you, torn between the words he’s supposed to be reading and the sight of you with your lips wrapped around his cock. But he can’t even pretend to focus when the only thing on his mind is the way you look, sucking him off and looking up at him and the way your wet and warm mouth feels.
“You’re so pretty... so fucking prettyyyy,” Beomgyu whines needily, looking down at you with half lidded eyes, pitiful sounds escaping him. He can’t help it.
For some reason it makes your heart flutter. He barely manages to say anything whenever you fuck him, either whining or moaning and you’ve never heard him say anything like that to you before. But he’s just so out of it, he’s saying anything.
Ah, please...can’t read anymore.” Beomgyu whimpers and pleads at you, pouting.
@313angelluvr: Look at him, so pretty and hot 💓💓
@dom_23: Make him read it all, don't let him stop!
The rest of the viewers seem to disagree, spamming the chat with similar demands.
You grin, taking a moment to glance at the screen. "They want you to keep going, baby. You can't stop now."
Beomgyu let’s out a slightly bratty, frustrated whine, furrowing his brows and bottom lip jutting out, but he reluctantly goes back to looking at the passage on his phone and trying to continue. You quicken your pace just to tease him more. You know he’d be on the edge any second.
“I’m gonna—oh god, I can’t—please, I need to cum,” he babbles, his voice high and strained and worried. “I can’t finish! I can’t focus! I’m gonna—”
But you pull back just before he cums, pulling off him with a soft, wet pop and beomgyu lets out a pained, frustrated cry, his hips jerking up into the air in a desperate attempt to chase the sensation. You glance up at him, his flushed face, his half-lidded eyes glassy with tears of frustration, his lips parted as he gasps for breath. It’s a sight that sends a thrill through you.
You wrap your lips around his pretty cock again, starting all over and he attempts to read aloud again, hiccuping and lips trembling forever in a pout and sulky, still remnants of tears in his brown eyes. What a poor baby.
Soon enough, he’s pleading again, practically crying. “F-fuck-” His eyes roll back. “I-I really can’t pleaseee-”
"Yes you can," you murmur, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze and stroke his thigh softly. "Don’t disappoint your fans. You’re doing so well, puppy.” He only a had a few sentences left until he was done. Beomgyu looks down at you and nods, trying to comply.
At last, after the last few painfully anticipated minutes of waiting for him to say out loud the last sentence of which he struggled greatly with, he was done with the passage on his phone.
"Does our Angel want to cum?" His eyes snap open, wide and pleading, and he nods frantically.
Finally, you take pity on him, increasing the speed of you sucking and stroking him. Beomgyu’s cries reach a fever pitch, his body shaking on the brink. Reaching one hand up his tummy and waist to brush over his nipple, rolling the sensitive bud between your fingers, beomgyu lets out a strangled moan, his voice high and needy and it tips him over the edge completely. You pop off him, watching him toss his head back and make a pretty mess all on himself, cumming so much, thick ropes of white all on his tummy and thighs,completely milking him.
The chat explodes with praise and tips but beomgyu barely registers anything, panting deliriously and chest heaving as he comes down from his high as you switch the stream off.
"You did so good," you murmur, leaning in to brush a kiss against his sweat-dampened forehead. Beomgyu clings to you, moaning in response, his hands roaming over your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His lips find yours, pressing against them with a fervour that catches you off guard. For a moment, you lose yourself in his pretty lips and the insistent way his fingers dig into your skin, but then you pull away, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you glance at the time on your phone. "I’ve got to go," you say, smoothing down your clothes.
Beomgyu’s expression falters when you pull away from him, frowning. “Why…?"
“I’m just meeting up with a friend soon.” You shrug.
“Who?” Beomgyu’s brows knit together in confusion.
“Just this guy I met in the music practice rooms.” You don’t know why you have to explain who you’re meeting up with to beomgyu.
“Oh, cool. Have fun.” You can’t help but notice the subtle tightening of his jaw when you say that. Or maybe you’re looking too much into it.
You nod, though there’s a strange heaviness settling in your chest. It’s not like you and Beomgyu are together, you’re only fucking him for money. But for some reason you feel guilty and you don’t know why.
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It seemed that haechan was always in the music practice rooms whenever you were, bumping into him and his cello more often times than not. Your paths crossed so often in the halls of the music rooms that small talk had become a routine, casual chats about classes, music, and the occasional complaint about assignments. Eventually, the idea of grabbing coffee together seemed like a natural progression, so here you were, seated in a cozy little cafe near campus, getting to know each other better.
You didn’t mind haechan’s presence and you were happy to have made another friend, though he seemed quite reserved sometimes, there was a lot more to learn about him.
Haechan stirred his cappuccino thoughtfully before speaking, “So, you study music, right?”
“Yep.” You nod enthusiastically, taking a sip of your own drink.
Haechan nods and smiles, raising a brow. “Well, what do you want to do with it?”
The dreaded question. You sigh and lean back in your chair, considering his question. “Probably go into teaching. I’ve always wanted to be a composer, but I doubt that would happen.” You reply and shrug. You notice his cello case propped up beside his chair and you nod at it. “You’re really dedicated, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your cello. Why don't you study music?”
He chuckles softly, eyes crinkling at the corners as he lifts his cup to his lips. "I thought about it but my career options were better without it. It's more of a hobby. I study Economics."
“But why did you quit the orchestra? I’ve heard you play—you’re really talented.” You ask him.
“I prefer playing alone.” Haechan shifts slightly uncomfortably in his seat. There's a moment of silence before he asks. “I've seen you hanging a lot with beomgyu. Are you dating him? Because, you know, he's got quite the reputation. Everyone knows he’s a fuckboy. You wouldn’t really want to date him.”
“What? No! We’re just friends.” A flash of irritation spikes through you. “And those are just rumours,” you insist, more defensively than you intended. “Someone started them, but it’s not true. He really isn’t like that at all.”
It really did frustrate you now every time you’d hear people whispering and talking about beomgyu on campus and in class, calling him a sleazy man whore and a slut and making up so much bullshit about him to entertain each other. You admit, you were one of those people before, thinking he was a fuckboy, but as you had grown closer and closer to beomgyu, you’d got to learn he was many things and so much more than what people liked to think he is. And you were surprised Haechan was quick to judge him too. It didn’t seem like his character. “Yeah. He’s really not what people say. He’s sweet and funny and a good friend.” You don’t know why you felt the need to defend beomgyu so much to him.
For a moment, Haechan just watches you, his expression unreadable. Then, he lifts his coffee mug and sips again, “If you say so,” he murmurs.
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The original plan was for you, taehyun, kai and beomgyu to bake cookies together. But with taehyun and kai suddenly swamped with studying for an upcoming exam, it was just you and beomgyu left to tacke it alone, the ones not so particularly skilled at baking, or mostly anything in the kitchen. You had initially intended to just watch taehyun handle the actual baking since he was really the only one who was good at it, while you all snuck tastes of the cookie dough when he wasn’t looking. Now, you were realising just how much you and beomgyu were in over your heads.
“Alright, so we need eggs, flour, sugar, bicarbonate soda…” Beomgyu reads from the recipe taehyun had scrawled on a piece of paper for you both, his voice filled with feigned confidence as he rummages through the cabinets and sets the ingredients on the counter. His brows furrow in concentration, and you can't help but think it was funny and also endearing at how serious he seemed.
"Okay, 120 grams of sugar.” Beomgyu reads, he glances up, expecting you to take action.
You fold your arms, narrowing your eyes, not really liking how he’s just ordering you to do it all. “Have you ever even made cookies before?”
Beomgyu puffs his chest out dramatically, as if wounded by your question. “Of course I have! Once for Mother’s Day... With my older brother... Years ago.” His voice trails off sheepishly. “Okay, maybe I watched him do it. But still.”
You cock an eyebrow at him, arms still crossed and standing.
Beomgyu grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief, shrugging. “Okay but how hard can it be? We just follow the recipe.”
Famous last words, you think, but you’re too amused by his enthusiasm to protest. You begin measuring out ingredients, and it doesn’t take long for chaos to arise. Beomgyu somehow manages to crack an egg with a little too much enthusiasm, splattering egg white all over the counter and himself. It was turning out to be really quite challenging just following out the recipe.
You’re not entirely sure who initiated it, probably beomgyu, but a flour fight ensues as well, both of you laughing and running around the the mess of a kitchen, throwing fist balls of flour at each other.
He finally corners you against the counter, his arms around your waist as he looks into your eyes, not entirely sure if your heart was beating so fast because of how much running you’ve done or something else. “Okay, truce?” Beomgyu asks, a stupid grin tugging at his lips, softly brushing a strand of hair out your face with his flour covered hand, eyes gazing at you and down at your lips.
But you grab the bag of flour and throw it at his face one more time, making an escape.
“Hey!” He shouts after you.
You both erupt into giggles, covered head to toe in flour by the end, and it’s in that moment, as you’re doubled over with laughter together, that you feel a warm flutter in your chest. Beomgyu’s smile is so wide, one of his cheeks dimpled and his eyes crinkling at the corners, giving him whiskers.
“We seriously suck at this,” you snort, wiping flour from your face. “Taehyun is going to be so disappointed in us.”
“Let’s call him,” Beomgyu suggests, fishing his phone out of his floury pocket and facetiming taehyun. When taehyun’s face appears on screen, he takes one look at you both and groans.
“What the hell did you guys do?!!” Taehyun asks, exasperated but clearly amused. Behind him, huening kai is already screeching and dying in laughter.
“We’re baking, obviously,” Beomgyu says, turning the phone to show the mess on the counter and the bowl.
“Did you even follow the recipe?!” Taehyun sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as huening kai still giggles behind, tears in his eyes.
Beomgyu glances at the half-folded piece of paper on the counter, now smeared with butter and flour. “...Sort of?”
With Taehyun’s guidance, you somehow manage to salvage the cookie dough and get it onto the baking sheet. Beomgyu proudly shapes a few into misshapen bears, placing them on the tray with a flourish.
The cookies go into the oven, and finally you think you might be at peace, but it’s not long before, the overly sensitive fire alarm goes off, blaring loudly enough to make you both jump, sending you and beomgyu scrambling to open windows and fan the smoke with kitchen towels.
It doesn’t switch off unfortunately, and the entire building filled with college students, are forced to exit and line up outside.
“This is so embarrassing.” You groan, hiding your face in your hands as the two of you stand outside with the rest of the students, most of whom are looking annoyed or confused, grumbling about the alarm and how cold it was.
Beomgyu just laughs, sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Clearly, baking is not our thing. Maybe we should just stick to streaming together.”
Once the all-clear is given and you’re allowed back inside, you return to find that your cookies, while not burnt to a crisp, are definitely on the overdone side. Beomgyu decides to make the best of it and carefully decorates them with icing and sprinkles, turning them into cute little bears, managing to make them look halfway decent despite their rock hard texture.
“You know what? They may be inedible, but they’re still cutesy,” you say, holding up your bear shaped cookie you had bitten.
Beomgyu smirks at his handiwork, a very proud look on his face as he waits for you to praise him even more.
“They’re like… really cute bricks.” You laugh, and beomgyu joins in, leaning his forehead against yours as you both dissolve into giggles.
“Maybe we can redeem ourselves another way?” Beomgyu suggests, facing you with a silly grin.
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Beomgyu whines underneath you, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back on the pillow, grip on your hips so tight as you continued to slide your pussy against his wet dick despite his constant pleas of actually letting him inside.
He was also wearing the pink nipple clamps, you both had newly attained with the money from the streams, his cute nipples extra flushed and perky and even more sensitive than they usually were, making touching and teasing and licking them even more entertaining than it usually was, body squirming and him moaning even prettier every time you did. The added sensation of you sliding against him and ministrations on his nipples, too much, but also not enough for him and he carried on crying and whining about it.
The viewers had also commented for you to actually just fuck him too since this had been going on for quite a long time now, beomgyu’s face dumb and fucked out, the slickness of both his precum and your wetness sliding together on him, making him go even more crazy.
“Please…even the viewers want you too…” Beomgyu pouts and whines at you, bringing his hand to reach at your wrist, pleadingly and hold onto you, but you pin his wrists down against the mattress, keeping him firmly in place. You roll your hips on him even more, bringing your mouth to his nipples to swirl at them, making him jolt and a strangled cry coming out of him. His tummy heaves intensely, watching his belly piercing go up and down as well.
“Hmm. Not yet, pretty boy. You’re so cute like this.”
He shivers, eyes fluttering shut as he bites down on his lip, trying to keep his composure. But every slow roll of your hips has him unraveling, the sweet agony of being so close yet so far from what he truly wants. “Just let me inside! Please! I just want to feel you, please, pleasee. Just wanna feel you.”
“Fine.”
He’s surprised you give in so easily, but he doesn’t seem to care all that much when you finally line up his dick with your pussy and sink slowly down on him. The feeling of your warm tight pussy making him go cross eyed for a second as he groans, mouth hung open in a sustained ‘o’ shape.
“Oh…t-thank you, thank you.” The look on his face is pure bliss, brows furrowed together.
“You can’t move.” You tell him.
“W-what?”
“You can’t move yet.” You reiterate again, leaning down to play with one of his nipples and lick at the other in the pink clamps, ghosting over it with your teeth, lightly biting at his swollen nipple, just enough to send him reeling.
“B-but!—” His back arches and he tries not to moan, but his protest his cut short.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” You grin, looking down at his cute confused expression.
“No!”
But he knows there’s not much else he can do, having to lie underneath you, dick twitching inside your pussy, aching to move his hips as you carried on teasing his tits and also kissing his neck, body trembling with the effort to obey as he practically sobs. This was torture for him.
You clamp your pussy tightly around him, just to be a bit evil, drawing a deep, guttural moan from his lips. “Please, please—can’t take it. Need it so badd. Might die.” He gasps, the words tearing from his throat as his hips jerk slightly. The way he’s clenching his jaw, trying so hard to hold back, makes something in you soften, just a bit.
He’s a gorgeous wreck, flushed and panting, his entire being consumed by the need to move. His eyes are squeezed shut, thick lashes clumped and wet with unshed tears of desperation. He’s mumbling incoherently, words blending into a string of pleas and whimpers, each one more desperate than the last.
You press a kiss to his parted lips, swallowing his next moan as you finally, finally give in and begin to move, rocking your hips against his. The relief on his face is immediate. “Thank you.” Beomgyu breathes out, his voice cracking as he starts wildly and desperately thrusting up to meet you, unable to hold back any longer. “God, thank you, thank you…”
You begin to fuck him at an unrelenting pace immediately, bouncing on his cock up and down that your pussy smacks with his balls every time you sink back down, stickiness and skin slapping noises so lewd around the room and heard very clearly by your viewers in the stream too, which both of you had mostly forgotten by now. Beomgyu can’t contain his moans at all, strings and series of loud and high pitched whines and moans leaving his mouth one after the other, seemingly getting louder every second. His hands, still pinned by yours, flex and curl, fingers itching to touch you, so you let go of them and he tightly grabs hold of your hand.
When he finally cums, it’s with a choked off scream, his whole body shuddering as he spills so much into you, that you can practically see the creamy ring between you both, yet to pull out, his grip on your hand tightening until his knuckles turn white, throwing one arm over his head. He’s still babbling, words slurring together in the haze of his orgasm, mixed in with thank yous and breathless gasps of relief.
After the stream, beomgyu looks at you rather hesitantly, as if he has something he’s itching to say to you.
“So um…you know that famous camgirl, Winter01?”
“Yeah…?” You say, unsure of where this was going. You were aware of Winter, she was a very famous camgirl within the community, one of the most popular and big ones, always gaining so many views whenever she went live.
“Well, um…she messaged me privately and asked if we were together and I said no, so she asked if only me and her could film something together since she said she sees we’ve been been getting a lot of views ourselves lately. And she said that if we collaborated together, it could do really well…” Beomgyu plays with his fingers, waiting for you to say something.
“Oh. Just you?” Beomgyu nods.
“And you’re thinking of doing it?” You don’t why something weird pools in your stomach.
“W-well, if I do, then it would be good because more people will find our account as well by doing this because she’s so big. And we’ll make a lot of money out of it…” Beomgyu looks down, not meeting your gaze.
“Well, it’s up to you if you want to.” You shrug, trying to maintain a very nonchalant expression. Although the idea of beomgyu streaming with someone else and not you makes you feel inexplainably horrible.
Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys 😭 if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs ☹️👎🤨. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)
A/n: I finally wrote for this series after over a year !! Everyone applause me 😭 I’m really sorry if this was just horribly written, I haven’t written for this series in a really long time and it took me so long to try and gain some motivation to so I’m very sorry if it’s disappointing 😭 also the taglist is old and if you wish to be taken out or added, please lmk ! ALSO LMAO DONT ASK WHY HES READING LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. LET IT BE PLEASE I DIED MYSELF 😭😭 this is also not proofread
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beritybaker ¡ 24 days ago
Text
On One Condition
This is a fluffy little ditty inspired by "We Danced" by Brad Paisley (because I'm a sucker for a good country love song). It is also technically a part of the Right-Side Up universe I've been writing for a while, but works as a standalone.
Rating: G | Tags: No Upside-Down AU, Meet-Cute, Bartender Eddie, Meddling Robin, Slow Dancing | ao3
When the door opened, Eddie was ducked behind the bar, staring into the mini fridge and trying to decide whether he should bother telling Hank they were out of maraschino cherries. He cursed under his breath, kicking himself for not locking up first. The last thing he wanted to deal with was whatever drunk idiot might wander into the Hideout after 2:30 AM.
“We’re closed,” he called out, shutting the fridge as he rose to his full height.
“Oh, right. Sorry. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute,” the intruder said. “I was just wondering…if you found a wallet tonight? Would’ve left it a couple hours ago.”
Eddie was surprised by how coherent the voice was, but that wasn’t what made him frown in pure confusion. Steve Harrington? King Steve? Since when does he come here?
He must have been staring, because Harrington—or the being Eddie was beginning to suspect was his secret twin or something—sounded uncertain when he prompted, “So…did you find a wallet?”
“Uh.” Eddie shook his head to clear it. “I…yes. Yeah.” He’d found it just after midnight, in plain view on the table in the corner. A wallet getting left behind was such a regular occurrence, though, that he hadn’t even bothered to look for an ID yet. He’d been planning on dealing with it after his closing routine. Now, though, he walked to the cash drawer and popped it open, then pulled the wallet out of the special slot he’d designated for such things. It was well-worn, nondescript brown leather, and sure enough, Harrington’s face smiled up at him when he opened it.
“That’s it! Holy shit, you have no idea how happy you just made me,” Harrington cried.
Eddie couldn’t help tilting his head and asking, “What the hell were you doing here, anyway? You a secret punk rocker or somethin’?”
“Ah, no,” Harrington chuckled. All of a sudden, he looked a bit uncomfortable. “I was actually here with a friend. You know Robin Buckley?”
“Sure.”
“She dragged me here because—“ He cut himself off, then simply repeated, “She dragged me here.”
“Right,” Eddie said slowly, drawing the word out. He knew that since working at the ice cream place in the mall together, Harrington and Buckley had been attached at the hip. For some reason, that put Eddie’s mind a little more at ease—even if he was still struggling to suppress every horny teenage thought he’d ever had about the guy as they suddenly resurfaced. He tossed the wallet onto the bar and sighed, “Well. I’ll have to have a talk with her about bringing in the riffraff.”
For a split second, Harrington looked offended. Then he seemed to take in Eddie’s smirk, and he grinned back. “Don’t worry. I think she decided to steer clear of the place from now on.” He didn’t pick up his wallet, instead leaning both hands on the edge of the bar. “Sorry again, Munson. For, you know…barging in while you’re shutting things down.”
He knows my name? “Don’t worry about it, man. You had to find the Amex before your dad noticed it was gone.” Eddie winked to show him it was another joke.
“That’s actually a good point. I was mostly scared of getting pulled over without my driver’s license.”
Harrington’s sheepish grimace stirred something in Eddie. At first he chalked it up to another facet of the physical attraction that had plagued him since they’d been in gym together in school, and he’d been forced to witness King Steve stretching and sweating and prancing around in those little shorts they’d had to wear. After a moment, though, he realized there was something else to it.
Steve Harrington wasn’t just hot as hell. He had the audacity to be charming, too.
Eddie bit his lip. Against his better judgement, and seemingly without input from his rational brain at all, he murmured, “Listen…you wanna stick around while I close? I could use someone to talk to other than the walls.”
Steve blinked, but his obvious surprise quickly gave way to a pleasant smile. “I guess I could use the company, too.” He sat on the nearest stool and leaned both elbows where his hands had been before, cradling his chin in his hands. “I won’t be in your way here, will I?”
“No, you’re fine right there.” Eddie tried to ignore the heat in his cheeks. What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Munson?
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“No fucking way!” Eddie said. “They fired you guys for it? That’s so fucked up.”
“No arguments here,” Steve giggled.
“That’s why I never saw you there again?”
“Sure is.” He shot Eddie a coquettish wink. “I’m surprised you noticed.”
An hour before, Eddie would’ve been supremely embarrassed at the implication of Steve’s words. But they’d been talking so long by that point that the grin he answered it with was equally flirtatious. “’Course I did. You were the only reason I ever went there.”
“Now that’s unbelievable,” Steve quipped. “You went to the mall just to see me at work and never even talked to me?”
“Sure. I mean, it was really my friend Gareth. Kid loved that U.S.S. Butterscotch monstrosity. But I could’ve made him go alone.”
“You didn’t, though.” Steve smiled in a way that somehow seemed smug and bashful at the same time.
“No, I didn’t,” Eddie agreed, smirking.
He’d taken his time cleaning up the bar; even so, he’d finished half an hour ago. Normally he would’ve been doing a belly flop into his sheets by now, but it turned out talking with Steve was as fun as it had been unexpected, and he was reluctant to put an end to it. Part of him regretted not striking up a conversation on all those visits to Scoops Ahoy—even if reality dictated he never would’ve had the guts to. In truth, Gareth was a conniving little shit who hadn’t dragged him along just for the ice cream.
There was a quiet moment, then Steve said, “Can I tell you something?”
Eddie’s brow furrowed. In all their conversation, this was the first time since sitting down that Steve seemed a little nervous. “Sure,” he said again, trying to act like he hadn’t noticed the shift.
“You know how I said I was here with Robin earlier?”
“Yeah…”
“Well, she tricked me into coming here because she knew you were working.”
Eddie stared. “She did?”
“Yeah.” Steve sighed an anxious laugh. “She, uh…she spent a whole hour trying to get me to talk to you, but I didn’t want to bother you while you were on the clock.”
“To be fair, man, talking to people is a pretty big part of the job,” Eddie chuckled.
“The truth is, I kinda have…well, I got a little bit of a crush on you.” Steve’s voice had been getting gradually softer, so that his last words were barely more than a whisper.
Steve Harrington is into me? The Freak? Eddie remained silent, unable to come up with anything intelligent to say.
“I think Robin might’ve even stolen my wallet to make sure I had to come back for it,” Steve grumbled. The way he wrinkled his nose was adorable in a way that made Eddie smile in spite of his utter shock.
Sounds like Gareth and Buckley would get along. That thought, along with the acknowledgement that his own schoolboy crush was alive and well, was what snapped him out of it.
He glanced at Steve’s wallet. It had been sitting on the bar between them since he’d put it there, and they’d all but forgotten it while they’d talked. He looked at Steve again, who was refusing to meet his eye despite the cautiously hopeful expression he wore.
“In that case,” Eddie finally said, grabbing the wallet off the counter and holding it up, “you’re only getting this back on one condition, Harrington.”
Steve finally looked at him, eyebrows raised. “What condition?”
Eddie was already facing the radio behind the bar, raising the volume and tuning it to the easy-listening station that always plagued him in the early-morning hours, when he’d had a long night at work and it was the only one actually playing music. “Dance with me,” he said.
“What?”
“You’ll only get your wallet back if you dance with me.” As he walked out from behind the bar, he stuck the wallet in his back pocket. Then he raised his arms to beckon Steve forward, carefully toeing the line between mischief and warmth.
Standing there with his arms at his sides and his eyelids fluttering rapidly, Steve looked like his brain might start dripping out of his nose. “You wanna…dance?”
“I wanna dance with you,” Eddie corrected.
“Why?”
He snorted. “Because as it so happens, loverboy, I enjoy dancing with pretty people. I’m unique in that way.”
Eddie’s sarcasm seemed to finally draw Steve out of his daze. Slowly, his lips stretched into a wide grin. “I’m pretty, huh?”
“Of course,” Eddie scoffed. He beckoned again, this time raising his eyebrows and jutting out his chin as if to say, Now c’mon, Harrington. We’re burning moonlight!
Still grinning, Steve approached with caution. He gingerly placed his hands on Eddie’s waist, then whispered, “Is this alright?”
“Yeah,” Eddie sighed. He felt himself start to melt under the slight pressure of Steve’s touch. How could he not? He’d been enamored with the guy off and on for no less than three years. Even so, it was a bit of a surprise how something so simple made his heart start hammering like it was trying to break out of his chest. He didn’t let himself think too hard about where to put his own hands; when they landed on Steve’s chest, he murmured, “What about this?”
“Yeah,” Steve said. He sounded even more breathless, and his heart was going a mile a minute under Eddie’s palm, too.
For a moment, they just stood with their hands on each other, staring. Eddie was so swept up in studying Steve’s eyes up close—noting the gorgeous way the flecks of gold in his irises caught the low light—that he didn’t notice they’d started swaying until they’d been at it for a while. In fact, the thing that finally brought it to his attention was Steve closing his eyes as his smile took on a dreamy quality.
They gently rocked back and forth, and Eddie’s fingers inched upward, past Steve’s collarbone and all the way over his shoulders, until one of his arms slid around Steve’s back. The other smoothed down his arm, urging it upward until he could catch Steve’s hand in his own. Then he let his head fall forward and tucked his cheek against Steve’s.
As they danced, Eddie closed his eyes, too, intent on taking a mental snapshot of what he considered the most sublime moment any human being had ever been blessed with.
Steve’s hand in his was firm, but soft. Every breath that puffed against Eddie’s ear was a welcome reminder of their closeness. And Steve’s cologne was somehow a perfect complement to the lingering stale-cigarette smell that had never left the Hideout and probably never would.
Eddie barely heard the music at all. Instead, they danced to a rhythm all their own, moving together with perfect ease, and without having to discuss it. It was as if they’d been dancing like that every night of their lives. Eddie never wanted it to end.
It had to, though. He knew it had to. That didn’t make the pressure in his chest or the lump in his throat any easier to bear when Steve slowly leaned away from him and met his eye.
It must have been obvious on his face, because Steve’s smile was full of genuine sympathy. “I should probably be getting home. If my folks get up and they find out I was out all night…”
“No, I…I get it.” Eddie tried to smile back, but cringed internally at how misty-eyed the whole thing was making him. For fuck’s sake, Munson. You were just dancing. Get a grip.
“Thanks for asking me to stay,” Steve said.
“Thanks for leaving your wallet,” Eddie countered, managing a smirk.
Steve made a small, startled sound, like he’d forgotten about the whole reason they’d been dancing in the first place—the whole reason he’d ended up at the Hideout after close. In the next instant, his cheeks turned pink. The reaction was encouraging, Eddie had to admit.
Without a word, and without pulling his gaze away from Eddie’s, Steve leaned closer. For a brief, lightheaded moment, Eddie thought he was about to kiss him. But then he rocked backward again, and he lifted his hand between them, holding up the wallet he’d just pulled from Eddie’s pocket.
“Oh,” Eddie breathed, before he could stop himself. Disappointment, relief, and mild embarrassment swirled through his head, making him blush, too.
Steve chuckled. As he backed away fully, his free hand seemed reluctant to part from where it was still perched on Eddie’s waist. He made his way to the door, but turned around with the same hand on the knob. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “Do you always work on Saturdays?”
Eddie was so focused on the subtle sway of Steve’s hips—one he swore hadn’t been there when he’d walked in—that it took him far longer than it should’ve to answer Steve’s question. His cheeks grew even warmer as he stammered, “Uh, y-yeah. Usually.”
Steve grinned. “Good to know,” he said. Then he slipped out the door and into the sun’s first light.
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It became a ritual. Every Saturday, Steve would come by for a drink and “forget” something, so that he could come back after everyone else was gone to retrieve it. Most often it was his wallet or a jacket. One time he managed to play off leaving his keys and not coming back for them until two whole hours had passed.
And every Saturday, after conversations that began to lengthen exponentially, Eddie would playfully remind him that he wasn’t going to be leaving with all of his belongings unless he agreed to a dance.
It didn’t take long for Eddie to stop bothering with the radio. They didn’t need it anyway.
One thing did take a while, though, and it was thanks to nerves more than anything else. Nearly two months after their first dance, Eddie murmured the words right into Steve’s ear as they made yet another slow turn across the bar: “Do you want to go out sometime?”
He felt Steve’s cheek shift against his as he smiled. “On a date?”
“Yeah. A real one.”
“I’d like that.”
“What would you want to do?” Eddie asked.
Steve hummed thoughtfully. “What about dinner?”
“I’d like that,” Eddie echoed. It earned him an equally playful pinch to the ribs.
“After that, we could rent a movie. Go back to my place to watch it since my parents are out of town,” Steve went on. His voice was heavy with implication.
Well. Eddie wasn’t about to say no to that. He swallowed the urge to start jumping up and down, only barely managing to rein in his excitement when he said, “Are you free on Tuesday? That’s my next day off.”
“I can get Robin to cover for me.”
“Good.”
Steve squeezed his hand. His cheek twitched again, and he repeated, “Good.”
“Hope I don’t leave anything at your house by accident.”
He threw his head back as he laughed. “It’s about time I have the home field advantage.”
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thedensworld ¡ 6 months ago
Text
Is It New Year, Yet? | Y.Jh
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Pairing: Jeonghan x reader
Genre: fluff, parents au
Summary: Every year, twins will make a new year list contained with everything they want to do.
Author note: hello everyone🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️ How's your 2024 so far? I hope you have a very warm heart this year and let's close the year with fluffy Jeonghan🙈🙈 (bcs i miss him sm???) However, i'll be back in 2025, stronger, wilder, angstier(?). Anyway, happy new year everyone!🎉🎊🎇
It was the day after Christmas, and Jeonghan was savoring the last moments of his holiday before the whirlwind of another tour swept him away to a different country the next day. He lounged on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through video apps and occasionally sending funny clips to Seungkwan. His twin daughters, Nabi and Nabin, were sprawled on the floor, completely absorbed in their drawings. Every so often, Jeonghan glanced at their work, smiling softly and murmuring words of encouragement at their earnest efforts.
"Appa, look!" Nabin exclaimed, holding up her masterpiece—a family portrait with a brightly decorated Christmas tree in the background. Beside her, Nabi proudly showed off her drawing of a vibrant fireworks display.
"Appa, is it New Year's yet?" Nabin asked curiously, her big eyes filled with anticipation as she remembered how close it was to the end of the year.
"Let’s check our New Year list, Nabin!" Nabi suggested, her excitement bubbling over as she scrambled to their room to grab their special book.
Jeonghan’s smile widened as he listened to their conversation. Sitting up from the couch, he watched the twins return with their "New Year Book List" clutched tightly in their small hands. The tradition had been his idea—a way to encourage the girls to dream big and set goals. Since they learned to write, he had urged them to jot down all the things they wanted to do in the coming year and reflect on them at the end of it. Over time, this simple activity had become a cherished family routine.
"We didn’t go to the zoo with Dad this year!" Nabi’s voice broke through the quiet, tinged with disappointment. Her little face was scrunched up in a pout as she flipped through the pages of the book.
Jeonghan’s chest tightened with guilt. “I know, sweetie. I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice warm but tinged with regret. “I really wanted to take you, but things got so busy.”
"Promise us we'll go to the zoo next year," the twins demanded in unison, standing before him with their arms crossed, their tiny frames exuding an almost comical seriousness.
Jeonghan chuckled softly, brushing their hair lovingly with his hands. “I can’t promise for sure, but I’ll do my best, okay?”
Though his tone was light, the weight of his words pressed heavily on him. The truth was, his packed schedule often robbed him of precious moments with his daughters. He loved them deeply—they were his entire world—but between concerts, tours, and promotional events, it was you who attended their school programs, ballet recitals, and parent-teacher events. Every missed moment gnawed at his heart, a constant reminder of what he was sacrificing.
But the New Year list was different. It was their request, a tangible hope etched in crayon and ink. This year, he hadn’t managed to take them to the zoo despite their enthusiasm for animals. Urgent commitments had forced him to reschedule, and the thought of letting them down again made his chest ache.
“I’ll work on it, I promise,” Jeonghan said earnestly, pulling the twins into a gentle hug. They giggled, their earlier disappointment melting away as they leaned into their father’s embrace.
"Next year, Appa will definitely come with us!" Nabin declared confidently, as if her words alone could make it happen.
Jeonghan smiled, a mix of hope and determination flickering in his eyes. He might not always be able to keep his promises, but for his daughters, he would always try.
"I wrote about having a brother this year," Nabi said, her tiny finger tracing over her list.
Jeonghan’s ears perked up. "Huh?" he said, raising an eyebrow.
Nabin leaned over to peek at her sister’s list. "Oh, right! We talked about that. Yes, Dad! We want a brother!"
Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Having a brother isn’t as simple as writing it down on a list, sweeties. It’s a big responsibility.”
The twins pouted, clearly not satisfied with his response.
"And also," Jeonghan continued, moving to sit cross-legged on the floor with them, "it’s up to Mom. She’d be the one carrying him for nine months, you know."
Nabin’s eyes narrowed in confusion, her little hands on her hips. “Why not you, appa?”
"Yeah!" Nabi immediately echoed, mimicking her twin’s expression.
Jeonghan let out a hearty laugh, patting their heads. “We’ve talked about this before, remember? Only girls can carry babies.”
Nabin scratched her head, looking sheepish. “Oh, yeah… I forgot. Hehe.”
Nabi, however, climbed onto Jeonghan’s lap, her determination unwavering. “But don’t you do something about it, appa? I really want a brother.”
Jeonghan grinned and pulled Nabin onto his lap as well, wrapping his arms around both of them. “Hmm... I’ll talk to Mom about it, okay? But there’s a lot of other exciting things to do next year besides having a brother.”
The twins groaned in unison, clearly unimpressed with his answer. “But we want a brother!”
Jeonghan was about to respond when he heard the familiar sound of the door’s passcode being entered. Relief flooded him as he realized you were home. The twins immediately scrambled off his lap and ran to the door, their excitement bubbling over as they greeted you.
You stepped inside, a little pale but smiling warmly at your children. You’d been feeling under the weather since yesterday, likely from something you’d eaten during a Christmas gathering at a friend’s house. Still, seeing your family instantly lifted your spirits.
“Hi, babies! How was your day with Dad?” you asked, crouching down to let their little fingers curl around yours as they clamored to show you their New Year list.
“Mommy, look! Look at our lists! We had so much fun this year!” Nabi exclaimed, holding the book up to you.
"Did you?" you replied with a soft laugh, glancing at Jeonghan as you walked into the living room. “How’s the New Year list looking this year? We had a lot of fun this year, didn’t we?”
You sat beside Jeonghan, leaning into him slightly as he gently touched your forehead to check your temperature. “How are you feeling? Did the doctor say anything new?” he asked, his tone laced with concern.
“I’m fine,” you reassured him, though your voice was a bit weak. “Just some food poisoning, probably. I’ll be good as new tomorrow.”
"But it would’ve been more fun with Dad!" Nabin piped up suddenly, standing in front of you with her hands on her hips. “Daddy is a fun man!”
Both you and Jeonghan burst out laughing at her declaration. Nabin always had a knack for turning serious moments into comedic gold.
“Fun guy?” Nabi asked, tilting her head curiously.
“No,” Nabin corrected with a huff. “Fun man! Daddy is a man, not a guy or a boy!”
Jeonghan nodded in agreement, his chest puffing out playfully. “That’s right, baby. Daddy’s a man.”
You stood from your seat and made your way to the kitchen, brushing off the fatigue that still lingered. “What do you guys want for dinner?” you asked, your voice light and cheerful.
Nabi and Nabin immediately chimed in with their favorite meals, their excitement filling the air. Jeonghan, however, frowned slightly, his protective nature kicking in. “We can always order takeout, love,” he suggested, concern evident in his tone.
You shook your head, offering him a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. The doctor gave me a shot, and I feel much better now.”
As the four of you gathered around the dining table, Jeonghan took it upon himself to help by setting up the twins’ plates while you prepped dinner for the two of you. It was a simple routine, but moments like these felt special—a reminder of the quiet joys of family life.
"Jihyun talked about Santa this morning,” Nabi began, her voice thoughtful. “I don’t believe in Santa. It was her mom who gave her the present, right, Mom?”
Jeonghan stifled a laugh. “Did you tell Jihyun that?” he asked, glancing at his daughter with amusement.
Nabi shook her head firmly. “Nope, I kept it in my head. But Mom said it, didn’t you, Mom?”
You let out a soft chuckle, nodding. “I did. But it’s okay if someone believes in Santa. It’s part of the fun.”
Nabin tapped her chin with a finger, clearly deep in thought. “Hmm... I think Mom told us that because she didn’t want to give us Christmas gifts.”
Jeonghan burst into laughter at Nabin’s clever deduction, while you quickly defended yourself. “Hey! I got you two the plushies you wanted last week, remember?”
The twins giggled as the memory resurfaced, but Nabin wasn’t done yet. “But why does Santa give free gifts?”
Jeonghan set the twins’ plates down in front of them—Japanese curry tonight, a meal they loved. “Because Mom’s cooking tonight, we’re eating whatever she wants. That’s the rule,” he joked, winking at you.
Nabi, still fixated on the Santa topic, tilted her head. “Is Santa a god or something, Mom?”
Jeonghan shot you a look, his lips twitching in amusement. “Wow, babe, you’re raising a philosopher,” he murmured under his breath.
You laughed softly and addressed your daughter. “No, sweetie, he’s not a god. Santa’s just a figure—someone who gives gifts to kids who’ve been good all year. That’s why your Santa could be me, your dad, or even your friend’s mom.”
Nabi let out a relieved sigh. “Good. I can’t imagine you with a beard and a red suit, Mom.”
You burst out laughing, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I think we’re all glad I’m not Santa.”
Later that night, after tucking Nabi and Nabin into bed, you quietly slipped into the master bedroom. Jeonghan was sitting on the floor, surrounded by neatly folded clothes and travel essentials as he packed for his upcoming tour.
“I don’t want to go,” he muttered, his voice heavy with reluctance as he opened his arms to pull you into his embrace.
You nestled against him, your head resting on his shoulder. “I know, baby,” you whispered, your hand gently stroking his back.
“The twins mentioned how many events I missed this year,” he confessed, his voice tinged with guilt. “It hurts. My heart aches every time I think about it.”
You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, offering him the comfort he needed. “Don’t let it weigh you down. They were sad at the time, sure, but they also know how hard you work to give them the life they have. They’re proud of you, Jeonghan, even if they don’t say it.”
For a moment, silence enveloped the room, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Then Jeonghan spoke again, his tone quieter this time. “They said they want a brother next year.”
You hummed, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “They’ve been talking about that all year, actually.”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really? I thought today was the first time they ever brought it up. I told them it was up to you.”
You let out a slow sigh, your gaze distant. “I don’t know if I’ll be ready. The twins are growing up so fast, and it’s already a challenge to keep up with them. I know you’re here to help, but… I’m scared, Jeonghan.”
He immediately tightened his hold on you, sensing the vulnerability in your voice. “Hey,” he murmured softly, “it’s okay to feel that way. We all get scared sometimes. I do, too. But we’ve got each other, right?”
You nodded, but the words still caught in your throat. “I know, but… you’ll leave again. Like before. And I’ll be alone.”
The whispered admission broke something inside him. He hadn’t realized how deeply his absences had affected you, not just as a mother but as his partner.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “Should I take a leave? A hiatus? I’d do it for you and the twins in a heartbeat.”
You shook your head quickly, your hands clutching his shirt. “No. I can’t ask you to do that. What about the band?”
Jeonghan chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “There are thirteen of us, love. Missing one person for a little while won’t hurt anyone.”
You let out a small huff, burying your face in his chest. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to do that. I think I’m just being a little too sensitive tonight.”
He kissed the top of your head, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Don’t apologize, love. It’s okay to feel this way. We’ll figure it out together, like we always do.”
*
Right before the concert started, Jeonghan decided to squeeze in a quick video call with his daughters. As soon as the screen lit up with their familiar faces, everyone in the room perked up, eagerly crowding around Jeonghan to wave at the twins.
“Hi, Nabi! Hi, Nabin!” came a chorus of greetings from the members.
The twins squealed in delight, and their eyes lit up when they spotted Seungcheol. They had a soft spot for him—unsurprising, given his habit of spoiling them with everything from Lego sets and plushies to clothes and candy.
“Uncle Seungcheol! Hi!” Nabin called out, her voice full of excitement.
Seungcheol grinned and waved back. “Hi, my favorite little humans! How are my girls?”
Before Nabin could answer, she turned to you, her voice suddenly secretive. “Mom, can we tell Uncle Seungcheol?”
The room erupted in laughter at her cheerful yet mischievous tone.
“What do you want to tell me?” Seungcheol asked curiously, leaning closer to the screen.
But the twins immediately shook their heads in unison, giggling. “Oh no, Mom said it’s a secret!”
“Tell me instead, baby,” Jeonghan coaxed, his voice playful as he tried to get in on the secret.
But Nabin was quick to deny him, shaking her head furiously. “No! It’s a secret to you too!”
Jeonghan gasped in mock betrayal, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. “We promised there wouldn’t be secrets between us!”
The twins giggled harder, clearly enjoying his reaction. The room was filled with laughter, as the members, seated around Jeonghan on the couch, watched the interaction with amused expressions.
“Cute,” Wonwoo mumbled, glancing over at the screen. His quiet comment caught the twins' attention immediately.
“Uncle Wonwoo!” Nabi and Nabin exclaimed in unison, their excitement palpable.
Wonwoo chuckled, waving at the camera. “Happy New Year, Nabi and Nabin! What are you two up to today?”
“We’re going to bake!” Nabin said enthusiastically. But then, as if struck by a sudden thought, she turned to you. “Mom, can our brother look like Uncle Wonwoo?”
The room went silent for a beat, and Wonwoo blinked in confusion. “What? A brother? Are you… going to have a son, hyung?” he asked, turning to Jeonghan with wide eyes.
Jeonghan froze, his face a mixture of shock and panic as the other members whipped their heads toward him in curiosity. He immediately shook his head, his hands waving frantically in denial.
“No, no, no! That’s not it—” he stammered, but before he could explain, Nabi turned to you with an innocent question. “Mom, how does Uncle Wonwoo know? Did you tell him about our brother?”
Jeonghan’s jaw dropped, and his phone nearly slipped from his grasp. Seungcheol, quick on reflexes, caught it before it could hit the floor.
“What is going on?” Seungcheol asked, his eyes wide as he processed the conversation. He turned to Jeonghan, his expression one of barely-contained amusement. “Are you hiding something?”
The rest of the members, sensing the commotion, crowded closer, their curiosity piqued.
“What’s happening?”
“Jeonghan hyung, do we need to congratulate you?”
Jeonghan’s ears turned red as he scrambled to retrieve his phone from Seungcheol. “Nothing is happening! Stop making things up!” he exclaimed, flustered.
Without waiting for more teasing, he hastily stepped out of the room, putting the call on a private line. The laughter and teasing from the other members echoed behind him as he closed the door.
“Hello?” you answered, your tone light, though you sounded curious about the sudden call.
“Love,” Jeonghan began, his voice low and urgent. “Why do the twins think they’re getting a brother? And why do they want him to look like Wonwoo?”
You couldn’t hold back your laughter, the sound making his heart soften despite his panic. “Oh, they’ve been on about this for weeks. I thought they’d mentioned it to you already. As for Wonwoo… well, I guess they just think he’s handsome!”
Jeonghan groaned, leaning against the wall as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “They’ve got the entire group thinking we’re planning something, love.”
You chuckled again, clearly amused by his predicament. “Relax, Jeonghan. Just tell them the truth. Or… you could let them squirm a little.”
Jeonghan sighed, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “You’re too calm about this,” he muttered, though the warmth in his tone betrayed his affection.
“Because it’s funny,” you replied, your laughter ringing in his ears again.
And just like that, Jeonghan found himself smiling despite the chaos. You always had a way of putting him at ease.
At home, you sat on the couch, trying your best to look stern while the twins stood in front of the wall with their little arms raised in the air. Their small figures looked so comically guilty that you had to fight hard to suppress your smile.
“Not done yet?” Nabin asked, her voice tinged with a mix of guilt and curiosity.
“Not even two minutes,” you replied with a hum, glancing at the timer on your phone.
“We’re sorry…” Nabin mumbled, her pout making her look even more adorable.
You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain your composure. “What did I tell you about secrets? It was supposed to stay a secret until Daddy’s home.”
“We were just excited!” Nabi exclaimed in defense, her hands starting to drop. But the moment you let out a soft warning sound, she quickly pushed them back up with a small huff.
The timer finally beeped, signaling the end of their two-minute punishment. The twins immediately lowered their arms and turned to face you, heads bowed like little penitents.
“Mommy, we’re sorry,” Nabi said earnestly, her small hands clasped together. “We promise we won’t say anything about the secret until Daddy’s home.”
You let out a small chuckle, unable to stay stern anymore. Opening your arms, you pulled them into a warm hug. “Thank you for apologizing, sweeties. I forgive you. But remember, no more talking about this, okay? It’s just between us until Dad comes home.”
The twins nodded solemnly, their little faces glowing with relief. But just as the moment of seriousness seemed to pass, Nabi piped up in her usual curious tone, “I just want my brother to look like Uncle Wonwoo…”
Her words caught you off guard, and you laughed softly, brushing her hair back. “Is that so?”
Nabin chimed in, nodding eagerly. “Yeah! Is it possible, Mom?”
You crouched down to meet their eyes, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let’s see in seven months, okay?”
Their eyes widened, and Nabi’s little mouth fell open in surprise. “Seven months? Really?”
You smiled mysteriously, tapping your finger gently on her nose. “We’ll see.”
The twins squealed in excitement before bursting into giggles, their earlier punishment already forgotten as they began whispering about their potential “brother.” You watched them with a fond smile, marveling at how their innocent enthusiasm could brighten even the quietest days.
A week later, when Jeonghan finally stepped through the door after his long trip, the twins wasted no time. The moment they spotted him, they ran at full speed, their excited voices echoing through the house.
“Dad! We’re having a brother!” they announced in unison, their high-pitched voices practically bouncing off the walls.
Jeonghan froze mid-step, his suitcase still in hand, not even given a second to rest. He blinked at the two beaming faces before him, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “A... brother?” he asked, his tone filled with a mix of surprise and confusion.
“Yes! Mom said so!” Nabin chimed in, her hands on her hips as if to emphasize the gravity of the news.
“We’re so excited, Daddy!”
The end. See you in 2025!
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